#i hope he starts sobbing uncontrollably and snot comes out of his nose and it’s the biggest breakdown of all time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

Just wanted to say 2 things:

1)Love the fic where he proposed over a cup of tea…so sweet💗

2) we all know how H has asthma sometimes so…could u write something w/the reader helping him with an attack idk or during an interview/concert/family gathering do as u pls

A nice day

XOXO

firstly, thank you so much that’s so sweet of you <33 and secondly, um yes i would love to give this a go at writing for you! hope you enjoy;

Harry couldn’t breathe.

He was in a panic, completely terrified of the uncontrollable situation. He was having an asthma attack concocted with a panic attack and it was brutal.

“Shit,” Jeff whispered as he watched Harry breathe heavily and loudly on the floor. His friend was currently on his hands and knees trying to gasp for air, whilst dressed in his notorious Fine Line outfit.

It was the big night. The one night only at The Forum for the release of his new album Fine Line, hence the costume. He had been nervous all day, with shaking hands and a tendency to forget simple things. You had been with him all day; having a slow brunch together out in the Hollywood Hills and then just chilling around for the afternoon. You didn’t want to anything to strain his voice, so talking hadn’t been an option. That left you either to sleeping and cuddling, whilst watching a movie, or sex. Now you were all for sex, but Harry complained that he liked talking to you during it and so that got shut down pretty quickly. You didn’t forget what he whispered to your ear though just before you cuddled into watching Bambi;

“Keep your moans for later, you’ll be fucking needing them for what I have planned.”

But that was over two hours ago now. Harry had been whisked away to start getting ready, what with hair and makeup first. You’d left him to it, telling him you would just lounge around and wait for him. It was when he was getting into costume had you announced you were just going to go down the street to get some coffee from Dunkin’ - seeing as there were few of them back in England, where you most commonly lived with Harry. The problem was you hadn’t come back yet, and it was an hour later.

“Harry mate, you need to calm down.” Kid Harpoon told him carefully, kneeling down next to his good friend. Nothing was working though and Harry was too breathless to ask anyone for his inhaler.

It had started by thinking about how nervous he actually was for tonight. It was such a huge show and one of a kind too. He was playing his new album and it wasn’t even 24 hours old yet. There was so much pressure weighing him down that he couldn’t breathe - he was suffocating in the anxiety of his own mind and he couldn’t escape at all. Then because he was in so much of a panic his asthma hit him and added another reason to his breathlessness. It was finally made worst when he realised you weren’t by his side to help him. You weren’t there to quickly eliminate the asthma and focus on helping him overcome the panic attack, instead he had his mates surrounding him - crowding him - and they didn’t know the first thing to do.

“Sarah, where’s Y/N?” Mitch shouted, making Harry squint the thought away. He didn’t want to think about how something back might’ve happened or might be happening to you. Where were you? Sarah’s response did no better to help him.

“I don’t know.”

“Harry bud. Talk to us.” Jeff spoke, crouched down in front of him. Harry shook his head, tears running from his eyes as he began crying. The sobs were really harsh and embarrassing. The tears were heavy and mixed with snot running from his nose to pool on the floor below him. He was not doing well at all, coughing when the asthma choked him up. He couldn’t do this. He felt like he was in a small box and it was only getting smaller. He felt as if he were going to die. Genuinely.

“Does he look like he can talk, dickward.” Adam’s voice came from the other side of Harry, messing his head up even more. There was so many voices and he couldn’t focus on just one, but he didn’t want to. He wanted yours. He needed yours. You.

Whenever this has happened before he was always luckily in the comfort of his home, or the tour bus and always with you. So this was unfamiliar and terrifying. He was beginning to think you’d left him or you’d gotten seriously hurt, but he couldn’t do anything to help. He was stuck - paralysed to this position as his lungs collapsed in on themselves and his brain sped the same speed as a train. You were his comfort person and it was only ever you that he wanted in situations like these. Just you.

“Move out of my way. Move!” Harry thought he heard you and your voice, but he hated that his mind could be playing tricks on him in desperation for what, or whom, he truly wanted.

He felt someone crash on the floor in front of him and the almighty smell of lavender and soap hit him all at once. This time, he was glad to have someone sit so close to him, because it was you.

“Harry look at me, hey, hey. You’re okay. Look at me bubs.” You spoke calmly, trying not to sound panicked yourself, even if you were heavily worried. You watched as he looked up at you, eyes ridiculously red and puffy whilst his nose was dripping like a leaking tap. You wanted to rub his tears away and dab away the snot, but your main priority was on his breathing first. “Okay good, okay.”

Your hand went into your bag and picked out his inhaler. You shook it a few times, before putting it into Harry’s mouth. “On three, one, two, three…” Harry tried is best to breathe in and you pushed down on the canister. “Good, bubs, really good. Okay again, one, two, three…” You repeated and then a third time until you could tell that the wheezing of his asthma attack had disappeared.

“T-than…” Harry tried to mumble out, but couldnt because he was still in panic and his throat was so dry.

“Sshh you’re okay.” You turned to one of the crew members and asked for them to fetch you a bottle of water. You asked people to clear out of the room and leave you with Harry for a bit, knowing he wouldn’t settle in front of all these people. You sat on the floor, crossed legged, and brought Harry to lay his head in your lap with his body trailing behind. You offered him one of your hands to squeeze if he wanted to, which he appreciated, cupping both of his around yours. Your other hand laid to stroke through his gelled hair - that would no doubt have to be redone now.

Instead of going straight into talking to him, you sang his favourite lullaby to him in aid of calming him down. It always worked, or at least helped a little. You sang quietly, noticing the beat of his heart soften with every line you sung. You were by no means a professional singer like him, but he liked the way it was so imperfect and mellow. It calmed him to hear something so simple and so you. Whilst you sang the crew never came back with your requested water and you thanked them, before you were the only ones left in the room.

After you finished singing you noticed how calm Harry was, almost still - the complete opposite to how he’d been all of 10 minutes ago. It was amazing what the power of you could do to him.

“What colour are we feeling?” You and Harry had created your own little system by which you would let each other know how you’re feeling by a colour of the rainbow. You’d designated a meaning to all of them that only you two could understand and used them on the days when you weren’t feeling great, to help understand each other’s feelings better.

“The whole bloody rainbow.” Harry mumbled out and you passed the water around so he could take a few sips, to which he thanked you graciously for.

“Oi, you can’t have that as your answer.” It was a rule that you could only use one colour to some your most intense emotion in that moment, otherwise there was kind of no point to the system.

“But it’s true. I feel grey with confusion, blue with sadness, purple with frustration, yellow with fear and even light yellow with cowardice. Yet I feel pink with happiness and light red with love.”

“What about red red?” You teased, not being able to help yourself.

“What? Lust? Always, for you that is.” You leant down to kiss his head as he cracked a joke, showing you that your Harry was still there beneath all this worry.

“Tell me what the colours represent in real life.”

“Purple because I am frustrated that I had to have a panic attack right before the biggest show of my career. Yellow because I am frightened that nobody will like the album and it will be a complete fail of a night. Grey because I can’t choose one colour and focus on it. I.. I—”

You could tell he getting himself worked up again, so cut him short. “Bubs stop, you’re okay. Listen to me.” You tucked his hair behind his ear as if to open it up for him to hear better. “Don’t ever be frustrated with yourself for something like this. You are allowed to have moments of weakness; you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. Did this compromise your show? No. Did this show off how strong and brave you are? Yes. That’s what is important, therefore we can swap purple for dark yellow because you were brave. Which means yellow can also turn to dark yellow because you are so brave for doing something so huge and so wonderful. People already love the album H. Can’t get enough of it. Everyone will sing along to every word, I can promise you that. Or at least I will. You are amazing, so never undersell yourself. That’s important to me and for you. Bubs, you are so amazing for what you’re doing here tonight and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Yes, a panic attack isn’t nice and it isn’t convenient, but it just helps show how much you care about tonight and it going a success. That must count for something.”

He didn’t say anything for a bit and that was okay. He was most likely getting his thoughts together and mentally preparing himself for the greatest night of his life. You bent your body over so you could hug him, since his back was to your front, and just give him a squeeze to reiterate how proud you are of him.

“Y/N.” Harry spoke quietly, as your body encased his. You embraced his warmth and inhaled the beautiful scent that he was wearing. He both smelt and looked phenomenal.

“Yes bubs.”

“You know I love you right?” Of course you did, but it still made your heart flutter as crazy as the first time he said it to when he tells you now.

“I do.”

“And you know you’re it for me right?”

“Well.. I—” You didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself.

“Because you are.” Harry turned himself around, making you sit up so he could move. He was lying with his head facing upwards now, face looking less red and puffy, and staring right into the souls of your eyes. He looked magical. Beautiful. He thought the same of you. “And,” he moved his fingers to take off his S ring from Gucci, that probably cost more than your annual salary, and place it onto your ring finger of your right hand, “I give you this as a promise to share my last name with you someday.”

Seeing the initial of his last name sat on the finger opposite to the one he claimed he would one day put two more rings on, brought you to tears. “Harry…” You didn’t know what to say, you were speechless. You had never expected for him to do something as monumental as this and had never experienced it before to know how to react.

Of course you’d always dreamt of marrying him and being his for eternity, but never thought of it possibly becoming your reality. Now, Harry was completely devoting himself to you and only you and it suddenly all felt like the dream was settling in place.

“I swear to you Y/N, i’ll love you until the next lifetime and i’ll find you again. I love you so much, I can’t even tell you how much because it is so infinite. You’re so kind and patient with me and you see me for me, not for the Harry Styles, just Harry. I’ll never let a day pass without you on my mind and I think it’s because you were always meant to be mine. My heart is yours.” He smiled once he noticed you were crying, moving one of his hands up to wipe the tears away.

“How do I top that?” You whispered to him, but mostly to yourself. Both of you laughed.

“Just tell me you love me.”

“I do. I do love you Harry.” You nodded and then he sealed your confirmation with a kiss to his lips. You rested your hand upon his cheek, placing the coolness of the S ring upon his cheekbone, as he placed his hand under your chin to guide you into the kiss. He tasted divine and you smiled knowing that you got to have him like this, taste him like this, for the rest of your beating hearts’ days.

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thisisgonnafuxkinkillme · 4 years

Text

Pro Heros Find You Crying

Warnings: tw for body image, mentions of death of pets

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

You were home, alone, when you found out. It wasn’t a particularly big issue, and it wasn’t something that someone else would necessarily care about, but to you, this was the final straw.

An actor from your childhood, someone who you watched constantly as a child, someone who, albeit from a screen, saw you grow up, passed away. You never got to even meet him in person. The closest you’ve ever gotten was him noticing your comment on a livestream of 12 other people, and smiling.

You never got to thank him. For everything he’d done for you.

Tears fell from your eyes uncontrollably, dripping from your eyelashes and dropping onto the floor, your clothes, the keyboard.

