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sports-on-sundays · 2 months

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and I can change / CL16 / Part 2

Summary: dad!Charles x French!ex!reader - Charles would do anything to convince you to forgive him. He'd do anything to revive his family.

Warnings: Again, Y/s/n is 'your son's name'. And again, his age is unspecified- you decide what you think. crying (LOTS of crying), mention of drunkenness, mention of sex, mention of cheating, broken relationships, broken family, censored cussing

Requested?: Yeah! Requested by some sweet souls who read part 1! @barcelonaloverf1life @architect-2015 @emz2092 @cilliansgirl @lunamelona @lightdragonrayne @leclercgirl16

Author's Note: You guys asked for it, so I gave it! I hope you enjoy! Same song as inspiration. Also I'm thinking after this part I'll write a part 3, and then after that maybe a little epilogue, to wrap this up. Tell me what you think. Also, this is the link to part 1 / and the link to part 3

"Y/n, people change.

"And I can change, too."

You lay on your bed, engulfed in the darkness of the room surrounding you. The darkness seems to go deeper than just your surroundings- deeper, and into you.

Over and over the scene plays through your mind. Those words that Charles had uttered. The way he had clutched your hand in both of his, as if it were his only lifeline. In that moment, the desperation his eyes had denoted was incredible.

Charles, why? Why couldn't you let go? You're making it all so much more complicated.

But you know what he would say. Why? Why, Y/n? Because this isn't just about myself. Don't you see the brokenness in our son? Don't you see it?

Guilt washes over you, and then rage.

I shouldn't be the one feeling guilt. He should. He's the one who messed up our family. He's the one who's fault it is!

The way he cried, though.

The desperation.

The thing is that he is feeling guilty. Or at least so it seemed.

But does he really deserve a second chance? Do you?

Your phone rings at 12:00 A.M. On the dot. Charles has always been on the dot. Unless he's drunk, that is.

Why is he calling?

Right when I'm thinking about him, too.

Although this really isn't too surprising, when you consider it. For the past week and a half or so, you've stayed up until roughly 2:00 in the morning, staring at the ceiling, thinking, unable to convince yourself into peace and slumber.

And now a call comes.

Charles, why?

It feels terrible as you answer. "Charles. Don't call me."

"Y/n," he says in a calm voice. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you snap, trying to keep it down. Your son is sleeping (hopefully) in the next room.

"For reacting so emotionally. I'm sorry. For years this has weighed on me, but crying and begging won't get us anywhere."

"We're not going anywhere, whether you cry and beg or not." You hang up.

A month after that call where you rejected Charles for what you hoped would be the last time, there's a knock on the door on a Saturday. You walk to it, and freeze when you look through the peephole.

Why is Charles Leclerc here?

Anxiety hits you. The house is a mess, you've got no food to give him, you look like a mess in your pajamas and unbrushed hair-

How can he just show up at your door like this?

It's obnoxious.

You honestly are about to pretend you aren't home, but then Y/s/n suddenly runs in, squealing, "Mama, who is it?! Is it the mailman?"

You sigh at your son's strange fascination for the mailman. You're not completely sure why he enjoys the young, dry, monotone mailman, and for years just assumed because he was generally a nice bloke, and little kids are weird, until you realized with an ounce of dread that the mailman resembles Charles, in a way. After that, you've never encouraged his enthusiasm for the mailman, just in case that was the reason, whether conscious or not.

"No, no," you sigh, unlocking the door. "It's not the mailman, love."

"Who is it, Mama?"

As you swing the door open, you murmur, "Well, love, none other but your father."

"Daddy!" the little boy, still in his Lightning McQueen pajamas, squeals, running to hug his father. You glance away, staring at the floor.

Charles hugs your son, kissing him, and exclaims, "Aw, there's my little buddy! How are you, man?"

"I'm good, Daddy! Are you coming to live here now, Daddy?!"

"Ugh- Not quite..." He picks up your son, and looks to you, immediately saying, "Sorry it's such short notice."

You grit your teeth, murmuring, "You mean no notice?"

"Right," he nods with a quick exhale.

While the presence of your son is a burden for you, preventing you from showing your true feelings, it may be an advantage for Charles, to get across what he needs to get across. Whatever that may be.

Because this is all just a game. Everyone with their own different motives. Y/s/n wants Mama and Daddy to love each other because he wants one place to live. Charles' motives are unknown, but probably are just manipulative and selfish- about making himself feel better. And your motive? You don't want to relive the past, so will avoid Charles at all costs.

Charles' and Y/s/n's motives align more with each other than your's.

You look at your son. Who you love so much. He looks at you with hope. Charles looks at you with... a very similar expression.

These two.

How can you love one and hate the other?

They're both family, as much as you hate to admit it. Because one of them, you wish you could erase.

No. But you don't. Because if you'd never met Charles, Y/s/n would never have been born. And you can't even begin to imagine your life without him.

You hold the door open, and gesture to the couch. "Sit down, Charles. I'm going to get dressed, and then put the kettle on." You say all this through gritted teeth.

How can he just walk in as if he owns the place?

He nods. "Thank you, Y/n." You watch in the doorway to the hall as Charles sits down on the couch with his son on his lap. You watch as he says softly, picking up a toy car from off the rug, "This car is awesome, Y/s/n. Where'd you get it?"

"Mama got it for me! For my birthday!" Y/s/n takes it from his father's hand with much pride, and starts driving it across Charles' chest, up onto his neck, and eventually onto his cheeks. The whole time, Charles laughs, his hand on his son's back to keep him from tipping off his lap.

"That's a super cool car. Does it have a name?"

"Uhhh," Y/s/n frowns. "Zoom! Because he goes zooooom!"

"Oh, it's a he?"

"Of course," Y/s/n says, as if this fact should be obvious. Then he giggles, "Because girls smell."

"They smell?! No way. Girls don't smell."

"Yeah, they do," he crosses his arms, frowning at his father. "You don't know any girls. You only know... Uh, Cah-los."

Charles laughs out loud. "The only person I know is 'Cah-los'?"

"Yep! And Uncle Arthur and Uncle Lorenzo, but that's it!" your son claims in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Their conversation continues, but you finally turn to leave and get yourself fixed up. You quickly shower, brush your teeth and hair, put on moisturizing cream, perfume, and deodorant, and put on a beige hoodie, grey sweatpants, and slides, before going to make tea. The whole time, you mind swirls.

Why is he here? Why is he here on a Saturday? Why is he here, without even asking to come? It's so... obnoxious.

You finish making two cups of tea, finding with awe as you make them that you remember exactly the way Charles likes his tea, and you're doing it automatically.

Because I used to do this so much.

You walk back in with the tea and see the two boys sitting on the rug now. Charles is tickling Y/s/n's tummy, and both of them are laughing- Charles with more of a chuckle and Y/s/n with more of a squealing giggle. When Charles sees you, he slowly stops, saying with a little sigh, "Alright, bud. Mama's back with my tea, and I mean to drink it."

"But Daddyyy!"

"Nope!" he grins, standing up, ruffling his son's messy hair. He then walks to you, and you hand him his tea. He lights up when he tastes the tea and looks at you, muttering softly, "My God, you remembered how I like my tea...?"

"Don't jump to sh*t, Charles," you murmur, soft enough for Y/s/n not to hear.

"Right," he sighs, sitting down again on the couch.

You set your tea down, walking to your son. "Alright, love. I want you to go in your room now, okay? Remember the Lego plane you were building? Why don't you work on that? I want to see it once it's finished, okay? And if you need anything, call, okay? Don't come in here. Just call, and one of us will come."

He looks questioningly. "Why, Mama?"

"Me and your father have important things to talk about. And if you don't listen, there will be consequences."

He blinks, pouting.

"I'll turn on your storybook audio for you. Come on." You bring him to his room and get him set up, until you're sure he's completely distracted with the Legos and the storybook. Only then do you come back to the living room and sit down awkwardly next to Charles.

He's still wearing his red windbreaker from when he was outside, and a black scarf hangs loose around his neck. His hair is a bit messed up, but he looks perfect, like always.

Too perfect.

"Let me take your scarf and jacket. And your shoes."

"Right," he says with a swift nod, handing you his scarf, coat, and sleek black boots. You put them by the door, and sit down, viewing the cozy grey sweater adorning his frame. You have a passing thought, considering how much unnecessary money he might have spent on such a garment.

"So?" you ask in a tense voice. "What is this all about, Charles?"

"There are some things we need to work out. You're right- one of the many things I've done wrong to you is always being a f*cking coward. You're right. I didn't say what was on my mind, and I faked it, and I kept quiet, because I didn't want to upset you. But now I see that the only thing I can do now is speak up, be honest, and be a man. You rightfully left me because I wasn't being a proper man. I wasn't being your proper man. I was being a terrible husband and a terrible father. But now we need to uncover what's true- we both have different views, both of which are likely exaggerated or incorrect in different ways."

"I don't care, Charles," you say quickly, flat out trying to ignore his admittance to wrong. Perhaps because you don't want it to be true. Because if he's sorry, that means you have to forgive him.

"So you're telling me you'd rather believe lies, just because it makes you feel better? What kind of thinking is that?"

You hate to admit that he's right. So you say nothing.

There's silence. But then he says, "So tell me what happened."

"You know what happen-"

"Tell me, Y/n." His voice isn't rude, but definitely firm.

You swallow, shaking your head. You don't want to work this out. You want to forget Charles. But clearly, that's impossible. "You were irresponsible. You'd get drunk, never be home, never help me. I'd be all on my own... You... You'd use me for your own pleasure but never show true, selfless love... Then you came home drunk saying stuff about a pretty woman and sex and getting pregnant... So you cheated... And I divorced you because I couldn't take it any more." You can't believe it, but you're trying not to choke up as you whisper, "Charles, what we had seemed perfect. Until you messed it up." Your mouth tastes like poison.

Charles stares down, his eyes swirling with everything but empty, at the same time. "Y/n," he whispers. "I was terrible. You're right. I was never around because I was immature and scared. I didn't understand. To get away from it, I drank and had fun with friends."

Your lip curls. "You're not the victim."

"And I never said I was! I was scared of being a father. I was scared of messing up. I wasn't ready and I let everything happen too quickly. I was a coward and I left you. Even though you divorced me, I was the one who left you. That's what happened. I was stupid. I was a terrible person. It's all my fault."

"Why would you be any different now? There's no way for you to prove that. Before the marriage you were fine. It was when we married that you went downhill. It was like... you couldn't stand me."

He looks torn apart. "I loved you. I... I... I still do. I knew I wasn't being a good husband or father and to forget about it, I drank."

"And why wouldn't you still do it now?!"

"Because I don't. I feel more guilt now than I did then! I feel more responsibility now than I did then! And that was my greatest fear! Responsibility! But now I don't drink excessively! Now I don't avoid reality! Because I need you... Our son needs us. Together. Don't you need me?"

"Not the you I know."

"You don't know me anymore. I'm not the same person I was." His voice is so uncommonly firm, it slightly shocks you.

You stare into each other's eyes.

He goes on, "That night, I didn't cheat. I was intoxicated. A young woman was trying to seduce me, but I refused because I had you. You, my beautiful wife, both inside and out. I wanted to convey to you that I said no because you were my wife. However, I failed to communicate this properly, and the next morning, I had completely forgotten the conversation. I chose not to tell you because I thought it would be better if you didn't know. I was afraid you would be angrier with me for being in that situation. I was a coward, and I didn't want you to be upset with me. I didn't realize for years that you believed I had cheated. If I had known, I would have assured you that I didn't cheat, just like I am doing now, and that I never would. Because I didn't. Despite all the mistakes I made, cheating on you is something I would never, ever do. I have always loved you, and only you, far too much for that."

Your hands tremble in your lap as you stare at him, listening.

Now you're the one getting emotional.

Charles leans in close to you- too close for comfort- and whispers, "I've changed... Please. I just want a second chance... To right my wrongs and give you and our son the lives you deserve. I need to give my all to you... I need to make it up to you... It's... It's crushing me."

"Why do you need a second chance?" Your voice, for once, isn't aggressive. It's gentle. Softer. Your voice cracks as you say, "You should have done it right the first time."

You see him swallow. "And you know what? I didn't. I f*cked up. I f*cked up everything. I f*cked up your life and I know it. I'm sorry. I wish I could go back in time and fix it and make it all better. I was stupid, Y/n. I was terrible. I hurt the most beautiful woman and her baby in the world. I'm the least." He takes your hand again in both his, but this time it's a gentler grasp.

"But you're not. You're famous. You have so many fans."

"Do you know how many times I've thought I don't deserve all this? If only I could share it all with you."

"Charles," your voice cracks again, and an unexpected, terrible longing fills you. "I want to believe you, but I can't. I'm broken, Charles, because of you. I can't afford to let you break me again..."

A tear rolls down your cheeks, and immediately he reaches up with his thumb, gently wiping your cheek, "No, Y/n, please don't cry... I don't want you to cry because of me any longer... Please..."

"Charles, I can't do this..." more tears fall.

There's hurt and confusion, but mostly longing and guilt in his eyes. "Please... If you'd only trust me, then we could make this right. I could make this right, after all I did wrong."

You can hardly believe yourself as you let your broken, silently crying self fall into Charles. You allow yourself to rest your head on his shoulder, and you allow his arms to wrap around you, giving you his warmth. "Charles..."

"Yes...?" There's a painful hope in his voice.

"I don't know if I can do this..." you cry into his shoulder now.

He whispers right in your ear, "Just give me a chance. Let me be there for you... Let me prove to you... Let me..."

You can't give him a yes or a no. Two sides war inside you- the mask and the face. You feel him stroke your hair as you cry, at the same time as remembering stroking his hair when he was drunk and needed comfort.

This is some sort of paradox, isn't it?

"Charles," you murmur, leaning away after you've gained control of yourself. "The answer is 'I don't know' right now, okay... Consider it... better than hating your guts with an adamant 'no.'"

As he gazes into your eyes, he leans closer. Softly, he places a tender kiss on your cheek and whispers, "I'll be ready whenever you are. And I'll never, ever stop waiting for you."

