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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

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Home - Chapter Six

Revenge - (re·venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Hi friends,

I am so so sorry for the length of time it has been since I updated this fic. Honestly, I love this version of them so much and I promise you this hasn't been through a lack of care for this fic.

This is incredibly emotionally taxing to write and I, for a number of reasons, have not been in the place to write it.

I am feeling better now, and I am back into writing this. I hope you enjoy this, and please do let me know what you think - and that you still want to read this version of them!! <3

-x-

Words: 3.3k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily blows out a shaky breath, the sound loud as it echoes around the bathroom. Bouncing off the walls that Haley had helped pick the tiles for. She’d always had a knack for interior design, something that neither Emily nor Aaron particularly cared about, so she’d helped them decorate their house, leaving Emily to wonder if there was a corner of her home she could look at without thinking of her best friend.

Her best friend who’s funeral she was about to go to.

It had been two weeks since she’d found Haley barely alive in her house, and it felt like no time at all but also like it had been years since she’d spoken to her friend. At first, when she could still see the dried blood in around her nails, stuck in places she’d never had to focus so hard on washing before, she’d been lost in the haze. Stuck in the grief and shock that felt overwhelming. Stealing her ability to breathe, to think.

Then they told Jack, and then Eleanor, and all of a sudden her grief didn’t seem to matter anymore. She’d put it on the back burner, letting it simmer away, slowly coming to a boil she knew would spill over soon, scalding her and anyone who happened to be nearby. It was easier to look after them, to look after her husband, than it was to acknowledge her own grief. It was easier than acknowledging her guilt that, no matter what Aaron said, no matter how much he assured her nothing was her fault, was burning her from the inside out.

The last two weeks had involved more interviews with the police than she cared to count. They’d confirmed that the crime matched Foyet’s MO, and that the only thing missing from Haley’s house was a photo, the frame broken and left on the living room floor. Aaron had confirmed that the missing picture was from Eleanor’s most recent birthday, a moment frozen in time that Haley had proudly displayed. Her arm was around Jack, who had his little sister on his hip, with Emily and Aaron on her other side.

Emily can almost put herself back in that moment if she closes her eyes. The sound of small children running around their backyard, the laughter that followed them everywhere. The smell of the candles that she’d helped her daughter blow out. The peace she’d felt at the time, just out of reach now that it had been snatched away by men who would never see their own role in the mess of their lives.

She jumps slightly at the sound of the timer on her phone coming to an end, and she turns it off before it can alert anyone else in the house. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before she turns to look at the white stick laid out on the counter. She blows out a shaky breath as she picks it up to inspect the result, even though it was clear as day, no room left for interpretation.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, gripping the test tightly for a second. It was the result she’d expected, the one she’d been anticipating for days as she put off taking it. She swallows thickly, pushing down the emotions that threaten to climb up her throat.

“Emily?”

She sniffs and wipes a stray tear from her cheek as her step-son calls out for her, and she gives the test another cursory look before she shoves it in a drawer, hiding it under several skincare products, even though she knows her husband never goes in there. She steps out into the bedroom and feels her heart seize in her chest at the sight of Jack in front of her, dressed up in the black suit he’d bought for his high school prom, missing the red tie he’d bought to match his date’s dress. His body is tense, a tightness to his shoulders he’d had ever since he came home, and his eyes are wide and shining, lost in a way that makes him look like the little boy she’d met all those years ago, not the young man he’d grown up into in front of her very eyes.

“Yes, sweetie?”

He clears his throat and avoids eye contact, already looking like he is on the verge of tears, and he looks at the ground, “Dad said I could borrow one of his ties?” He says, his voice rough, “He’s almost done getting Ellie ready.”

“Of course,” she says, nodding towards the closet, indicating that he follows her. She opens the drawer full of Aaron’s ties and pulls out a black one before she hands it to him.

“Thanks,” He says, smiling tightly as he lays it over his shoulder and pops up his collar. She watches for a second as he struggles with it, his hands not working as he wants them to, almost as if his grief, his shock over losing his mother in such a violent way, had made its way into his bloodstream. Freezing up his extremities from the inside out. He growls in frustration and throws his hands up in the air, “Damn it.”

“I’ve got it, honey,” she says, closing the gap and tying it for him. It makes her think of her and Aaron’s wedding. How Jack had run from the room he’d been getting ready with Aaron into hers, his smile wide as he saw her in her dress. She’d fixed his tie for him then too, the knot of it seeming absurdly large in comparison to him. She lays it flat against him once she’s done, clearing her throat as she makes sure it’s straight, “There you go.”

“Thanks, Emily,” he replies, standing stiffly in front of her, lost and unsure what to do. She pulls him into a hug, sighing when he gratefully returns it, his hands fisting in the back of her dress as he holds her closer like he did when he was small and barely awake from a nightmare. Things were different now, he was taller than her, just barely but enough he’d often joke about it, making a big deal of getting things from the top shelf of the pantry when he was home, and this wasn’t a nightmare.

It was their reality, something they’d never wake up from.

“I don’t want to go,” he says, his voice tight, “It…makes it real.”

She nods, pulling back to look at him, curling the sleeve of her dress over her fist so she can wipe his tears away, another flash of another lifetime, “I know,” she says, “But…the sooner we go, the sooner we can come back home.”

He chuckles humourlessly and nods, “And then what?”

She wishes she had an answer for him, but she doesn’t, and she thinks that hurts more than anything.

___

It had been a long day.

She was exhausted in a way she hadn’t been in a long time, the weight of it heavy on her shoulders. Aaron and Jack were on the back porch. Emily had seen her husband walk outside with two bottles of beer, the pair of them exchanging a soft smile. Jack was only 19, but if ever there was a day for them to let him drink it was on the day of his mother’s funeral.

Emily sighs as she steps into the kitchen, the quiet of the rest of the house bleeding into it. The silence haunts her, hanging over her home that was usually so full of life and sound, chasing her like a ghost she could not escape.

“Mama?”

She turns to look at Eleanor, and the sight of the little girl in her black dress, the funeral outfit she hates that she had to buy her, turns her stomach. Emily clears her throat, failing to dislodge the grief that had been stuck there for days as she approaches her daughter and crouches in front of her.

“Hi sweet girl,” she says, tugging gently at one of Eleanor’s braids as she lays it on her shoulder, “How are you doing?”

Eleanor shrugs, her sadness written all over her face, and it makes Emily ache, “I’m hungry.”

Emily nods and picks her up, wishing she could ignore the way her little girl grasps at her, her fists tight in the material of the neckline of her dress, hanging on as if she was going to disappear too.

“Me too, baby,” she lies. She hadn’t been hungry since she’d found Haley, every single thing she’d eaten something she’d been all but force-fed by Aaron, “Let's see what’s in the freezer.”

As she pulls the freezer open she sees one of the casseroles Haley had left there, a time capsule of another life. A simpler time that felt so much longer ago than the two weeks it was. She swallows thickly and shuts the freezer, tightening her hold on Eleanor. “Why don’t we order something in, huh? What do you think we should get?”

“Chinese!”

She frowns, tilting her head to look at her little girl, “Not pizza? That’s your favourite.”

Eleanor shakes her head and rests her forehead against Emily’s neck, her little hand tangling in with her necklace, “Jack likes Chinese food. It makes him happy.”

Emily closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, her daughter’s kindness, her endless empathy, almost knocking her over. The little girl had struggled to understand everything. It was her first experience of loss and it had taken some time for it to sink in that Haley was truly gone, that she’d never see her again. Eleanor had been sleeping in Emily and Aaron’s bed ever since Haley had died, something her parents took as much comfort in as she did, neither of them willing to even think about putting her back in her own bed yet.

“Yeah,” Emily replies, kissing Eleanor’s temple, “Chinese food is a great idea.”

They eat dinner as a family, but in silence. None of able to bring themselves to make idle chit-chat, the day not feeling right for it. Jack excuses himself for bed after eating, hauling his little sister into a tight hug when Emily makes it clear dinner had been her idea. Aaron takes Eleanor to bed, skipping any pretence of putting her in her room and laying her down in theirs, a kiss against her forehead when she was already asleep promising they’d be there soon.

Emily settles onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions, and she sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

“Long day.”

She looks up and smiles tightly at her husband, nodding as she bites the inside of her cheek, “Yeah, long day.”

He points towards the kitchen over his shoulder, “Can I get you anything? Maybe a glass of wine?”

She opens her mouth to respond, having to swallow down her initial instinct, “No,” she says, shaking her head at him, “No I’m okay,” she says, offering out a hand to him, “Come sit with me.”

He doesn’t need asking twice. Throughout the day they’d barely been able to look after each other, their attention on their children and helping Haley’s sister make sure the wake went smoothly. Every time he’d sought her out, looking for his wife across a crowded room, he’d see the way she was barely holding herself together. Taped and glued together with love for Jack and Eleanor, putting them first like she always did. He wraps his arms tightly around her, hauling her into his lap, her side against his chest.

She feels the immediate sense of home she had always found in his embrace, a sense of safety even Ian had never been able to take from her.

“What can I do to help?” He asks, his hand trailing up and down her arm, holding her closer as she hides her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

“You’re already doing it,” she replies, pulling back to look at him, running her fingers through his hair, “You buried a woman you love today. What can I do to help?”

He dresses a kiss to her forehead and then her temple, “You’re already doing it,” he says, both of them smiling softly as he repeats her words back to her, “Do you want to go up to bed, or shall we sit here for a while?”

“Let's sit here for a while,” she says, snuggling further into him, and he nods, reaching for the tv remote and switching it on, desperately needing the background noise, the silence in the house almost suffocating.

He chuckles when Star Trek pops up on the screen and he presses the guide button, smiling into the top of his wife’s head when he sees there are several episodes on in a row, “Look Em. Your favourite - a marathon.”

She shakes her head at him and lightly slaps at the shoulder she isn’t resting her head on, “Jerk,” she says, her smile fading before she turns her head to kiss his jaw, “I love you.”

He holds her closer, letting the weight of her against his chest comfort him, “I love you too.”

___

Aaron watches as his wife falters on Haley’s porch, her body betraying her will to push past the nausea that the mere thought of going back into the house brought her.

He looks at his son, watching as he opens the front door and walks in, and he stops Emily, his hand on her arm, “Em, you don’t have to go in there, Jack would understand.”

She puts her hand over his, linking their fingers together, “He asked us both to come to help him get some of his things,” she says, smiling tightly at him, “I have to do this for him.”

He looks like he wants to argue with her, but he stops himself, something she’s grateful for as she follows Jack into the house.

It smells clean. Not the kind of clean Haley kept it, the floral scent that would usually hang in the air replaced by a strong scent of bleach. She knows the crime scene cleaners had finished up a few days ago. She hadn’t come back since the night she’d found her, instead, Aaron had come over with Jessica to pick out some clothes to give to the funeral home. She pauses near the living room, unable to bring herself to look into it, and she turns to look at her husband, clearing her throat before she speaks, pushing down the fear she can feel climbing up it.

“We don’t have too long until we need to pick up Ellie from school,” she says, still anxious to be separated from her daughter at all, but aware that the school had a lot of security and would only let her or Aaron pick the little girl up, “I’ll…” she looks at the living room and then back at him, “I’ll go up into the attic, I think some of the things Jack wants are up there.”

Aaron nods, wanting nothing more than to reach out for her, but he knows her well enough to know this wasn’t the place for it. That a hug from him would be her undoing and she couldn’t afford to fall apart here.

Emily makes up the stairs in record time, passing Jack in his bedroom, her chest tight as she listens to him root through drawers and his closet as if this would be the last time he would be here. She pulls down the ladder and goes into the attic, grateful for some alone time, for the chance to pull herself back together. She blows out a steady breath and starts to look for Jack’s things, some of the childhood books and toys he’d asked for them to take to their place instead, so they could store them in their attic. Keep them safe from the violence that now lingered in the air of this house.

She spots one of the boxes with his name emblazoned on the side, but stops short of it when she sees a box with her name on the outside. She frowns as she kneels down in front of it, her hands shaking slightly as she opens the top of it. She gasps, catching the sound with her hand as her breath gets stuck in her chest, painful as it tries to escape. The box was full of Eleanor’s baby clothes and toys. Tiny onesies she’d packed away when she convinced herself Eleanor had been her one baby. Items she’d asked Haley to donate years ago when the thought of having another child was too much to bear, the losses she’d had draining her of any hope she may have once had.

She frowns as she sees a small picture she hadn’t put in there, something Haley clearly had added. It had been taken the day Eleanor was been born. Jack and Haley were the only visitors they had at the hospital. It was just her, Haley and a tiny little Eleanor in Haley’s arms, a quick capture of the most unlikely of friendships. Emily can imagine Haley slipping the picture into this box, a smile on her face as she thought about how she’d present it to Emily when she had another baby, a glint in her eye that said nothing except ‘I told you so.”

It felt like cruel irony that her friend who’d clearly believed she’d have the chance to have another baby, the one who not-so-gently encouraged her to push past the fear, would never know she was pregnant.

She knew before she took the test that it would be positive. Symptoms she’d put down to the chaos their lives had turned into finally too intense to ignore. She presses her hand onto her belly, closing her eyes, tears escaping down her cheeks, as she thinks of the positive pregnancy test in her bathroom at home. It had been three days since she’d taken it but she still hadn’t told Aaron. She’d tried to, more than once, but she’d felt wholly unable to say the words. To say something that should be so full of joy, of happiness, when they were living under this blanket of grief.

“Damn it, Haley,” she says outloud, shaking her head at her friend, “You really are something else,” her smile slips off her face, “You really were.”

She frowns as she hears her husband’s voice travel all the way upstairs, raised and barely controlled. She climbs down the ladder and meets Jack on the landing, his eyebrows furrowed. She squeezes his arm in an attempt to reassure him.

“It’s probably just work,” she says, tilting her head towards his room, “You go finish in there and I’ll go check on your dad.”

Jack nods and heads back into his bedroom, and Emily walks down the stairs, her husband's voice becoming clearer.

“I am not making a deal with you,” he seethes, his jaw tight as he talks to whoever is on the other end of the phone, “Every federal agent in the country has your picture. You can’t run forever.”

Emily hears what sounds like a laugh from the other end of the line and then the dial tone. Aaron pulls the phone from his ear and looks at her, something in his eyes that she can’t read.

“Honey, who was that?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, fear that she already knew the answer making her chest tight.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, uneasiness settling deep in his gut, “It was George Foyet. He wanted to make a deal.”

-x-

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aintashes · 5 months ago

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daryl isn't a fan of the deep ache that begins to blossom in his stomach as peter speaks. he can't deny that he's pushed his worries about the cult to the wayside in all of his sudden pain and guilt, rick's fall overwhelming and completely encompassing his mind. the reminder of their companionship's origins, however nonchalant, washes a fresh wave of reality over him, chilling and prickly.

if he's honest, after his encounter with the acolyte at the bridge camp, daryl didn't need very much convincing at all to dedicate himself wholly to peter's continued survival. protecting his traveling partner's life means protecting the lives of his people. of all people. once he accepted what happened as truth and not some kind of strange fiction, it wasn't a difficult choice to make. and if his people never truly understand the terror that is being touched by paimon's spidery talons or laying eyes upon his mindmelting visage, if they live in ignorance to it forever, it'll be a miracle. a gracious gift of normalcy that daryl would happily do anything for.

he just doesn't want to mourn anyone else. after everything with rick, he doesn't know how much more emotional turmoil he can realistically stand before he lets himself be lost to it. but if the cult gets to peter? if paimon gets to have his way? they're all dead anyway.

so they have work to do, and none of it involves continuing to sit on the riverbank starving to death. with a soft nod in peter's direction, a firm agreement to the terms he's put forth, daryl takes another drink of water. it settles in his empty stomach with a horrible, sloshing lurch. although the thought of eating anything makes his throat want to close up in nauseous refusal, he'll push through it and eat whatever peter gives him— i'll keep pushing if you do —so they can start moving in the morning.

sleep is fleeting for him that night. he finds himself in and out of consciousness much of the time, small periods of dozing interrupted by stress or a noise or the makings of a nightmare. but even so, he rises as the sun lights up the sky feeling more rested than he has in days.

part of him wants to tell peter that they don't have to do this— that if the cult has been so close to their camp, it may be too dangerous to simply continue down the river. there could be some kind of ambush waiting for them, couldn't there? knowing just how well the cult has been able to cloak themselves from even daryl's keen eye makes him nervous that they won't know they're stepping into the jaws of a trap until it's far too late.

but a selfish part of him still wants to try. peter knows better than he does what the cult is capable of; if he's willing to do this, then it should be fine, right?

either way, it nags at him. he doesn't want his grief to be the catalyst for yet another catastrophe. this, he's had to learn the hard way time and time again. so as peter prepares them a light breakfast, daryl sits nearby. his fingers fidget idly with small sprigs of skinny grass that sprout up from between the rocks around him.

‘ ... you sure about this, pete? ’ he asks softly. it's the first thing he's said since the night prior, voice gravelly as it overlaps the sound of the nearby water to fill the space between them. ‘ river ain't hard t'follow. don't wanna go runnin' into them. ’

❛ well... ❜ staring up at daryl from his position on the ground has an odd fluttery feeling erupting in his belly. even in spite of all this horror, this terrible toil, it's possible for his friend to stir something different in him. something other than anger and heartbreak. ❛ the good news is that if you ever did, you... wouldn't have to live with it for long. ❜

he says it with a disarming half-smile as he sits up with a surprisingly dignified arch of his back. fists roll gently into his teary eyes, successfully ridding them of that damning damp. paimon won't leave any survivors that don't benefit should he get what he wants.

he knows that nothing good can come out of his possession. with that in mind, he can't quite believe that he really was willing to sit there and accept his fate all because daryl was threatening to pull away. he may not have been in his right mind, might have been ensnared in the heat of the moment ( and he isn't quite over how hopeless it'd all felt the moment he'd begun to feel as if daryl was washing his hands of him ), but still...

he fears the world that paimon desires. he visits it come nightfall sometimes, combing through desolate streets upside-down, nausea tailing him almost as reliably as his shadow. perhaps the most confusing element of it all is that there is no fire. it's so far from what the church has always promised them; there's no blood in the street, no brimstone raining on their heads, no human prisoners that're tortured forever. no, instead, hell is labrinythian. it lacks direction, sense— thrives on chaos, discord, entropy, and an inherent all-consuming emptiness. the only way he can describe how paimon's vision makes him feel is from when he was young and unreasonably afraid of the spinning teacup ride at the county fair. when his father had crouched beside him and asked what he was so afraid of, he'd looked at him with the world's biggest brown eyes and tearfully declared that he was scared he wouldn't know 'what was real' if he spun too fast. it's like that— if he was also twirling in supersonic circles through space whilst also inexplicably being back in the 1570's.

❛ but you're not gonna. i'll— i'll keep pushing if you do. ❜ peter knows he can't hinge his life on daryl's continued investment in his survival. at some point, for some reason or other, he'll wake up to the novelty of peter's situation. he'll grow numb to his all but extraterrestrial terror and dedicate himself entirely to his people once more. for now though, he rather likes being one of daryl's concerns. it may be selfish, but it's just nice to be cared about. ❛ we can start looking for him properly tomorrow. if you eat with me. and at least try to get some sleep tonight. ❜

an ultimatum, yes, but one that exists for their mutual benefit. as much as he'd probably like to, daryl can't keep running on fumes for much longer. the way he gulps from his canteen is a start, but water can't replace food entirely.

peter chances a faint smile: ❛ i feel like... they're pretty fair terms. ❜

#it's the way i'm frothing at the mouth over peter taking care of daryl in the best way he knows how right now ??#and daryl going. yknow what ?? ok.#death //#grief //#starvation //#food //#if we ever get far apart; i'll still feel the pull of you. ( ripgray )#ripgray

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carnal-lnstinct · 3 years ago

Text

Delicate

ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ. ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ.

[ “I Love You” ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Broly (DBS) x Female Reader AO3 Rating: Mature / 18+ Warning: ( explicit language )

The snow falling outside swept a silence throughout your home. Nothing more than the creak in the walls when a harsh gust pushed against the foundation and the deep, haunting whistle it carried in its breeze. It was quiet enough to hear the snowflakes softly drum the glass of the window nearby.

