#lots of angst

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

[pjoxreader]

can you do something with jason, leo, and percy where they turn on the reader or something and they have to kill their s/o because someone told them that they were evil??

Reader Gets Betrayed by Their SO

TW (Death, Blood, Broken bones)

Jason Grace

-There you stood looking up at your boyfriend in the raging rain storm. Rain was pelting you as if it was hail. Thunder claps above the two of you illuminating his blonde hair and making his blue eyes seemingly glow in the cloudy gray storm clouds as he stares down at you coldly. -”Jason! Please!” You beg him, voice cracking as you plead. You couldn’t believe it, your boyfriend, the person you had trusted the most had turned against you. You wanted to believe he was being controlled, that this was some cruel monster forcing him to do this…

-But it wasn’t. You knew deep down that he wasn’t. Jason lands in front of you, flicking out his coin and summoning his sword. “Jason you don’t understand…” You try. But the look in his eye… He… He was determined to kill you. You never once imagined what it was like to be a monster…

-Yet now you felt bad for them, being forced to stare down these cruel eyes before their death. You force yourself to draw your sword as he charges you, the two of you clashing swords, you’re barely able to keep your defense up as your feet dig into the ground.

-Tears were forming in your eyes as you kicked him back to try and get space. But he kneels getting ready for a lunge. You… You didn’t have time to move. The same move you had spent hours in training to avoid… Would be your downfall? You could only gasp pathetically grabbing at his shirt in a last desperate attempt to get to him as you feel the blade enter your stomach. You barely manage to grab hold of his shirt looking down and seeing the blade impaled you through your stomach blood seeping down his blade. 

-You fall to your knees looking up at the sky as the rain pelts you, helping wash away your tears as you could only helplessly look at the one you used to love. “I… Love… You…” you manage to choke out through the blood before you lose all your energy collapsing to the ground. Jason lets out a feral yell of anguish into the storm as thunder roars above him as the lone survivor. 

Leo Valdez

-Oh how the fates were cruel. The only thing you wanted in this world was for someone to love you. And they granted you that. For two wonderful years you had dated your boyfriend enjoying every second of it.

-But the fates are restless. You were exhausted, trying to catch your breath as you stared down your boyfriend. “Leo… please… Please at least hear me out.” you beg him between breaths. Leo had his hammer at the ready, a few tears in his eyes as he stayed ready in his fighting stance. 

-”I don’t want to hear it, How could you… How could you betray camp…? How… How could you betray me?” his voice cracks at the end as he grips his hammer so tightly his knuckles turn white. With that he moves in closer to you raising the hammer high and bringing it down full force.

-You barely manage to block the attack with your sword, but it breaks in half the rest of Leo’s strike landing fully on your arm with a sick snap. You cry out in anguish falling back as you cling to your surely broken arm. -You try to move but you can't. You were just too tired to… You pant weakly looking up at the sky as you try to catch your breath. At least it was a beautiful day… Leo blocks your sight, tears going down his face as he lifts the hammer blocking the sun from your eyes.

-”I love you...” you say, giving him a last smile before the hammer swings down. You feel an anguished pain, dizziness but… But then the pain starts to fade. You could hear Leo sobbing but it was too far. You try to reach for him despite the fact you couldn’t see but to no avail, your hand goes limp before you could. 

Percy Jackson

-The beach had so many fond memories for you. Where you and percy first kissed, where he asked you out and you even had your first date here… But… But now you were trying to stand your ground against your boyfriend.

-You had seen percy lose himself in rage before but nothing like this. “No more… How… How many people are going to betray me!” he roars in anguish water raising to life behind him. You could only try to leap out of the way to avoid a blast of water that takes down a pine tree not far from you.

-”Percy please! I didn’t betray you! I wouldn’t!” you try to reason, barely avoiding another blast. It took everything you had to keep avoiding the strikes, but then your body tenses up as he holds his hand to you. You could feel every vein in your body clench. Was… Was he controlling your blood…?

-”Percy… Percy please…” you choke out feeling yourself fall under his control only barely able to plead him. “No more… No more!” He yells water rushing you in an intense flurry trapping you in a swirling vortex in a bubble.

-You gain control of your body, struggling to get free but you are spiraling inside the bubble unable to even reach out.Tears form in your eyes as you feel your lungs burning desperately clawing at your throat as you attempt to breathe.

-You pathetically reach out to Percy in a last silent plea but he only stares at you, those cold eyes as cruel and dark as the ocean stare into your soul as your vision starts to fade. The last bubbles of air leaving your throat with those eyes being the last sight you ever see.

 

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

[discordantwords]

NOW COMPLETE!

Chapters: 23/23 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Additional Tags: Post-Reichenbach, Alternate Season/Series 03, John Watson is a Mess, Mary Morstan is Not Nice, Bad Mary Morstan, Secrets, Lies, Pining, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sherlock Holmes Misses John Watson Summary:

Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead. Things only get worse from there.

Read it here on AO3!

[purpleyoonn]

baby (you complete us) 2

C H A P T E R   T W O

summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut,

pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

chapter warnings: lots of insecurities, upset bangtan, determined bangtan, bangtan become simps, mentions of depression, mentions of disability, negative feelings towards disability, 

masterlist // chapter 1 // chapter 3

taglist: @imnotlauriane  @mageprincess7 @m1sss1mp @0funsite0  @strawberry-moonpies @this-isthe-way @singukieee @btsw1fe @gooooomz  @fluffy-canada-pancakes @carolinexkpop @agusfree @sakurarukas @iamkookiesforyou @skyys-universe @toughbook @plutoneu @whisperssuga @welcometomyworld13 @yuzon3 @wittyreader @jnghs @cyd0129 @exfolitae​ @queen-in-the-shadows​ @nen-nyy​ @pandxthings​ @schniti-is-in-the-house​ @juju-227592​ @jinseartharmysmoon​ @wooya1224​ @ddaeng-angmoh​ @gratefullygrateful​ @rorythme​ @gratefullygrateful​ @kimrona​ @jjjj-ssi​ @maysgarden​ @lovelgirl22​ @doublebunv​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @reallysparklychaos​ @jayjayy-57​

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Previously on baby (you complete us): 

They had another soulmate.

One who had been wearing theirs for ten years.

One who had been messaging them.

And their last message said they lost hope and were going to take the bracelet off.

After receiving their soulmate notifications, Sejin had gathered them up quickly and brought them back to their dorms. They were all in shock, so many thoughts going through their minds. They didn’t need to be around others as they processed this. Sejin decided he would talk to his team, figure out what the needed to do next.

The boys remained glued to their home, their couches occupied by multiple bodies as none of them moved into their shared room. They had spent the past couple of days reading all of the messages you had sent, their hearts heavy as they read about your life, the good and the increasingly bad over the past four years.

Tissues and blankets were splayed over the room, their faces puffy as they come to the realization that their mate was an army, their songs helping your through the toughest points in your life, only for you to lose hope because of them. To believe that they wouldn’t want you at all.

Their hearts broke and their souls ached.

But they could only imagine how you felt. It did seem as though they didn’t want you, and they were unable to prove otherwise before you lost hope. You spent ten years hoping for them to come, only for them to come too late.

“Hyung…we have to find her.” Jungkook couldn’t help but sob, his grip on Taehyung tightening as he continued to read the messages over his older mate’s shoulder. Jin was behind Jungkook, holding him as he cried out.

Jungkook was your age, and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining your life, your expression as you told them about your days. He imagined his time with his mates, wondering what would have happened if they had found you sooner.

“I know.” Namjoon, too, was having trouble keeping himself closed off. His face was puffy and his face had tear stains marked down his cheeks. He held a pillow to his chest, looking over his mates as they cried in each other’s arms.

He had been messaging Sejin all morning, determined to find you. They started with your profile, the profile picture helping only a tiny bit. They had their social team looking through all social media, looking for a facial match. They also used any information given from your messages to find you.

Yoongi suggested going through info attained from medical records, remembering the man from Soul Connection had said something about it. That there may be connections if the person allowed. Someone on their team was in the middle of talking with the company, trying to get access to those records.

“We will find her, even if we have to make an announcement on Twitter.” The reassurance from their leader helped a little, but when they finished reading your messages, their heart ache turned into determination.

Jungkook was the first, going back to the very beginning and responding to each and every message you sent. The others soon following suit. Messages in some broken English and Korean were sent. It took another couple of days but the team was not able to find you.

Sejin said their best hope was to send out an announcement, and that if you were truly an army, you would see is and hopefully turn to the app. They would send you a message, telling you that they would like to talk to you and sending you the number of one of their translators.

Their only hope of finding you was if you were to see their announcement somehow.

They had to hope that you still wanted them, even if your actions spoke differently.

-*-*-

It had been almost a week since you had taken off your bracelet, consequently giving up the hope you had of ever finding your soulmates.

It was a weird feeling, almost as if you noticed even more the number of soulmates around you, like your heart was still hoping your soulmates would just show up, in front of you, or give you a sign at least that they were looking for you as well.

But you knew that wasn’t going to happen. If it did, it would have happened years ago. Soulmate bracelets had become common a couple years back, and almost everyone you knew wore one.

It was around 9 o’clock am and you were at your favorite café, your work laptop in front of you as shifted through emails, sending ones to trash as you deemed fit. You had a large coffee in front of you, refilled probably twice by now along with an empty plate that once held a lemon loaf slice.

The television played in the background as you listened to the sounds of the café, taking a small break so you don’t end up hurting your eyes even more. You had been there since they opened at five thirty, unable to sleep.

You had been having trouble sleeping since taking off the bracelet, attributing the issue to the different feeling of a weightless wrist. Change was always a motive for your body to have sleeping difficulties, unfortunately.

Rubbing your eyes, not caring about the left over makeup residue, you open them again only to catch sight of the television, one of your favorite kpop groups, BTS, was on it, well a picture of them was. It was followed by a twitter post, the word “soulmate” catching your eye.

You quickly close out your email and head to google, going straight to twitter and signing in. The first thing that came up was the post from the official Bighit account.

Hello.

This is BIGHIT MUSIC.

The collaboration BTS is doing with Soul ConnectionÔ has brought to our attention the presence of another soulmate within the already bonded group. All seven members have responded to the bracelet notification and are waiting for their soulmate to respond.

However, due to some unforeseen circumstances, they have been unable to get any information about their soulmate, as their profile is private due to either personal settings or from not wearing the bracelet.

We are asking that if their soulmate is reading this, that they please answer the messages that have been sent and get into contact with us.

This is of the utmost importance, as now that both parties are aware, soul symptoms are soon to begin and we wish to place importance upon the health of both parties.

Thank you.

The tweet was retweeted by BTS themselves, with the caption, “please help us, army.”

It had your mind racing, wondering if they were your mates, seeing as you had seven of them according to the app. You looked down at your mark, before looking away, a sigh leaving your lips.

There was no way BTS were your mates. Absolutely ridiculous.

Your brain was just trying to save you the heartache of being completely abandoned by your own soulmates, so it was coming up with ridiculous ideas to ease the pain. But it wasn’t going to work, as you were already familiar and comfortable with the idea of pain.

You decided that enough was enough for the day and decided to go home and actually enjoy your day off before your pushed past your limits. You knew them well enough, and always tended to teeter on the line of too much. You couldn’t help it, still kind of bitter about the years old diagnosis.

Picking up food on your way home, you managed to not need your cane, a silent thank you to the sky above as you pushed your door open with your hip. You placed the food on the small side table and your laptop bag on the floor besides your desk.

Just as you moved to open your takeout container, your phone was ringing from inside your sweatshirt pocket. Groaning, you pulled it out after putting your fork down.

“Hello?” You asked into the phone, not even bothering to take a second to check the name on your screen.

“Hey sis!” You sighed, knowing that your food was going to get cold before your sister ever decided to hang up the phone.

“Hey Ken. What’s up?” Your sister, Kennedy, was a fashion editor for some magazine in New York, having gotten an internship after graduation, where they ended up hiring her on. She’d been in New York for over seven years now.

“Nothing much, just saw the news and word on the street is that your lover boys have found their last soulmate. I just wanted to see if I could ease the poor heartbreak that I knew my baby sister would inevitably feel...Unless you have something to tell me?” You rolled your eyes at her, seeing that she hasn’t changed since you last saw her for your dad’s birthday the year before.

“Dude, I am not heartbroken, your dramatic.” You listen as she laughs into the phone. You completely ignore her joke that you might be their soulmate.

“Are you sure? If I remember correctly, just a couple months ago Daniel sent me a video of you drunk and crying because J-Hope posted a video of Jungkook and Jimin laughing.” You cringed, remembering this exact video, and how you proceeded to punch your brother the next morning for sending it to everyone.

“What did you say? “Why are they so smol and cute?” Was that it? No, I think you were pointing out how beautiful Jimin’s eye smile was. Aha! That’s it.” You could tell she was wearing a smirk on her lips, proud of reminding you about your drunken breakdown over Jimin’s smile. You would never live this down.

“Haha. Very funny. If I remember correctly, I still have a video of you on my phone trying to use my cane as a stripper pole and falling down on your ass, flashing everyone.” You bring up her own drunken mishap.

“I thought you deleted that!” She practically screamed through the phone, making your own smirk grow.  

“Now why would I do that when you bring up my own drunk video every couple months. I gotta have something up my sleeve.” It was quiet for a couple minutes, your sister’s breathing the only thing coming through the receiver.

“Okay fine, truce for now?”

“Truce for now.” You repeat back your own little saying.

