#I drink readers’ tears without remorse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bumblesimagines · 7 months ago

Text

The Dragon of Runestone

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Prince (Y/N) Targaryen has kept to Runestone with his grandsire in preparation for taking the seat of House Royce but when his uncle passes and his cousin is usurped, he makes the decision to fly to her aid and unite with his family.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Half Sister-Half Brother/Cousins/Stepbrothers), mention of Daemon's two dead wives, mention of Luke's death, age gap Jace and Baela are around 18/19 while (Y/N) is in early to mid twenties (don't ask me his exact age I didn't want to do the math), Daemon is a questionable father but what else is new, drinking, Jace is a SIMP, sexual/suggestive content

I hate how intricate Rhaenyra/Alicent/Helaenas hairstyles are in comparison to Rhaena and Baela who get the simplest of styles. I also had more written but it was going into full smut territory 💀

~~~

Luke was dead.

Despite the days and weeks that passed, Jace hadn't yet wrapped his head around it. His partner in crime, his shadow, his closest friend, his little brother... dead. Slaughtered mercilessly by their kinslayer of an uncle. His mother had been clear in her instructions when she agreed to send them away, fully and completely adamant that they not engage with anyone. Luke followed his mother's orders diligently and the Greens took him without remorse.

The cold that'd washed over him when he received news of it, when he read the letter sent to him by his stepfather and felt the realization settled in... the cold of the North had nothing against it. Nothing against the unsettling iciness that swept through his veins or the way his heart squeezed and dropped to the pits of his stomach. Lord Cregan Stark's attempts at comfort had gone in one ear and out the other during the descent down from the Wall.

He prayed it'd been a mistake, that Luke's name had been miswritten, and Daemon had meant another Velaryon. Convincing himself of such a thing allowed him to fly back to Dragonstone, allowed him to dream that the moment he got there, he'd see his brother and Arrax waiting for him; that they'd laugh about the misunderstanding and settle down together to talk about Storm's End and the North while the sun set over the horizon. But all he received when he climbed off Vermax were pitiful, sorrowful looks from the servants and guards of Dragonstone.

Luke was dead... and he was partly to blame for his death.

It'd seemed like a good idea at the time, for him and his brother to mount their dragons to ensure those who'd bent the knee when his mother had been named heir planned on keeping their oath. It'd seemed simple enough, as well, to fly out to meet and dine with nobles who'd trip over themselves to please two princelings. But Aemond had beaten Luke to Storm's End, and chosen to spill the first blood of war over silly childhood pranks.

Jace attempted to distract himself through various means such as training twice as hard and attending his mother's council meetings; all in hopes of swallowing his guilt and grief into the back of his mind. He shed enough tears, sobbed enough into the shoulder of his mother, and told his pains to Baela. It was time to focus on avenging his brother, on claiming back the throne usurped by his uncle and the wicked Hightowers. Distracting himself, as he quickly grew to learn, was easier when his stepbrother lingered around and took his place at the table. Visenya born again, they called him. The Dragon of Runestone.

Jace enjoyed watching him during meetings, observing and taking note of how he conducted himself. (Y/N) cut down power-seeking nobles with ease, his violet eyes piercing into those who dared interrupt or speak over Rhaenyra. It was comforting despite the blatant indifference he had for his cousin outside of war meetings and discussions. Rhaenyra needed powerful people on her side, powerful men that others feared enough to remain silent on their opinions and desires.

He only had a few years on Jace; born three years before his mother's sudden passing. Jace heard the rumors that Daemon had been insistent the babe wasn't his until (Y/N) was born with those signature silver locks, forcing him back to Runestone to see his firstborn son and admit Targaryen blood flowed through his veins. Rhea refused to allow him to take (Y/N) far from Runestone but her wishes were ignored when she passed, leaving her inheritance to her only child and her estranged husband to do as he pleased.

From what the twins had told Jace, even as a toddler and young boy he'd fussed when tended to by his father's new wife, Lady Laena. Kicking, crying, biting, and shoving; it felt as if the boy knew she'd been a swift replacement for his mother. He'd been developing from a boy to a tween when his half-sisters were born and even then, he ignored them in favor of being with others on Pentos or flying with his dragon, Bantis.

From a young age, Jace had idolized him; the cooler older boy with an air of indifference and mystery. He simply couldn't resist the allure, and neither did Baela.

"I think the first time he ever looked at me had been during training," Baela had told him one time, back in Driftmark hours after her mother's funeral. They'd been young children then, and it'd been the first time Jace laid eyes on (Y/N) outside of stories and paintings. He'd been captivated despite the never-fading scowl and snarky attitude. "I picked up a training sword and hit his friend in the leg with it. It was the first time I ever heard him laugh." The glimmer in her eye had been undeniable.

Focusing on silly little feelings hardly seemed appropriate during a time of war, but it took Jace's mind off the reality around them. Especially when he could rest his arms along the stone railing of a balcony overlooking where knights trained and watch (Y/N) knock men twice his age down onto the floor. His eyes followed each movement of his arms and legs, gaze lingering on the tight grip he had on his sword and thoughts drifting to wonder what it'd feel like to have them pressed on bare skin.

"You can speak with him, you know." Jace flinched, his body instinctively straightening up and heat bursting across his face as he turned to face his betrothed. Baela smiled at him, teasing and friendly, sliding up to take the spot beside him and releasing a thoughtful sigh at the sight of her older half-brother. (Y/N) slammed his foot into the back of his sparring partner's knee, the blade of his sword pressing against the man's neck. He smirked and it sent a shiver down Jace's spine.

"I doubt he'd like that," Jace responded, albeit a bit whiny, but he felt comfortable enough around Baela to let go of what was expected of a prince like him. They were to be wed one day, after all. Baela glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a soft laugh escaping her.

It was true, in a way. (Y/N) hardly liked any of his family, apart from those in Runestone. He'd fallen out with Daemon the day his father chose to wed Rhaenyra; an argument so vicious it ended with (Y/N) striking Daemon in the jaw and flying away on Bantis, never to answer any letters from any of them again. King Viserys appeared to have been the only one left he cared enough about to visit, but he'd proven to at least hold some love for them by ensuring Lady Jeyne Arryn kept to her oath without being asked to and flying to Dragonstone to serve on Rhaenyra's council before a letter could be sent to Runestone.

"He is kind when he wants to be." Jace looked at her sideways. Baela laughed again, the sweet sound carrying with the wind that tousled her silver curls. "It's true, I swear! I've seen it before. He can be kind. He is just... hard to reach. You cannot blame him for being distant, I suppose. It can be hard to have Daemon as a father."

"It must be." Jace thought back on the rumors surrounding Rhea Royce's death. He winced when the sparring partner tapped out, the knight's nose trickling with blood. The squires and available knights around shrank back when (Y/N) turned toward them. "The only times I've heard them speak has been from arguments heard all around Dragonstone. I hear even Caraxes and Bantis cannot stand to be around each other."

"Father does love him and wants him around but... he has little patience and (Y/N) has never tolerated being yelled at," Baela spoke, her hand flying to grasp his arm as she did and feet turning toward the stairs leading down to the training area. Jace felt himself automatically tense when (Y/N)'s sharp violet eyes turned in their direction.

Gods, he hated how easily his legs weakened and cheeks flared in (Y/N)'s presence. The others around dipped their heads respectfully, bowing to whom would be their future rulers once the Iron Throne returned to its rightful heir. Jace managed to tear his eyes away from the prince to nod to those around, motioning for them to leave with another nod. They quickly did, practically scrambling away before (Y/N) could pluck one and toss them around.

"Brother," Baela greeted, her hand leaving Jace's arm to lace her fingers together before her. (Y/N) gave a hum of acknowledgment, the tip of his sword digging into the mushy ground when he leaned into it. His hair had long gone askew from the constant movement but Jace thought it suited him perfectly. "Perhaps it'd be better if you stopped beating up our knights."

"They're knights." (Y/N) drawled. "They ought to get used to it before facing real battle. If they cannot do well in training, they'll die on the field. The sheep of the Vale are tougher than some of the fools here."

"If you feel their performances are inadequate then feel free to train them." Jace felt more than thankful to have Baela at his side, otherwise he would've stuttered through his sentences harder than a babe learning to speak. (Y/N) regarded him with little emotion. "We deserve to have the best of the best protecting us and our claim, after all."

"Whatever you say, Jacaerys." (Y/N) raised his sword and slipped it back into its sheath, unaware of the disappointment coursing through his stepbrother's veins. Baela glanced between them, her fingers tightening around each other and teeth catching her bottom lip. She stepped forward, blocking his path before he could depart.

"Why don't we catch up, Brother? It has been much time since we've spoken. You must have many stories to tell of the Vale, do you not?" Baela, ever the quick thinker, said as she looped her arm around (Y/N) and sent a look Jace's way. The brunette nodded along with her words, a prick of hope sparking in his chest.

The older prince's eyes slowly slid between the two, a single brow lifting for a moment before he gave a curt nod. "I suppose I have time to spare. It'll be over wine, however. I could use a drink or two."

"Over wine." Jace agreed and found himself unable to resist a giddy grin from spreading across his face.

The buzz of wine coursing through his veins hardly helped with the heat flowing through his body. Conversation had surprisingly started easily with Baela asking questions about the Vale and Runestone, perhaps the taste of Dornish wine having some to do with (Y/N)'s relaxed, semi-open composure. Jace absentmindedly listened to his betrothed and stepbrother speak, his hand swirling the cup of deep red wine that he assumed to be some sort of Dornish wine. It tasted sweet, addictively so.

His eyes flitted around the bedchambers given to (Y/N), mostly lingering on the bed Jace noted to be the perfect size to fit three or more people. His thumb pressed into the designs of the goblet in hand, his mind racing with his vivid imagination.

He'd hardly done anything with Baela apart from holding her hand or embracing her, but he oft' thought of how their life as a married couple would go. He'd never been with any else before, man or woman, unlike many of the men around him. He was a prince, for Gods sake. He was meant to be the very definition of a gentleman... although that certainly never stopped the thoughts from conjuring late at night.

His teeth caught his bottom lip and tore a bit of skin off, the heat rushing to his stomach making his grip tighten on the goblet. Baela and (Y/N) looked dazzling in the warm glow of the candlelight and moonlight seeping in through the balcony. Baela's brown skin looked warmer, dewier, so much so that Jace wanted to run his hands over every inch of her. He loved when she released her hair so it tumbled down her shoulders and framed her face with those perfect curls. Her purple eyes glimmered with each flicker of the candles, and her full lips looked utterly enticing.

(Y/N) looked similarly, his hair pushed back from running his fingers through it multiple times and his features softened into a look of contentment. He'd rid himself of his overshirt when they entered his room, leaving him in an undershirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Jace's gaze trailed over his arms, strong enough to no doubt lift him from the ground. He slowly moved his gaze upward, studying each detail of his body until he focused on his face. He startled when the two made eye contact and (Y/N)'s lips curled upward into a smirk that reeked of trouble.

"Jacaerys," (Y/N) called, dragging his propped-up feet off the table and planting them firmly on the floor. Jace swallowed thickly, contemplating taking another swing of his wine. Baela delicately sipped on the last of her wine and reached for the pitcher, pouring herself the last of its contents. "Have you ever gone to bed with someone before? Or have you been keeping your hands to yourself 'til marriage?"

Baela grew still, her eyes widening at the swift change in topic from something innocent to speaking of sex. Jace flushed, heat spreading across his face and neck, his ears growing unbelievably hot. She was a lady. Hardly the sort of subject two men would speak of so carelessly. Sex was only spoken of with certain people: parents, septas, maesters, and partners. Sure, he'd heard plenty of filth spew from Aegon's mouth, but it hardly beat hearing it from (Y/N) in front of Baela.

"I-" Jace cut himself off with another swallow, his adams apple bobbing and tongue unable to form words. He pressed his lips together, his free hand curling against his thigh and eyes flickering wildly between Baela and (Y/N). "I-I have not. I... I was taught not to bring ruin onto a lady by... such acts."

"Ah, you sound like a prude." (Y/N) laughed lightly and set his goblet on the table, the smirk hanging onto his lips. "I'm certain your parents would hardly fault you for... indulging with one another. You've thought about it, haven't you, Jacaerys? She's your bride-to-be, after all."

Jace's face felt as if a dragon had blown on it. "I-"

"What about you, Brother?" Baela cut in, her composure drastically more calm and collected than Jace's but he noted the way her thighs pressed together beneath the skirt of her dress. (Y/N) tore his amused stare away from Jace and onto his half-sister, his finger running circles over the rim of his goblet. "Have you... been with anyone before?"

"'Course I have." He gave a light scoff and envy flooded Jace's stomach. "Maids, ladies, whores, knights, lordlings. I'm not a child nor saving myself for whichever noble lady ends up my wife. There's little to do in the Vale apart from typical lord things; hunting, riding, and those sorts of things get boring after a while."

Maids, ladies, whores, knights, and lordlings.

Women and men.

Jace's gaze darted over to Baela, meeting her wide-eyed stare as the two came to a similar realization, and then, the same idea; a spark ignited in her eyes and a light flickered on in his head. Gods, was he glad they were betrothed. They were so similar in so many ways, he certainly couldn't wait to rule side by side with her. Jace knew coming to an agreement with her would hardly ever be a hassle.

"Show us, then," Jace said, the wine dancing in his body only filling him with confidence and boldness. (Y/N)'s head tilted to the side in question, and for a moment it was easy to forget he was the child of a brutal prince. "You have much experience under your belt, do you not? Why not teach us how to properly bed one another?"

"I'm certain you know where everything ought to go, Jacaerys."

"Obviously," The heat returned to his face. "But... I've never kissed anyone nor touched anyone. You have, however."

Jace received a hum in response and (Y/N)'s head tilted back in thought, seemingly contemplating the idea. Jace felt nerves beginning to bubble up in his stomach, anxious over what the response would be. It'd be one thing to finally have one of his dreams fulfilled, another to have to face him the following days with a sober mind and a dejected heart. Baela met his eyes again, giving him a subtle nod of encouragement. He could still backtrack, still laugh it off-

Fingers grasped the side of his throat, coarse fingertips dipping into the hairs on the nape of his neck and digging into his skin. He only had a brief moment to look back at the older prince before lips pressed against his own, a sharp shiver darting down his spine and body tensing. (Y/N)'s lips felt soft against his own but Jace hardly knew what to do apart from tentatively parting them. He shuddered when (Y/N)'s tongue invaded his mouth, his hand nearly dropping the goblet as he clumsily searched for the table in order to set it down. Once both hands were free, he pressed them against (Y/N)'s shoulders and began meekly mimicking him.

When they pulled back, Jace sighed at the string of saliva connecting them before (Y/N) wiped his mouth. He grinned at him, a breathy and amused chuckle leaving him at the dazed sight of Jace.

Be it the wine or simply the giddy feeling constricting his heart, Jace could barely think straight, his thoughts only focusing when (Y/N) patted his thigh, his attention directed onto Baela. She rose from her seat and shuffled around the table, carefully sitting sideways on her half-brother's lap. Jace's breeches felt excruciatingly tight, the feeling only growing as he watched the two lock lips.

Baela lifted her hand to cup (Y/N)'s cheek, the other tightly curling around the sleeve of his shirt. (Y/N) kept his palm pressed to her back while his other hand danced downward until it reached the skirt of her black and red dress, his fingers curling and slowly dragging the fabric upwards to reveal her calf and then her lower thigh. Jace squirmed in his seat, battling with urges threatening to take over his mind; a battle he began slowly losing as he watched (Y/N)'s fingers dig into the flesh of her thigh.

Suddenly, (Y/N) stood and took Baela along with him, setting her down on the edge of the table and pulling away to grab his forgotten cup and blindly toss it aside. It clattered with the stone floor, the wine spilling and darkening the shade of gray. Effortlessly, (Y/N)'s fingers undid the knotted laces of the back of Baela's dress, his legs pushing hers apart and causing the skirt to ride up further. Jace watched, eyes bouncing around their bodies until he looked at (Y/N)'s face pleadingly.

"Put what you learned to practice, Jacaerys."

With those words, Jace shot up from his seat, nearly knocking the chair back from the sheer speed and force. Baela's chest lightly heaved with pants, her half-lidded eyes meeting Jace's when he stood at her side. He leaned in and despite the need blazing in his lower belly, Jace kissed her gently, sweetly, moving slowly and taking his time. Her lips felt soft and plush, and they parted easily. It was clumsy but endearing, and it made his heart swell.

"Shit," Jace cursed, reeling back from Baela when his pants loosened and a hand dipping beneath his breeches. (Y/N) chuckled breathily against Baela's neck before latching his lips onto her and searching around until he found a spot that made her breath hitch and hands fly to grab the collar of his shirt. Jace's legs threatened to give out from under him when (Y/N) lightly squeezed him, forcing him to brace himself against the table and drop his forehead down onto Baela's shoulder.

"Sensitive, the both of you." (Y/N)'s muffled voice said, and Jace caught the way he dragged his teeth along Baela's neck, enticing a shudder and soft whine out of her before he lightly dug his teeth where her shoulder and neck met. Jace barely had a chance to respond before letting out a strangled groan at the feeling of (Y/N) slowly stroking him, his hips bucking and knees trembling with each slow drag of his hand.

Jace whined suddenly when (Y/N) retracted his hand, a sound that made his neck flush in embarrassment and lips form a disappointed scowl directed at the older prince. (Y/N) rolled his eyes at him, fingers hooking along Jace's pants and breeches to swiftly tug them down to his thighs. The cold air from the cool breeze flowing in through the balcony made him shiver, goosebumps rising along his skin. His first instinct was to tug his pants back up and hide himself from their prying eyes but he pushed the urge down.

"Take it off." (Y/N) told him, or rather ordered him, the tone making Jace woozy with the desire to fulfill his every command. He clumsily did as told, nearly stumbling over his jittery legs as he undressed fully despite the cold nipping at his exposed skin. (Y/N) eyed him over and then grinned again, his hand roughly grabbing Jace by the hip and tugging him closer to slam their lips together. When he drew back, he nodded over to the bed and Jace's features brightened, eagerly moving toward the bed.

(Y/N) carefully tugged Baela's dress down her shoulders, dragging the sleeves down past her elbows and freeing her arms. She shivered at the cold first and then wrapped her arm around her chest, her skin feeling as if the sun were glaring directly down on her. (Y/N) snorted softly, his eyes surprisingly soft as he peeled her arm away from her chest, leaving butterflies fluttering around her stomach. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, his hand pulling and tugging at her dress until it fell down her thighs and partly over Jace's scattered clothes.

His arm dropped so he could lift her by her thighs, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and head burying into his neck as they moved toward the bed where Jace awaited them. (Y/N) lowered her down on the bed, the covers feeling soft and silky against her skin. Jace's chin hooked over her shoulder, his hand cupping her jaw before lowering to explore her neck and shoulders, trailing down her arm and moving onto her hip.

"You're beautiful." He murmured, and any tension in her body disappeared. She smiled and kissed him, already addicted to mushing their lips together no matter how clumsy or messy. Jace pulled back, brushing his lips over her cheek before swooping down to peck her shoulder, his long brown curls tickling her jaw.

"I think..." Baela spoke softly, head turning toward the older prince still standing and still clothed. "Someone has far too many layers on."

"I do not recall saying I'd bed either of you." (Y/N) spoke, attention shifting downward when Jace pushed the bottom of his shirt out from his pants to expose the skin beneath. Despite his words, he did little to stop the brunette from undoing his belt nor did he protest when Baela tucked her knees underneath herself and rose to unbutton his shirt.

"You said you'd teach us," Jace reminded him, his lips pressing against (Y/N)'s happy trail and hands eagerly mimicking what the older prince had done to him moments prior; swiftly undressing him and leaning back to look him over, the sight alone making the brunette's mouth water. "We have to practice on someone, do we not?"