You were on the floor for a while, waiting out the pain in your hips and thighs to subside into something manageable but mostly waiting to completely pacify Broly. You couldn’t worry about yourself right now, the least of your worries were gone now that he was returning to himself. The way he lamented his actions while holding you for comfort showed you there was a lot he just unpacked from his heart. Somehow you knew it was not just guilt for what he had done to you that brought this out of him. It was a bit of everything, all the resentment and pain he held to himself that built up for so long. He finally allowed his heart to feel it. The lost companionship with Ba, the worry for Cheelai and Lemo, the persistent fear of doing something that could get him punished from his father, the death of his father, and the overall inability to be who he was. You don’t think he’s ever had a chance to properly let himself be vulnerable enough to take care of his feelings. Perhaps not in a way that didn’t involve using his fists or lashing out with his terrible power. An instance of regret for his actions snapped him into a new reality, one where he is given a true feeling of freedom from all of it. It came to him so strong and so sudden-- like the violent storms he admired-- from your encouraging hands and soft, kind words. Right when his instincts told him to push it away, hold it back as he was always taught to, he stayed with it in your hands. Most importantly, he didn’t feel alone with it all.

When Broly opened up with Cheelai and Lemo for the first time, he was happy and he did feel accepted. But guarded, still. Maybe it was that fear of what his father would do if he found out how they spoke of him after Broly shared the origins of Ba’s ear. He just wanted to explain why he wanted to keep it on and what it stood for, he didn’t want to make his father the enemy of his new friends. Paragus didn’t leave the best impression on anyone new they met when saved from Vampa, but the larger saiyan believed his tale should not be what makes it worse. He regretted that moment of acceptance, then. But Broly doesn’t have that fear now.

Paragus is gone, something Broly keeps reminding himself at his worse. It’s just you and him.

You, gently breathing with him, pleasantly shushing the involuntary noises he would let out when it felt overwhelming in his chest again. Your hands brushing at his wild, long hair to the base of his skull, soothing the odd, uncomfortable pressure in his head from finally letting all of that out. Your other hand brushed over his broad shoulder and occasionally found his face against your skin to wipe his wet eye. Broly felt light to himself when he fully calmed, surreal, reflecting in memories of his peaceful and frustrating moments, yet separated from them. Then, he’s conscious of being in your hold again in addition to the last of his tears falling from his eyes. Broly had sunken onto you over time, he was heavy but not unbearable. Though the way he was holding you didn’t make it the most comfortable position for your spine.

It took minutes, almost an hour before his arms moved from around you. He lifted himself up from his safe space in your neck and looked at you without the bright yellow in his eyes anymore. The familiar, dark brood returns, yet it comes with puffiness in his sorrowful gaze. Your hands slide from his body when he sits back looking you over from head to toe and a heavy sigh rises and falls from his chest. You looked stiff from laying the way you had for so long and enduring his slip up. Your eyes look heavy, too. Before you could speak you are up in his arms and away from the window. He moves you, without a word, from the floor into his large arms to take you to your bed. His eyes keep glancing from on a particular redness appearing along your hip. He knows a bruise forming when he sees one and started to detest his hands on you again.

You continue to remain quiet as well as you are carried away. Replaying the past moments in your own head, you couldn’t help but feel like the cause for his outburst and emotional breakdown following was all your fault. You were blinded by the pleasure you knew he would give you when you could have him the way you fantasized. And it was everything you wanted and more, but you underestimated him. You just wanted to finally have that closeness without needing to be careful about it for once and you anticipated something great coming from it. You made your move and sadly it ended with you consoling him from almost losing himself. His reaction, his stamina, and his overall strength were scary when he wouldn’t heed you. You’d only seen glances of it, but he’s never used it against you before. Had you not pulled him back, you know he’d still be making use of you, lost in his own pleasure flooding his mind and body. That was not the loving-making experience you hoped to come from that.

You could only find yourself the one to blame, accident or not. It was so hard to see how dangerous something like that could be when you had come to know the real side of him, parts of himself you are sure he has never shown anyone but made a special exception for you. It left such a stone in your stomach to know you did that to him, you could only pray you had not turned him back from the self he was learning to be. It wasn’t fair for him to have to always air on the side of caution, nothing he delighted that he could truly indulge himself in without that fearful state of mind hanging at the ready. Until he could master his power, that was just the way it had to be. You fully understood that now. You had to make this right.

Broly places you down on your bed and you flinched when settling on your own weight, easing your own hips down and stretching your legs out. All the soreness started creeping out on you now that you were moved but your cool bed felt good on your bare skin. Your towel comes into your line of sight next, Broly carefully brushing it over your body as you had done for him many times, cleaning his spills from your stomach and thighs. Upon reflecting on the words you wanted to say, you take this opportunity to grab his arm for his attention.

“Listen... I’m sorry, Broly.” He doesn’t look at you, averting his eyes to the foot of your bed. You give his arm a light tug to pull him toward you. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at yourself, okay? I did something selfish. I wanted to show you what it’s like to really do it properly, so...” You use his arm to pull yourself up and turn yourself slightly to your side to face him, which quickly gains his attention back to you. “So I got caught up in that thought. This... fantasy I saw happening in my head if we did it right. I didn’t take it slow with you... I should have talked it out with you like we do everything else.” You sighed, pressing your face in his arm. “But it felt so good... Gods, that was so good. And then..i-it wasn’t, but... I don’t know..” You reach for his fingers which curled at your touch, but then welcomed your hold. Fingers locking between fingers. “I wanted you inside me so badly I couldn’t think of how it would feel for you, how intense that might have been. So I am so sorry.. We don’t have to do it again.”

It’s quiet again after you speak, Broly still averting his gaze from you. You feel his hand squeeze yours and he tilts his head in your direction, but his eyes still won’t look for yours.

“...It was amazing,” Broly confessed, he lets the towel fall on the bed and reaches to place a hand on your head. Comforting you this time. Just when he thought you had revealed to him a pleasure unlike any he has known, being inside you surpassed it all. There was nothing but ecstasy from you at the forefront of his mind that spoke to some innate urge etched into the very core of his being. When you begged him not to stop-- As you told him it was all for him with your strong kisses and tight, inner walls consuming him, stroking him all around as you were riding him-- he lost it. He can’t think about it now, or he’ll want you. Or rather, he would see that urge to use you arise again. The deep regret in his gut made it easier to push that urge down. He frowns, his head slowly turning away from you. “-But I hurt you, I almost-”

“No. I surprised you.” You corrected him, reaching out to capture his face to turn him to face you. You smiled at him, finally having his gaze upon yours. “I surprised you. And you really liked it. We just got out of control. It was an accident.” You placed a gentle kiss to his arm, rubbing the tip of your nose into his muscles. “And you are as good a lover as you are beautiful, Broly..” A soft shade of pink rose in his cheeks and inklings of a smile start to form at the corner of his mouth. It made you grin even more. “Can you forgive me for surprising you like that?”

You really wanted him to stay by your side and hoped it wasn’t too much to ask for right now, you didn’t want him to retreat from you so he could sit and ponder with unnecessary shame. This can be fixed if he allowed himself to face it with you and you couldn’t stress enough that he was not to take the blame for what happened. It was an accident. It was just an accident. You can both accept your parts in the situation and accept that there was no intent to harm each other. The large saiyan’s eyes soften to you and you see him nod his head.

Broly inches his face into your palm and turns loose from your hold. He leans over to press his forehead against yours, letting you fill your hands with his face and nuzzle your nose against his. “I surprised you.” He playfully corrects, much to your delight. The large saiyan surrenders his smile to you, letting it fall away as quickly as he gave it. He closed his eyes and held his hands over yours. “...And I don't want to hurt you. Or... lose your voice in my head.”

“We’ll work on it. Okay?” You reassure him and he nods again. “Can I ask you to lay beside me for a while?” He lifts his forehead from yours and thoughtfully looks you over and the vacant side of your bed. No matter how hard he tries, he can never seem to find the same comfort as you lying in your bed all night. Too soft. Perfect for napping but not for a full night’s rest. He preferred the carpeted, firm floor over the soft mattress despite you insisting a bed was a better option. He didn’t like it on his father’s broken ship when the man tried to make use of his space pod, he didn’t like it on Frieza’s ship, he was sure he wasn’t going to like it now.

You smile again, however, watching him walk over to the other side of the bed. You ease yourself back down to lie back on a pillow. Broly gently climbs onto the other side while you attempted to get yourself comfortable, using an extra pillow to slide underneath your lower back so you could find some support tilting toward him and further elevate your body from your soreness. He pulls your comforter from underneath himself and carefully folds it over your bare body before settling beside you at your request, lying on his chest with his arms supporting his head. While technically naked himself, he still had Ba’s ear around his waist to give him coverage.

Broly still showed some concerns for the redness in your hip, though it did not appear to swell before he blanketed it. How badly the pain affected you was not made obvious by how much you focused yourself on him, nothing more than your slow, calculated adjustments to position yourself comfortably and a small wince when you shifted your legs beneath your blanket. He made a note to himself to check it again, having suspicions you would minimize your pain to spare his feelings once again if he just asked. He has seen many in his days, so he will gauge it himself.

“You don’t have to worry about me tonight, I’m fine.” Your voice catches him in his thoughts after you watched him stare at your hip through the blanket. “I can still wiggle all my little piggies Broly, we’re going to be okay.”

With what space was left between you, he sought to fill it by sliding closer and putting an arm around your covered shoulders. He tucks your head underneath his neck, feeling your breath brush against his skin. “I’m sorry..” You free your arm from your blanket and drape it across his back.

#My writing #broly x reader #broly imagine #broly #dbs broly #dbz imagine #dbz fics #dragon ball super #dbs #*DEL

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you-are-my-joy · 4 years ago

Text

The Return of an Empress | 07

Title: The Return of an Empress

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Isekai, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut (Later on), Slow burn

Characters: Empress!Reader, Advisor!Jin, Advisor!Yoongi, General!Hoseok, Advisor!Namjoon, Assassin!Jimin, Knight!Taehyung, Knight!Jungkook

Word count: ~9k

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be happy, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months. The only thing on your mind now is to learn how to survive.

Warning: May contain depictions of violence and mentions of abuse throughout the story.

Masterlist

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In the 380th imperial year, on June 9th, two days after the nobles were caught red-handed and thus apprehended, was the day of the largest massacre of high nobility in the history of the empire.

At 8 am in the morning, a total of 18 of some of the most well-known and influential nobles of the empire were executed by the city plaza.

With tired steps, you trudge inside your bedroom, immediately falling onto the comfort of your bed. You let out an exasperated sigh, tossing your head back until it rests on a nearby pillow. Despite getting rid of the duke and the rest of the nobles, you can’t help but still feel a sense of unease and tension. Would the original empress make the same decision? You don’t know the answer, but what you do know, is that you’ll most likely be haunted by the cries and screams of those who lost their lives today for the rest of your life.

It’s one thing to actually read of the graphic murders and deaths that occurred in the novel, it’s a whole different story when you actually experience and see first hand how gruesome the public executions truly were. Back in your world, you’ve never witnessed anyone’s death before, as it was the 21st century, public executions were prohibited decades ago. But suddenly you had to endure an entire morning witnessing the horrifying deaths of 18 people as their heads detached from their body, a large pool of blood staining the once clean pavement.

You weren’t keen on torturing people, so you were merciful in the sense that you chose to execute them through a beheading, with a fresh and sharpened axe to be exact. In this world, beheadings, although gruesome and bloody, were seen as the most ‘humane’ form of execution as the deed would be done in one swift motion, a painless execution to some extent.

You remember hearing many of the nobles and commoners who attended the public executions express their disappointment at your choice, thinking you were being much too kind considering the heinous crime they committed. Despite their disappointment, they were slightly relieved over your choice, many were still skeptical over the empress’s supposed changed behavior, but seeing you wince and grimace at each beheading finally convinced them otherwise.

News spread like wildfire around the empire about what had occurred at the party, news articles being published nearly a day later. The most popular topic of course being the Grand Duke himself drugging the empress, and so countless of nobles all around the empire scurried to watch the spectacle. Thus, the grand finale of the execution came when former Grand Duke, Lee Joong-Gu finally stepped forward.

Many people had looked at him in disgust, throwing rotten fruits and vegetables his way and cursed out his name. The entire time, he wore a solemn expression as he kneels down without complaint unlike the rest of the criminals who wailed pathetically until their last breath.

You remember that in the midst of it all, he had looked up at you, your eyes instantly locking with one another, and you swear from where you stood, you saw a hint of remorse and guilt in his face. Your mind reeling as he tearfully mouths ‘I’m sorry’ to you, but before you could even react any further, the axe gets raised in the air and in the next second is swung down with much force. His head rolling down the pavement as the cheers of the crowd rang out excitedly at the gruesome sight.

However, the cheers seem to fade from your ears as all you can focus on is the dukes rolling head. And somehow it stops, facing in your direction, empty eyes that were once so full of life, ingraining themselves in your memory forever. You blink away the tears forming in your eyes, confused as to why your body was reacting like this. You flinch as you stare at his body slumped over, but your view gets blocked when Jungkook steps in front of you.

The entire morning, Jungkook and Taehyung have been right beside you, acting as your escorts as you had requested. Always attempting to block your view when they noticed your grim and disgusted expressions at each beheading. Jin and Namjoon were also present, but they stood a few meters away from you, ensuring that the executions ran as quickly and smoothly as possible. Hoseok was present as well, but as the general, he was in charge of security and surveying the city plaza, prioritizing your safety over everything else.

The only ones who hadn’t shown up were Yoongi and Jimin. Yoongi, you had expected, though you had a glimmer of hope that he would make an appearance, but Jimin? You thought he would come to greet you after the party, but you haven’t seen him since he left you by the ballroom doors. You were extremely worried, thinking something bad had happened to him, but Namjoon reassured you that he was fine as he had ran into him the other day. He further informs you that Jimin wasn’t feeling good, which explains his sudden absence. Though you remained unconvinced, you choose to give Jimin his needed space, thinking it would be better for him to come to you when he was ready.

When the executions were over you stood up from your seat, ready to leave the area in a hurry as the overwhelming stench of blood nearly made you puke on the spot. But suddenly you heard loud cheers as everyone directed their attention to you, “All Hail Empress Y/n!” many of them yelled out, grinning at you as they praised your actions.

You hadn’t expected to be well received so quickly, since less than a week ago, some of these same people trembled in fear over your presence. You send them a charming smile to express your gratitude, but this only seemed to ignite something in them as they seemingly cheered your name even more.

Despite the cheering, all you wanted to do was go back to the palace and rest. So here you are, groaning as you lay flat on the spacious bed. You feel the bed dip slightly to your left, prompting you to open your eyes to see Jungkook looking down at you with a small smile. “How are you feeling?” he reaches his hand out to gently brush a strand of hair in front of your face.

“Absolutely exhausted,” you let out a groan, closing your eyes once more. And you weren’t only talking about the past few days. It seemed that you were never truly able to catch a break the moment you arrived in this world. You can’t even imagine the amount of work the past empress had to endure.

Taehyung, having found comfort in your couch situated in the middle of your grand bedroom, hums at that, “Mentally or physically exhausted?”

You scoff before letting out a yawn, “Both.”

Jungkook nods as he moves his hand away from your face to lazily trace shapes on the palm of your hand, “I'm sorry to hear that your majesty,” he replies, sending you a pitiful look, as he notices traces of stress and exhaustion written on your face.

Still with your eyes closed, you rest for a moment, “It’s fine. This is my duty as the empress.”

Jungkook nods, “I understand, but before you’re an empress, you’re a human. You need to rest, your majesty,” he says, concern laced in his voice as he continues tracing odd shapes on your palm.

Though after a while, you’ve come to the realization that rather than shapes, he was actually tracing your name on your skin.

You open your eyes to stare at Jungkook who was too distracted writing your name to pay attention to your gaze. You just stare when a sudden thought crosses your mind, “Hey Jungkook, can you try calling me by my name?”

Jungkook seems to freeze in his spot, his hand stopping right above yours as he stares at you with wide eyes, “Pardon?” this seems to gain Taehyung's attention as well when you see him from the corner of your eye snap his head instantly in your direction.

You shrug, sitting straight up now facing him. Both your faces nearly inches apart that Jungkook instantly blushes and shifts a bit further away from you to calm his racing heart, though you take that gesture as discomfort instead, “What’s wrong? You don’t want to?”

Jungkook stutters as he waves his arms in front of his face in an ‘X’ shape motion, “N-No, It’s not that I don't want to… but why are you suddenly asking that of me?” Both Jungkook and Taehyung stare at you in a mixture of confusion and interest since they haven’t addressed the empress by her name in nearly 3 years. Not after she had scolded the both of them until they complied to her wishes.

“I figured we might as well go back to our old ways you know?” you suggest, but after taking in their shocked reactions you quickly add, “Of course if you’re uncomfortable with my request then I don’t want to force you to do anything. But I do give you permission to call me by my name when it’s just us.”

Jungkook turns his head to Taehyung as they look at each other wearily, as if doubting your words and thinking this was all just one big test. He hesitantly turns back to you, “Is that truly alright?” he asks while fidgeting nervously with his hand.

“Of course it is,” you smile reassuringly, your eyes staring at him in anticipation, “will you?” You ask, you try to hide your excitement in order to not pressure him, but who were you kidding, it’s practically written on your face.

Jungkook’s lips curve upward slightly as he couldn’t deny your request, especially when your golden eyes shined brightly at him, “Yes…. Y/n…” though he had said it in a shy whisper, you still heard him loud and clear. You didn’t think hearing your name come out of his mouth would affect you so much but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling widely. It’s times like these that you’re extremely grateful for sharing the same name as the old empress.

“Woah that’s not fair,” you turn your head to find Taehyung with his arms crossed, playfully glaring at you both, “why does he get special treatment and I don't?”

You chuckle as Taehyung's pout reminds you of a child who got their toy taken away and wants it back. Your amusement grows even more as you sit back and watch Jungkook be equally as childish when he sticks his tongue out at the older knight. And Taehyung, the ever mature knight, mimics his actions in return.

You grin at the older knight, wanting nothing more than to ruffle his hair, “this applies to you as well Taehyung.”

Taehyung finally turns to you after seemingly having a contest with Jungkook on who can contort their face in a mocking way better, “thank you… Y/n,” he replies softly with a gentle smile now on his face.

They’ll admit, addressing you by your name sounded strange coming out their mouth, but they couldn’t deny the nostalgic and warm feeling in their chest when they finally did. And your smile definitely brightened their day even more.

“Y/n.” you hear Jungkook call out softly, though he flinches when he gains your attention.

You furrow your eyes in confusion at his odd reaction, “Yes?”

You notice his cheeks glow with a tint of red, “Sorry, it’s nothing. I just wanted to say your name in front of you,” the ending of his sentence becoming a soft whisper as he was embarrassed to have been caught by you. But he should’ve known better than to believe your ears wouldn’t catch him.

You have to mentally slap yourself to stay calm and composed as to not squeal in delight to embarrass him further. So to spare him, you fight back a giggle as you beam back at him, “you’re more than welcome to call me by my name anytime you want Jungkook.” Gaining a wide smile from him in return.

“Y/n?” Taehyung suddenly calls out, causing you to face him now. Though he chuckles at your raised brow, “I’m not just calling out your name, I genuinely have a question.” You chuckle right back, nodding your head, gesturing to him to ask his question. “Are you still feeling sick?” You understand he wasn’t referring to earlier, rather he was talking about your symptoms from withdrawal.

Thankfully after properly taking medication daily or as suggested by the royal physician, you’ve been experiencing a lot less symptoms as the days go by. Joy reminding and ensuring that you actually took them definitely helped with the process.

You nod sending him a soft smile, “no, I’ve been feeling a lot better nowadays. Though, I’ll admit I kind of want to throw up. But I’m pretty sure the main perpetrator to that is the blood.” Despite having left the plaza awhile ago, you seemingly couldn’t get rid of the stench of blood in your nose. Even just the thought of it makes you involuntarily gag.

Jungkook softly chuckles, “from being in countless battles, you’d think you’d get used to the sight of blood,” he jokes with a teasing glint in his eyes as he grew bold enough to hold your hand after tracing on it for so long.

You stare down at your joined hands, his large ones nearly covering yours completely. You feel him squeeze your hand lightly prompting you to look up at his mischievous grin as he caught you staring. You playfully roll your eyes, “it’s been awhile, alright, I forgot,” you grumble.