Weeks pass, and Charles can't understand why, after all that happened that day, still you insist on avoiding him like the plague.

Well, the reason is just that- avoidance. You're avoiding Charles because you don't want to face the possible truth. You're avoiding him because you don't want to make big decisions. You don't want to try again. You don't want to...

Well, you don't want to fall in love again.

And on that day, the way he treated you...

It reminded you of the man you married, and not the man you divorced.

And that scares you. Because you'll never forget the man you divorced.

So you're stubborn and resistent, and you're avoiding him.

So you sit, staring at the screen of your cell phone. Rereading the text on it. Over and over.

Charles Leclerc: I'm sorry for such a long text Y/n but you probably won't read it anyway, so what does it matter? I need to talk with you and you're doing exactly what I've done, what I'm apologizing for. For years I avoided this stuff and one of the reasons we split was that i couldn't stand up and address and tell you my problems. I was being a f*cking coward. And I've said sorry more times than I can count. I thought you might be on the road to forgiveness, to giving me a second chance. I know you felt the same way as me when you leaned into me and let me hold you when you cried- there's something more here, and I don't want you to ignore this. Can't we just try this? Please Y/n? I'm finally willing to step up, be a man, work through all this sh*t with you. Talk about it. I'm finally willing to be brave, and as soon as I am, you're doing the same thing you've yelled at me for years for doing- staying silent.

Charles Leclerc: I love you, Y/n, and this is a problem I desperately want to fix, but the truth of the matter is that you're being a f*cking hypocrite.

Me: How does it feel to be in the position you put me in for years?

You feel mean for typing that, and you're not sure how much you mean it. Maybe you meant to be kinder.

But the anger took over and your thumbs did the talking.

Charles leaves that message on read.

You sit in the cold metal chair, surrounded by pudgy, middle-aged parents and their gross kids all around you as a lone young mother sitting by herself. You're only here to see your son, and none of the other aspects of this situation bring you an ounce of joy.

All of a sudden, a shiver runs down your spine as a firm hand gently lands on your shoulder. Your head snaps up, meeting the gaze of Charles Leclerc. A look of disdain crosses your face, causing your heart to ache as you bluntly ask, "Why are you here?"

Charles takes a seat beside you in the vacant chair and casually remarks, "I've come to attend my son's school concert. And you?" A glimmer of amusement dances in his eyes.

Your jaw tightens in pure irritation, and you manage through gritted teeth in a tense, quiet tone, "Why did you choose to sit next to me?"

Charles hesitates, his expression softening, as he makes an effort to hold your gaze. "Well... Because I..." He swallows and says, "I'm not going to give up on you. That's why. So I figured I'd sit down next to you to watch my- our- son's concert. So..." Abruptly, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The veins in his hand are visible as he clasps yours tightly.

Your muscles tense, yet for some reason, you don't pull your hand away.

So throughout the whole school concert, Charles sits, gripping your hand, and seems to refuse to let it go.

And the moment the teacher is done on stage after the little production, thanking people for helping and the kids for doing such a great job and other stuff you don't listen to, Charles turns to you and says, "So, we have some minutes to spare."

Your eyebrows scrunch together. "Come again?"

He chuckles, but it doesn't feel called for. "You weren't listening to her? She said the students can be picked up from their classrooms by their parents in fifteen minutes."

Your jaw clenches again. "Charles, why?"

"Because I know you want it," he says incredibly earnestly. The inside of your heart melts as the outside hardens.

"But I don't think I do."

"But I know you do. Now come on." Your ex-husband stand up, pulling you up with him.

"Where are we going?" you ask. "And please let go of my hand. You've been holding it so long, it's starting to get sweaty."

He clicks his tongue and doesn't respond to either of these, then guides you down various hallways until you reach the school's exit. Finally, he sits down with you on a bench outside the school, and releases your hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's just hang out here for the next ten minutes, okay? We should talk," he says awkwardly, facing you.

"I don't get it. Charles, there's nothing you can do to-"

Charles interrupts, holding your face gently, gazing into your eyes. "Please, don't. Don't say that," he pleads, his thumb brushing your cheek. "There's something we can do. We can make this work... Please..."

His desperation, his begging, makes you want to cry. "Please just let it go... Let me go..."

"No, I don't want you to be trapped... Don't you see you'll be more free with me? You won't have to work as hard.. I'll take care of you and our son... I'll take half the work in the house you have to deal with... I'll... We'll... I just want you to believe that we'll be happier... I'm not saying we need to jump to anything today. I'm just saying, let's be kind to each other... Let's go out to eat sometimes, or go to our son's events together. Let's act just a little bit more like a family, even if we aren't yet. I just want to- I need to- I- I- I..." He trails off. His hands fall off your cheeks, and his shoulders slack. His head goes down.

It's like just the hard look in your eyes alone crushed him.

Like that alone is the huge weight he's bearing.

"F*** me, Y/n... F*** me," he whispers, his hands in his lap trembling. "I don't deserve you. I hurt you. Doesn't matter how much I changed. I still have to live through the consequences of my actions, don't I?" He seems to be talking more to himself, but you have no idea at this point. "Just f*** me." He exhales shakily, before suddenly standing up. He stares you right in your eyes, and your heart breaks when you see the hurt, the destroyed desperation. "It's fine, Y/n." He's trying to keep a level face. But his voice cracks. "I'll leave you alone. I'll let you go. I can see all this is just hurting you more. I never meant to hurt you more. I never meant to bring up the past to hurt you. I wanted to help you... I wanted to help you heal..." He drags a hand over his face. "But clearly I f***ing didn't. Clearly I messed it up again. I f***ing messed up again." He swallows. His eyes glimmer with wetness as he practically whispers, "The last thing I want is to hurt you. So I'll drop it. I'm just being selfish again, aren't I? I think this would be better, but you don't. And that's hurting you. And I never wanted to..." He swallows, his nose crunching up. Suddenly he yells, "I never wanted to hurt you ever again, because I love you, for f***'s sake! I love you, but I did hurt you, because, in the end, no matter what, I'm going to f*** it up anyway! So bye, Y/n!" Suddenly he turns on his feet. Like he doesn't want you to see him cry again. But you can hear the tears in his voice when the last thing he calls back is, "It will go back to normal, and we can pretend none of this ever happened! Pretend I'm a stranger! It's the best for you, anyway, apparently, and all I wanted was the best for you!"

You stare in shock as you watch him get in his car and drive away. You remain seated, gaze straight ahead. Tears well up in your eyes, and your body quivers, yet you manage to compose yourself, rise on unsteady legs, and compel yourself to return to the school to pick up your son.

But that just wasn't right.

I should have stopped him. I should have called him back. I should've.

How far can revenge go before it's gone too far?

For days, the guilt, the hurt, the rue- they weigh on you. Every moment of your days, it consumes your thoughts. Regret and confusion and anger fill you in every step, engulfing your every move. And if you thought you weren't getting any sleep before, now it's even worse.

You long to fix it, but you are unsure of how. Despite everything... You can't see how Charles isn't being honest. You want to have faith in him. A small part of you may even want to love him, just a little bit.

You're also fearful. Fearful of reaching out to him, because you don't know what you'd do. You have no idea.

But now you're dropping your son off at Charles's house. You swallow, and suddenly, on a whim, when you see Charles walking outside, waiting for Y/s/n, you get out of the car, too.

"Mama?" your son asks with a confused expression, still maintaining a little smile on his face.

You smile back down at him and say, "I'm walking you up to your daddy's house today, is all."

He shrug and nods, apparently accepting this.

He's such a good kid.

As you approach Charles, your smile twitches while you study him, but you say softly, "Hey, um... I... We..." Your tone sounds weak.

"Yes?" Charles asks, looking up. He looks perfect. As always.

Your eyes lock.

Please, Charles. I don't know how to say this. Please just understand.

His eyes remain blank. You let out a sigh.

And suddenly, you hug him.

Charles seems taken aback for only a moment, before he immediately hugs you back and says softly, "Hey... Want to come inside with me and Y/s/n?"

You nod. "Yes... Yes, please."

So Charles leads the two of you up to his flat. You sit down together on the couch, once again.

Last time you did this was the moment Charles cried out to you.

"Y/n, people change."

You swallow at the memory.

Is this another paradox? This time, will I be the one crying out to him?

Y/s/n is about to hop on the couch between you, but suddenly Charles scoops him up and says, "Hey, hey! I didn't get my hug from you yet, did I?!"

Your son giggles, getting comfortable on his father's lap, before giving him a big hug. "I scored a goal, Daddy..."

"You scored a goal?!" he grins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! Mama cheered me on! I scored a goal when I played football!"

Charles looks so bright. Happy with his son. So proud. He doesn't get to see him as often as you do. "No way. You've got to be joking. Was it the winning goal?"

"Yep!" your son says proudly.

You find yourself smiling.

"Oh yeah, what was the score?"

Your son shrugs. "Dunno! But we won!"

You smile and mutter softly, "I think it was 4-1." Y/s/n plays in the little league team affiliated with his school.

"Yeah, but my goal made it 2-1, so I won it," he brags to his father.

Charles grins. "Oh, I'm sure it did. You know, I don't know where you got that talent for football from. Do you think Mama is good at football?"

Your son just shrugs with a grin, enjoying the affirmation from his father. "Dunno! But Mama is good at cuddling and playing with me."

Charles laughs. "Yeah, your mama takes good care of you." He glances at you with sparkling eyes, before looking back down at his son.

The two continue babbling on about sports and football and what not, until Charles finally ruffles his son's hair and says, "Well, buddy, I reckon it's time for me and Mama to have some alone time."

Y/s/n frowns. "Aw, why?"

"Because I want to talk with Mama about things that you won't care about. Boring grown-up stuff. Doesn't sound very fun, does it?"

Y/s/n shrugs, still looking uncertain.

"Hey, don't look so down. How about this? I'll go put on Cars for you. How's that sound?"

Your son grins at this, immediately jumping up, his demeanor changing abruptly. "Yeah, yeah!" he squeals, and you watch as Charles leaves with him to go set him up with that in another room.

But soon Charles is back. He gently shuts the door behind him as he enters the room, and immediately sits down next to you, facing you once more. "Hey, Y/n..." he says in a tentative but gentle tone.

You swallow. "Hey, Charles..." You feel yourself getting nervous again. "You're so... You're so good with Y/s/n."

He smiles. "You are, too."

There's no, And I'm sure we'd be even better with him together.

Charles meant it when he said he'd give up on it.

But you move closer to him. You take his hands. "This is a lot for me, Charles. I'm scared. I'm having issues with trust."

He nods slowly. "I know... I know..."

You swallow, and hug him again.

He holds you, hugging you back. He kisses your cheek. He whispers, "I understand if you're afraid. I understand if you're scared, or if you're having issues with trust. I'm so deeply sorry I've broken you like that."

Y/n, people change. And I can change.

The words come crashing into your mind like a ton of bricks, emerging from the depths of your memory.

"Charles-" you break in, your voice cracking. "Those words have haunted me."

"What words...?" he mutters softly.

You swallow. Breathe slowly. And you whisper, "You said to me 'Y/n, people change. And I can change.'"

"I have changed," he whispers.

"But," your voice cracks. "You said a lot of other s***, too. I remember, during our honeymoon..." A tear rolls down your face as Charles continues to hold you. "You said I'm yours and you're mine. You said we'd be forever. You said you'd do anything for me. You said we'd have three kids together, and you'd never stop loving me, and we would be a happy family. You said we'd grow old together, Charles. That's what you said. But all those promises- they were broken... They were broken."

"You didn't want them to be," he whispers calmly. "But don't you realize? Perhaps those promises were not broken, but rather, they have just not yet been fulfilled."

You look up at him, blinking. More tears roll down your cheeks. Charles gently wipes them away.

"I want to be able to fix what I did wrong. I want to be able to fulfill those promises I made to you. That's what I want, Y/n."

"Charles..." you breathe.

He looks so perfect.

"Yes?" he asks gently.

Your lip quivers, and you lean into his shoulder, and you sob.

And he lets you.

For however long, he holds you there, rubbing your back, letting you weep. Finally, you get a hold of yourself, and slowly pull away. You wipe your wet eyes with the backs of your hands, before sighing. "Charles, if we were to do this... If I were to give in..." You sniff. Your voice cracks again as you utter, "Please, don't hurt me again. I can't survive it again. I can't let you put me through that again..."

He pulls you to him again and whispers in your ear, "I won't. I won't. I won't let you down this time. Please don't be afraid of me... I want to love you... Let me love you... If you'll just let me, we can fix this... We have have a relationship in which we communicate more. Oh, Y/n..." he sighs. "Don't you realize how much I care? I- I would give my life for you."

You blink, staring at him.

Everything looks so promising. That's why you're scared.

It almost looks too promising.

"You say you would give your life for me. But would you really? Maybe you would you give your life for me if it meant losing it. But would you give your life to me while you're still alive? Would you clean the dishes? Would you help me when I'm sick? Would you grab an extra ingredient from the store if I needed it? Would you drive Y/s/n to school when you could? Would you really? You're gone half the year, as it is."

His jaw clenches, then un-clenches. "I would do anything and everything I could do for you. I want to share my life for you. Until death. And I'm one hundred percent sure on that. I've had years of thinking about this." There's hope in his lovely eyes.

So much hope.

You sigh, staring down at your lap.

"Y/n. I'm sorry. Please. Not only do I need your forgiveness. But your son does, too." He hesitates. "And I hope you know no matter what happens, the guilt of what I've done to you will weigh on me my whole life. That's why I want to fix it."

You gently slip your hand in his and whisper, "Please don't hurt me."

He wraps his fingers around your hand, holding it. "I won't."

You nod slowly, another tear rolls down your cheek, and it feels like all the molecules in your body are being ripped apart as you barely whisper, "Okay, Charles. We can try this again."

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kisskiss-slashslash · 1 year

Note

Slashers accidentally killing their witchcraft s/o but a few minutes later they revived again and they find out that they are actually immortal?

Ty and have a great day <3

Here you go!