The corner of (Y/N)'s lips twitched upward. "I suppose."

714 notes · View notes

edenesth · 9 months ago

Text

Scarlet Requiem

Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader

AU: historical au (Goryeo era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.

Genre: heavy angst

Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Capture that demon before she flees!"

Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.

As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"

"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."

Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.

"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."

She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.

"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"

Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.

"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."

As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.

With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."

She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.

As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.

"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.

The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."

Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.

He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.

But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.

As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?

Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.

On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.

"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."

As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.

Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.

As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.

Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.

"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."

He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."

She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."

In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.

"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.

"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.

Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."

In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.

"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.

"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.

In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.

"I love you too, my emperor."

"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.

The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"

Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.

"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."

Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."

I'm here now, my love.

Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.

Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.

But it might be too late for any of that.

His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.

His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.

"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.

"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.

"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.

Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.

Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.

Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.

Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.

It was all because of him.

Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.

"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."

With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.

Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.

The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.

As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.

Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.

"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."

The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.

Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.

"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."

Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.

The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.

The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."

Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.

The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.

"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."

"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.

Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.

Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.

Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.

In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.

"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.

He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."

She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."

He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."

Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.

Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Master Tag list:

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @green-agent @vantediary @tinyteezer |

@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive

#edenesth #exo #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #byun baekhyun #exo baekhyun #historical au #goryeo dynasty #baekhyun x reader #exo fic #baekhyun oneshot #exo oneshot #kpop angst #exo angst #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun angst

448 notes · View notes

huggingkoalas · 9 months ago

Text

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | natasha romanoff

pairing — ‧₊˚ avenger!natasha romanoff x fem!retiredavenger!reader

summary — ‧₊˚ natasha loses you three times in the worst way possible

word count — ‧₊˚ 6.6k

warning(s) — ‧₊˚ angst, no happy ending, mentions of alcohol consumption, breaking up, cursing, mentions of cheating, pet names, car accident, panic attacks, jealousy, medical rooms, amnesia, mentions of therapy

authors note — ‧₊˚ yes, this was a series. i’ve decided this multi-chapter into a oneshot instead because of how much this fic has emotionally affected me :’) this fic means a lot to me but it’s also a reminder of someone really dear to me that i lost recently. i’ve lost count of how many times i cried while writing the ending, and i’m so sorry if the ending seems rushed </3

Natasha was always full of confidence, loyalty and fierceness. She never backed down from a fight, especially excelling in close hand-to-hand combat where her ability was intimidating. Ruthless and exceptionally efficient and skilled at her job, she struck fear into anyone who had the misfortune to cross the Black Widow’s path.

But that was at work. And at home? There was a big difference. While her enemies were always on their knees at the end of a fight, begging her for mercy to spare their lives, she was on her knees this time. Natasha Romanoff — one of the founding members of the Avengers, an agent of S.H.I.E.LD., a professional assassin and your wife — was currently on her knees, begging for your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, moya lyubov’ (my love). Forgive me, please.” She begged, tears gathering in her eyes.

Your shadow loomed over the kneeling redhead. Holding your breath and trying to keep your tears at bay, you pursed your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak in a steady voice.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” With trembling hands on her lap, Natasha glanced up at your face. She couldn’t control a sob breaking out from her throat as she saw the saddened expression on your face.

“Am I… not important to you anymore?” You spoke in a quiet voice.

“I…-” With eyes filled with tears, she struggled to find the right words to explain herself. Despite her strength and confidence, Natasha looked vulnerable, almost broken, before you.

“Where were you tonight? Drinking with Bruce and Thor again?” You asked with a shaky breath.

The answer was already clear before Natasha even spoke. There was a faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air, a reminder of her downward spiral in recent months. It pained you to witness the transformation, to see the woman you loved slipping further and further away with each passing day. She had been arriving home late consistently, often in an intoxicated state. Her presence during evenings became a rarity, and you would find yourself sleeping alone in the shared bed at night, longing for the warmth of her presence. You didn’t get to see her in the mornings, too — despite consuming a large amount of alcohol the night prior, Natasha would, without fail, rise early for work the next day before you woke up.

Two months. Two months of Natasha repeating the same apologies. Two months of you backing down every single time and forgiving her when you saw her vulnerable expression. The redhead was truly your weakness, your Achilles heel. Even after she would pour her heart out to you, the same phrases ‘I promise I won’t drink again’ and ‘this is the last time, I swear’, she’d just return to the bar the next day, drinking to her heart’s content. It was as if she’d forgotten her promises to change. As if she had no remorse for her actions, or care for your feelings.

You missed snuggling up beside her after a long day, your head in the crook of her neck as you smelled the familiar vanilla shampoo in her hair. You missed the feeling of her heartbeat against your chest and the softness of her breath against your skin. These days, the smell of alcohol replaced the comforting and soothing scent you were used to.

While Natasha’s current vulnerability displayed her remorse and pain you’d never seen before, you wanted another kind of vulnerability — one where she was there for you and prioritised you first. You longed for her comfort, her reassurance as she held you close and whispered words of love in your ear.

With an exhausted sigh, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of even more disappointment at the sight of the two untouched plates of home-cooked beef stroganoff on the dining table. The tantalising aroma of the beef stroganoff now made you nauseous. It bitterly reminded and mocked you of your meticulous efforts to please your wife. The once-warm meal lay cold since you plated them up three hours ago while you waited for Natasha to return home. Accompanying the two plates were two empty wine glasses, a softly lit candle, and an unopened bottle of red wine. And in the refrigerator sat a baking tray of lemon meringue pie from Natasha’s favourite bakery.

Today held a significant meaning — It marked the second wedding anniversary with the love of your life, Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Throughout the day, you spent hours pouring your heart and soul into preparing each slice of tenderloins as you made the beef stroganoff. Cooking wasn’t your forte, you had to learn how to cook it from websites.

And to add salt to the injury, she never even bothered to return home early, preferring to drown herself in alcohol at the bar with Bruce and Thor.

You thought that if you cooked her favourite dish and bought her favourite dessert, Natasha would come home instead of getting wasted at the bar, right? You were sorely mistaken. You had even persistently messaged her all day, excitedly telling her about the candlelit dinner you had carefully planned for the evening. However, all of your texts went unanswered.

You almost found amusement and humour in your naïvety.

“Y/N/N?” Natasha barely whispered. Her vulnerability differed from the loving and confident person you fell in love with.

“I need some time apart to figure things out, Natasha.” It had been some time since you uttered her full name, always preferring to call her ‘Natty’ or, your personal favourite, ‘sunshine’.

A pang of sorrow tugged at your heart, for Natasha had truly been your sunshine once upon a time. In the beginning, she had truly been like a ray of sunlight, her sweet smile had the power to brighten even the gloomiest of days, her laughter your favourite melody. And now, as you stood before her, the Natasha you once knew and loved had become a distant memory. She was a shadow of her former self, almost unrecognisable to you. She was no longer your sunshine, but a raincloud that drenched you in loneliness and despair.

Your fingers instinctively played with the wedding ring adorning your left hand, tracing its edges and rolling it around your finger to alleviate your anxiety as you awaited her next words. You expected her to refuse and deny your words, to tell you that she needed you in her life, but all you got from her was a single word — “okay.”

Her answer made you scoff.

“That’s it? All I get is an ‘okay’?” You seethed, your hands clenched into tight fists as you let anger consume your words. It was as if your weight of frustration, loneliness and insecurities exploded, the pent-up emotions finally erupting into words. “Did you ever take this relationship seriously, Natasha? Was I nothing more to you than a warm body when you had nightmares and decent fuck when you were horny?”

“I-I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way.” Natasha’s voice wavered as she struggled to find the right words.

“I can’t take this anymore.” You declared, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Fuck you, Natasha, I’m leaving. Forget taking a break — I never want to see your face again. I wish I had never met you.”

The hurt and shock in her eyes were unmistakable, but you did not regret your harsh words. You’d finally had enough. Enough of her unkept promises, her lies. Her actions spoke louder than words. The silence that followed afterwards was deafening. Natasha looked down, avoiding eye contact with you.

You slid your wedding ring off your finger, using more force than usual as you placed it on the coffee table. The sound of it hitting the table echoed loudly throughout the room. Instead of feeling a weight off your shoulders, a gnawing sense of anxiety and disappointment bubbled in your stomach.

Is this the end of your marriage?

You love, no, loved Natasha, and the weight of the one-sided relationship had become too much for you to bear alone. You wondered if she ever truly cared about you in the first place, or if you were only a distraction from her busy life as an Avenger. You had a nagging feeling that, maybe, she was unsatisfied with being in love with an Avenger-turned-housewife. Maybe she preferred someone like Bruce? You shook your head as the image of Bruce surfaced in your mind. Aware of his crush on your wife, you could not help but wonder if Natasha, had developed feelings for him and hesitated to break your heart with the truth.

Maybe that’s why she’s been spending time with Bruce at the bar.

Was her love ever real then?

And with that, you turned away. You stood before the door, your hand hesitating over the doorknob. You expected Natasha to intervene and stop you from leaving. With a hesitant glance back at her, you observed her entire frame convulsing with sobs, making it even harder to walk away.

You stepped out the door as you couldn’t bear to witness the pain in your favourite green eyes any longer. You knew leaving was the right thing to do, even if it tore you apart inside. As you settled into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the familiar driveway, the haunting image of Natasha’s tear-streaked face lingered in your mind

You had to get far, far away from Natasha. The only other person you could trust is Wanda, your ex-girlfriend and another Avenger. She would be able to comfort you with her soothing presence and words. Tears welled in your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as you navigated the familiar streets to Wanda’s house. The turn of events weighed heavily on your mind, and millions of questions ran through your head.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the traffic light blaring red ahead. A car from the opposite direction ran right towards you, its glaring light blinding your vision with its intensity. With a sharp breath intake, the tyres’ screeching sound filled the air as you braced yourself for impact.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours that Natasha knelt on the wooden floor after you left the house. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was that her heart ached. It was as if someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart, and thrown it across the room without any care.

She felt overwhelmed. The air felt thick and made it hard for her to breathe as waves of panic coursed through her. She lay in a fetal position, her knees to her chest and her forehead on the floor. Her trembling hands clutched at her chest, desperately trying to calm the racing beats of her heart. Her body could not stop convulsing as tears streamed down her face, blurring the surroundings around her.

Every shallow breath she expelled felt painful, and she felt like she was anchored to the cold ground beneath her. It was as if the room was spinning, and the walls were closing in, trapping her in endless suffering. The ache in her chest mirrored the shattering of her heart.

The events that happened after she came home drunk had sobered her up quickly, and all she felt now was a hollow emptiness. Natasha felt like a complete asshole. She had taken advantage of your kindness and patience and trampled all over it. She took you for granted, and now she was alone in the place she called home.

Home. It was merely a house, but the treasured memories the two of you shared with love and affection made it a home.

Once the waves of a panic attack passed, she craned her neck up to glance around her surroundings. The singular candle you prepared for the candlelit dinner was still burning on the dining table, illuminating the dimly lit living room. Even with the blinds drawn over the windows, she could see outside enough to gauge that sunrise was coming soon.

Unexpectedly, the voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. shattered the silence as it echoed through the house. “Agent Natasha Romanoff, please come to the Avengers Compound as quickly as possible.”

Natasha groaned softly in response, slowly getting on her feet cautiously. Her knees and arms ached as she got her balance, a painful reminder of how she spent the night in an uncomfortable position.

Even when she chose to live separately from the Avengers, Tony insisted he installed F.R.I.D.A.Y. into the home for ‘extra’ security. A sense of unease gnawed at her. She rarely got an announcement from the A.I. unless necessary, such as an emergency or a last-minute mission.

“Did something happen?” She called out to the A.I., her voice cracking and hoarse from the crying.

“Y/N Romanoff is in the hospital wing, she has suffered critical injuries from a car accident,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied promptly.

Panic surged through her body as she quickly shed last night’s attire. With each distressed movement, thoughts of how badly hurt you were raced through her mind.

Shit. What has she done?

Natasha barged through the doors of the infirmary in the Avengers Compound, her eyes surveying the all-too-familiar place. There were countless times when she had to prioritise tending to her wounds in the infirmary after missions instead of debriefing. The place buzzed with the hum of fluorescent lights, and the antiseptic smell in the air nauseated her. She approached the first medical professional in her sightline, a male nurse.

“Bring me to Y/N Romanoff’s room, now.” She ordered, grabbing the nurse’s uniform collar in a tight fist.

The nurse’s hands struggled under her grasp, choking out. “Y-Yes, Agent Romanoff. This way.”

Letting go of his collar, the male nurse quickly led her down the hallways to your room in fear of angering the assassin further. Her heart raced as she followed behind him, not prepared for how wounded you would look after the car accident. As Natasha entered the room, her fears were confirmed as she saw you. You were lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile, while hooked up to multiple wires and machines that monitored your every heartbeat and breathing. Your whole body was covered with bandages and bruises, and the sight of your unconscious body supplemented the guilt in her gut.

“Agent Romanoff, we’ve done X-rays, CT scans and an MRI of her body. She has multiple transverse fractures on her clavicle and pelvic bone. She’s suffered a traumatic brain injury from the car accident, and she’s been comatose ever since.”

Before she could question him further, the nurse quickly left the room. She huffed in annoyance. Shrugging off the encounter with the medical professional, she approached your bedside hesitantly, sitting on the chair beside the bed. Taking your cold hand in hers, her index and middle fingers quickly found the pulse point on your wrist.

Your pulse was weak.

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes, threatening to spill as she whispered through choked sobs, her voice trembling with emotion “It’s all my fault, I-I’m so sorry. Please, wake up.”

Natasha needed you alive and conscious. Without you, she felt lost, like she was swimming adrift in an endless sea. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind. She felt like her world had become even greyer. She traced the contours of your face with her eyes as if trying to memorise every detail that made you uniquely you. All she could do was hope and pray that you would wake up soon to forgive her and give her one last chance to fix everything.

Days turned into weeks into months. It’d been two months since you got into a coma. Two months since she’d heard her favourite voice. Two months of replaying the same scene the day she lost you.

The indifference in your voice. Your disappointed expression. The smell of beef stroganoff. The sound of your wedding ring placed on the coffee table. The sound of the door clicking behind you as you left the house.

Two months felt like two years to Natasha. With each passing moment, the vital signs monitor played the steady rhythm of your heartbeat in the medical room. Natasha refused to leave your side for even a moment. She was scared that you would flatline if she tore her eyes away from your body. She was like a bodyguard around you — keeping her eyes on your body even when her body was begging for sleep.

After Nick Fury heard about your current condition, he immediately gave Natasha time off from missions to allow her to prioritise your well-being. She was thankful for Nick Fury’s understanding.

Everyone in the Avengers recognised the toll it was taking on Natasha’s well-being. Wanda took it upon herself to bring the redhead meals and encourage her to shower and step outside for fresh air. Wanda would remind her that you wouldn’t want her to neglect her own needs. Despite being curious about what had happened that night, the brunette never pressed her for answers. It was obvious that the wounds were still fresh. Natasha always looked miserable whenever Wanda entered the medical room every day. The both of them would take turns taking care of you. Even when Natasha knew about your past romantic relationship with Wanda, she trusted her the most amongst all the other Avengers to take care of you when she had other matters to attend to.

Natasha felt a deep loneliness she couldn’t shake off that only your awakening could dispel. She clung to the glimmer of hope that each passing moment brought you closer to waking up. With every conversation with Dr. Cho telling her that your body was recovering well, her heart swelled with optimism. She would find a twinge of happiness in the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of your chest.

When alone with you, Natasha would mindlessly talk to you, sharing stories of her day and reminding you that she loved you. Even when you were unconscious, she never failed to greet you every day with an ‘I love you’. She read your favourite books, played your favourite songs and whispered words of love, hoping you could somehow hear her. She’d stopped going to the bar and getting herself intoxicated, she knew that she had to be there for you.

Night after night, when Natasha’s body was too exhausted to stand vigil, she would drift off to sleep with her head resting on the edge of your bed. The position was far from comfortable, but the discomfort mattered little to her. All that mattered was being near you and being the first person you see when you wake up, even if it meant sacrificing her comfort.

And then, one day, as the first rays of dawn bathed the room in a warm glow, you woke up. Natasha was asleep when you aroused from your coma, and she stirred awake by the twitch from your hand intertwined with hers.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, a soft whine leaving your throat as you met her tear-filled gaze. A wave of relief washed over Natasha, but your eyes widened in panic and alarm as you saw the redhead in front of you.

“W-Who the fuck are you?”

Natasha swore she could hear a pin drop from the silence in the room. The green eyes, previously full of hope, reflected a mixture of disappointment and pain. Speechless, Natasha met your stunned gaze as she took her time to process your words.

“W-Where am I?” You mumbled in a hoarse voice.

Your eyes tried to adjust to the blinding light of the overhead lights as your consciousness slowly reawakened. A frown formed on your face as your eyes scanned every corner of the medical room. One of the surrounding machines beeped steadily, indicating that your vital signs were stable. You scratched your head and tried to remember how you ended up in the hospital, but you can’t.

Natasha picked up the glass of water from the nightstand and offered it to you with trembling hands. You drank the water thirstily, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you tried to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s me, Natasha, your wife. Don’t you remember?” She began, moving her chair closer to your bed. “You’re at the Avengers Compound. You’ve been in a coma for a while.”

“I... Have a wife?” Aside from the fact that you were in an infirmary, the fact that you were married to someone surprised you more. You studied the features of the redhead sitting in front of you — the sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of your consciousness. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we got married two years ago,” Natasha explained, her tone as soothing as possible.

“But... my girlfriend, Wanda.” You said, tilting your head to the side. ��Where is she?”

Natasha’s hands shot up to cover her mouth as her eyes watered. She rose from the chair and stepped away from her bed. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Her hands became clammy, and each breath was laboured as her heart raced. A relentless drumbeat echoed in Natasha’s ears.

Was this a nightmare?

The impulse to reach out and grab your hand, a source of comfort that calmed her down, surged within her. Yet, she hesitated.

You appeared as the body of the person Natasha had fallen in love with years ago when you were just eighteen and freshly recruited into the Avengers team. The both of you had a rocky start — she was your enemy first before she became your friend and eventually your lover. However, that chapter was a long time ago as you had retired from the front lines upon marrying her.

As Natasha observed you, a sense of unease settled within her. There wasn’t the same warmth she once found in your eyes. Instead, an unfamiliar emptiness stared back at her. The very gaze that used to ignite with love and affection now held an empty void — The same expression as the day when you broke up with her. Natasha clung to the hope that your memory would somehow seamlessly reweave themselves back into your consciousness, dispelling the thoughts that she was staring at a stranger disguised as her wife.

You wrinkled your nose as you awaited her response. You tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but your muscles weakened from inactivity and failed you. You winced as you felt a sharp pain in your chest.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Natasha’s voice was laced with concern. She gently guided you to remain lying down. “I should get Dr. Cho. Stay here, don’t move.”

Before you could formulate a response, she hurried out of the room. As Natasha disappeared from your view, her heart sank as she realised the extent of your memory loss. She should have expected this — Dr. Cho did briefly inform her about how you might experience a few symptoms of memory loss due to the brain injury.

But damn, did your words hit hard.

As Natasha hurried down the corridor, a nagging sense of guilt held her down. Was your memory loss a form of karma for her past actions? Or perhaps a second chance to rebuild things with you? Even though you had effectively cut ties with her moments before the accident, she wanted to be there for you every step of the way. Was she going to tell you what had happened mere minutes before your car accident? No, not yet. Her focus had to be on providing support during your rehabilitation.

She couldn’t bear to lose you again.