“But I really did call to check on you. I heard from Daniel that you haven’t been having the best week.” Another sigh leaves your lip as you think of your older brother.

You were the baby of the family, Kennedy being three years older than you and Daniel being the eldest, only two years older than Kennedy. They were both protective of you, of course, but Daniel had seen firsthand what the death of your mother and your medical diagnosis had put you through. Had seen you when you were at your worst when your sister was in New York, unable to get time off to help.

He visited you every weekend, and you had lunch with him every Wednesday, without fail, for the past three years. He took you to doctor’s appointment and was in the middle of helping you to make your home more accessible for when your body was pushed past its limits. 

He offered to buy you a wheelchair, but you declined, saying you weren’t that bad yet. You knew mobility aids were expensive, and didn’t want him to have to pay for it.

“I’m fine Ken. Daniel is just being a worrywart like always.” You dismiss her concerns, not wanting anyone to worry about you.

“You know you can always talk to me about anything, right? I’m always here for you.”

“I know, Ken.”

The conversation only lasted for a couple more seconds before Kennedy hung up, knowing she wasn’t going to get anything out of you. You had closed yourself up those past couple years; Kennedy knew that not even messaging your mates on the soul app was helping anymore. She wondered if you still wore the bracelet, wondered if you had found them or not.

You spent the rest of the day lounging around your living room furniture, unable to get comfy as your hip decided to give you issues. It took three hours for you to finally find a comfy position, only for your mind to decide to linger on your sister’s words.

BTS had found their soulmate, and they were waiting on their soulmate to contact them. Usually, if there was a bond match, the private setting would shift so the matching soulmate could see their profile. The only way that BTS couldn’t see their matches profile but see their picture or send a message was if the soulmate in question was no longer wearing their bracelet or hadn’t worn it yet.

It had your thoughts whirling. It all seemed too coincidental in your mind. The night you take yours off, BTS supposedly finds their missing soulmate through the bracelet. You kept telling yourself that there was no way, that you were just delusional.

But there was a very small part of you that thought, maybe it is me.

And unfortunately for you, that thought beat out your other ones in a competitive battle.

You made your way to your room, to the junk drawer in your dresser that held the bracelet. Once you put it on, you knew your app would update, and you would be able to access your soul profile. If you were their soulmate, on the very miniscule percentage that you were, you would see a notification in your messages.

You held the bracelet in your hands, just observing it, wondering if you were getting your hopes up once again, not sure if you could pick up the pieces this time. After several minutes, you finally plucked up the courage and strapped the bracelet on your left wrist, just over your mark.

Your mark was a single moon phase, the full moon in particular. You were under the impression that your seven mates held the other phases on their own wrists, creating the full cycle. Once you had the bracelet on correctly, you turned to your phone, pulling it out and almost immediately getting the notification that the Soul Connection app had been updated.

You opened it, waited for it to load, and paused when you saw the number 654, the little red bubble sitting at the corner of your messages tab. You couldn’t believe it. You had over thirty notifications, six hundred plus messages in your inbox, and seven matches to your profile.

It had to be a coincidence.

It had to be a coincidence that you had seven matches within the time you had taken off your bracelet, and that they had put theirs on.

You clicked on the messages first, tears coming to your eyes as you scrolled all the way to the top, replies waiting to be clicked on for every single one of the messages you have sent over the past ten years.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, needing to rub your tired eyes more than once as English and Korean replies were sent, responding to each and every one of your own messages. Hundreds of apologies written as you scrolled, each one sorry for waiting so long to wear their bracelets.

You moved over to the ‘matches’ button, needing to confirm with your own thoughts what was happening. And there it was, seven matches, their profile pictures and names only confirmed that you were the missing soulmate to BTS.

Next Chapter

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

Maybe the teen (about 15 ish) daughter of an unsub who spencer is questioning about her unsub dad and there's clearly more that her dad is doing to her that she won't tell him about and maybe she gets a little clingy to spencer?

Spencer Reid x Teen Reader

Request: Maybe the teen (about 15 ish) daughter of an unsub who spencer is questioning about her unsub dad and there's clearly more that her dad is doing to her that she won't tell him about and maybe she gets a little clingy to spencer?

Third person pov...

Y/N walked into the police station, she had been called by thr sheriff to come in, they had some questions for her. They had been calling about her Dad all week.

Which of course made that his reason to beat her, accusing her of rating him out to the police, she promised him she never said anything of course he never listened.

Y/Ns father is the serial killer the police have been looking for, hes been kidnapping and murdering young girls who he finds annoying in some way for the past 6 months, a new one goes missing every week.

Y/N of course has witnessed every kill and kidnapping, the man was ruthless if he wasn't killing and making the girl watch, then he was abusing his daughter.

Still recovering from the beating she got jsut before she left the house the teen pulls at her clothes making sure her neck and wrists are covered.

Limping slightly she tells the receptionist who she is and they tell her the sheriff if waiting for her, giving the officer a smile she walks through the busy bullpen until she get to the sheriffs office.

Knocking on the door she walks in. "Hey there Y/N, glad you could come down" Says Sheriff Briest, he stands up and walks towards the teen, noticing how she steps back automatically.

The sheriff of course noticed, he had been called to the L/N residence alot over the years since Y/Ns Mum died, reports of crying and shouting coming from inside the house.

When questioned Mr L/N would tell them everything was okay and that Y/N was acting up, these lies continued all her life making the young girl seem like a troubled teenager who was rude and never listened to anyone.

Though the sheriff knew something was wrong he saw the signs and so did his officers but knowone was able to do anything about it as Y/N never told anyone not even when she was a kid.

Threat of death proved to be useful, Her Father would remind her what would happen should she tell anyone. "There's some people I want you to answer some questions for okay" Says the Sheriff.

Y/N freezes sightly as they walk into one of the briefing room that was usually unoccupied, but was now being used by a group of people. 'FBI' thought the girl instantly.

"Agent Hotchner, Y/N is here. Y/N these are the Behavioural Analysis Unit. They are here to help us find the killer" explained Sheriff Briest, Y/N doesn't look up at the people.

If she looked anyone in the eye she'd get beat again by her Father. She learnt that the hard way when she looked up at someone who was speaking to her Dad when she was 6. Since then she avoids eye contact.

"Hi" Says the teen looking at the shoes of the agents. "Hello Y/N, I'm Agent Hotchner these are Agents Jareau, Gideon, Morgan , Greenaway and Dr Reid" says polished black shoes.

"Nice to meet you" mutters Y/N, soon she is sitting in an interrogation room with Dr Reid. Nervously tapping her finger on the table she waits for the young Dr to walk in and ask her questions.

Minutes later the man walks in and sits down on the chair infront of her. After a few seconds of silence he speaks. "Hello Y/N, my names Spencer I work with the BAU, I'm going to ask you some questions okay?" He tells the girl.

Y/N nods her head. "Yes sir" she mutters wanting to go home and not be there. "Now can you tell me about your Father" Says the man, Y/N freezes her tapping increasing as she shakes slightly.

Trying desperately to stop shaking she answers the question. "I love my Dad, he doesn't do anything wrong he loves me" she says, her voice robotic as if it had been planted into her head as an automatic answer to that specific question.

Spencer takes notes of her behaviour, eyeing the two way glass he askes another question. "I'm sure he does, now, does your father leave for long periods of time, not telling you where he's going or why?"

Y/N hesitates before shaking her head. "He doesn't, Dad is always as home after work, dad loves me he doesn't do anything wrong" Spencer notes how the last part it connected to the answer from before.

"Okay, Y/N. Does your Dad hurt you?" Spencer knows asking that question would have a strong reaction but he didn’t expect the girl to slam her hand on the table and stand up and start pacing.

"No he doesn't hurt me! Dad loves me he doesn't hurt me" she yells almost crying, tears in her eyes but not falling yet, Spencer gasps at the raw emotion in the 15 year old eyes.

Desperation seeped into her voice, as she stared into the man's eyes, he noticed this was the first time he had seen her eyes. Suddenly the girl gasped and slammed her back into the wall.

Gripping her head she bring smacking her back against the wall. "Nonononono can't do that against the rules can't do that" she mumbles falling into hysterics, Spencer is soon joined by Derek and Elle.

The two had ran in when Y/N started repeating to herself. The three stand in shock not knowing what to do to help, Spencer is quick to notice the bruises on her neck and wrists. "Morgan" he whispers, the man nods his head he's seen the bruises on the girl.

Pulling out his phone, him and Elle leave Spencer alone with Y/N, the girl is still smacking her back on tjr wall as if she was punishing herself, the man slowly inches towards the grill.

"Y/N, Y/N its me Spencer remember" he whispers to the girl, holding out his hands non threateningly he speaks to the teenager desperate to calm her dow from her panic attack.

"Nonono broke the rules" muttered the girl. "Y/N you haven't broken any rules, your Father can't get you here okay, your safe your safe with me" he tells the girl, slowly Y/N pulls her hands awa from her hair and stopping smacking her back against the wall.

Smiling at the teen Spencer stays back. "I'm safe here" she whispers horsely, Spencer nods his head. "Yes that's right your safe here, I won't let anyone hurt you" he says.

Y/N slowly begins to inch closer to the man eagerly seeking comfort, soon the girl was throwing herself at him, Spencer hugs her tightly whispering that she was okay and he wouldn't hurt her.

An hour later the Team and swat had arrested Y/Ns Father for the abuse she suffered and 15 accounts of murder.

Over the next few days adter they had caught the killer, Y/N had grown close to Spencer, she wouldn't let him out of her sight scared her father would come and hurt her, Spencer stayed with the teen while she recovered in hospital from the abuse she suffered from her father.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot sorry for the wait, as usual sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Request are open!

Word count: 1277

[lets-try-some-writing]

A Cycle Unending: Snippet #1

The Matrix must have something to fuel it as it empowers its bearer. A strong frame or a powerful spark.

Orion Pax had neither of these when he took it, and his life became limited. Thus, to ensure that the Autobots would not be destroyed in his absence, he created a means to continue on, if only in spirit.

(I be thinking up more angst. Don't judge me its almost finals I'm stressed.)

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[PRIME-0]

To take the Matrix was an honor. That was what the priests told him.

Orion believed them. Optimus did as well. 

“You will not last long. Your frame was too weak to accept this burden.” Alpha Trion stood by his side, holding Optimus’s shaking servos. The Master Archivist was right. Looking at his frame it was clear he did not have much time left. The Matrix was sucking him dry, ripping away vitality and youth with a viciousness that was not intended.

The relic needed a strong frame or a strong spark to fuel it. Optimus had neither. When he took the relic, his body was beaten from the first fires of war and his spark was weary from so many sorrows. There was nothing for the Matrix to consume, and thus it was beginning to devour him. Optimus could tell it did not want to, the relic almost seemed to weep as it worked.

But there was always a cost for power. And this… This was the consequence of his decision to accept the gift Primus bestowed.

“How long do you believe I have?” Optimus’s voice rumbled, deep, gruff, and worn. Over the course of a mere few stellar cycles, he had aged exponentially. Taking the Matrix left him spry and willing to take on the world at first. But with time, that strength faded into cold and uncaring wisdom that spoke of a grim truth.

He was going to die soon.

“A few stellar cycles at most. Your frame was only strong enough to withstand it for a vorn, and half that time has already passed.” Optimus bit his lower derma, anger and anguish building up in his vocalizer in a pained cry he refused to voice.  The Matrix was too much, too powerful for his spark and frame to handle. It would bleed him until he had nothing to give and his people would have no one to lead them. Megatron would rule their world, and countless innocents would perish in his rage. It could not be allowed. Optimus could not leave his people so soon.

“I will not abandon my people. I will not leave them without a leader.” He spoke with conviction, his mind already running through any possibility that yet remained. He doubted he could preserve his life, but perhaps he could find a way to ensure his people endured.

“You won’t. There may yet be a way to ensure Cybertron always has a Prime to guard it.” Alpha Trion’s rumbling voice washed over him, soothing Optimus’s turbulent thoughts. If Alpha Trion believed there was a way, then Optimus was inclined to believe him. His master had not been wrong yet. 

“What must I do to ensure this?” He could feel creases under his optics shift as he looked up at his mentor. He had not been marked by such things before. Age was catching up to him so quickly that he hardly had time to process it. There was not a single moment to waste.

“Come with me. We shall begin work immediately.” Alpha Trion pulled on his servos lightly, his field wide and almost desperate. Optimus vented deeply and nodded. Whatever was to come needed to be completed quickly. He could feel his strength fade with every passing cycle.

Time was not on his side.

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“You are sure this will work?” Optimus adjusted his glasses as he leaned on his cane. His vents came in tortured rasps, age having taken its toll. He could hardly see even with his glasses, but he still understood what he was looking at.

“Yes. The cycle has been completely automated. As long as those who come after you contribute what is required of them, there will always be one to carry the mantle.” Optimus nodded as he sensed Alpha Trion begin to shift away. A young life flared within his spark chamber, one he had been cultivating for the last few stellar cycles he had left. It had no other parent. The newspark was a piece of him and him alone.

For that reason, it would be weak. But because it was of him, it would be accepted by the relic he bore.

“Will they live longer than me?” He voiced his burning question, sorrow growing deep within him as he felt the newspark in his frame shift and flare. No one deserved this fate… but it was better that one line carry the burden rather than leave a whole world hanging by a thread, hoping one of their Primes would be worthy.