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Allusions to amputation

Slashers accidentally killing their s/o only to find out they’re immortal

Jason Voorhees

His machete slipped out of his hand, and time seems to slow down as it heads straight for you. There is nothing he can do, it all happens so fast, and before he even knows what is happening, you’re on the ground, the blade buried in your chest, down to its hilt.

His whole world is anguish. Memories of the night his mother died are flashing through his head. First her, now you. And this time, it was all his fault.

He sinks to his knees next to you without paying any attention to the escaping victim, and cradles you against his chest, hot tears dripping from under his mask onto your face.

You groan. “Hey… Jason? Love? Could you please pull the machete out? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You return his gaze sheepishly.

“I… I guess I should have told you that I kind of… can’t die.”

Wait what? He tilts his head at you.

“Yeah. You know. Practising witchcraft has its perks. Now please…. the machete?”

Needless to say he is torn between being angry and relieved. Could you not have told him that before he essentially relived his past trauma?

Vincent Sinclair

He mistakes you for a victim. He lost sight of the last survivor of the current group, but he can hear someone right next door.

He strikes before he can see who it is. And it happens to be you, now with his carving knives sticking out of your neck on both sides. When he realizes what happened, he reflexively pulls the knives out, and you are already on the ground, blood pouring out of the wounds.

He drops his weapons in horror and rushes to your side. You are losing too much blood, there is little he can do… But soon the wounds seem to close up again with no issue, and you sit up.

“Vincent, honey. Next time, please look before you slash. Okay? This would have gone horribly wrong if I weren’t immortal.”

You still look a bit ashen, but seem otherwise okay. You assure Vincent that while you may be a bit more tired and lethargic until your body managed to regenerate all that blood you lost, there won’t be any long-term damange.

Freddy Krueger

It’s a prank gone wrong. Freddy assumes that, as his s/o, of course you aren’t afraid of him, so he can feel free to play rough with you in the dreamworld. But love or not, appearantly there is a tiny sliver of you that is at least a little afraid of him and his powers. Which is unfortunately only something the two of you notice when your stomach gets sliced open while Freddy tries to tickle you.

“Ah shit… fuck… bitch… we’ve been together for so long, how the FUCK are you still afraid of me?!” He panicks and tries to stop the bleeding and you… you start laughing.

“Freddy, you can stop. I can’t die. The whole witchcraft thing, remember?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You double over and clutch your stomach, both from laughter and to keep your guts from falling out. It *is* pretty adorable how worried Freddy is for your safety. And in the end, even if he can technically hurt you, your immortality still means that you can play rough with each other.

Brahms Heelshire

Another one of his fits of rage, after which he finds you on the ground, bones broken and with blood pouring. He stares at your remains in horror.

“Hey…”

He kneels down next to you and shakes you.

“Hey, get up. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Get up… don’t leave me…” He starts sobbing, uncontrollably switching between his child and adult voices in his distress, until he feels you gently pat his back.

“You’re grounded”, you say dryly. “Just because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I’m down to being your punching bag.”

“Yes. Yes of course. I’ll be good now, I promise”, he sobs, relieved that you are okay after all.

Bubba Sawyer

He accidentally touches the button that switches on his chainsaw while the two of you are fixing some malfunction. The saw buries itself in your torso, sawing through bone and soft muscle and organ alike. Your blood sprays through the room, and Bubba howls with terror while desperately fumbling to turn it off again.

He finally manages to, after a few seconds. But the damage is already done. His hands are cupping your face, running through your hair, knowing that after an injury like this, there is nothing he can do. He just whines softly, trying to somehow comfort you, if you can even still hear him.

“Geez”, you sigh, with some difficulty. The saw completely shredded one of your lungs, after all. “Good thing that it missed my spine; regenerating that would have been a pain.” You look up at him and are met with Bubba’s teary gaze.

“Bubsy”, you coo softly. “I’m fine. I don’t die that easily. Give me a week to recover and I’ll be good as new. So no tears, okay?” You raise your hand to wipe away the tears from under his eyes.

When Drayton later learns of this day’s events, he asks if you can also regenerate limbs, like, say, a leg. You will have to firmyl tell him that you are *not* going to end up being the family’s primary meat source.

#slasher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #freddy krueger x reader

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novasintheroom · 4 months

Text

Can you imagine Knives finding out about you? You, who travels with his brother, and dare taint him with your presence? How dare you even consider yourself worthy to walk with Vash.

He watches you from a distance. Through Zazie. Through Legato. Through word of mouth as his fumbling little brother chases ghosts across the wastes. You trail him, feed Vash your lies, your pity. And what a pity his brother is, truly. But the white hot rage that blooms in him like a crackling flower takes place when he finds out you're an item. A pair. Lovers. He could tolerate your comradery with Vash, but only Knives can love his brother - humanity is too dirty with greed and pride to make room for love.

So Knives takes you.

He isn't sure why he doesn't kill you when his minions drag you kicking and screaming to JuLai. For all the racket you cause, he should have. More than a few henchmen come back with blackened eyes and missing teeth from trying to feed you. But something in him - the dark, twisted part that is so consuming - enjoys the idea of toying with you.

He wants you to see what you're messing with. Who he is, why Vash is so afraid of you being in his clutches. But there's also a part of him, small and never acknowledged, that wonders what draws his brother to you, out of all the millions of humans that have been and are on the planet - why you?

You become something of a pet to him. A metaphorical chain and leash to your neck, as he strings you along with promises of more freedom if you behave. You follow him around, rather than his brother. Watch as he brings in more and more dying Plants and revive them through his own DNA. And you ask questions. Lots of them. Knives finds he enjoys answering them, unintelligent and mindnumbing as they are.

He would never admit to enjoying your company. But he plays the piano for you. Watches you watch him. The intelligence in your eyes he will never acknowledge. Slowly, he comes to understand why Vash keeps you around. The way you walk. The lilt in your voice as you ponder his grand plan. How your lips move. And the first time you smile at him - genuinely? - he makes a hasty exit as his heart beats faster and his face flushes. He tries to get you to smile more often, but it is hard - you are still only a pet, after all.

Eventually, you make an escape. The perfect timing, the perfect moves, everything. And Knives finds himself going near mental at your disappearance. You cannot go back to his brother - you just can't. You are his now, his pet, his human. But despite his best efforts, you are gone like the wind. Not even tracking his brother brings up anything. You learned your lesson, and are not putting Vash in any danger...for now.

But Knives knows humans. And you will return to Vash in time. And when you do, he'll be ready to take you again.

You belong to him, after all.

#knives my beloathed #i hate him but he's a fun character to play with #trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #nai x reader #millions knives x reader #vash x reader #NOT plantcest #pls for the love of pete dont see this as plantcest in any way shape or form #nova writes #knives x reader #tristamp

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blkgirl-writing · 7 months

Note

So. Technically... the Revivify spell only works for one minute after death.

Begging for a piece where Gale sees Tav go down in combat, everyone is fighting for their lives, meanwhile he's across the battlefield, fighting his hardest to get closer and feeling the minute they have to revive Tav slipping away...

Gale x Fem!reader

"Cold to the touch"

I have never finished a request so fast I'll be honest. This is so heartbreaking but absolutely amazing.

Tags and TWs: angst, a bit funny, some detailed graphic violence and blood, Gale in denial lowkey.

Sometimes the fights you picked should have been fights evaded

"Gale, go!" you screeched, seconds before the killing blow you your chest, blood rapidly pooling around your feet, too much blood, you whispered as you looked down with blurring vision, clutching at your skin, trying to stop the bleeding, even for a second. The last bit of your strength used to look back up at gale, and smile. your body thudded to the ground, completely and utterly lifeless.

Gale blinked. The wind knocked out of him like he was hit with a battering ram. He fractically looked around, who was close? no one. Astarion was high on the rooftop, Wyll and Karlach surrounded with no way out, everyone on the brink of death themselves. Lae'zel the furthest and least likely to help. That just left-

"Shadowheart? Shadowheart, HEAL HER!"

"I'm fresh out of spells-" Shadowheart yelled, looking back at your limp body. "I think...She's past anything I can do right now, anyway."

Gale's gaze went down to his own hands, the revive in his pocket, how many things were around him, and how much strength he really did have. Your body was getting cold, soul leaving body, time was of the essence.

"damn it" he whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, concentrating on making sure he wouldn't lose you. He couldn't lose you. If the thoughts of your beautiful life absent from the rest of his miserable one crept up, he'd be paralyzed, he simply could not dwell on the bleak future. "ok"

Gale forced himself forward, nearly slipping immediately and cursing himself. Running. if he wasn't out of all the magic he could muster he could simply misty step. Instead he was forced to make his way little by little while watching the last of life slip from you as the reality set in. He couldn't get to you in time. He needed to save himself and the others if there was any hope of even bringing your corpse to have a proper burial. He had to topple goblins and just stare feet away from you as your magic slipped permanently away from this world. Helpless, and tearful.

He wanted to cover you up. Clothes ripped open from your wounds, he didn't want you to feel exposed. Though, he knew you weren't feeling anything at all. But he had nothing. Once again failing himself and you when he felt you most needed it.

"There....there has to be something we can do" he held your freezing and damp hand in his own warm ones. Enemies blood pooled with your own,. the fight was won, but it truly felt wrong to say those words. He had been brushing your hair out of your eyes while the others gathered around. They'd been the furthest, so Gale had gotten precious moments alone. Muttering sentances he didn't finish. About how he had failed you. About what could have been. Maybe an I love you had fallen from his lips, but it didn't matter anymore, not if he could never hear the words he so wanted to hear back from you, from your own sweet voice.

"I don't know, I....I'm so sorry, Gale." Shadowheart softly touched gales back for a moment of comfort and caring that was so rare for her. that's how he knew it was real. "I know you cared."

I know you cared. He didn't know why those words were his breaking point, but he suddenly felt water dripping down his face. Silent tears rushing down his race. "I truly did."

"We will find a way, Gale. Have hope." Wyll crouched beside Gale on the ground. "I don't think we can do this without her."

"I'll bring her back. Somehow." Gale nodded, finally tearing his gaze away from you. Everyone stood around your corpse. Everyone with the same, grim look. Though, Wyll just looked...sad, sadness for Gales pain, and for the senseless loss of another.

Gale had to get you back to get you comfortable in camp. You couldn't stay here. Not for animals to ravage.

"I'll get her to camp for you, Gale. Don't ware yourself out" Karlach effortlessly hoisted your body over her shoulder. Gale gathered the items that dropped from your pockets on the ground, covered in grime and blood. But he simply wiped it away. He didn't want you to have to clean it off later. He'd worry about the red stains on his fingers and blotches on his clothes later. He just had to worry about getting you back, and never losing you again.

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

Tag list, tell me if you want to be added!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray

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zanarkandskylines · 3 months

Text

Tidal Wave

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡ summary: a horrible accident occurs while reader is on patrol for the night. when she's released, she runs to bakugo's apartment for support tags & warnings: loss of parent, failed rescue, trauma, angst, emotional comfort, fluff a/n: in my head, katsuki would be a very supportive BF who would comfort you after a bad day in any way he could, especially when it comes to losing people on the job. it's never easy and heroes need care, too!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,454 ꒱

Getting ready to head out for a short night shift, you text Bakugo to let him know you're safe. He's always worried whenever they schedule you super late, especially by yourself.

[you] i'm heading in now, want me to text you when i'm home? might be late [kat] yes, don't care. if i'm up or not, i'll at least know you got home safe [you] okay, love you [kat] love you too

───

Time of death; 12:05AM.

The rain pelted against the neoprene material of your hero suit as you stood with the paramedics.

“Y/H/N?” One of them called to you. “We need your report on the incident.” She waited beside you with a clipboard, her paperwork growing damp with each raindrop.

─── A normal late night patrol, you’d been walking a dimly lit street on your route when a small child came running up to you, latching on to your leg. She couldn’t have been more than 8 years old.

“Excuse me! Miss hero!” She sniveled as she buried her face against your thigh, clutching your suit in her tiny palms. She was shaking like a leaf - covered in, what you presume, is mud.

You slouch over, a gentle hand on her head. “What’s wrong, little one?” She looks up at you, her eyes the color of sapphires.

“My mommy is in trouble! I tried to help her, but…please miss hero, come with me!”

Her dainty fingers grab your hand and pull you in the direction she came from. A few minutes down the road, you see an older woman on the riverbank. She’s face down, it’s hard to see without direct light what exactly happened. You’re jogging over to her with the little girl by your side.

“Sweetie, can you tell me what happened?” You ask the child.

She wipes a dribble of snot on the back of her hand. “Mommy and I were walking over there,” she points to the nearby bridge. “And she fell over into the water!”

”You’re very brave to come find help,” you praise, giving her a pat on the back. “Let’s get your mommy away from the water while I call my friends to help.”

While waiting for the rescue crew to arrive, you cautiously move the mother further away from the edge of the river. Suddenly, she begins to seize, catching you off guard. She’s gasping for air, flailing her arms around with tears pricking the corner of her eyes. You roll her on her side, rubbing her back as you see the lights of the sirens coming over the bridge.

Come on, come on, get here faster!

The ambulance pulls up on the pathway and 3 paramedics dispatched from all sides. They’re running up to you, yelling, “Clear the way!” You take the little girl’s hand and guide her up the riverbank to the ambulance.

“She’s been poisoned! Grab the siphon kit, stat!”

As chaos is brewing all around, rain begins to patter against the grass outside. You’re wiping mud off of the little girl’s face as you hear, “We’re losing her!”

You place your hands softly over her ears, turning to the paramedics as they’re attempting to revive her mother.

Please, no...

"Is my mommy going to be okay?" the little girl asks sheepishly. You can't answer her, you just nod your head and smile the best you can. You have to keep a brave face for her.

Then, you hear the dreaded noise.

* Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep *

Your heart drops, sinking into your stomach as you squeeze your eyes shut. Everyone in the vicinity is holding their breaths collectively. The paramedic with the respiratory machine wearily gets to her feet.

"Mark the time of death as 12:05AM."

───

You’re on autopilot, shoving your emotions deep down as you recall the events of the night to the paramedic for her report. You can't emote right now, you have to pull it together until you can leave.

"The child will be brought into protective custody until we find a relative. Thank you for your service, Y/H/N. You're free to go - we'll take it from here."