The intensity of her emotions became even more palpable as Natasha approached the nurses’ station. Two familiar figures gradually became apparent in the distance, Dr. Cho and Wanda. Both of them were engaged in an animated conversation, but they stopped when they saw the dread on Natasha’s face.

“Y/N’s awake.” Natasha relayed.

Entering the hospital room as a trio, your eyes ignited with a mix of relief and recognition as you saw Wanda.

“Hey there, sweetheart. I missed you.” You greeted Wanda with a wide grin.

As those words slipped from your lips, Natasha’s heart tightened in response. It was a term you had reserved only for her before the accident. On the other hand, Wanda could only manage a warm smile, waving at you. Wanda was unsure of how to respond to the term you used to call her when the both of you were dating.

“Y/N, it’s great to see you awake.” Dr. Cho chimed in, trying to ease the atmosphere. With a clipboard in hand, she flipped through your medical records. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… confused. What happened to me?” You asked.

Natasha quickly jumped in. “You were in a car accident two months ago.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Car accident? But I don’t remember anything.”

Wanda, sensing the discomfort in the room, stepped forward. “It’s okay, Y/N. The important thing is that you’re awake now. Natasha and I are here for you.”

In response, you graced Wanda with an endearing smile. Your hand extended, seeking and finding Wanda’s. You seemed to be reassured by her presence and physical touch. Natasha, observing the scene, couldn’t help but feel a subtle pang of jealousy. She pushed it aside, reminding herself that you were only acting this way because of the memory loss.

“We’re all here to help you remember,” Natasha spoke softly.

As your eyes flickered between the two women, there was a spark of love in your eyes as you glanced at Wanda. However, when your gaze turned toward Natasha, the same reserved void of distance was in your eyes.

“Do you remember anything else before the car accident?” Dr. Cho inquired, her pen poised over the pages as she wrote down your responses.

“No…?” You responded tentatively, a furrow forming on your forehead.

“Alright. Firstly, what’s your current profession?” Dr. Cho probed.

“I’m a retired Avenger.” You uttered, unconsciously tightening your grip on Wanda’s hand.

“Your age?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Do you remember these two?” Dr. Cho redirected your attention, pointing to Natasha and Wanda.

“Wanda’s my girlfriend. I don’t remember who the other person is.” You confessed, looking at Natasha with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha crossed her arms, feeling uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Very well. Your cooperation is appreciated, Y/N.” Dr. Cho acknowledged you with a nod, turning her attention to the two other women. “Agent Romanoff and Agent Maximoff, may I talk to the both of you in my office for a few minutes?”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged an apprehensive glance before nodding in unison, accompanying the doctor out of the room. In Dr. Cho’s office, both women settled into chairs opposite her desk, their postures stiff. Dr. Cho wasted no time, closing the door to her office with a decisive click before taking her seat behind the desk.

“I’ll need to ask Y/N more questions later to confirm the type of amnesia she’s experiencing. Based on the questions earlier, there’s a high chance she’s experiencing systematized amnesia.” Leaning forward, Dr. Cho rested her elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “It’s a type of amnesia that happens when an individual experiences long-term stress or trauma. It can be from experiencing physical, sexual or emotional neglect and abuse. In response, the brain blocks out all memories about that one specific person from their past.”

Dr. Cho’s statement made Natasha’s mind spin. Wanda gripped the armrests tightly, her eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. “Is that why she remembers me, and not Natasha?”

“Exactly.” She paused, turning her attention to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff, have you ever… hit your wife?”

“What? No, of course not.” Natasha replied with an exasperated shake of her head. “But… We did argue before the car accident. I haven’t been spending time with her and I was too busy drinking at the bar to spend time with her on the day of our second anniversary. She broke up with me before she got into the car accident.”

Wanda’s anger flared, her fists clenched by her sides as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “So the reason she got into a car accident is because of you?” She accused. “What the fuck, Natasha.”

Natasha drew in a deep breath. “I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know that she’d get into a car accident. I messed up.”

Dr. Cho stepped in. “Emotions run high in situations like these, but our focus should be on helping Y/N recover and helping her navigate through her memory loss. We can’t change the past, but we can make choices to change the future.”

Wanda, her jaw clenched in frustration, couldn’t contain the bitterness in her retort. “Fine, but regret doesn’t undo the damage you’ve done, Natasha. Y/N trusted and loved you, and you let her down. She doesn’t deserve this, and she certainly doesn’t deserve you.”

Natasha’s lips trembled slightly, struggling to hold back tears.

Wanda, unable to contain her frustration, abruptly pushed her chair back. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

She stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Dr. Cho winced at the resounding sound before sighing. “Let’s regroup later. Wanda needs some time, and we’ll address these issues when everyone’s ready.”

Wanda burst into your medical room, her brows furrowed in deep frustration and a scowl etched across her face. Startled by her sudden entrance, you jumped slightly in your bed, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw her expression.

“Wands?” You whispered. “What’s wrong?”

As you whispered her name, Wanda’s tense expression softened. She approached your bed with slow steps, her hands reaching out to hold yours.

“It’s... It’s nothing, Y/N.” Wanda replied, her voice tight with emotion.

Despite Wanda’s attempt to dismiss her agitation, you could sense the remaining anger beneath her facade. You furrowed your brow, concern etching your features.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” You insisted gently, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “You stormed in here looking like you were ready to take on an army.”

Wanda’s lips twitched with a hint of amusement, but the weight of her distress remained evident in her features. She hesitated for a moment, exhaling a breath before finally speaking.

“It’s Natasha,” Wanda admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

As much as Wanda wanted to tell you the reason you fell into a coma, she knew that it wasn’t her place to reveal the information without Natasha’s consent. She had to choose her words carefully.

You listened intently, your heart sinking at the mention of Natasha’s name. The complexity of your relationship with her made you feel uncertain and overwhelmed.

How could you be married to someone you couldn’t remember?

“Is Natasha really my wife?” You asked.

You closed your eyes, trying to find any memory that you shared with the woman who was supposedly your wife. But try as you might, your mind remained blank, empty of any intimate or shared memories with the redhead.

Wanda’s expression softened with empathy. “Yes.” She affirmed gently. “Natasha’s your wife.”

“That means you and I… we broke up?” You pressed your lips together, trying not to frown.

“Yeah.” Wanda began, her voice soft but tinged with sadness. "We broke up because I wasn’t ready to become something more. You love Natasha a lot, more than you ever loved me. Even a blind man could see it.”

“Oh.” You sighed, rubbing your thumb over Wanda’s hands. “But… are you sure? Did past me have feelings for you still?”

“Not anymore, Y/N. Your future’s with Natasha now. She loves you a lot and she’s been miserable ever since you got into a coma, so go easy on her, alright?”

Your heart sank at Wanda’s words.

“Alright.” You offered her a bittersweet smile.

A week after waking up, Dr. Cho officially diagnosed you with systematic amnesia. Once you had healed under her careful observation, you were discharged and allowed to return to the home you shared with Natasha. Despite your reluctance to burden her with your care, she was the only one you could depend on. Wanda and the other Avengers had their responsibilities, leaving Natasha as your primary caretaker.

You were still bruising and aching all over, so Natasha assisted you with various miscellaneous tasks, such as managing your medication intake and helping you with showering. Physically, you were improving, but you still couldn’t remember Natasha.

Gradually, you treated her as if she were a stranger. She understood that it wasn’t intentional, but it still tugged at her heartstrings.

The way you flinched whenever she touched you, because she was used to doing it back then when the both of you were together. It pained her deeply. You kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself, not trusting her enough to talk about your feelings. Despite this, outwardly, your interactions with her seemed relatively ‘normal’. The both of you never argued, never fought, and you’d spent time together.

But it still wasn’t the same as it used to be.

Back then, when Natasha would return home from her missions, you’d eagerly rush to her, enveloping her in the tightest hug imaginable and peppering her face with kisses. Now, you greeted her with a tight-lipped smile and a small wave.

In the past, you would cuddle together while watching late-night movies, holding her hand and resting your head on her shoulder. Now, there was a noticeable distance between you, an emotional and physical space that seemed to widen with each passing day.

Natasha tried bringing you to a coffee place — the one she brought you on your first date. You were intrigued, but you still couldn’t remember anything.

Natasha was genuinely happy to see you making progress in your recovery. Yet, beneath that happiness, she was beginning to grow impatient. Your health was improving, but the state of your marriage seemed to deteriorate because you were unable to remember anything about her.

And, one day, Natasha finally reached her breaking point. She had prepared dinner for you, setting the table and waiting patiently on the couch for your return. But you didn’t arrive until three hours later, long after the food had grown cold.

“Where were you?” Natasha’s voice held a sharp edge as she crossed her arms.

You hadn’t mentioned going out, let alone with whom.

“I went out with Wanda for dinner.” You responded casually.

“And you couldn’t text me to let me know?” Natasha’s tone grew more aggressive.

Not only had you essentially stood her up, but you had also gone out with your ex-girlfriend — the same ex-girlfriend you might still harbour feelings for. It was ironic. It felt like the tables had turned. She was the one feeling hurt and frustrated this time.

“My phone was dead. Why are you so angry?” Your voice rose, becoming defensive as you retrieved your phone from your jacket pocket and tossed it onto the dining table.

“Because I made dinner for you.”

“So what? I can have it for lunch tomorrow.”

“That’s not the point. I was waiting for you.” Natasha insisted, her tone laced with frustration.

“And I promise I’ll eat it tomorrow. I’m tired, Natasha. I’m going to bed.” You said dismissively, turning away and walking towards the master bedroom.

There was something else changed, too. Natasha took it upon herself to occupy the guest bedroom while you resided in the master bedroom. It felt like there was a mental and physical separation between the both of you.

It continued for months. Natasha almost wanted to give up, contemplating whether to raise the white flag and accept the bitter truth that you would never remember her at all. The constant arguments between you never seemed to resolve. Instead, they ended with either Natasha or you walking away when things got too heated. With time, Natasha felt like the distance between you grew even more larger. You started coming home late, leaving Natasha disappointed as she waited for you to return. Every dinner she prepared for you went unnoticed, adding to her sense of loneliness and frustration.

Natasha felt as though you had undergone a complete transformation, like someone similar to you but not really, well, you. She was a stranger to you just as you were to her.

You were sitting on a plush chair, engrossed in the pages of a book when she finally accepted defeat. She observed you quietly for a moment, the way you were oblivious to her presence behind her.

“Are we still together?” Natasha asked, her voice breaking the silence.

You looked up to find her standing before you, a mixture of longing and sadness in her gaze.

You closed the book slowly, placing it on the coffee table.

You chuckled bitterly, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words. “Well, legally, I suppose we are.”

Natasha’s heart sank at your response. She had hoped for affection, but instead, she was met with indifference.

“Do you even want us to be together?” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

You studied her momentarily, leaning your head back against the headrest as you looked her up and down. Natasha looked miserable, her cheeks caked with dried tears and dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights.

“I’m sorry, Natasha.” You murmured, sighing. “I just… I don’t think we’re working out.”

Natasha felt her heart drop at your words. She had feared this moment, dreaded the possibility of hearing those words from you. Yet, the reality of it hit her like a sudden blow.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely on the verge of tears. “I tried. I really did try to remember you. Remember I came home late because I told you I was spending time with Wanda? I was walking around the places you brought me to, hoping that I’d remember something, anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asked. Her heart clenched at your words and her tears spill over her cheeks.

“Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t want to disappoint you at the end of the day.” You whispered, standing up from the plush chair and walking over to her. You raised your hand to Natasha’s cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. “I want you, but I don’t think I’m in love with you. You deserve better than this, Natasha. You deserve better than me. You’re not in love with me — You were in love with the me before the accident.”

Natasha closed her eyes, leaning into your touch, a silent plea for reassurance. But as you withdrew your hand, the ache of longing remained.

Just like how your love was out of touch.

“We can’t keep pretending, Natasha.” You said softly, your voice tinged with regret. “Maybe it’s time we accept that things have changed.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned away, unable to bear the pain of seeing her heartbreak. It pained you to hurt her, but you knew that prolonging the inevitable would only cause more suffering for both of you.

This time Natasha knew that she had to stop you from leaving somehow. She couldn’t make the same mistake twice. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, not again. Not for the third time.

As you headed towards the door, Natasha’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Y/N, please... don’t go.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to stay. Not when the love you’ve heard from Natasha felt fake. Like it never happened.

You paused for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, before offering a final, pained glance back at Natasha. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Goodbye.”

And with that, you stepped out the door, leaving behind a redhead with a shattered heart.

Maybe in an alternate universe, you could remember her and love her eternally.

#lumi’s fics!#marvel #mcu #the avengers #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #angst #wlw #fanfic #fanfiction

333 notes · View notes

goldenroutledge · 11 months ago

Text

par for the course

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!kook!reader

word count ⤜ 3.2k

summary ⤜ in which you forgive your childhood nemesis, rafe cameron.

a/n ⤜ season one reminiscent? i’ve had a draft of this piece forever so i decided to finish it!

rafe cameron masterlist

The slam of your bedroom door echoes through your house and the fall onto your bed is cushioned by the decorative throw pillows on top of it, drowning out your exasperation for the moment. A deep exhale fell past your lips as reality sunk in. The nags of your parents reached an all time high so far this summer, as they went on and on about how you were going to be stuck in the house with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, your explanation didn’t cut it. In the back of your mind, you were well aware that your friends would be busy doing their own things. You just chose not to believe it until it came true. John B and JJ became camp counselors for some group of kids over the summer, those poor kids. Pope decided to fill his free time with summer classes, and Kiara was tied up at The Wreck. And with John B going away, Sarah didn’t have a reason to stick around either, much to your displeasure. She’d decided to visit her cousins overseas. Not that you really blamed her, or any of your friends for that matter.

But it was slightly embarrassing to have nothing to say when it was your turn to reveal your plans for the next few months. Any other time, you’d always assumed your plans would be with any one of them.

And now, your problems were a whole lot bigger. Judging by your lack of plans, your parents went ahead and made some for you. And with the last person you would’ve wanted to spend your summer days— or any days at all— with, Rafe Cameron.

Both of your fathers had worked together in the past, and they still kept a friendship because of it. If that’s what you call two middle-aged businessmen drowning in drinks and making small talk at the occasional kook event.

To put it simply, Rafe had it out for you. Just the mention of his name made you shudder; your horrific childhood experiences with the boy forever carved in your memory.

His bratty behavior towards you began at about age 9 or 10. For instance, when you wouldn’t budge off of his favorite swing at the park. It would be impossible to forget how he popped one last bubble from his piece of bubblegum, faded pink and chewed thin, before wading it up and planting it right in your hair.

You lunged off the swing towards him immediately, screams of terror piercing the serene island air. He ran in circles, cackling mischievously as you chased him. All for Rafe to ‘take back’ his spot on the swing while he had you distracted.

As years went on, the memory became less and less vivid— except for that moment when he popped in another piece of gum, one bigger than all his teeth combined, before shouting: “Thanks for keeping’ it warm for me.”

And without an inkling of remorse, he began swinging gleefully while you ran to find your mother, hot tears cascading down your cheeks. The tear stains remained for another day or so. The sadness and frustration was simply too much for your nine year old self to handle. Not to mention the wad of gum that had to be cut out of your hair later that day. And it was all Rafe’s fault.

So it couldn’t be chalked up to anything less than betrayal, really. For your parents to coordinate summer golf lessons with your childhood nemesis. It was pure treachery. Especially after your strong argument of course, not failing to mention the dreaded gum incident. Only to be told off by your mother, as she assumed any child of Ward’s would mature into nothing short of an upstanding citizen. If she only knew.

Days later, you were throwing on a Ralph Lauren polo and a tennis skirt to match, hating every minute of it as you knew what was to come. You couldn’t deny how the material hugged your body just right; and a shred of your subconscious hoped that Rafe would notice too.

For no reason other than revenge, of course. How dare he terrorize you as a child and not be consumed with regret years later? His unforgivable acts couldn’t go unpunished.

Grabbing your keys and phone, you sped off in your car without so much as a goodbye to your mom before leaving. No amount of time could help you process what you were in for, and no amount of forethought would make this reunion any more bearable.

Scanning the cream colored walls of the Island Club, it didn’t take long to spot the tall Cameron leaning up against one of its pillars, scrolling on his phone with an expression of pure boredom. His foot tapped the floor occasionally, his eyes lifting every minute or so in search of you.

Just two taps on his shoulder was all it took to grab his attention. Rafe’s lips spread into a smirk just as quickly as he turned around to meet your irritated gaze. That stupid smirk, one you knew all too well.

“Long time no see, Y/n. Missed me?”

“Not a chance in hell. I’m here against my will.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you were just begging for a chance to see me again.” Rafe whines dramatically.

“Delusional as ever, huh, Rafe? I guess some things never change.”

“Childish as ever, huh, Y/n? Good to know we agree about something. And to think I had hope that you’d leave the hostility at home.”

“Didn’t you get suspended from the Academy for fighting? Twice?”

His expression shifts from smug to scowl.

“That was a long time ago. You ready to get started or what?”

You smile at him with faux innocence, glad to have landed a punch in this endless match between you two.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

—

The silence remained as thick as molasses, tension lingering that not even the sharpest of machetes could slash through.

Rafe steered the golf cart in silence, movements hasty and abrupt as an expression of his frustration. Your memory wasn’t as short as he’d expected; and now he was subjected to a summer of what he anticipated to be vengeful torture.

Lost in thought, he came to a stop at your destination. And by the looks of it, you were more than ready, willing and able to carry on without him as you began teeing up.

“Aren’t I supposed to be teaching you how? Isn’t that the whole reason why we’re here?”

With a sigh, your eyes darted to the clear blue sky, silently praying to a higher power to keep you sane. “I’ll ask for your help when I need it.”

You resume lining up your footing and the club with the ball, envisioning your swing before Rafe interrupts once again.

“Why bother showing up here if you’re gonna act like a bitch?”

“I was sent here against my will, remember?”

“So you say.”

“And I’m not a bitch. Not to those who don’t deserve it.”

“I couldn’t tell the difference.” Rafe scoffs. “And I never said you are a bitch, I said you’re acting like one.”

A cold chuckle makes its way out of your throat at his blatant contradiction. “You do not wanna go there with me, Cameron.”

After the mumble fell from your lips, you were set on taking a swing at the golf ball. Until Rafe opened his mouth once again, as if he was just waiting for you to swing, to piss you off even further. Provoking you at this point.

“Actually, let’s go there. I’d love to go there. Please enlighten me as to why you feel entitled to be so rude to me. Especially since I am the one doing you this little favor, aren’t I? Giving you a break from those losers on the Cut you love so much.”

“Isn’t it disrespectful to talk when I’m trying to hit a ball?” You query, quoting his very own words during an encounter with the notorious blond pogue. “Learn some etiquette, my friend.”

“Pathetic. So it’s Maybank? He’s been whispering in your ear? What, is he your boyfriend?”

“As if I haven’t experienced enough of your obnoxiousness firsthand. Trust me, I hate you plenty on my own. And he’s not my boyfriend, idiot.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning at your defensiveness. “Though from what I hear you have some ‘losers’ of your own these days. Barry, isn’t it? Would be a shame if Uncle Ward found out.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at your disingenuous mention of his father. Sure, your fathers were somewhat close friends, but for some reason, it made his blood boil. “What’s it to you? Don’t tell me this is your attempt at blackmail.”

You shrug, grip still firm on the golf club. “Not necessarily. Have to admit it does feel good to get under your skin, though.”

“Touché.”

—

You moved through the golf course rather quickly, nearing its end. Both of your intentions were evident that you were eager to get home, and best of all, away from each other. Rafe slides into the driver's side of the cart, but doesn’t pull off immediately.