“No. Their frames will be stronger, but without an additional contribution of CNA, their sparks will not have the fortitude to withstand the Matrix for much longer than you.” A shaky vent escaped him as Optimus stepped forward and placed his servo on the glass of the tank in front of him. He hated that this was the fate he had condemned his line to. But who else would be able to shoulder the burden? Who else would have the knowledge and the wisdom to fight against Megatron effectively? 

It had to be him. There was no other choice. 

“Will they care for my loved ones as I do?” Worry grew within him as he thought about all those that he would be leaving behind. Elita-One, his dear Conjunx, would be without him soon enough. How long had it been since he’d seen her? He honestly couldn’t remember. Once he knew what the Matrix was doing to him, he pulled away from everyone. He didn’t want them to see him as he fell apart.

Ratchet, Jazz, Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Springer, Kup, Blaster… how many others would suffer in his absence? Would they even know he was gone when all was said and done?

Was it really worth it?

“They will be perfect copies in frame and memory, but every spark is unique, even ones split from a singular source.” Optimus sighed as he registered the answer given. There was no assurance that those who came after him would care for his loved ones as he did.

Yet another cost he had to pay for their people’s salvation.

“I understand.” His voice echoed in the cold underground lab. He dreaded the feeling of loneliness those who came after him would experience. Forged into such a clinical and lifeless place… it was horrific. Still, it was the only way to keep them safe until they could take up their inherited function.

Slag, he really was just as bad as the Council. Here he was, deciding the future of countless sparks, giving them a function they may or may not despise and predetermining their entire lives. How cruel he was…

“I’m so sorry. To all those who come after me, I pray that you may find it in your sparks to forgive me.” He leaned against the glass of the pod, tears gathering in his optics as he felt the newspark within him flutter in concern. It would not be long now. Soon, the cycle would begin.

He could only pray that it would have an end.

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[PRIME-1]

From the moment he opened his optics for the first time, Optimus saw the world differently. 

He didn’t notice much at first. His inherited memory guided him into integrating into normal life perfectly. There was work to be done and he was young and excitable. He wanted nothing more than to live each cycle to the fullest and end the war as soon as possible. That was his design, and the memory left to him told him as such. 

It felt so close to him. For in his optics, each cycle had the weight of an entire millennia. To his young mind, all he had to do was speak to Megatron and things would work themselves out. The original knew Megatron, and he was sure his inherited memory would afford him the diplomatic power he needed. He did not realize how different he was when he saw how deep the grudges between Cybertron’s citizens ran.

He learned he saw things differently when he looked at his fellows. They felt almost alien to him at times with how distant everything seemed for them. Ratchet would easily devote whole stellar cycles of his life to a single project or thought without hesitation simply because the time meant nothing to him. Jazz would wait in solitary positions or live undercover for vorns at a time when required, never flinching or hesitating. Optimus could hardly comprehend that level of dedication.

Blaster would put his very spark into communications and song, entire deca-cycles lost in a blur of rhythm and composition. Prowl would live and breathe his office and the work therein, never so much as stepping out unless summoned. Optimus did not doubt the officer would remain in his office for entire millennia if left to his own devices. Even Ultra Magnus’s actions left Optimus reeling. He could barely comprehend the level of dedication the commander put into filing and keeping things organized.

The things they saw as so minor, so very miniscule… Those things accounted for almost the entirety of Optimus’s lifespan. It was impossible for him to view the world as they did. Time was a precious thing for him, and every decision he made was all the greater because of it. He knew his time was limited, and so he did everything in his power to make the most of it. His fellows did not understand when he threw himself into battle to plead with Megatron, using the memories he was gifted to speak reason. There was no way they could comprehend how much it hurt him when he failed to succeed in his mission. 

All those around him operated on such grand scales. They couldn’t understand why Optimus tried to move so quickly, why he pushed for offensive strikes and peace talks one after another without end. They tried to tell him to stop, to bide his time.

He couldn’t afford to do that. Six stellar cycles was all it took for his youth to have run its course. 

His limbs began to lose their strength, his enthusiasm dimmed and quieted. As age began to creep upon him, he looked upon his creased face and began to understand. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t angry. He was content in his life running its natural course. His fellows would be horrified if they aged so rapidly, but they saw the world in millennia. Optimus viewed it all in cycles, each just as important as the last.

His time for proactive action was over. His duty was to ensure that everything stayed in one piece until it was time for the next one to take his place. His life had not been without meaning. He had gathered knowledge, and with his knowledge, the one who came after him would know better than to waste his limited life trying to speak to Megatron the way Optimus had.

He knew when the time was right. The cycle he found himself unable to walk without pain, he smiled in contentment and bid his inner circle farewell. He walked the same path he followed when he was freshly forged. Now world weary and aged, he entered the place he was created and collected one of the many datapads lining the walls. It was empty. They all were. Each was to be a record, a comprehensive collection to be consulted when the memory of the dead was too great to bear.

He settled in the only chair in the clinical space and wrote of his experiences. It was pleasant, a final farewell in a sense. His life had been short, but it had not been without meaning. He was the first, it was to be expected that he would fail. 

As he finished his writing and put the pad away, he vented deeply. Part of him wanted to be afraid as he stepped into the pod that had given him life. But as liquid rose and his consciousness faded, he found himself content.

The cycle would continue.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

[PRIME-5]

Optimus had known it was going to happen eventually. Those who came before him tended to spend their final cycles concerned, worried that this exact scene would play out for them or their successor. Up until his life, there had been no need to really think about it. All of the friends the original made became their friends as well. There was nothing strange. It simply was. Even the lingering fear of connections the original held becoming problematic wasn’t much of a concern since most were scattered across the planet.

But of course, being the fifth, it seemed he was the unlucky mech who needed to face the Conjunx of Orion Pax. 

“You aren’t him.” Elita-One stared him down with a stoic expression. Her field was held close and her optics flared with grief. Optimus didn’t even bother to lie. The memory he held told him it was a waste of effort.

“I felt our bond shatter into a million pieces five vorns ago.” Her servos clenched into fists and her frame shook as she tried in vain to remain composed. Optimus held no affection for the femme before him, but the original had loved her dearly enough to send her away as he faded. Optimus would not dare disrespect ties made long before his forging.

“And yet here you are. A perfect copy.” Her voice dipped into a sob, anguish building in her field in stuttered bursts. She was hurting despite how long it had been since the original passed away. Optimus’s fellows really did see things so very differently. What was five generations old to Optimus was a fresh wound to the femme before him.

“Tell me. How are you here? How is it that you bear his name and his face?” Elita’s lower derma wobbled as she gazed up at him, hope and anguish mixed into something so powerful Optimus almost wanted to weep alongside her. What was he to say? What would ease her pain?

There wasn’t anything he could do. The original was long dead, and Optimus was one of many. 

“The Matrix was too powerful for him to carry. It is too great for all of our number.” The femme paused, watching as Optimus knelt down lower, showing her his face. Her expression fell as she saw him, understanding beginning to dawn in her optics.

“Someone had to carry this burden. And so he and all those who have and will come after him are given this great mantle.” Elita touched his face, her digits running along the creases that were already forming. Optimus was six stellar cycles of age, and with his prime behind him, he was beginning to deteriorate. 

“We do not live long, but I and those who come after me will do everything in our power to fill the void he left behind with the vorn we are afforded.” Tears fell from Elita’s optics. Optimus smiled gently. He felt nothing for this femme, he could not be the mech she wanted. But he could be a friend, a companion until his time came and his successor would have to take up the mantle.

“This was the choice he made. We are products of his love for you and all of Cybertron. And so, until this world no longer needs a Prime, we shall use what little time we have to make things better.” He brought Elita into a hug, memory guiding him as he did so. Elita enjoyed tender touch, even if it came from one who was not her Conjunx.

“I am sorry I cannot give you the love you have lost… But if you would let us, we would be your companion until this cycle ends.” Elita sobbed and Optimus rubbed soothing circles onto her back. She was not his Conjunx, but she was part of his duty.

“I will stay with you until my time comes. Then, those who come after me shall take my place.” He spoke softly, allowing Elita to cry. She wept bitterly, cursing and hissing at the original until she could give nothing more. Optimus held her through it, a soft song escaping his vocalizer.

His life had no success when it came to ending the war. But a wound was healed, and his interactions with Elita-One lived in his memory as a beacon of hope. Stellar cycles passed, and when the time came for him to traverse the long path back to his birthplace…

He did not walk alone.

“Thank you for everything.” His murmur was lost as he entered the pod, the newspark that would take his place fluttering in his chassis. The last face he saw was Elita-One’s, and he took pride in knowing that she was able to smile as the liquid of the pod engulfed him.

[valentinetypewriter]

Me and My Husband

This includes casting, chapter masterlist and summary

Sirius Black x Remus lupin x reader

My Main masterlist

this will also be posted on ao3 - a link to the fic

Chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

Summary

Sirius Black III the usually flirtatious boy had become completely infatuated with someone he knew he could never have, but tied to someone he never thought he could love.

Remus john lupin the self hating Werewolf who doesn't believe he's worth loving, but his heart aches for two people who he thinks he doesn't deserve

Y/n l/n has hated love ever since she was young, a pure-blood family like hers doesn't get love, they only have to keep their blood pure. But maybe she could make something good out of this

Set during the marauders 7th year and onwards, canon divergent, just changing a few things up to make the fic work a bit better. This fic will be filled with unnecessary angst and drama because I'm a horrible person

Casting

Casting will include movies/shows for a more specific look for major character

Ben Barnes as Sirius Black (Dorian grey)

Andrew Garfield as Remus lupin (Never let me go) and yes this is exactly how I imagine remus to act/talk - A link for a YouTube video since clips of his character are hard to find

Aaron Taylor Johnson as James Potter (kick-ass / Nowhere boy)

Dane dehaan as Peter pettigrew (Kill your darlings)

Timothée Chalamet as Regulus Black

David Tennant as Barty Crouch Jr

Maxence Danet-Fauvel as Evan Rosier

Supporting cast

Sophie skelton as Lily Evans

Alicia Vikander as Marlene McKinnon

Sofia Bryant as Mary McDonald

Louis Garrel as Severus Snape

[mqverick]

st. tropez party girl || ִ ࣪𖤐

“if you hold me tight, it's alright

let the fire ignite.”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

Jerry fucking Maguire. The man with the vision, the most known sports agent in the town, the guy who could set his mind into something and actually achieve it, even if it meant costing him the money for a once in a lifetime opportunity. Jerry Maguire, who was very openly a flirt, a cocky bastard, a pretentious loser and a little bit of a crazy person with unrealistic ambitions.

That’s who you had to work with and it both physically and mentally hurt you. You hated his guts, always had. You didn’t know a lot about him, just the basics and the ones written on the papers or spoken on the telly, but those few were enough for your mind to build up the rest of his personality, which you were not a big fan of.

God. You hated yourself for being so sentimental, but Jerry had just gotten fired and he looked sweaty and alone and miserable — not to mention how he’d literally fished out Flipper in front of everybody while completely losing every single remaining of his dignity through that ridiculous speech, at which everyone has been holding laughs back from, and you’d found yourself growing rather empathetic to his embarrassment, so you’d yelled out that you were going with him.

All eyes had been on you, strange looks, muffled snickers, even your friends at the office had warned you to sit your ass back where it had been for the past couple of years, with a secure future.

But no, you just had to save Jerry some of the embarrassment. You were currently in the elevator with him, awkward silence building up between the two of you as he fiddled around.

“Thought you hated me,” you heard him utter shyly. You glared at him, noticing the ungrateful choice of words after you’d just publicly humiliated yourself for him.

“Hate doesn’t exist in professionalism, Maguire. I’m strongly opposed against your idealism and quite frankly, not exactly fond of you either,” you replied sharply, not daring to look directly at him.

“Hm, so much for hate not existing.”

“But, I refuse to work for a bunch of fucking hippie hypocrites like Sugar. And you know, if it weren’t for me, no one would have had your back in there. Not even your precious assistant.”

Jerry gave you a weak, tight-lipped smile as he raised the bag with Flipper in it in the air. “From now on, the fish will symbolize a better future.”

You unintentionally chuckled, hurrying to put a straight face back on as you cleared your throat, wondering how the hell he managed to sound so drunk without having had the tiniest drop of alcohol in his body all day.

“You’re stupid,” you whispered under your breath, thankfully loud enough that it only reached your own ears.

“Thank you, you know,” Jerry turned to you, holding out his hand for you to take. “I honestly thought no one would believe in me.”

“Prove to me that you can be alone and then you’ll thank me, Jerry,” you spoke, moving past him and ignoring his hand as the doors opened.

That same evening, the moment you reached your home, you collapsed against the door, face buried in your hands as you mentally slapped and kicked yourself. What the fuck had you gone and done? Trusting Jerry fucking Maguire, Jerry Ma-fucking-uire, as Avery liked to call him. You were screwed, hopeless and at the mercy of the person you swore you wanted to erase from the universe.

But his mission statement had inspired you.

He spoke words that the others back at the office weren’t ready to hear, truths, facts, goals, dreams. That was the Jerry Maguire you quit your job for and maybe it wouldn’t be the messy waste of potential that your brain had pictured.

Except when you thought that things could actually possibly work out, Jerry found out that Cush and his family had signed a contract with Bob Sugar behind his back, and everything had returned back to the crap hole where it had began. With a single client hanging on by a thread, Jerry was wrecked and so were you.

Your life was destroyed, you’d decided.

Maybe acting out on those amateur pole dancing lessons that your older cousin had taught you back when you were 17 wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Jerry’s backup people were falling down like flies. Everyone was dropping him, first his own company, then Cush and eventually — which came as the biggest surprise — Avery.