Before leaving the scene, you take one last glance over to the small girl. She's under a blanket in the back of the ambulance, staring blankly into space.

It breaks your heart.

───

You're sprinting, faster than your legs can carry you, through the downpour as you approach Bakugo's apartment complex. What time even was it? Last you checked, almost 12:30AM. He's gonna be pissed when you wake him up.

You needed him, now more than ever.

You round the corner of the third floor and skid to a stop at his door, soaking wet, leaving a puddle onto the hallway floor. You can hardly breathe as you knock, praying he's either still awake or won't be frustrated.

Fuck, I should have just called.

To your surprise, Bakugo answers the door after only two knocks. His expression shifts violently from annoyed to worried when he sees you standing there, immediately pulling you inside and shutting the door.

"What the fuck happened Y/N?!" he asked, more so demanded.

You can't hold it together anymore - you crumble into his arms, sobbing hysterically. His t-shirt absorbs the waterfall of tears you're crying, inconsolable against his chest as he's supporting your weight.

He runs his hand through your bangs, brushing the wet strands away from your face.

"Shh, hey, it's alright," he whispers, stroking your wet hair. "Any louder and you're gonna get me a noise complaint."

You let go, realizing that you've made a mess of his entryway and his t-shirt. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't -"

"Y'don't have to explain shit. Now let me get you out of that before you catch a cold."

Bakugo spins you around, tugging at the zipper of your hero suit harshly. The skin-tight bodysuit under the rest of your gear loosens, letting him slip his hands inside and peeling it off of your cool skin. You didn't realize how cold you were until this moment, shivering beneath his touch. Your suit crumples onto the floor, along with the rest of your accessories, leaving you in your underwear.

He tenderly grabs your shoulders, pushing you toward the bathroom. Little droplets of water fall from your damp hair as he's leading you down the hallway.

Before you know it, steams is rolling out of the shower as Bakugo is stripping himself down to get in with you. He soothes you as he takes the rest of your clothes off, guiding you into the shower with him. He puts you under the water first, rinsing your body with the hot water to warm you back up.

As the water cascades around the two of you, he's stroking your back, eliciting the remainder of your emotions to come pouring out. A quiet sob escapes you as you try to explain yourself.

"I...I couldn't save her," you start to say, hiccupping between your words. "Her daughter was...she was just a kid...I couldn't help her mother."

Bakugo kisses your forehead. "I'm sorry, baby. I figured that was the case." He continues to wash your hair and body, peppering you with kisses and letting you cry out the feeling. He knows all too well how you feel - the first time you lose someone you're protecting on patrol hurts a fuck ton, no matter the circumstance. It never gets easier.

Once you're all cleaned up, he steps out of the shower first to grab towels. He hands you one as he exits the bathroom, muttering just a sec under his breath. Not more than a minute later, Bakugo returns with a handful of his clothes for you.

"Arms up, buttercup," he playfully sings as he throws the t-shirt over your head, ruffling it at the hem to get it to fit over your physique. He kneels to the floor, a pair of his boxers stretched out for you to step into. You oblige as he yanks them up your legs and comfortably settles them on your hips.

You shuffle your feet in place, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry for making such a mess, Kat. I didn't know what else to do in the moment."

He cups your cheek in his hand. "Idiot, y'don't need an excuse to come to me. You should know that by now."

Bakugo takes your hand in his, leading you out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He tucks you under the covers first and settles in behind you, immediately wrapping his arms around your midsection.

"I'll wash your suit for you tomorrow," he says hushed, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too, Kats. Thank you."

Just a quick little blurb 'cause I wanted to write Katsuki being sweet without hesitation. :)

Divider by : @/saradika

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #dynamight #bnha #mha #bnha shorts #☆.rei writes

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madelynraemunson · 8 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ ONLY! MINORS DON’T YOU DARE I AM INSIDE YOUR HOME

Chapter 004: The Eddie Stop

Everyone loves a parked car conversation. Eddie’s van is no castle by any means…but do a boss and his employee have to sit that close to each other?

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 4.8k

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, mutual pining, profanities, sexual tension, marijuana use, SO MANY sexual innuendos, foot play, daddy kink, dirty talk, masturbation, touching, rubbing, talks of abuse, trauma, Eddie talking about “Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club”, suicide, overdose, reader’s trauma becoming her kink i.e slapping/hair pulling/choking, steddie x reader threesome kinda 🤭, sex dream, p in v smut, unprotected sex, deepthroating, double penetration, idk what else I’m missing so here’s a PSA from Murray

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

♡

And then there were two.

“You better stop that thing you’re doing. I’m telling you, I ain’t lying.”

For the owner of a very successful strip club, you would think Eddie had a...fancier car. But there is beauty in humble beginnings. In fact, you can tell a lot about him from the ketchup stain by the window, empty coffee tumblers on the floor that need washing, crinkled up band posters — along with MORE PAPERWORK — and the tattered leather seats held together by the sheer grit of duct tape. A Porsche would just conceal who Eddie Munson is.

And Eddie’s the coolest boss you’ve ever had. In the safest town you’ve ever been in.

“Hawkins gets pretty quiet after 1 AM,” you observe. Despite being the blasted one, it’s you who’s attempting to break the silence.

You glance out the window, watching the scenery of the Bible Belt town you've grown to romanticize flash by like developing film.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “If you’re looking for nightlife, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Eddie approaches a four way intersection and stops too late. He does it for a short time too, stepping on the gas pedal not even a second later.

He peers over at you to see if you caught it.

“Sorry if I’m being a crazy driver,” Eddie apologizes. “If the street’s empty I’m only stopping for like... a millisecond. If at all.”

You snort. “You’re fine. We call that a ‘California stop’ back home.”

“You wanna see an ‘Eddie stop’?”

You turn to him. He’s just staring at you and smiling, a look of mischief creeping its way to the surface.

“What’s that?”

SLAM. You shoot forward in your seat the moment Eddie’s foot meets the brakes. A surprised gasp from you fills the air while Eddie joins in with a loud cackle. You glare at him, a frantic hand clutched to your chest.

“What the FUCK!”

“That’s an ‘Eddie stop’,” Eddie explains between laughter.

SLAM! He does it again.

“Eddie, stop!” you plead.

“Hey, that’s the spirit!” he chuckles.

You realize his play on words and shove him.

“Ow,” he remarks with sass, hand reaching over to rub where you pushed him. “Feisty.”

"Yeah? Well, don't dish out what you can't handle."

You cross your arms and jokingly turn your torso in the other direction. Eddie is amused at this, proceeding to poke fun at you while he still can.

"Hmm. Hm hm," he laughs with his pursed lips. "For someone who can't hang, you're one to talk."

You’re still intoxicated. Nothing is leaving your system any time soon, it appears.

It all starts to feel like a dream. You thoroughly enjoyed yourself after a fun night out with friends. There is no angry brother waiting for you at home, blowing up your phone until you walk through the door. And now you’re out on a post-curfew rendezvous with someone who is clearly off limits.

You’re living out your rebel dreams, riding into the night with Eddie. What a regular young adult takes for granted is something you’ve always dreamt about. It’s a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

“I can hang. It's just the edibles kicking in late, silly," you bubbly insist.

“Alright,” Eddie surrenders sarcastically. “Alright. Whatever gets you going…silly.”

You two proceed down the long, vacant road, humming along to Creedence Clearwater Revival and breaking the law with more California stops.

"It's a bummer we didn’t get to go bar-hopping,” you say. “That would've been fun.”

Eddie grimaces. “Eh. Drinking makes me feel gross. I’m more of a mary-jane guy if I do say so myself.”

“Clearly,” you jest.

A whole night dedicated to edibles? Hotboxing competitions with the line cook? Bongs and bowls happening to be everywhere this motherfucker tends to be at?

Eddie’s a walking marijuana leaf as far as you're concerned. Governor Holocomb's worst nightmare. You kick at the velvet bag that masked the huge glass bong sitting at your feet.

“I’m surprised they haven’t arrested your ass yet.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are," Eddie admits. "With all the shit I’ve done…”

The road begins to look familiar and you realize it’s because you’re almost back home. Tick, tick, tick, goes the turn signal as Eddie's GPS instructs him to make a left. A sigh escapes you. You don’t want to leave.

You want time to freeze exactly where it's at so you could spend it with the man who has been giving you butterflies — and the ‘fuck me’ eyes — all night long. To your own surprise, confidence overpowers you.

“Eddie,” you sit up. “Do you think you can stay with me for a bit?”

Your boss’s gaze hardens, a look of concern replacing his easy-going, playful demeanor.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, brows lifting gently in shock. “Yeah... I’ll stay with you."

Eddie makes a turn away from your street and finds a curb to park against. You tap your feet, anxious that he actually followed through. The sound of his tires scraping across the gravel beat against your eardrums as reality sets in. Eddie shifts the gear from Drive to Park before wriggling his keys out from the ignition. The rumbling of the van engine ceases.

Eddie lassos his keys around his thick, long index finger, their jingles piercing through the quiet.

"You feeling alright?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “Just feeling pretty buzzed still.”

“You trying to get more buzzed?” he offers. “Or high?”

You look back over at him. Oh wipe that snarky grin off your face, Munson.

There's a pro to working evening shifts. You can sleep in until it's time to head off to work the next day. Judging by how the night was going, it is far from over. You and Eddie are just getting started.

“It depends...Are you trying to get more high?”

“Is that even a question?”

Before you know it, there's a small tin can with a few nuggets in it in Eddie's hand, followed by a small Altoid case that housed some rolling paper. Eddie places the two on his dash and then leans towards you to grab the bong sitting at your feet.

He undresses it from its cloak. His pride and joy glistens in the moonlight.

“Hello, my darling,” he says to his bong. “You’re so pretty.” Eddie turns to you. “I’ve got nowhere to be, so you bet I’ll be usin’ the hell outta her tonight. No pressure though, Hargrove.”

You shrug. “I'm down to get lit for a bit longer."

"You a joint girl or do you prefer bongs?"

"Either or. Why not both?"

There’s a gleam in his eyes. "I like how you think."

Eddie situates the large bong between his legs, propping it up with his knees. He then reaches for the tin can filled with nuggets. Picking off the bits one by one to accommodate the tiny bowl, he tucks them neatly into the small round outlet. Eddie does it with such ease. Like it's second nature.

Finally, Eddie hovers the lighter over the bowl and gestures for you to inch closer. The placement of the bong remains the same. And judging by the look on Eddie’s face, he doesn’t intend on moving it.

"Ladies first."

So you hoist yourself over across Eddie’s center console and position yourself near his lap. Staring up at Eddie with curious eyes, you ask him,

"Am I good?"

"You're good," Eddie confirms, holding your hair back while you lean over against him. “All yours, babygirl.”

After getting the green light, you bend down further to attach your lips to the mouthpiece of the bong. With the flick of the lighter, Eddie ignites the bowl and you suck in. You and Eddie eye its neck steadily, watching as the chamber fills with smoke.

Eddie slowly starts to remove the bowl. Fear sets in as the bubbles seem to draw on for an eternity. It feels like it'll never end. You're inhaling too much.

When you feel the first kick to your chest, you shoot upwards and exhale. But the smoke got you good. Before you know it, you’re coughing and hacking and grasping for air, clutching onto Eddie’s flannel for support as you try to clear.

"That's right, baby," Eddie soothes you. "Let it out. Clear it, clear it, clear it."

“I’m-” you cough. “I’m t—trying.” A few more good coughs and you’re done. “WOOO.”

Eddie’s laughing at you like it’s cute. The grip he has on your hair loosens and soon your locks fall in front of your face once more. You keep them there to mask your tears. How embarrassing.

"Damn,” he comments. “You choked out.”

Your stomach dances. You think about what he said earlier in the club about his kinks.

"Yeah, I s-sure did-" you choke again, fleshing out your last set of coughs as Eddie pats your back.

The tears trickle down your face as you struggle to self-regulate. You quickly wipe them away.

"You okay?' he asks again, this time gently, sincerely. Angelically. He starts playing with the ends of your hair.

You nod with a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You want more, hun? Can you handle more?"

You nod again.

"Yeah," you sniff. "I can handle more."

"Alright," he grins.

Bowing your head down once again, you reattach your lips to the mouthpiece. As you're inhaling, Eddie tilts his head upwards to prevent any smoke from getting in his face. You look up at him.

What a sight, your internal monologue gushes. He must look like this when he's getting a...

"There we go, Shy Girl” he hums. "Just like that..."

————🍃———-

“It’s alright. I said it’s alright. Take anything you want from me. Fly high, little wing.”

“So my driving really doesn’t scare you, huh?”

Eddie is taking ginormous rips out of his bong. You, on the other hand, have settled for rolling joints instead.

“Not nearly as much as my brother,” you shrug. “He drives like a maniac. Him and his stupid Camaro.”

You think about the time you and Billy got into an argument about lunch. Out of all things.

Billy had asked something SO obvious. You couldn’t help but respond sarcastically. He stomped on the gas before you knew it, propelling you both across the residential street at 90 MPH. It was scariest you’ve ever seen him. The first instance where he toyed with both your lives and didn’t seem to care.

You try not to shake in front of Eddie. Luckily, he was too busy laughing to notice.

“A Camaro?” Eddie belts. “That’s just about the douchiest, California Chad type shit I’ve ever heard.”

You agree. “Yeah. Douchey is pretty on brand for someone like Billy.”

You fall silent as you continue to roll. Eddie peers over at you and takes note of your newfound seriousness.

You position your body towards him to ensure him it wasn't something he did, and make sure he knows it by the way you relax your legs across his lap. He inhales abruptly at the extra step you took.

"I take it you guys don't get along."

"Billy and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment,” you mumble. “Part of why I'm here.”

“Your brother right?” he questions rhetorically.

“Yeah, my twin brother.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie mutters. “So you guys went from being essentially telepathic to... no contact at all.”

“Precisely.”

You glide your tongue up, down, and around along the rolled joint to ensure that it sticks. When it's sealed shut, you set it down to start rolling the next one. Eddie stares at you.

“Fuck…” you hear him mutter.