“You never actually answered my question, by the way. About why you’re being such a pain in the ass to me.”

You stop scrolling on your phone to look at him, trying to understand his purpose for bringing this up again. “You don’t happen to have some sort of short-term memory loss, right?”

“You said you hate me plenty on your own. But what fucking reason have I ever given you to?”

“Oh?”

“I told you to go there, didn’t I? I’m giving you a chance to let out your grievances. And that’s one more than I should, you know patience isn’t my strongsuit.”

“Can’t a girl just hate Rafe Cameron with no strings attached? I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

He looks over to you, blue eyes staring into yours. “You and I both know there’s always strings attached.”

“What can I say, Cameron? Guess it’s just par for the course. Or are you so desperate to know because you crave my validation?”

“What can I say, Y/l/n? I guess you wouldn’t be able to understand what it means to learn from your mistakes.”

“You’re full of it.”

“No more than you are, peach cake.”

“Just drive us back to the club already.”

“Not until you confess.” He protests, dangling the keys in your face before sliding them into his pocket. Rafe leans back, unintentionally manspreading as he does so, and drapes an arm over your shoulder. “We could be here all day.”

The exasperation was pretty much dripping off of you. His antics felt so familiar in the most intense way possible, and it made you want to scream. He was the same Rafe bullying you out of the playground a decade ago. The same Rafe you were now wondering had you misjudged. Or judged a little too harshly over some measly childhood rivalry.

“Primrose Park.”

“Excuse me?”

“Primrose Park.” You reiterate. “Don’t feign amnesia. I know you know.”

“How could I forget? I was the king of that place for years.”

“King? More like dictator.”

He shrugs. “I had a delicate ego back then.”

“As well as no patience or manners. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were raised by wolves.”

Rafe chuckles, amused by your memory of him as a child. “Blame it on Uncle Ward.”

“Sarah and Wheezie were always sweet as pie, so I don’t know if that’s fair.”

“Probably just caught me on a bad day, Y/n. I, too, am sweet as pie.” He defends, eyes twinkling as he smiles.

“Like hell you were! Do you recall wading up your gum and sticking it in my hair? Does that ring a bell?”

His eyebrows furrow as he recollects the memory.

“When we were kids at the park, you got all pissed that I wouldn’t give you a turn on the swings, so you spit your gum in my hair.”

He chuckles at first, but his laughs grow much louder as he ponders the memory.

“It’s really not that funny, Rafe. My mother had to cut that chunk of gum out of my hair.” You remind him. “You’re lucky I don’t shave your damn head right now!” You take a swat at his cap, knocking it to the ground as he’s struggling to get his laughter under control.

“And after all these years you never forgave me? It’s been decades, Y/n.”

“You never apologized.”

“Well I’m sorry, now. If that means anything.” He mumbles the last part, apologies being a foreign art to him. “But you should be thanking me, actually. You have no idea what you were in for had you stuck around.”

“What?”

“Henry Haberstroh. He was gonna give you another one of those stupid bouquets of weeds.”

“The dandelion bouquets?” Your mouth hangs open at the revelation, remembering the boy with an incessant crush on you. A crush so intense in fact that he wouldn’t stop giving you bouquets of dandelions he’d picked from the grass— not until you’d agreed to a playdate with him despite being painfully uninterested.

“The gum idea was more of a last resort but I thought you might wanna get out of there. I mean, dandelions? You’re allergic to bees.”

“And how do you know this exactly?”

“As King of Primrose Park I was privy to information. And was subtlety ever Henry’s thing? The kid was a blabbermouth. He never shut up about you.”

“Well I must say I’m impressed, Cameron. That’s quite a scheme you pulled off. Not that you’re forgiven or anything. But Henry was a creep.”

“Couldn’t take a hint to save his life, either. I don’t think I’ve seen you run away from someone so fast, not even from me.” Rafe teases, nudging your arm with his as you giggled.

“The bees!”

Rafe gives you a look of disbelief, knowing damn well it wasn’t the pollinated dandelions you were running from.

“Seriously, I’m really allergic! But you already knew that?”

“What kind of secret admirer doesn’t know his admiree’s allergens?”

His blue eyes lock with yours, smiles replacing the scowls on both of your faces from earlier. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“Shame on Henry.” Rafe critiques, realizing the implication of his words.

“Yeah. Shame on Henry. But I wouldn’t call us even quite yet, so sleep with one eye open just in case.”

The two of you share a genuine laugh for the first time all day, before Rafe begins driving towards the next hole.

“Remind me to lock my windows when I get home.”

—

You move towards your ball once again, but gaze at your target uneasily. Maybe you still had a thing or two to learn about the sport. Rafe leans up against the cart, arms crossed and biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt much thinner. The tension was almost gone in comparison to how you started the afternoon. Almost.

Now looking at Rafe, it felt different. How could you be angry anymore? Holding a vendetta against him took too much energy at this point when it was no longer warranted.

To your luck, you could excuse the fiery feeling rising to your cheeks as a result of the sweltering sun. No matter how hard you tried, your former memory of him melted away. You could no longer see Rafe as the pesky little boy he once was. Perhaps a symptom of heat stroke, you thought. Hopefully it would be temporary, you still had the whole summer with Rafe ahead of you.

“I almost forgot you’re supposed to be teaching me how to play this joke of a sport.” You gripe. “Will you show me?”

Rafe bites his bottom lip to avoid cracking a smile. That you had finally cracked, giving in to ask him for help. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Leaning off the cart, Rafe saunters over to you. “I need you to start on your form first. May I?” He offered, gesturing to set his arms over yours for some adjustment.

With a slow nod, you decide to taunt him further. He’s not gonna get away that easy. “You’re not chewing any gum are you?”

“No, Y/n.” He responds, and you can just hear the smirk in his tone. Hearing your name roll off his tongue makes your stomach flutter— now feeling his body against yours, the heat increasing tenfold.

“Hold the club firmly, and swing through the ball, not at the ball.” He guides your arms with his, mimicking how to prepare for a swing. As his head peers over your shoulder, you swear you hear his breath hitch at the faint aroma of your perfume. Rafe almost seems relaxed, doing the movements with you a few times over again before stepping back to let you try it.

You do just as he taught you, and Rafe repeats the instructions under his breath as he watches you take your swing.

From the woosh of the ball leaving the grass, your eyes follow as it lands in a close proximity to the cup. With a scream of victory, your hands collide with Rafe’s in a high five, before wrapping your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively falling to rest at your waist as he pulls you into a hug. “Atta girl!” He marvels.

“I did it!” You cheer, smile beaming off your face. Once the initial shock wears off, you realize whose arms you’re engulfed in, stepping back from the embrace abruptly. “Uhm- I’m sorry. I didn’t…” You begin, trying to explain yourself and your sudden outburst of physical affection.

“Don’t apologize.” Rafe assures, reaching his hand out for yours. You accept it with a shy smile. “You did great for your first big swing. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, you do have one hell of a teacher.”

“He’s not bad.” You confess. “Actually, better than I thought.”

Rafe quirks an eyebrow, his cerulean orbs gazing into your eyes, finding for once they held not one drop of bad blood while looking back at him. He steps forward, the space keeping you both apart dwindling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go straight to his head.”

His eyes flicker from yours then to your glossed lips, which is the final straw before giving into your growing urge to kiss him. Rafe’s free hand clings to your cheek immediately as he deepens the kiss; as if a magnetic pull between you two had clicked.

Pulling away, the surprise on Rafe’s face is evident, but the confidence in his voice made it impossible to tell a difference. “I’m glad to see you came to your senses and forgave me.”

“Jumping to conclusions already? What makes you think you’re forgiven?”

Rafe shrugs, and that familiar look of pride returns to his expression. His thumb grazes across the apple of your cheek, and his hand gives a gentle squeeze to your waist. “Call it a wild hunch.”

taglist @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @milkiane @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl @fallingwallsh @scenesofobx @bradleybeachbabe @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids @destourtereaux @iammirrorball

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x f!reader #outer banks #obx #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew starkey #rafe cameron fluff

296 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 1 year ago

Text

Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

---------------------------------------------------------

Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night��” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

201 notes · View notes

amyispxnk · 1 year ago

Text

And if you were my little girl

Summary - your dad sucks and you finally turn to Joel for help (summaries are my specialty can you tell)

A/N: SO my dad’s being a little bitchy and making me genuinely want to unalive a little bit, I remembered this song existed, Joel is the father we all wish we had, and here we are. Also I’ve (fortunately) never had to deal with an alcoholic so I’m sorry if it’s not written very well?

Pairing: platonic/father figure!Joel Miller x f!reader (can probably be read as gn tho?)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: paternal issues (i refuse to say daddy sorry), alcohol mention, language, angst, comfort, a lot of tears, father Joel, implications of using certain methods to get things you want, verbal/physical abuse, blood

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

Part 2 here

You reckoned you had stopped really taking the words in that he tried to threaten you with a long time ago, letting the curses and attempts to break you apart in through one ear and straight out the other. That way you wouldn’t be able to linger on them for too long; it was better that way.

“Where’s the fuckin’ drinks?” Your dad yelled, stumbling around the kitchen and throwing open the shelves in his search, met with nothing but dust. You skated around him as best you could but after he had almost torn apart the wood trying to find the alcohol, he turned to you.

Red in the face, sweating furiously with a look that could definitely kill you. Hands balled at his sides as he took a step towards you.

“D��you hide it again?” He said menacingly, trying to instil as much fear as he could into you, desperate for the liquid relief.

This time, you hadn’t hidden it. You knew better than to try and help him anymore, he couldn’t be fixed and you had to just accept it. When you were younger, when you were more stupid, more hopeful, you had tried hiding it or disposing of it in secret to try and discourage his alcoholism - only to be met with a split lip and hundreds of salty tears spilling from your eyes, only to be ignored and discarded and yelled at and told you were useless before being sent out to go get more. Sometimes without money, him saying that you’d just have to find another way to get it.

You were so disgusted with the prospect of what he was surely insinuating, but thinking about what he might do if you came back empty-handed was somehow scarier to you at the time.

“Fucking answer me!” He snarled, pulling you up by your collar and glaring at you.

“I didn’t hide it- there’s none left, and there’s no way to get any right now. If you just calm-” You began, trying to keep your voice steady and your face void of too much emotion. You weren’t going to let him do anything. He didn’t scare you anymore.

“Well you best fuckin’ find some, you bitch!” He shoved you towards the door, knocking you onto the hard wooden floor in the process and watching you cry out in pain without so much as batting an eye, too fucking stubborn to even feel any remorse since he was always fucking right about everything like he was now.

“Don’t think about coming back here unless you find me it.” And with that, he slammed the door in your face, leaving you outside the apartment door in the hallway.

You let out a shaky exhale, hands raising and covering your face as you furiously wiped away any tears that threatened to spill. Your hands balled up in your face as you hit your head over and over. You had to think of something. No matter how much of a poker face you put on in front of him, you were still terrified deep down, that feeling would never go away no matter how long you’d been putting up with it for.

You ran through all of your usual options, but you genuinely couldn’t think of one that would work today. It was nearly impossible to get your hands on alcohol in the apocalypse with ration cards, without them you had to resort to other means and you couldn’t bring yourself to do that right now.

Just when you thought that all hope was lost, the familiar and far-too-comforting Southern drawl of Joel Miller sounded from across the hallway.

“Y’alright sweetheart?” He asked cautiously. He had heard some banging coming from your apartment and had opened the door to find you standing there, tugging at your hair in frustration and looking like you were about to explode.

You turned to face him, opening your mouth to speak but not really knowing what to say.

How many times had this happened? How many times had your own father terrorised you for any minor inconvenience and blamed you for everything, made you feel stupid and worthless of any attention or love? And how many times had Joel still given you that attention, that love, or whatever it was. Maybe it was love, maybe he was just being nice to you, but you told yourself that’s what love was since you knew no better. Growing up in this world was cruel enough, but without anyone who truly loved you and liked to make sure you knew that every day, nobody to protect you from the monsters - infected and human - that inhibited it, that felt like the worst fate you could suffer.

So were you alright? No. No, of course you weren’t. But you’d say you were just like you had every time, because you didn’t want to bother people with your ‘issues’. As well as numbing yourself from feeling any intense fear or sadness as a result of your father’s endless torment, you also found it incredibly difficult to take pity on yourself. You always felt like your issues were never that real, that your father had a hard life and maybe you should just let him take it out on you.

“I’m..” you began, mustering up a pathetic excuse for a smile as you glanced from his face to the ground in front of your feet, “I’m fine, thank you.”

You knew the exact expression which would be on his face without even needing to look up, having seen it too many times. That one where he looks worried, his brows furrowed as he tries to pick you apart and figure out what the hell was actually going on, slightly angry too as this kept on happening and you still refused to tell him anything. Did you not trust him? Did he do something wrong? He knew he was threatening to people, that’s what he was known for in the QZ. But he had never done anything to you, he’d always tried helping you but you never talked or anything at all with him.

“Do you um- do you have any beer? Any alcohol would be fine really, I just need it right now. I can pay you but I don’t have any ration cards so it would have to be later on unless you could think of anything…” You trailed off at the end, not wanting to say it and give him the option in case he hadn’t thought of it yet, praying he wouldn’t want that.

“Yeah, I got some.” He murmured, before blinking a few times and opening the door to his apartment again, cogs turning in his brain as he still tried to figure out what happened.

“Come in, don’t need ya standin’ there like a lemon.” He said when you stayed fixed to the ground beneath you instead of following him inside like he had very clearly offered when he left the door open after walking in himself.

“Right.” You nodded as you entered his apartment, closing the door gently behind you and watching him as he went over to his cabinets and reached for some whiskey.

You took in his living space. It was clean, organised. The small entryway led straight into the living room which was linked to the kitchen space, a dusty couch in the centre of the room and a coffee table in front of it. A few books were on the table, along with some slightly cracked glasses. You never took Joel to be much of a reader, clearly you were wrong.

There were 2 more doors which were closed and you could only assume that they were the bathroom and his bedroom.

“Hope this ‘s okay.” He said as he appeared in front of you, bottle of whiskey in hand.

“You’re not drinkin’ this all by yourself, are ya?” A smirk appeared on his face as he attempted the light teasing with you, maybe that would cheer you up a bit.

Your expression bore a smile which faltered and faded quickly. If only he knew.

“No, no. It’s for my dad. He ran out so.. Yeah. How do you want me to pay?” You said quietly. Whatever it took, you supposed.

He noticed the dejected look on your face as you looked up at him. So tired. That’s what came to mind whenever he looked at you. Barely an adult and already looking like you were at death’s door whenever he saw you. Exhaustion clouded all of your features and your mind when you trudged up the stairs, down the corridor and up to your apartment door, entering as your shoulders somehow slumped even more.

“Y’ don’t needa pay, sweetheart.” He told you, and you blinked a few times in confusion.

“Really?” There was no way. Alcohol was so hard to come by, and here he was giving you a bottle for free?

“Yeah.” He nodded, making sure you had a good hold on the bottle before letting go of it and pursing his lips as he thought deeply yet again.

“‘F you ever need to talk or anythin’, I’m always here for ya, okay?” He said before you could leave, making you stop with your back towards him as you stood at the door.

“Thank you, Joel.” You whispered before leaving and returning to your own apartment.

After that, you found yourself on Joel’s doorstep a few more times - you didn’t go every time you needed something, not wanting him to think you were taking advantage of his kindness, so sometimes you were just genuinely hanging out with him.

He had some little books and crosswords, stories to tell you, and one time he’d even come across a VHS tape with a movie from the dawn of time on it which the two of you had watched one evening.

You stayed too late and definitely paid the price for it, but it was worth it, you told yourself as you cleaned the blood from your arms and hissed at the sting of a newly-formed bruise.

Then, one evening, it finally fell apart. He threw you out of the house, quite literally, and you were already knocking on Joel’s door before you could realise what you were doing.

He opened the door and you slammed yourself into him, causing him to let out a little cough as he stumbled back, arms tentatively wrapping around you.

“Woah, woah, y’alright sweetheart?” He asked, taken aback by your sudden action.

“Joel, I- I'm sorry.” You choked out, tightening your hold on him and fisting his shirt.

He ushered you gently into his apartment, closing the door behind you and sitting you down on the couch.

“What's goin’ on? What happened?” He said, watching as you trembled, lip quivering as you tried to formulate a sentence without bursting into tears.

You ultimately failed at that. Only managing the words my dad before a pained sob wracked through your entire body and you were crying into your palms.

Joel rushed to your side, pulling you into him and rubbing his hands up and down your back soothingly.

“‘s okay. You can talk to me, tell me what's goin’ on honey.” He told you, pulling back slowly from you to try and make you look at him, frown deepening on his face when he saw how upset you were.

“He- he- kicked me out, ‘cause I didn't- I lost the cards and- he got too angry at me so then- I was mad at him back and he hurt me so I said I didn't want to stay and he-” You stuttered, trying to actually remember what had happened in the first place then explain it as best you could.

His jaw clenched with anger. How could someone do that to their own child? Your father had clearly put you through so much emotionally and physically, and you had done nothing wrong. You were a good kid, and you deserved better than that. He could be better for you.

Your shaky breathing filled the room as he came back to his senses, willing his fury to stop clouding his head so he could focus on what was more important right now - you. He'd deal with him later.

His thumb reached up and wiped a stray tear from your face before he pulled you close again, hugging you tight.

“You stay here, okay? ‘m so sorry sweetheart. I won't let anythin’ bad happen to ya. Y’just gotta let me help you.” He said as you nodded into his shirt, a weak mm-hm muffled by the fabric before he slowly rose from the couch and walked into his kitchen.

He came back with a glass of water, offering it to you. “Drink this.” Your cautious fingers closed around it and brought it to your lips.

“‘s gonna be okay. You can stay here, if you want?” You had come to him, obviously hoping he'd ask you that, but hearing him actually say it gave you relief like nothing else could.

“Y-yes, please.” You said, putting the glass back down on the coffee table as he nodded, helping you up and taking you to his room.

“I'll stay out there on the couch for a bit, okay? ‘til we can sort somethin’ a little more proper out for ya.” He told you, going to find you some clothes that weren't almost completely torn up.

When he returned, he saw you blankly staring at the floor, hands fingering the same strand of hair mindlessly and not even realising him walking up to you.

He sighed, handing you the clothes and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It'll be okay sweetheart. Nothin’ bads gonna happen anymore, he can't hurt you here.” He assured you, hugging you one more time before he left, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and requests are open 💞

288 notes · View notes

cheynovak · 9 months ago

Text

A Soldier's present

Soldier boy x F/Reader

Warnings: none I guess

Side note: English isn’t my first language.

Since a few people were interested in a follow up of the story A Soldier’s Past, including @anundyingfidelity who is also a writer I admire very much!

And because my toxic trait is to think I can heal broken fictional men. I decided to make a part two to this story. (I'm not going to lie, it was already written 😂🙈)

Anyway... Have fun! 😁

*Does not follow the boys timeline*

Y/N is a museum clerk at the old Vought Museum on the edge of town. The only and old exhibition about Soldier Boy standing will end in a few weeks, Vought found a new purpose for the museum. Meaning the exhibition will end and Y/N will need to search for a new job.

After giving Soldier boy one last tour of the museum, he asked her to dinner.

The next night.

The crisp evening air carried a hint of anticipation as Y/N stood outside the museum, her heart beating fast with excitement. She had spent hours getting ready, carefully selecting the perfect outfit and styling her hair, all in preparation for her dinner with Soldier Boy.

As the minutes ticked by, however, a sense of unease began to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness. Where was Soldier Boy? Had something come up? Or worse, had he changed his mind about their plans?