Though Taehyung hums at that as leans his head back on the soft cushions of the couch, “you seem to be using that excuse quite often,” he mutters, not looking you in the eye, but instead choosing to stare out your window.

At his statement, you gulp nervously. You immediately take note from the corner of your eyes the prying look of Jungkook as his hold on your hand seems to tighten.

But before you could come up with yet another excuse, you hear a knock at your door. Someone was definitely looking out for you as you had no idea how to respond without you being even more suspicious than before.

You sit up straight, briefly glancing at your knights who refuse to look you in the eye before calling out, “come in.” You quickly let go of Jungkook’s hand causing the boy to snap his head in your direction before his shoulders seemingly drop. Though he doesn’t say anything more as the doors to your bedroom open wide.

Soon enough, the double doors reveal Hoseok, Namjoon and Jin. They bow out of respect before briefly making eye contact with Jungkook and Taehyung, to which they send a curt nod, acknowledging each other’s presence.

For some reason, you felt a shift in the air as the three men stepped into the room. As if they were... hostile? But that doesn’t make sense, you question. Shouldn't they be on good terms with each other? You thought, but you were so wrong when you could feel the tension around you. Something unspoken between the five males.

You understand that you haven’t known these men for long, but even you could tell that there was a sudden shift in their relationship. You saw it in the ballroom and now your suspicions are confirmed when you observe their body language in front of you.

After many moments of silence, Namjoon finally turns his attention to you, “more of those journalists keep requesting for your time your majesty,” he reports, only now do you notice his tired eyes. He must’ve been dealing with those journalists since he got back, and from what you know, they’re almost as ruthless as those in high society.

But before you could respond, you hear Taehyung let out an annoyed groan from where he sat, “They bombarded her all throughout the morning, can’t they give her a break?” he scowls when turning his head out the window as he caught a glimpse of those pesky reporters from the border of the palace walls. Their cameras steadily aimed at the palace, hoping to capture a lucky shot of the empress.

“It’s alright, I can handle them,” you reply, having already mentally and physically prepared yourself for this since you knew this would be a hot topic in the empire. A topic that the reporters wouldn’t let go of until they were satisfied. But just as you were about to stand from the comfort of your bed, you feel a hand gently rest on your shoulder, prompting you to turn and find Jungkook staring at you in concern.

“Y/n, you need to rest,” Jungkook says softly, “you truly did look sick early, maybe it's from withdrawals or maybe it's from the blood, who knows, but I think it’s best you rest for the day.” You knew it would be hard to go against Jungkook, especially when he had that determined look in his eyes. Though that wasn’t what everyone else was thinking as his statement piqued their interest.

“Y/n?” Jin questions loudly. He had thought he was hearing things, but by the looks on Namjoons and Hoseok's faces, he indeed did hear correctly. Jungkook had addressed you by your name.

The boy blushes, not having realized he had blurted out your name in front of them. But before he could explain himself, Taehyung beat him to it.

“Y/n gave us permission to call her by her name,” he boasts with his head held high as if he was bragging about some great achievement he got. Which in a way, it kind of was.

Hoseok raises his brow as he turns to look at you now, “may I know why?”

You clear your throat, “well, when I got rid of the alcohol and drugs in my system, I wanted to make things right and go back to how they were before. So I gave them permission to address me by my name like old times,” you reply confidently, having already prepared an answer for this question long ago.

Though after some time, Hoseok’s blank face shifts, “I see,” he replies with a smile, but you knew better than to trust that, you knew hidden in that expression was a man that still had doubts despite witnessing the downfall of the nobles before his own eyes. You had thought Namjoon would be the one you needed to be careful of, but it seems you were wrong in that sense as you become anxious at Hoseok’s judging stare.

Jin clears his throat, an attempt to get rid of the growing tension in the room, “we also came to discuss plans regarding the property of the nobles as well as what's to come with their families and who would be the ones to take their positions,” he pauses before nodding his head in Hoseok’s direction, “we brought along Hoseok in case military services were needed.”

You nod, though you couldn’t help but wonder, “Where’s Yoongi?”

Jin stills for a moment before tilting his head, visibly confused from your question, “why are you suddenly asking for him?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you furrow your eyebrows, “Because he’s also one of my advisors,” you answer as if it was obvious.

As if sensing your confusion, Namjoon responds, “pardon our rudeness, your majesty. You just don’t normally call on him for these types of things.”

Now you’re even more confused than before, “I don’t?”

Namjoon nods his head in confirmation, “I believe it’s because he’s not from nobility, that it may hinder and influence his judgment on these types of cases,” he explains in the nicest way possible.

Dumbfounded, you remain seated on your bed, “I see,” is all you could utter. You knew that out of the 8 of you, the only ones who came from nobility were Namjoon, Jin, and Hoseok. Their families were one of the few nobles who secretly opposed the former emperor, which made it easy for the main character to gain their support in the rebellion. There’s no doubt that Hoseok’s military family, Namjoon’s intelligence, and Jin’s abundant wealth, had an immense influence on the success of the rebellion.

Of course that’s not to say that the others are any less important. Jungkook and Taehyung were among the best of the best in terms of strength and fighting, not to mention Jimin being an ace when it came to agility and swiftness. They had the skills to go against opponents 10 times their size, and yet somehow win. The three were known to be the best fighters in the empire, after the empress herself of course. Afterall, they learned everything they knew from her.

Yoongi on the other hand, proved himself to be worthy to stand by the empress’s side as an advisor due to the fact that when it came to forming tactics, he always had the perfect plan to go along with every scenario. Much of the rebellion's success was derived from the various attack plans that Yoongi came up with.

He also knows how to handle her the best out of them all. He knows how to approach her when she gets mad or upset. And he is one of the few people who isn’t afraid to go against her if he needs to, only with her and the empire’s best intentions in his mind.

But when it came to politics, Yoongi had a harder time due to the fact that he was just a village boy who didn’t receive the same amount of education as Namjoon or Jin. Granted neither did Y/n, having been born from the same village, but she was so determined to become the empress that she worked strenuously day in and day out in order to fit the role. Having Namjoon as her teacher definitely helped the process run smoothly.

Sure Yoongi isn’t as book smart as Namjoon, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t smart at all. You know that despite things being said about him, his words and inputs at national council meetings have proven to be of great help to the empress and the empire in the past.

And so without another word, you stand up from your bed with a newfound determination.

Jungkook and Taehyung eye you in concern. “Y/n?” Jungkook asks, reaching out to hold your hand, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“I’m going to go and personally find Yoongi. Regardless of our differences, he’s still my advisor, and his presence is just as important as every single one of you.” You feel Jungkook loosen his grip on you, allowing you to slip away from his grasp.

“Shall we escort you there?” Jungkook asks tentatively, while Taehyung had already stood up, prepared to follow you on your command.

But instead, you shake your head, “Considering what transpired last time, I don’t think it’d be wise to bring either one of you two along,” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck while Taehyung turns away as they’re both suddenly reminded of the way they had behaved towards Yoongi. Although they were opposed to the idea of you going alone, they couldn’t argue with your statement, since even they don’t know how they would react if they were in each other's presence again.

“I’ll accompany her majesty,” Hoseok suddenly speaks up with a raised hand, resulting in everyone turning their heads in his direction, “I think it should only be fair after all,” he pouts, lowering his hand to cross both his arms across his chest.

Namjoon raises a brow at his claim, “Fair?”

Hoseok nods as he accusingly points at every man in the room other than himself, “Every single one of you have spent more time with her than me, that's why I think it’s only fair if I escort her,” he declares with a puff of his chest.

Taehyung scoffs at him, “Can you blame us? We’re her escorts, of course we’re going to spend more time with her,” he fights back a roll of his eyes due to Hoseok being of a higher rank than him.

“Exactly, so I hope you don’t mind me stealing your ‘Y/n’ for the time being,” and before you could even utter a word, Hoseok strides towards you, reaching for your arm and practically begins dragging you out the room, “see you boys later!”

Jin shakes his head disapprovingly as he watches Hoseok roughly pull you, “would you be more careful with her majesty!”

Hoseok scoffs, “She’s not weak,” he responds as he turns around abruptly, your chest nearly colliding with his if it weren’t for his arms steadying you.

“I agree, but she’s also not a ragdoll that you could just push around as you please,” Jin snaps back at him, eyes narrowing at the grip on your arm.

Namjoon nods his head at this, “Indeed. Be more gentle Hoseok,” he warns sternly as he shifts his body towards the both of you intimidatingly.

And you don’t even need to turn around to know Jungkook and Taehyung were both shooting daggers at the general.

Hoseok sighs and finally lets go of you with his arms raised above his head in defeat, “alright alright I get it. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Though the men in the room only stare at him with unconvinced expressions as he smiles innocently right back.

You stifle a laugh at their reactions and begin to turn to leave, “we’ll be leaving then,” at this you turn to stare at each one of them, “while I’m gone. Behave.”

Taehyung scoffs, crossing his arms as he plops back down on your couch, “We’re not children Y/n.” But his pout tells you otherwise.

The corners of your lips quirk upward in amusement, “could’ve fooled me.”

He turns to you with an offended expression, mouth wide open and before he could give you a piece of his mind, you scurry out the door with Hoseok tailing right behind you.

“Y/n!” You hear Taehyung’s voice yells out as he appears by the doorway in a matter of seconds.

You turn around and almost laugh at his dumbfounded expression. Though, you nearly trip over your own two feet if it weren’t for Hoseok skillfully reaching out and steadying you. You quickly thank him before looking back towards your door to now find the rest of the men staring back at you.

“We’ll set up a proper meeting tomorrow! See you boys then!” You call out before you’re reaching for Hoseok’s hand. He widens his eyes for a moment staring down at your joined hands before he feels you pull on him in the direction you were running to.

You could still hear their protests coming from your bedroom as both you and Hoseok run away. But Hoseok can’t help but be more focused on your angelic laughter over everything else.

“So what did the general want to talk to me about so badly that he wanted us to be alone?” you say finally after creating a fair enough distance from your bedroom.

From the corner of your eye, you see him smirk, “What makes her majesty think I had ulterior motives?” he asks innocently, his pace matching with yours as you both walk down the quiet halls.

You shake your head with a smile, “because you’re Hoseok,” you reply with a teasing glint in your eye.

Hoseok lets out an offended noise as he dramatically brings his hand to his chest, “That hurts your majesty,” he pouts, “couldn’t I have just wanted to spend some time with you?”

You laugh at this, “Sure, but you and I both know that that’s not the case,” your mouth forming a smile, an attempt to show him you meant no harm.

Hoseok finally lets the innocent facade fall as a smirk begins to form on his face, “Our empress sure has a sharp mind,” you hum in reply, prompting him to continue speaking, “you’re right, I did want to talk to you.”

Though after some time walking in silence, he speaks up again, “But I had nothing in particular to talk to you about, I just wanted to see for myself whether you had truly changed or not,” he responds bluntly.

“Your verdict?” you question with your arms behind your back, a carefree aura surrounding you.

“Hard to tell for now,” he teases with a wink in your direction, “however, something tells me it won’t be long before I give you my answer your majesty.”

“Well let’s hope it’s an answer we both will like,” a wide optimistic grin now on your face.

Hoseok stares down at you, giving you a small smile in return, “Yes, let’s hope.”

You two don’t speak for a while, though you can’t say it was awkward. There was a comfortable air between the two of you that you actually didn’t mind walking together in silence. You took this moment to look around the scenery, admiring the window view as you don’t really have much time to do that since Taehyung, Jungkook and even Jimin would often preoccupy your attention, not that you were complaining about their company, you rather enjoyed talking to them. But you can’t help but be grateful for this moment to yourself. So for the time being, you just look out the window, little did you know, Hoseok was staring right at you.

Hoseok couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight glows on your skin as if you were an ethereal being. Even the slight quirk of your lips mesmerizes him as he watches you bask in the sunlight. A picture perfect moment that he desperately tries to ingrain in his mind.

“You know, you’re more than welcome to address me by my name as well Hoseok,” you suddenly speak out, turning your head causing the male to widen his eyes momentarily at your abrupt attention.

But Hoseok’s eyes soften, giving you a small smile before turning his head straight in front of him yet again, “I’ll keep that in mind... thank you.”

Neither of you speak again after that, just enjoying each other's company in silence. And after everything that you’ve been through, you didn’t realize that this was exactly what you needed.

“Hey Yoongs”

The man hums, his eyes closed as he lays comfortably against the grass right beside Y/n.

“You’ll be with me forever right?” the young girl speaks up after some time.

At this, Yoongi opens his eyes as he stares at the far away look in her eyes, “Of course Y/n, where else would I go?” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “why do you ask?”

She shrugs looking straight up at the passing clouds, “just making sure,” the wind softly breezing against her hair.

Yoongi nervously laughs as he turns away from her, “Sorry, but it’s gonna take a lot more for you to get rid of me,” Y/n chuckles at this causing the corners of his lips to curve upward at the sound. “Unless I got it all wrong. You’re not trying to run away from me once you become empress are you?” he questions with a teasing tone. Though he had a smile on his face, he couldn’t deny the feeling of anxiety at the possibility of her leaving him.

She scoffs before turning away, “Of course not, what would I do without you nagging me all the time, you’re practically my brother at this point.”

Yoongi feels a pang go across his heart as he faces away from her, “... right… you just see me as a brother huh,” he mumbles, more so to himself but she could still slightly hear him.

She tilts her head in his direction, “hm?”

Though he just shakes his head, “Nevermind,” now sporting a more cheerful expression as he nudges her shoulder playfully, “so suddenly I’m your brother huh?”

She nods her head, turning away from him, focusing her attention back to the sky, “Of course you are, what else would you be?” she genuinely asks.

Yoongi stills for a moment before responding with a long sigh, “Nothing,” he pauses, watching the clouds pass by both him and her as they lay on the grass in peace, “absolutely nothing.”

“Her majesty told me about it and left the job to me,” Jin responds in a tired voice as he lets out a sigh. If he had known accepting the empress’s orders would lead to this, he would’ve never done so in the first place. Because not only does he need to deal with a pile of work, but also a very pissed off Yoongi.

“Why would she give you all the work and not me?” Yoongi asks, tone slightly offended and irritated.

“I don’t know Yoongi, why don’t you just ask her yourself,” Jin replies tiredly as he massages his temple at his growing headache. It’s not that he wanted to get rid of Yoongi, but because he himself couldn’t provide him an answer to his question. He too couldn't understand why Y/n would give him all the work instead of him, frankly he wishes she would divide up the work evenly but alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case as every inch of his desk is nearly covered in piles of documents.

Yoongi lets out a huff of air before standing abruptly. Jin stares at him and widens his eyes when he notices that he’s about to leave. Nervously he stands from his seat as well, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to ask her myself,” Yoongi replies as if it was the most obvious answer, his hand reaching for the door handle.

Jin gasps, “I wasn’t being serious!” he moves around his desk to grab hold of the advisor.

But Yoongi shakes his head, stepping back from his reach, “I know you weren’t, but you’re right. If I want change to happen, I need to go to her myself,” he watches concern wash over the older male before placing a hand on his shoulder, “don’t worry, I won’t lose my cool,” he says in an attempt to reassure him.

Though both Yoongi and Jin knew he was lying. He was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Jin wanted to stop him, but in the end, he lets it go since he knows that once Yoongi’s got his mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to get him out of it, ”fine, but I don’t want to hear about you getting sent to the dungeons again Yoongi.”

Though Yoongi only chuckles, “I won’t get angry, don’t stress about.”

And boy was he wrong, because it hasn’t even been 10 minutes that he walked into her office until hell broke loose.

“Just let them handle it Yoongi, why are you so upset, I’ve given you plenty of work before,” she barks angrily.

“I’m upset, because you never give me the same amount of work as them!” He snaps back at her, tone equally as harsh.

She nearly growls at his attitude, “Would you relax Yoongi, it’s just pieces of paper! If I had known you’d get so fucking irritated over it I would’ve sent the entire pile to you if that’s what you really wanted!”

That’s not what he wanted. He wanted her attention, her trust, he wanted to be the first person she sought out when she needed help.

He wanted her.

“Y/n-” he gets interrupted when Y/n grabs a pile of documents and throws it in the air in front of him. He watches as the pieces of paper float down everywhere in the room, making it look as if a tornado wrecked havoc in the area.

“Here! Just do it all for all I care, they’re just damn pieces of papers anyway,” Y/n growls tiredly. Yoongi could not have come at the worst time. Not only did she have to deal with a raging headache, but now her own advisor was yelling in her face far too early in the morning for it to be tolerable.

She could feel her head ringing at the volume of his voice, but when she told him to leave as she wasn’t in the best mood to argue, he kept refusing stubbornly, insisting she listen to his complaints because apparently what he needed to say was so important to go against her orders. And so when she realized his important reasoning was because he was upset over his workload, her anger only rose from there.

With her already sour mood, him snapping back at her surely didn’t help his case either.

“I have way too much shit to deal with right now, don’t add onto it Yoongi,” she spats loudly, the piles of paper covering nearly the entirety of the floor around them.

His shoulder drops, finally coming to terms with everything as he stared into the once cheerful eyes narrow dangerously into tiny slits.

The girl before him, was never and will never be his.

For the past few days, Yoongi had been actively avoiding not only you, but everyone else. No matter how hard they tried, neither Namjoon or Jin could reach out to him. It was almost as if Yoongi somehow knew just when and where everyone would be to successfully avoid them.

In the beginning of the empresses reign, no one took him seriously because he wasn’t from noble descent like Namjoon and Jin. when they would attend national council meetings, no one spoke directly to him as if his previous status of a commoner was still intact. And so he had to put on this whole ruthless persona for people to show an ounce of respect for him. He had to exert more effort to prove to everyone that he was equally as worthy as the other two advisors. That he was capable of doing the same amount of work, even if he didn't receive the same strenuous education as them.

And because of the comparison between him and the other two advisors, insecurities were born and shattered his mind.

So seeing you put your trust in Jin and Namjoon hurt him a lot more than he would like to admit. The fact that they both knew and yet you hadn’t brought it up with him once was like a shot to his heart.

And yet throughout his time spent alone, Taehyung's voice echoes in his mind.

“When was the last time you ever treated her as one of her advisors? When have you ever truly cared for her majesty?”

He groans out of frustration at the entire situation. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was right. When was the last time he treated her with respect. Even though the rest of the boys joined the rebellion with him, never once did they blatantly disrespect the empress the way he did.

And with the current situation, he doesn’t even think he deserves his position of advisor anymore. Never in his life did he imagine that someone was drugging the empress. All this time, he’s been bitterly blaming the empress about the current condition of the empire when in reality, it wasn’t even her fault. He pushed her away when she needed him the most. When she was suffering he unknowingly made things worse. And because of that, he doesn’t even know if he has the courage to face the empress ever again.

Yoongi freezes when he hears a tentative knock at his door. Slowly, he raises his head from his hands before responding in a loud tired voice, “who is it?” ready to curse out the person on the other side of the door.

“It’s me hyung.”

Yoongi widens his eyes at the familiar voice that he can’t help but rise from his seat. He carefully walks over and finally opens the door to reveal Jimin’s figure standing before him. For a moment, the two men stand opposite of each other in silence.

“I need to talk to you,” Jimin finally says. Yoongi nods and steps aside for him to enter, still in complete disbelief that he wanted to speak to him after everything that’s been said between the two in the past month.

As if reading his mind, Jimin turns to him with an uncertain smile, “You’re probably wondering why I'm here,” Yoongi only nods, unable to produce words at this point. Jimin stops at the center of his office before continuing, “I know we’re going through a rough patch right now, but at the end of the day, you’re still someone that I deeply care about. You’re my brother and I’m just worried about how you’re taking the situation,” he explains with a nervous expression.

Yoongi’s eyes soften, of course they weren’t on good terms at the moment, but Jimin was right, at the end of the day, they’re brothers. He could never truly hate or get mad at him, or any of them for that matter unless they truly betrayed him.

Jimin wasn’t certain this would be a good idea, unsure how the older male would react to his presence. And so when he hears Yoongi let out a chuckle, although not so enthusiastically, that alone causes Jimin to visibly relax.

Just then, Yoongi lets out a long sigh, “I’ll be honest, I feel like shit. But I know she’s probably going through it way harder than I am,” he finally replies as he rolls his neck.