“Sorry?”

You try to act clueless, but even stoned out of your mind, you know exactly what you're doing.

“Uh, that’s rough,” he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” you say. “As much as I love Billy, I just think it’s best we’re not in each other’s lives. We bring out the worst in each other.”

“I can say the same about me and my brothers,” Eddie agrees. “And my dad. They’re always asking me for money. Or for me to be an accomplice for their stupid, dangerous schemes. I got my own shit to handle.”

“And your mom?”

Eddie falls silent.

“She died when I was 14,” his voice softens. “I was the one who found her.”

Your chest aches as you marinate in that very, very familiar wound. It seems like just yesterday you and Billy were in Eddie's shoes.

“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “Billy found our mom when we were 13. Alcohol poisoning and overdosed on pain killers.”

“Wow…” Eddie is stunned. “OD for mine as well. But heroine. She was an addict. Married her dealer and abuser... my old man.”

"Our dad was abusive too," you sympathize. "Well, is. He's still alive, but he and his new wife up and left when my stepsister turned 16. To who knows where. Billy was her guardian up until her b-day last week.”

You roll your next blunt and lick again. Eddie continues to eye you like a hawk, fixing how he was sitting in the driver's seat as he did.

You continue telling him everything you told your Zoom psychiatrist. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind.

Billy was nice. Now he’s not. Blah blah. Sue, Max’s mom, was Dad’s mistress. The idea of it consumed Mom just as much as Dad’s beatings did. When Billy found her, she was on the bathroom floor surrounded by empty bottles of whiskey and painkillers. Aside from you, Mom was his best friend. His biggest supporter. And Dad took that away.

Eddie’s grazing turns into rubbing. He squeezes your calf.

"Our moms died when we were around the same age," he speaks up, attempting to do the mental math. "That puts us in '08, which is around the time of..."

"The Recession," you finished for him. "Yup. Mom also lost her job which meant she was now fully dependent on our dad."

"She was stuck with that piece of shit no matter what," Eddie huffs. "And no matter where she turned, she wouldn't be safe."

You nod, staring off into the distance. "Billy wanted to go with her.”

Eddie gives you a pained look, sighing deeply as he took it in.

“But I told him I would hate him forever if he dared. So he stayed."

You swallow hard.

“Baby-” Eddie speaks.

"I hate him, still..." you choke back tears. "But I'm glad it's just because I think he's an asshole. He's my whole world."

"But you can't be in each other's lives."

"But we can't be in each other's lives."

"Love from afar kinda thing," Eddie mumbles.

"Exactly," your voice is at a whisper now. "I can never be mad at Mom though, for taking the easy way out. I wouldn't know what the fuck to do if I were in her shoes."

"I'm really sorry, Hargrove." Eddie says. "It seems like you lost more than your mom."

"I'm sorry for your loss too," you reply.

Silence lingers. Eddie continues to touch you. You love how handsy he is tonight. His touch brings you calm. Made you feel looked after. Protected. Cherished.

“I like listening to you talk,” Eddie soothes you.

You smile. “Did we just turn this into a therapy session?”

“Looks like we did,” he chuckles softly. Eddie raises a toast with the foggy, smoked-out bong in his hand. "To the Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club."

You hold up your lopsided joint.

"To the Asshole Dad & Dead Mom Club," you repeat after him. "And to the brothers we don't speak to anymore."

"Can't forget that shit," he says. "To the brothers we don't speak to anymore."

————🍃————

“I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad.”

The night continues on a lighter, flirtier note.

“What’s your love language?” Eddie asks you.

“Acts of service.”

“Mmm.”

“Not like that.”

“I know, I’m just fucking with you,” Eddie winks. “Makes sense though. I see it.”

“What’s yours?”

“Physical touch.”

You look down at your feet, still laid out across Eddie’s lap. A few moments ago he just wrapped up giving you a foot massage after convincing you that you were free to take your heels off.

“Acts of service as well,” Eddie smiles. “It’s 50/50.”

“I can tell,” you say.

“Yeah? How so?”

You run a foot across Eddie’s thigh, watching in amusement as his blinking quickens. He bites his lip and hums.

“I can just tell,” is what you end up saying.

“You can just tell?” Eddie bites his lip. “No other way of knowing?”

“Nope,” you giggle, gliding your foot to the inner part of his thigh. “Just a wild guess.”

Your feet do a little dance on Eddie. He tries to tickle you but you pull away.

“I think Steve’s is acts of service too,” you add. “And gift giving.”

“Nailed it,” Eddie confirms with a nod. “Harrington loves providing. Daddy Steve.”

He smirks at you when he says that. With the info you retained at Hellfire, it’s impossible to think what he’s saying isn’t an innuendo. Your foot being just inches away from his dick didn’t help the case either.

“Daddy Steve,” you echo him. “Yeah, I can tell he loves taking care of people he cares about.”

“It didn’t always used to be that way,” Eddie points out. “I used to think he was an asshat.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nancy Wheeler happened.”

The mood darkens.

“Damn…” you mutter. “It always boils down to House Mom.”

“Because it’s true,” Eddie insists. “Steve was a self-absorbed prick in high school. Then he dated Wheeler senior year. On and off. Something changed in him, when they were done for good.”

Eddie readjusts himself in his seat. You adjust yourself with him.

“It was like…” he proceeds. “Steve realized that there was more beyond himself and wanted to be a part of this greater good. It wasn’t until he started working at the bowling alley I used to frequent that I realized that he’s a pretty decent guy.”

“Like everything’s one big redemption arc for him,” you state.

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“He worked at the bowling alley?”

“He’s worked everywhere,” Eddie laughs. “Dude had so many side quests and jobs. It’s gotten to the point to where I start to wonder where he hasn’t worked.”

“Hellfire,” you point out.

“Yeah, Hellfire,” Eddie nods. “Kinda wish he did. Maybe then I can get a day off…”

“What would you do on your day off?”

“Take you out to lunch finally.”

Your gazes fixate on each other. Eddie’s cheeks turn a red hue in the moonlight, the streetlight you guys were parked under illuminating it further.

The cheeky grin on his face vanishes quickly, the moment he disengages his eye contact with you.

"Yeah, Steve... Steve's a good guy," Eddie gulps. He stares down at his lap. Touches your legs again. "One of the greatest friends I've ever had in my life."

“Mhm…”

“And now he’s my boyfriend,” he teases you with a wink.

You tsk. “Be for real.”

“Nah, I’m just playing — he’s actually my husband,” he jokes again. “And you’re just a pretty lil thing of his on the side.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“Who am I to get in the way of your marriage?”

“It makes things complicated between the three of us, that’s for sure.”

There’s a hint of truth in that sentence. You can tell by the way Eddie refuses to look you in the eyes again. For someone who is intentional with his eye contact, him not wanting to look your way when he says that makes it look suspicious.

Eddie cuts it with the jokes and starts up again.

“But yeah, I think you’re pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you respond, drawing circles onto his inner thigh now with your feet. You do it slower. Then deeper. Clockwise then counter.

“That’s it.”

Finally, he hoists your legs off of him. To your surprise, it’s Eddie now that’s crawling towards you, closing up the space there was between you two. Now you and him are both just a thumb-width apart, faces lingering. The hunger is back.

You feel Eddie’s warm breath against you.

“I’d say a hell of a lot more about you,” Eddie adds. “But I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“That’s new,” you quip. “For as long as I’ve known you, you always gave off rebel vibes.”

“I’m trying to be good.”

“You’re failing miserably.”

You both look down at Eddie hand that is now resting at your waist. He laughs through his nose, pulling you closer to him.

“Touché.”

With his available hand, he strokes your hair, tucking a strand behind your ears. His fingers explore your cheek and take a detour to your plump lips, hovering around them as you part them slightly.

“You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to not cross any boundaries tonight,” Eddie admits. “To not get any closer to you.”

“Why not?” you whisper.

"I don't wanna ruin whatever you and Harrington have going on…”

"We're just fuck buddies," you insist. “Swear.”

Steve wouldn’t care. You know he wouldn’t. He was the one who even said that you both should give Eddie a little show. Besides, you already know it’ll be a long while until he’s officially over Nancy.

"Of course," Eddie huffs.

"Why?" you raise an eyebrow as you breathe in his face. "Are you jealous?"

"Well when you sound the way you did this morning, how could I not be?"

There it was.

The confirmation of what you already suspected closes in on you and you feel yourself shrink. Eddie enjoys the sight of it, the sight of Shy Girl growing tense just by the way he speaks to you. His fingers dance up your arm before he starts to rub your back.

“And the way you looked the day you gave Steve that private show…” he strains. “It’s like you were made for me and only me.”

“Eddie…” you moan.

“Do you know what it was like? Hm?” Eddie demands. He’s hot against your cheek now. “Touching myself, getting myself off in the bathroom to the sound of your moans? Knowing full well you were getting your back blown out just a wall over?”

You whimper as he continues to hover, the ache of wanting to be touched and destroyed by him gnawing at your soul.

“Gettin’ all dumb for me already?” Eddie taunts you when you don’t speak. “I haven’t even fucked your brains out yet.”

“Just still a little high that’s all.”

That snaps something back into Eddie. “Oh… right.”

You hear his keys jingle again before Eddie turns them back into the ignition. His headlights flash on and soon he shifts the gears back to drive. Away from the curb and back to your place you go.

Your stomach sinks.

“What are you doing?”

“Not this!” Eddie refuses. “Not when you’re not sober.”

“Eddie!” you start to regret ever saying anything. “Come on, I’m fine. I want you.”

“Yeah, well that’s another thing in my doctrine,” Eddie sighs. “I can’t mess with a lady under the influence. I don’t roll that way.”

He routes his GPS back to your place.

“I hate when you’re respectful,” you joust, crossing your arms in retaliation.

He laughs.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he says to you. “Next time you’re at work, I’m gonna be disrespectful as fuck.”

The night ends there and Eddie drops you off. He makes sure you get inside safely before driving away. Sadness sets in as the drugs and alcohol wear off. You drag your feet along as sneak your way into you and Max’s room.

You dream of Eddie that night. Him and Steve.

You’re in a private show room at Hellfire with the two Adonises after your heart. Steve’s destroying your pussy again, ramming into you at an intense speed while Eddie fucks himself into your mouth, his warm, sweet precum mixing with your saliva to fill your mouth to the brim.

A moan escapes you every single time Eddie hits the back of your throat.

“That’s right, baby,” Eddie coos. “Don’t be shy. C’mon, take me.”

You try not to scream as you dig your nails into his skin. Tears are streaming down your face as Eddie and Steve abuse your holes, the stimuli from both nearing you towards your climax.

“Such a good fucking girl,” Steve growls pulling you by your hair. “Taking two cocks at the same time like a champ, hm?”

Eddie releases you from his grip, allowing you to come back up for air. You spit the remnants of him back onto his long and girthy cock, stroking him while you gave your jaw a rest.

“Y-yes,” you choke out, arching your back to maximize the sensation of Steve’s thrusts. “I’m being so good.”

You beg for Steve to fuck you harder. Steve and Eddie look to each other and smirk, pleased that you even want to be challenged.

“Harrington’s got you, don’t you worry,” Eddie assures you. “On your back sweetheart.”

Steve pulls out and lets you use him as support. When you’re on your back, he grabs his cock again, stroking himself before lining himself at your tight little asshole.

“I’m gonna let you know when I go in, babe, okay?” he whispers to you, smothering your neck with kisses.

“Okay,” you nod sheepishly.

Eddie kneels down and lines himself up at your dripping cunt, kissing you on the mouth before inserting himself into you.

You let out a silent gasp as he maneuvers his way in, stretching you out even further than Steve already did.

“Oh my god,” you cry.

“Fuuuck,” Eddie moans, hand flying over your throat to wrap itself around you. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Then Steve starts letting himself in. He pumps into you slowly, not proceeding until you start adjusting to his length. You lay there in complete bliss, allowing them both to have their way.

“Good job, angel,” Steve cheers you on. “Being so good for us. So fucking tight…”

The speed of their thrusts are agonizingly slow. You tap them both on the arm to let them know they can speed up. They resist at first, attempting to make sure it’s really want you want.

“Please,” you whine. “I want it now, please.”

Eddie’s gaze turns grim. “Whatever you say.”

SMACK! You whimper as Eddie swats your bouncing tits and pistons into you deeper, faster. Steve meets Eddie where he’s at, picking up the pace from underneath you, holding your hips still for extra leverage.

“SHIT!” you squeal. “Y-yes, yes, right there. Don’t fucking stop!”

Three more pumps and they both hit that special spot. You start to shake as your core tightens. It feels too fucking good.

“Dirty fucking whore,” Eddie spits at you while you cry out in pleasure. “There’s no running away now baby, this is what you wanted.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking. Hair-pulling. Name-calling. Spitting. You wanted it all.

“FUCK!” you wail. “I’m gonna fucking cum. I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

“Let it out, baby,” Eddie encourages you. “Let it out. Make a mess on both of us, there you go.”

That sentence is enough to send you over the edge. Your core is hot, walls twitching and aching.

“FUCK!” you scream one last time before —

“SIS!”

Max jolts you awake, shaking you by your shoulders.

“What? What?!” you shoot up in the bed.

“Are you okay?” Max pants. “You’re sweating like a pig.”

Now that’s a dream you didn’t ever wanna wake from. Reorienting yourself to your room, you find it hard to believe how real everything felt. You grip onto your sheets to make sure you’re really in your room.

“Yeah, I…” you stammer. “I…had a nightmare.”

“I can tell, you were making all kinds of noise in your sleep.”

Max scurries over to your dresser to retrieve your Hydroflask. She encourages you to hydrate yourself.

“I drank tonight,” you admit after a huge gulp of water. “Probably what caused it.”

“Makes sense,” Max nods, hands on her hips like a concerned mother. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Just need a breather.”

You grab your phone and use the flashlight feature to navigate to the bathroom. As you’re peeing, you take a look at the two text messages waiting for you.

Steve Harrington 💋

Made it home lol

Sorry,passed out. Goodnight, beautiful ❤️

You text Steve goodnight before making your way over to the next text message. Eddie.