Y/N glanced at her phone, willing herself to remain patient. Perhaps he was just running late, she reasoned, trying to hold back the worry in her chest.

But as the minutes turned into hours, and still there was no sign of Ben, Y/N's heart sank. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she realized that he wasn't coming. The weight of disappointment settled heavily upon her shoulders, threatening to crush her beneath its suffocating embrace.

She had been so foolish to believe that Soldier Boy's interest in her was genuine, so naive. With a heavy sigh, Y/N turned away from the museum, her footsteps heavy with sorrow as she made her way home.

Y/N wiped away her tears and pushed herself to walk away. She refused to let Soldier Boy's absence ruin her evening. Instead, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Without a second thought, Y/N made her way to a nearby bar, her heart still heavy with disappointment but her spirit undaunted. She knew that drowning her sorrows in alcohol wasn't the solution, but tonight, she needed a distraction.

As she entered the old blues bar, the sounds of laughter and music, the scent of alcohol hung heavy in the air, mingling with the buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses.

Y/N found an empty stool at the bar and took a seat and ordered her first drink at the bar. As the night wore on and Y/N saw a familiar figure suddenly appeared before her. It was Soldier Boy, his presence unexpected yet strangely welcome amidst the haze of alcohol and music.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she looked up to see him standing there, offering her a tentative smile. Despite the pain he had caused her earlier, she couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that stirred within her at the sight of him.

Ben approached her with a sense of hesitance, as if unsure of how she would react to his sudden appearance. "Hi," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "Mind if I join you?"

With a sigh, Y/N nodded, gesturing to the empty stool beside her. “It’s a free country.” Part of her longed to hear his explanation, to understand why he had stood her up. Ben took a seat beside her, his gaze searching hers for any sign of forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," he began, his voice heavy with remorse. "I know I messed up tonight. I should have been there, but something came up..." He didn’t finish his sentence. Y/N looked at her drink “I get it, I was foolish to think you actually were interested in little old me.”

His heart felt heavy hearing her words.” Please, let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink.” Looking at her hoping she would at least once look at him. "I don't know.” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

She noticed how he turned to her, his knee almost touching her thigh. Unable to keep her gaze away she looked up at him. Behind the green of his eyes, she saw so much hidden emotions: tired, afraid, angry, scared, hopeful.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. Finally, she nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Alright," she said softly. "One drink.” Another emotion, glimmer of happiness appeared.

As their drinks arrived, Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. "Why were you late?" she asked, her voice soft yet filled with a hint of urgency.

Soldier Boy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his drink as he searched for the right words. "I... I got caught up in something," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "Something unexpected came up, and I couldn't leave."

Y/N studied him carefully, searching his eyes for any sign but he was unreadable. "Can you be more specific?" she pressed gently, her curiosity getting the better of her. Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's complicated," he replied evasively, his eyes avoiding hers.

Y/N's brow furrowed with concern, a flicker of frustration creeping into her voice ‘Fine.” Y/N's grip tightened around her glass, her knuckles turning white with the intensity of her emotions. She took a deep breath and finished her drink.

Y/N pushed herself up from the stool and made her way towards the exit of the blues bar. Each step felt like a battle against the weight of disappointment. Ben watched her go. He wanted to reach out, to stop her from leaving.

But decided it was best to let her go.

As Y/N stepped out into the cool night air, her mind still reeling from the encounter with Soldier Boy, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Not only had he stood her up, but he hadn't even bothered to compliment her.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N barely noticed the two men following her at first. It wasn't until she heard the faint sound of footsteps echoing behind her that she glanced over her shoulder, her heart skipping a beat as she caught sight of their looming figures in the darkness.

A sense of unease settled over her like a heavy weight as she quickened her pace, her footsteps echoing against the deserted streets. Just as panic threatened to consume her, a voice broke through the silence.

"Hey, where are you going pretty thing?" the voice called out, “Wanna have some fun?” Y/N looked over her shoulders again ignoring the two men. Just as one wraps his hand around her arm and pushes her against the wall, she hears a familiar voice.

“Y/N!” The men took a step back pretending to be familiar. Y/N turned to see Soldier Boy running towards her, his expression filled with concern and determination. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him, a surge of gratitude washing away the fear that had threatened to consume her.

"Ben," she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, positioning himself between Y/N and the two men who had been following her. His stance was protective, his gaze steely as he faced down the threat.

"Back off," he warned, his voice low and menacing. The two men hesitated for a moment clearly calculating their chances. But when Ben took another step forward one of them recognised him. “Fuck dude, do you know who that is? Let’s get outta here.” he tapped his friend’s shoulder and started running.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. Soldier Boy smiled, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. And as they stood there together in the quiet of the night, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her.

“Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry. Y/N nodded, her breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. "I... I think so," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Soldier Boy reached out to gently touch her arm, his touch comforting. "Do you want me to walk you home?" he offered, his tone soft yet filled with determination. "Just to be safe." "Thank you," she whispered.

Y/N knew that she was safe. And as they neared her apartment building, she couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. She turned to Soldier Boy with a small smile, the tension of the night gradually fading into the background.

"How about another drink?" she asked, her voice warm and steady. Ben was hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching hers for clarification. “When?” Her smiled widened, “Let me rephrase that.”

"Would you like to come up for a drink?" she offered.

Ben’s eyes widened, "I would like that," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity, nerves rushing through his body. Not knowing what to expect, it had been ages since a woman invited him in her house. What did she mean, was a drink a clue for more, is she just friendly...

But the second he stepped inside Y/N's apartment and closed the door behind him, a sense of calm settled over them like a comforting embrace.

Y/N led Ben to the living room, gesturing for him to take a seat on the couch while she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch drinks, Ben's gaze lingered on her retreating figure, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He couldn't help but admire the way she moved with grace and confidence, her presence filling the room with warmth and light.

When she returned with two glasses, one filled with wine and the other with whiskey, Soldier Boy's eyes lit up with appreciation. He accepted the glass of whiskey with a grateful nod, his fingers brushing against hers in a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice tinged with sincerity. Y/N smiled in response, her eyes sparkling with warmth.

As they settled onto the couch together, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across the room, Soldier Boy couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. Despite the events of the evening, being here with Y/N felt like coming home.

A feeling he hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

"You look beautiful, tonight" he blurted out before he could stop himself, his words filled with genuine admiration. Y/N's cheeks flushed pink at the unexpected compliment, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "Thank you,"

As the night wore on and they continued to talk and laugh, Soldier Boy found himself drawn to Y/N in a way he couldn't quite explain. Her presence was like a magnet, pulling him closer with each passing moment.

He stole glances at her whenever he thought she wasn't looking, the way her eyes sparkled with laughter and her smile lit up the room. He saw how her legs were tucked in under her, showing some skin of her thighs underneath her dress.

Her arm hanging over the couch while her hand moved through her hair, tilting her head while listening to his stories. With each passing moment, Ben's fingers tingled with the desire to touch her.

Gently, almost tentatively, he reached out to caress her arm, his touch light and fleeting as he traced a pattern on her arm. Their eyes met in silence, he was looking for any sign of discomfort.

But when Ben didn’t notice anything, like a wave, drawing him closer to her in ways he couldn't fully comprehend. Emboldened by the electricity that crackled between them, his hand drifted lower, his fingers grazing over her thigh with a touch so delicate it was almost imperceptible.

Y/N's breath hitched at the sensation, her heart pounding in her chest. As Soldier Boy felt Y/N's reaction, a wave of nervousness washed over him. Had he crossed a line? Had he overstepped?

But all he found was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, a vulnerability that mirrored his own. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.

Ben couldn’t help it but to feel in doubt. What was happening to him? The old him would have kissed this girl by now. Wouldn’t waste time sitting here listening to each other, no he would have dragged her to bed and fucked her till she couldn't walk anymore.

But instead, he is afraid he overstepped? Pussy.

Y/N's eyes softened at his apology, her heart swelling with compassion for the man sitting before her. "It's okay, Ben," she replied gently, reaching out to touch his hand in a gesture of reassurance. Her fingers drawing circles on his hand.

And as they sat there together, the tension between them slowly easing with each passing moment. As Soldier Boy glanced at the clock, his heart sank at the realization of how late it had become.

He knew he should get going, that it was time to leave Y/N's apartment and return to the outside world. But a part of him hoped that she would ask him to stay, if only for a little while longer.

"I should probably get going," he said, his voice tinged with regret as he stood up from the couch.

Y/N's heart twisted with a sense of longing at his words, a flicker of doubt creeping into her mind as she watched him prepare to leave. She knew she should let him go, that it was the sensible thing to do. But a part of her couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye not when their connection felt so real, so undeniable.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I mean... it's late, and... and you could stay if you wanted to." Soldier Boy's heart skipped a beat at her words, a surge of hope swelling at the thought of spending more time with her.

"I appreciate the offer, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice filled with gratitude. "But I don't want to overstay my welcome. Besides, you probably have things to do tomorrow."

Y/N nodded, a sense of disappointment settling over her like a heavy shroud. "Yeah, you're probably right," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. As Soldier Boy made his way towards the door, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of doubt that gnawed at her insides.

Should she let him leave?

As Ben stood at the door, preparing to leave, he found himself lingering just a moment longer, unwilling to let go. Afraid to lose the feeling they had the last few hours. Knowing in the morning she might not want to see him again.

But before he could say a thing, Y/N's boldness surprised him. Fuelled by the courage of the wine and the intensity of her emotions, she reached out and gently took his hand, pulling him back into the room with a sense of determination that left him breathless.

To his surprise, she pressed her lips to his, a soft, tender kiss filled with all the passion and longing that had been building between them throughout the night. Ben's heart skipped a beat at the sensation, his senses overwhelmed by the sweetness of her touch.

As she dropped back on her heels he followed her, not willing to let go of her lips just yet. Their bodies pressed together in a silent declaration of desire and longing.

For the first time since he walked this newfound world, he felt alive, no longer a living fossil, all thanks to the woman standing before him. He wrapped his arms around Y/N, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing second.

And as they broke apart, their breaths coming in ragged gasps she spoke “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” But he didn’t answer how she hoped he wanted.

Ben sighed, his heart heavy with a mix of conflicting emotions. He gently pulled away from Y/N's embrace, his hands tender as he cupped her face, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of concern and tenderness.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. "I think you might be a little drunk right now. And I don't want to take advantage of you in this state." Y/N blinked, her head spinning with a whirlwind of emotions as she processed his words. She felt a pang of embarrassment wash over her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "I didn't mean to... I just..."Ben silenced her with a gentle brush of his lips against her, his thumb moving against her cheek in a soothing gesture. "It's okay," he reassured her,

“I just don’t want you to leave yet.” Her puppy dog eyes worked their charm on him. With a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a twinkle of affection in his eyes.

"Now, why don't you let me make you some tea? It'll help sober you up, and then we can talk some more." And as they moved towards the kitchen together, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the man standing there.

Looking at him, he was clearly struggling to make a cup of tea, “You need a hand?” she asked, but determent to take care of her he answered “No, no I got it covered...”

“... I think” he sighs.

Y/N watched him. All these years of studying him, teaching about him, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Is this caring man the real person behind the egocentric 'Soldier boy’ mask? Who knows, but she was willing to find out more about him.

Let me know what you think, feel free to like, share or comment. Make sure you check out my masterlist.

Taglist: @yvonneeeee @suckitands33

#fanfic #fluff #the boys #x reader #soldier boy #the boys amazon #jensen fucking ackles #angst #the boys hughie #pinning #jensenedit #jensen ackles #the boys fanart #fanfiction #f reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you

64 notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 2 years ago

Text

The Less I Know The Better XIX (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, attempted murder, violence, blood, manipulation, DUI, underage drinking, drug use, unhealthy relationship, non canon ages, pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: When you start dating Rafe Cameron, no one is more surprised than you when your best friend JJ takes it really well. However, no one is more surprised than JJ when he’s forced to see his once frumpy BFF in an entirely new light, suddenly terrified of losing what he never knew he had to the person he hates most.

You didn’t need to be a genius to know that you were scaring Rafe.

You hadn’t talked in days, hadn’t said a word since that night, finally grasping where you were and what happened and mumbling Rafe’s name just to confirm that you were safe. He’d stayed in the tub with you for hours, just holding you and cleaning you and running new bath water when it got too…pink. When you sat in there long enough, he helped you out, wrapping a towel around you and finding you something to wear.

When you were comfortably in one of his shirts and boxers, he sat you down. You could feel his hands on your arms, gentle, but shaking nonetheless with restraint. Rafe had knelt before you, trying to look into your eyes, but you were hardly able to see what was right in front of you so it was hard.

“Y/N…”

You had known what he was going to say, going to ask, and you had shaken your head.

“No? W-what does that mean? No, you don’t know or… No, you aren’t going to tell me?”

“No,” you mumbled.

It was neither.

“No,” you whispered again, shaking your head.

JJ was your best friend.

You’d grown up together, practically since you both could walk. He looked out for you in ways that your brother should have before he took off, the only reason you’d been able to weather middle and high school. Bitchy teenage girls didn’t like to bother you when JJ was around, and he was always around.

There’d been so many times where you’d felt beyond guilty at having to rely on him to protect you from the world. Having to crash at his place or wear his jacket or have him fight whatever battles you were too chicken to fight yourself. It didn’t matter to you that he was happy to do all of that, but just the mere fact that he even had to.

JJ wasn’t just your best friend, but your very own protector.

Tears kissed your eyes at that, a deep frown on your face. The blond had protected you your whole life, and it had never once occurred to you that he might need to protect you from himself. You shook your head at Rafe, scooting back and ignoring his forlorn look. He’d called your name again, and your only response had been to pull his covers over you, burying your face into his pillow.

That voicemail played over and over again in your head, lying in Rafe’s bed, thinking to yourself how JJ could…do that to you. It made sense that you’d thought he was Rafe, that you could accept. You’d been so drunk and so upset, and you’d just wanted Rafe…and JJ had known that. He’d taken advantage of that, and if the way he’d smiled in your face and pretended to comfort you was anything to go by, seemingly without remorse.

The JJ you knew wasn’t capable of even half that, and yet…

It was hard to say how many days you spent there. Rafe brought you food, and you’d have the faintest memory of eating, the faintest memory of leaning against him in the shower. You were too in your own head, trying too hard to make it make sense, but then again, that was the problem. It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense that JJ decided he liked you now after having your whole lives to come to that conclusion. It didn’t make sense that he would kiss you, rape you…rape you again. None of it made sense, at all, and the more you tried to make sense of it, the more your head hurt. With that voicemail in your head, little by little, it started to come back.

You had, without a doubt, thought that he was Rafe.

You didn’t remember everything, some things even alcohol was capable of suppressing, but you remembered enough. You remembered lips against yours and hands on you and the feel of being pinned to your bed. You remembered teeth on skin, and you shuddered at the memory of him coming inside of you. Knowing that it was JJ, and not Rafe, was almost enough to make you sick.

And to add insult to injury, JJ had shown up at your place the next day, pretending like nothing had happened. He’d smiled at you, held you while you cried, and had even slept in that same bed under the guise of looking out for you. It was too much, and before you knew it, you’d retreated back into yourself again.

The next time you became aware of your surroundings, Rafe was holding a straw to your lips. You blinked, recognizing the familiar taste of Gatorade, and you closed your eyes. You only noted how tired you felt, a strange feeling since you felt like you’d been sleeping so much. You could feel Rafe’s fingers on your face, and you looked at him.

“There she is,” he murmured, a faint smile on his pink lips. “How are you feeling?”

What a loaded question.

You turned away, swallowing. You knew that you needed to tell Rafe. Someone really, but him especially, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to. That part of you that still cared about JJ was slowly dying. It was dying with a fight, and that made you sick to your stomach. You never thought a day would come where you and JJ wouldn’t be friends.

Even when he had kissed you, you’d been so angry. God, you’d been angrier than you had ever been, but there was a part of you that hoped you could get past this in time. It had seemed farfetched, but you were sure of it. You both were so young, and no one had predicted the whirlwind that was you and Rafe, and so emotions and tensions were high and the whole thing was a breeding ground for disaster.

But now? This? There was no coming back from this, and before you knew it, you’d started crying again. Rafe’s arms had wrapped around you, holding you to him, and you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. You held onto him too, trying to ground yourself.

“Who did this to you?”

Rafe’s soft voice reached your ears, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You knew you needed to tell Rafe, but you couldn’t. Not because there was a part of you that still cared about JJ. Not because there was something in you that didn’t like the idea of seeing him hurt. You weren’t trying to protect JJ. You were trying to protect Rafe.

No amount of reasoning would get to Rafe once you told him the truth. He would get tunnel vision, the only thing on his mind being JJ and how to quickly snap his neck. You couldn’t deal with losing Rafe too, and you tightened your arms around him, wishing you could stay in this room forever.

When you woke up, Rafe was gone, but that wasn��t unusual. Your head felt a little clearer today, and so you found the strength to get up and take a shower. It didn’t matter how many times you’d scrubbed yourself, you still felt so dirty. You swore you could still feel JJ’s hands on you…and feel him in you. You shuddered at the memory, swallowing.

When you finally stepped out of Rafe’s room, the house was quiet. It didn’t look like anybody was home, not even Wheezie, and you made your way downstairs. You didn’t have a taste for much, but you needed to eat something, and so you threw a small snack together. You were halfway done with it when you heard a vehicle outside, and your eyes lit up when Rafe eventually showed his face.

He looked a little shocked to see you out of bed, but his expression softened, a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, reaching you and pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Where’d you go?”

His expression shifted at that, lips pressed together before sitting across from you. There was something about the look on his face that you didn’t like, and you slowly stopped chewing. Rafe sighed, resting his arms on the island and staring you down.

“I went by The Wreck.”

Your heart sank, and your lips parted.

“What? Why?” you asked in a small voice.

“Well, considering you left that day to go meet with Kie…I’m sure you can guess how I feel about her, right now.”

You swallowed, sitting up straight with a frown.

“This isn’t Kie’s fault-.”

“You know I don’t care about that,” he bit out. “I just care that you left without me because of her, and when you returned to me, you were hurt and bleeding and broken.”

His tone had you looking down, and he continued.

“…but you know what’s interesting?”

You chewed on your lip, avoiding his gaze.

“She had no idea what I was talking about.”

Tears kissed your eyes.

“None.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Rafe,” you whispered. “Please.”

“You were raped!”

You flinched.

“Again,” he breathed. “…and you are asking me to just let this go?”

“Yes,” you choked out. “…because that’s what I want, and you have to respect that.”

Your eyes met his at that, and Rafe’s lips parted. He stared at you for several moments before a light scoff left him, a humorless chuckle making it’s way out of his throat. He didn’t even acknowledge what you said, pushing himself to his feet, and reaching for your empty plate.

“You done?”

You nodded, and he took it. His gaze lingered on yours, and as he brushed by you, there was something in his eyes that you didn’t like. You knew that once Rafe was determined about something, he didn’t stop until he got it, and you were kidding yourself if you actually thought he was going to let this go.

He didn’t bring it up again for days, letting you cope and deal with this at your own pace. It was hard to just forget about what JJ had done, still seeing his face in your sleep and waking up in tears sometimes. Those were nights where you’d hold onto Rafe extra tight, the most recent ending in a tear filled argument.

“Rafe, please,” you begged, reaching for his face and brushing your lips over his.

“No, no,” he had said, shaking his head and pulling away. “I’m not enabling this.”

Sex had been the last thing on your mind for weeks, but now, you needed Rafe more than anything. You couldn’t stand the thought that JJ was the last person to touch you, to be inside of you, and Rafe’s refusal was making you angry and frustrated.