Jimin nods, “I’m sure she is,” he mutters looking away.

Though Yoongi raises a brow, Jimim’s tone almost hinting at the fact that he doesn’t know about your feelings which was surprising to Yoongi since he knows how close he is to you. At that realization he furrowed his brows, “you haven’t spoken to her, have you?”

Jimin seems to stiffen at his claim, he contemplated lying but knew the older male would see right through him anyway, and so he just shakes his head, “no I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

Jimin lets out a low chuckle, “I wasn’t able to keep a promise with her,” he answers softly, running his fingers through his hair.

Now Yoongi was even more confused than before, he wanted to ask more questions but felt like now wouldn’t be the right time based on the downcasted look on the younger man's face. And so he only nods in return. Though Jimin’s lips quirk up, grateful that he doesn’t push the topic further.

Jimin leans against the back of his couch, crossing his arms, “I saw you that day,” he added, wanting to change the subject. “The day at the ball,” he clarifies when he saw the puzzled look on Yoongi’s face.

“You attended the ball?”

Jimin shakes his head, “no I was watching from above, her majesty wanted me to be her ‘eyes in the sky’, or something like that,” he pauses before chuckling, “she’s been saying some strange things recently.”

Rather than laughing along with him, Yoongi can’t help but feel annoyed, “Of course you fucking knew about it, too,” he mutters furiously under his breath.

Jimin widens his eyes at his sudden harsh tone, “Pardon?”

Yoongi scoffs, now stomping his way to his desk, “The empress told you of her plans,” Yoongi uttered with resentment, “everyone but me.”

And as if the world wanted to continue mocking him, here you appear through the open door, with Hoseok right beside you. You freeze in your spot, when you realize Jimin, who was now staring at you like a deer in headlights, was also present in the room. Despite his surprise, he bows out of respect. Though you can’t say the same about Yoongi.

“What are you doing here,” Yoongi curses at himself, he didn’t mean to take his anger out on you. You just happened to arrive at a bad time.

Though his cold icy tone doesn’t deter you in the slightest, “I came to inform you that we’ll be holding a meeting tomorrow,” you explain hesitantly, careful not to say the wrong thing to aggravate him even more.

He raises a brow in doubt, “you came here to personally tell me?”

You nod, “the rest of the men wanted to have a meeting regarding the situation, but I didn’t want to attend if you weren’t present.”

Yoongi scoffs, “I'm not some charity case.” Although, Yoongi can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest from what you said.

You stop, taken aback from his words, “Is that what you think you are?” you pause before continuing, “Why do you think you became one of the empress’s advisors?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at this, “Because you think of me as a brother,” he spats bitterly.

“No, it’s because you’re one of the few people I trust most in this world, I know we had a bumpy road getting here, but you have to believe me when I say that I trust you,” you insist as you take a step closer into the room.

Though your statement seemed to have ignited a fire in him as he snaps his head to you with narrowed eyes, “If you trust me so much then why didn’t you let me know about this entire situation?!” You jump back at his tone, surprised by how angry he got.

Hoseok steps forward in an instant, “Hyung I had no idea about the drugs either,” he blurts out, trying to dissipate the tension in the room as he moves to stand in between you and Yoongi.

Jimin nods in confirmation, shifting his body to stand protectively in front of you as well, “he’s right hyung, Hoseok also had no idea what was going on.”

“That may be true, but she still sought your help, no? She needed military strength, she needed someone to hide in the shadows and she went to you two,” he snaps at them. Hoseok shuts his mouth, unable to form words to counter his claim.

Though it’s not like Yoongi was going to let anyone else speak, not until he was finished, “Where do I come into play? Jin hyung and Namjoon helped with the plan, Jimin looked out for you from above, Hoseok provided the military strength, Jungkook and Taehyung came as your escorts. But what about me?” At this point, Yoongi paces around the room frantically, you try to reach out to him but he jumps back as if your touch would burn him.

“Why am I always in last place!” He yells at the top of his lungs, “Is it because I wasn’t born into high nobility like Jin hyung? Is it cause I’m not some fucking genius like Namjoon? Or as handsome as Jungkook and Taehyung. Or as confident as Jimin. Or as reliable as Hoseok?” He continues his rant when everyone is too stunned to react.

“Yoon-”

“Why am I never good enough for you!” He shouts, slamming his fist hard on his desk. The room becomes silenced in an instant. The only sounds coming from the broken advisor standing before you.

“Am I not enough?” He sniffles, his voice cracking as he stumbles, grabbing hold of the corner of the table to stabilize himself. He bows his head low, an attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

You turn to look at Jimin and Hoseok, giving them a solemn look as you nod your head in the direction of the door, wanting to speak to him privately.

They seem to understand your gesture as they begin to silently make their way out of the room. Although Jimin hesitates for a moment standing by the doorway. He takes one last look at Yoongi and back to you, his expression unreadable before finally closing the door behind him.

At the click of the door, you turn your head back to Yoongi, your eyes focused solely on him. Carefully, you take slow steps towards him, you don't know if he notices but if he did he didn’t take any further steps away from you. “Yoongi, you are more than enough for me, you have to believe me,” you urge as you stop a few feet away from him. Careful to not overwhelm and crowd around his space.

His silence urges you to continue, “I just felt like you didn’t want anything to do with me so I gave you your space,” you explain softly, “But you’re still one of my advisors, I should’ve communicated with you better on the situation. I'm sorry.”

You take a few experimental steps towards him, assessing his reaction carefully because if you saw any indication that he was uncomfortable by the distance, you would step away immediately. But he gave you none. Even when you were now standing in front of him, he didn’t make an effort to move away. Instead, he finally lifts his head, holding your stare as his tears now running down his face.

You don’t know what got over you, but at the sight of his tears, you find yourself reaching your hand out until they cup his face gingerly. His breath hitches when your hand caresses his cheek, your fingers wiping away the seemingly never-ending tears.

“Yoongi, you’re more than enough for me,” you repeat softly as you stare into his eyes. Almost mesmerized as his glossy eyes shined back at you making it look as though you were staring at the night sky.

You lean your body forward until your arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him into a tight hug, “I’ll always need you,” you say in a soft whisper. But no matter how quiet you were, he heard you loud and clear.

He sucks in a breath as a sob escapes his mouth. He doesn’t try to fight you, instead, he wraps his arms around your waist instantly, tightening his grip around your body.

But instead of calming down, his sobs grow louder at the feel of your body against his.

Concerned, you try to pull away but Yoongi only tightens his grip around you as he shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he whimpers softly, clutching onto you tighter as if you would slip away forever, “please don’t leave me. Not yet,” he cries out. Your heart nearly shattering at the sound of his voice cracking.

Your eyes soften as you once again relax in his arm, your hands rubbing his back reassuringly as he continues to cry, his tears falling onto the nape of your neck. “I won’t,” you soothe gently, “I won’t leave you Yoongi.”

He sniffles once more, “You’re really back?”

You don’t have it in you to respond with a straight answer. You just couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him like that, especially in his current state. Lying to his face knowing that the empress he knew was no longer the owner of this body. That you were a completely different person, but who in their right mind would believe you.

So instead, you nod softly, reaching a hand to run through his hair. His tears stream down his face as he chokes back a cry at the feel of your nod.

You smile bitterly, as you have to keep reminding yourself, the girl he loves isn’t you, it’s the empress. He’s not crying for you, he’s crying for her.

You had seen this coming, but it still hurt a lot more than you had expected. The world for some reason just wouldn’t stop being cruel to you.

A young man approaches the darkly lit room slowly, the only source of light being the fireplace that’s barely holding onto life as it seems as though it’s about to die out at any moment.

“Master, I’ve come with urgent news,” the boy announced, news so important he fidgets in his spot nervously as he anticipates his reaction. It’s silent in the room, the only sound coming from the crackling of the fire as the wood burns.

There, sat in front of a large window was the boy’s master, he had not turned around to face him, instead, opting to stare up at the moon as it shines brightly down on him, “Speak,” he commands in a dominating voice.

The boy nods his head, “We received a report confirming the death of Grand Duke Lee Joong-gu as well as Sir Taehyung, Sir Jungkook, and Sir Jimin stepping down from the rebellion.”

The man hums, immensely intrigued by the sudden news, “and the others?”

The boy shakes his head, “there have been no reports being made of the others stepping down as of this moment master, though many speculate it’s just a matter of time at this point.”

The man bellows loudly at that, as he leans back comfortably in his chair, his eyes shining with mirth, “I told that damn duke not to get too greedy and look what happened. He got caught,” he scoffs as he turns fully around, hands crossed on his desk as he traces the letter he had received from the late grand duke a mere few weeks ago in a bored manner, “Seems what that fool said was of concern after all, her majesty has truly changed.”

The boy nods, “What do you suggest we do now?”

He turns back around, admiring the night sky, “tell my men to continue keeping an eye on her majesty. And report everything to me.”

The boy bows, “yes master,” he responds before turning away, ready to inform those of the new orders.

“Well I’ll be damned,” the man whistles as he leans back on his chair, “so you truly did succeed in changing the story,” he chuckles and with a dangerous glint he stares up at the moon, “I can’t wait to meet you, new empress.”

A/N: Hey guys!! I’m so sorry for taking so long to upload this chapter, I had to focus on my final exams and all the assignments my professors piled on me at the end of the semester. So I tried to finish this chapter as fast as I could!

I hope you’re all happy with how things went in this chapter. Also sorry for all the drama, I just felt like it would be better for the reader and Yoongi to make up instead of making more chapters of them avoiding each other when they could just communicate about their feelings.

Thank you everyone for supporting and reading my story! I also love receiving all your kind messages so thank you so much for that!

And as always, I hope you have a wonderful day!!

Tagslist: (those in bold, I’m not sure if it worked for you, I’m really sorry, I’m not sure how to fix it) (I also apologize if I forgot to add someone, just comment again and I promise to add you in the next one!!)

@reallysparklychaos, @unknownsageking, @casspirit0705, @fangirl125reader, @silscintilla, @serefara29, @chimtaesty-main, @xxqueenwxtchxx, @diamonddia-mond, @vishakhas-world, @purelyecstacy, @resticou, @woopetals, @magicsweetener, @splaterparty0-0, @daydreambrliever, @strangeobjectmaker, @luna-xial, @m0chilattae, @celaenaelentiyavox, @lindsayjoy444, @layzfeelit, @kimsaerom, @songtiddies, @untamedgrape, @sonnymii, @moonssuga, @kassandravictoria, @galaxyflab, @blank-et-noir, @nynhope , @midnight1199, @yessii-i, @protontippens, @gguktings, @borahebangtan, @katkrusade, @handsupanddropthepotato, @missseoulite, @cellula-staminale, @red-bow-tie3, @whateveritis616, @ggukkieland, @sbroces, @nnessworls, @yoonieebear

#poly bts #poly!bts #bts au #bts fanfic #isekai #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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hercleverboy · 3 years ago

Text

florescence

spencer reid x fem florist!reader

summary ↠ spencer finds himself falling in love with a local florist.

category ↠ fluff

warnings/includes ↠ mutual pining, spencer being insecure, let me know if there are any others!

word count ↠ 3.2k

a/n ↠ so this is my submission for the ever so lovely @ellesgreenaway ‘s writing challenge! congrats on 1k again, babes! you deserve each and every one!

masterlist

“Flowers teach us that nothing is permanent: not their beauty, not even the fact that they will inevitably wilt, because they will still give new seeds.” — Paulo Coelho

Spencer had always been very fond of flowers.

He would never tell anyone, especially not Morgan (because he would never let that one go), but there was just something about the hundreds of different types and colours and meanings that fascinated him.

However, despite acquiring all the knowledge one could about flower symbolism, Spencer was a worrier at heart. Realistically, he understood the theory of giving flowers for different purposes, but the practical element of purchasing the correct flowers for the occasion was an entirely different story. What if he got the wrong ones?

As of late, Spencer had been overwhelmed with guilt over the fact that he hadn’t visited his mother in months. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her, but he just couldn’t seem to find it within him to go. And so, to compensate for his guilt, he decided that he would send his mother a pretty bouquet. He knew that would make her happy.

Spencer figured it was a coincidence when he stumbled across a newly opened flower shop on his way home from the library one afternoon. He clutched his satchel strap in his hands, looking up at the name of the tiny shop. “Floresence” was displayed in looping lilac-coloured letters, a little budding rose hidden to the side of the F. He glanced through the shop windows, eyes catching onto the little displays of Hydrangeas, Sunflowers that were just so vibrantly yellow and dainty looking light pink Carnations. He pushed the front door open, the little bell ringing as the door closed behind him. The shop was small, but the displays were placed so perfectly that the space seemed much bigger than it was.

“One minute!”

He heard someone call from the back storeroom, as his eyes darted between the different arrangements. With his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, he moved toward one of the displays, taking note of the different flowers in each bouquet, and at how much care and delicacy had clearly been taken with each flower. There was not a petal out of place.

“Hi there! How can I help?”

The sudden chirpy voice caused Spencer to shoot up straight, nearly knocking a potted cacti off one of the nearby shelves but managing to stop it from falling. He scrambled to catch his footing, standing upright with an awkward cough. His eyes finally landed on the woman behind the counter with an amused smile on her berry tinted lips.

Spencer Reid was very rarely at a loss for words. In fact, most of the time the team would joke about actually paying him to stop talking, but there was something about this woman that left his mind blank. She wore a pretty sundress, white with little lavender flowers dotted across it. She was absolutely beautiful, and looked like the physical embodiment of happiness, like a goddess as she practically glowed in the golden rays of sunlight that filtered in through the shop windows.

“Sir? Are you alright?” She asked gently, tilting her head curiously in a way that made Spencer’s heart hammer against his chest.

“I- yes! yes I’m good. H-How are you?” He tried to play it off, acting nonchalant although he was cringing inwardly.

“I’m doing great, thank you! Is there anything I can help you look for?”

“Actually, yes. I’m looking for some flowers I could send to my mother? I haven’t seen her in a while, and I just thought it would be.. nice.” He attempted to explain, not wanting to go off on a tangent about his entire life story.

The woman behind the counter nodded, moving around it so she could come and stand before him. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something your mother will love.” She gave him a smile, one that just radiated warmth and happiness and Spencer couldn’t help the way his heart sang at the sound of her melodic voice.

She beckoned for him to follow her across the shop floor, and Spencer followed with zero hesitation. “Are there any kinds that she is particularly fond of?”

“She used to love Chrysanthemums, but that was a long time ago now.” His voice got a little quiet, and he looked away from her. “She’s uh, she’s.. not very well. So, I’m just looking for something to make her smile.”

She smiled at that, reaching over the display that she’d brought Spencer to. “I think she’ll really like these.” She handed the bouquet to him. “They’re yellow Lilies, said to symbolise thankfulness, and they’re also tied to luck.”

He brought the flowers to his nose, gently breathing in the sweet, floral scent. They were a perfect choice for his mother. “They’re beautiful. I’ll take them, please.”

After he’d paid, Spencer found himself hesitant to leave the shop, wanting to stay for just a little while longer. “My mother is going to love these. Thank you, so much.”

“It’s no problem, Sir.” She grinned.

“Spencer.”

She frowned.

“My name, it’s Spencer.”

She bit down on her lip, cheeks beginning to ache from having smiled so much. “It’s lovely to meet you, Spencer. I’m Y/N.”

Spencer left the flower shop that day with a bit more pep in his step, his cheeks as red as roses.

The next time Spencer visited the little flower shop was four months later, on his way to the hospital after hearing that JJ had given birth. Spencer wouldn’t say anything, but he had been impatiently awaiting the next opportunity he’d have to visit Y/N’s little shop, not wanting to seem too eager. Though, he had started buying his morning coffee from the small stand opposite the shop, just so that he could observe from a distance.

This time, when he stepped through the door, the familiar sound of the bell ringing out, Y/N was busy plucking flowers from one of the arrangements towards the front of the shop, changing out different flowers that she thought may look better.

At the bell, Y/N’s head shot up, a grin immediately finding its way onto her lips at the sight of the familiar man. “Spencer! It’s so lovely to see you again!”

Spencer blushed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Y-Yeah, you too.”

She finished pushing a pink carnation into the arrangement, giving it a slight nod of approval before turning her attention back to Spencer. She wiped her hands down the sides of her floral dress, a nervous habit, walking toward him. “What can I do for you today?”

“My uh, my friend just gave birth and I just wanted to get her something nice. Something that says congratulations on your.. child.” He hesitated, cringing inwardly at how odd he’d managed to make such a normal gesture sound.

“Oh, that’s such a sweet idea!” She cooed, letting her eyes trail around the shop. “I’m sure we can find something.” She beckoned for him to follow her as she headed through the maze of aisles of arrangements, finally stopping in front of a beautifully organised stand.

He recognised them immediately, enamoured by their bold colour and sweet scent. “Roses.”

“Indeed, although not in their traditionally red colour. Yellow roses are a symbol of lifelong friendship, and typically signify care and compassion.” Y/N reached out, taking a bouquet from the stand. “I think she’ll like these.”

She handed them to Spencer, who accepted them happily. “Aren’t they just so beautiful?” She looked at the bouquet in awe.

Spencer hummed in agreement— although he wasn’t looking at the flowers, instead his focus was on her, eyes tracing over the features of her face. “Yeah, absolutely beautiful.”

JJ had in fact loved the flowers, and they’d only made the moment in which she asked him to be Henry’s godfather all the more memorable.

The next day at work, Spencer had arrived to find a bouquet of peonies on his desk in a wood-woven basket. He plucked the small white card from the top of the bouquet, a small smile working its way onto his lips at the sight of the words written there.

‘They say Peonies bring good fortune, and you certainly deserve just that.

Hope to see you soon, Y/N. xx’

With flustered cheeks, Spencer flipped the little card over, the word ‘Florescence’ written in a swirly, neat font on the back.

“Alright, Reid. Hit us with it. What’s got you so smiley?” Emily smirked, making all the team’s attention turn to Spencer, who was beet red. “Who are the flowers from?”

“Pretty boy’s got a girlfriend.” Morgan grinned, speaking in a sing-song voice. “She works at that cute little flower shop downtown.”

Spencer cringed inwardly, feeling pretty freaking exposed, before giving his friend a look. “Thanks for telling everyone, Morgan.” He sighed, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

Garcia let out a gasp. “Oh my god! It’s the girl from the flower shop you’ve been visiting, isn’t it?” When Spencer nodded, she smiled widely. “I knew you liked her! I could just tell!”

“So that’s where you’ve been disappearing to, huh?” JJ chimed in, teasing smile on her lips. “All those times you’d leave so quickly after we debriefed, you were going to see this mystery girl?”

Spencer looked down at his lap, fighting the smile on his lips at the thought of the woman who’d managed to capture his heart in its entirety. “No, I just, I-I go to see— the flowers.”

“You go to see the flowers?” JJ repeated, not buying it at all.

Spencer pouted. “Yep, I do. I like- I like.. flowers.”

“Oh, is ‘flowers’ her name? That’s pretty, what is that, Spanish?” Emily joked, earning a laugh from the team.

“Emily.” Spencer whined, pleading. The action caused Emily to hold her hands up in surrender, signally she would stop her teasing, for the moment anyway.

The next time he visited her shop was to buy a bouquet for Garcia for her birthday. The team had planned a surprise party for her later in the day, but Spencer figured he should swing by and get her a little something— and of course, it was another opportunity to see Y/N.

She greeted him as soon as he stepped through the door, as per usual, bright smile on her lips. This time Spencer could smell her perfume, floral, with sweet undertones, which suited her perfectly.

“Spencer! Back so soon?” She grinned.

“Hi! Uh, yes. It’s my friend’s birthday today, so I thought I’d just grab her a little bouquet. And also, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for the Peonies.” He blabbered, unable to stop himself from the impending ramble he felt on the tip of his tongue. “Did you know that Peonies actually have roots to Greek mythology? It’s said that Apollo used to turn beautiful nymphs into Peonies if Aphrodite knew he was flirting with them.”

Much to Spencer’s surprise, Y/N smiled at his ramble, not at all seeming annoyed or bored with his words.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know that. I knew that Peonies held symbolism of romance, prosperity, and bashfulness, but I had no idea about their link to Greek mythology. That’s awesome.” Y/N gushed, and Spencer was, at that point, prepared to surrender everything to her. “But anyway, let’s see what I can find your friend, hm?”