Eddie Boss

Sweet dreams. Silly.

👸

—————————

author’s note: the steddie threesome dream was inspired by this tiktok 🥵 foaming at the mouth tbh. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER AND THE DREAM THREESOME WITH STEVE & EDDIE! don’t worry, eddie x shy girl irl fuck fest smut is coming. some juicy shit has to go down first before we cross that bridge ;)

tag list: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe , @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23 , @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria

#Spotify #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #steddie smut #steddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie and steve #steve and eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #hellfire club #hellfire #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader

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rebeccathenaturalist · 8 months

Text

This is very exciting news indeed! The dark bordered beauty moth (Epione vespertaria) is found across Europe, but in Britain its habitat has been so reduced that it is now only found in three small areas in Scotland. Intensive captive breeding efforts starting last year led to a release of 160 caterpillars earlier this year, and researchers were delighted to find two adult male moths from that clutch a few weeks ago.

While it's certainly possible to import members of the same species from other parts of Europe, it's crucially important to save the local population. Individual populations of a given species may have unique genes, and add diversity and strength to the overall species' gene pool.

Like the Oregon silverspot butterfly similarly reintroduced in my area of the Pacific Northwest, the caterpillars of the dark bordered beauty have a limited diet, in this case aspen trees. They're not the most common tree in the region, and due to overpopulation of deer as well as livestock grazing they often have a tough time getting a foothold as the herbivores mow them down before they can grow large enough to survive a little browsing. I don't know whether the unnamed site where the caterpillars were released is also seeing more aspens planted, but deliberate habitat restoration will need to see these trees protected and perhaps propagated as well.

In the meantime, I wish these little moths (and their caretakers) the very best in reclaiming their historic range!

#good news #habitat restoration #endangered species #extinction #moths #lepidoptera #caterpillars #insects #invertebrates #animals #wildlife #nature #restoration ecology #ecology #conservation #environment #biodiversity

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stararch4ngelqueen · 7 months

Text

Revive Your Piece of Mind

—

Time written-4:44 a.m

Jason Todd/fem!reader angst

—

The impact of both men tumbling onto hard, steel grates down below nearly caused the entire platform to tremble.

The rattle of his pistol landing beside him quickly found the palm of his outstretched hand before he stands abrupt, quickly standing over the masked bastard he’s fought the second he arrived.

“Jason!” You cry out for him the second he aims the gun down on Batman’s head, your bounds hands preventing you from reaching towards him and potentially disarming him. At least, that’s what Red Hood assumed you’d do.

“Stay out of this!” The masked criminal loudly demands, keeping his focus on the bat that laid below him, quickly registering what was doing on once he gained his bearings.

Bait.

The bastard used you as his pretty faced bait to lure him here. You; his girl, his sweetheart, the woman who took months of self defense and trained alongside the rest on occasion for amusement, but not him.

Not the Batman, never the Batman.

That was where Bruce took opportunity on your mistake.

What had he done to you, during the year he was dead? Did he brainwash you? Manipulate you? The textbook signs Jason pictured in his mind of what Bruce could’ve said and done to make you move on and forget him?

What did you think of him now? A much better version of the man he used to be, holding Batman at gunpoint?

"Do it, Jason." The words left your lips faster than you realized it.

It sounds so easy to scream out, as painful as it was. A wave of understanding shadowing over your mind. Bruce was the man who raised you both, and chuckled off to the side every chance he got from witnessing how close you and Jason became over the years.

The Red Hood was silent, eyes wide in surprise behind his mask, for all you knew. He believed you were another victim to Bruce’s manipulations, his mind games, his tricks.

"Do it, shoot him!" Came your eagerly desperate plea, as you were the one wanting to get away from the man who bound you here, keeping you restrained in the dark until both men came bursting through glass. Your eyesight limited via pale moonlight from the roof of this strange warehouse.

No. You thought Jason had changed, but it quickly showed that it was also the other way around.

You wanted him dead too.

This gravely surprised him. In a sick, twisted sense, he also found delight in the idea that Batman never got through to you.

He knew his girl was stronger than that. This so called master detective failed in that category too.

It made all of this so much easier.

…

Click.

…

Click. Click.

The lack of bullets resulted in an empty chamber. A horrific silence shortly following until a strange, deflated wheeze leaves the lungs of the darkly dressed victim at Red Hood’s feet.

A deep rumble of laughter erupted from Batman’s chest, a twisted smile growing on the man’s stoic face, sending you both deadly silent in a confused mix of horror and shock.

In seconds, Bruce swiped Jason off his feet, shoving his arm wielding gun off to the side. While Jason managed to clutch hold of the nearest railing to maintain his balance, he failed to block a harsh blow against his shielded temple, forcing his back further against the platform guards. The rusted iron bars gave way with a few creaks and loud clicks, sending a flailing armed vigilante down into the abyss down below, without a scream to his name other than yours.

Your irritated wrists now bled from your relentless tugs on your cuff restraints keeping you locked against the railings, cutting deeply into your skin the longer you struggled. Your lunged burned from your screaming, hoping you’d see a large grappling hook catch onto the grate platform under your knees.

You never did.

What was worse was the consistent cackling that nearly overshadowed your crying voice, not once taking a single breath of air since the second he started.

You couldn’t stop sobbing, quickly acknowledging the horrific realization that you had admitted you wanted Batman dead, in his very presence. Batman’s laughter never ceased, even when he turns his attention towards you, pitifully sobbing on the ground with no one to free you. No one to save you.

In a desperate attempt, you bash your shoulder against the railings keeping you stuck in place, hoping you’d get lucky to escape the storming footsteps of the cackling, false vigilante behind you.

You gasp awake shortly you feel a firm hand grasping hold on the back of your head, forcing your hands to rip from their tight grip on your blankets, violently swiping at the phantom of your dying nightmare.

The darkness was unfamiliar to you at first, but what brought forth a recognizing comfort was a faint smell of cologne on your sheets. Your bedsheets, on your own bed, in your own bedroom. In your own home.

As the darkness slowly grew accustomed to your teary vision, you could make out broad oval, leafy stalks of various potted plants, a small plethora of endless photos plastered along the walls with tacky tape, and your vanity with yesterday’s makeup palates sprawled across the surface.

Come to think of it, a strange heaviness lingered along your lap, contrasting the soft security of your blankets. Your hands met smooth, worn leather that once was draped over your very self when you slept. A quiet, gentle gesture he had always done when coming from patrols early.

What went from a slowly settling ease spiked up to a bright distress came from the absence of the warm body of your partner by your side.

Relax. Easy.

It’s what, the middle of the night?

Your hand searches through your blankets for your abandoned phone regardless.

A warm, amber glow caught the corner of your eye before your phone screen blurred your vision, forcing you to acknowledge this little light peeking from underneath your closed door.

Checking the time, you slip out of bed, spotting his boots parked by the bedroom door.

There he sat in the living room after a short tread down the hallway, a warm mug of tea perched on the coffee table beside his phone. His inky locks slightly framed his downturned face, peering at the words of a hardcover book in his lap.

While he could remain as quiet as possible due to years of stealth experience, the slightest suspicion of your presence in his nerves made his head turn. Teal eyes meet your gaze before your bare feet make the squeaky floorboards creak.

“Morning, mama,” Jason quietly greets while gifting you a short, simple smile. “Why’re you up? It’s early.”

A strange wave of relief douses your shoulders at the sight of him lounging in a weathered white shirt and gray sweats, hair tussled after hours of being flattened in a sweaty helmet.

This was his little routine when he came back from boring patrols early on calm, quiet days. Sometimes, sleep didn’t find him so easily as it should’ve, so he’d spend time catching up on his latest novel until his adrenaline died down.

Jason picked up on your hesitation to respond, your nervous tick consisting of rubbing along your forearm after you hug yourself. The exhaustion in your eyes, the hesitation to answer such a simple question.

He didn’t like what he saw, closing his book on an unmarked page for a later time.

“C’mere.”

He beckons over your exhausted body with a simple wave of his hand, which you gladly do.

He settles you in his lap, letting you tuck your legs by your side as he snatches the cream colored comforter folded on the armrest, pulling it over your shoulders. His warm arms consumed your shielded body, clutching you like a little child with a stuffed animal.

“Come on, look at me,” he encourages you to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong, babygirl? What’s the matter?”

His abandoned book laid face down on its cover title, but you managed to catch the abbreviation of the author along the spine. F. Dostoevsky.

You took a good while to come up with an answer, acknowledging the warmth and stability of Jason’s voice soothing your ears, his body heat a result from his beating heart encapsulated inside his chest.

Those patient, gorgeous eyes used to glare a crude, untrustworthiness when he came back to life. Now, all they ever gave you was wholesome contentment, especially with your love remaining ever so genuine after all these years.

“Didn’t sleep good,” you whisper, your throat itching for moisture. He clicks his tongue while he rubs your back, temporarily removing his hand to offer you his lukewarm tea.

“Wanna talk about it, Princess?” He offers, your concerns being his alone to claim. “M’all ears.”

Was this another dream? Part of you didn’t expect this was real. You weren’t fully sure what to expect, but this… was going a little too perfectly.

What were you expecting? The lightbulb to explode? For Batman to peer out from an unsuspecting corner, or break through a window? For this tea to burn down your throat like acid?

But that didn’t happen. It was just simple, chamomile tea. With no sugar.

“This needs honey,” you say after two sips, making Jason scoff.

“Not this early.” He gently pokes your cheek, tilting his head with a handsome smirk. “What happened? You miss me in your dreams, mama?”

It brings a smile to your face and a pleasant warmth in your heart. The last thing you wanted was to bother him with such a disturbing dream, enjoying the comfort that radiated off him in such a cozy, early morning ambience.

He was here, free, safe. That was all you really needed.

“I prefer you right here much better.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jason retorts, his thumbs drawing soothing circles along your outer thighs.

“You sure you’re okay, babygirl?” Jason gently pries, his forehead settling against your hairline, his softened eyes full of concern scanning along your face for the fiftieth time.

You reply with a subtle ‘mhm’, softly exhaling through your nose while you tug the comforter closer. “I’m okay.”

Jason, while he didn’t voice it, wasn’t satisfied with your response. But, he wouldn’t pry. Not now, at least.

“Well, listen,” He slowly prepares his next words, hoping to put a smile on your pretty face. “I’m thinking of taking tonight off.”

Your raised brows, accompanied by the glimmer of happiness in your eyes nearly gives his heart a few palpitations.

“Really?” You smile, clutching the mug closer to your chest, your rising hopes becoming a soothing balm to your anxious nerves.

“Uhuh,” he continues, his other hand never ceasing their mindless movements along your skin. “I’m thinkin’ we can get some dinner, maybe go out somewhere. Whatever you wanna do.”

“I’d like that,” you reply in seconds, making Jason smile as he adjusts a few strands of your hair.

“So, what hits your fancy? Batburger, or pizza, maybe Superbabes—“

“Oh my God, Jason—“

“Kidding, kidding!” He laughs, holding your hands before you could hit him again. “Relax. Dick says the wings there are shit, anyway.”

“How about Lorenzo’s?”

His brows slightly widened in surprise at the familiar name. Lorenzo’s? The little Italian restaurant on the other side of town?

“We haven’t been there since we were, like what, still in highschool?” He questions with furrowed brows at the memory of it. A cute little restaurant, with seventeen tables at most, four of them being outside. They sold fresh gelato on Wednesdays, and always sold their desserts at half price on closing hours at the end of each day.

You smile and nod. “I know. They’re still owned by Emilia and her husband. Saw her the other day at the store, she wants to see how grown you’ve gotten.”

Jason could only smirk and tilt his head back in amusement, pinching the bridge of his nose while chuckling under his breath.

He could recall it now, the painfully awkward moments where the sweet owner’s wife, a short woman with fading blonde hair, would pinch his cheek before chastising him to eat more every time he brought you there on dates.

Back when he was a bit less muscles, and more goody two shoes.

“Fine, we’ll go pay them a visit,” he agrees, thinking it would be nice to see the old couple again.

He could practically hear Emilia praising the heavens that he took her advice.

“You don’t wanna order in? We can just go say hi.” You suggest, getting a bit of a feeling Jason may have wanted to skip the attention and just eat in the comfort of your shared apartment.

“Nah, I don’t mind,” Jason replies, resting his head on his propped up hand along the armrest. “We’ll leave a little before five.“

“That’s a bit early for dinner.”

“Takes time to look this good after all, babygirl.” He gives a weak shrug, expertly hiding a smile. “Gotta admit, it gets exhausting, but I’ll do it for Emilia.”

He laughs again when you playfully smack his chest, catching your hand in his shortly after to plant some light kisses along each of your fingertips.

You close your eyes, giggling to yourself as you take in the faded cologne clinging onto his shirt, the fabric rustling along your cheek as Jason murmurs just how much he loves you against the top of your head.

You loved him so much more than you could’ve ever imagined, stronger than your fears of losing him, stronger than your conflicted indifference with Batman. He wouldn’t imagine the lengths you’d go to prove it, to fall down the dark cavern with him if you had the chance.

Anytime to embrace this feeling just a second longer, not wanting to lose this. All you wanted to look forward to now was your date tonight at an old establishment running since before either of you were born.

Lorenzo would cry out your names, expressing such excitement at your grown faces, whilst Emilia gave warm, motherly hugs, gifting you two of her famous pistachio cannolis to take home.

The heartwarming sentimentality was nearly enough to diminish the cryptic cackle of the dark knight’s laughter into a ghostly whisper in the back of your mind.

For now, sleep came much easier, the ease of your worried mind settled by the calming tempo of your beloved’s heartbeat.

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason peter todd #dc jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x female!reader #I enjoy heartache #I enjoy nightmares staying where they belong #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x plus size reader

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missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

—Just Last Lifetime | Two

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wednesday is determined to recreate the special moments of your relationship to revive your memories—to revive your feelings. But it becomes apparent that the same memories cannot be created twice.

Warnings: Heavy Angst. Heartbroken!Wednesday. DestinedToBeAlone!Wednesday. Amnesia. Flashbacks. Violent emotional outbursts.