You and Rod were his only hope.

For days now, you’d been rehearsing in front of your mirror how you’d tell him that you were dropping him as well. You were done, wouldn’t allow yourself to go bankrupt for a petty sad man.

It was either 9 o’clock or midnight, you couldn’t be arsed to check, because your favourite show was on TV and the commodity of your couch and blanket was comfortable enough to have you watching with your eyes half-lidded — when you heard a series of playful yet lazy knocks on your door. You groaned at the noise, not bothering to get into your slippers as you slid your sock-covered feet across the entrance, peeking through the door to see who was feeling rather silly in the middle of the night.

Of course it would be him. Who else?

For a second, you considered not opening the door for him. See if he’d stay there, in that pathetic posture of him, fingers running through his fucked up hair as he shivered just a little from being undressed in such a chilly weather. But then again, you’d already thrown your career away for him, so what gives?

“Hellooooo,” he said happily as you let him inside, grinning from ear to ear. The smell of booze hung in the atmosphere as he lazily wandered through the living room, smiling at your furniture and bursting into uncontrollable chuckles. You wished someone would shoot you — or rather him.

“Have you ever heard of a little something called, oh, I don’t know, calling before showing up at my front yard like the drunk fucking tooth fairy?” you gritted through your teeth. Jerry seemed unfazed.

“Mmm, someone’s… m-mad.”

“What are you doing here, Maguire?” you asked with a sigh, already growing tired of the sight of him. “And care to explain why you’re wearing alien sunglasses during nighttime?”

Jerry laughed as he pointed as his glasses, before removing them to reveal a swollen black eye with a huge cut next to it. You gasped when you saw it, concern washing over you as you rushed to his side for a better look.

“I, um, broke up with Avery.”

Damn, you certainly had not pegged Avery for the violent type. “Too bad, huh,” you mumbled, disappearing into the kitchen in search of an ice tray and a glass of water. When you walked back inside the living room, you found Jerry staring at the fishbowl that was placed on top of your fireplace, muttering something to Flipper, who was swimming without any worries.

“I fucking hate that fish,” he admitted and you held back a laugh as you gestured for him to sit down on the couch.

“What’s going on, Jerry?”

He shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. For the past few weeks, I’ve been watching my life fall apart right in front of my eyes. I’m finished. I am fucked! I’m a cautionary tale for everyone, no one trusts me because of that stupid mission statement I wrote after having what I think was two slices of cold, expired pizza and the worst of all is that you and Rod are the only people in my life that ever believed in me. Why are you even still with me? Why haven’t you dropped me yet?”

Your gaze softened and you opted for silence as you carefully let your hand graze the soft skin on his cheek, laying his head back against the couch. You brought the ice cub near his eyelid, feeling him wince as the cold material made contact with the still fresh wound. Jerry closed his eyes, trying to let himself relax against your touch.

“Wanna know why I haven’t left you, Jerry?” you asked and he nodded hesitantly in response. “Because what you think is a stupid memo made me realize that you have more potential than you give yourself credit for. You have something more than a need to succeed, you have a vision. You’re not just doing it for a money and in my brutally honest opinion, you’re more than just a man hiding behind a silver suit.”

You caught him smile at your words.

“You really mean that?”

Your contained smile barely lifted the corners of your mouth as you felt a certain warmth build up on your reddened cheeks. Sure, you’d seen Jerry smile before, but the gentleness and innocence that his soft, genuine beam wore was something you’d never witnessed before in your life. His two front teeth were visible through it and it tugged at your so far cold heartstrings, heating them up.

Your heart was hammering against your chest and your mind had gotten foggy along the way, which was partly the reason why your breath got caught in your throat the very moment you noticed that Jerry’s look had changed. “Do you mean that?” he repeated, this time more lowly.

“I’m still not fond of you.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

You gulped, eyes fixated on his own green ones, which you swore were sparkling under the dim light of your sort of broken lamp. “Yes, I mean it.”

There it was again, that smile. Except this time it had something more to it that you couldn’t read (that you wouldn’t allow yourself to read, because you’d had your own share of drinks that evening and they had left just the right amount of courage in your body to do something stupid and regretful for the next day to feel embarrassed about.)

“What have I ever done to you?”

Jerry’s question sent your dreamy train of thoughts out of the rails, snapping you back into the reality of the things. “What?”

“You don’t like me. Why? What have I done?”

“Frankly, I thought you were just a pretentious jackass like Sugar. Maybe slightly less worse than him, but still pretty much a scumbag. Not to mention that your outbursts make me believe you’ve escaped out of some sort of mental institution centre.”

You never expected Jerry to lunge himself forward and knock the air out of you as his arms wrapped tightly against your sides, squeezing as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. Unsure of what to do, you froze in position, hands stuck uncomfortably on the couch, balling into fists as you bit down on your lip, waiting to breathe again after he pulled away with a hint of disappointment and gloom.

“Not a hugger?” he questioned.

“I just don’t want to be hugging you.”

“Ah, the heartwarming words of kindness.”

“I’m one step away from kicking you out of my house, Maguire. I don’t care if you’re drunk, it’s not my responsibility to take care of you or whatever you think this is. Want a place to crash, then you’re more than welcome to use my phone and third wheel Rod and his family.”

“I like that you’re honest.”

You blinked in surprise. How much had he chugged down before he decided to come over?

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a quality I’ve never fully owned, you know?”

“You don’t say.”

Jerry didn’t say anything, just looked at you longingly, a silent conversation passing between the two of you. Then suddenly, “No one ever listens to me. When I’m with you, even though you say you hate me, I feel like you understand.”

Gosh, you couldn’t stand him. Was he really so desperate and unable to hold his own that he had to throw himself to whoever showed him the slightest sign of interest? “Jerry, stop.”

“All my life, all I’ve tried to do is talk. Really talk. And it’s not that people don’t listen, it’s that they don’t want to listen. Whatever I have to say just goes straight in and out of their ears. I spoke through my mission statement and you were the only one that actually heard.”

“Don’t.”

You felt your heart momentarily stop as Jerry moved closer to you, his lips alight on your cheek as if a ghost was gently stroking your skin in a silent confession that was so much deeper than what came through the surface.

“I’ll call a taxi. Thanks for not kicking me out. You know, tonight and, uh, generally speaking. I promise I’ll make everything work again and it’ll all be worth it,” he added before placing another kiss on your face, this time on your forehead. Jerry waved goodbye to you as he walked outside and for a strange reason, you found yourself fighting with a newfound desire and urge to both push him in front of a car and never have to see any of him anymore or set fire on the taxi he’d called and invite him back into your home to spend the night. You did neither, didn’t even have the words to say goodnight to him as you heard the door close, signalling that he’d finally left.

What time was it anyway? It felt like he’d been sitting beside you for what seemed like eternity.

The following day at work, you could say that you’d officially lost every will to live. Rod was yelling like crazy, as per usual, which was not helping your raging headache due to the lack of sleep you’d gotten over the night. Jerry Maguire occupying your brain into nightmares wasn’t exactly a chamomile and plate of chocolate chip cookies to help you drift in slumber.

Speaking of, Jerry had just asked you to come into his office, which was the sort of situation you’d been dreading ever since he’d left from your place last night.

“Asked to see me?” you called, voice cracking a little near the end of your sentence, which probably gave you away — fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, um, I wanted to talk,” he tensely replied.

“If it’s about…”

“It’s about last night,” he completed with a jittery tone. “Look, I brought you in a difficult moment. I was drunk and lonely and had no idea what was going on — I didn’t mean to show up like that.”

“Jerry, it’s fine,” you tried to cut him off, putting an end to the already painfully uncomfortable conversation before any other late night actions were mentioned, but apparently, Jerry had plans of his own.

“No, let me finish. I’m sorry I came over without warning and I’m also sorry for taking advantage of… you know, whatever was going through the atmosphere at said moment. But, uh, I feel like I need to let you know that I did and do appreciate everything you said and did for me last night, it was really nice to, um, hear something honest.”

Jerry glanced down at his lap, fingers fidgeting with the pen he was holding. You dared to take a quick look at him, just to see why he refused to meet your gaze, but the lighting from the blinds was dark enough to hide the blooming bush on his cheeks.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

“Okay,” you got up from your seat and were about to leave him alone in his thoughts, but your feet subconsciously stopped moving for a second and your body turned towards him as you cleared your throat in order to catch his attention. “Next time you show up at my place in the middle of the night, consider giving me a call first.”

You hurried outside, cursing your mouth for being such a pain in the neck. Whatever professionalism you and Jerry had shared was now long gone.

What you missed, though, was the relieved sigh and small smile that crept into his face when you left the unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

───

It had started getting better with Jerry. A few days (or was it weeks? You couldn’t really tell, because whenever he was around, you’d lose track of time) had passed and what had begun as great hatred for him had turned into tolerance and slight fondness. It was weird how sometimes you’d catch yourself watching Jerry walking away or Jerry smiling or Jerry panicking through the phone — for that matter. The man had gotten under your skin into a worryingly quick time.

For once again, as accustomed to, everything went to hell the moment he came across the struggle of yet another emotional meltdown. Rod was losing and the recruiters and reporters seemed unimpressed with him, which Jerry handled poorly, unable to imagine a scenario where Bob Sugar was laughing at his face for being what his ex fiancée had so successfully described him as; a fucking loser.

He was alone, pissed off with Rod, pissed off with Sugar, with his job, with the company, the circumstances of his daily fucked up life, with you, but mostly with his own self.

You could see he was letting himself have it and this time, you wouldn’t risk it again. So you decided to do what you thought was moral and announce to him that you’d been offered another job opportunity, which you wouldn’t decline.

“You’re leaving me?” he asked in disbelief, wearing that stupid pair of sunglasses again.

“Look at you, Jerry! You’re fucked, how the fuck am I supposed to think you can afford to have me when you don’t even know what you’re doing?”

“Fine! Be like all the others, then, go the fuck on. I don’t need you here anyway. You said it; I don’t know what to do, well you’re fucking right!”

Jerry was shouting and throwing fists at the wall, eyes widened and red, holding back fearful tears.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me out here. It is an up-at-dawn, pride swallowing siege that I will never fully tell you about, okay? You don’t know anything about my fucking life!”

“And nor am I interested to!” you yelled, throwing your purse across the room, almost hitting him. “You know, if I had even one shred of respect for you before, it’s now kissed goodbye,” you added in a much calmer tone before leaving him, sniffling and holding back hot tears that burned through your eyes. You let them free once you home, streaming down your face like lava.

You didn’t even know what you were crying for.

Last time you checked, you didn’t care about Jerry Maguire raising his voice at you. Last time you checked, you were just a simple accountant who worked for Sports Management International, barely acknowledging his existence.

It was late when the phone rang and after a series of sobs and thousands of tissue packets filling up the rubbish bins, you wondered who it could be.

“Hello?”

“You told me to call.”

He surely heard the hitch sound your breath made when his voice echoed in your head.

“Maguire?”

“Yeah. I know it’s late again and I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to bother you, because I really, really do. I need to see you, please. It’ll only be a minute, just give me a chance.”

It sounded as though he’d been crying as well, voice raspy, weak, chocked.

“Get lost. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s fine, you don’t need to. I’ll talk enough for both of us. Can I come over? You won’t even notice when I’ll be gone, it’ll be that quick.”

A short inhale, then; “Fine.”

When he arrived, he looked like a mess. His eyelashes looked darker and red, eyes puffy and blurry. His hair was all over the place and you could make out the fact that he was struggling to keep his breathing steady, his lips drawn in tightly. The sight of him in that state almost made you burst into tears all over again.

“Hi,” he greeted lowly, afraid of his voice cracking.

“You have five minutes, Jerry.”

What sort of torture was this? Being just a breath away from breaking down in front of him, making a complete loser move and humiliating yourself, you stared at the ceiling above you, biting so roughly down on your lip that you thought you tasted a bit of blood (but that was just you being dramatic about the whole situation.)

“Five minutes? I’m trying to apologize, I can’t do this being timed! Listen, I—I wanted to say that I was stupid about everything I said earlier, I was having an existential crisis and there were so many emotions bottled up and it just flooded. Flooded all over my brain, which caused me not to think straight, so I took it out on you and—”

Jerry was cut off by the loud thud of your door getting shut. You ignored his restless knocking, walking back into the living room, drawing the thick curtains together when he tried to catch your attention from the windows as well. It took him a great deal of time to eventually give up, motioning to you something that you couldn’t quite understand at first. His hands were moving in a way as though he was saying he slipped something under your door and damn you for believing that the curiosity killed the cat.

When he got out of sight, you tiptoed slowly to the door, grabbing what seemed to be a wrinkly napkin. You wiped your tearing up eyes and read what he’d written on it.

‘You’re right. I do drive people away, but I can’t afford to do that to you too.’

“Jerry Maguire!” you called loudly after him after running outside to catch up with him. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone too far, freezing still at the sound of your voice. He turned around to double check that it wasn’t some sort of mirage his mind was playing on him and let out an exhausted laugh of relief as he walked quickly toward you, grabbing you into a soul crushing hug. He was so tightly pressed up against you that you thought you’d merge into one person, but you couldn’t care enough, returning the intensity of the hug right back.

“Please, just hang on for a little bit more. I’m going to make everything up to you, I can’t fucking lose you, I—” he stopped mid-sentence, stunned at himself as he began pulling away, hands still holding onto your shoulders.