Y/N walked around the shop, collecting a small bouquet of varying flowers that she thought Spencer might like. She came back over, a stunning bouquet in her hands. “I picked quite a few different ones. These ones here, they’re orange coreopsis, they symbolise happiness. The name quite literally means ‘always cheerful’.” She pointed them out to him, and her explanation made Spencer chuckle slightly.

“And these, these are Peruvian Lilies, well known as the flower of friendship. I also added single yellow rose in there too, just to keep the yellow and orange colour theme going.” She giggled, handing the bouquet over to Spencer. “Is that alright? I’m sure I can come up with something else if that’s not exactly what you had in mind.”

“No, no! It’s perfect, I promise. If you’d met my friend, Garcia, you’d know she’s the embodiment of human sunshine. These are absolutely perfect for her.”

Y/N clapped her hands together happily. “Oh, good! I’m glad.”

After ringing him up, with Y/N giving him a ‘family and friends discount’ (which Spencer had protested at first before Y/N insisted that they were in fact friends, and he should just accept the gesture).

“Thank you, Y/N. Very much.”

“There’s really no need to thank me. But uh, maybe instead we could go out sometime?” She offered, biting down gently on her lip and she anticipated his answer.

Spencer’s mouth gaped, his brain short circuiting as he tried to find the right thing to say. “I uh- yes! Yes, that sounds great.”

“Ok, good.” She grabbed a spare piece of paper, writing down her number and sliding it over to him. “Give me a call sometime.”

Spencer took the paper, folding it nearly and placing it in his pocket. “Yes- yes, I will.” He gave her a smile before heading on his way, unable to stop the blush that covered his cheeks, the paper in his pocket feeling oddly heavy.

Y/N had waited patiently for Spencer to call. The first few days, she thought nothing of it— he was a busy man after all. After the first week passed with still no call, Y/N felt disheartened. Every time the bell rang above the door in her shop, she would look up excitedly and hope it was Spencer, an awkward smile on his lips and scuffed up converse on his feet.

Spencer, however, had spent the last few weeks in a state of insecurity. He’d somehow managed to convince himself the Y/N didn’t want him, that she could never want him. When the team asked about ‘the pretty girl from the flower shop’, he would simply shrug and murmur something about how it probably wasn’t going to work out. In response, the team would share solemn looks, upset that such a promising relationship hadn’t panned out.

One evening, when the team were packing up to leave, Spencer was still sat at his desk, making his way through his mountain of paperwork.

Morgan looked over, swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he headed toward Spencer’s desk. “Hey, Reid.” He called, grabbing his attention. “You heading home?”

Spencer shrugged. “I think I’m going to stay, finish up.” He murmured.

Morgan frowned, leaning against Spencer’s desk. “Look kid, I didn’t want to ask, but what happened between you and the girl from the flower shop?”

Spencer sighed, still focusing on his writing.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, dropping his pen with a small huff. He waited a moment, gathering his thoughts before speaking. “I’m worried she doesn’t like me, at least not like that.”

Morgan nodded in understanding, but still questioned him. “But you like her, right?”

“I do. A lot.”

“Then you can’t let her go so easily, Reid. Go to her, tell her how you feel. If things don’t go how you imagined, then it’s her loss. Really.” He tried to gently encourage.

Spencer winced, shaking his head. “I don’t think I should. I mean, what if I just make myself look like an idiot?”

“Would you rather never know?”

Spencer caved, nodding and standing up from his desk. “So I just, ‘go and get her’? Right, sure. I can do that.” He spoke hesitantly, sounding as though he was giving himself a pep talk.

Morgan laughed, clapping happily. “Yeah you can! Go, go get your girl.”

Spencer nodded again, scrambling to grab his satchel and coat as he left, mumbling, “My girl, sure, right, ok.”

Spencer stood outside the shop, hands fumbling with the strap of his satchel as he tried to figure out what he was going to say.

When he got to Florescence, Y/N was still inside, packing the last few things of hers into her handbag as she prepared to lock up for the night. When the bell sounded throughout the shop, she looked up, preparing to tell whoever it was that they were closed— not expecting to see Spencer stood there.

“Hi.” He gave a small wave, his voice quiet.

Y/N didn’t say anything immediately, mulling over her words in her head.

“You didn’t call.”

Spencer’s breath hitched. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?” She asked, shouldering her bag.

“I um— I wanted to apologise, and uh—“ The words wouldn’t come from his mouth, and the way she was looking at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite place was making his heart sink. He’d really managed to mess everything up. “I’m sorry, I’m just going to go.”

He turned around, reaching for the doorknob when he heard her voice calling him back.

“Spencer, wait a moment.”

He stopped, turning back to face her.

She sighed, taking a few steps towards him. “Listen, I’m not very good with words, but I need you to hear this because it feels like I will physically implode if I contain myself any longer.” She gave a sad smile, interlocking her hands. “I like you, Spencer. I like like you, a lot. You came breezing into my life at a time where things had been a little dark, you were a light in the sea of black. A breath of fresh air. But if you don’t feel the same way then that— that’s alright.” She swallowed, waiting with bated breath as she braced herself for rejection, for him to let her down gently, politely, like the gentleman he was.

He let out a breath, not believing that she felt the same way he did about her. “Oh, thank god.” He murmured, moving toward her in a bold move and cupping her cheeks in his hands, pressing his lips to hers.

When they pulled apart, he gave her a shy smile, surprised by his own boldness. “I like like you too, Y/N. Very much.”

“That’s good to hear. Because otherwise I think that whole confession thing would’ve been very embarrassing.” She giggled, earning a laugh from Spencer too as he pulled her into a hug.

He looked up over her shoulder, eyes landing on the perfect bouquet of flowers. He pulled back, giving Y/N a grin as he moved toward the stand, plucking one of the flowers from the arrangement.

He handed it to Y/N with a sheepish smile, watched as she accepted it gratefully.

“It’s an agapanthus.” Y/N whispered, heart beating rapidly in her chest.

“It is. Its nickname is ‘the flower of love’. It comes from the Greek word for love, ‘agape’, and ‘anthos’ for flower.” He rambled slightly, cutting himself off before he could continue. “They are traditionally for someone that you.. love.. a great deal.”

Her eyes widened slightly, the smile on her lips brighter than any sunflower could compare to. “Thank you, Spencer.” With her grip still on the flower, she spared a glance out the window. “Would you like to grab a coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Spencer grinned, offering her his arm, which she gladly accepted.

Spencer had always been fond of flowers.

And it was that fondness that had led him to her, something Spencer would be forever thankful for.

permanent taglist: @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @katexrichardson @jemimah-b99 @devilsarchive @pudsmack @muffin-cup @shadyladyperfection @rigatonireid @amoeebaa @mggsprettygirl @alltooreid @s1utformgg @awritingtree @you-sunshine @bunny-script @maxcerr @spencerreid9

spencer reid taglist: @reidtome

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eliemo · 4 years ago

Text

Solitary

Summary: Logan wakes up. He wasn't supposed to this time.

TWs: aftermath of a suicide attempt, implied/referenced self harm, self hatred and self esteem issues, hopeful ending

Notes: Mind the tags pls, I wrote this with no plan at like 1am. Platonic LAMP

When Logan woke up, the first thing he registered was a splitting headache, white hot pain spreading down his head to his spine like his skull was being snapped in two.

The next was the pulsing agony in both of his arms, shooting up to his shoulders with a sudden intensity that made him gasp before he could stop himself, only to be met with another stabbing pain in his throat.

“Hey hey hey, easy.” A vaguely familiar voice filtered in from somewhere nearby, but Logan was pretty sure the pain would only worsen if he opened his eyes to look. “Easy, Lo. You’re safe, you’re ok.”

All Logan was able to manage was an awful sounding croak. He felt someone running their hand gently through his hair, another holding the side of his face.

“Breathe, kiddo. You’re ok.”

Patton. A bit of the rising alarm faded when he recognized the moral side’s voice, but something still pulled at his chest when he realized how scared Pat sounded. What was going on?

“Can you open your eyes?” Patton asked, soft and concerned right beside his ear. “We really miss you, Logan.”

Patton’s voice broke a bit at the end, miserable and pleading, and that was enough for Logan to risk pain that came with the sudden light, making another weak noise in the back of his throat as he pried his eyes open, surprised and a little frustrated over how much effort it took.

Like he’d warily expected, the barrage of light did feel like someone was repeatedly taking a knife to his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as intense as he’d anticipated.

It took a second for everything to come into focus, but when it did Logan could make out that he was on the couch in the living room, a dark blue blanket draped over him, the curtains closed over the windows to keep the sunlight out of the dim room.

Patton was crouched beside him, fingers still running through Logan’s hair, slow and gentle. Virgil was perched on the other end of the couch, eyeshadow smeared and staining his face with dried black tears.

Roman was standing beside the armchair just a few paces away, looking like he’d just been startled out of his seat, face pale, eyes wide and shiny.

They all looked...awful. They looked about as bad as Logan felt right now.

“Wh-what?” It hurt to talk, voice raspy and shaking, but the confusion was only making his head hurt more. “What’s happening, I—”

“I’ll, uh- I’ll get him some water,” Roman said hastily, failing to hide the worried glance he sent Patton’s way. “Hang in there, Teach.”

Roman was gone before Logan could say anything, and his gaze wandered instead to Virgil who was still planted by his feet, shifting anxiously where he sat, glancing between Logan and Patton like he was waiting for someone to speak.

Luckily Roman wasn’t gone for long, hurrying back into the room within seconds and practically thrusting a glass of water in Logan’s face.

He moved to sit up and take it, only to hiss at the pain shooting up his arms at the tiniest of movements, falling limply back onto the cushions.

“Don’t use your hands, honey,” Patton said, a second too late. “Here, let me help you, ok?”

Any other time Logan would have protested. He was perfectly capable of drinking a cup of water by himself. But right now all he had the energy to do was give a tiny nod and let Patton help him to sit up.

He didn’t have the energy to fight, keeping his aching arms under the blanket and letting Patton bring the cup to his lips. The cold water eased the pain in his throat somewhat, even if it took a frustratingly long time for Logan to swallow a few sips.

“There you go,” Patton said when he saw done, and Logan hated how overly gentle the other side was being with him. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Logan said, despite how badly everything hurt. “What...happened?”

He saw the three of them exchange worried glances among themselves, trying and failing once again to hide it from Logan. His head was still too heavy to remember what had put him in this position in the first place, but their concern was only worsening his rising anxiety. Or maybe he was just picking up on some of Virgil’s distress.

The anxious side shifted again, brows drawn together as he looked Logan over. “Do you not...remember what happened?”

Logan took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing against the lump in his throat, taking a moment to catalogue his aching body, his headache, and the searing pain shooting up his arms.

“Was I...injured?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Patton immediately burst into tears. To his dismay, Roman and Virgil’s eyes started welling up at the same time.

Oh, god. Logan was even less prepared to deal with their emotions than he usually was.

“Is that…” he trailed off, swallowed, and tried again. “Is that a yes?”

Patton only began crying harder, and before Logan could try to apologize the moral side was throwing himself forward, arms wrapped around Logan as best he could, sobbing loudly into his chest.

“Patton, I—”

“I’m so sorry!” Patton wailed, only further growing Logan’s confusion. “I’m so sorry Lo, I’m so sorry! We didn’t- we didn’t know! I swear we had no idea!”

“Let him take a moment to wake up, Padre,” Roman said, still hovering anxiously. He and Virgil were being much quieter about their distress, but both of their faces were soaked with tears. “But we...we really are sorry. Gosh, Logan we’re so so sorry.”

Logan screwed his eyes shut again, still coming up blank when he tried to connect the dots. “What...what on earth are you apologizing for?”

“For not realizing you felt that way, Lo.” Virgil moved to put a hand on Logan’s leg, refusing to look the logical side in the eyes. “Jeez- you’re family and we never...we never noticed.”

Patton was still bawling into his shirt, Virgil tightened his own hold, Roman began pacing as he tended to do when he was stressed, and Logan still had absolutely no clue what was going on. Why wouldn’t someone just tell him what had happened?

“Patton...” Logan stopped, first from the pain that came with raising his hand to touch Patton’s shoulder, then from the shock of seeing his arms. “I—”

“Don’t look, baby,” Patton said, gently guiding his hands back under the blanket like Logan hadn’t gotten a clear view of blood stained bandages wrapped around his arms from his wrists to his elbows. “You’re ok.”

His arms were...had he...?

Roman cleared his throat, and Logan looked over at the sound. The Prince held a wrinkled piece of paper in his hand, crumpled and a little stained, and the writing Logan could just barely make out was suddenly alarmingly familiar.

“We, uhm. We found your note.”

And just like that it all came rushing back- the overwhelming pain, the emotions, everything spiraling out of his usually so strict control as he finally let everything out onto a flimsy piece of notebook paper.

He’d lost control, no longer able to see a better way out. All he’d been focused on was the horrible pain in his arms soaked with blood that signified an ending he hadn’t even been sure he really wanted.

It came back in a fragmented blur, and Logan abruptly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have woken up.

Oh. Oh no.

“I am...so sorry,” Logan said, at a loss for what else to do. “It was never my intention for you all to—”

“Your intention was pretty fucking clear,” Virgil snapped, and Logan was taken aback by the hostility in Anxiety’s voice. “Jesus Christ, Lo! What were you thinking?”

“Virgil,” Patton snapped, but the wavering in his voice overshadowed any vehemence. “That’s...let’s calm down, kiddo. Ok?”

Virgil wiped his eyes with his sleeves, shoulders hunched as he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Logan’s chest squeezed, guilt and panic overwhelming.

“How long was I...asleep?”

Patton gave a shaky sigh, going back to running his hands through Logan’s hair. “Since last night. It’s...I think three in the afternoon now.”

Logan’s stomach dropped, and the pain in his arms flared up again as he struggled to sit up, only to fall limp against the back of the couch. He’d been out all day, forcing the other sides to stop what they were doing and look after him.

He couldn’t imagine how much damage and stress he’d caused. The one thing he’d been trying to avoid doing any more of.

“I’m very sorry,” Logan said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “My intentions were not to be an inconvenience or cause any unnecessary stress. I will attempt to get back on schedule as soon as possible and—”

“Get back on schedule?”

Logan couldn’t remember hearing Virgil yell like this, shrinking back into Patton’s arms before he could stop himself, the anxious side having stood up from the couch, eyes wide and brimming with new tears.

Logan cleared his throat, struggling to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. “I...apologize for—”

“You think we’re upset over the schedule?” Virgil snapped, flinching when Roman moved closer to put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to wake up after you tried to kill yourself and you think we’re upset because we’re behind schedule? Are you fucking serious, Logan?”

The screaming eventually dissolved into ragged sobs, and Logan watched as Roman gathered Virgil up his arms and pulled him close, the anxious side burying his face into the Prince’s chest.

Roman hadn’t stopped silently crying, silent tears sliding down his cheeks as he pressed his nose to Virgil’s hair, trembling with the strength it took to hold back his sobs. And Patton hadn’t let go of him, half of Logan’s shirt soaked with the moral side’s tears.

He hadn’t...expected this. Any of it.

Honestly, Logan hadn’t expected anyone to even notice his absence at first. He supposed they might not have known he’d...passed at all if he hadn’t been found before he’d finished.

He'd expected them to be mildly agitated when they found out he was gone, a little annoyed that he’d taken such drastic measures instead of continuing to ignore it and move on for Thomas’s sake. They'd have to make their schedules themselves now, and his death would likely push a few things back.

Things might be a bit less efficient without him but...they’d realize it was for the best eventually. They would be happier without him around. The air would be lighter.

It would be quieter. They wouldn’t have to constantly hide their annoyance every time he opened his mouth.

They wouldn’t have to deal with him at all anymore.

He hadn’t...expected anyone to be upset over the thought of losing him. He hadn’t even succeeded, he was perfectly fine, and every single one of them was in very clear distress.

“I am...very sorry,” he tried again, wondering if all he’d managed to do was ruin things irreparably. “I never wanted to upset any of you.”

“It isn’t about us,” Patton said, reaching over to quickly squeeze Virgil’s hand. “It’s not about our feelings. It’s about yours.”

“No, Virgil is right. It was selfish of me to—”

“It wasn’t selfish,” Virgil said quickly. He pulled away from Roman, just enough to look at Logan. “It’s not...it wasn’t selfish, Lo. It wasn’t your fault.”

Logan frowned, because that...was an exceptionally strange thing to say. Especially when he had every right to scream until his voice was hoarse. “Of course it was. I did it to myself. I was fully aware of what I was doing.”

That made Patton tighten his hold and Virgil’s gaze drop to the floor, but Logan didn’t falter. It was the truth. He wasn’t going to make excuses or pretend to be ashamed. He’d been convinced it was the right thing to do.

Roman suddenly sighed, trembling and quiet, the only one able to meet Logan’s eyes. “Sometimes our brains tell us things, Lo. They aren’t true and they’re awful but it’s...hard not to listen. You just need some help quieting the thoughts.”

“My thoughts are...perfectly rational,” Logan said, despite the situation. “I was simply mistaken. I thought I was doing what was best.”

“You thought we hated you!” Patton was crying again, sobbing with nothing holding him back, and Logan suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at the note left on the coffee table. “You thought...Lo, the things you said—”

“I was wrong,” Logan said curtly, even as a prickle of dread settled in his stomach. “I was...I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was a bit taken aback by how quickly the three of them burst into affirmations, all of them suddenly crowded around him, holding him close as gently as possible. Keeping him safe.

“We love you,” Virgil was saying, and the anxious side had somehow managed to half commandeer his lap, his arms wrapped around his Logan’s middle. “I love you, Logan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not...your fault,” Logan said, wishing his arms didn't hurt quite so bad. He couldn’t even attempt to hug anyone back. “I shouldn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Roman spoke up, placing a gentle but grounding hand on Logan’s back. “I know it feels like you did, Teach. I know. But you didn’t.”

“I tried to...I- I thought—”

“You’re in a bad place and we didn’t notice,” Virgil said, barely audible from where his face was pressed into Logan’s shirt. “That’s our fault. We- I should have been there to help, I didn’t know you—”

“I was attempting to hide it.” Hiding it had become normal. He’d hoped it would all simply go away, or fade away to the background at the very least if he just pretended.

But it had only grown worse, leaving him feeling empty and numb and hurt each time he was ignored and talked over, each time an argument went a little too far, each time he felt like a burden for simply speaking his mind. For having a thought in the first place.

He’d thought they hated him. He thought they hated the sound of his voice, his presence in their lives, his existence. A bitter part of him had wondered if they’d celebrate his death before erasing him from their memories entirely.

He hadn’t been able to say it aloud. But he’d finally been able to sit down and put it all on paper, finalizing it into one last goodbye.

Logan has been stupid. Logic had failed, and he’d done something irrational.

If he couldn’t even do his job well enough to keep himself alive, what even was the point in keeping him around? Thomas might be better off without him after all—

“Logan.” Patton was right in front of him now, warm hands on Logan’s cheeks, effectively cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “We’re here now. We’re here and we know.”

Logan curled his shoulders and nodded, the thought equally comforting and terrifying. He’d never planned on having to face the consequences of this decision. Of his awful, irrational feelings.

“We’re gonna help you kiddo,” Patton continued. “You’re not alone, Logan. You never ever have been. I’m so sorry you thought you were.”

Logan swallowed, alarmed at how tight his throat was becoming, vision quickly becoming blurred. “I...I don’t want to cause any pointless stress. We’re all busy.”

“We’re worried about you,” Patton said softly, never letting go of Logan. “You worry about the people you love. You worry about family.”

“I...” he paused, closing his eyes as the tears finally spilled over. “I wasn’t...sure that I was.”

Virgil lifted his head and frowned, but Logan refused to look down at him, staring blankly at the wall instead. “You weren’t...what? Family?”

Logan didn’t respond, didn’t jump to correct the assumption because he...couldn’t. He’d questioned his place for so long, somewhere along the way he’d begun assuming nobody cared. That it wasn’t a question for anyone else.

The heartbroken noises from the other three sides made him flinch, and he melted into their touch as they rushed to assure him once again, hard as it was to focus on anything they were saying.

He’d been so stupid. How could he have mistaken this for anything but love?