Soon, though, you felt dreaded sobs making their way from your core all the way through your vocal cords. They shook your body like an earthquake. Sobs don’t care what they break inside you. They just need to get out.

What no one else would understand about this, though, was that your tears weren’t just being spilled for the actor you never got to thank. No, these represent so much more.

Your childhood is officially gone.

Just as that actor will be grieved, buried, and will rot in the ground with dusty fake flowers above his grave, your childhood will be filled with maggots and worms.

The thing about childhoods, though, is that they still live inside you, even when they’re over.

You always found this fact a cruel one. Even now, you could feel the worms burrowing into your childhood, eating away and destroying all the memories you’ve tried so hard to keep in tact for all these years.

You sobbed for him, yes. But you were still grieving your loss as well.

Cold, bony fingers met your shoulder. You jumped, yelping at the sudden touch.

“What?! What do you want?!” you screamed. You aren’t usually this ornery, but the embarrasment of being this upset over something so menial, plus the shock of someone else being home with you, caused you to snap.

"What happened?" He gently asked. He met your seemingly angry tone with nothing but pure kindness and sympathy.

"I-I'm so sorry, Toshi...I didn't mean-"

"I know, pumpkin. I know."

He took you in his arms, pulling you towards him.

In between sobs, you explained what happened.

"oh...I see... That does sound like a lot for you to be dealing with."

He stroked your tear stained cheek.

“But...I hope you know that just because you’re older, it doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed to be a kid sometimes. You can still get excited over stuff, and cry over things that seem silly, and have wonder about new things. As long as you keep a piece of your childhood with you, you never have to say goodbye.”

Once you calmed down, he took you out for ice cream: something you haven’t done since you were barely 10 years old.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

You quickly clicked your heels into the staff restroom, closing the door behind you and shakily letting out a sigh of relief. You knew you didn’t have much time left before the tears started coming once you got that text, so you decided it’d be best for you to go ahead and have another teacher deal with your class for a few minutes while you let yourself deal with this, alone.

You re-read the text one more time. Maybe it wasn’t what you thought it was.

Y/n... I’m so sorry, but your dog was put to sleep today.

You shook your head. No, maybe she meant to say that he was taking a nap. Maybe he was still waiting for you, at home, in his little bed...

A sob escaped before you had the chance to control it as you pictured his little black and white face peacefully sleeping on his doggie bed.

You had that dog for years. He’d been there for you when no one else had, and though he couldn’t speak, you always knew he silently understood what you needed when you needed it.

Now, he was gone.

You covered your mouth, trying your best to supress the sounds of sorrow escaping your lips. Maybe, you thought, if I don’t acknowledge it, it’s not real.

But deep down, you know that’s not true.

The door to the staff bathroom begins to creak open.

“Hey, someone’s in here!” you croak out, the tears were even audible in your voice.

“Yeah, and now I’m in here too,” the teacher replied, shutting and locking the door behind him. Something you had forgotten to do.

It was Aizawa, the very teacher you had just asked to watch your students ‘for a moment’.

Before you could ask about them, he mentioned, “They’re fine. I put on a movie for em... but you, on the other hand, are certainly not.”

He took his place next to you on the dirty tile floor of the school restroom, against one wall. He handed you a tissue, noting but not mentioning the fact that you were a mess of tears, ruined makeup, and snot. You gladly accepted, blowing your nose.

Neither of you said much for a good five minutes. You forced yourself to calm down, as to not embarrass yourself in front of him, but the tears were still there, festering below the surface.

“So, what’s got you so upset?”

That little question was all it took for you to break. You tried, unsuccessfully, to say it. The three little words, “My dog died,” but no matter how much you strained, all that came out was a mess of choked up sobs.

You shakily handed him your phone. His eyes darted to the text, and he instantly understood.

Aizawa was not one for any physical touching, ever. Even though you had been dating him, he still never really enjoyed holding hands, hugging, or anything like that.

Today, however, was a totally different situation. He turned to you, opening his arms wide, gesturing for you to ‘come here’.

But you didn’t need anything more.

You did, and he silently cradled you, rubbing your hair.

Truthfully, he didn’t know exactly what to say. What could you say?

Once you began to calm down, he stroked your jaw lightly.

“What was his name?”

“...Theo.” you answered plainly.

“You loved Theo a lot, didn’t you?”

You nodded.

“You know, what’s so funny about losing a pet is that...it’s incredibly hard,” he sighed, “Even harder than losing humans.”

Aizawa continued, “It’s because we don’t have anything to gain from lying about loving them. We just do. Animals love their owners completely unconditionally, never needing any reassurance that you love them back a hundred times over. That’s not something that many humans have.”

You nodded.

“ I just hope you know that...you did your best for him. He couldn’t have ever asked for a better owner to share his life with. You did good, y/n,” he whispered. You shot him a shaky smile. Really, your heart was aching more now than ever.

“You don’t have to do all that. I know you’re not doing well, still. Please, go ahead and go home for the day. I can take on your class, no problem,” he assured.

“...can you...come over after work?” you asked. He nodded.

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fatgum

It’s been almost a year since this pandemic began. You wonder to yourself, how long can that be an excuse for you?

You had gained weight. A lot of it. You suffer from secret binge eating, indulging yourself greedily in all your favorite comfort foods. Usually, you did this at night, which worked out even better for you, since your boyfriend usually had night watch and was not at home.

Stretch marks were always a normal sight for you, ever since you hit puberty, but the ones on your stomach have started to move upwards, like vines trying to find the sun. They stared back at you in shades of purples, pinks, and browns.

You ran your fingers over your now bumpy skin.

Other girls don’t look like this. Other girls are happy with a miniature bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, a granola bar for lunch, and maybe a tiny serving of pasta for dinner. They are the beautiful ones. They must be happy, right?

Your fingers unrelentlessly pinch and pull at your stomach, your thighs, your love handles. All fat.

Each tiny action reminded your body that you hated it.

Did you even ever love your body? Even when you were ‘skinny’?

Your eyes met with your face, staring back at you in your mirror. You saw flashes of the girl you once were, tiny memories of a once happy girl.

You couldn’t hold back the wail of grief that racked your whole body. You turned away from the mirror, curling up on your floor.

That wasn’t any better.

The remanants of last night’s binge surrounded you. Wrappers from your favorite ice cream bar, discarded chip bags, and candy containers scattered your floor.

You suddenly remembered that he’d be home soon, and scrambled to collect all the evidence through your blurry eyes.

Each piece of trash reminded you of your failure, your lack of self control. Your uselessness.

You sobbed harder.

“Y/n, darling, I’m home!” that peppy, familiar voice announced from the entranceway. You took a deep breath, scooting all the trash under your bed and wiping your face.

You greeted him, a faux smile plastered on your face.

He began to speak, but when he got a good look at you, he paused.

“What happened here, sweetie?” he asked, touching your face. His hand was chilled from the outside air.

“N-nothing. I’m fine,” you lied, forcing the smile a little more.

He squinted his eyes, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Go ahead an’ tell me what’s going on with ya,” he offered, patting one knee.

“Baby, it’s nothing. You need to go to bed, I know you’re probably exhausted.”

“The only thing exhausting me right now is you. I’ll go to the bedroom if that’s whatcha want, but I’m not goin to bed until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Fatgum made his way into the bedroom, quickly slipping into his house clothes before sliding into the bed you both shared.

Before you could join him, he paused, adjusting himself.

He then pulled out a popsicle stick that you neglected to remove from the bed when you made it this morning. At the sight of it, you turned away from him and covered your face.

He was now wholly confused, but ready to deal with whatever it was that was upsetting you. He reached out, pulling you to him. You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t find the strength to anymore.

He rubbed your back in small circles, cooing, “let it out, babydoll...that’s it, good...”

Once you had calmed down quite a bit, he tilted your chin up towards his face, making you make eye contact.

“What have you been hiding from me, love?” he delicately questioned.

You said nothing, but slid out the pile of trash from the night before.

“This...is from last night,” you stated plainly.

You tensed your body, ready for the ridicule, the mocking, the ‘i’m just concerned for your health’ comments.

You looked up, to see if he could actually see what you’d just shown him. He did. His eyes were dewy yet understanding.

He stood up, placing his arm around you and pulling you towards him.

“I understand,” he whispered into your ear. You clenched your fist.

“No. You can’t understand.”

You looked up at him, with now angered eyes.

“You’ll never understand, Tai. Never.”

“What do you-”

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO STAY FAT FOREVER! I DO!” you screeched, covering your face. You never yelled at him before, or anyone else for that matter. But this issue you’ve been dealing with was one that no one ever saw from you. It was a raw, bleeding subject, one that you felt as if you’ve just poured a great deal of salt on.

“Darling...” he whispered, pulling you close to him, “What’s wrong with being fat, honey?”

“Are you kidding?” you spat, “I don’t look good like this, Tai. I don’t fit into my clothes anymore, I-”

“Number one, you most certainly do look good like anything. Number two, I will buy you new clothes.”

You were starting to get frustrated.

“Tai! I’m telling you, I fucking hate myself, okay? I hate my body! And, sometimes, I hate you for pretending to love something that I know you hate, too!”

He pulled you away from him, looking you in the eye. He was serious now.

“Don’t you be puttin words in my mouth. I have never ever, not even once thought about hating you or your body,”

“That’s a lie, Tai! How could you ever love me when I look like this?”

“How could you ever love me when I look like this?” he retorted, gesturing to his fat form.

You gasped. You didn’t really have an answer.

He knew you wouldn’t, either.

“So, now tell me, y/n... what’s so wrong about being fat?”

You clung to him, apologizing in between sobs.

He hushed you, cooing,” There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, it’s okay. I love you, sweetie.”

You sniffed, “I love you, too.”

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pine-lark · 3 years

Note

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

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deerixiie · 4 years

Text

Comforting an s/o who lost all of her work

prompt: scenarios where oikawa and kuroo comfort a artist s/o who lost all of her work

warnings: a lil bit of angst if crying is angsty, major fluff at the end

pairings: artist and fem!reader x oikawa, artist and fem!reader x kuroo

a/n: this was actually a request; i was stupid and while i was editing i accidentally posted instead of saving the draft. for some reason my mind didn’t think that deleting the post would delete the ask too, and i ended up deleting the ask. i’m SO SO SORRY! i hope this gets to you since you’re an anon!

anyway, to the anon who posted i just want to say i’m sorry that you lost all your work, especially since it was from the past 3-4 years! i hope there’s a way to get it back (i was able to restore my data even though i didn’t back up my old phone), but even if there isn’t i hope these scenarios helped! i’m so soft for them 🥺

KUROO

Kuroo knew something was wrong with you the second you stepped into school. Your head was down, your smiles were more of grimaces, and you barely reacted to anything he was saying.

It worried him.

But Kuroo was also observant. He didn’t remember ticking you off recently, so the only thing that could make you so upset most likely had to do with your art. He didn’t want to tell you outright in fear of making you cry, so he decided to bring up the subject of your art and see how you reacted.