You urged him to continue, clueless about why he’d so abruptly cut himself off just to look at you. It was giving you the creeps, the silence and darkness outside allowing the light breeze to be heard into your eardrums like a loud parade. Jerry was looking at you with such fragility and it hurt that you couldn’t read him, couldn’t understand what was going through that head of his.

His pupils were dilated, blown and dark, causing the green irises to glow under the gloominess of the sky. Jerry was looking at you almost as if…

No. No — this was just your mind being sick.

Jerry left as suddenly and coldly as he’d abandoned his previous sentence, out of any excuses and explanations. You couldn’t bare to question anything, simply leaving it to the way he had, hanging in the air, playing tricks with your imagination, giving you hope for something that you couldn’t fully comprehend either.

Three days later, you accidentally caught yourself shamelessly overhearing him ask Rod how to be able to tell if he’d fallen in love.

───

You were certain that the universe had chosen to make it your destiny to lose and hate Jerry Maguire. It was always one step forward and a whole road trip back. There were moments, many of them, where you thought that the thin line between hate and love had been crossed, but it ended up showing that you couldn’t have been more wrong, ultimately always screwing up — either him or you, you were tired of keeping score at this point — what seemed to make your heart flutter like you were leaving into the dream of a hopeless, predictable romcom movie.

Jerry was hot and cold.

You were up and down.

It was pointless, had been ever since the beginning. You kept losing him, right when your fingers had just grasped him, he kept slipping. It was neither’s fault really; both occupied with the misfortunes of work, trying to psyche Rod up for his big game, consulting endlessly while trying to maintain the already existing deals, raising the prices, focusing on that one client, showing the money — as Jerry liked to put it.

Under the environmental stress of the job, you and Jerry had been unable to connect the same way you did during all those short lived moments, the late night visits, the sleep disrupting calls.

But then, one day he caught you off guard as you’d just finished your duties and were about to take off, making you stop dead in your tracks.

“Do you, um… Are you… I know a great place!”

You stole a quick glance at him and noticed that his fingers were crossed, lips curled into an upward pout, eyes dreamingly bright. There wasn’t much you could say except for pick me up at 8 o’clock. He did exactly as he was told, ringing on your doorbell right on time, but you kept him waiting outside just for a minute, fixing your high heel in a rush. Truth is you’d spent all time trying to figure out the perfect outfit, just for him, just to get to see that one look he’d given you back in that night all over again.

And he did.

When you opened the door to reveal yourself dressed neatly in a velvet black dress that stopped a few inches lower than your thighs, hair flawlessly covering your bare shoulders, Jerry blushed bright red, not sure how to greet you. His jaw was slightly agape in awe, heart pumping fast and loudly against his chest, blood flowing quickly as the butterflies battled in his stomach.

“I— Woah,” he eventually managed. You innocently looked down at yourself, knowing exactly what you were doing to him but deciding to pretend to be oblivious.

“Is there something wrong?”

“You look… Fuck, you look Audrey Hepburn stunning. I feel like an underdressed jerk.”

That was not true, at least not for you. He was wearing a Sacramento colored shirt, with the top button of the collar undone, revealing a white tee. His pants were a simple beige pair of trousers and for the first time, he showed up at your house with his hair looking surprisingly nice.

You chuckled nervously at his comment, matching the scorching redness on his cheeks.

“Are we actually supposed to be nice to each other now?” you spilled out after a few moments, embarrassed by your choice of words.

“I suppose so. Shall we?” Jerry proposed, handing his shoulder out to you playfully. You slapped it away, hurting both his pride and arm, but the minute you realized the disappointment in his eyes, you mentally took a deep breath and linked your hands together, squeezing unintentionally due to the nervousness, but relaxing as you felt his thumb rub circles on the outside of your palm.

The restaurant he’d chosen was beautiful.

He was a gentleman; helping you get seated, pouring water into your glass, handing you the menu. It almost felt like a real date. In anticipation of the food getting served, you went for a small talk, which felt embarrassingly awkward.

“So, uh, how do you know this place?”

“Took Avery here on the third date, I think?”

“Ah.”

Jerry noticed your uneasiness and reached for your hand that was on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about her tonight, though. I’ve got a beautiful woman with me already.”

Your eyes widened comically and you slipped your hand away from his, scratching the back of your neck. “Look, Jerry, I thought this would be a nice way to get to finally know you, you know?”

“It is! I’ll help you get to know me. At work I’ve been all over the fucking place, you probably think I’m insane or something, but, uh, I swear, I’m actually a decent person.”

“Are you? You’ve done nothing to prove me otherwise.”

“I am. Besides, you said that my mission statement inspired you. I wrote that from the heart, put all my thoughts and dreams in there, so I guess I have in fact proven you otherwise.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

You gulped in order to gain the confidence to utter the question out, looking deep into his gorgeous green eyes as you tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. “That night, when you came into my house drunk — I just can’t help but wonder why did you come to me instead of Rod? Or anyone else for that matter.”

Jerry tensed up, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked as if he was about to confess something and just the thought made your knees jittery.

“As I said that same night, I feel like you understand me in a level no one else does. I was lonely and miserable and had no idea to do with my life and suddenly you were the first person that came into my mind, so I decided to pay you an unwanted visit. The reason I didn’t call was because I know how you feel about me and I could only imagine that you would’ve held a negative attitude if I asked to come over through the phone, so, that’s pretty much how it goes. You’ve been in my mind ever since.”

“Oh, Jerry,” you mouthed in a dazzling tone. No, you couldn’t do this. “Jerry, we need to stop.”

He looked at you through furrowed brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m taking about this. It’s been happening for almost a month now and all I know is that it’s confusing me, but I know for one thing that I can’t bare to put myself through something that I know will end up hurting me. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine either — it’s just our nature. I’m not build like this; I can’t just tiptoe back and forth into whatever the fuck this is, it needs to stop.”

Jerry was more confused than ever, feeling his own eyes well up at the sight of the first tear rolling down your cheek. “What happened?”

“You know what, Jerry — and for fuck’s sake, quit staring at me like I’m your entire world or something!” you said, your voice subconsciously raising. You got up from the chair and roamed through your purse for your wallet, leaving a bunch of money bills on the table as you hesitantly walked over to where he was.

“So what, you just stop talking to me?”

“You and I are both aware that an end needs to be put in this and you’re not strong enough for it, so I’m going to be the one to do it.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“It’s not your call,” you whispered, leaning down and taking his head in your hands, pressing it softly against your stomach as you leaned down to place a lingering kiss on the top of it.

“Please don’t leave me,” you heard Jerry choke out, his hands encircling your waist, afraid to let you go.

“You need to focus on Rod. Big game’s coming up and you can both do it. You’ll have a brilliant career, Jerry, I truly believe that and you’ll always have all my support, but you’re just going to have to do this on your own,” were your last words before you walked away, leaving him behind, wrecked, people staring not so discreetly as he held behind the sobs of the following two weeks.

───

Rod was finally getting to be a big deal. Jerry’s career had blossomed again, just as you’d promised to him. Everything in his life was going perfectly — then why did he feel so fucking empty inside? Watching Rod with his family made him hurt, reminiscing about the way you’d left him that day at the restaurant. Hadn’t been able to reach out to you ever since.

Jerry Maguire realised he was in love when his client called him in the spotlight to pose along with him. Nothing like that had ever occurred to him before and it felt so surrealistic, yet so true at the same time. He needed you to be there with him, needed to hear your voice, see you smile. Listen to you say that you were proud of him or even glare at him as if you wanted to burn a hole through his head and finish him.

Jerry was in love with you and it dwelled on him how much he’d actually been missing you.

Not caring about anything, he ran to the airport, knowing he had to make things right. The flight back home was killing him, time passing disgustingly slow for his liking. When he finally got off, he almost tripped towards his way to the taxi station. Precisely forty three minutes and ten seconds, he was finally standing outside of your door, his luggage thrown over his shoulder as he simply stared forward, unable to move.

Was he really doing this?

According to his bachelor video, the only thing he was great at was friendships. But he’d just taken off with his career and he needed to fulfil all the promises he’d made, so there he was, knocking on your door for once more. If you decided you still didn’t want him, then he’d go forever.

“Hello — oh.”

His breath disappeared when he saw you. How long had it really been? You were surprised, not expecting him at all. Your movements were limited, limbs completely in shock as you scooted away to let him in. Your mind was short circuiting as he looked around the place like nothing had happened, like the two of you hadn’t had talked in — was it months? Or just weeks that felt like decades?

“Hello. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen,” Jerry began. You cocked your head in confusion, staring blankly at him. “I'm not letting you get rid of me. How about that? This used to be my specialty. You know, I was good in a living room. They’d send me in there, and I’d do it alone. And now I just... But tonight, our little project, our company had a very big night — a very, very big night. But it wasn’t complete, wasn’t nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn’t share it with you. I couldn’t hear your voice or laugh about it with you. I missed you, I missed having you around. We live in a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you. You complete me. And I just —”

“Shut up,” you mustered through tears. “Just shut up. You had me at ‘hello’.” And before you even knew what was happening, you were walking towards him, crashing your lips onto his hard with a fervent need you’d never known before. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to his body as he smiled through the kiss, feeling you reciprocate the action. Both you and Jerry were still crying, unable to hold back the tears of what could’ve happened ages ago if either of you had had the balls to actually pursue it.

But neither of you cared.

Because you were finally kissing Jerry Maguire and your life felt complete, just as he’d described. He completed you and you completed him and the feeling had you melting against him, knees buckling, mind dizzy from his words and his scent and the way he so perfectly belonged against your lips. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest as he pulled away, trying to catch his breath.

“I love you so much. I’ve loved you ever since you came with me when I got fired. I wouldn’t be where I am right now without you,” Jerry said, leaning his forehead against yours as he cupped your cheeks, holding you gently and lovingly.

“I love you Jerry Maguire.”

FIN.

i wrote this for my favourite girl @honeymvnt , hope you enjoy beautiful !! 🫶🏼🎀

[lionlena]

Remember me… (Oberyn Martellxreader) ANGST - one shot

Warnings: ANGST, really angst, suffering, canon character death, mourning, suicide...

I don't know why I did this to myself...😭🥺🤧

Remember me

The first thing you remember is screaming. But not yours, although apparently you screamed too. That's what Varys told you. Supposedly it was the mournful, piercing cry of a broken heart, but you can't confirm that. Instead of your own screaming, all you heard was ringing in your ears. But not before Oberyn's scream was drilled into your head. A scream full of unimaginable pain and suffering. A scream that haunts you almost every night.

You don't remember much after that. You fainted and everything else became an incoherent blur.

You remember clinging to Oberyn's cold, stiff chest and sobbing. His face was covered with a red cloth and you were tempted to reveal it, even though you knew it was the worst thing you could do to yourself.

Your hand involuntarily grabbed the edge of the fabric and suddenly someone grabbed your wrist. You looked up to see Varys' sad face as he shook his head.

"No…" he said gently. "You don't want to see this."

He was right, so you moved your hand back and grabbed Oberyn's stiff hand. The hand that held the weapon. The hand that gave you pleasure. The hand that wiped your tears, combed your hair… The hand that firmly held the reins of the restless horse you were riding. The hand that could have killed you, but instead gave you life.

"Can I do something for you?"

You heard Varys' gentle voice again and shook your head. There was nothing in this world he could do for you.

"Can you turn back time? Bring the dead back to life?"

Varys just sighed. There was no need to answer your questions.

After a few moments of silence, you spoke again.

"What about Tyrion?"

Varys tilted his head to the side, surprised by your concern for Lannister. But you couldn't help but like this dwarf.

"He waiting in a cell to die…"

You sighed heavily.

"I hope he escapes."

There was a strange gleam in Varys's eyes as he replied:

"Maybe his fate is not yet decided."

You didn't have the strength to ask for details, but you were counting on it. Not only because you liked Tyrion, but you didn't want that bitch Cersei to win. You had pure hatred for her and believed that she was partly responsible for the death of your loved one. *

The journey back to Dorne seemed like a never-ending torture. You saw the same places where you two stayed.

You remembered how Oberyn cared about your comfort all the time. Those evenings by the fire when you sat between his legs and he pulled you to his chest.

"My queen." He whispered into your hair and kissed your neck. "You should sit on the iron throne. You are more beautiful and intelligent than all the women in King's Landing."

You started giggling and shook your head and he started nibbling your neck.

"Don't laugh. I'm telling the truth." *

You didn't remember much about Oberyn's funeral. You heard the others sobbing, but you weren't crying anymore. You had no more tears.

After the funeral, you heard Oberyn's eldest daughters planning revenge, but you didn't care anymore. You were like Doran in that thing, although you had different reasons. The prince wanted to keep the peace at all costs, and you… You simply lost all will to fight. *

Three months after Oberyn's funeral, you decided to leave Dorne and return to your homeland.

You loved Dorne. You loved the warmth, fountains, palm trees, deserts… You loved the freedom that this land gave women.

You remembered Oberyn bringing you to Dorne and laughing merrily at your enthusiasm.

"My desert flower, you look like a child at a toy stand."

The prince grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him. He kissed you passionately and looked at you with shining eyes.

"Are you really that impressed with my home?"

You nodded eagerly and smiled happily.

"Oh yes… I love Dorne!"

Oberyn smiled and kissed your forehead.

"You haven't even seen the half of it yet. Wait until I take you to the royal gardens and…" He leaned in and whispered in your ear. "I will show you my favorite place, where no one eyes can see what I'm doing to you."

His hand went under your dress and he started stroking your thigh. You moaned softly and nodded.

"I never want to leave Dorne."

Oberyn's hand grabbed your buttock.