“You won’t let me in, you won’t tell me who did this to you, and you expect me to just have sex with you like I didn’t spend weeks watching you move around like some ghost?”

He was angry, and your hands fell at that.

“I don’t want to sound like a selfish asshole, but do you get what this is like for me?”

His voice was hushed, the rest of the house asleep, but no less angry.

“To watch you like this, to clean you up knowing what happened to you, and just having no choice but to sit and twiddle my fucking thumbs?”

You looked down at the tears in his blue eyes.

“You won’t tell me anything, won’t let me fix this…”

“I don’t want you to fix this.”

“…but you expect me to just let you use me to avoid it?”

You swallowed at that, deflating.

“You were bleeding,” he hissed. “…and you wouldn’t even let me take you to the doctor.”

You winced, looking away.

“That’s all I can think about,” he whispered. “That’s all I see whenever I look at you.”

You didn’t know what to say to make this better, so you only apologized, and that just seemed to make him angrier.

“I don’t want you to be sorry! You have nothing to be sorry for-.”

He cut himself off, roughly exhaling and twisting his hands into his hair. Rafe took a deep breath, kneeling before you as you sat on the bed. He took your hands, squeezing them and making you look at him.

“I just want you to tell me,” he whispered, jaw clenching when you shook your head.

“I can’t do that. I can’t.”

He huffed, and you felt like crying again when he stood, leaving his room.

“Here,” Rafe mumbled, an encouraging smile on his lips.

You huffed, taking another drink that he’d poured you with a shake of your head.

“Call me crazy, but I think you’re trying to get me all liquored up.”

He sighed, brushing his lips over your cheek.

“You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to go see anyone,” he said, brushing his thumb over your neck, expression somber. “I figured maybe a drink is exactly what you need, right now.”

You deflated some at that, sheepishly eyeing him.

“Rafe…”

“Don’t,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You don’t want to tell me, you don’t even have to, and… I have to respect that.”

You happily drank it, thinking to yourself how alcohol was never your thing before, but lately, it was all you turned to. You grimaced, thinking about how that particular coping mechanism had gotten you into this mess in the first place. You told yourself not to do that. This wasn’t your fault, this was JJ’s, and the thought of him had you pouring yourself another drink.

“We should leave,” you whispered after a while.

Your body felt so light, and you knew you were drunker than you’d intended. Rafe made a face at that.

“Leave?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “We should get off this island, go anywhere we want.”

Rafe didn’t return your smile, a concerned frown on his face. He cupped your face, studying your eyes.

“Babe…you love it here,” he worriedly whispered. “Your family and your friends…”

He trailed off when you jerked your head away at that, sighing. You licked your lips, eyes watering at the mention of the word friends.

“I…can make new ones…”

It didn’t even sound right to your ears, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to be as far away from JJ as possible. Nothing was what you thought it was, and this island that you’d grown up on, your home, didn’t feel the same.

“There’s the whole world, Rafe, and I…I don’t wanna stay here anymore,” you slurred, about to pour yourself another drink.

Rafe stopped you, taking the bottle away and swiping his tongue between his lips. His face was serious, now, and you didn’t think you liked the look in his gaze. His brows drew together.

“Why do you want to make new friends?”

You looked away, exhaling.

“You know why.”

Your heart sped up at the thought of JJ, and Rafe grazed your cheek with his fingers.

“JJ will get no defense from me, that’s for sure, but I know how much you care about him,” he said, something about his tone rubbing you wrong. “You don’t think you can forgive him for kissing you?”

“God, Rafe, it’s not just the kiss! You don’t-.”

You cut yourself off, deeply swallowing. Your eyes widened as you stared at his sheets, and you could feel his gaze on you. The silence that surrounded you both was loud, and you blinked, tears spilling over. The words had tumbled out before you realized, the alcohol in your system loosening your lips. At that thought, your eyes landed on the bottle on Rafe’s nightstand.

“I’m so stupid,” you breathed, lifting your gaze.

Rafe’s eyes were cold, and his jaw clenched as he stared you down.

“I don’t what?”

“You got me drunk on purpose!”

“What else are you mad at him about if not just the kiss?”

“You knew that I would say something I didn’t want to!”

You both were standing now, and you felt betrayed as you stared at Rafe…while he just looked furious.

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Rafe-.”

“Was. It. Him?”

“Rafe, please-!”

You both ran towards the door at the same time, your back against it while Rafe sneered at you.

“Cause I can only think of one person who would pretend to be Kie and trick you into meeting with them…”

“No.”

“Someone who you would want nothing to do with otherwise!”

You couldn’t stop crying, now, and you shook your head.

“Why are you protecting him?” he screamed.

“I’m not!” you shrieked.

Rafe was gearing up to say something else when you spoke again.

“I’m protecting you,” you shakily whispered. “Rafe…”

His shoulders sagged some at that, but his blue eyes were wild with anger, and you watched him pull his lip between his teeth.

“It was him…wasn’t it?”

You could only cry.

“He did this to you,” he breathed.

You reached out, pressing a hand to his chest, gaze pleading.

“…and it was him that night too…wasn’t it?”

Your eyes widened, and your silence had Rafe letting out a humorless laugh. Your breath hitched, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, hands on his hips. “There’s only one guy on this whole island who you’d mistake for me. One guy who can get into your house because you never left.”

He laughed to himself again, and you felt so sick.

“You never fucking left!”

“Rafe…”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said with a smile, but nothing about it was comforting.

Rafe shoved you out of his way before you could react, and you stumbled. The alcohol in your system had the whole house spinning, and you struggled to follow him into Ward’s office.

“Rafe, you can’t…”

You trailed off at the sight of a familiar gun in his hand. He’d drunkenly shown it to you one night, revealing a whole other side to Ward you didn’t know existed, Rafe telling you not to worry as it was empty. Now, however, you watched your boyfriend load it, and you tried to stop him on his way out. You stumbled as he breezed by you, and you had to take a moment to catch your breath and steady your vision.

“I fucking knew it,” he spat as he neared the door.

The slam of it made you wince, and you could feel yourself panicking. It was only just hitting you that Rafe knew what JJ had done and that he’d left with a loaded gun, fully prepared to kill your former best friend. It was only just hitting you that someone else could get seriously hurt, or worse, in the process. No one else was home, and you pushed down the urge to be sick, running into Rafe’s room for the keys to his bike.

As you stumbled outside, you prayed and prayed that you could get to The Cut safely. This was beyond hypocritical of you, but you were afraid of what might happen if you didn’t make it there in time. Rafe was sober, and speeding no doubt, while you were driving a whole twenty under the speed limit, vision still swaying slightly.

You couldn’t even be mad that Rafe had gotten you drunk on purpose, determined to get it out of you one way or another. You could only think about what was going to happen today, and your stomach churned. There was no doubt that they’d all be at The Chateau, and when you felt like you couldn’t safely drive anymore, you ditched his bike. Your feet carried you through familiar yards, the world tilting, and you paused to steady yourself.

There was the heaviest feeling of dread in your gut, and when you finally neared The Chateau, you could hear yelling and screaming and all kinds of commotion. Your legs were shaky, and the ocean breeze and fresh air did seem to sober you up a bit, but nothing did the job quite like the sight you stumbled on.

Rafe and JJ were fighting…again.

They were rolling around on the ground, fists sinking into each other with the intent to kill, and you sharply inhaled. John B. was trying to break them up while Pope nervously stood off to the side, and your eyes fell to the gun in his hand, relief filling you. Your gaze moved to Sarah and Kie, the former with a phone to her ear, and it took a minute to understand why.

“Sarah, no!”

No one else had noticed you yet, and Sarah’s wide eyes met yours as you ran towards her.

“Hang up,” you cried, reaching for the phone and hearing the tell-tale sound of a cop.

You both fought for her phone while JJ and Rafe fought each other. Kie jumped into the mix.

“Someone’s going to get hurt,” she told you.

As if she’d conjured it up, you three heard Pope exclaim, and you looked over, heart sinking. All four of them were on the ground now, JJ and Rafe bloody and bruised messes as they both fought to get the gun. John B. and Pope fought to get the gun before either of the blondes could.

“Sarah, you have to hang up,” you told her, trying to get her phone.

By now though, you knew it was too late. You knew that police were probably already on their way, and you didn’t want to think about what that meant for Rafe who’d stolen his dad’s gun with the intent to kill. The guys were still fighting when you finally got her to hang it up, and you ran towards them despite Sarah and Kie’s protests.

You froze when a familiar hand wrapped around the gun, Rafe’s chest heaving as he lifted his arm towards JJ. You screamed his name, but it was like he didn’t hear you. Either that, or he ignored you, solely focused on JJ when Pope reached for the gun too. John B. was yanking on Rafe’s shirt, pulling him, and when it went off, JJ didn’t get hit.

You were standing somewhat behind him, but neither did you. You could hear police sirens coming down the road, and you swallowed, relief filling you when John B. and Pope wrestled the gun away from Rafe, tossing it behind them as he yelled at them. Your heart was still racing, and your shoulders sagged, relief starting to completely take over…

When Sarah screamed.

You couldn’t turn around fast enough, and you felt like the ground was crumbling beneath you as Kie fell, falling into Sarah’s arms. Blood was slowly staining her yellow shirt, and there was a loud ringing in your ears. Pain was etched across her face, and she and Sarah were pressing their hands against the wound.

“Kie,” you screamed, falling beside them and helping them.

“I don’t think it’s bad, I don’t think it’s bad,” she repeated, and you didn’t know if she was telling the truth or merely trying to reassure you.

Pope and John B. joined you too, and you could hear the police sirens just behind you, now, the car stopping in the yard. Her blood was on your hands, and your vision blurred with tears. Shoupe’s voice reached your ears as he called for backup and an ambulance. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, bile rising in your throat as Kie’s lashes fluttered.

You had almost forgotten about Rafe and JJ entirely…until your former best friend spoke.

“Rafe shot her.”

You spun around, eyes wide and tearful as JJ pointed at the grass.

“That’s his dad’s gun. You can check it,” he spat. “He shot her.”

Your mouth fell open, gaze meeting Rafe’s, and you felt…stuck.

It was true. Rafe had shot Kie, and it didn’t matter that it was an accident nor that he’d had every right to come here with murderous intent fixed on JJ. He’d shot Kie, and while she seemed to be coherent as Shoupe approached you guys, it didn’t change what he did.

But with that same thought, it didn’t seem right to watch one of Shoupe’s deputies approaching Rafe with handcuffs in his hands. Rafe briefly closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he lifted his hands. Your hand was still pressed to Kie’s wound, even after Shoupe told you that he could take it from there. Sarah’s hands on you pulled you to your feet, and you stumbled towards Rafe.

“No,” you slurred, shaking your head. “You don’t understand.”

Sarah pulled you back, and you winced as Rafe was handcuffed, led towards the squad car. None of them were listening to you, but Sarah hugged you from behind.

“I know,” she whispered in your ear. “I know.”

She was crying too, and you looked between Kie and Rafe, your legs buckling. You were in disbelief, telling yourself that this couldn’t be happening as you felt like you were having an out of body experience. You cried harder when they put Rafe in the backseat, more tears falling when an ambulance finally came, people in the neighborhood straggling about to see what was going on.

You were sure you were going to be sick at any moment, and the one person you blamed was the only one who wore the faint hint of a smile on his lips at the sight of Rafe’s arrest.

#dark!jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx #outer banks fanfiction

530 notes · View notes

elliesslvt · 2 years ago

Text

ellie williams x fem! drunk reader (modern au)

ʚĭɞೃ author's note: i like the idea of ellie taking care of her drunk significant other, so i added a twist to it! cherry by chromatics really sets the vibes of this fic so i think you should listen to while reading :P

ʚĭɞೃ description/warning: 1.5k words; black fem! reader (but anyone can read), pet names (babe,baby, princess (like once)), modern au, pure fluff, brat-ish reader, abby is your ex, reader got cheated on, two idiots in love, heavy drinking, best friends in love.

if you'd known your ex-girlfriend who cheated on you would’ve been at the bar you usually go to get drinks at tonight, you wouldn’t have stepped out of the house. it didn’t help that she was with the girl she cheated on you with.

you nursed your margarita through your straw and wished the earth would swallow you whole. you tried your best to ignore them, as you were losing count on how many drinks you’d ordered.

you wore a tight black dress with a pair of heels that were now aching your feet. once you decided you had enough of watching them suck each other's faces, you stumbled your way to the bathroom. as you were looking in the mirror, abby entered without the girl she had just been making out with.

“w-what’re you doing here, abby?” you hiccuped.

“i came to enjoy a drink with my girlfriend, is that so wrong y/n?”

“oh yeah, with the girl you cheated on me with, how could i forget?”

“c'mon, don’t be like that, y/n.”

“are you serious? you know what, fuck you, abby!” you exited the bathroom hastily to make your way back to the bar. you knew it wasn’t smart, but you ordered a few more drinks anyway. you hated how abby had no remorse for cheating on you. you were in love with her at one point, and she threw everything away like those three years were nothing to her.

pulling your phone from your purse, you drunkenly called the one person you knew deep down would be able to comfort you: your best friend, whom you have loved for years but were too afraid to admit for the sake of the friendship.

“hey y/n, it’s 2 a.m. this better be an emergency.” despite being drunk, you knew she just woke up from how groggy her voice was.

“i hate h-her. i ha-ate her. i don’t even know why i dated her el. i should’ve listened to you, el.” you sobbed into your phone.

you looked pathetic crying at the bar alone. your makeup, which you took hours to apply before coming, was ruined.

“listen to me, y/n, abby doesn’t fucking deserve your tears okay, you’re beautiful inside and out, and she’s going to regret it in the future, trust me.”

“o-okay.” you hiccuped, nodding your head as if she could see you.

“where are you anyway? it’s pretty loud over there.”

“i-i’m at a bar el.”

“fuck y/n, i’m coming to get you, babe. don’t you dare move; stay put, okay?”

ellie was so grateful hat you two shared locations or she would’ve had to search every bar in the area until she found you.

“mhm.”

after ellie hung up, your favorite song began blasting on the dance floor, which caused you to instinctively get up and head towards the dance floor despite crying a few minutes ago.

while abby and her girlfriend were now sitting at the bar, abby admired the way your body swayed wildly while her new girlfriend stared in disgust.

“how could you ever have dated someone like her?”

“i don’t know, it just happened,” abby said, watching the way your hips swayed on the dance floor.

as the loud music continued to blast through the speakers, you continued to sway your hips and swing your arms in the air. a man came behind you while you were dancing, but you were too drunk to care.

as the dj began playing more slow songs, you felt someone harshly shove the man that was behind you away from you. “what the fuck bitch!” you heard the man scream at the person.

“what’d you say to me?” you looked over your shoulder to see ellie walking up to the man.

“you heard me,” ellie sneered.

“e-ellie, you’re h-here!” you spoke, stepping between her and the man.

the man took this as his chance to find another girl to dance with before things escalated between him and the girl that shoved him.

ellie admired the way the black dress your wore clung to the shape of your body. though your makeup had been ruined by your tears ellie still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

your beauty caused her to forget about the man behind you immediately when she laid eyes on you.

“hey babe, let’s get you home. you reek of alcohol.” she tugged at your wrist softly as she guided you towards the parking lot.

as ellie dragged you out of the bar to her parking spot, you realized how uncomfortable the heels you chose to wear actually were.

“my feet h-hurt,” you whined.

“why do you always wear these crazy foot contraptions?”

“because they’re cute el, d-duh.”

ellie shook her head at your remark. she found a bench in the parking lot and sat you down. she kneeled in front of you to take the heels off your feet, then turned around and ushered you to hop on her back.

“you owe me for this lifetime and the next, i swear.” you hopped onto her back and wrapped your legs around her waist. “you’re the best, e-ellie.” you rested your head on her shoulder as she carried you to her car.

once ellie made it to her car, she opened the passenger seat door and placed you gently inside the car. she made sure to buckle you up before she closed the door.

“i don’t want to go home,” you said, barely above a whisper.

you knew if you went home, you’d cry yourself to sleep and feel ten times worse in the morning.

“where do you want to go, babe, it’s 3am?”

“can I sleep at your place tonight, please?”

“alright.”

as ellie made her way back to her apartment, she could hear your faint snores from the passenger seat. she chuckled to herself as your mouth was agape and your head leaned towards the window. “so cute,” she whispered to herself.

once ellie’s car was parked she carried you towards her apartment door as you dozed off in her arms. after locking her door she placed you softly on her couch then went to find you a clean pair of her boxers and t-shirt to sleep in.

“babe, wake up; you've got to change and take your makeup off,” she said softly, tapping your shoulder.

“leave me alone,” you groaned.

“damnit y/n get up!”

at the sound of her stern voice, you got up immediately. “fucking fine ellie.” you said, snatching the clothes from her.

you didn’t mean to have an attitude, but you were drained. you wanted nothing more than for your head to hit a pillow. once you changed, you made your way to ellie’s bedroom, where ellie was lying with her torso flat on the bed and her legs thrown over the edge. “nope, nope, we gotta’ brush your teeth and take your makeup off. you’d kill me in the morning if i let you fall asleep in it.”

you fought back the urge to cry as ellie guided you to her bath;oom, all you wanted to do was sleep. you sat on the counter as ellie used a spare brush to brush your teeth. staring up at her, you wished that you’d dated her instead of abby. when you started dating abby, it took ellie a while to get used to seeing her best friend, whom she had always had a crush on, dating someone else. you two were too stubborn to admit that you guys loved each other more than friends loved each other.

“spit princess,” after her demand you spit out the excess toothpaste in the sink.

“okay, next makeup. i don’t have all the fancy shit you use, but i have coconut oil, a cleanser, and a moisturizer.”

“w-whatever hurry, ellie i’m sleepy.”

“you’re such a brat.”

“and you’re mean.” you were sticking your tongue out childishly.

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.” you said, rolling your eyes.

“don’t roll your fucking eyes at me, y/n.” you immediately regretted your rolling eyes at ellie because you knew how much it pissed her off.

“m’sorry.”

“it’s okay, just sit still so we can get this over with and go to bed.”

a couple of minutes later, ellie finished cleansing your face.

ellie then grabbed your bonnet from her drawer that you’d use every time you’d stayed over and placed it on your head.

“can i finally go to sleep now?”

“yes, you big baby, come on.”

once you got in bed, you rubbed your legs across ellie’s soft sheets. you scooted closer to ellie. you couldn’t resist the urge to cuddle her until you fell asleep. and of course she welcomed you with open arms.

“you okay?”

she asked, alluding to you crying to her on the phone earlier. “yeah, i just hate that i didn’t listen to you when you told me she wasn’t the one for me.”

ellie’s face began to redden because of how close in proximity you guys were, even though she’d been in this position with you numerous times. she didn’t know how much longer she could hide her love for you. with each day that she spent with you, she could feel herself falling harder for you, and she was scared.

“el are you okay?”

“yeah, sorry, i’m fine, let’s go to bed.”

“okay, goodnight i l-love you.” you said drunkenly, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

to ellie this “i love you.” sounded different than all the ones you told her before. she stared at you with wide eyes before she decided to brush it off and go to sleep.

“goodnight babe, i love you more.”

#ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x reader #eille williams #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

361 notes · View notes

hey-august · 9 months ago

Text

@soupsprout, you wanted the sad ending to this angst and here it is! I'm gonna go curl up and feel both accomplished and bad for a while. 🥲

Also, @rorywritesjunk, I put the answer to the riddle in this ending, if you're still curious. 👀

➜ First part here WC: ~600 Warnings: buggy x GN!reader, mentions of death (off-screen reader and others), mentions of blood, just overall sad and angsty, no comfort

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Things were bad and then they got worse. It took too long to find help, not that it would have mattered. Mohji tried to tell Buggy, but he wasn’t sure if the captain really heard him.