“How is that piece you were working on going?” He said nonchalantly during lunch. “Have you finished it yet?”

Unbeknownst to him, his words were a knife through your heart. Your eyes well up with tears. “It’s…” Your voice cracks as the tears start flowing from your eyes. “Tetsu, it’s gone. All of it is gone.”

Kuroo gently takes your hands and leads you into the hallway. He pulls you into his chest and sits down against a wall. “What happened, kitten?”

You quietly explain through tears that all of your artwork is gone and you don’t know if you can get it back. He whispers soft words of comfort as you quietly sob into his chest, gently raking his fingers through your hair.

“What if I can’t get it back?” you whisper. “I don’t want to start all over again.”

“Shh, baby I know.” He moves his hand to your upper back, gently rubbing out your stressed muscles. “Just let it all out, okay?”

You sniffle and cry some more. With every touch of his hand you felt a rush of comfort, and soon enough your tears were dried up. You let your eyes droop as you snuggle closer to Kuroo’s chest.

Kuroo’s mouth curves up into a small smile—though it looked more like a smirk—and lays his head on top of yours. You could’ve stayed there forever, wrapped in his warm embrace, but reality was starting to seep in.

“Mm, Tetsu?” you mumble. “Don’t we have to get back to class?”

“Don’t be a party pooper. We can stay here a bit longer.”

“Says the top class student.”

“I might get good grades but that doesn’t mean I’m a teacher’s pet.” He pauses for a moment. “We should totally make out in the janitor’s closet.”

You pull away from his chest. “Tetsu!”

“Hey, it made you smile. That’s my main goal here.” He smirks. “Though making out doesn’t seem too bad~”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laugh, resting your head on his chest again.

“See, now you’re happy again. One boyfriend point for me.”

You smile into his chest. “Good for you.”

The gloom about your lost artwork still lingered in your mind, but it was easier to bear. For now, you were just going to stay in your boyfriend’s arms.

OIKAWA

“Hi darling~,” Oikawa cooed over the phone. “Have you finished your homework yet?”

You weren’t exactly sure why you decided to pick up. You were crying—the ugly kind, eyes red, tear stained, snot trailing out of your nose. And yet here you were, sobbing uncontrollably as your boyfriend’s voice filled up your bedroom.

Oikawa’s voice quickly went serious. “Y/N? What happened? Do you need me?”

You nod your head, and then you realize he couldn’t see you. “Y-Yeah. It’s about my-” your voice cracked, “my art.”

“I’m coming, darling. Hang on.”

He lived down the street, so it didn't take too long for him to arrive. He cracked open your bedroom door.

You cover your face with your hands and cry harder. Instantly he was there, pulling you into his chest. Through sobs you are able to explain how you lost all of your art you worked hard on over the last couple years.

“Oh, princess,” Oikawa sighs, his breath tickling your neck. Ever so softly he started humming quietly, rubbing circles around your back.

“I d-don’t know what to do,” you sob. “Wh-What if I c-can’t get it back?”

“Shh, shh,” Oikawa murmurs. “Let’s worry about this later, darling.”

“O-Okay.”

He continues his soft humming, eventually calming you down. Your body-wracking sobs turned into gulps of air.

“Do you want to sit outside for a bit?” Oikawa asks softly. Your face was still buried in his chest.

“Can we?”

“Of course.”

And then you were outside, pressed up against him as you sat in the grass and stared at the sky. At least, he was staring at the sky. You were staring at him.

“Tooru?”

He turns to you. “Hm?”

“Thank you. I’m still upset, but,” you smile, “you really helped.”

He gives you an embarrassed smile, waving you off with one hand. “It’s nothing. Anything for you, princess.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder. “You might’ve lost all your old work, but now you get the opportunity to start new, right?”

“Right.”

“I love you, darling. So much.”

You sink against him and smile. “I love you too.”

masterlist

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noona-clock · 5 years

Text

Indefinitely

Genre: Dystopia!AU

Pairing: Jaebum x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death, some emotional angst

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 | Words: 2,120

Two months.

This whole ordeal had only been going on for two months, and yet, the difference between the world two months ago and the world now was... astounding.

It had started off gradually, but that had only lasted for about a week. The news had reported a few deaths here and there, and the fact that no doctors had been able to figure out the cause before losing the patient hadn’t been too concerning.

But then those few deaths turned into several. And the next day, a hundred more people were in the hospital with the same symptoms. The day after, three hundred. A thousand. Five thousand.

Each day, the number of people affected by this mystifying disease multiplied so tremendously until the leaders of the world had no choice but to label it an ‘Epidemic.’

But the scariest part was, no doctor in the entire world had any clue what it was. They could figure out neither the cause nor the cure, and every single person who showed up in a hospital with those symptoms ended up dying just a couple of days later.

Two months since the first news report hit, and the world’s population was less than half of what it used to be. You knew of fifteen deaths on your street alone, and only twenty-two people lived on it. And probably most of the people left would start showing symptoms any day now.

Needless to say, you were terrified. There was a raging epidemic sweeping the world, and there was nothing you could do about it. Nothing anyone could do to stop it.

And then, two days ago, your terror had turned to absolute anguish.

Both of your parents had woken up that morning with a fever, the first symptom of this disease. They had tried to assuage your worries, saying it was just the flu or a bad cold.

But then the hives appeared on their chest, neck, and arms. The second symptom of the disease. Again, they had tried to reassure you, telling you that hydrocortisone cream would help, and they would be fine by the next morning.

Unsurprisingly, the next morning arrived, and they were not fine.

Their fevers were at an all-time high. The hives had spread across their entire bodies. And they were starting to cough up blood. Still, though, your mom tried her best to stay positive. You were freaking out, of course, and your dad had given up hope by this point.

It wasn’t until today, just about an hour ago, that your mom finally succumbed to reality and told you to leave. You still had no fever or any signs of sickness, and there was nothing you could do to save them. There was no point in staying.

So, you were currently filling a backpack with... whatever you could fit, really. Some clothes, necessary toiletries, a blanket, a flashlight. You dressed in comfortable clothes and the waterproof boots you always wore when it snowed. And you did all of this while sobbing uncontrollably.

You were losing your parents. Once you left, you would never see them again. Ever.

But even if you stayed here, you would never see them again. And the epidemic was now so widespread and rampant, you couldn’t even call a hospital to come and take them away. Even after they...

You couldn’t even say it. You could barely think about them not being a part of your life, even though it was happening. Right now.

Once you hefted the backpack onto your shoulders, you tried your best to wipe your face of tears and snot, and you trudged into your parent’s room.

They were almost gone by now, both of them in and out of consciousness. Thankfully, they still recognized you, and when you appeared in their doorway, your mother waved you over to the side of the bed.

You shuffled in, sniffling and feeling the hot tears press against the back of your eyes. Your throat was closing, and when you reached her, your mom took your hand.

“You’ll be all right,” she croaked. “If you were going to catch this, you would have by now. Just stay as safe as you can, okay, baby?”

You nodded, letting out a single sob and reaching up to wipe your eyes.

“Please remember --” your father murmured. “We will always love you. So, so much, pumpkin.”

The use of your father’s nickname for you only made the lump of emotion in your throat get bigger, and you let out another sob. “I love you, too,” you replied as best as you could.

You began to lean down to kiss their foreheads, but before you got the chance, they both erupted into another spasmodic coughing fit. Within seconds, blood would begin pouring from their mouths... and both of them would probably be gone within a couple of hours.

I guess now is as good a time as any to leave.

You choked out a final ‘goodbye’ as you stumbled backward out of their bedroom... and when you reached the door, you turned on your heel and made a run for it.

You practically fell down the stairs and tumbled through the front door, tears streaming down your face and blurring your vision. The hard thud of your feet against the pavement was really the only way you knew you’d made it outside; you were sobbing too hard to be fully aware of your surroundings.

Just after you’d made it to your front lawn, you suddenly ran into something large and firm enough to knock you to the ground. You heard a very deep grunt, and that jolted you out of your emotional haze enough to look up and see...

“Oh,” you breathed, once again wiping the tears from your eyes and face so you could see better. “Sorry.”

“Just watch where you’re going next time,” Jaebum muttered.

Jaebum was your next-door neighbor and had been for years now. Despite that, you barely knew anything about him. The guy was a brick wall, physically and emotionally. The times you’d tried to strike up a conversation while you were both out getting the mail, he’d just barely reciprocated. You’d stopped trying about three years ago.

“There... won’t be a next time,” you choked out. “My -- my parents -- I... I’m leaving.”

You pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the grass off your pants, and before you could even look up at him, he responded with, “Yeah. Me too.”

You paused, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze darted up to his face. “Oh, no,” you murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Jaebum just shrugged, barely meeting your eye.

Well... you knew it was a long shot, but if you were both leaving...

“Should we... go together? Just so we’re not alone? It’ll probably increase our chances of survival if we’re together, and --”

“Yeah, sure.”

Your head jerked back in surprise.

You hadn’t expected him to accept your offer at all, but so quickly? And without any sort of disdain in his voice?

...Okay, come to think of it, you must look absolutely awful right now. Your face was most definitely red and puffy from crying, and your parents were literally on the brink of death.

So, he obviously felt sorry for you. He was taking pity on his next-door neighbor of too many years to remember, and the two of you would most likely go your separate ways after he reached his patience threshold with you.

But... for now... you had someone.

“All -- all right, then,” you said with a nod. “Let’s... go.”

Jaebum slid one hand into his pocket and took out a set of keys, jingling them slightly. “We can take my car as far as we can until it runs out of gas, and then we can go on foot.”

“Sounds good,” you replied, your voice getting quieter. The longer you stood here, the more you were thinking about what exactly was happening inside. Were they still alive? Shouldn’t you stay with them until they...? I mean, if it were you, wouldn’t you want the person you loved most in the world by your side as you...?

“Y/N,” Jaebum said sharply, making it obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Sorry,” you breathed. You clutched the straps of your backpack and forced your body to move, to follow Jaebum to the parked car in his driveway.

Within minutes, the two of you were sitting silently in the car, Jaebum driving with intense focus down the empty streets of your town. You had forced yourself not to look in the side mirror as he’d driven away from your home, but that hadn’t stopped more tears from spilling from your eyes.

You were trying to cry as quietly as you could, but after about five minutes, Jaebum sighed and leaned over to open the passenger-side glove compartment. He took out a bandana and tossed it gently into your lap.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the piece of fabric and wiping your cheeks and nose.

“Could you maybe try to keep it down?” he muttered, and your brow immediately furrowed. You snapped your watery gaze over to the driver’s seat, your jaw dropping slightly.

“Excuse me?” you asked with a chuckle of disbelief. “I -- I just walked away from my dying parents! I just left the house I grew up in! I’ll never see any of it again! Ever! I think it’s normal to be pretty sad in this kind of situation!”

You could have sworn you saw Jaebum roll his eyes, but you told yourself you’d just imagined it. There was no way he was that heartless.