PART ONE

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"We're going somewhere for our studies today."

You look curiously at Wednesday, clutching the straps of your backpack a little tighter at the sudden spring of information.

Wednesday pretends to not notice your anxiousness, turning to walk off and expecting you to follow. She pays attention to the footsteps behind her, satisfied that you trail along despite clearly being reluctant.

It's been easier to spend time with you lately, with Yoko being incredibly busy with her club activities, and Enid has been keeping herself busy on purpose to leave you with no choice but to spend time with Wednesday.

Wednesday doesn't think you particularly hate spending time with her. You're always cordial and friendly. You've thanked her multiple times for taking the time to help you catch up on your studies and assistance with your current assignments.

Just a few days ago, you gifted her 99% dark chocolate for all the help. Wednesday had been intrigued, thinking you recalled how she preferred the bitter taste. But the intrigue swiftly died when you informed her Enid let you know as you wanted to do something for her.

It didn't matter. It was the fact alone that you went out of your way to give Wednesday something she'd like that mattered.

"Where are we going?" You ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and wariness the further you walk past the school entrance, clearly leaving. "Are we actually studying?"

Wednesday's eyes peer to the corner of her eyes to look at you.

"You study too much."

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Then.

"You spend too much time investigating, Wednesday."

Wednesday didn't even look up at you as she continued to pack her backpack for the day.

"I thought you were interested in coming along to find answers?" Wednesday's voice was dispassionate. There was a part of her that was tinged with annoyance that you constantly invited yourself along to her trips if you were just going to get sick of tagging along now.

"I very much am, but we've clearly hit a wall and I'm not particularly looking forward to walking around in circles in the forest today," you pursed your lip but then smiled. "Why don't we take a little bit of a break today? If you really want to, we can continue investigating tonight instead."

"You're willing to sneak out?" Wednesday raised her brow at you. She thought you were ridiculous for trying to bargain with her. The investigation was important, and Wednesday had no desire to lose any time.

She would investigate, and you were free to come along or not.

"I'll break any rule for you, Wednesday."

You said it in such a natural way, and Wednesday found that she was unable to reply right away. She looked back down at the ground for a moment, blinking before she looked back up at you.

"Where are we going?"

Wednesday had several ideas of where you might take her. There was the music hall, the planetarium, or even the garden. But what she hadn't expected was that you'd take her to the carnival.

"You didn't get to enjoy it, right?" You asked as you stepped out of the taxi, paying the driver cash. Wednesday didn't answer, but you knew the answer. "I mean, probably hard to enjoy since you were chasing the Hyde and almost died after Rowan did."

That was another one of the reasons why Wednesday didn't mind that you came along with her investigations. You were the only person who believed her when she said Rowan was dead, despite also being of the people who saw him in the aftermath.

When Wednesday asked why you believed her, you simply said she didn't come across as someone who would lie about it. So, if he was dead, he was dead.

"I suppose," Wednesday looked at the carnival before her. It was moderately busy for a weekend, and she wasn't particularly interested in doing any of these mundane activities.

"Alright," you clapped your hands, bringing Wednesday's attention to you. "We're on a mission today. I come here every year the carnival opens up to win the biggest prize, but my tickets were short since the carnival got cut short last time with the entire…situation."

"What are you trying to win?" Wednesday asked.

You grin at her, pointing far down the carnival with a specific booth. "That mini motorcycle."

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"This is rigged," Wednesday seethed, glaring at the booth worker who was nervously sweating ever since she approached.

You laughed, grabbing Wednesday's attention and the relief of the worker. "I know, right? We're totally just losing money at this point."

It was a simple game. A gun with 9 rubber bullets and 10 balloons to pop, and you had to win 5 times in a row with no supernatural abilities to get enough tickets to win the motorcycle.

It was not impossible, Wednesday knew that, but the balloons were not close enough where she could get away with hitting two with one rubber bullet.

They've both spent $100 at this point and while Wednesday would get 9 of 10 balloons every time, you would hit one balloon before you missed every other shot, hitting the corner of the wooden target.

As often as you refilled, it was starting to wear a dent.

"You're terrible at this," Wednesday bluntly said, but you merely smiled and shrugged.

A bit of wind was picking up, making the balloons circle around in their spot. Wednesday spotted her opportunity and chance when two balloons circled close enough towards each other, barely grazing.

Wednesday timed it perfectly and shot her 9 bullets, using her last one to wait as they circled towards each other before shooting and getting them both.

"Oh," you grinned. "That was really impressive."

Wednesday didn't react to your praise, waiting for the worker to rotate the next round of balloons and repeating her actions while the wind continued.

So far, Wednesday has won 4 times in a row. She had to pause as the wind died down, but it was sure to come back in a few moments.

"What do you want if we both win?" You asked. "There's only one motorcycle, so you may have to settle for something else."

Wednesday snorted. "I'm not sure I should get my hopes up on getting anything." It was a dig at the fact you've been absolutely terrible with your shots.

"C'mon, Wednesday," you grinned. "Dream a little."

"I don't dream."

"Nightmare it up a little," you quickly rebuttal.

Wednesday sighed, looking at the prizes that hung and framed the booth. Outside of random useless knick knacks, there were just stuffed animals—which were also useless.

But Wednesday's eye caught on a large scorpion stuffed animal. She wasn't one for being sentimental, but this was as good as it would get.

"That," Wednesday pointed at the scorpion stuffed animal.

You looked at it, grinning as you knew the story behind it. "Sure thing."

The wind picked up again, and Wednesday took the opportunity to win the 5th time in a row. The booth worker, whom Wednesday also assumed was the owner, looked relieved and reluctant to hand over the mini-motorcycle.

"I don't want to stand here for hours," Wednesday deadpanned, having already spent 2 and a half hours winning this prize for you. You would be here for 2 and a half days at the rate you were going.

"We're just about finished," you told Wednesday, and she raises her brow, thinking you'd given up.

But you slap down another $20 bill, smirking. Wednesday looked to your side of the targets and noticed the small dent you've managed to create with the rubber bullets. She narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was your plan all along.

Wednesday gets her answer within minutes. Suddenly, you've turned into a master marksman, shooting every balloon precisely until you were down the last two side by side. You tilted your gun, aiming it at the target, where you created a dent in the side. When you shot the bullet, it shot inside the hole and bounced against the wood, flying out with just enough force to hit the two balloons from the side.

Wednesday furrowed her brows in disbelief.

It continued like that until you won 5 times in a row without pausing. The owner looked like he wanted to say something but merely rolled his eyes with a certain kind of fondness Wednesday was sure you earned over the years coming here.

"The tickets get you two of these," the owner said, handing you two large scorpion stuffed animals.

"Did you have fun?" you grinned at Wednesday.

"It was passable," Wednesday admits, unable to fully say that even mundane activities like carnival games were interesting if she was with you.

As you left the booth, you handed Wednesday the stuffed scorpions to hold while taking the mini motorcycle.

"Look," you said. "Now your scorpion has a little friend to keep them company, or a little girlfriend," you wriggled your brows at her while Wednesday sighed, not commenting back.

She looks at the motorcycle and then at you. "Do you even know how to operate this?"

You smiled at Wednesday. "Not at all."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Now.

The biggest prize of the carnival is still the mini motorcycle, as they don't change the award until next year. It seems they've stocked up since the last time the two of you were here.

Wednesday knows you already have one, but it wouldn't hurt to have another one.

You seem spirited to be at the carnival playing games, as it's obviously familiar to you.

They walk up to the same booth with the same owner, who clearly recognizes them.

"Oh, not again," he sighs. "You're going to run me out of business. Any chance I can talk you out of winning again?"

You look confused, but when you see the motorcycle as the prize, a moment of recognition dawns on your face from the one in the corner of your room. "I've already won this," you slowly say as a confirmation but not as a memory.

"Close," Wednesday drawls. "I won it."

You look confused as to why Wednesday would win the big prize for you, but before you question it, Wednesday speaks again. "It's time to repay the favor and win me one too."

You smile weakly as if the pressure is on, but you pick up the gun, studying the targets. The dent you created on the target was gone as the owner replaced it. You play a couple of rounds to get a feel of the game, while Wednesday puts little effort into her own game. It's unlikely there'd be wind again this time around. Even if Wednesday now knew the other method, it was something Wednesday hoped you would get on your own.

As time goes on, you're starting to get the idea of how to win. It's rather satisfying to watch you get to the same conclusion.

Wednesday takes her time achieving the same method as you. You're focused on your own game, not checking how Wednesday's faring.

You both created a dent relatively around the same time before shooting in sync, winning 5 times in a row.

The owner sighs, shaking his head and muttering about changing the rules about damaging the targets to win. Still, he hands you the motorcycle before asking what else you want.

"Uh," you hesitate, looking at the various prizes before you. Your eyes spot two stuffed animals that make you grin. "The bat and the wolf, please."

With the prizes in tow, the two of you leave the booth.

"What are you going to do with the mini motorcycle?" You ask.

"Teach you how to ride," Wednesday bluntly tells you.

You look surprised. "Oh," you chuckled weakly. "Right, I guess I probably told you I wouldn't know how to ride one."

Wednesday doesn't know what to say about your comment, so she veers off topic. "What are you going to do with the stuffed animals?" Wednesday internally sighs at the ridiculousness of the question. There are very limited things you can do with stuffed animals.

"I'm going to give them to Yoko and Enid," you smile.

"Right," Wednesday mutters, feeling something bitter rise in her throat but unable to identify it. Despite coming here and doing it correspondingly, none of this feels the same. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

You shrug your shoulders before nodding. "It's not bad to take a break from studying."

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The second time Wednesday takes you somewhere, you give her a confused smile.

"I'm pretty behind on my classes still," you gently point out, hinting that you're not up for another day of playing hooky, and Wednesday concedes with a nod.

"I'm aware. We aren't taking a break today," Wednesday clarifies, "we're merely studying in a different scenery."

The walk is silent as you follow Wednesday's lead. She takes you further down the river to an area you haven't explored before until you eventually reach a tall wisteria tree, probably the only one in Vermont, preserved with magic.

"Wow," you breathe in awe, "I didn't know we had one so near campus."

The gothic girl is lost in her thoughts as she settles near the base of the tree, grabbing the books from her backpack on autopilot.

You used to trail beside her, and now you always walk one step behind.

It's something Wednesday noticed as she took you around various parts of the school during your study sessions in an attempt to recreate the memories. She knows you're starting to find her odd, but Wednesday can't afford to tell you what she's really trying to do.

Wednesday's goal wasn't necessarily to make you remember everything by taking you to these places that hold special memories. If you never remember, that's okay. What Wednesday wants is to recreate the memories in hopes they'll lead the two of you down the same path it did the first time.

But instead of growing closer like you did the first time, it feels like you're pulling further away.

Even so, Wednesday can't stop trying.

"Um," you mumble as you search through your notebooks. "I was hoping we could pick up where we left off on ancient languages?"

Wednesday nods, and the two of you delve into the usual strict business of studying.

Everything is fine, and Wednesday is grading one of your practice sheets while you work on another. It's fine until she notices your trembling fingers. It's subtle as you were obviously trying to hide it, tightening your hands into fists and keeping them at your sides as you attentively look at the worksheet.

"I can't seem to understand the syntax—" you start to say but abruptly stop when Wednesday suddenly stands up, reaches up, and rips off a wisteria flower stock from the tree. She sits back down, reaching over and grabbing your wrist. The gentle squeezing of her hold prompts you to open your hand up, and Wednesday places wisteria stock into your hand.

The shaking stops, and Wednesday begins explaining the syntax to you without skipping a beat while you stare at her, stunned.

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Then.

"Let's go to the wisteria tree," you were holding Wednesday's hand as you dragged her along. "Today is such a beautiful day, and your skin is way too fair—I mean pale—I mean pallor—to be out in the sun."

Wednesday merely gave you an unimpressed look.

"Once again, you're disrupting my investigations. At this rate, it will take me a lifetime to solve the murders going on here," Wednesday's tone was disgruntled. "It would tarnish not only my reputation but also my ego, and I will make sure you die a miserable death for doing so."

"Ignoring the fact that everyone on campus would totally be dead," you turned around and grinned, "We'd have spent a lifetime together—before you killed me, of course."

You didn't add anything else to your words, but Wednesday could catch the insinuations between the lines.

A lifetime together.

A lifetime with you.

The idea didn't displease Wednesday at all; if anything, the fact that it didn't was more disgruntling.

A large wisteria tree appeared, and the two of you easily settled in. Wednesday was grateful that she had an inkling she should bring a book today in her bag.

"I love this place," you sighed with happiness. "I can't believe you found this place, and I've never noticed it in the years I've been going here."

"It's colorful," Wednesday drawled in response. The flowers that grew were vibrant violet and lavender, something she thought was entirely putrid, but she knew you would love it.

Wednesday was about to say something else when she noticed your fingers were shaking.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Wednesday asked with narrowed eyes.

You looked down, finding you were shaking, before clenching your hands into fists. "It's nothing, it just happens sometimes."

"It's not nothing," Wednesday seethed, angered that you would dare lie to her face. "Why is it shaking? What's wrong?"

You looked like you were debating something for a long moment before you asked her. "Can you grab me one of the wisteria flower stocks?"

Wednesday narrows her eyes at your avoidance, but she gets up, pulls a flower stock off from one of the branches, and passes it to you as she sits down.

"Why does it shake like that?" Wednesday demanded again.

"It's my power," you answer softly, wrapping your fingers around the flower. Wednesday watched as the flower in your handle steadily withered and died. You were smiling at her, but your eyes had a distinct melancholy look.

"This happens when I don't use my powers enough or use them too much. Air is generally made up of a lot of different gases but too little or too much of one causes disruptions in my body because the equilibrium between the air outside and the air inside my body isn't stabilized," you shrugged, holding the withered wisteria flowers in your hands that no longer shook. "I try not to if I can, but plants are a cheat way for me to expel and absorb air to find the equilibrium."

"Why not? It's obviously the most efficient way to stop the shaking," Wednesday frowned.

You shrugged. "I don't think it's a good idea for people to realize there are drawbacks to my powers and how to fix them. It may start with plants, but people will eventually start fearing I can use people the same way."