“You’re family, Logan,” Roman said, holding him from behind with his head now rested on Logan’s shoulder. “You will always be family. I’m so sorry it got this bad.”

Logan wasn’t sure when he’d started letting himself cry in earnest, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

There were three pairs of arms around him, holding him close while he trembled and sobbed and tried to force out apologies that kept getting caught in his throat.

He’d been selfish, and he’d upset them all so much but…

But he’d been so hurt. He’d felt so hurt for months and none of them had noticed. Nobody had asked. He wasn’t angry, he knew they would never have left him like that if they could have known. But it didn’t change the fact that it had happened.

But it was...going to be better now. Logan wanted so badly to believe it was going to get better.

“We’re going to fix this,” Patton said, and Logan’s eyes slipped shut when the moral side once again began playing with his hair. “We’re gonna be right here, Lo. We’ve got you. It won’t ever get this bad again.”

Logan felt himself drifting back to sleep, the pain fading to a dull ache in the background, and he didn’t try to fight against it. His chest was still heavy, mind clouded with distorted thoughts and doubts, and he knew none of that would disappear the next time he woke up. He wasn’t naive enough to hope it would.

But he had a way to fix it now. A way that wasn’t quite so final as his original plan.

And his family would be there when he woke up. He didn’t have to do this by himself anymore. He didn’t have to be the only one trying to fix this.

Logan believed them. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. Never again.

#self harm tw #suicide tw #suicide attempt tw #crying tw #sanders sides #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #angst #hopeful ending #platonic lamp #fanfiction #writing

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harryhandstan · 4 years ago

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I am so excited to finally be posting this for y’all! Thank you so much for all the hype and support it is very much appreciated. :) this is my piece for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge! my prompt was the song “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” from the movie Frozen and I hope you all enjoy how I’ve incorporated it into my Dad!Harry series. You don’t necessarily have to read the other parts to understand this one, but I’ll link them below in case you want to re-visit them.

I Want Your Belly ❄ Wonderful and Warm ❄ Washed Away in You

Thank you to @tbslenthusiast and @heartbreakweatherharry for reading over this for me and giving me such amazing feedback!

Word count: 2.3k

You still couldn’t believe the little wonder that had been created by you and Harry existed to be yours. Things hadn’t been perfect, far from it, but it was definitely a new and fun adventure you were both eager and terrified of.

The first challenge presented was finding a name perfect enough to fit your son. He was alive for 24 hours before you discovered one you and Harry were absolutely sure of. Even seeing it written on his birth certificate made your heart swell with pride.

It’s your mother who asks first, “Well, are you two gonna make a formal announcement to the press before us grandparents get to know the name of our grandson?”

“Think we’ve made them wait long enough, Harry.”

He smiles at you from across the hospital room where he sits in a chair, the baby resting peacefully on his chest. You’re propped up in the bed, wrapped in the soft pink robe given to you by him just a few days ago. Anne sits nearby, a proud grin on her face at the sight of her baby with his.

His eyes dart from the baby to you, “You wanna tell them or shall I?”

“You tell them. You’re the one that found it, been bragging about it all day too.”

“Alright then,” He gently lifts the baby, turning him to where the whole room can see him, your son’s face now scrunched up by the light from the window shining on him, “Ladies, meet your grandson, Sterling Edward Styles.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Anne giggles, reaching over to pat your leg, “You’ll never hear the end of it, love, letting him name the baby after himself.”

“Hey! S’her idea to give him my middle name. I picked the first,” His features switch from temporarily offended back to beaming, “Wanna tell ‘em what it means, darlin’?”

“Sterling means ‘starling’, or as Harry likes to call him..”

“Our little star.”

5 weeks later, your son certainly lives up to his name, charming everyone he meets. Sweet smiles and coos at strangers from his carrier when you’re at the grocery store or falling asleep in Auntie Gemma’s arms when she comes to visit. You were not surprised he already had his father’s charismatic ability to make everyone fall for him so quickly.

With Harry’s schedule as busy as it had been, it hadn’t been easy to adjust to life together as new parents. As much as he had tried to push things back or reschedule to have more time off with you, there was only so much that he was in control of and he was away from you and Sterling more than he liked.

So it’s no surprise when he comes home one evening and the space you share is mostly already decorated for the winter holidays. He smiles warmly to himself when he hears you singing along to the movie playing from the tv, peeks around the corner to see Sterling tucked away in his swing, his eyes open and bright. Your back is turned so you don’t hear Harry approaching, continuing to sing aloud as you work.

“We only have each other, it’s just you and me, what are we gonna dooooooo?” You spin around, expecting to only see Sterling watching you, yelping when you find Harry, giggling at the shock on your face.

He bends to look out the window, “Could be wrong, but I think you have to have snow to build a snowman, yeah?”

“You’re early! I wanted to surprise you,” You weave your way around boxes to greet him, “Left the tree for the 3 of us to do together though.”

“S’nice of you.” His hands remain in his pockets as you move closer, tired eyes looking down at you, lazy smile as you work your arms around his waist. He doesn’t make you wait long, freeing his hands from his pockets to wrap around you.

He buries his face in your neck, “Missed you today.”

“We missed you too, H.”

He pulls back, turning to look down at Sterling, his arm still holding you close to his side, “He’s growing too fast. Can’t believe he’s already 5 weeks.”

“5 weeks and 3 days,” You remind him, “All the mommy blogs say we have an infant now.”

“S’that s’pose to mean? ‘Course he’s an infant.”

“Just means he’s growing out of his tiny baby stage.”

He directs his attention back to the movie playing, laughing as he teases you, “Least y’could’ve done is found a proper Christmas movie t’play while you put up decorations.”

You shrug, “It’s close enough to count. Plus he LOVES it. Think Elsa might be his favorite.”

He can’t resist anymore. As comfortable as his son may be swaying back and forth in his swing, he bends to scoop him up, one hand cradling behind his head and the other behind his back to easily support him. Sterling clearly doesn’t mind, a grin developing when he realizes who it is disturbing him.

“Don’t care what anyone says, bub. Y’ll always be daddy’s baby.”

You never doubted Harry’s capacity to love his son, but you definitely questioned his expertise and knowledge of the basics of caring for a child. He had become somewhat experienced now, tackling late night diaper changes and early morning feedings or anything else in between without complaint when he could.

Though he had done great, you were never too far away that you couldn’t offer assistance when he needed it. So when he gets a rare day off and suggests you let him stay home with the baby while you run errands, you’re hesitant.

“Do ya not trust me?”

“Of course I do. You know I do. I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

“S’just for a few hours, right? You can write out a list of his schedule if it makes y’feel better.”

Sterling’s stretched across your lap, dozing off while you try to finish the last of your breakfast. Harry stands at the counter, drinking coffee out of a bright pink mug. You look between your almost sleeping son and then back up to Harry, chewing a bite of toast as you contemplate the idea.

He doesn’t take offense to your hesitation, quite the opposite actually. He adores the sight of you, Sterling’s face squished against your chest; one of his hands tucked under his chin, the other wrapped around your side, his little fist holding tight to your t-shirt. It’s the purest form of love in his eyes, to see the bond between mother and son grow and deepen with each day. Makes him reminiscent of his connection with his own mother, fills his heart with so much joy knowing he had chosen someone that would give his son the same sweet upbringing he had.

He makes his way back around the counter to you, a hand resting on the top of Sterling’s head as he bends down to kiss the top of yours. He moves his hand, repeating the act of affection to the top of the baby’s head.

“Really proud of you, y’know that right, baby? Been so amazing watching you take care of yourself and our little boy, never doubted for a second you were meant for this, but it’s been more incredible than I could’ve ever imagined.”

“Proud of you too, H. Know you’ve had a lot of guilt about being gone, but Sterling and I love you so much. He already lights up at the sound of your voice when you FaceTime us from set, and I see the way he grins at you before he falls asleep when you’re here to tuck him in at night.”

His eyes meet yours, sees the moment you make your decision to say yes, deep exhale of warm breath trapped between the two of you, “You have to promise to call if anything happens, if you need anything at all. Don’t care how small it is.” He nods firmly, further setting your mind at ease, “He should sleep most of the time I’m gone, but I’ll prepare another bottle just in case I can’t get back in time.”

You feel silly for feeling so protective, and you were thankful to have Harry as your partner on this journey. His patience and support had been more than generous, covering you and Sterling in more love and adoration than you’d ever known could exist from one person. He kisses you again, on your lips this time, a hand cupping one side of your face before gently lifting Sterling from your arms, shushing and bouncing him a bit when he starts to whimper from the sudden change in his comfortable position.

“S’okay, bubs. Daddy’s got you, g’nna have us a lil’ boys day while mumma’s gone.”

You rush through whatever tasks you had scheduled that seemed so important that morning. Suddenly the groceries you needed and last minute presents you were dropping off at the post office to mail to out of town family didn’t matter, nothing did but getting back home to your boys.

It’s quiet when you shut the door behind you, almost too quiet. As much as you always prayed he would, Sterling never slept through his morning nap, so you’re surprised at the possibility of him still sleeping peacefully. Not that he was old enough to make too much noise yet, but still the silence worries you enough that you don’t even take the time to put away the groceries. You set the bags on the kitchen counter, making your way through the house to the living room first.

All your concern fades at the sight of Harry on the couch, Sterling snuggled in his arms with his back pressed against Harry’s front, his little body covered in a red and white striped onesie with a reindeer on the front, matching pair of green socks on his tiny feet. It’s such a comforting image, you once again question why you had any doubt at the thought of leaving the two of them alone. Harry hasn’t noticed your presence yet, or if he has he hasn’t said anything, and you’re content to keep it that way for a few more minutes to observe the vision set before you.

You notice the movie that’s playing, it’s the same one from a few nights ago that Harry teased you for. You cross your arms, quirking one eyebrow upwards before you repeat Harry’s words from that night out loud, “Boys day, huh? Could’ve at least found a proper Christmas movie to watch while I was gone.”

“I’ve decided you’re right, it does count. I can see why he loves it so much.” He looks up at you from where you lean over back of the couch now, a soft “hi” falling from his lips, tilting his head up to accept the kiss you offer. Sterling coos, and when you look down, he’s looking up at you too.

“Mommy missed you too, baby boy.”

“Come sit with us, lovie, watch the rest of the movie.”

“Gimme a minute to put the groceries away and I will.”

“I’ll pause it and come help.”

“No, stay,” You run your hand through his hair, pushing the curls away from his face, “There’s not that much, I got it.”

You work swiftly to put everything away, taking a minute to change back into your pajamas before you rejoin them, curling yourself against Harry’s side under his free arm. Sterling’s dozing again, most likely falling into a milk coma from the bottle he had just finished, but it doesn’t stop the two of you from continuing to watch the same movie together. You offer to take Sterling or put him in his swing, but he just shakes his head no, clinging tighter to him and you.

“S’my favorite part, this song.”

“What? It’s the saddest one. Elsa and Anna’s parents die in this one.”

He shrugs, careful not to shuffle Sterling and disturb his sleep, “Maybe, but s’catchy, gets stuck in my head more than the others.”

He begins humming along to the intro music, nudging you softly to persuade you to start singing along with the character on the screen. You sit up, dramatically clearing your throat before you do. Harry knows more of the words than he cares to admit, but would rather hear the lyrics sung by you. He giggles at you as you even change your voice to mimic the silly parts.

“It gets a little lonely. All these empty rooms. Just watching the hours tick by…”

Harry provides the tick-tock part, clicking his tongue off-tune to the ones playing in the song. That’s enough to make you laugh out loud, temporarily forgetting the sleeping baby now resting on Harry’s chest. He shushes you playfully, his body shaking through his own laughter thankfully soothing Sterling enough that he doesn’t wake up.

You compose yourself as the song turns slow and mournful, tucking yourself back to Harry’s side again. His hand works around to cup your waist, squeezing lightly to pull you closer, the vibrations of him humming along again a comforting rumble against your body. His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he sings the last notes of the song.

“We only have each other. It's just you and me. What are we gonna doooooo?”

Your eyes scan the whole of the room. Your boys nestled together next to you, the tree in the corner of the room the 3 of you had decorated together a few days before, the pile of presents that had already accumulated underneath it. You spot your favorite ornament, a silver star with Sterling’s full name engraved on the front, “Baby’s First Christmas” etched on the back. Sterling’s first present from your family sent from home. Well, what used to be your home for the holidays. A smile spreads across your face at the simple happiness and realization that this is your home now.

Harry, Sterling, and you; sun, moon, and star, spending your first holiday together.

Thank you all for reading! As always likes/rbs/and comments are more than welcome. Tell me what you think here!

tag list: @taintedwonder, @cock-a-doodely-doo

#GBSxmaschallenge #harry styles imagine #harry x reader #my writing #dad!harry

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miraculous-ladybug-et-chat-noir · 3 years ago

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Overwhelming

Request: No

Pairing: Rose Lavillant x Reader

Prompt: The reader is struggling with self-deprecating thoughts and an overwhelming sadness that insists no one loves them. Rose is there to ensure them that that is not true. They are very loved, by her.

“Sure there are people out there who love you, I do.”

Warning(s): TW: self-deprecating thoughts, angst, the reader is not being very kind to themselves

A/N: I will not be including any physical self-harm in this fic, at this point the reader is merely hating who they are but not harming themselves physically. Also, note that this is only a fic, someone professing their love won’t magically fix everything, but it does help to know someone is rooting for you Xx. If you ever need to talk, my inbox is always open.

(Not my GIF)

(Y/N)’s all-consuming thoughts were clouding their judgments from the moment they woke up. It was a subtle flutter of anxiety circulating in their chest. A sudden doubt was invoked seemingly overnight. Though that wouldn’t be accurate. There was always that cloud in their mind telling them that something wasn’t right, but they could never figure out what it was. It just happened to be that particular day that hit them the hardest.

They woke with that sense of dread that had developed over time, only they felt it tenfold. They had the overwhelming need to cry. Cry over what? Nothing, but also everything. It was so overwhelming living their life and after days of dragging on without the sweet relief of letting everything out, their feelings were starting to overflow like a river after heavy rain. Yet they refused to allow the tears to stream down their cheeks. No matter what their heart was feeling, they wouldn’t let anyone know what they were going through. Why would they want to bother anyone with their pity party? It’s not like they’d care anyway.

So (Y/N) forced themselves out of bed and dragged themselves to the bathroom to ready themselves for the day. They spent some time staring at themselves in the mirror. Taking notice of the bags under their eyes. The stress was clearly written all over their face. They forced a smile, trying to convince themselves that they were okay. ‘Just one more day,’ they promised, ‘One more day and then you can be the sad sack of shit that you really are.’ It was a routine, forcing themselves to bore through life.

Once they were finally ready for school, they forced that smile back on their face and proceeded out the door. They decided to walk to school rather than burden their mother with the task of driving them to school, though she had persisted. It was merely her obligation as a mother to care for them. They blasted music through their earbuds on the way, drowning out the world around them. For a moment they felt peace, it was just the music blasting in their ears and the worries and doubts were drowned out. That is until they got to school.

Here is where the real test would begin. It was rather easy to convince their parents they were okay. It was a quick “good morning” and a “see you later,” so (Y/N) did not need to worry about them asking any questions. However, now they were at school where even people you never talked to would press their noses into your business. (Y/N) had kind of hoped they’d be late to avoid talking to their friends, not that they didn’t like their friends, no, they loved them. But… they couldn’t help the guilt and dread at seeing them. Maybe they didn’t want to see them, and they were just too nice to actually say anything. Maybe it’d just be easier if they just stopped talking to them, stopped burdening them with their presence.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Marinette greeted happily.

What (Y/N) would give to have her constant good mood, “hey,” They waved with a strained smile.

“We were thinking of hanging out after school, care to join?” Alya slung her arm over their shoulder.

(Y/N) looked from Marinette to Alya, did they really want to hang out with them? Or were they just trying to be nice?

“I don’t know if I can, I’ll let you know, okay?” (Y/N) subtly shrugged out from under Alya’s arm.

“No problem, hopefully, you can,” Marinette grinned.

“Yeah, hopefully,” (Y/N) agreed halfheartedly.

“Marinette,” Alya singsonged teasingly, “Look at what Adrien is wearing!” She smirked when she noticed the blond boy walk in sporting the blue scarf that Marinette had knit for him. Marinette’s cheeks flushed red and her face turned to panic.

“Go say hi!” Alya urged.

“I-I can’t!” Marinette shook her head, “Come with me! Please?” She pleaded.

Alya sighed, “sooner or later you’ll need to speak to him by yourself,” despite her words, she trailed after her best friend. Alya glanced back at (Y/N), “coming?”

“Uh, no, I’ll be fine,” They brushed off, “I have to get something out of my locker,” They lied.

“Okay, see you in class,” Alya smiled and waved.

(Y/N) waved back and once Alya was no longer looking at them, their hand dropped and their shoulders dropped. They shuffled toward their locker even though they didn’t need to. Their mind was too occupied, on autopilot rather than actually focusing on where they were going. How would they get out of hanging out later? Why shouldn’t they go have fun? ‘They only invited you to be nice,’ They thought. Was it a genuine invite? Or was it out of obligation? (Y/N) leaned against their locker. They slowly sunk until they were sitting. They ignored the people around them.

It’d probably be best if they just disappeared. Who would miss them?

“(Y/N)?” A soft voice spoke nearby.

(Y/N) looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of Rose. “Sorry, am I in your way?” (Y/N) moved to get up and make room for Rose.

“No, silly. I just wanted to talk to you,” Rose beamed.

“Oh…” (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to say.

“I couldn’t help but notice… Are you okay?” Rose sat next to them, concern etched on her delicate features.

And there was the million-dollar question. ‘Are you okay?’ (Y/N) couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out. No. No, they were not okay.

Rose’s brows furrowed, even more, the tears slipping down (Y/N)’s cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. “(Y/N)?” Rose spoke softly.

(Y/N) shook their head. They furiously wiped away their tears, suddenly angry at themselves for allowing themselves to cry, especially in front of sweet innocent Rose. Rose was like a ray of sunshine, she was like a warm spring day. Rose was perfect. She shouldn’t be worrying over someone like (Y/N). “I-I don’t-” Their voice cracked. They couldn’t speak. The more they tried, the more they began to sob uncontrollably. It was a wonder no one called the authorities on them and had them admitted to an asylum.

Rose pulled them into her arms, allowing them to cry into her chest. Her heart broke seeing someone she loved cry so brokenly. How long had they felt like this? What if this could have been prevented? If only she had asked before, maybe (Y/N) wouldn’t be this upset.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Rose murmured softly. She pressed a kiss to the top of (Y/N)’s head, “I’ve got you.”

(Y/N) took in a shuddering breath. This was embarrassing. How could they burden Rose with their issues? “S-sor-sorry,” They hiccuped out.

“Sorry? What for?” Rose lifted (Y/N)’s face to look into their eyes. She wiped away their tears as they fell.

“M-me,” (Y/N) swallowed around the lump in their throat.

“(Y/N), you have nothing to be sorry for.” Rose lightly brushed their (H/C) hair behind their ear.

“O-of co-course I do! You-you shouldn’t be bur-burdened by th-this,” (Y/N) furiously wiped away their tears, ashamed of the meltdown they were having, at school no less.

“(Y/N), listen to me,” Rose forced them to look into her eyes again, “You are not a burden.”

“B-”

“No! I won’t hear you say otherwise!” Rose snapped. The fury in her eyes spoke volumes. “You are not a burden.” She repeated.

(Y/N) looked from her determined eyes to her set jaw. They’ve never seen such insistence in her before. “Then why do I feel this way?” They spoke softly.

Rose sighed and pulled them in for another hug, “honestly? I don’t know… but you are an amazing person, (Y/N). Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.”

(Y/N) scoffed, “Yeah, sure.”

Rose frowned and lightly slapped their arm, “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, so am I,” (Y/N) sucked in a deep breath, steadying the shakiness in their voice. “I can’t help but feel like everyone hates me. Almost as much as I do.” They whispered.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Lots of people love you!” Rose rubbed their arm soothingly. It hurt hearing such hateful remarks coming from their lips.

(Y/N) shook their head, “I just feel like they’re all pretending or just tolerating me. No one loves me.”

“Sure there are people out there who love you!” Rose bit her lip nervously, “I do.”