Buggy was sitting on the ground next to you, holding your limp hand in his, and staring at nothing. Your body was slumped against his, as if you were resting. Your face was covered in red - smeared handprints from someone trying to wake you up, and face paint from someone apologizing and begging for something to change.

“Captain, what should we do? We can’t just stay here.”

No response.

“Captain? We have to do somethin-”

Buggy grabbed Mohji by the neck. The anger that flashed on his face was briefly preceded by a more painful and haunting expression.

“Go after them. Chase those fuckers down, anyone who got away,” Buggy said through gritted teeth.

Mohji nodded and coughed when Buggy let go. “And…” The next question trailed off as the lion tamer struggled not to see you, but a body that needed to be disposed of.

“That’s all. Those are the orders. Go!”

Buggy knew exactly what Mohji was going to ask, but he wasn’t ready yet. Besides seeking vengeance, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to feel. He was full of anger and blame, which fueled the wrath that he used to lash out indiscriminately.

Of course he blamed the raiders who ambushed his ship, and Buggy made sure they felt regret until their last breath. The sounds of screaming and begging for mercy went on far longer than anyone Buggy’s crew expected.

Unfortunately, Buggy’s anger turned on them next. They shouldn’t have let this happen. Rather than exploding with violence, Buggy began to withdraw. Part of him knew it wasn’t their fault, the crew always had each other’s backs, but he had trouble looking at anyone that was in the same room as you.

For a brief moment, Buggy also blamed you. It was your fault. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt. You should have known better. As soon as that thought formed, all the guilt fell onto Buggy’s shoulders. How could he think that of you? How could he have let this happen? He put you in danger. He didn’t protect you. He didn’t save you. He just let you die.

Buggy couldn’t bring himself to give you a burial at sea. He was afraid of sending you somewhere he couldn’t follow. You said it didn’t matter during one of those late night talks that knitted you two closer together. He remembered how bright the stars were then.

Instead of giving your body to the sea, Buggy chose a small island. One where you could always see the stars, even if they don’t shine as bright anymore.

Eventually, Buggy started eating with the crew again. Laughing with them. Drinking with them. But some days, he would withdraw. He’d sit down on the bloodstained floor, after forbidding anyone from cleaning or replacing the boards, and spend time with you.

At first he would just sit there in silence, full of pain and heartache. Then he started talking. Buggy would tell you about life on the ship, what happened that day, any little story that popped into his mind.

Sometimes, Buggy would tell you jokes and riddles. He always made sure to tell you the punchline as soon as possible, pushed by remorse and fear of leaving you without the answer again. He’d indulge in the humor until his laugh turned into sobs that he couldn’t hold in any longer.

Wiping away his tears with the back of his hands, he'd sit there with a single stinging thought. After losing you, Buggy felt like a lion at the South Pole. He felt lost.

#buggy angst #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #hey-august buggy fic

42 notes · View notes

applejuicefruit · 2 years ago

Note

I LOVE YOUR ANGST SO I WAS THINKING

can you write some angst where reader cheated on kylian but it was a mistake and she tells him but he forgives her because he loves her too much and he can’t stay without her? but please make it sadddd

please this was so sad to write

kylian mbappe x reader

Did you cheat?

You didn’t know how it happened, it just happened. One second you were having fun and dancing with your friends, the second later a man grabbed your waist and started dancing with you. It was probably the alcohol doing everything for you but in that moment you felt like a horny teenager once again, like you had just turned sixteen and all you wanted to be was being a cool teen showing around that you could catch men’s attention and have fun. You completely forgot that were in a three years long relationship with the most loving and caring man you’ve ever met. He was everything for you, he showed you how much he loved you every single day, with words and affection, he showed you how much he cared for you and now you were there standing in the dance floor with someone else man hands wrapped around your waist and his lips kissing your neck. His hands slowly got on your chest, squeezing lightly your boobs and making you moan a little. You looked at him in the eyes and in that moment you didn’t feel guilty or remorse, you were just being that teenager again. He brought his lips on yours and he kissed you, his tongue overpowering yours, fighting for dominance while his hands were back on your waist. He kept you so close that you could feel his boner so you decided to tease him a little bit and rubbed yourself on him, making him moan. You were lucky that no one could see you. Your friends went missing after they got their third drink, everyone was probably so high or drunk that they weren’t even paying attention to the two of you.

“You should leave with me…” he whispered in your ear and in that moment you felt sober again. You looked at him with a horrified expression, remembering that ten seconds ago you were grinding on his dick.

What have you just done?

“I-I have to go…” you said to him not even waiting for a proper reply, you were already out of the club.

You didn’t care for that man, he would find someone else to fuck tonight, all you cared about was Kylian and how you just fucked up your relationship.

You called a taxi to pick you up and bring you back home.

It was 3 am once you got back home and Kylian was already sleeping, you didn’t want to wake him up but you couldn’t even bring yourself back in the same bed as him so you simply changed your clothes and spent the night on the couch. A restless night because you spent it about thinking what you were supposed to do. Telling him? Pretending nothing happened? You were sure that the man you were dancing with didn’t even see your face so you had nothing to worry about. But something was eating you inside. Guilt. Remorse. Disappointment. Sadness. Anger.

“Bonjour mon amour” Kylian came into your view once he reached the living room “I didn’t hear you coming back tonight, did you have fun?” he asked smiling and sitting next to you on the couch.

Your mind was racing and you had no idea of what to do. You simply nodded at his question.

“I was thinking…since it’s my day off I think we should visit the new market you’ve been wanting to see for weeks” he spoke and your heart melted at his sudden care. Exactly. It was his day off and he wanted to do everything in his power do make you happy. You let a few tears fall, not being able to hold them back.

“Y/n, mon amour…is everything okay?” he asked a bit worried.

“I think we should talk…” you whispered not even being able to watch him.

“You’re scaring me babe…are you okay?” he asked softly.

“No…not really…” you cried. How were you going to tell him that you just cheated on him?

“I just want you to know that I’m really sorry…I’m so sorry Kylian, I never meant it to happen, I don’t know how-how it happened…I was too drunk to even understand what was going on…I’m so fucking sorry…I fucked up everything” you cried avoiding his gaze.

“What-what happened last night?” his voice shook a bit as he already knew what happened.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered not being able to say that you cheated on him “I love you so much but I don’t deserve you Kylian…all I do is hurting people and now I’ve just hurt the person I love the most” you said between tears.

“Did you cheat?” he asked, his voice showing no emotions “answer me for fuck’s sake…”

“Yes…” you whispered.

In that moment he stood up from the couch, this time, him not being able to watch you.

“Why?” he asked, his voice trembling, and tears falling from his eyes.

“I don’t know why…I was drunk and I felt like nothing mattered anymore. I forgot who I was, what I was doing…I forgot everything…” you confessed.

“You forgot about me…” he said and your heart broke again.

“I didn’t mean to…I never meant to hurt you Kylian…I’m really really sorry” you apologized again for the millionth time that night.

“I don’t know what to say…” he said, looking at you in the eyes. He could see you were sorry but it still hurt knowing you cheated on him.

“You don’t have to say anything…I broke your heart, I broke your trust…I fucked up our relationship just for ten seconds with someone I don’t even know the name…you don’t have to say anything, I’m the one who can’t and won’t stop apologising, I’m the one who’s gonna live with constant regret, knowing I’ve just lost the most important person in my life” you sobbed quietly, letting more tears fall “…I know you’re gonna hate me and I get it…I hate me too Kylian…you’ll never see me again, I’m gonna move out quickly…you don’t deserve the pain I caused you…” you wiped your tears not being able to watch him in the eyes.

“That’s the problem y/n…” he slowly sat next to you “I could never hate you, never” he grabbed your hands “you mean to much for me y/n…I can’t imagine living without you babe….”

“What is that supposed to mean Kylian?” you asked him a bit confused “you’re supposed to hate me, to scream at me…to be mad at me, to be disgusted by me…” you said and looked at him in the eyes.

“Oh trust me, I am mad at you and so fucking sad and disappointed…but at the same time I could never stop loving you” he confessed at you “don’t you get it? You have my heart, you will always have my heart…I rather staying with you knowing you cheated than not staying with you at all, I don’t think I could handle living without you” he said crying. He brought his hands to his lips and gently kissed them. That was one of the way he loved showing you his love. You started sobbing harder and he comforted you in his arms.

“I know you’re sorry…” he said to you “I’m willing to pretend it never happened…I just love you so much y/n” you looked at him in the eyes and you could see he was telling the truth.

“I don’t wanna lose you Kylian, not now, not ever…I’m sorry” you said again.

“Shhh…it’s okay” he whispered in your ears “let’s pretend nothing ever happened so we can go back with our lives okay?” he asked hoping you would say yes.

“Okay” you whispered and let his hands dry your tears.

“Perfect…so how would you feel about visiting the new market today?” he asked completely forgetting what you had told him a few minutes ago.

“I think that’s a great idea…” you said smiling at him.

“Parfait…now let’s go and make some breakfast I’m starving” he said leading you to the kitchen and making you laugh.

You really had no idea what you did to deserve someone like Kylian in your life. Someone who was able to forgive your sins. Someone who was able to forget that you cheated on him. Sometimes so precious and kind as Kylian was.

254 notes · View notes

stickytrigger69 · 2 years ago

Note

Helloooo,

Could I request some sorta angst with Lost light megatron for lack of a better word ‘stumbling’ across a video of his lovers battle in the gladiatorial pits years before he set foot in them?

Lost Light Megatron x GN Cybertronian Reader

Reader is gender neutral

Bot instead of mech or femme

Readers features such as optic color, size, frame type, etc are unspecified.

A bit graphic, blood, violence, and gore

Reader crawled our of the gladiatorial pits before Megatron arrived

---------------------------------------------------------------

Megatron had been hoping that he would be able to sit and listen to Cyclonus sing to pass the time. His beloved still had work to complete before their shift ended so he decided he'd wait for them at Swerve's. The bar has become a safe place for the large mech, and the bots that frequented said place were like family to him. What he hadn't expected though was for the bots inside to be entertaining themselves with Rewinds 'collection'. The small mech had a bad habit of collecting hundreds of recordings of deaths, some more disturbing than others.

All of them were disturbing of course, especially because it meant someone had filmed them on purpose. He shook his helm and went to order a drink from the red mini. He was able to find a comfortable seat far away from the screen to sip on his drink. His peace was soon interrupted though when he heard the word "gladiators" come from the large band of bots behind him. He was afraid of what or who they were going to see, thinking that they were trying to get a rise from him he stood getting ready to leave.

When he turned around he caught a glimpse of the screen and froze mid step. His optics blown wide with shock and his vents struggling to pull air into his systems. He turned his helm to look at the group of enamored bots, all of whom looked just as awe struck. Megatron started walking backwards while turning his helm around ever so slightly to get a good look at the screen. And just as he feared, he was in fact seeing what he thought he saw.

Though it was clearly there, he was praying that it wasn't true, that it must be some kind of mistake. The recording is from the gladiatorial pits that he had once fought in but obviously from a time before he became the reigning champion of them. His optics were glued onto the winning fighter. Their frame moving fast, a fist thrown here, a kick there, a weapon in their familiar servos covered in energon. He could feel his spark rate increase, his tanks turn sour, and his vents struggle to circulate air through his heating systems.

His thoughts flashed to the last time he had seen you today, your servos were clean and well taken care of. Your face is devoid of any emotion other than anger, a deep frown etched into your now soft features. You had given him a bright smile just before he left you in your office, optics glowing with passion. The war paint on your face is now long gone, but it was so vibrant then. You finish off the last bot by ripping his helm apart, standing there, looming over the carnage you left in your wake.

Freshly spilled energon pools around you and clings to your frame. An ugly spray of purple and blue covering your old paint job as thousands cheered a name he only heard when he was in those pits himself. The name of a legend, of a menace, of a bot so violent it was said they had to be restrained during recharge because their body would move on its own. The video was paused as your helm tilted upwards to peer at the person recording your match, dead optics glaring into the screen. No one said anything as they all sat there and took in what they had just seen, Megatron included.

He's really been recharging next to this bot, being so vulnerable with them, giving himself to them. This bot who used to tear others limb from limb with their bare servos. The bot who used to bathe in hot energon they spilled without any remorse or regard for the life they had taken. He knows he is also guilty of these things, but he hadn't kept it from you. He told you where he came from, what he used to do, what his old life was like, the things he's done with his own servos.

You lied to him, and apparently, to everyone else on this ship who trusted you. Looking into the cold and lifeless optics of the one he loves after seeing them pull a mechs cables and pistons from their neck made a chill run down his back. All occupants of the room snapped their helms to the doors when they whooshed open. You stood there, a surprised look on your face, optics open wide at all the faces looking at you. Suddenly uncomfortable you wave slowly to them and start walking deeper into the bar.

After nervously waving at the bunch of bots huddled together in the middle of the bar you turned your attention to your lover who still gazed into the screen. Curious to know what had your beloved so enamored you looked in the same direction as him and were met with a recurring nightmare. All the energon flowing through your frame instantly froze and your vents hitched, your mouth goes dry and frame stiffens. When you regain control of your functions you look to your lover who is now leering at you making your tanks churn. Worry presents itself in your expression but his doesn't change.

"You lied." He hisses before he steps around you and walks out of the bar. You stand there fazed for a moment before turning around so fast to chase after the large mech that you get a little dizzy.

"Megatron! Wait! Please!" You run, barely beginning to catch up to him. He is nearly halfway down the hall when you turn the corner, so you pick up the pace. Your servo almost reaches his back when he abruptly stops and turns around. You gasp at how fast he moves and how he glares at you, effectively making you feel small. He begins to slowly stomp towards you with a sneer on his derma.

"You disgust me," He growls, "was this how you wanted me to find out? You wanted me to see what you are?!" He slowly stalks towards you, your back getting closer and closer to the wall.

"I-" you stutter and fumble for words, suddenly afraid of the mech you adore. The pure rage in his optics makes you shudder and your legs to feel wobbly.

"How could you keep such a thing from me?!" Tears gather in your optics making your vision go blurry. "I trusted you, I told you everything, I was transparent to you and yet you had the bearings to hide yourself from me?!" He sounds so hurt. Finally your back hits the wall and he is looming over your crumbling form.

"You don't understand-"

"I don't understand, hm? Please, enlighten me, what is it that I don't understand?" He asks in a condescending tone.

"W-, I-" no matter how hard you try you can't seem to find the right words. You can see him losing his patience. He's never looked at you like this, scared you like this.

"Well!?" He shouts as his fist connects with the wall beside your helm. The metal gives way and cracks around his fist, and you are shaking. The coolant finally streams down your face while he grinds his denta together.

"I'm sorry!" You cry out and his face softens just the slightest. His derma form a line, optic ridge still folded into a frown. He stares into your optics, you're afraid, very much unlike they looked in the video. He can see you and his face starts to go slack, frown fading from his face. Your field releases a sickening amount of fear, anxiety, and sadness.

He pushes himself from the wall and steps back from your shaking frame. You slowly start to descend to the floor, legs turned to jelly as a sob escapes you. His soft gaze hardens again while he takes you in.

"You're pathetic." He grumbles, turning on his heels to start back down the hall. He left you there, crying in the corner, but didn't return to your shared hab. Opting instead to continue wandering the Lost Light, thoughts racing with questions and his spark pulsing with emotion. He soon felt the need to return to your hab, though, so he begrudgingly changed course. He stops in front of the door and takes a deep breath before punching in the code and opening it to find the room empty.

'Thank Primus,' he thought as he walked in. He sat at the desk against the wall and pulled out a data pad he's been writing in. Almost immediately, he began writing, expressing his feelings through poetic metaphor. For a while, he expressed anger and betrayal, but the more he wrote, he began to feel sad; for one, he hadn't listened to you. And two; he scared you.

Your fearful stare and the way your field felt so thick was burned into his core. There could be any number of reasons you hadn't told him of your brutal past. He knows you wouldn't keep something from him unless it was easy for you to talk about. The image of your face remained at the forefront of his mind, so vividly he could see the coolant pour from your optics as your derma quivered. Despite his own emotional constipation, you had only cried like that in front of him twice. One of those times happened subconsciously when you had a bad dream. You are an odd bot, keeping to yourself even with him, though you have been oh so slowly opening up to him, telling him little things.

He was so quick to shoot you down in your most vulnerable moment that it made his denta tingle with a sour sensation. He feels guilt settle heavily in his tanks. Perhaps you were like him, thrust into that environment, forced to adapt to killing so you could see another cycle. He's suddenly afraid of seeing you again. If you hadn't hated him before, even after he told you who he was and the things he had done, you certainly do now after how he just treated you.

He got up out of his seat anyway and left the room to go look for you. He doesn't know why, but he checked the corner he left you at. Of course, you weren't there. The taunting hole where his fist made contact with the wall glared at him. Then he checked back at Swerve's, and no one had seen you after you both walked out. He looked in your office. It was empty, and all of your data pads were strewn about the room. It's an organized mess, just the way you like it.

He pinged Magnus, he hasn't seen or heard from you, Rodimus hasn't either, which was a tad surprising. He had even asked Rung, knowing you would go and talk to him if you had a problem, even though you would never tell anyone who you were wronged by if a person was the cause of your strife. The one thing he hadn't expected was Drift telling him he saw you go into Whirl's hab with him. He's suddenly overtaken by fear and jealousy, worried that you might be being unfaithful, but he knows you. He knocks on Whirl's door. After a few moments, it opens only enough for the blue mech to stick half of his upper body through.

"Yes~?" He asks, a slight edge to his voice.

"Is (Y/N) in there with you?" His patience begins to swirl down the drain when Whirl looks him up and down.

"And if they were? What do you want from them?" His claw holding tightly onto the door.

"I only want to speak with them," He mumbles, "please." Whirl looks him up and down again.

"Well, that's great and all, but." He pushes the door the rest of the way open, "They left already." Megatron's hopes of mending things die in his tanks. "Not sure you're going to find them either." With that, the door slides closed, the lock audibly clicks in place, making Megatron sigh.

'You're not going to find them either.' Whirl's words sink in and replay in his mind slight panic starting to rise in him. He knows that's the truth, too. if you don't want to be found, you won't be, and it worries him. You can disappear for as long as you want, and no one can say a thing to make you come out. No one even knows where you go or what you do, the nano klik that they do figure out where you go you find a brand new hiding place.

You never frequent the same hiding place again after you leave it because they always find out where you go. So instead of searching every inch of the ship for you, he decides to just wait for you back in the hab. The walk back is quiet, his helm overcome by endless thoughts, especially the thought of how he could have handled the situation differently. The myriad of ways he could have dealt with the issue, instead he allowed his own feelings to cloud his judgment, let himself be consumed by his anger and deep feelings of betrayal. He doesn't even realize that he's arrived at your hab, he decides there at the door while he puts the code in to unlock the door that he will send you a ping when he gets inside.

And that's exactly what he did. He'd sent you the ping a long time ago, no response, you hadn't even looked at it. He understood why. He would just let you have your space, allow the both of you to collect your thoughts. Him more so than you.

"Wait! Please, (Y/N)! Please, I don't wish to fight you!" Your fists are held in a defensive position, ready to block and attack. Your optics are full of rage, devoid of the bot he knows and loves. He's never felt this way around you before. He never felt so afraid of you. You have never threatened anyone before, with your words or your frame or field. Right now, you are using your frame and field to intimidate him, strike a deep and carnal fear in his spark, fight or flight, and take over his frame.