"Then you have nothing to worry about because I will never let you leave Dorne. It's your home now." *

"I am leaving Dorne… I am returning to my homeland."

The prince shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair. He had a fondness for you that was surprising even Oberyn in the past.

"You can stay in Dorne."

"Dorne is not my home."

Doran looked at you surprised, even hurt.

"Is anyone here treating you badly?"

"You don't understand me, prince. Dorne is no longer my home, nor any other place in the world. Oberyn was my home. Without him… I have no home."

Doran sighed heavily and looked at you sadly.

"I'm sorry I can't heal your heart."

You gave him a soft smile.

"It's not your fault, prince. There are just too many memories here."

Doran nodded.

"Remember that despite everything, Dorne will always welcome you with open arms." *

Your homeland was nothing like Dorne. Cold sea, steep cliffs, common trees, barren land, and a constantly cloudy sky.

And that was what gave you the slightest bit of relief. Because that's what your soul looked like, cold and inaccessible.

And in this unpleasant place, you found the perfect place to bury your memories of Oberyn. You created your own grave. You dug a hole and into it, you threw Oberyn's robe, which still smelled of him, the scarf he wrapped around you, his necklace, and the ring he gave you. And you planted forget-me-nots on the grave.

They didn't sprout the first year, and neither did the second year. In the third year, leaves appeared but there were no flowers. And you centered your entire life around them. Every day you looked after them and talked to them, asking them to bloom. You didn't care what was happening in Westeros. War, dragons, Stark's bastard… You accepted this information without blinking an eye. Only the news of Doran's death caused some reaction in you. Besides, nothing could break you out of your melancholy…

And finally! You looked at the small blue flowers with emotion. You stroked the green leaves with motherly tenderness. Your friend was surprised at your obsession.

"What's so special about them?"

"They are for Oberyn so that I will always remember him."

Your friend looked at the small flowers skeptically.

"But why forget-me-nots? Wouldn't sunflowers, tulips, or yellow roses go better with Oberyn?"

You shook your head and sat down on the ground.

"No. I know they are small flowers, but if you look closely at them, you will see that their yellow center resembles the sun and the blue petals are like water." You sighed and touched the flowers with your finger. "Like the sun dying in the sea."

Your friend looked at you with concern.

"I'm worried about you. You seem happier lately… since you saw those flowers, but…"

"Everything will be fine." You interrupted her statement. "Everything will be better now."

You looked fondly at the forget-me-nots, your friend just nodded. *

Like the sun dying in the sea.

With this thought in mind, you went to the cliff, holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots in your hands. You stood on the edge, remembering your last conversation.

"I'm begging you, Oberyn… This is not a human, this is some kind of monster… A giant!"

Oberyn smiled at you and brushed the hair away from your worried face.

"He is a very clumsy and slow giant and I will kill him."

His calmness didn't soothe you at all. You were terrified and placed your hands on his chest.

"If you die, I swear I will end my life by jumping off a cliff!"

Oberyn put down his wine glass and looked at you gently. He cupped your face in his hands.

"If I die, plant forget-me-nots for me in the barren land to remember me. If they bloom, then you can jump off a cliff." He rubbed your cheeks with his thumbs. "But that will never happen, because today is not the day I die." *

"But you died…" you whispered, standing over the edge and clutching the forget-me-nots to your chest.

Tears began to flow down your cheeks and you felt a warmth on your back, as if his spirit was hugging you. The wind from the sea blew warm air over your face, drying your tears and brushing your hair away from your face, and you heard a whisper: "I'm sorry…"

Then you took a step forward into the open and waiting arms of your loved one… *

"I'm with you Whenever you tell, my story For I am all I've done Remember, I will still be here As long as you hold me, in your memory Remember me"

Josh Groban - Remember

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

[mxa13xx]

Sorry, I can't take your touch.. CLAWCODE One-shot!

TW: -Pre-'break up' (aka before Miles ghosts Ganke lol) Ganke hears the window close; his eyes flicker to find a hurt Miles. He sighs and removes his headphones, "I don't understand how you got hurt again.." Ganke mumbles as he stands up and grabs the first aid kit underneath their bunk bed. Miles sits down on Ganke's bed, "I told you I--" He tries to make an accuse, but Ganke finishes it for him. "Yeah, yeah." Ganke sits down beside him, "You got hurt by some stray cat." His eyes narrow into Miles's, "Or is the excuse that you fell when trying to parkour buildings?" Miles falls silent. "Just patch me up, will you?" He grumbles, breaking eye contact with his roommate. "I don't get you.." Ganke sighs and opens the first aid, pulling out some rubbing alcohol to clean Miles's wounds. "You don't sleep nor eat and then come back with scarring wounds." Ganke gently takes Miles's arm, pealing off his surprisingly unripped shirt. He soaks a cotton pad with rubbing alcohol and cleans Miles's wounds, earning a hiss and curses from his friend. The two sit in silence as Ganke wraps Miles's arm up; this wasn't new for them.. it used just to be a once-a-month thing, then it turned to twice a month.. then once a week.. till soon enough, Ganke had to get bandages from the corner store almost every Friday. "Ganke.." Miles mumbles, trying to start an apology.. like he always tries to do. "I don't want to hear it," Ganke responds, his words sharp, causing Miles to fall silent. Ganke moves on to the next wound, which is on his waist. "Up," Ganke says, causing his friend to stand up and pull off his white(now stained with blood) button-up. Miles faces the other, lifting his arms up so Ganke can clean the wound. As Ganke dabs the open wound, Miles holds on to the other's shoulders, the pain sending shivers up his spine. "If you were more careful.." "I don't want to hear it." Miles snaps back, repeating what Ganke said before. Ganke sighs frustratedly. Both of them were being petty.. they didn't show care for each other very well; such nights like this were filled with snappy responses and silence. Ganke was tired of it. "I can't keep doing this, Miles," Ganke says, pulling out bandages to wrap around his waist. "You're not the one getting hurt; I don't know why you're complaining.." "Maybe because I care? Like everyone else in your life," Ganke's angry eyes flicker to Miles's. "I didn't ask you to help me. You always just do it!" "I always do it because who else will? You sure don't take care of yourself," His voice gets louder. "Quit treating me like a child! I can take care of myself-" "But you don't." Ganke's voice sounds.. shakey. Miles looks down to see his roommate in tears. "You don't fucking take care of yourself, and you come back bleeding to death!" His voice breaks; his hands stop wrapping the bandages, and he holds onto Miles's hips. "I can't keep doing this because I can't handle seeing you in this much pain.." Ganke inhales a shaky breath. "So, for the love of god.. can you just be careful?" He looks up, and their eyes meet. Miles nods. "Okay." - The two spend the rest of the night lying together on Ganke's bottom bunk. They don't cuddle; they don't talk.. just.. be with each other. Miles lays his head gently on Ganke's shoulder, looking at the phone playing some youtube video about a game Ganke has been obsessed over. Miles glances at his roommate, staring at his growing, tired eyes. "I'm sorry." He mumbles, causing Ganke's eyes to flicker to his. Ganke nods softly before looking back at the video. "And--" Miles tries to say something but Ganke interrupts. "I know." He hums back, his voice quiet. But Ganke didn't know.. He didn't know what Miles wanted to say... I love you.

Sorry this is so short, it's my first time writing these two so this oneshot was more of a pratice run!

This ship needs more fanfics(┳Д┳)

[loganlermanstanaccount]

planning a new fic guys 🤭

likeee prepare for slow burn, angst, smut, some character studies, a good 50k words.... let me cook fr fr

[pjoxreader]

Reader Sacrifices Themselves

Tw: Panic attack Leo Valdez: -It wasn’t supposed to happen like this… 

-He couldn’t hear the battle around him, he just kept staring at your limp body in his arms. A soft smile on your lips and blood trickling down your chin.

-Why had you taken that hit for him? Why would you take that arrow? He… He was supposed to be the one gone now but… The tears stream down his face.

-He can’t help but laugh as he pulls you to his chest. A bitter laugh, not the one he normally had full of joy. 

-It forms into full on maniacal laughter as the tears stream down his face, but it falls back into choked sobs. 

-He holds you close one last time carefully laying you down on the ground, he feels the anger boiling inside of him as flames flicker to life across his body. He was going to kill them, he was going to make them regret ever hurting you.

Percy Jackson:

-He was too late… 

-His heart sank when he saw you. Lifelessly floating in the open water, he got you to shore as fast as he could using his powers to pull the water from your lungs.

-But… But it was still too late. He refuses to give up, trying to do CPR, trying ambrosia, anything he can think of…

- It’s only when the sun starts to set and he feels your body getting cold that he gives up. Tears falling from his face as he angrily punches the beach, the ground cracking as water starts to gush from the crater.

-He was too late… He couldn’t save you even when you trusted him… He screams in frustration, the water splitting behind him like it had been cut with a knife. He was going to kill them, every god that thought they could get away with this…

-He’d kill even the fates themselves… He picks his sword shaking in anger as the waves crash back together behind him. He’d insure you weren’t alone. 

Frank Zhang:

-It was a mistake… 

-Frank felt the air leave his lungs as the ship you were on went up in flames. It was meant as a distraction yes but… He never thought it’d go this far…

-He tries to transform but he can’t, he can’t focus staring at the flames. He can feel his breathing shorten to small gasps. You were stuck there, you were stuck there and he was being useless…

-The others have to restrain him from trying to jump into the water to swim to you, he’s having a full blown panic attack now. You couldn’t be gone right…?

-He screams in agony feeling his heart pounding, his ears ringing, and the tears streaming down his face.

-He enters a rage, breaking everything in sight, punching holes into the ship’s walls, tossing off anyone who tries to restrain him. Only when he reaches a photo of the two of you does he stop, breaking down into sobs as he picks the picture up with bloody hands.

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

[discordantwords]

Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead. Things only get worse from there.

_____

Chapter 1 is up now!

Written as a gift for @sherlockwatson-holmes​, who so kindly bid on me in the 2022 @fandomtrumpshate​ charity auction.

[purpleyoonn]

baby (you complete us) 5

C H A P T E R   F I V E 

Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut,

Pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

Chapter Warnings: not much, anxious feelings, insecurities, joint dislocation, talk of kink, yoongi being a tease, 

masterlist // chapter 4 // chapter 6

taglist:  @imnotlauriane​  @mageprincess7​ @m1sss1mp​ @0funsite0​  @strawberry-moonpies​ @this-isthe-way​ @singukieee​ @btsw1fe​ @gooooomz​  @fluffy-canada-pancakes​ @carolinexkpop​ @agusfree​ @sakurarukas​ @iamkookiesforyou​ @skyys-universe​ @toughbook​ @plutoneu​ @whisperssuga​ @welcometomyworld13​ @yuzon3​ @wittyreader​ @jnghs​ @cyd0129​ @exfolitae​ @queen-in-the-shadows​ @nen-nyy​ @pandxthings​ @schniti-is-in-the-house​ @juju-227592​ @jinseartharmysmoon​ @wooya1224​ @ddaeng-angmoh​ @gratefullygrateful​ @rorythme​  @veronawrites​​ @xiusmarshmallow​​ @xicanacorpse​​ @kalala22​​ @ok-boke​​ @namjoonswaifu​​ @sweetcheeksdna​​ @hyunjingin​​  @promiseokza​​ @mushroom-main​​ @bookluver01​​

permanent taglist: @yourleftsock​​ @cryingpages​​ @strxwbloody​​  @drissteele​​ @dustyinkpages​​ @crushedblackroses​​  @blaaiissee​​  @iiitsmaria​​  @azazel-nyx​​  @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i​​ @knjkitten​​ @kleirielk​ @foreverweareyoung7​​ @lachimolala22019​​ @namuficxs​​ @94z-93​​ @kimgmzmc​​ @thenaverse​​ @dahliasbouqet​​ @black-rose-29​​ @tinyoonsblog​​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​​ @stellauniverse​​ @stupendouscookiehumanmug​​ @tinyoonsblog​​ @veronawrites​​ @tatyhend​​ @singukieee​​ @m0v3m3ntsblog​​  @exfolitae​​ @butterymin​​ @queen-in-the-shadows​​ 

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

Previously on baby (you complete us):

“I guess I should thank you for the box then, Yoongi?” You lean forward, causing the male to blush a little. He just nods shyly and says you’re welcome with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Well, thank you a lot, Yoongi. I appreciate the package and will make sure to wear this to the airport.” You smile, your small cheek dimples poking through as you do making Namjoon smile back. You move the items back in the box as the others shout protests. Claims of cheating thrown around, all of them wanting you to wear something they picked out to the airport.

“Maybe next time, you guys!” You try to ease the play fighting, thoroughly amused by the proud smirk on Yoongi’s lips.

It was about 4:30 in the morning and you were just getting to the airport, your brother having offered to drive you.

Actually, he showed up yesterday, unannounced, with food. Your sister had told him about your soul situation before you even had the chance. He demanded to go with you, but when you told him that the boys were paying for your ticket, he conceded as long as you made sure to call him and face time him so he could ‘talk’ to the boys.

He helped you pack, making sure all of your clothes fit into the two suitcases, and even took the time to put together all of your toiletries, or well, tried to before you stopped him. You didn’t need your older brother helping you put your private things together. After that, he stayed the night and bought dinner for you, even going as far as inviting your dad over.

That was a surprise.

You had to reassure your dad and brother that you were okay and not being forced to go. They were fully aware of your ten years of waiting, and of your feelings about the entire thing. They had to console you every year when it got to the anniversary of you receiving your bracelet.