“If you recall, I’m going through exactly the same thing. Do you see me blubbering away over here?”

“People grieve differently!” you retorted.

Instead of arguing back, Jaebum simply pressed his lips together and continued driving.

Once you’d dried your cheeks and managed to stave off another round of tears, you folded the bandana up and slipped it into your pants pocket. You would surely need it later, and Jaebum probably didn’t want it back now that it was covered in your tears and snot.

Since you didn’t want things to get more awkward than they already were, you cleared your throat gently and asked, “Where are we going?”

Jaebum opened his mouth to reply... but then he closed it. He shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he admitted after a few moments.

And you couldn’t even be annoyed with him because... you didn’t, either.

“Should we find a nearby hospital?” you suggested. “See if there’s anything we can do to --”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

Your forehead wrinkled slightly, and the corners of your mouth turned down into a frown. “Yeah, but maybe we could at least --”

“Didn’t you watch any of the news before it stopped? The doctors can’t do anything. How could we help when people with actual medical degrees can’t?”

“But --”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Jaebum repeated with gritted teeth.

You simply raised your eyebrows and turned to look out the window.

Okay, then.

As you focused on the passing scenery, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about it, though. Even if you couldn’t help with anything on the medical side, maybe you could help clean up? Or help properly dispose of the bodies?

Okay, you probably couldn’t do that. Your stomach was too sensitive for it.

But, still! It’s not like yours had been a terrible idea. Yet Jaebum had made it seem like it had been exactly that.

Ugh.

Whatever.

The awkward silence lasted for at least five minutes, and while you weren’t planning on breaking it anytime soon... Jaebum did.

“We can just... keep driving until we can’t anymore. We’ll find a place to stay for the night and come up with a game plan then. Okay?”

His voice was much softer now, though you certainly wouldn’t call it ‘soft’ by any means. It was just softer than it had been when he’d grumbled at you. So, at least, maybe he was trying? And if he was trying, you should, too. The two of you were most likely going to be stuck together for... Well, we’ll just say indefinitely. You would be stuck together indefinitely. And things would be much easier if you guys got along, even if it was just the tiniest bit.

“Okay,” you replied in just above a whisper. “Sounds good.”

You weren’t looking at him, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod.

And that was enough to keep the awkwardness at bay.

At least... for now.

Part 2

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lochrannn · 3 years

Text

AU-gust: Mama, didn’t mean to make you cry

Read on AO3

prompt no 11: Summer Camp

Characters: Lila Pitt, Diego Hargreeves, Number Five Hargreeves

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Diego has asked her twice whether she’d like to help out with the summer holiday programme that he’s set up at his gym for inner city kids whose parents haven’t got the means or availability to send them off to camp, but Lila just waffled a half-answer that boiled down to “no thanks” and he hasn’t asked her again.

It’s not like she doesn’t support the idea. She supposes it’s a nice thing to do for the kids. Diego’s definitely thriving and she’ll usually actively support anything that’ll make him happy, but he’s enjoying himself with or without her participation and when it boils down to it, Lila really doesn’t need to spend her days hanging out with a bunch of snivelling children full of tragic backstories. She’s got plenty of that herself, thank you very much.

That may not have been how she put it to Diego. Maybe the fact that she very quickly started ranting about snot-nosed brats is the reason why he hasn’t brought it up again.

Until today that is.

“Hey Lila,” Diego calls from the kitchen as she’s in the process of brushing her teeth, “can I ask for a favor?”

Lila walks out of the bathroom, mouth full of toothpaste and scrubbing away to find Diego at the kitchen table tinkering with a torch.

“Wha’ ‘ooh you nee’?” Lila asks, finding it a bit hard to articulate around the foam, but she’s sure Diego got the message.

“I… uh… I’m running a little late and I kinda need Five’s van,” he says, not looking up at her, instead concentrating on connecting two very thin looking wires, “He said I could pick it up this morning but I’ve got to get to the gym and won’t have time to swing by the Academy first.”

Then he does take his eyes off his work and instead turns them on her, big and round and shiny, the puppy dog eyes that she personally believes are an unfair tactic in any conversation and asks, “You’re not doing anything this morning, right? You wouldn’t… you know…?” he trails off, apparently hoping that he doesn’t actually have to ask, that she’ll just fill in the rest for herself.

Lila goes over to the kitchen sink to rinse her mouth out and get rid of the toothpaste and once she’s satisfied that she will be able to talk properly again she asks, brandishing her toothbrush a little menacingly at him, “So you’re asking me, on my day off, to take the bus over to the Academy, so I can get the van that your murdering, geriatric brother who walks around in a child’s body, stole off some unsuspecting handyman, even though you could all afford to buy a fucking van, and then bring it to you and what? Get the bus back home after?”

“Uh… yeah?” Diego says a bit dumbly, then rallies and offers, “I’ll make you pancakes this evening!” and when she’s still staring him down he adds, “and I’ll give you a foot rub!”

“That’s not a fair offer, Diego, those are things you like!” Lila says indignantly.

“Yeah, but so do you!” Diego shoots back with an almost sly smirk.

“Urgh!” She throws her hands up in the air, “Fine!”

When Diego gets up and wraps his arms around her, she only resists for a moment on principle and then lets him press his lips against her temple. “Thanks babe!”

“Helloooooo?!” Lila calls out as she’s walking into the big entrance hall of the Umbrella Academy mansion.

She doesn’t actually have a key, but she doesn’t need one as nobody ever bothers locking the door. Anyone who might be even a remote threat to the Academy would easily get in whether the door was locked or not.

Her voice echoes in the hall but nobody answers, so she heads to the back stairs to make her way down to the kitchen.

When she gets there she finds both the man she was looking for and also her least favourite Hargreeves sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee.

“Mh, where are the others?” she asks without any real greeting.

“Lila, always a pleasure!” Five’s response is dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, fuck you too!” she shoots back. “So where are the ape man and ghost boy?”

“They’ve gone to help our stabbiest brother with his little community engagement project,” Five answers with a bit of a huff, turning a page of his paper and then giving it a straightening shake.

“Why aren’t you with them?” Lila asks, genuinely curious now.

“I don’t particularly like children.”

Lila nods almost sympathetically.

“And they usually seem to think I’m one of them, which makes me want to chew off my own foot.”

“You are one of them, though, pipsqueak!” Lila says, ruffling his hair on the way to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that all he does is swat at her but doesn’t try and impale her hand with a fork.

“Also, why am I picking the van up if one of you three stooges could have brought it over just as easily?” She’s suddenly filled with indignation.

“Klaus and Luther were already gone when Diego rang and I’m waiting for an important call from Switzerland,” Five says a bit primly and Lila has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Oh, the CERN thing… And? Will we be sucked into a black hole or do you think that’s another apocalypse you can best?” Lila asks, not actually too concerned. Once you’ve dealt with enough doomsday scenarios, you become a bit desensitised.

Five shrugs. “Time will tell.”

“Right!” That’s enough playing nice with Five for one day, one of the reasons they do get on in a way is because they make sure to interact in bite sized increments, “Where are the keys, then?”

As Lila climbs out of the van she wonders how best to get the keys to Diego with the least amount of interaction with any of the screeching children on the premises.

For a moment she even considered just leaving the key in the ignition and wandering off, but she thinks Diego would throw a hissy fit. God forbid a car thief might take an interest in their stolen van.

As she comes around the side of the building she can already hear the absolute racket the group of children inside are making and a genuine shiver of apprehension runs down her spine.

But then a closer noise draws her attention and when she takes a look behind the dumpster she regrets having followed her instincts because cowering in the corner is a small child with long, dark, wavy hair that is sobbing uncontrollably.

For a second she thinks she might just hurry inside to let one of the adults know there’s a kid on her own out here, but even to her that doesn’t quite feel right, so she calls out softly, “Uh… little girl… I don’t think you should be out here.”

The girl spins around in shock and her huge, watery, brown eyes fix on Lila, almost like she’s a little bit afraid.

Then she sniffs loudly, Lila tries not to wince at the sound, and says with determination, “I’m not going back in!”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Lila asks, approaching the child but also looking around for anyone more qualified to deal with the situation.

“Because Brad’s a dick!” she shouts as if Lila should have guessed that.

Lila has to suppress the urge to laugh at the foul language coming out of such a tiny little person, instead she says, “I don’t think you’re supposed to use words like that.”

The girl scowls at her, so Lila tries a different tactic. “What did he do?” she asks while crouching down next to the girl, who doesn’t seem to be too scared of her now.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” the girl mumbles petulantly.

“Okay…” Lila feels entirely in over her head, but so far she hasn’t had the urge to strangle this kid, so maybe she can make it through a conversation with her.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Niha,” the girl answers, “What’s yours?”

“Lila,” Lila offers.

“Oh cool! You’re Lila! Coach Diego talks about you all the time!” There’s genuine excitement in the girl’s expression now and LIla is completely taken aback.

“He does?!” she asks, her voice maybe just a bit shrill.

“Yeah! He says you’re one of the best fighters he knows and that it doesn’t matter that you’re a girl, that you put him on his ass all the time in training. See, Coach Diego uses bad language as well!” Niha says triumphantly, as if she’s just won some kind of argument.

“Yeah, I bet he does.” Lila is quite baffled at the glimpse she’s getting of Diego’s summer camp.

“Do you really not want to talk about what Brad did?” she then asks with as gentle a voice as possible, hoping to change the subject, as she suddenly feels a bit awkward about the idea that all of these children apparently know about her.

Niha huffs and caves in on herself again.

“He said I was dirt poor because I didn’t bring any snacks from home.” She sniffs and then blubbers on, “But that’s not even the truth, my mom just didn’t buy any for me. She doesn’t really care that much, I don’t think she really loves me!” And then the girl starts sobbing again and Lila has no idea what to do.

That’s not quite true. She knows what she’s supposed to say. She’s supposed to say ‘of course you’re mummy loves you, she probably just forgot’, but who the hell is she to tell anyone that their mum loves them?

So instead she puts her hand on the small girl's back and rubs it gently, then says, “Hey Niha, you know what? In a few years’ time you’ll be able to get a job and earn your own money and buy all the snacks you want!”

“I’m only eight!” Niha says with a bit of confusion and a bit of indignation and Lila has to admit maybe that wasn’t the best argument.

“Okay, look, I’ll buy you some snacks, okay? And Diego can bring them in for you tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“But he brings us snacks anyway!” The girl looks at her like she’s a bit of an idiot and right now Lila feels almost inclined to agree.

“But these’ll be special snacks, you little knowitall, just for you from me, alright?” Lila explains, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Niha’s eyes start shining brightly again, filling with more unshed tears and Lila hopes she’s not going to start crying again because she doesn’t think her brittle heart can take any more of that, but then something else seems to occur to the girl and she asks, nosily, “Are you Coach Diego’s wife?”

“Uhm!” Lila just makes a noise in panic and is luckily saved by the clanging sound of the metal door to the gym.