You lunge for him and successfully grapple the grey mech, wrapping your arms around him to try and wrestle him around. The sounds you're making are feral and new to his audial receptors, shock pulsing through his fuel lines and increasing his anxiety. He doesn't want to hurt you, but he won't allow you to take him down either. His only goal is to incapacitate you so that he can try to talk some sense into you. He holds fast, planting his pedes into the ground and servos grasping onto your upper arms tightly to keep you in place.

"This is not who you are! You are not the same bot they made you into! You have changed, you're my beloved spark, please!" He shouts as loud as he can, his optics glowing brightly, bathing your face in a soft red light. You stare back into his optics sneering at him, your sharpened denta bare before him. What happens next seems to happen in slow motion. You pull your helm back and swing yourself towards him. He can't do anything about it either, only capable of watching as your face and forehead get closer before finally making contact with the bridge of his olfactory unit.

He staggers for a moment as his grip on your arms loosens just enough for you to use his own weight against him. Your left leg plants itself behind his right one as you push harshly, he falls to the ground as if he were underwater. You quickly mount the fallen giant and hit him fast and hard, punch after punch connects to his face with a loud clang. He can't do a thing about it, he has no strength to try and push you off or hit you back. When he looks at your face contorted with hatred he can't help but feel he deserves it.

His spark wrenches at the sight, pure ferocity and hatred that burns in your optics and floods his senses from your field. The need to survive has flown out the window and he accepts his fate the more you hit him. You stop punching him to catch your breath, Megatron sputters and chokes slightly on his own blood. Coughing and swallowing hard while he tries to pull himself together. Your right arm reaches behind your back and reappears with a large sword you sport during your gladiatorial matches.

Your optics are narrowed as you gaze upon the broken mech beneath you, his gunmetal grey paint has rubbed off onto your servos, arms, and tribulen. You say nothing as you plunge the sword into his abdomen just beneath his chassis, the sharp blade going through his tanks and stabbing into the ground beneath him, skewering the mech. Megatron's vision is fading, black framing the edges of his vision. Your face a blur of grey and purple from the blood that splattered onto your face when you were hitting him. His shaking servo rises from his side and reaches up to try and cup your cheek to show you affection.

You slap his servo away, and it falls back to the ground with a loud clank sound, causing the grey mech to groan. Coolant leaks from his optics. The more you fade from him, the more he can feel your weight lift off of him. He feels at peace almost. Weightlessness takes him over as the dark holds him oh so gently.

"Megatron?" Your soft voice cuts through the darkness causing him to hum. He starts to feel heavy again. He's being shaken. "Megatron, are you okay? Megatron?" His optics snap open and his servo immediately snatches up your arm, gripping it tightly. He's still afraid, vents heaving and cooling fans whirring, his face is wet with coolant.

You don't try to pull away from him nor do you react to his tight grip on your arm. His vision is slightly blurry from being pulled out of recharge. When he finally can see perfectly, your soft features are all he can see.

"You were dreaming again, my love." Your voice is quiet and soft, but he hears it so clearly that he shoots up into a sitting position. His optics are wide as he stares at you in disbelief. "I just um, came to grab a couple of things. I understand if you want or need some time to yourself." Your helm tilts down, gaze falling to your pedes.

"No," He picks you up and hugs you tightly to his chassis "please." He hiccups. "I didn't listen to you and-"

"I'd only give you some excuse, I'm a liar." Your voice is low and full of chagrin.

"No, shhhh, I didn't. I just..." Megatron couldn't think of anything to say. A mech with such a vast vocabulary is at loss for words.

"I made you feel so horrible. I lied to you, I kept things from you and I shouldn't have. I just, I couldn't find the right way to tell you. I was scared to. I don't like to share certain things, not only because it hurts but because I don't want it to affect anyone around me. I didn't want to make you feel like I was trying to overshadow you with my own complaints or just use you as some crutch when I can handle it myself without problem. I don't want to have to rely on you and use you as a crutch. I'm supposed to be your rock, your foundation." Your arms tighten around him, field leasing wave after wave of guilt and gut wrenching sadness and an overwhelming sense of self loathing.

How long have you felt this way? How long have you been holding on to such turmoil while giving him nothing but support? Why couldn't he see it? Such anguish has wreaked havoc upon you for so long, so much longer than he could have guessed and yet you still only ever offered him pure love, happiness, joy, and care. He feels selfish and guilty and angry at himself, he should have seen it, even just a fragment of it.

The dream was so real, though he was afraid of you he knows you would never do anything to hurt him. You would never fight him, you must have taken a vow as well because he's never seen you raise a servo to anyone before, not even in self defense. The past is the past, it shouldn't have mattered as much as it felt like it did.

"I know I don't deserve anything from you, you don't have to apologize, it was my fault for not having said something. I should have told you that something was off about me, shouldn't have let you trust me so blindly. Surely you remember the rumors about me from those times. I understand if you don't feel safe with me anymore." Coolant pools in your downturned optics. You sit facing him in his lap with your helm lowered, trying to make yourself appear weak. You'd allow him to throw you out of the room or even to just shake you around a bit before making you leave. You would accept his anger and resentment however he so chooses to express it to you. You'd let him crush your spark with his servos if it meant he would forgive you for lying to him. "I didn't meant to lie to you." You sniffle, you hadn't even been aware that you were lying to him, you only thought it was like saving that part of yourself for a more appropriate time.

"You weren't lying, you hadn't lied about anything, you just haven't told me. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me. If you ever need to, please, don't hesitate, don't feel like you're a burden. I'm here for you, we stand together, we are the foundations of our shared happiness. I can't bear the thought that you have been crumbling this entire time." He tilts your helm up to look him in the optics. Coolant threatens to spill from yours, they look nearly as empty as they were in his nightmare and it breaks his spark. He's never seen you like this before, never thought he would, never would have hoped.

You take in a shaky breath and say, "I'm sorry." Your derma quivering. So he kisses you. Planting his derma to yours as the coolant finally begins to stream down your face. He releases you but presses your forehelms together, his optics closed while he feeds love and worry through his field. Remorse finds its way through as well and it makes more coolant trickle down your face in a heavy flow.

"You are everything to me, I'm the one who should be sorry. Primus knows why you were in there, and you don't have to tell me unless you want to, but I'm so sorry that I wasn't trying to be understanding of you." His optics open, looking at your servo in his. It's clean and well cared for. Your paint job is not stained in blood. Your frame is free of scratches and scars. You're a completely different bot than the one who lived in those Primus forsaken pits, chained to a wall during recharge.

You buried that bot a long time ago.

#maccadam #macadam #macaddam #transformers #tf #cybertronian reader #gn reader #lost light #mtmte #tf mtmte #tf megatron #megatron #Megatron x gn reader #megatron x reader #angst fic #angst #mtmte megatron

317 notes · View notes

gimmethosedaddymilkers · 2 years ago

Text

Arthur Morgan Modern Headcannons- Pregnancy

@cantchoosejust1 This is for you! >:)

Just some modern Arthur and how anything related to pregnancy would work, so Female reader!

Warnings!: NSFW 18+ themes, probs gonna have a little bit of smut considering ya know, pregnancy.

Lets GO

Okay straight from the get go, let’s get something straight.

Before you and Arthur are married you obviously had sex

and while you both did your best to be as safe as possible, getting tested, wearing condoms, birth control, the works

there were still some mishaps.

You forgot to take birth control

he got a little excited and so did you so you didn’t really stop to put on protection

There were a couple of times where you two thought you were going to prematurely be parents.

and considering this is before you’re married the two of you get a little nervous.

Not like

“Oh god we’re having a child out of wedlock” kind of nervous

but like

oh god

this wasn’t the plan

kind of nervous.

But

in all reality those few scares were nothing more than scares.

Though every time you’d have a scare Arthur was nothing but supportive. Worried he wouldn’t be a good dad, or that he’d mess something up, or hell afraid that you’d have the kid and leave.

He wasn’t completely ready to be a dad, not after everything that happened with his ex and Issac, who sadly passed

But he knew if it was gonna be with you he was gonna be okay.

Now

After you get married

and you don’t have a kid cause the scares were just scares...

The two of you will have to sit down and really talk about it.

How many kids do you want? When should you start trying?

Do you want kids at all?

When the two of you decide you do want kids

its off from there

you just decide that no matter what the two of you will never be particularly ready for kids, no one is, so it’s best to just let nature take its course, not to try and force it

so the only change in the two of your lives is stopping your pills and you don’t have to spend cash on condoms anymore.

You and Arthur are both really surprised that you haven’t gotten pregnant before.

I mean

the man has

a breeding kink

i mean

god

One night, you and him go out drinking together, and you go to a small bar in town, hardly any people there, but you went with John and Abigail on their date night

and my god

Arthur wasn’t dressed fancy by any means

but

jesus

did he look good.

Still smeared with grease from working on cars all day, a tank top on showing off all the tattoos on his arms, and tight fitting jeans that framed those massive thighs of his just right

You literally apologized to John and Abigail and made him take you home.

He was confused at first but when the two of you get in the truck and he starts to worriedly ask you how you’re doing you simply tell him “drive”

He does and when you hit the road you put your hair in a ponytail and get him worked up.

You were lucky you were on the back roads, that man was swerving all over the road, trying to use one hand to guide your head and the other to drive.

By the time you get home he’s got a stain on his pants and a second hard on

He takes the lead from there

and let me tell you

after you literally pried him away from a bar to show to him just how turned on you got from him?

He’s completely overcome

He nearly kicked the door in when you got him, and he carried you to the bedroom, his hands gripping your thighs without remorse.

And when he has you on the bed

jesus

he’s fantastic

He gets you worked up easy, I mean, you were already, but he makes sure you’re good and ready and then things get hot and heavy.

He’ll fuck you until you’re screaming, begging.

Your legs quivering and tears coming from your eyes

and the whole damn time he’s got that fucking smirk of his on his face, and that deep voice praising you, telling you what a good girl you are.

Not only that but when he’s close to finishing, and you’re close to finishing what has to be like your fifth climax, if you wrap your legs around him so he can’t pull out and tell him to fill you up he’ll bust right there.

The thought of you taking all of him, and he means all of him, turns him on to no end.

To know that a part of him is in you

goddamn

and hell

when he’s finished if he pulls out and his seed doesn’t exactly want to stay where it’s meant to be, he’ll gently push it back into you, muttering “Atta girl” as you whimper from the feeling.

After a night like that?

You had to be pregnant

I mean

come on

You even did that whole put your legs up to help it move down thing

which

you were exhausted so Arthur actually did it, holding your ankles with one hand and trying to slip boxers on with the other.

It was very entertaining for your lustfilled mind.

Within the next few weeks

About a month and a half later

you start to get really sick

that good old morning sickness

and the tests had been coming up negative so you’d thought that it hadn’t worked

but

out of curiosity

you took another one at work, one that you’d bought on your lunch break, and when you check it and it comes back positive you nearly scream at the top of your lungs with joy.

You’re bursting to tell Arthur when you get home and the whole drive back to the house after work you’re singing with the windows down.

You head straight to his shop, you don’t even think about going home, and you smile happily to see that both Charles and John are also in the shop

He’ll greet you with a smile and a kiss and ask you what has you so chipper.

“Arthur I’ve got news!”

“What’s that Darlin’? You finally get that promotion?”

“Better!”

“Uh...A bonus?”

“Nope!”

“Aw shit, I ain’t ever gonna get....Holy shit you’re pregnant ain’t you?”

“You’re gonna be a dad Arthur.”

“Holy Shit! I’m gonna be a dad!”

He nearly bursts with joy himself and he grabs Charles and John by the shoulders, laughing with that hearty laugh of his, and then you.

He kisses you so deeply its as if he’s never kissed you before.

He’s never been so excited to call Hosea in his life, he’s practically pacing as he wipes his greasy hands on a towel and grabs his phone

He’s got Hosea on speed dial and as soon as he picks up the phone he tells him to find Dutch too

Then

He simply

shouts

“Y/N’S Pregnant!”

Then from the speaker phone

Dutch

“That’s my boy!”

“DUTCH!”

“I”VE BEEN WAITING FOR A GRANDSON FOR YEARS”

“WHAT ABOUT JACK?”

“JACK DOESN’T LIKE ME!”

“THEN DON’T BE A DICK”

The two of them argue for a while but in the end congratulate you.

From that moment on, throughout the entirety of your pregnancy Arthur is INCREDIBLY protective over you

I mean

even in the early stages

You aren’t allowed to lift heavy things

you’re two months in

not allowed to lift anything over ten pounds

Arthur’s rules

If you wanna go out he wants to go to.

If you don’t let him, he’ll understand, but he’s gonna call you at least once every hour to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby

He drives you everywhere if he’s able.

That way if a crash happens he can blame himself for anything that happens to you or the baby rather than you blaming yourself for something happening to the baby

He reads up on anything thats baby related

prenatal

postnatal

hospital procedures

the best baby things to buy

the best cribs

bibs

highchairs

pack n’ plays

toys

binkies

bottles

anything he can get his oily mechanic hands on

he spends like

95 percent of his time on his phone now doing research and keeping notes

when you’re overcome with morning sickness he’s right there holding your hair and offering you saltines

when your cravings come

no matter how late or how early

hes there

“Arthur”

“Hmh?”

“I want thin mints”

“Ain’t even girl scout season.”

“Arthurrrrrr I want cookiesss.”

*Deep sigh followed by the sound of a very large man leaving his very comfortable bed to get his very hot wife some very good cookies from the nearest open store.*

“Arthur! Can we stop at a Rally’s?”

“There ain’t a Rally’s within like fifteen miles of us, that’s like me takin’ you all the way to Texas Roadhouse Darlin’.”

“oh...okay.”

“An hour ain’t that long of a drive.”

*Puts on your favorite country music because if you cry he will cry.*

He demands that the baby is gonna be a boy

you think it’s a girl

the joke is on the both of you when you go to your fifth or sixth month check up and

BAM fuckin

twins

apparently somewhere on Arthur’s biological side he’s got twins cause now you do

And it is offical

there’s a girl and a boy

HE PANICS

He was ready for one but now two?

GOD

you on the other hand

you just think

“Im already huge im just gonna get bigger”

Arthur nearly slaps you but instead gives you an angry glare

he goes straight back to research, considering he now has an entirely different set of information to understand

all the twin things

now hes gotta buy double of things

His whole family is chipping in too

not just the two of you, everyone is absolutely PREPARED

for these babies

and obviously

Karen and the other girls throw a shower for you

which you cry at

because

i mean

hormones

ya know

and you end up telling them all how much you love them

and appreciate them and

and

*Crying*

Literally have so much stuff theres no room in that tiny little ranch house, and it already needed upgraded anyway

Arthur inlists the help of his brothers, and his fathers

Bill, Javier, John, Charles, Lenny, Sean, Hell Dutch even actually lifts a finger and you get to sit back and watch as they build a huge add on to your house

That was a day and a half

it was hot, so you were suffering with a massive stomach

but

Arthur was practically stripping for you so that was fantastic

however

not fantastic for him

because after everyone left you practically jumped his bones

I mean

you couldn’t do a lot

but he got the vibes

he was nervous

i mean

theres babies in there

but like

he’s never seen you so fuckin riled up and the fact that you were pregnant and STILL wanted him??

He couldn’t resist

I mean

You were too big to do the normal stuff but

You found your ways to be sensual with each other

He found a way

The two of you on your side for slow evenings, behind you with gentle thrusts, very slow, and not exactly hot so much as intimate

but

HOT

He just fucks you from behind.

I mean

you can still bend, just don’t lay on your stomach lmao

Doggie style for the win

He’ll run his fingers over your pregnant belly and tell you just how beautiful you look to him with his kids in there

To him

never been a more beautiful thing in his life

Its on one of these very intimate nights, when you’re heavily pregnant, I mean

nine months

that your water breaks

you’d both passed out, but you woke up with just that

feeling

and you shook him awake

to which he responded with

“Darlin’ please, I gotta refill I can’t go again just yet-” With a very groggy sleepy wave your way

only for you to slap his hand gently

“It’s time you dork, I’m having these babies whether you like it or not.”

AWAKE

literally it takes all of five seconds and he’s slipped off the bed, onto the floor with a thud and then he’s up onto his knees looking at you with his hair all disheveled and eyes wide.

“It’s really time?”

“It’s time.”

He literally wanted to carry you to the car

but you wouldn’t let him throw his back out just because he wanted to do everything

so you waddle to the car and he’s rushing around, grabbing prepacked bags, making sure he doesn’t miss a single one

He grabs reading material

your favorite blanket

the keys to the new minivan you made him get.

and he throws everything in and rushes you to the nearest hospital

he’s cursing the whole time he drives, trying to figure out how to use the newer technology in the van

it has bluetooth for your phone

and he can’t for the life of him figure out how to use it to call

So he finally says fuck it and asks you politely to call everyone

which

you just call dutch

because he’s a gossip

and he answers angry at first but then is like

oh shit

its

3 am

she’s doin the shit

and then he’s like “We’ll be there!”

and from there he hangs up and he’ll go about getting literally the entire van der linde group rounded up

you get to the hospital easily

Arthur pretty much attempts to get you the best room available

and does everything in his power

hes a little mean to nurses but then immediately apologizes because hes just so nervous that he’s gonna fuck up but all the nurses are incredibly kind and explain that they understand

and that he’s not the worst they’ve seen and thank him for at least taking the time to apologize for his momentary rudness.

Eventally everyone is in the waiting room and Arthur has to run back and forth to give updates

he is running on pure spite, anxiety, fear, and all of the expresso he can get his hands on

Contractions

jesus

he feels so bad

he holds your hand

and he doesn’t give a shit how hard you squeeze he wants you to be okay

he’d take away all your pain if he could

Every scream literally almost makes him cry

he tells you that you’re doing so good, and that you’re gonna be the absolute best mother anyone could ask for

and that he’s gonna be by your side for every up and down

So when you get one baby out he’s relieved

but then remembers that you have another to push out

and that theres still a placenta that you have to push out

and so

He literally doesn’t leave your side

kissing your forehead, squeezing your hand, doing whatever you need him to do

and then

you finally get everything done

you’re exhausted

you’re tired

but

you have two beautiful children

it took you thirteen hours

but they’re there and it was worth it

the boy

you name Issac, with Arthur’s permission

He literally cries in thank you for that.

The girl you name after your mother, which he was happy to agree to

you think the two look like him

but he swears that they look like you

You can see his nose in them, and his lips

but he thinks that they have your lips

they definitely have his eyes, both of them strikingly blue

they were both born with full heads of hair too, just the same color as Arthur’s

When everyone else meets them

it’s just a room full of crying adults

they all praise you for doing such a good job at giving birth and they cry at how beautiful your children are

and eventually Arthur shoos them out

and the two of you sit and hold the twins, smiles on your face, you finally had the start of your already huge family.

You couldn’t be happier

and Arthur?

That man has never smiled any wider than he did when he was taking a picture of you, his beautiful wife, and his two wonderful twins laying on your chest

Later you see him change his phone screen to that picture, it’s his lockscreen and his homescreen, and your profile picture in his contacts followed my (My love)

He’s sappy like that

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan headcannons #rdr2 #rdr2 community #Rdr2 drabble #Rdr2 Headcannons #pregancy #pregnant reader #arthur morgan pregnancy headcannons

378 notes · View notes