“I don’t know about this, honey. Why now?” Your dad brought up good questions, but you reassured him that they were idols and their lives were extremely busy. He didn’t care though, not when he witnessed your tears.

And then, when he did get over that part, he asked you for their number so he could talk with them. You refused in embarrassment, knowing exactly what your dad wanted to talk about. You knew it wouldn’t really have much to do with talking and more to do with slight threatening and choice words. Daniel just laughed about the entire thing.

You were wearing the sweatshirt Yoongi had sent you along with a pair of comfy leggings and compression socks, wanting to be entirely comfortable for your almost sixteen-hour flight. You had one stop in Japan for an hour where you would definitely need to stretch and maybe get a coffee or something. You had your carry on duffle bag filled with your flight necessities, including the headphones, beanie, and kitty eye-mask Yoongi also sent. You even included the coloring book and markers.

You had your passport, both of them, in your sweatshirt pocket, not wanting them in your bag. The duffel bag almost reminded you of a large purse, oddly resembling Taehyung’s artist made collection bag but with the normal duffle bag material. It was nice and the size was perfect so you didn’t have to put it in the overhead shelves and you could just put in under the seat.

“Take your shoes off and place them in the bin.” You hear the TSA agent yell over the crowd.

Taking out your phone, you look over the ticket that Yoongi had transferred over. Yor flight left at 5:45 am, giving you enough time to get through TSA and check in, according to your dad at least.

You stand in line for a couple seconds, waiting for your chance at check in. You had your cane with you, resting on your arm as it hung so you could move with all of your luggage. When you get to the front, you put your things in front of you and place your cane on the floor.

“Hello, I am a little confused with the ticket my soulmate sent me. It doesn’t have a gate number on it.” You say to the woman who asks to see your ticket. When you show her the ticket on your phone, her eyes widen a little, before she calls someone over.

“I’m sorry ma’am. You have a private flight which means you need to be on the other side of the airport. I will have someone escort you over there.” Your eyes widen at the information as you stare back down at your phone.

“Oh, well thank you ma’am. I appreciate your help.” You smile at the woman before moving off to the side, struggling a little with your bigger suitcase. Not even a second later a large man wearing a security badge walked up to you.

“Are you Ms. L/n?” You nod your head slowly, a little unsure of how he knew your name.

“I am John. I was assigned to be your personal escort and guard for the time you are within the airport. Are these your bags?” You don’t get the chance to nod before he takes the handles of your suitcases, leaving you to have your duffle bag and cane.

It takes roughly ten minutes to walk to where you check in for the flight Yoongi booked for you. When you get there, the man behind the desk just asks for your name. You give it to him and watch as his eyebrows raise slightly before the computer beeps at him.

“Okay, these are your luggage tags, and this is your boarding pass. Our private lounge is off to that side where you can wait.” The man, named Michael from his nametag, hands you the papers which John moves in to grab before you can. He attaches your luggage tags to your suitcases and then nods his head before ushering you into the lounge.

It was a large room, fitted with an abundance of comfy looking couches and chairs, at least three vending machines, and a small bar.

“Alright Ms. L/n, you can wait here until the flight is to board. No one else has been given access to the room under Mr. Kim’s orders.” You wonder which ‘Mr. Kim’ he is referencing.

“Uhm, I was wanting to go and look for some coffee and breakfast, maybe. And wanted to get a couple of snacks for the flight.” You tell John, wondering if you were even allowed to leave the room now.

“Of course, Ms. L/n. I can escort you to your shopping. You can leave your luggage in here.” You follow along with his words, hoping he was telling the truth that no one else was allowed in the room.

He walks a little in front of you and to the side. You opted to keep your duffle bag on your person as you had your wallet in the front pocket. You also wanted to put your snacks in the duffle so you didn’t lose them.

John follows your lead, making sure no one comes near you which has people looking your way, trying to figure out who you were. It was a little weird and made you a little anxious. Nonetheless, you found a little store that sold snacks and you even managed to find a nice-looking packaged sandwich and a small container of cut up apples, cantaloupe, grapes and banana that looked fresh. You also got a bottle of water and some juice. And a bag of cheez-its.

After that, you decided on trying to find a place to get some coffee, putting your things into your duffle. You only now realized you didn’t go through any kind of security.

“Do I need to go through security?” You turn to John as you walk out to the little shop.

“No ma’am.” Oh, well that seems weird to you.

“Uhm, well is there anywhere I can get a coffee before we head back to the lounge?” John nods before walking forward and to the left. You follow him and watch as he leads you to a Starbucks. You thank him before getting in line and ordering your normal coffee order and getting a breakfast sandwich and a chocolate chunk cookie.

With your drink and treats in hand, you make your way back to the lounge. You make yourself comfy in one of the couches by a table where you set your things down and move to organize your duffle bag so your snacks didn’t get squished.

Hearing your ringtone go off, you pick your phone up to see Namjoon calling.

“Hello?” You answer only for a chorus of greetings back.

“Good morning, baby. Did you make it okay?” Namjoon is the first to speak.

“Good uh, morning? And I am in the lounge now. I picked up some coffee and breakfast along with a couple of snacks for the flight. Uhm, can I ask why I was given an escort and a private lounge completely to myself? Or what even a private flight is?” You ask as you move your computer to the front side of your duffle, planning on watching some movies during the flight.

“Your safety is our number one concern. If we can’t be there, or have any of our security with you, then this is the next best thing.” Namjoon answers, a small hum to his words as if trying to soothe your worries.

“Why would I need your security though? Did you guys make an announcement about everything without talking to me?” You ask, putting your full attention on the voices coming from the speaker.

“No, baby. We would never. This is more….” Namjoon pauses, trying to come up with the best answer for you, only for Jimin to finish. “For our worry.”

“Yeah, Jimin. This is more to ease our own concerns and worries.” Namjoon thanks his younger mate for his quick thinking. You nod your head before realizing they cant see you.

“Oh, okay. Well, there isn’t anything to worry about. John is a good security person. I’m also currently by myself in the lounge while he waits outside. He said not even he could be in here with me.”

“Okay. We are glad. Oh. Huh?” Namjoon turns to Yoongi who is reaching for the phone.

“Are you wearing my outfit?” Yoongi asks you once he gets the phone causing the others to laugh. Yoongi’s possessive nature coming out as he hears you.

You laugh a little. “Yes, Yoongi. I am wearing the sweatshirt you sent me. It is really soft and comfy. I have the beanie and mask in my duffle bag carry-on that Hoseok sent me. I also have the rest of the things you all sent me in my carry-on.” You reassure him, but also everyone else. You didn’t have a favorite before; you wouldn’t have one now.

“Good girl.” You were thankful you were the only one in this room right now, because you almost screamed. Your entire face was hot and you were now hiding your head in your hands.

“I’m uh, going to go and eat my breakfast now. I will text you all before I get on the plane.” You say goodbye before anyone else can say anything to make you actually scream next.

Yoongi winces, his smirk never leaving his face as Jin smacks him across the chest.

“You can’t just say things like that!” Jin yells, a little upset for how quickly you hung up on them.

“Well, at least now we know she feels like we do.” Jungkook speaks up, shrugging his shoulders.

“What are you talking about?” Hoseok asks, everyone looking toward the youngest.

“She got flustered, didn’t you hear her moan a little.” Everyone freezes as they try to think back.

“So, our baby has a bit of a praise kink…that’s good to know.” Jin muses, smiling at the others at all the new possibilities.

-*-*-

You had just touched down in Tokyo, Japan and were waiting for the stewardess to let you know that you could get off the plane for your layover. You were told your luggage would stay on board, in the compartment up front they had placed it in when John had carried it on board. You hadn’t been able to get up yet but you already knew your joints were not going to be happy with you.

You could almost sense that you were going to have issues with your left hip especially. You had some issues getting comfortable with the angle of the seat at first, then after the nice stewardess showed you how to adjust the seat, you were able to get it into a nice and comfortable recline. But your body was not used to being in one position for so long.

You knew you could move during the flight, but you were terrified that the second you moved, the plane would crash and you would be the only one not strapped to your seat for safety. It was irrational and you knew it, but you were terrified of flying, which is why you were anxious about snacks and needing to make sure you had everything in your duffel bag while in the lounge.

“You can unbuckle now miss. We will be leaving in an hour so make sure to be back her by then, okay.” The nice stewardess who helped you before, Emilia, had come up and stood in front of your seat.

You unbuckled the seat, thanking her profusely before grabbing your duffle bag and moving to throw all your trash away. However, once you stood up, you almost immediately fell back into the seat.

“Oh my, Ms.! Are you okay?” Emilia rushed forward, moving to help you but you had to tell her to move back. Your hip was at an awkward angle and you knew that it had popped out.

“Ugh. This was not what I wanted.” You groan out as you try to apply pressure to your hip, gauging just how far it shifted out.

It took you several minutes to pop it back in and ask for Emilia to get you your cane. She handed it to you with a look of disbelief. Like she couldn’t believe you just did that by yourself. Once she saw how uncomfortable you were though, she realized she was staring.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Are you sure you are okay?” Emilia asks as you put some of your weight on your cane to get up. You just nod at her, trying to take deep breaths. You needed to go to the bathroom and refused to have someone help you sit on the toilet. Plus, this was your first time having this happen, and you knew you could do it.

“I’m okay, Emilia, I promise. I just need to walk a little and help my hip adjust.” You reassure her, despite the deep breaths you were taking as you walked. After a couple of steps you could feel the numbness setting in, making it a little easier to walk.

Once you made it to the bathroom, you decided you would have to explore the Tokyo airport at a different time. It was around one pm in Tokyo if the clock on the plane was correct. The time difference was definitely going to mess with you, that’s for sure.

You slowly made it back to your seat to see a little ice bag on the tray. You smile at the thought, knowing Emilia must have brought it over. You place one of the small pillows that came on the plane to the edge of the left side of your seat so you could prop the ice there before you sat down. You had to make sure the ice was where you needed it to be or it would do nothing but make you cold.

Once you got relaxed back into the reclined seat, your phone started ringing. You didn’t even look at the caller id before answering.

“He—”

“Baby! Are you alright? The stewardess called and told us what happened!” Namjoon’s voice called out, cutting you off. You couldn’t even get another word in before another voice started talking.

“The attendant says you should be here around three! We will be waiting for you! Jungkookie will carry you out.” Yoongi’s tone was frantic, almost making you wonder if this was how they were always going to handle your disability.

“Why can’t we be there for her! She is injured and our soulmate Joon! I don’t care what Sejin says! Jungkook, be ready to go in an hour.” Yoongi switches from English to Korean quicky, making you wonder if he remembered he was on the phone with you.

Jungkook is about to leave the room to go and put some pants on when Namjoon grabs his arm.

“No one is leaving to go anywhere. Yoongi-ah, we talked about this. We don’t want to overwhelm her. You know how insecure she is about this. How could she not be after all of those years thinking we didn’t want her. I know you want nothing more than to have her in your arms, safe and sound. It’s what we all want. But we cannot push her into this.” Namjoon’s words have them all pausing, Yoongi even sinking back down into the couch and handing the phone back to Namjoon, grumbling about ‘stupid thighs’.

“Sorry about that, baby. We are all just worried about you. We have a driver scheduled to pick you up from the airport and bring you to a hotel. We booked you there for a week. We wanted to give you time and knew you would probably be more comfortable there than in the dorms with us.” You were kind of shocked, expecting them to want you to stay with them. You knew from their actions that they probably wanted you to accept the bond, and it was just you being skeptical, but could anyone blame you?

“Thank you, Namjoon. You are right. I don’t think I would be too comfortable staying with you all so quickly.” You were shy admitting that, the boys could tell. It had Yoongi scooting down further in his seat. Jin practically pouting at the thought of you not wanting to stay with them, but he knew you needed time.

By the time it was time to hang up, Emilia had come back over and told you that you were going to be leaving in a couple of minutes.

“Well, I have to get going. I should be in Korea within an hour maybe? I’m not too sure.” You tell them, truly thankful for them, and glad they didn’t mention your hip again.

“Okay. Well please let us know when you touch down and when you get to the hotel.” With that, you say your goodbyes and you buckle back up into your seat.

Next Chapter 

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

could we do hothners daughter (10-13) in there when hailey dies, and when she sees hotch just jumps into hos arms so so fast! you can end there or do like a time skip where shes getting nightmares and just sleeps with het dad as he comforts her!!! love your writting🤍

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter reader

Request : could we do hothners daughter (10-13) in there when hailey dies, and when she sees hotch just jumps into hos arms so so fast! you can end there or do like a time skip where shes getting nightmares and just sleeps with het dad as he comforts her!!! love your writting🤍

So sorry for not updating for a while, I finally have a week off from college to write!

I do love writing Aaron Hotchner x child readers.

Lots of angst in this one like usual

Third person pov...

They were supposed to be safe from Foyet. Haley, Jack and 12 year old Y/N where in witness protection, Y/N was out with her Mum and Brother.

Jack and Y/N are walking together when Haleys phone goes off, stopping she gasps making Y/N look up at her Mum worried. "What's wrong mum?" She asks, Haley looks down at her daughter and tries not to cry.

She couldn't tell her kids their dad was dead. She smiles at her ans brushes her hair off her forehead. "Nothing sweetie but we have to get home quickly" she tells her daughter, the three get back to their car and drive home.

Once they get to their own home Haley sends Jack and Y/N off to play in the living room while she waits for the new marshal to appear.