“Yo Niha, what are you doing out here? Oh, hey Lila!” Diego calls out with a surprised look on his face as he makes his way over.

Niha looks up at Lila, apparently hoping that she can explain the situation, but really, Lila is not too sure.

“Uh, she said she just needed some air, but she’s all better now, right?” Lila looks at the girl imploringly and she seems just as happy to go along with the lie.

“Well you’d better get back inside, then, we’re about to start an epic game of hide and seek!” Diego explains to the girl and it seems that was the best suggestion Niha has heard all day, because she jumps up to run over to the entrance. She just about manages to remember her manners when she calls out “Thanks!” to Lila before disappearing through the door.

Lila is still crouched on the floor, feeling a little overwhelmed.

“You okay?” Diego asks while she can hear him approach her. She doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s frowning.

Lila just hums noncommittally, but doesn’t move. The thought of that little girl making her way through life without being sure of her mother’s love is slowly breaking her heart.

“What’s up?” Diego tries again, as he reaches her.

She still doesn’t answer and when a tear rolls down her cheek, she feels Diego’s hand wrap around her arm and he pulls her to her feet before enveloping her in a tight hug.

She wraps her arms around his waist, to squeeze against him even more tightly and presses her face into his chest, hoping she can hide the fact that she’s crying. If not from Diego, then at least from the rest of the world.

He doesn’t ask her about it, at this point he knows she won’t talk until she’s ready to, instead he just holds on to her, stroking her hair gently with one hand until she feels no more brimming tears and she pulls away.

He does keep his hand at the back of her head though as he stoops a little to look her straight in the eyes. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lila says, a bit embarrassed about her sudden mild breakdown.

“You wanna come inside?” Diego asks with a soft smile that never fails to make something flutter in her chest and she feels at least a bit better.

“Nah, I’m good!” she says, voice more steady now.

“You sure?” Diego tries to make certain as he rights himself and lets his hand drop from her head to take her own with it instead.

“Yes, definitely,” Lila squeezes his hand to reassure him. “Don’t have the time, anyway. I’ve gotta go to the supermarket and buy some snacks!”

#au_gust_2021 #fanfic #tua #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #dielila #diego x lila #diego/lila #five hargreeves #lochrannn lxd au challenge

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louiserandom · 4 years

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Of Nosebleeds and Allergies

Rating: T

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Summary: The sight of Madara waltzing around in the summer heat half-naked, muscles flexing beautifully, causes Tobirama to have an unexpected nosebleed. To hide the true cause from his overbearing Anija, he blames it on aggressive pollen allergies.

It seems fine, until it isn't, because of course Hashirama would then assume that his Mokuton is a devastating allergen and starts sobbing because he now has to stay away from his beloved baby brother.

A/N: for @tuliharja who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS MADNESS, SOMEONE ARREST HER😤😤😤 but also thank you asdfghjk i had WAY too much fun writing this😂😂😂😂 this is peak flail. PEAK FLAIL i tell you

Read on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 enjoy!

It's a cursed day, Tobirama decides.

For one, he'd always remained blessedly ignorant over why exactly Izuna swoons practically every time Tōka accidentally flexes her muscles—though whether or not it's ever truly accidental is up for debate—until today.

Today being the particularly sweltering mid-summer day when virtually every citizen of Konoha is frying alive, apparently, with only Tobirama, whose body temperature is naturally cooler due to his enhanced affinity for water, feeling perfectly content.

Madara, on the other hand, doesn't seem as comfortable, and that's Tobirama's only fully coherent thought before his mind blanks at the sight of Madara taking his shirt off, in their shared office no less, and stretching out his arms in a decidedly indecent manner.

Tobirama swallows heavily. Madara decides then to take a drink from his water bottle, so sloppily that stray droplets trickle from the corner of his mouth, along the column of his neck down his chest. Tobirama's brain, in turn, short-circuits.

Fuck.

Tobirama wonders if it would really be that strange if he runs away through the window right this second. Or douses the office with a Water Dragon.

He clenches his fists. Sighs. Berates himself for his ridiculous thought process.

Maybe Tobirama is overreacting. All right, maybe he's definitely overreacting, because of course, he logically understands that were it not for his stupid, godsdamned uncontrollable crush on the Uchiha Clan Head, he wouldn't be phased by the current display. He takes care to keep his face neutral and his posture more or less relaxed, focusing his gaze on the papers before him and away from the thick, bulging muscles, the tantalizing expanse of exposed, slightly tanned skin. It's more than a little horrifying for Tobirama to catch himself imagining how he'd licking the thin sheen of sweat on Madara's collarbones, chest, abs and—

Well. This is going nowhere.

Tobirama closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, frantically thinking of dead kittens and bloody battlefields in order to ward off the scorching flares of arousal.

Annoyingly, it doesn't work. He opens his eyes only to see drops of red on his—well, what used to be his top-priority tax proposal, and it takes his malfunctioning brain a few seconds to realize that he's been hit by what used to be Hashirama's constant plague during his sexually hyperactive teenage years.

A nosebleed.

A fucking nosebleed.

He scrambles for a tissue, keeping his gaze fixed downward and hoping to the gods Madara hasn't noticed the debacle.

"What the fuck is wrong, Senju?" Just Tobirama's luck. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Tobirama says, shaking his head erratically, "I just—I'm fine. A random nosebleed. Nothing to worry about, just—keep working." He even does a little wave with his hand, which is reminiscent of the flailing that's supposed to be Madara's specialty.

By the Pure Lands, this is embarrassing.

Madara watches him with narrowed eyes and then, because the universe doesn't care for Tobirama's mental stability, stands and walks over to him, removing the tissue from his face and inspecting the damage. Pale green flashes in Tobirama's vision, and he shuts his eyes closed, half-petrified, half-savoring the warm, comforting tingle that is Madara's chakra sizzling through him as he presses his fingers to the bridge of Tobirama's nose to heal him. The sensation stokes Tobirama's increasingly uncomfortable erection, making him resent the delectable pleasure.

(This is probably the gods' revenge for all the times he'd broken the laws of nature with his experiments. It's maddening.)

"Just a couple burst vessels," Madara says with a nod, finally (albeit regrettably) removing his hand. "Probably because of the damnable heat, yeah?"

"Mmhm," is all Tobirama manages, throat dry and mind ever more foggy as he's treated to a close up of Madara's taut, dangerously enticing nipples.

"You should maybe work from home the rest of the day," Madara suggests, pressing his palm against Tobirama's forehead. "You don't appear to have a fever, but you are a little flushed." He smirks then. "I thought you were blushing. It's a—it's a nice look—whatever, shut up!" Madara jerks away from him suddenly, both hands flailing a little.

Now that's... an interesting comment. Something to think about later.

"When did you become a mother hen, Uchiha?" Tobirama teases while Madara stutters through a bunch of incoherent insults. At least this is the Madara he knows and—likes, a welcome contrast to his uncanny concern earlier.

"Tch. Like I care," Madara glowers, "get a heat stroke, whatever, I don't give a shit. I mean—I do, but only because your brother would cry and get snot all over me if you get sick."

As if on command, Hashirama struts right through the door, the wood disassembling and patching itself back again once he's inside.

"Good morning!" he sing-songs.

"Stop abusing the fucking door!" Madara and Tobirama shout in unison.

"Oh, come on," Hashirama whines. "The door doesn't mind—I'd know!"

"We do," Tobirama says.

"Yes, and I also mind your presence," Madara growls. "You have your own office, so get the paperwork you need and fuck off."

"Madara, don't be so—Tobi. Tobi! Is that blood?"

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Great. Just what he needs right now.

"It's just a nosebleed, Anija. You don't need to heal it, Anija, Madara already did. Please, for the love of the gods, keep quiet." It takes all of Tobirama's self-control to keep his voice level as he talks alongside his brother's panicked whining, and it takes a particularly hard shove for Hashirama to shut up and focus on him. "Anija. I. Am. Fine."

"Okay," Hashirama breathes, worry never leaving his eyes, "you're fine—for now. But what if you get another nosebleed? How much blood did you lose? Is it the weather? Are you sick? Did Madara hit you, do I need to beat him up?"

"Hey!"

Tobirama scoffs. "I find it insulting that you think I wouldn't beat him up myself," he says, "especially considering his pathetic defeat in our last sparring match."

"You cheated, you fucking dick—"

"But none of the above," Tobirama goes on, silently laughing at Madara's attempts to get past Hashirama and presumably strangle him. "It's just..." His eyes trail treacherously over Madara's straining biceps. "Aggressive pollen allergies," Tobirama blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

The right thing to say, too, because Hashirama heaves a massive sigh of relief.

"Oh. Gods, well, allergies are easy to treat at least," he says, "but they're still dangerous, Tobi, and they can hinder your breathing! You'll need to stay inside a lot, of course, and I'll prepare some medicine for you, and—"

"Stupid fucking Senju," Madara grumbles, a bit calmer now and simply glaring at both of them, arms crossed. "Make sure to stay away from your precious brother too, since your Mokuton is one big fucking allergic hazard," he sneers.

Well, fuck.

Hashirama's expression twists into one of terror, and Tobirama sorely laments the lack of much-needed alcohol in their vicinity.

"I'M AN ALLERGEN, OTOUTO," the God of Shinobi screams, his eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, no, that means I'll have to stay away from you and gods, all the trees I grew in the village—"

"Why," Tobirama says, fixing a confused Madara with a glare.

"—I'll have to draw away all my chakra and probably seal and oh no, think of the children! What if I've already caused deadly allergic reactions—"

"Why would you do this," Tobirama sighs as Madara grows more and more baffled by the spectacle. He obviously meant it as a (poorly contrived) joke, but has apparently forgotten that Hashirama is an idiot.

"—Tobi, you have to move out immediately!" Hashirama shouts at him, shaking is shoulders, then recoils with a yelp, and Tobirama senses him forcefully toning down his chakra. "And far away from me, until I find a suitable treatment—oh, Madara!" He turns to his friend. "Since Tōka and Izuna are on their honeymoon, Tobi should live with you for a while—I mean you've finally confessed and you can spend quality time together! Just, you know, don't sleep with each other until Tobi—"

"WHAT THE FUCK," Madara shrieks.

What the fuck, Tobirama's mind echoes.

"I DIDN'T TELL HIM, YOU UTTER ASSHOLE." Madara lifts Hashirama by the collar and pins him against the wall. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"But you told me yesterday—"

"I lied!"

"Well, you can tell him now," Hashirama whines, prying Madara's hands off himself, "while I quarantine and de-Mokuton everything, because Tobi could suffocate and die, Madara, this is serious."

"I won't." Tobirama raises his voice to be heard over Madara's cursing. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a massive headache setting in. "Anija, you do not need to quarantine yourself. It's all right. I am not allergic to the Mokuton."

"How can you know?" Hashirama demands, managing to restrain Madara's hands behind his back. "You've never had allergies before, only this year when we've basically moved into a village half-built by my jutsu, Tobi! It all fits."