(Y/N) looked at her in disbelief. No one who is as perfect as Rose could ever love them… Right?

Rose gave them a nervous smile. She shrugged, “It’s probably not a good time to tell you, but I do. I love you, (Y/F/N).”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t impossible after all, “I love you too, Rose.”

#rose lavillant #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #mlb fanfic #mlb #gender netural #tw self destructive behavior #tw self deprecation #reader is not emotionally okay #rose x reader #rose lavillant x reader #tw

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ssa-sugar-tits · 4 years ago

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queen of hearts // chapter four

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings: swearing, angst, implied/mentioned sex, restraints, blood, head injury, kidnap/hostage, alcohol, gunshot, murder

a/n: reader is a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction and if you or someone you know are experiencing homicidal urges, seek professional help immediately.

The room was filled with tension and an overwhelming sense of despair but no one said a word. No more hellish arguing, no irritatingly random facts, not even discussion to solve the case. Everyone worked on their angle of the case and despite the fact that no one would dare admit it, they all somewhat hoped that Y/N wouldn't be caught. Some hoped more than others but deep down they all felt a twinge of it. JJ walked into the room and spoke, startling the team and ripping them away from their thoughts and guilt.

"I've given a picture of her to the media, it's being circulated."

It pained her-- almost physically-- to have to hand over a picture of someone who'd been like family for so many goddamn years. She felt that she was betraying Y/N and that made her feel indescribably horrible.

"Now what? We just wait?" Morgan seemed to be the only one that really did want to stop her. Maybe he was angry that he hadn't seen the signs. Maybe he was angry that his best friend had just... left. Maybe he was angry that she lost herself so much. Maybe he blamed himself.

"What else is there to do Derek? Call me bad at my job- Hell, call all of us bad at our jobs but we can't profile her. Admit it, we're all biased. Too biased to think straight but there's no way we can give this case to another unit." Emily had always been so close to Y/N and was able to open up to her. Something she couldn't bring herself to do with most people. But you weren't most people, were you? Even with what Y/N could be doing, Emily doesn't have it in her to hate her. The sadness she was feeling must have shown because JJ squeezed Emily's hand and gave her a weak smile. And for the millionth fucking time, everyone stayed silent. Not even Spencer was saying anything and he is not the type to stay quiet this long. Believe it or not, that was actually one of the things Y/N had loved about him. Everyone rolled their eyes or cut him off but she loved to listen to him ramble. To everyone's surprise, she was always genuinely interested in what he had to say and that was one of the first things that made him fall in love with her. She never invalidated him or called him strange. Sometimes when she had a nightmare or experienced anxiety she'd even ask him talk to her about a random topic so she could focus on his voice until she calmed down.

"Your voice is like... honey. In my ears." Spencer wanted to scream with emotional torture building up as he remembered how she'd laughed when she said that and how he'd had smiled at her with nothing but adoration and love.

"That seems unsanitary Y/N."

"You're such a smartass."

"Am I?"

"Definitely. But it's ok. I love that about you. I love you."

"I love you too."

She'd planted a sweet kiss on his lips before laying her head on his lap and listening to the rest of his topic rant. Still basking in the memory of Y/N, a sharp pain entered his hand and he realized he'd dug his crescent nails into the palm of his hand. And in that moment, he couldn't help but think about how much he'd love to be holding her hand right now.

"Guys!"

They all turned to Garcia, the source of the exclaim, who was walking in with Hotch.

"A bartender downtown says he just saw a woman matching Y/N's description leave with another man."

"She's chosen another victim? Here?" Rossi asked with confusion written on his face. "Up until now she's only killed 2 people per state and knowing the BAU has been called in, why is she staying here?"

JJ stepped in,

"This place is special to her, she has history here. Y/N must have an endgame but what is it?"

"The profile says she'll take as many people as she can with her. Probably suicide by cop."

Derek had accepted the situation. So why did that hurt to say?

"Rossi will go to the bar and talk to witnesses. Reid and Prentiss, stay here with Garcia. JJ and Morgan, PD is surveilling the radius around the bar and setting up roadblocks, come with me to help them."

"There's no way I'm staying here." Spencer objected.

Stay here and do nothing? Like hell.

"Neither am I, what the hell Hotch?"

"Reid, Prentiss that's an order. You're not going."

They both started to argue again but Hotch had already left. JJ and Derek followed and Rossi stood up with to leave for the bar. Apologetic looks were shot at Spencer and Emily because they all know why they have to stay behind. They're the two closest to her, the two that wouldn't be able to keep their emotions from affecting them on the field. And with that, off they all went.

Y/N's POV

The second you get to his hotel room, your lips crash against the handsome stranger. Your next victim. He pushes you against the wall and you moan loudly. His hands roam your body and you pull back.

"Hey... Go lie on the bed and wait for me."

Panting and staring at you with lust, he complies. Of course he does.

For God's sake. This man doesn't even know your name.

To be fair, Spence didn't even know Maeve's last name. And he still chose her.

You walk over to the eager man on the bed. Your hot breath on his neck, you lean close and whisper to him.

"We're going to do things my way."

He moans and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at him in disgust.

"Yes ma'am."

Taking out a rope, you tie him up and you know he thinks you're just a kinky slut. That's what they all see, isnt it? Suddenly something roars inside of you. Forgetting your usual routine, you pick up the lamp on the bedside table and smash it against him. Crimson stains the bed and you drop it, shocked by yourself. Yes, you've done worse. But it isn't the act that's sending regret and nausea through your body, it's that you're devolving. You're losing control.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Starting to panic, you take the unconscious man and check for a pulse. He's still alive.

Giving him a shower (much to your disdain) and change of clothes, you put his arm over your shoulder and walk out of the room giggling as you pass one of the housekeepers.

"Baby, you're such a lightweight! Let's get you out of here."

The housekeeper barely gives you a second glace but when she enters the room of the man you've taken, she starts to scream and you know you're running out of time.

Run. Drag him. Just hurry the hell up.

Finally at his car, you take him to the small studio you own downtown. No one can find you here. It's been yours for nearly a decade and you aren't stupid enough to have told anyone about it or put it under your name. Granted, you'd never thought you'd have to use it to hide out from the feds, it's still useful. After taking a look at the brightly colored wall in your basement, you feel a sense of sudden pain race through your veins. You used to be normal. You used to have a life.

The man is chained up, gagged, and bleeding but you can't even remember doing anything to him. What you need is numbness. They thought the other bodies were bad? Wait til they fucking see what you do with him. Pain shoots through your skull again and you wince and fall to the ground.

"Fuck. I- I need a drink." you stammer to no one in particular but yourself.

A wig and sunglasses make you look different enough from the woman being circulated to take the bus to a nearby gas station. Walking down the liquor aisle of the store, you hum a song to yourself and let the AC blow on your skin. Vision blurred, you bite your lip and taste the unmistakable strong metallic taste of your own blood. Still humming that fucking song. The song you'd danced to with Spencer in your living room before you'd made love for the first time.

"You cannot be serious!"

"Y/N! I can't dance."

"Oh come on. How bad can you be? Seriously, the songs going to end and it'll be too late."

"Yes, that's what I'm hoping for."

"Psh. Don't tell me Doctor Reid is scared to sway around a little."

"Shut up."

"Make me." you laughed.

With one playful look, you dared him to shut you up in the most passionate, sensual way he could. But instead he put his warm hands on your hips and swayed to the song. You melted into his touch and your breaths synced as you laid your head on his chest. His heart beat was steady and calming. One hand reached for yours and intertwined before twirling you and pulling you back in to dance. He'd held you until it was over and brought your chin up to his face. The kiss was so intense, so loving. He tilted his head and pulled you tighter to get as close as he could to you. His tongue met yours and your mouths bathed in each other's taste. Running a hand through your hair, you'd started to unbutton his shirt. He'd been taken aback at first but then picked you up and placed you in the bedroom ever so softly. Placing gentle kisses all over each other's bodies and undressing for the other, you made raw, breathtaking love for the first of many times.

"Hey lady! Get out of the way!"

"W-What?..." You tremble and realize you're crying on the floor of the aisle.

"I said get out of the damn way, some of us got places to be."

The man is clearly batshit drunk. Probably here to buy his next fix. Shaking and letting yourself actually feel your emotions, you stand and use the wall to balance yourself. The man that yelled at you curses to himself as his phone rings and he picks it up.

"Hell do you want? Thought you were still mad about Andrea."

Andrea? Mad about Andrea. Another cheater. Another liar. Right? It has to be.

Before you can process what you're doing-- how irrational it is-- the gunshot rings through the store and everyone turns to see the man before you on the ground, screaming and spitting blood. A mix of a laugh and a sob escapes you and you scream.

"Everyone on the fucking ground! If I see any cellphones, I'll shoot you just like this dickhead. Got it?"

Frightened people drop to the ground and you start to yell, incoherent bullshit again. You smash the freezer glass behind you and open an expensive bottle of bourbon.

You practically whimper having to take deep gasps in between words, but in a somehow still confident, fearless tone.

"Now let's have some fucking fun."

But what you didn't know was that the cashier in the front had sent a text 5 minutes earlier.

Call 911! The girl from the news, the Queen of Hearts. She's in the store.

What you didn't know was that the woman that recieved the text had called immediately.

911, what's your emergency?

What you didn't know was that the BAU was on their way.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

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may-day-voice · 3 years ago

Text

Haunting Sour Notes

Denki Kaminari's Timeline | 172732014

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/iGM2u8mraCY

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"Why won't you tell me?" questioned Kaminari, following you around his apartment while you paced with heavy steps. "You've been showing signs lately."

"Signs?" you retorted with a derogatory smirk. "Me being scared of storms is a sign?"

"No, I mean, Mon Ange-"

"Kaminari," you interrupted, your tone stern. "I messed up yesterday. Tell that to the Head Agent."

He watched as you slumped onto one of his armchairs in the large space, looking away from him while you stared out from one of the large windows overlooking part of Endor Docks. The morning was calm while you slept, but as soon as you woke, he found you distant almost immediately. You refused to say a word, not a peep, as if you were still mute.

And then, this argument, empty of reason.

"I'm going to report all that I know from last night," explained Kaminari, soft and calm. "And I know you didn't mess up, but you have to tell me these things about you. Things that I still have no clue about."

"It's better you didn't know," you replied, still with your eyes away from his.

"Why? I can't help you if you keep blocking me out."

"Then take me back to the Commission. Put me under arrest. What good am I if I'm not helping your case?"

"You're a good person, I know you are!" yelled Kaminari in retaliation, his frustration growing.

"How do you know?"

"You took that blow for me back when we first met. Not any villain would do that. You may have your reasons, but that shows me that you are willing to put yourself on the line when it counts. And here I am, trying to understand you outside of the fame and the secrecy, and you-" Kaminari stopped himself, holding his tongue while he stared at your upsetment, seeing the glint of tears that forced their way in the corner of your angry eyes. He could see you holding back before he was about to spill, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"You told me back at that golf range-"

"Putt-putt."

"- that you wanted to make amends. Why won't you let me help you do that?"

You looked into Kaminari's eyes, filled with confusion and anger while the frustration in his voice was evident. Of course, anyone who would be treated this way would have every right to feel these waves of emotions, but this was your life. A life shouldered with the haunting memories of your actions, and of the people you surrounded yourself with. At the time, you thought nothing of it, but now, these memories were not even worthy for someone like Kaminari to hear.

"They're not yours to shoulder," you answered. "And I'm more afraid of you getting involved further in the matter."

"What do you mean? I'm already involved," explained Kaminari. "I know enough to understand that you're trying to stop the Front, and that this General is someone to be feared."

"But you don't know the implications of knowing her. I don't want you to get hurt."

"So, it's a she?" he asked, only earning an exasperated sigh from you.

"I've said too much," you mumbled under your breath, turning your eye away from him once more. You held back the tears that you felt pricked your eyes, spotting the murkiness cloud your vision a little. You rubbed your eyes in an attempt to rid them, but they only continued to spill.

Kaminari hesitated with his next few thoughts, eyeing your expression and the cross look on your face.

"Speaking of which, aside from all of this, there was something else that bothered me," he started, keeping an eye on your reaction. "Last night, you wouldn't say a word. Or, you couldn't. Can you tell me what that was about?"

You bit your lip, hoping the sharp pain would hold off the tears that spilled from your eyes. Every word he spoke felt like a knife in your chest. You recalled last night, almost vividly, innocently writing those words in paper. The fear returned, like it did long ago. You turned your eye away from Kaminari knowing that the overwhelming sadness rippled under your skin.

"Are you sick?" He asked.

"Non" you whispered.

"But last night-"

"Forget last night. I was a kid, I didn't know any better."

"That's not true."

"Will you stop?" You turned to face him, your eyes cross and your anger now swelling inside, replacing the pain and guilt. "Stop the questions."

Kaminari stared into your eyes, fueled by hurt and anger as if he had done an injustice. Confused by your sudden outburst, he slowly approached you, his hand out to reach yours until you violently pulled it away.

"Just go," you ordered. "Leave me under house arrest and go do your job." You turned your back on him, your eyes now staring out towards the docks, watching boats in the distance.

Kaminari said nothing. You heard nothing before the sound of footsteps made their way towards the sliding front door, shutting in the empty apartment. You held onto your arms, trying to comfort yourself before you sank into one of his chairs, head on your lap, silently weeping.

Kaminari made his way to his car, seating himself in the driver's seat before he turned the ignition. He was silent, still processing your reaction and how distressed you were with him. He sighed heavily in exasperation, recalling his treatment of the situation beforehand when he slammed his palms into his driving wheel.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath.

RING

"Hello?"

"Hey Kaminari, catch you at a bad time?" Asked Sero on the other line.

Kaminari eyed his front door, still his mind on you. "No, was about to head to the Public Hero Commission building."

"I need to talk with you about a few things first. Meet me in the city's park in half an hour?"

Kaminari thought about his request for a moment. He hadn't heard anything from Sero since the mission last night, recalling his sudden leave of absence. Perhaps something had happened during all the mania. Maybe another clue in this mess of a situation.

"I can be there in twenty if you can," advised Kaminari.

"No rush man, but yeah, gotta talk."

Kaminari pulled his car out before taking it off from the docks, heading straight into Musatafu. If he wasn't going to get to the bottom of this one way, he hoped he could find success through other means instead, even if that meant not involving you in the process.

Besides, there was a lot he and Sero needed to talk about, he thought.

——

Hours had passed since the argument and you had filled your time reading books for who knew how many rounds you had given them the light of day. However, none of them took your thoughts away from Kaminari's concern. Yes, you lashed out violently at any mention of your past - a thing you had tried to bury many times before, and thought had succeeded. Yet the events of last night, of your fears, your illness, your childish reactions to everything Kaminari was able, it felt hurtful.

The guilt returned knowing of your spiteful tone. And yet you heard nothing from Kaminari. He only left you alone. The thought of this morning replayed in your mind like a broken record, as cliche as it felt. It only made that knife sink deeper in your chest, one made by your own doing.

You knew Kaminari was right, that you had to tell him one day why you did what you did, with the secrets, the charade, and your insistent need to run away. The pain of knowing how many souls you had harmed along the way seared in your mind, like a branding that had scarred the very nature of your life. You were a thing, a tool to be weaponized, even so that whatever goals and purposes you thought were true, were now a stain.

This bodyguard business wouldn't last forever. The Commission would have their way eventually, leaving you with nothing left. Leaving the warmth and comfort of Kaminari's hospitality, patience, and determination, despite his almost goofy and dorky disposition.

Sunlight had now passed over the docks, casting a small shadow along Kaminari's apartment. The skylight itself created a spotlight of the sun's rays in the centre of his lounge. Everyday you've stayed here, you would often stand in the centre of the skylight, pretending it to be centre stage, twirling in its radiance. However, it burned your eyes today, still sore from the tears that sprung after Kaminari had left.

A moment of clarity cleared your mind, as painful as it felt, before coming to the conclusion you needed for yourself and for the sake of Kaminari; a man who had offered you a home despite it being under the Commission's jurisdiction; a man who had only accepted you for who you were, regardless of the actions you had taken in your dreadful past.

A man who comforted you, who tried every means to understand you.

"Sorry, roi de la fee," you whispered to yourself, swimming in your head from all of the painful thoughts-

SMASH

Glass shattered onto your skin while your arms shielded you from the shards that sprayed from the windows. It happened all so sudden, immediately taking to your feet to flee from the now destroyed windowpane. Outside on the docks, a group of men stomped into the apartment, rushing towards you with open hands.

"Grab them!" Yelled one before you felt their hands clutch onto your clothes and skin, grabbing hold of you while they slowly dragged you outside, fighting against your resistance.

"Let go of me!" You yelled, slapping one in the face, while kicking furiously in the air.

"Quickly before someone spots us!"

Amongst the chaos, you pulled against their strength, your flailing limbs swinging violently in the air hoping they would hit anyone nearby. Mid-swing in your violent resistance, you elbowed your assailant in the gut, enough that winded him to release you from his hold. You didn't think, you just ran, scrambling back into the apartment while being chased by the men behind you. You huffed and panicked, pushing any large object in their way to slow them down, whether it were chairs, lamps, or anything of the sort. You only had eyes for the front sliding doors, crashing into it before you pulled against its weight to slide it open.

The spill of the sunlight caught your eye first, blinding your already sore eyes from your tears until a silhouette painted against it, blocking your exit. The height caught you off guard until you recognized the man's long top hat and soon his mask once your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Long time no see, Sirene," he cooed playfully before a glint of something caught your eye in his fingers. You heard the smirk in his voice, turning around to flee from him. But as if time had slowed, you felt your body pull into a void, sucked into the familiar glass marble before you crashed into its glass surface.

"Let me go!" You yelled, your voice bouncing off from the walls, slamming your fists against the thick panes. "Laisse-moi sortir!"

The large shadows skewed by the glass shifted every so often while you felt the inertia of Compress' movements holding onto the marble you now resided in.

"So Dabi's little pet was right after all," he commented, his voice loud yet muffled by the glass. "I should congratulate them on their deduction skills. It's not often we find defectors."

You still slammed your fist fervently against the glass, hoping that you could break through, though you knew it was futile to try.

"Ne me ramène pas!"

Your cries were ignored when it suddenly went dark. Surrounded by the black, the sound of shifting and crunching glass echoed loudly before the rumble of a car's ignition reverberated through the glass space.

You felt truly lost.

How did they find you? What went wrong? In the dark all of these questions found their way to your head, recalling the few times you had carefully managed to keep yourself under wraps. Hiding in plain sight, behind a moniker and a pre-generated face. Making use of the fame to counter every move the Paranormal Liberation Front would possibly be able to exploit. Yet in turn, you exploited others in order to right your wrongs.

And then, there was Kaminari. The few times he had been warm and welcoming. The times he had shown his vulnerability, and his strength. The times he had trusted in you by sharing a part of his life with his friends, all Pro-Heroes to a degree. Everything about Kaminari was like a home, now only realizing this in the dark.

You felt your tears return, trapped wherever Compress had held you captive. The car ride was a one way trip, back to your past, back to the Front, back to the cold table where the General would examine you again, and again, and again.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Please forgive me, Kaminari."

——

Kaminari stood by his warehouse apartment, staring blankly at the shattered glass and rummaged furniture inside. Police tape surrounded the building while crime scene investigators carefully traversed through the mess, numbering evidence after evidence of the now labeled crime scene.

His meeting with Sero was more a cross-reference of notes on a few topics of discussion - Sero's current predicament with the thief as well as his encounter with Seek, at least before either of them would report it to their agencies and the Commission. However, Kaminari's eyes loosely scanned the floor, eyeing the fallen armchair, the glass and the open front door on the other side across the way, but you were nowhere to be found.

"I'm sorry dude," slowly spoke Sero, eyeing Kaminari sadly and unsure what else to say.

"No, don't say that," he retorted with a shaky voice. "This is my responsibility. I should've put the anklet back on. I didn't think." He stared into the apartment, spotting the device still sitting on the corner of his kitchen counter inside. His body trembled with anger and regret, holding back tears of his own while he recollected the argument this morning.

"Chargebolt, thank you for your cooperation in this matter," spoke a fellow agent, her voice calming. "I'm sorry about-"

"No, what have you found?" Interrupted Kaminari, his eyes straining from spilling tears.