Aftwr a couple of minutes Y/N stood up to go to the bathroom, as she left the door bell went, Haley answered it and in came George Foyet.

Y/N had begged her dad to show her what Foyet looked like just incase before they went into witness protection.

As Y/N walked back to the living room she heard a man's voice, she didn't recognise it. Tiptoeing silently towards the door she looked through a crack in it and gasps at the man.

"Foyet" she whispers to herself, the killer was currently playing with her little brother while her mum stood infront of them. Haley makes eye contact with her daughter.

She shakes her head slightly, telling her daughter to stay out of the living room, Y/N nods and hears her mum talk to someone on the phone.

"Aaron your okay?" Gaps Haley, Y/N eyes widened it was her Dad. Her parents talk a while with Foyet looking over at them a couple times.

"Haley, are Y/N and Jack there?" He asks

"Yes, Aaron what is going on?" Asks Haley, Hotch hesitates "hes Foyet, he's there to kill you, I'm sorry I couldn't stop him Haley" Says Hotch voice full of emotion.

Haley holds back her tears as Aaron tell Jack to 'work the case with him' Jack leaves the room running into Y/N who helps him hide before going back to her mum.

On her way back downstairs she goes into the kicken and grabs one of the big kichen knifes, hiding it in her waistband the 13 year old goes to the living room.

Suddenly three gunshots are heard, Y/Ns eyes widen with horror she runs back downstairs into living room and slams the door open forgetting about Foyet.

She cries with anguish as she spots her mum on the floor lifeless. "Mum! No nono you can't die no Mummy!" She cries hugging the body tightly.

The phone next to her is silent, the team had beeb listening into it, Hotch hates how sad his daughters voice sounds through the phone.

As she hugs her mum she feels a tap on the shoudler, wide eyed she jumps back away from her mum and away from tjr killer.

"Well well well, what have we here Hotchs daughter, cute thing you are" he tells the girl, shaking in fear Y/N stands up facing the man.

"You killed her you bastard!" She screams tears rolling down her eyes as she watched the sick basterd smirk at her. "I did, you and your brother will be next!" He yells before trying to grab her.

Y/N ducks and moves towards the door, she had to keep him downstairs. Turning around she looks for something to throw and remembers the knife in her waistband.

Holding it put at arms length she keeps the man infront of her. "You wknt find him I won't let you" she tells the man, Foyet on smirks and walks towards the teen.

Suddenly Y/N wakes up screaming murder, she whips her head around the dark room still screaming. Legs tangled in thr sheets the young girl desperately tries to stand up and run.

Her door is then opened and the light switched on, standing in the doorway was her Dad. Seeing his daughter crying and panicking he jumps into action.

He makes sure she sees its him before moving towards the 14 year old, it had been 2 year since the death of her mum and facing the reaper.

Every night she gets horrible vivid night terrors of that day, she hasn't be able to sleep since. Hotch begins to comfort his distraught daughter.

The man runs over to his daughter and sits on the bed holding his daughters hands tightly in his giving her pressure to help ground her.

"N/N its me its Dad, your safe remember the reaper is dead, he can't hurt you anymore." He tells the girl, Y/N shakes her head and cries in his arms.

Holding her tightly he's reminded of that day...

It wasn't until half an hour later when he arrived at his own home, dread filled his heart as walked inside to see his exwife shot.

Suddenly the sounds of grunting and screaming could be hear, the man sprint off if the direction and sees his daughter fighting for her life against Foyet.

"Y/N!" He yells emptying his clip into Foyet, when he was down Y/N leaps into her Dads arms and cries she cries and cries and cries.

It took a while for her to be okay and let go of her Dad, after that she was taken out of school for a few months to recover and started seeing a shrink.

Since then Y/N hadn't been the same, rocking back and forth Hotch rubs a comforting hand up his daughter back.

Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she could breath again. "Dad?" She calls, Hotch hums and continues comforting her. "C-can I sleep with you tonight?" She asks

Hotch kisses he forehead. "Of course you can sweetie" he whispers before picking her up and wrapping her in her blankets, they then leave her room Hotch turns off thr light and walk to his room.

As they do they walk past Jack's room, Hotch was lucky Jack had been staying with Jessica while he looked after Y/N, he didn't want him to have to listen to her screaming all night.

When they got to his room he pulled back the coverd and tucked his little girl in before getting in beside her, once he was under the covers Y/N curls up against her dad and falls into a finally restful sleep.

Smiling softly Hotch wishes her good night and falls into a dreamless sleep.

The end!

Hope you liked this oenshot, so sorry for the wait, as usual sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes!

Requests are open!

Word count: 1233

[lets-try-some-writing]

In the AU where unicron is optimus father what would happen if the kids were harmed or in a dangerous situation thanks to unicron resulting in the response of the optimus and the rest of the autobots

More pain for my lovely boy. This is going to be complete angst so to make sure Prime gets some comfort eventually, I am going to make an additional two parts for this in different posts.

A Father's Wrath

After months of watching Optimus be ignored and feared by his own team, the bots Optimus had come to see as family, Unicron grew angered. The chaos god understood their initial fear, but as he watched his only creation wallow and slowly fall to loneliness, his patience wore thin. This was his son, his glorious creation who had lowered himself to protect and care for Primus's lesser spawn, and now said spawn were rejecting that kindness. It was despicable.

The chaos god tried to reign in his anger for Optimus's sake. If nothing else the human vermin that had taken up residence on his frame were there to support his wayward creation. But days turned to weeks, and weeks into months until at last Unicron could take it no longer. One day after Optimus had struggled in vain to try and speak to any of his team only to be promptly ignored, Unicron at last snapped.

In a fit of rage, Unicron transferred power over to his creation unknowingly, causing Optimus to once again fall to the ground in agony as his frame rearranged itself to make up for the surplus of power. It was unintentional on Unicron's part, but as Optimus flailed and screamed, the waves of power emanating from him struck the children and the team. The team grew ill, most purging on the spot as Optimus pulled himself together and stood on shaky pedes, his spark once again exposed. But the children... they did not fare nearly as well.

They collapsed and convulsed. Jack became violently ill, throwing up as blood leaked from his eyes and ears. Miko started having a seizure that very nearly stopped her breathing altogether. And Rafael screamed and clawed at his face as the worst migraine he had ever gotten assaulted him. Before Optimus could do anything, Fowler was called in and the children were taken away for immediate hospitalization. The team left in Vehicle mode and parked in the hospital parking lot to keep a general optic on the children for fear that they might die while Optimus remained at base.

Left completely and utterly alone, Optimus cried. His frame once again shattered so thoroughly could not shed tears even if he tried, but the mixed dark and normal energon that leaked from his armor was enough of a testament to his grief. Otherworldly cries and wails echoed throughout the abandoned missile silo for hours as Optimus wept, hating himself and everything he was in that moment. The Matrix thrummed within him, trying to calm him and comfort its chosen bearer in its own odd way, but Optimus only composed himself nearly a day after being left alone to drown in his guilt. By the time the team came back, Optimus was no longer crying, but he was frantic for answers.

Optimus: The children, are they well?

Ratchet: *refusing to look at him*...

Optimus: Please, tell me their conditions!

Ratchet: *turning to leave* ...

Optimus: *grabbing his arm to keep him still* I can endure this silence no longer! Tell me what has befallen the children!

Ratchet: *snarling and ripping his arm away* They live, no thanks to you.

Optimus: Ratchet-

Ratchet: Save it! If this incident has proven anything, it is that you are dangerous, too dangerous to be kept near.

Optimus: Wait!

Ratchet: We are done. Take what you need and leave. You are no longer welcome here.

Optimus: Please don't do this-!

Ratchet: LEAVE!

The dooming declaration hung in the air as Optimus stopped dead in his tracks, the blazing motes of light that served as his optics flickering and wavering. His outstretched servo shook and his exposed spark pulsed in shock and horror. He looked at the rest of the team, desperate for it to be some cruel joke or perhaps a mistake. But as he met the fierce gazes of each of his former team, he knew the truth.

They feared him, and they wanted him gone.

The only one who didn't meet his pleading gaze was Bumblebee who instead opted to look away, unable to watch as Optimus was sent away. The Prime shook and energon leaked from his frame in his own version of tears as he sputtered in vain. However after a moment of silence, Optimus shuddered, turned away, and began gathering the few items he would take with him. He did not want to strip his family of anything important, after all, they still had a war to win. So all the Prime took was the few personal accessories he brought with him to earth, a singular first aid kit, and a whetstone for his in built blades.

He looked back pleadingly one last time as the ground bridge was fired up and prepared to send him halfway across the country. But as he was met with only cold and frigid glares by most, he tore his gaze away and said only one sentence before stepping through.

Optimus: If this is what you wish of me, I will honor it... but let it be known that I never intended for this to happen.

Optimus: ...

Optimus: I'm sorry.

He stepped through and the groundbridge closed behind him the moment he was out of sight. As soon as Optimus was gone, the team sighed collectively, not out of relief like they expected to, but out of grief for what they had done. But despite those feelings, they did not call Optimus back and instead each took time to themselves to think over the matter.

Arcee had been the one to hate Optimus most adamantly after the reveal, but as she lay in her berth, she found herself sorrowful. Optimus had been nothing but kind to her, caring for her and showing her the utmost sympathy and respect after the losses of her partners. He never yelled, he never harmed her, and he even willingly took hits for her more times than she could count. He was Unicron's creation, but he was the kindest mech she had ever met. She hated to admit it, but laying there after he left, she cried and tried to tell herself that it was for the best.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack were both very torn when it came to the matter of Optimus. Both respected him and looked up to him, even after the reveal they wanted to serve under him as they always had. After all, wreckers don't judge a mech so long as he does good. But with how dangerous he had proven to be, in their minds they could not afford to accept the risk that he posed, not when the children were in their care. As much as they loathed sending their Prime away, to them it was only right. It was what good wreckers would do...

Ratchet despised himself the moment he saw the look on Optimus's face after he ordered him to leave. He wished more than anything to take back those words, but his spark... his spark screamed in terror whenever his old friend looked at him. The sight of Optimus's blazing form and the feeling of his sickening spark waves washing over him were engraved into his memory. He couldn't look at Optimus the same way, not after all he had seen since Unicron's near awakening. He wanted to believe that what he was doing was right, that he was sending away a monster that had posed as Cybertronian like some sleeper agent for millions of years. But the pain in Optimus's glowing optics... it made Ratchet regret.

No monster could have looked so betrayed and so very broken at being sent away.

As for Bumblebee? He was left in a state of internal conflict. Much like Ratchet, he was terrified of his Sire's true form and nature, but like Arcee, he couldn't just ignore the fact that he had only ever been met with love and care from Optimus. The Prime had raised him, taken care of him, fought for him, and never once done a thing to harm him. Bumblebee wanted to think that he was cutting off a parasite or getting rid of a spy when he blocked off his bond with Optimus. But as he watched his Sire leave the base for what was likely the last time, Bumblebee felt empty and more alone than every before.

He had betrayed his Sire on every level and his spark knew it...

The children were not allowed back to base for over a week afterward as they recovered. Thankfully they did not suffer any serious damage and healed quickly. But upon entering base for the first time since the incident and seeing Bumblebee issuing orders instead of Optimus, they grew concerned. Immediately they tried to ask what had happened in their absence only to be met with silence from Fowler and June. Even when they turned to the team for answers, the bots simply dodged their questions, eventually up and lying by saying that Optimus was taking a few days to himself because he felt guilty.

The children were suspicious as pit, especially once they noticed the lack of avatars from Unicron and the mysterious disappearance of Optimus's plants, but they accepted it. The reasoning seemed plausible with Optimus's personality... so they waited.

Every day after school the children asked about Optimus. Bulkhead and Wheeljack only met their queries with guilty gazes and did their best to dodge the question. Arcee outright told the children to leave her alone every time they tried to talk with her about the absent Prime, only further rousing their suspicions. Ratchet straight up wouldn't even look at the children and tended to wander off muttering something whenever they tried going to him. And so lastly, after an additional week of prodding and begging for answers, Bumblebee stepped up as leader and gave them.

Jack: Where's Optimus? I know you said he was taking some time off, but it's been nearly two weeks!

Miko: It isn't like him!

Rafael: Optimus is always working and never takes breaks. Did something happen to him?

Bumblebee: ...

Rafael: Bee?

Bumblebee: For your safety, Optimus Prime has been stripped of his badge and exiled for harming innocents, associating with the enemy, and traitorous behavior.

The children: What!?!

The children were distraught but could do nothing once the truth was revealed. They could only make a fuss and give the team the silent treatment in retribution. The team did not take Optimus's absence and the children's reactions well... and neither did the Prime even with the distance between them.

Optimus set up camp in his alt-mode once his frame had healed from the power burst. He hid out in an old garage on some farmstead where a human male and his daughter lived. He stayed undercover for nearly a week in his alt-mode, both to allow his frame to recover and to wallow. He was absolutely spark broken at being sent away and most of his time in alt-mode was spent lamenting his losses.

But the Matrix has never been one to allow its bearer to remain inactive for long, and it swiftly pushed Optimus to move, to do something. As such Optimus resolved himself and left his makeshift base of operations with one goal in mind.

He would continue to fight for his Autobots, weather they wanted him to or not.

Unicron tried to reach out to his creation multiple times during the whole fiasco, but Optimus ignored him, angry at his father for destroying the delicate balance he had forged with his team. As such Optimus went at his work alone, using his remaining access to Autobot codes and signatures to track down his old team to assist where he could.

He would not stand idly by, not while Megatron still lurked.