"It doesn't," Tobirama growls, "because I'm not allergic at all. I lied. Go away."

"Why do you two keep lying to me? And then why did you have a nosebleed?" Hashirama tilts his head to the side, confused.

Tobirama sighs. "Madara hit me. We need to talk it out."

"Wh-what the hell, Senju?"

"What?" Hashirama growls, just as Madara yelps as his hands are squeezed tighter.

"I hit him first," Tobirama lies through gritted teeth, "and he hit back. Stop fretting. Now if you leave, I promise we'll talk, make up and maybe even hug it out like you always force us to."

Hashirama blinks. "Hm." He slowly releases Madara and drops the scowl, though his eyes remain narrowed. "You'd better be telling the truth this time. If you're not, I will ground both of you and issue a decree for that if I have. And I expect both of you over for dinner today along with detailed explanations from both sides because this kind of behavior is unacceptable," he chastises them before stalking towards their desks, grabbing the paperwork labeled for him and heading out in the same atrocious way, through the malleable door.

Leaving Madara and Tobirama drowning in a very uncomfortable silence that stretches on mercilessly.

Madara clears his throat, speaking first,

"Fuck."

With that concise assessment, he stalks back to his desk, dons his shirt back on and hides his face behind the high collar, slumping onto the chair like a disgruntled porcupine.

"So," Tobirama starts.

"Your brother is a menace."

Madara's chakra rages throughout the whole office, now almost painful as it burns against Tobirama's senses. He sighs.

"So," Tobirama says firmly, "when Anija said you meant to confess..."

Madara sinks further into his chair, half-concealed by his desk at this point.

"He meant—you like me?" Tobirama asks, wincing as Madara's chakra flares further.

"I hate him," Madara seethes.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. Such childish behavior.

"Well if that is what you were trying to tell me," he says, "I was going to say that I might—"

"Not attempt to kill me?" Madara cuts in.

Tobirama resists the urge to throw something heavy at the infuriating man. "That I might possibly not completely hate you too."

This has Madara fumbling to raise his head above his shirt only to gape at Tobirama for a few tense moments.

"Well, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demands and even has the gall to sound offended.

"Why didn't you?" Tobirama parries. So many things would have been easier if he had, Tobirama's far-too-frequent hard-ons included.

"Because," Madara glowers, "because—why should I be the one to take initiative?"

Huh. Another interesting observation.

Tobirama smirks. "Fine then. This is me taking initiative: I say we ditch Anija's friendship bullshit and go get dinner together." He flinches. "Ditch him for as long as we're able, that is."

Madara blinks. "Dinner?"

"At your place," Tobirama suggests, dipping his voice lower, "if you'd like more privacy?"

Considering his embarrassing reaction to Madara's earlier display, it's viscerally pleasing for Tobirama to see the man blush, dark eyes glazing over prettily.

"Oh." Madara's lips curl in a grin. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"Perfect." Tobirama barely reining in his own giddy smile. He motions to the thankfully small piles of paperwork they've left to get through. "Let's take care of these quick then, before Anija has the chance to sabotage us."

Madara huffs out a laugh. "Please. He'll be stuck with those missives until midnight, and that's if he's lucky."

"Do you remember that time when Anija had work to do and then didn't do it?" Tobirama muses.

"Hm. You mean every single time?"

"Exactly."

It's a bit of a surreal pattern that follows, both of them falling back on their usual banter, only with the added weight of their revealed feelings hanging over them. It's a comforting weight, for Tobirama at least, and for once, it doesn't feel wrong to let his gaze linger on Madara's lips, focus on the way his tongue darts out to wet them, stoking Tobirama's fantasies about how they'd feel against his own. His staring must give him away, though, and it's a few minutes later that Madara falls into abrupt silence, his eyes suddenly widening as he proceeds to stare at Tobirama like he's grown another head.

"Wait a second. Did you happen to have that nosebleed because—"

"Because you're an idiot," Tobirama interrupts him, his insides growing cold with renewed embarrassment, "and that raises my blood pressure."

Madara's mouth shuts, curving in a devious smirk. The bastard. Of course he wouldn't be fooled.

Tobirama clears his throat. "Listen, the sooner we finish work, the sooner we can leave and go on that fucking date," he says with a pointed glare. "So concentrate."

"As you wish, Tobirama," Madara drawls, a teasing glint in his eyes, "wouldn't dare to disobey."

Somehow, even without outright taunts, Tobirama feels like he's been defeated. It doesn't matter, though; what he may lose in dignity, he’ll make up for by preserving his outward composure.

Besides, the next hours give him the added pleasure of seeing how the mere promise of a romantic outing ramps up Madara's usually sluggish productivity to an astonishing degree.

It's a good day after all, he decides, and about to get much better.

#madatobi #tobimada #fanfic #madara uchiha #tobirama senju #humor #romance

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aureumjeon · 5 years

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@seventeenthingsblr: can you do 38 and 8 with Yoongi for the angst plots please?? Thank you!!

I see you, bub. 💗 Here ya go! Hope you enjoy this lil blurb. added a keep reading tag!

“I’m never letting you go.” + “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” with Yoongi.

Genre; relationship!au, badboy(?)!yoongi, BIG angst, fluff. Warnings; mention of alcohol and smoking, cursing. Word count; 1.4K

‘No new messages.’ Your phone screen read before you’re tossing the clump of metal to the floor. “Y/nieee,” Somi droned, her voice reeking of annoyance. She then flopped her petite body next to yours on the mattress of your bed “Are you done sulking over a boy now?” Missing your usually outgoing and talkative self, she pouted. “I wanna hang out with you so bad.” “He’s been ignoring me for a week now.” You muffled through the pillow concealing your face, each word coming out inaudible. “I don’t know what I did wrong” Your sniffles were barely muted by fabric. “Maybe it’s what you didn’t do.” She brooded sarcastically, yanking the rectangular plush off of you and chucking it to the other side of the room. She brattier that usual, you think. “What?” Your blood shot eyes squinted at the abrupt exposure to the florescent light on your ceiling. Nose equally red and lips disgusting chapped. “Maybe it is you, maybe you did something that ticked him off. Maybe he found you annoying and decided to ghost you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore. Who knows?” “Okay, stop. You’re not helping.” Your worry lines started to show as your eyebrows knit together, not liking her current attitude. A sour grimace imprinted on your face. “Like, at all.” “Ugh–” She frustratingly mewled, suddenly pouncing on top of you like a lioness striking its prey. Caging you between her arms that were currently pushing and fisting at the bed sheet where you laid flat. “Let’s go out. Jin’s hosting a party tonight. That’ll definitely get you mind off of Yoongi.” "No.” Your voice was stern and unyielding, reinforced with your incorruptible resolve to stay in bed all day long. “Please, Y/n! I swear it’ll be fun!”

You pushed her hovering frame and quickly cocooned yourself with the thick comforter, tucking in the edges and shielding yourself from her incoming attacks. It was essentially a game of tug of war now, with Somi giving it her all. You were wrong to underestimate her strength because now the two of you were laughing uncontrollably at the tangled position you’ve put yourselves into.

Knowing Somi, she’d saved the best for last. With her wild puppy-dog eyes focused on you, she was soliciting her desired answer from you like a seasoned haggler. Whenever she’d put on that face, you knew you were screwed. You sighed as a sign of surrender, “Fine.” Her eyes lit up exponentially while a wide grin cuts from ear to ear. “I’m picking your dress and doing your make up.” Ten minutes in and you’re already regretting your decision. Loud music rattling up entire house, dozens of people occupying the whole dance floor and couples two steps shy of fucking each other in the living room. “I thought you said, this was going to be fun.” You say over the noise, “The only thing this party is making me want to do is go home and sleep.” Somi grabbed two red cups from the table of refreshments and shoved it in your hand. “Get some alcohol in your bloodstream. It’ll do you some good.” She winked. You rolled your eyes to the side and recognize a familiar head of silvery hair. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. But what if? Your body began moving on autopilot, abandoning your friend behind and slipping past the sea of sweaty bodies to get to where the male silhouette was. You reached the end kitchen and caught a glimpse of the same boy puffing out smoke through his lips with a cigarette tucked between his fingers. “Y-Yoongi?” You were second guessing since you couldn’t really tell if it was him by the way the smoke was still clouding over his face. As the smog around him began to dissipate, his features were finally distinguishable. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.” His cold facade never wavering even at the sight of you, you think. You scoffed at his fine choice of words “Since when have you been expecting to see me?” Fury bubbled up your in your chest and your cheeks were set ablaze. You wanted to erupt like an angry volcano, spewing out lava and rocks everywhere, obliterating everything that crosses its path. “You’re the one who’s snubbing me! I’ve been wasting my time thinking about what I might have done wrong and you’re here at some wasted party enjoying your ass away while your girlfriend has been crippled by anxiety 'cause you can’t give a damn about how she might be feeling.” There was a significant pause before you could compose yourself again after that horrible mental break down. People were already staring at the commotion you’ve caused, and it’s time to wrap it up. Quick. “And quite frankly,” You huffed, connecting you arms in front of your chest as you continued to speak, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Good bye, Min Yoongi.” You concluded that someone who’d disregard you like without reason wasn’t worth even one second of your time. You turned on your heel and faced him with your back, preparing to walk away. Before you could split, Yoongi’s already gotten his hold on you and spins you around. “Y/n,” He looked at you with vulnerable eyes, his voice was the softest you’ve heard from him. “Hear me out, please. All I need is two minutes, let me explain.” “You’ve got one.” The resonance of your voice was icy cold. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, like he was swallowing a huge mass stuck in his throat. He was having second thoughts if he should say it or not but he pushes through, “Your parents talked to me. They said if I genuinely wanted what’s best for you, I should break up with you and leave you alone.” “And you decided this on your own without even consulting me?!” You were stunned at his confession, but the rage still empowered the initial shock. You knew from the start that your parents weren’t quite fond of Yoongi, with his reputation and all. Though you didn’t imagine they’d go this far to ruin your relationship with a guy they know nothing about. Under Yoongi’s hard and rigid exterior past all the scars and tattoos he had, hid a little boy who’s just scared. A boy who’d rather put up a tough face than convey his true emotions; a boy who’d rather shoulder all the burden on his own than let the ones he loved suffer; and boy who’d give up his own happiness just to see you smile. Yoongi was everything but what people perceived him to be. Yoongi was your saving grace. He was your personal angel sent from heaven to make your miserable life more tolerable. He’s that little tune you’d hum in your head when your nerves got you; he’s that soft blanket you’d drown yourself in when you wanted to hide from the world. And he’s the person you’d share your whole life with. What you didn’t understand was why he didn’t tell you about it instead of making things more complicated. “Don’t I have a say in this? I’m one half of this relationship, Yoongi. Do I really mean that little to you?” You were on the brink of tears, the strain in your voice was a solid confirmation. You fought the sobs wanting to escape with the strength you had left. “All I wanted was for you to be happy.” His hand was starting to loose its grip on you, dropping weakly at his side. His eyes were heavy and swollen as he looked up at you. “And me? I’m not good for you, y/n.” “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. My parents don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” This time, you couldn’t stop the wave of emotion washing over you like a massive tidal wave. Globules of the salty liquid started spilling from your ducts. You pressed forward into him and buried your face into his chest, his once dry shirt was now soaked with your tears and snot. “I do,” you sniffled, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I get to decide what’s good for me, Yoongi.” “I’m sorry, y/n.” With his voice hoarse and husky, he placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “This time, I’m never letting you go.”

