One-Shots (Reader Inserts)

Perfume (America x Depressed!Reader)

Hello my Ingots! So, this is another sad fanfic, and yes I know I do write a lot of those, like, a lot, but I had this idea while I was showering and just had to write it down! Hope you enjoy!

~Silver

WARNING: SUICIDE/DEATH AHEAD.

Key:

(y/n) - Your name

Italics - Writing in the letter

(f/c) - Favorite color

(f/p) - Favorite perfume

The door to the house creaked open, a small breeze coming through the now open door. In stepped a tipsy man, struggling with his fingers to lock the door. The house was eerily quiet, no sounds coming from within. The slightly drunk man, known as Alfred, didn't notice this right away. He stumbled into the kitchen, looking for a glass of water to wash down the taste of liquor in his mouth. A large knife was missing from the knife block, and again, he didn't notice. He swished the water around in his mouth before gulping it down and placing the glass in the sink. He now took notice of the quiet, and in the pit of his stomach he knew something was wrong. Alfred ignored his gut feeling and dragged himself into the bedroom he shared with you. You being his girlfriend. He loved you dearly, he really did. At least, that's what he told himself. Lately, you had been getting distant and he didn't know why. He inquired some of his friends, but they just shrugged saying that if he couldn't notice it he couldn't fix it. He'd frown at them but would soon forget about it as the drinks would arrive. He'd go out to the bar with his friends at least once every two days, sometimes more and would often arrive home drunk out of his mind where you would have to take care of him. This time though, something in his gut told him not to drink too much and as he pulled himself into bed, he pondered where you were. It was around 12 at night and you'd be in bed by now, but instead there were only empty and cold sheets. He frowned at your side of the bed before coming to the conclusion that you were in the bathroom. He didn't sleep very well that night.

The next day soon came around, and the sunlight spilt through the curtains onto Alfred's face, waking him up. He blinked wearily and rubbed his eyes, not wanting to get up yet. He reached over onto your side of the bed to pull you to him but his hand met nothing. This time he opened his eyes for good. Your side of the bed was exactly how he left it last night, undisturbed and still cold and empty. The feeling in Alfred's stomach grew bigger, and this time he definitely knew something was wrong. He got out of bed and his eyes landed on his dresser, where a neatly folded letter lay. He hesitated but went over to it, the feeling in his stomach growing larger with each step. As he picked it up, he noticed that it smelled like the perfume you usually wore, (f/p). He opened it and inside was a picture of you and him, smiling happily at the camera and a small letter addressed in your curly handwriting to him.

Dear Alfred,

So, I don't really know how to write this, as I've never written anything like it. I love you Alfred, I really do, but you going to the bar every other day has started to take a toll on me. You've been ignoring me lately, choosing a drink over me, your girlfriend. I've tried to talk to you about the recent death of my parents but as said earlier, you ignored me. I've been really depressed lately and went to the doctor. He gave me some pills that will supposedly help me, but they haven't done anything. Alfred, I'm lonely. All of my friends have moved away and I have texted them, it's just not the same. It's not the same without you around. The house is really quiet and I'm left alone to my thoughts. I've found myself pondering the meaning of my life, and if I'm meant to be on this Earth. That train of thought often leads to the answer no. I know you probably won't read this till a few days after, and you probably haven't noticed my absence for a few days, but I want you to know that I love you, even if you don't love me. The depression has been getting worse lately, and I can't do anything about it. My parents are gone, my friends are all far away, and you, you're out drinking. I'm sorry if I'm hurting you, but I can't take this sadness anymore. It feels like someone is chaining me to the ground and putting bricks on my shoulders one by one, and each time another brick is added, I get closer to the ground and the burden becomes heavier. There's always a dark cloud hanging over my head and I can't seem to get rid of it or the bricks. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

-(y/n)

Tears sprinkled onto the paper, blurring some of the neatly written words. "(Y/N)!" Alfred yelled and ran out of the room, leaving the note and picture of the two of you to flutter to the ground. He ran down the hallway and came to a stop at the bathroom door that was cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. He pushed the door open only to come to an immediate stop. There you were, in all your beauty, lying on the ground in a small pool of blood, the missing kitchen knife sitting on the ground next to you and stained with your blood. Your eyes were shut, and you were pale, as if you had been dead for a while. Alfred ran up to you and hugged you, crying onto your form. You were deathly cold, and he came to a horrible conclusion. You had been dead for a few days, just as you said in your note. You were right, he didn't notice you were gone. Fresh tears rushed into his eyes, and he sobbed at the thought that he was so blind, so oblivious to your pain that you had killed yourself. Your (f/c) sweater was stained with dried blood around your waist and wrists. Alfred suddenly had a horrible thought, and with shaky hands pulled the sleeve of your sweater up. There, in all their glory, were small cuts running up and down the length of your arm. Some looked old, some fresh, and they were on your other arm as well. More sobs racked Alfred's shaking form as he pulled your cold body into his lap, running his fingers through your hair and putting his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled faintly of perfume.