"Can you?"

You quirked your lip in response, and Wednesday knew the answer.

"Besides," you sighed, dropping the dead wisteria stock with a regretful frown. "Some plants are really beautiful. It's a shame to kill them."

Wednesday looked up at the hanging flowers and scrunched her nose in disgust. "I encourage you to kill this offensively colorful tree."

"When it makes you so miserable? I can't deprive you of that."

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Now.

The silence drags on too long, and your lack of response prompts Wednesday to look at you.

You're staring at her before Wednesday watches peer down at your hand, intensely in thought. There's a mix of disbelief and curiosity in your eyes, and Wednesday doesn't understand why.

This was normal.

"Wednesday," you call her name softly, making Wednesday's eyes nearly flutter at the sound. But the next words make her freeze. "Was I in love with you?"

It's something in the way you say it, curious and accepting. Something rushes into Wednesday's chest like a stampede, and she realizes it's hope.

Your tone doesn't suggest you remember anything, but Wednesday rationalizes that it's fine. While it would be ideal that you remember everything, it's not a condition Wednesday holds.

You’re biting your bottom lip, looking reluctant. The silence falls again and lingers until you speak up again, trying to be firm.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore. I don't know what I felt about you before the accident...but that's gone. I'm not going to feel it just because you bring me to places that mattered to us. I don't remember it and I don’t understand it."

Stop talking.

Wednesday wants you to stop talking. She closes her eyes, turning her head away as if that would stop her from hearing your words.

You don't take the hint.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore."

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It was fine—it was.

Wednesday spends the rest of her week doing various things. She writes, then she goes to the library; she briefly goes to the bee club until she can't stand Eugene's chattering and leaves. She goes on walks with Enid, who smartly avoids talking about you, and sometimes subjects herself to Xavier's monologuing and brooding in his art studio.

Wednesday fills the days with various activities while simultaneously avoiding areas you'd be in. It's not that she's afraid of seeing you, but simply that she doesn't want to.

This is fine.

The day has come to an end, and the sun has long gone from the sky. Wednesday decides to return to her room and play the cello before bed.

This is for the best.

Wednesday focuses her thoughts on her cello and what she'll play, and perhaps Thing will be there to turn the pages for her.

It is meant to be this way.

The room is dark when she enters, and Wednesday knows Enid is not around. There's a small feeling of relief that she doesn't need to face her roommate right now.

The silence in the room feels jilting in a way Wednesday's not used to. She used to be content in the quiet...until you. Then she grew used to your presence and soft chatter around this hour.

Wednesday clenches her fists.

Good riddance.

You were a mistake, and you did her a favor by cutting ties. This was something Wednesday should've done herself a long time ago.

Thing greets her on her bed, and she acknowledges him with a nod. She shreds off her backpack and changes out of her uniform before grabbing her cello and heading out onto the balcony.

The scuttling footsteps behind Wednesday tell her that Thing is quickly following.

"Bring me the new music sheet to play," Wednesday directs. She needs to play something different that would require her focus instead of her usual repertoire, which would allow her mind to drift.

Wednesday starts playing immediately, eyes focusing on the notes she's playing while Thing diligently flips the pages for her.

This is good.

This keeps her mind focused and sharp. Wednesday doesn't have time to think about anything else when she has to focus on what note she'll be playing next.

Despite the new piece, though, Wednesday's mind begins to drift. She has to make a conscious effort to keep her focus on the music sheet in front of her, but you pop up in her mind interspersedly.

"Wednesday, I don't know you—at least not anymore."

Her fingers falter, her cello emitting a jagged sound from her mistake. It's so unbelievably frustrating. She hasn't ever made a mistake while playing her cello since she first started learning it as a child. Years and years have gone by without a single mistake, and it was all ruined because of you.

You plague her like a disease that festers under her skin. Wednesday's done her best to ignore you for days now. She's been ignoring the sight of you, the talks of you, and everything down to the thought of you.

Yet, you were still there, underneath everything. You simmer like a slow boiling kettle until you can't be ignored anymore.

Wednesday closes her eyes frustratingly, willing you to leave her mind. She threatens her brain to erase the thought of you. It'd clearly be so much easier to forget you. After all, look how simply you live now without a memory of Wednesday.

But you don't go away. The memories remain with Wednesday, torturing her for what will likely be the rest of her life.

This was not a form of torture Wednesday ever thought she'd have to endure.

Wednesday opens her eyes and stands abruptly as she walks back inside. She didn't bother turning on the lights, and the only thing illuminating the room was the moonlight shining through the balcony.

"I don't feel that way about you anymore."

Wednesday clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on her cello.

How entirely damning.

Suddenly, a white-hot ball of rage forms in Wednesday's chest; everything she's been trying to push down for the last few days spills over. Emotions run a rampage inside her, unable to be controlled and ignored any longer.

Wednesday lifts her cello before violently smashing it into the floor, the body of it breaking in an uneven half, wood splitting into multiple pieces. The tailpiece cracks, and the strings snap, one of them into Wednesday's hand and cutting it.

The rage and adrenaline in her body don't allow the pain to register, even if she can see the blood.

How could you forget?

Wednesday begins destroying other parts of her side of the room—her bed, her clothes, her books. She pushes her wardrobe over and knocks over the chair at her desk, the loud banging ringing in her ears but not loud enough to cover the pain in her chest.

Thing scuttles back and forth in worry, but he cannot do anything to help his friend. He immediately leaves out the door with a mission.

How could you not want to fall in love with her again?

Wednesday pushes her typewriter off her desk—she thrashes everything off her desk. Her beloved typewriter crashes into the floor, the carriage breaking off along with other various parts. Keys pop off, making a ruckus on the floor as they hit it, but it doesn't bring any relief.

None of this is.

Wednesday pulls open the drawer, grabs out her manuscript, and looks at the last few pages she's written. Viper falls in love with someone who helps her with her investigations, and Wednesday has written up to the part where Viper begrudgingly accepts that fact she has feelings for this person and accepts their confession.

Wednesday has never gotten rid of any parts of her work all these years. Sure, she's done revisions and draft editing, but every scene down to its core idea has never been removed. Wednesday is a stern believer that every scene is meant to happen, and she cannot change the course of her writing when she looks back.

But Wednesday begins to shred multiple pages. She shreds page after page but doesn't know when to stop. Should she stop before Viper gets involved with this person?

Along with the anger settles in hollowness.

It's the realization that even if Wednesday destroys these pages, she can't really undo the fact that Viper has met someone and fallen in love with them.

How could you leave Wednesday to remember everything alone?

Wednesday hears the door open, but she doesn't turn around.

"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is soft and unsure, full of concern.

Wednesday doesn't answer.

Enid steps further into the room, shutting the door behind her as she looks around. The room is a mess with so many broken items on the floor, but her side remains untouched, nearly down to the tape they removed ages ago.

Enid is careful as she makes her way to Wednesday, the girl's shoulder tense with obvious rage. But even so, Enid knows her roommate would never hurt her. So, she places a hand on her roommate's shoulder when she's next to Wednesday.

"Wednesday—"

Wednesday is quick to whip around and look at Enid with violently accusing eyes. "This is your fault," Wednesday spits out. "I wouldn't be feeling this—this loneliness if you haven't been spurring lies to me about love." The tone is filled with disgust at the last word.

Wednesday has never expressed any ounce of emotion that would allow her to scream at someone, but she wants to scream at Enid and can't. Even if she wanted to, her throat feels so raw with something Wednesday can only detect is the urge to cry.

But even if Wednesday threatens her body to refrain from crying, the salty water spills from her eyes without permission. The spill and spill, even if Wednesday doesn't make a single sound.

Enid doesn't care if Wednesday punches, stabs, or even kills her—she pulls Wednesday into a bone-crushing hug. Her roommate resists at first, pushing against Enid, but it's useless against her werewolf strength. Enid holds on, even as Wednesday's pushing turns into desperate clinging.

Wednesday's tears are hot, and Enid knows logically tears are always hot, but she finds herself surprised they are. It's just another sign her roommate is all too human too.

"It's okay, Wednesday, I swear," Enid whispers, rubbing Wednesday's back in soothing circles, even caressing her messy braids.

There's no heaving or loud sobbing, as that would be too much for the somber girl. Even so, Enid can feel the tears soak her neck and dampen her shoulder.

"It's not," Wednesday's voice is so raw, as if the girl had been violently sobbing. She clutches at Enid's back, her eyes blankly staring at the mess she's made of her room. Everything is out of place or broken.

It shouldn't be Enid here, but the person Wednesday wants will never show up.

"I don't have anyone anymore."

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x ofc #wednesday x ofc #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #mm: my fics

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lyralaneoriginal12 · 5 months

Text

Your Voice is My Reality (Platonic Older! Damian Wayne x baby boy reader)

“There there, my sweet angel... Baba isn't going anywhere...”

Aged-Up Damian Wayne as Demon's Head of League of Shadows who also the loving and protective father of you. (It gives 'I will burn the world for you' kinda vibe, but oh well)

(WARNING! OOC)

Damian felt like his heart was about to explode, he fell on the ground and was wounded. The enemy had shot him right in his chest. The pain is unbearable but worst of all, his baby witnesses all this. It was a mistake already to bring you to this type of meeting. Here you are now, witness his assassination.

The League's assassins quickly neutralize all the threats and manage to take control of the situation. You was crying in fear. The enemy also looked scared of what he just did to the Demon Head. You pry release the hold of the nannies and quickly run towards your father.

Damian tried to breathe, he was struggling to stay alive and awake. The assassins and the nannies were shocked because Damian stayed in a pool of his on blood, with a gunshot wound on his torso. The Demon Head was bleeding profusely on the ground after being shot.

“Baba, no!”

Notice his son now right beside him, Damian raises his hand and slowly caressed your head. Even in this state, Damian’s mind only filled the need to protect you and to make sure that you are okay and safe.

“There there, my sweet angel... Baba isn't going anywhere...”

Says Damian in between pain while looking at you with a sad and concerned expression. He tried to fight the pain of the gunshot wound, which was making him feel a bit weaker each moment that passed. Damian vision start to blur. You were crying while clutching on your father's chest. Your beautiful blue robe completely soaks in Damian's blood.

Damian looks at his baby, with a loving, concerned and tender look on his face. With that, Damian closes his eyes. The vision is becoming more and more blurred until... the darkness comes slowly and gradually.

Time Skip

There’s many people wearing all black cloaks, circle the Lazarus Pit. The very pit glow in green and had a very rotten aroma. The smell that was coming from the green pit was awful, it was as if a lot of dead bodies were buried there. Damian's body being carried by the monks. He's ready to be revived from death.

You currently in the arms of Marie, one of the nannies of the League. You suckles quietly on your pacifier, with tiny cloak covering your body, watching the whole ritual carefully and looking closely at the monks.

The monks, Damian's advisors and the assassins were surrounding the pit, waiting for the moment.

You saw how the monks submerge their body until they were waist-deep while gently carrying Damian's corpse. Then, they carefully placed Damian’s corpse into the waters.

You watched as your father was completely submerged in the water. You squirms a little at Marie's arms, feel a little distress when you sees your father being submerged into the toxic green water.

“Hush, Master (Y/N)”

Assure the nanny at his young master to calm you down.

There's a long pause until Damian broke through the water with a feral cry, his jade eyes were glowing an eerie green. The greenish mist coming from the water then filled his eyes, making Damian see the surroundings very weirdly. Damian snarls at the monks and feel how his body is moving and healing on its own.

Damian starts to go wild and attacking the monks and assassins. Everyone knows the effects of being dipped into the Pit, how the user is driven temporarily insane. But well... Damian had used it quite a lot, so the effect doesn’t take toll on him completely. Damian keeps attacking the monks and assassins like a wild animal. Tearing them apart with his bare hands.

The madness continues until you calls out for him.

“Baba...”

The Demon Head stopped immediately and turned his gaze to those angelic voices, looking at the baby with malicious gaze. Damian saw that you was being held by Marie. You makes a grabby hand at Damian, which scares Marie who tries to protect you from Damian rampage.

Damian stops attacking everybody once he hears his name being called by his angel. Damian closed and opened his eyes once again, as his sweet angel's voice snapped him back to reality. Slowly but surely, recognition was in his eyes. Damian’s rage and feral behavior are over.

“(Y/N)…”

Damian slowly stands up, while look at all the shocked faces of the advisors, assassins, and monks, who are watching the whole scene with a confused and scared expression on their faces.

Damian slowly walks out of the Pit and goes to you whose still in the nanny arms. The green water wetted the concrete floor, but he didn’t care, he needed to embrace his son now. The servants quickly cover Damian's body with his majestic red robe, so he won’t catch cold. Like there’s no tomorrow, Damian takes you from the protective hold of your nanny. You quickly hugs your father in a loving manner.

“Baba”

Damian gently holds the baby in his arms, with the loving and caring eyes of a father, who's glad to be back with his little boy. Damian looks at the whole room, with all the advisors, assassins and monks looking at both Damian and his son, with a confused expression on their faces. Damian couldn’t help but chuckle a little especially to the monks and assassins he accidentally hurt previously.

“Well, this is... awkward...”

The people in the room couldn’t help but giggle a little at Damian’s remark.

Damian looked at his baby with a happy smile on his face.

“Hey, beloved. I missed you so much.”

Damian kisses you on your chubby cheek, as your cute smile touches Damian’s heart. You giggles softly when his father does so while pinching his your own nose cutely.

“Baba stinky. You are stinky!”

Damian chuckles a bit when you says that he is stinky. You didn’t go wrong though.

“Yes, yes, beloved. I must admit... I need to get a bath but now that I'm back with you again, my precious angel.”

Damian smiles a little at you again, feeling his heart being touched by your adorable words and the little pinch you gives yourself after making this sweet and funny remark. Then, you happily claps your hand.

“Bubble bath, Baba! Bubble bath!”

Damian chuckles after your comment as he gently touches your small and soft chubby hands.

“Yes, bubble bath it is.”

The servants quickly scatter to prepare bubble bath at the grand bathroom of the League of Shadows base.

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