Feel free to send requests!

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vannahfanfics · 5 years

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The First Time Babysitting

Category: Family Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Gaara, Kankuro, Temari, and Shikadai Nara

Gaara sat cross-legged on the floor of his sister's home, smiling slightly as he watched his eight-month-old nephew sprawled out on his belly fervently coloring in a coloring book. The boy still hadn’t grasped the concept of staying in the lines yet, but any time he grabbed the book and held it up for his young uncle to see, Gaara made a point to act as if it were the greatest work of art he had ever clapped eyes on. Shikadai would giggle excitedly and then resume working with gusto. I can’t believe he’s almost a year old already, the Kazekage thought with a small sigh. Next thing you know, I’ll be old…

“Hey, squirt, throw some blue in there,” Kankuro called to the child with a small smirk. His elder brother, and his advisor, was stretched out on the couch with one leg up and his hands behind his head, watching the little boy in amusement. Shikadai blinked up at him, glanced down at his pile of crayons, and stared thoughtfully at them before grabbing the blue one and holding it up to his other uncle. “Yeah. That one!” Kankuro affirmed, and Shikadai grinned before scribbling madly all over the depiction of a puppy he was currently filling in.

“Ugh, I can’t believe this!” came an irritated cry from the kitchen. Gaara and Kankuro both turned as their sister Temari walked into the room wearing an annoyed expression. “Guys, I’m sorry, but I just realized that there were a few things that I left off the shopping list for dinner tonight. You don’t mind hanging out here while I go get them, do you?”

“Nope. Means I can catch a nap,” Kankuro mused and promptly rolled onto his side to face the back of the couch. Gaara narrowed his eyes slightly as Temari walked across the room and leaned down to pick up Shikadai.

“Come on, you’re going to go shopping with Mommy,” she sighed as she lifted the boy into her arms and squatted down to begin cleaning up his coloring workspace.

“Temari, you don’t have to take him. Kankuro and I can watch him,” Gaara offered. Part of him was just being polite, but another part of him really hoped that she agreed; even though Shikadai was already eight months old, he had never actually babysat his nephew for any extensive amount of time. At his brother's offer, Kankuro made a choking sound and abruptly say up with wide eyes. Temari narrowed hers.

“Are you sure?” She asked, her expression betraying hesitation. “I’ll be gone for an hour or two, and Shikadai is a handful sometimes…”

“If I can handle leading the Allied Shinobi Forces to war, I can handle babysitting a toddler,” he frowned up at her. Kankuro whined loudly and flopped back into the couch cushions, but made no move to openly object. Temari glanced down at her precious baby, weighing the options, then nodded and stopped down to set Shikadai back down onto the rug.

“All right. Let me get my things together, and I’ll explain what you need to do,” she agreed and walked out of the room. Gaara smiled at his young nephew and reached out to gently poke him in the forehead.

“Looks like you and I are going to be getting to know each other better.” He grimaced and hurriedly withdrew his hand as Shikadai clamped his mouth on his index finger; slightly disgusted, Gaara wiped off the baby's saliva on his hand while Kankuro snorted with laughter.

About fifteen minutes later, Shikadai was sitting in a high chair banging a plastic spoon around while the two brothers stood with their sister in the doorway.

“Okay. Make sure he eats all of this. He’s picky, so it may take a while,” Temari instructed as she held a jar of baby food out to them. Gaara took it with a nod. “Are you sure you guys don’t need me to explain how to change a diaper again?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

“Come on, Temari, it’s not that hard. We can do it,” Kankuro frowned as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked doubtfully at the toddler. Temari sniffed, but did not refute him.

“He shouldn’t want to take a nap until after I get back, but on the off chance he does get tired, he usually likes a lullaby before you lay him down into the crib,” she added with a fretful look at Shikadai. He heard Kankuro mutter, “I am not singing to that brat.” “Make sure not to feed him too fast, he may get a stomachache. If he does, I have medicine-"

“Temari,” Gaara interjected with a small smile. “We'll take care of him. Promise. Leave it to us.” Temari blinked at him, then sighed deeply and nodded slowly. Then, with a small wave to her child, she bowed her head to her brothers and exited the house. Gaara closed the door after her, and turned to look at his nephew, who had begun screaming and bouncing in his high chair.

“What have you gotten us into?” Kankuro groaned, then hastily ducked as Shikadai flung the spoon at the front door. The boy laughed hysterically as the utensil landed into Kankuro's brown hair. Gaara smiled and clapped his brother on the back before gripping the jar of baby food and proceeding into the kitchen. Kankuro cursed before following after him with the spoon.

“Okay, Shikadai, it’s time to eat,” Gaara said as he opened the tiny jar and retrieved the spoon from his brother. He scooped up a small spoonful of the party substance and held it to Shikadai's mouth. The boy blinked, then abruptly cried out and flung the spoon away. Gaara jumped as pureed peas and carrots splattered across his face and into his hair. Kankuro blinked, then fell to the floor in a hysterical fit of laughter, while Gaara sighed deeply and cleaned off his face with a napkin. “Shikadai. You have to eat this. Your mother said so,” he frowned and tried again. This time, Shikadai flung the spoon into Kankuro's face, which made him feel slightly better about the whole situation.

“Oh, come on, you little brat,” Kankuro frowned as he wiped his face off with a black sleeve. Snatching the jar and spoon from Gaara, he scooped up the baby food and held it out, but far enough out of Shikadai's reach that it would not be flung a third time. The baby stuck out his tongue before turning his nose up at it.

“I think we have to convince him it’s good,” Gaara frowned.

“What? Ugh, fine,” Kankuro grumbled before chomping down on the spoon. Gaara raised an eyebrow as a visible shudder ran from his brother's toes to the tip of his hair, but to his credit, he swallowed and forced a smile. “See, it’s good. Now eat it,” he huffed and tried again. Shikadai stared at it thoughtfully before inching forward and opening his mouth obediently. Laughing lightly, Kankuro put the spoon in his waiting mouth, and Shikadai ate it and smacked his lips together, a little bit of the baby food leaking out of his mouth.

“Well, that’s a start,” Gaara sighed as Shikadai looked expectantly up at Kankuro and opened his mouth again.

“Yeah. It’s kinda cute,” Kankuro smiled lightly and spooned more of the mixture into the baby's mouth. After that, it was quite easy to get Shikadai to finish off the jar, and after cleaning up the toddler’s face they brought him back into the living room and set him down on the rug. “Now what?” Kankuro blinked as they both stared down at the baby, who was sitting on his behind staring right back at them. They both cried out in alarm as he abruptly began to wail.

“Ah! What’s wrong with him?” Gaara cried.

“Don’t ask me!” Kankuro yelled back. Shikadai raised his hands to his eyes as he cried harder, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

“Waaaaaah! Maaaamaaaaa!” he sobbed.

“Eh? He wants Temari!” Kankuro realized, then, with a strained smile, he reached out and awkwardly patted Shikadai's head. “Your mom went to the store. She’ll be back soon, Shikadai. Don’t you want to have fun with your uncles?” Shikadai screamed so loud that Gaara’s rang and slapped Kankuro's hand, making his brother scowl and snap his arm back, cradling it against his chest. “What do we do?” he hissed to Gaara.

“Uh… Uh… What do babies like? Oh!” he gasped and covered his face with both hands. “Peek-a-boo!” he cried and revealed his face, leaning forward. Shikadai stopped wailing and stared at him miserably, sniffling with snot running down his face. It’s working. Gaara covered his face again. “Where's Shikadai?” he asked, then uncovered his face and shot forward again. “There he is!” Shikadai jumped, then giggled and waved his arms in excitement. The toddler then turned to Kankuro, who just stared. Gaara nudged him roughly in the ribs with his elbow.

“What? Oh, man. Fine,” he sighed and covered his face. “Wherrrrrre's Shikadai?” he asked, then repeated his brother's actions. “There he is!” Delighted now, Shikadai laughed uncontrollably. Grinning, the two brothers took turns playing peek-a-boo with the little boy until they were both panting from the effort and Shikadai had fallen onto his back and was kicking his stubby feet into the air. Abruptly, they both wrinkled their noses as a foul smell wafted up from the baby's diaper.

“Oh no,” Gaara frowned as he straightened up.

“I guess we have to change it,” Kankuro nodded. They retrieved the diaper bag Temari had left for them and settled Shikadai on his back on the floor, then frowned as they gazed hesitantly down at the task at hand. “Uh. You do it!” his brother cried and thrust the clean diaper at him.

“You’re the older one. You do it,” Gaara shook his head and thrust it back. Despite what he had said to Temari, this seemed to be a much bigger problem than he had anticipated.

“What happened to ‘I led the Allied Shinobi Forces; I can do anything’?” Kankuro shot back in a mocking voice and slammed him in the chest with the diaper. Gaara felt the wind get knocked out of him, and now that his pride was bruised, he glared at Kankuro and snatched the absorbent underpants haughtily and situated himself in front of the cooing baby. He felt a bead of sweat run down the side of his face as he tried to recall Temari brief instructions. Okay… First I undo these straps here, he recalled and reached down, pulling off the velcro-like straps that secured the diaper. As it dropped open, both he and Kankuro covered their noses and almost retched.

“What died?!” Kankuro wailed with watery eyes. Gaara steeled his nerves and glanced back down at the soiled diaper, having found a new respect for mothers and his sister, and held his breath as he returned to the task. Quickly, he grabbed Shikadai gently by the ankles and lifted him up to wipe his little behind and replace the soiled diaper. Kankuro quickly wrapped it up and jumped up to dispose of the vile thing into the outside trashcan, while Gaara wrestled with placing the new diaper on his nephew.

“No, stay still,” he huffed as Shikadai started to roll onto his belly. Struggling with the straps, he looked up unconfidently at his brother when he returned, who grabbed Shikadai under the arms to hold him up. They both watched miserably as the diaper fell to the floor with a soft plop.

“Well, that’s not right,” Kankuro sighed. Shikadai blinked at them, and then the brothers cried out in disgust as the little boy suddenly decided that it was a good time to empty his bladder. Looking forlornly down at his wet front, Kankuro laid the boy back down and tried to hold onto the last shred of his patience. “You are as annoying as your father,” he grumbled as he snatched up another diaper and fumbled to put it onto the wriggling child. After a few more tries and another unexpected bath, they managed to produce an acceptable product.