"We've retrieved your surveillance footage for what it was able to capture and came across this during the invasion." The agent held a pad, its screen revealing the front end of Kaminari's apartment while the event played. He watched you run through the floor towards the front door, disappearing out of frame until moments after a familiar silhouette appeared, his top hat clearly recognizable.

"Wait a minute! That's Mr. Compress," he exclaimed, grabbing the pad from the agent, glaring at the screen.

"When did you ever have a surveillance system installed?" Questioned Sero beside him.

"We arranged it when we hired him for his services," answered the agent. "It was... precautionary."

"Right."

"How did the Front find out about this?" Questioned Kaminari, his voice shocked.

"We're trying to determine that now," immediately replied the agent, taking the pad back from Kaminari. "But it would be worth noting that we also spotted this onscreen as well." Taken back by the agent's words, she rewound the digital footage on screen, playing through the end of Kaminari's argument up until the moment the anklet began blinking a light. "Someone switched on the anklet's tracker."

A silence was shared between Kaminari and the agent, however Sero looked between the two, confused on what revelation occurred amidst the conversation. "What's so strange about that?" He asked. "Kaminari would've wanted to know where they were."

"I didn't turn it on," explained Kaminari. "Because that mechanism doesn't work unless the anklet was already attached to the person in question. Why would I turn a tracker on if it wasn't on their ankle?"

A multitude of thoughts ran through his head, his eyes darting while he mulled over possible reasons before-

"Who else knows?" he asked, his eyes stern while he stared at the agent.

"Um... only the three of us," she replied, a little taken back by his forwardness.

"Good, keep it that way. This may be an internal affair. I want you only to report to me about this and no one else, got it?"

"But sir, I can't-"

"Please, just trust me," reasoned Kaminari. "If Red Riot and Persona trust your judgement, then I do too." He held his golden gaze on the agent before she nodded, taking the pad and leaving to continue the investigation. His thoughts mingled about, hoping it wasn't the worst case scenario that he imagined in his head. By instinct, he reached for his phone, searching on speed-dial to immediately bring it to his ear.

"Wait, who're you calling?" Asked Sero, slightly anxious of Kaminari's sudden burst of energy.

"Shinsou, we need to speak with his partner about this. They've been following that guy's trail this whole time, right?" explained Kaminari, still waiting.

"Yeah, but how is that going to help?"

To be frank, Kaminari didn't know how to answer that question, but his anger needed to be redirected somehow. He felt the guilt weigh heavily on his shoulders, imagining all of the scenarios that could have played out if only he had made these seemingly available decisions. But time was now against him.

"What is it, Kaminari?" spoke an exhausted tone on the other line.

"Shinsou, we need to meet up. Sero and I have some information that may be important to your case," explained Kaminari over the phone call, his eyes on Sero only to notice his reaction, slightly fervent to quiet Kaminari's request.

"Really? Which one? I've got my hands full with the Tartarus case, and Kitten..." Shinsou's voice trailed at the thought, leaving the phone silent in Kaminari's ear. "Is it about that guy?"

"Yeah, it's about that guy last night," confirmed Kaminari, his eyes still on Sero who had now resigned to Kaminari's actions. "But something else has come up. I'm sure you're going to have a field day with this."

#denki kaminari #kaminari #kaminari x reader #bnha #bnha au #pro heroes #bnha angst #bnha fanfiction

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soudam-appreciation · 4 years ago

Text

Submitted by @shsl-fanficwriter

———————————————

Soudam first kiss oneshot

(This is based off of a new killing game my friend and I created called "Danganronpa 2.5: Despair's last chance. Basically it takes place during Future arc and the group was pulled into the neo world program once again after the virus survived using Nagito as bait. They're in the neo world but they remembered their school lives and the killing game before too. This is just a drabble from Chapter 2 I wrote

Gundham wasn't quite sure what to make of his relationship with Kazuichi. His memories were still hazy from the school life, but that unresolved unaddressed sexual tension they had were more than clear. The first time they went through this, they hated each other's guts. But those new found memories of their friendship were more that overwhelming.

At first Kazuichi tried to ignore those memories, unsure how to handle them, he tried to act as if Gundham didn't exist. But Gundham remembered too. And being the less stubborn of the two, he talked with Kazuichi.

Gundham had insisted they talked and though reluctant at first, Kazuichi agreed. They discussed what in fact their friendship was. Or even if it still existed. They were still rivals, and had been since high school. But unlike then, they hated each other in the simulation. So what exactly were to happen to their relationship? Would they just simply ignore the past and continue fighting for Sonia?

Well unfortunately for Gundham, Sonia eventually chose to turn down both of them. She claimed to have little to no interest in a romantic relationship with either, but instead friendship. Kazuichi had never stopped attempting to flirt with Sonia, but he never quite shook off those memories he had of Gundham in the past.

It had been who knows how long since that day and if their friendship or lack there of was still a mystery, that moment in Jabberwock park after Fuyuhiko's execution made things more strange and confusing. It hadn't meant to happen, but it wasn't an entire accident either.

Gundham had been talking to Souda, comforting him as he learned that his pink-haired friend seemed to have a sensitivity to this second killing game. He still hadn't let go of the guilt of surviving while having to watch the others die. Kazuichi half begged to be killed. He felt unworthy to live through this again.

"And it's not like I want to die, It's just I don't wanna deal with these killings anymore. Finding Nagito's body like that in the hospital, it reminded me of when we found his body last time, It was just so overwhelming and I know that in this simulation nobody really dies, but still the memories of everyone dying are just so haunting and-"

"Kazuichi." Gundham had interrupted, putting his hands on the the other's biceps, forcing him to look Gundham in the eye. "You aren't unworthy of surviving. You made it through. If you hadn't we wouldn't have all gotten as close to awakening from our deepened cursed comas."

Kazuichi sighed. "Yeah, but It wasn't like I was the brains in it anyways. I was just a Mechanic following Alter-Ego's instructions. Anyone could have done it."

That had continued for awhile, Gundham simply reassuring his friend that he wasn't guilty of anything and the deaths of the others weren't in fact his fault. Kazuichi would have been lying if he said that the pep talk hadn't made him feel better.

"Thanks, man." Kazuichi said, wiping his tears away. He gave a weak yet genuine and grateful smile, revealing his unusually pointed teeth ever so slightly. He went back into an embrace, wrapping his arms around Gundham thankfully.

Gundham wasn't one for hugs. He found them uncomfortable and strange, yet he never said so to Kazuichi. Perhaps it was because the uncomfortableness was counteracted but the fact that he was helping Kazuichi. From Kazuichi, he could tolerate hugs.

He hesitantly wrapped his arms around the mortal, holding him close. The embrace didn't last long however, as an unsettling sound like a fork scraping at a plate followed. That sudden sound caused the two surprise as the Park had fallen silent after the hug.

Kazuichi pulled away from the hug and looked in the direction of the sound. His eyes widened at a peculiar sight. One of Gundham's 4 Dark Devas was running around. a knife in his mouth. The blade making a scratching sound as it dragged against the concrete.

"Crimson Steel Elephant Maga-Z," Gundham said in a chill serious tone. "To what reason have you to be roaming around unsupervised with such a dangerous weapon?"

The creature stopped and turned to Gundham. It let out a muffled squeak while holding the knife's handle as in replying.

"You dare disrespect the Prince of the Netherworld by holding Ibuki, your babysitter at knifepoint?"

Maga-Z thought for a moment and squealed again.

Gundham approached him slowly. "Hand over the weapon now and you shall face a less serious consequence." The hamster finally gave in and dropped the knife at Gundham's feet like a dog.

Gundham picked up the hamster and placed him on his shoulder.

Gundham looked back at Kazuichi holding back a laugh. When they made eye contact once again Kazuichi finally let out a snort.

"I-I apologize on Maga-Z's behalf." Gundham said.

Kazuichi gave him a reassuring warm smile. "Nah, bro I totally get it. It's cool.

Gundham held his scarf in front of his face to hide the fact he had begun to blush.

Maga-Z hopped over off of Gundham's shoulder to Kazuichi's, holding the scarf in his mouth. This caused Kazuichi to jump a little and let out a little chuckle.

Gundham, now embarrassed by Maga-Z's little trick reached for the hamster. "Again, I apologize for him-" He began. Before he said any more the hamster quickly jumped to Kazuichi's other shoulder.

Gundham reached for the small deva again, finally picking him up with the scarf's end still in his mouth. "What in the world has driven you to be so devious?" He asked the creature before placing it on his shoulder once more.

"Uh, Gundham?" Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham looked back at Kazuichi, now realizing how close the two had gotten. Maga-Z's little stunt had wrapped Kazuichi in Gundham's long scarf. His eyes widened. "Oh! I apologize again-" He said.

"Gundham it's fine." Kazuichi said, laughing it off. He reached to take the scarf off of his neck when suddenly Maga-Z jumped off of Gundham's shoulder, still holding the scarf's end. it tightened on Kazuichi's neck, forcing him to lean more into Gundham.

He pulled away swiftly, pulling Gundham with him. the sudden weight of Gundham had caused Kazuichi to lose his balance, falling on his back. Gundham fell on top of him. as his head make contact with the ground Kazuichi let out a sound of discomfort.

He looked up at Gundham, now on top of him and felt himself flush. "S-sorry!" He stuttered. " I didn't mean to- I was just trying to pull away and I wasn't thinking-"

Gundham shook his head. "It's... It's fine." He said.

The two looked into each other's eyes. They hadn't made to make eye contact, but now that they had, it was like they were in a trance. Kazuichi finally broke the eye contact by glancing towards Gundham's lips momentarily.

Gundham noticed this and felt as heat rushed to his face. He bit his lip, holding back the strange sudden heat-of-the-moment desires. Kazuichi finally decided to risk it, leaning in towards Gundham's lips.

Gundham slowly leaned in as well. Soon their lips met, but only for a brief moment as they heard a rustle from a nearby bush followed by a thud and a groan.

Kazuichi pulled away to face the bush, shocked to see a girl on her hands and knees with leaves in her hair.

"Ibuki?!"

(sorry this sucks lmao I was bored btw nagito isn't actually dead, he was just stabbed repeatedly. also this is my first oneshot! Go me!)

#submitted by hopelessshipper13 #HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT #I VIBE WITH THIS SO HARD #OH MY G O D THIS IS EXCELLENT!#I LIKE MAGA-Z HOLDING A BLADE #submission 🌙#writing 💕#writing 🌙#gundham x kazuichi #kazuichi x gundham #gundham tanaka #kazuichi souda #soudam #submission

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izzisanauthor · 3 years ago

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A Murderer's Cell

A Prodigal Son fanfic by IzzIsAnAuthor (izzygrace07)

References to memories discussed in 2x03 - "Alma Mater"

----------

Malcolm's fist pounds against the door as he hyperventilates, body trembling with fear. The closet walls suffocate him without moving an inch. It's such a familiar feeling, the exact one he felt during his time trapped in the janitor's closet at Remington Academy. His rational and irrational thoughts fight for dominance in his head, and right now, the nonsensical ones are winning and fill his mind with death.

It's not like anyone would hear his knocking; it's nearly midnight, and the precinct is empty. The murder case he is investigating is similar to one that went cold thirteen years prior, and he needed to grab those files and run them by their current information. Malcolm hadn't thought much of it when he walked into the closet of old case files and rummaged through a few boxes. He didn't know that the door would close on him, shrouding him in darkness.

Malcolm had frozen immediately, unable to comprehend the situation before him. When reaching blindly for the doorknob, he had been shocked to discover that the knob was missing, leaving only the rose behind. Pushing on the door did nothing, and he didn't have the space he would need to kick it open. With nobody left in the building and the doorknob missing, Malcolm was experiencing his biggest fear first-handed: alone in the darkness, trapped in a box with nobody around to hear his cries for help.

The Remington Incident hadn't been this bad. At the very least, there was minute light that helped him see. Yes, he was dangerously dehydrated, starving, and soaked in his sweat, tears, and urine, but Nicky had been merciful enough to let him see. Now, Malcolm can't help but imagine the same scenario; only now, he'd have to survive those three days with his vision inhibited. Dying in darkness, in pain and disgusted with himself, and with nobody around to find him for days was undoubtedly terrifying.

Eventually, Malcolm's sobs turn into silent tears. He leans his body against the door and continues to knock, not nearly as forceful as before, while his free hand trembles wildly at his side. The resignation takes over much faster than the last time he was stuck like this, taking only a few minutes instead of the first six hours of his Remington captivity. This feeling must be what defeatism is, the feeling of complete resignation. He doesn't experience this very often, only ever falling into it when a killer manages to elude him, manipulating the profile and taunting him as more victims get claimed. During those times, he had Gil, Ainsley, or even Dani talk him through it, reassuring him that everything would turn out fine, that profiling isn't an exact science; Malcolm isn't to blame.

Except he is, so his abusive mind tells him, and this is his punishment. He's let so many lives slip through his fingers because he wasn't good enough, fast enough, or intelligent enough to find the monsters responsible. If he had only said the right thing or noticed the essential details a little sooner, he wouldn't have to watch parents lose their children or kids become orphans. He's killed more people than the Surgeon, the man who he promised never to become. After his father's arrest, Malcolm refused to let himself go down the same path, dedicating his life to saving lives instead of taking them. With how much he's failed, he deserves to wither away in isolation, to rot in this cell, like the murderer he is.

Malcolm takes a couple of steps back and leans against the shelves of case files, sliding down to the floor. Every breath is shaky and laborious. He knows that the room walls are secure in the back of his mind, and he has plenty of oxygen. The precinct would open tomorrow, someone would come into the closet to look for files, and Malcolm would be free from his prison. It's not wishful thinking; it's a fact. Yet, at this moment, all he can see is the ceiling collapsing above him, ready to crush his body under the rubble. His breathing feels too heavy, wasting away his air supply. Worst of all, he imagines the precinct opening tomorrow and having plenty of people present, yet nobody notices that he's missing. Even if they did, it's not like anyone would care enough to look. He could bang on this door for hours and catch their attention; they might even figure out that he's in there. They could leave him locked in the closet like Nicky did, knowing fully well that he's suffering behind the door.

When the door opens and the room floods with light, Malcolm doesn't notice. Tears blur his vision, and all he can hear is his own hyperventilating. His fingernails dig into his wrist, desperate to stop his hand from shaking. Somewhere in the distance, he can make out words, but they're impossible to comprehend.

"Bright? Kid, what happened to you?" The voice is familiar, and Malcolm can almost put a name to its owner. "It's okay, Kid. You're okay. Come on, let's get you in the open. Malcolm, can you hear me?"

His first name is what shocks him back into reality. Nobody at the precinct calls him Malcolm except for two people, and only one of those two calls him Kid.

Malcolm blinks away the tears as much as he can, the blur fading from his sight. It isn't easy to see the man before him, the light from the hall making silhouettes out of his features. However, he can see the outline of facial scruff and well-maintained hair, and the recognition finally sets in.

"Gil," Malcolm breathes. A hand takes his own and gently pulls him to his feet. He staggers, his head spinning from the lightheadedness, and nearly falls over. When the throbbing of his head calms, he nods to show he's okay. Gil places a hand on the back of Malcolm's neck, guiding him out of the closet and into the light of the precinct.

He's led to a random desk nearby, practically throwing himself into the chair. The clean air that comes with the open space is heavenly, as if it is a gift from God himself. Gil grabs another chair and pulls it over to Malcolm, sitting across from him.

"So," Gil starts, "are you gonna tell me what happened, Bright?"

"There's not much to say," Malcolm mumbles, a slight waver to his voice. "I walked in the closet, and the door closed on me. That's it."

Gil sighs. "That's not what I mean."

When they found Malcolm in that closet at Remington, the shame erased any sense of relief. New York society already thinks that the Whitley family is dangerous, and that's just with Doctor Whitley's reputation hanging over his head. Malcolm should have known what Nicky would do, just like he should have known what his father was doing to those women. There are so many horrific things that Malcolm could have prevented, but he didn't because he wasn't good enough.

So, when Malcolm was found three days after Nicky trapped him, he told the doctors and police officers that the door shut on him. It was just a freak accident, and nobody was to blame but himself. With that story, nobody thinks of him as a failure or a weak man.

"...Do you remember when they found me at Remington?" Malcolm asks hesitantly.

Gil nods, his eyebrows furrowing. "You could have died in there," he laments. "I can't believe it took the police three days to find you. It was your damn school! We should have looked there first."

The guilt weighs heavy on Malcolm's shoulders. His disappearance worried so many people, and even now, it's obvious how blameworthy Gil feels about the whole thing. But it's not Gil's job to know that kind of information; that's what Malcolm is supposed to do.

He falls into silence upon hearing Gil's words. The worst thing he can do for Gil is to tell him the truth behind the incident.

"I knew you were claustrophobic," Gil continues, "but I didn't think it was that bad. I haven't seen you cry like that in a long time, Kid."

Malcolm lets out a soft chuckle and directs his gaze to the ground, wiping his palms against his slacks. "That was pretty embarrassing."

He jumps when Gil's hand rests on his knee, squeezing comfortingly. Malcolm glances up and finds Gil watching him with protective eyes. It nearly makes him shrink in his seat, overwhelmed by the sudden change in demeanour.

"Bright, you were traumatised," Gil states. "You were on your death bed. If that happened to me and I had been the one stuck in there, I would have freaked, too."

Malcolm gives a slight nod. He doesn't mean to, but he lets Gil's words go through one ear and out the other. They've been said before by anyone who has ever had the displeasure of seeing him in this state. It's bittersweet to have their sympathy when they have no idea why he's terrified.

"...Nicky Covington." He doesn't hear himself say the name, but he must have, seeing Gil's confused reaction.

"What about him?"

The trembling of Malcolm's hand worsens with the question, and he slams his stable hand over it, squeezing his wrist. Gil grabs both hands and pulls them apart, holding onto them both. It gives Malcolm a sense of security, keeping his mind down on Earth.

"It's okay," Gil says tenderly. "You can tell me, Malcolm." The earnestness in his words makes Malcolm's heart skip a beat. All these years, he's kept the truth behind the Remington incident quiet, choosing to exact revenge on Nicky in such a psychopathtic manner. He should have told Gil the truth back then; Gil would have been there to help him through the shock. He would have gotten Nicky put behind bars, unable to hurt another man.

Instead, he acted as his father would have and tried to kill him. Now, he's tired of having that skeleton in his closet.

"Nicky Covington, he..." Malcolm clears his throat. "The door didn't close on me. He locked me in there when he found out about my father." He looks down shamefully, refusing to meet Gil's eyes. "I lied to the police about the whole thing."

The silence is deafening and sends Malcolm's heart racing. He can feel his pulse clogging his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The usual berating voices he hears are abnormally quiet, waiting anxiously for Gil's reply.

"I know."

Malcolm blinks a few times and intelligently replies, "...What?"

"Kid, did you think I didn't investigate at Remington after they found you?" Gil says incredulously, shaking his head. "The janitor was bribed by the Covington family to lie about the locks. They didn't automatically lock like he said they did; an outside force would have to do it. They paid off the courts to keep quiet, of course, but at the very least, I got a good idea of what happened." He sighs, rubbing his thumbs over Malcolm's hands. "You know you're not The Surgeon, right?"

Malcolm nods halfheartedly. "I know. I do, really, but... Those women--"

Out of his peripheral, he sees Gil lean forward, trying to catch his eye. "You were a kid, Bright. No kid wants to believe their dad is a bad guy. It wasn't your job to catch him; it was ours, and we did."

When Malcolm opens his mouth to argue, Gil sticks up a finger, silencing him. "As a consultant for Major Crimes, you're bound to see people die. It's just a fact. But when you see people die, Malcolm, you want to catch the killer and lock them away. That's what makes you different from Martin Whitley; you do your job to protect people from criminals like him."

Malcolm feels a smile forming on his face. He squeezes Gil's hands. "Thanks, Gil."

Gil stands up, pulling Malcolm up with him. "It's late. We've got a case to work on tomorrow, so get some sleep, alright?"

"Never," Malcolm says, beaming. He may not believe Gil's words to the fullest, but at the very least, he can try to accept them: he isn't the Surgeon. He's Malcolm Bright, and he isn't to blame for what happened to him.

#prodigal son #my writing #fanfiction #claustrophobia #alma mater #trapped in a closet #near death tw #phobia tw #original post on archiveofourown

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