“I never want kids,” Kankuro huffed as he watched Shikadai stack blocks on the living room floor. Gaara pulled at the collar of his uncomfortably wet shirt and nodded in agreement. By the time their clothes had dried, they were wondering where Temari was. Suddenly, Shikadai yawned loudly and looked at them, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Tired,” he mumbled and promptly flopped over onto his side. Gaara sighed and rose to his feet to walk over to the baby and lift him into his arms.

“All right. Let’s get you to bed,” he huffed and stepped gingerly over the scattered blocks to walk to the baby's bedroom. He flipped on the lights and walked over to the crib, laying him gently down onto his back and putting a stuffed animal beside him. Shikadai screamed in protest and launched it at the red-haired man's face. “What? What did I do wrong?” Gaara shouted and picked the boy back up, holding up the crying baby.

“Didn’t Temari say something about a lullaby?” Kankuro called from the doorstep. Gaara glanced back as his older brother walked into the room and took the young boy out of his hands and propped him up on his chest. Frowning awkwardly, he began to bounce slowly back and forth while humming a soft tune under his breath. Shikadai cried for another minute or so, then began to settle down as Kankuro paced the room and hummed louder. Soon enough, the boy was snoring softly with his head propped on Kankuro’s shoulder.

“Whoa. You’re not half bad at this,” Gaara remarked as his elder brother laid the sleeping child down in the crib, then straightened up and stretched his arms over his head to crack his back.

“Jeez, who knew babies were so heavy?” he groaned, then yawned loudly and cracked an eye open to gaze thoughtfully down at their nephew. “… You know, I don’t think having a kid would be half-bad either.” Gaara looked down at Shikadai, with one arm around a stuffed animal and the other held up by his face as his slept soundly.

“Yeah,” he smiled softly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Temari cursed under her breath as she propped the bag of groceries against the front door and fumbled for the keys.

“I can’t believe I got carried away talking to Sakura… Those boys must be ready to pull their hair out!” she sighed as she retrieved what she was searching for and unlocked the door. The house was strangely quiet as she entered, and she raised her eyebrows as she walked to the kitchen and set the bag down. She walked into the living room, where the only evidence of her son was the blocks scattered across the floor. She stopped down to collect them in her arms and dump them into the nearby toy chest and then stood, putting her hands on her hips. Where are they?

On a hunch, she walked down the hall and found the door to her son's room closed. She gently turned the doorknob and poked her head inside, and then smiled softly.

Her son was snoring softly in his crib. On the floor, her two brothers were sprawled on their backs, dead to the world. Little fools tried their hardest, didn’t they? She thought as she tip-toed into the room and walked over to the crib. She watched her son sleep for a moment, then leaned down into the crib to press a kiss to his forehead. She straightened up and looked down, then smiled and squatted down beside each of her brothers, kissing them on their cheeks.

“Sleep well, my boys,” she murmured before rising to her feet and exiting the room, quietly shutting the door behind her and walking back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

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endlessly-searching-for-you · 6 years

Text

Need You Now (Jake x F!MC)

A/N: I combined two requests from @brightpinkpeppercorn, just one drink & late night talks into one - hope you can forgive me for everything I did with them! I know they are from the Fluffy Fridays list, but sometimes always the story takes its own direction. But I can promise there’s a prologue to a bigger Christmas thing coming next, and that one is pure cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles on top!

Summary: Jake helps Taylor deal with the loss of her friend. Set at the very beginning of book 2.

Word Count: ~1500

Tags: @darley1101 @brightpinkpeppercorn @mysteli @likethetailofacomet @mind-reader1 @zaffrenotes

Title stolen from Lady Antebellum song.

Taylor slipped out of her bed. After everything that happened, she was exhausted, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Diego, heard his voice saying goodbye, and felt his hand slipping out of her reach. Her guilt wouldn't let her sleep until she finds him.

The hallway was dark save for a faint light coming from under the door to Jake's room. She raised her hand to knock and immediately dropped it back. There were many things they should talk about, starting with what happened between them last night, but she had no stomach to do it right now. And she didn't want to talk to him about Diego, either. His words kept ringing in her ears. I think he's dead. They were gone for six months, what were the odds? She knew everyone thought that and Jake just said it out loud, but it still hurt it came from him. She shook her head. No. No matter what he said, Diego wasn't dead. If he was, she would have known, she would feel it somehow. And all she felt was an absolute certainty that he was somewhere out there, waiting for their help.

The elevator door opened with a ding and she pressed the top floor button. They searched the rooftop garden as thoroughly as they could, but she still hoped she could find something they missed. A clue that will lead them to Diego, something to prove he was still alive.

A six-month-old trail? It's ice cold. Tears pricked her eyes. A glimpse of something colorful stuck between green shrubs caught her attention. She kneeled on the ground, reaching between the branches and cursing when they scraped her hand. She looked at a torn scrap of the purple shirt and felt a big lump building in her throat.

They stood on the rooftop, looking at each other with despair. Diego grabbed her hand, whispering how he just wanted to wake up when it's all over, and his words sparked an idea in her head. She yanked the time gun out of Jake's waistband. It's our only way out, she cried out, ignoring the protests. They were already dead, it was just a matter of how they want to die—at the hands of the Watchers, or by the time travel? It was an easy decision. They gathered in a circle, arms wrapped tightly around one another, and she pulled the trigger.

Taylor stifled a sob. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, looking down at the vast jungle. “We'll find you. I'll find you. I promise.”

She jumped when someone touched her arm.

“You okay there, Princess?”

Jake helped her up and looked into her eyes. Stupid question. She wasn't okay, no matter how brave she looked before. Taylor wasn't one to break down in front of everyone, she was almost as good in hiding her pain as he was. For a different reason, of course, but it didn't matter.

“Thought you might need this.” He waved a whiskey bottle at her, but she looked away, shaking her head. “It's a good thing. Helps you forget.”

“I don't want to forget,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“You won't. Not for long, anyway.” He shrugged and added with a sigh. “Trust me, I know. I lost a friend, too.”

“I—” She bit her tongue. Of course. Jake didn't remember telling her about Mike and their time in the Navy. The time-changing necklace brought them back to before he opened up. “I'm sorry.” She placed her hand on top of his and rubbed it gently, listening to his story again as they took alternate sips from the bottle.

“About last night...” He raised his eyes and glanced at Taylor. Her shoulders tensed and he bit his lip, misreading the sign. “You regret it.”

“No!” She cried out in protest. “I regret many things, but not that.” Her hand dropped to the frayed hem of her shorts, fingers tugging at the loose threads. It's just complicated. I don't know what's happening. I saw you dying in my arms, I cried over your body, but you're still there. I don't know what's real and what's not anymore. I don't know what I feel. What if I'm just going crazy?

“You're not crazy. This island is.” Jake brushed a strand of hair off her face, and her cheeks flushed bright red. Was she talking out loud all the time? Her gaze wandered off to the thick rainforest again, and her thoughts went back to Diego.

“Do you really think he's dead?” She squeezed the railing so hard her fingers turned white.

A lasso of vines wrapped around Diego, pulling him back, and she grabbed his hand, trying with all her might to resist the Watchers' leader. Their friends started to vanish one by one in the blinding light. She tightened her grip, begging him to hold on, to not give up, but he looked into her eyes, suddenly calm, smiling, and let go of her hand. She screamed and lunged forward, but the white light engulfed her. The last thing she heard was his shaking voice.

Goodbye, Taylor.

“I let him go.” She turned to look at him, her starry eyes filled with tears and lips trembling. “He is my best friend in the entire world, and I let him go. What kind of friend does that?”

He pulled her to his chest, and she broke down completely, crying like a little child, noisily, uncontrollably, choking with sobs and soaking his shirt with hot tears. She wrapped her arms around his waist really tight, hanging onto him as a drowning man might hold onto a lifeboat.

“It's okay, kid. I'm here,” he whispered and patted her shaking shoulders. “It's not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Jake rocked his arms gently, calming her down. Taylor turned out to be stronger than he initially gave her credit for. But even strong people have their limits, and hurting Diego was her breaking point. At least she wasn't alone like he was.

“I'll help you find him.” Dead or alive, he added in his thoughts, but if you don't give up, I won't, either.

“Thank you.” She raised her chin and looked at him with defiance. “And just so you know, I'm not a kid.”

“Fine. Compared to the rest of your gang of Little Rascals, you're not.”

“And compared to you...?”

“Touché.” He ruffled her hair with a smile. “You're not a kid.”

She chuckled softly, wiping her nose in his shirt, her eyes widening in horror when she realized it. “Sorry,” she mumbled with a sniffle. “I ruined your shirt.”

Jake roared with laughter. There she was, back in the princess mode, caring about everyone else but herself. Did she really think he cared about some snot on his shirt? It had seen better times, sure, but he didn't mind it at all. He tore it off and handed the bundle to her with a smile. “Never really liked it, anyway.”

“Come on!” Taylor rolled her eyes. “You were just looking for an excuse to take it off, weren't you?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a wink, noticing that her lips curved in the slightest hint of a smile. “Or maybe I just wanted to cheer you up.”

“You really think taking your shirt off will cheer me up?”

“Yes?”

“You're impossible! How much did you drink?” She brushed the last of tears off her face.

“A little. But look and tell me, honestly, that it doesn't work.” He stood straight, hands on his hips, raised chin, puffed chest and flashed his biggest smile at her. He was sure it would work. His charm never failed him before, and when he looked into her now smiling eyes, he knew he won again.

“I give up!” She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender and took a step closer. “About last night... I wouldn't mind another one. In fact”—she ran her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer to give his lower lip a playful tug with her teeth and lowered her voice—“I wouldn't mind many more nights like that one.”

“Don't need to tell me twice!” Jake steered her to the elevator, slamming her back at the thin wall. She whimpered as the railing dug into her back, and he lifted her up in his arms, her slim legs wrapping around his waist, their lips locked in a frenzied kiss, fingers tangled in hair.

“Your room or mine?” She panted, pulling back from his hungry lips. Or right here?

For a guy who could hold his breath for a whole nine minutes, he was surprisingly out of breath after that one kiss. He stole a glance at her chest heaving up and down, and his impatient fingers dipped under her shirt. He brushed his lips against her neck, the rumble of his laughter sending shivers down her spine.

“Think they have dry cleaners here?”

#choices #playchoices #endless summer #jake mckenzie #jake x f!mc #jake x taylor #jake x mc #fluffy friday #well kind of #e for effort

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a-splash-of-stucky · 7 years

Text

A Messed Up Place | Eleven

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Truths are revealed.

Warnings: Lots of shouting — an extremely heated argument takes place. Lots of name-calling and swearing. Excessive use of the word ‘fuck’.

Notes: Written for @hellomissmabel’s birthday/2k celebration.

It is honestly a relief to finally be able to write this chapter. This was the first scene that popped into my head all those weeks ago, when I first planned AMUP. I have been dying to write it ever since. Anyway. Much angst ahead. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

AMUP Masterlist

Bucky takes a hefty swig out of his water bottle. The icy water is a cooling salve as it trickles down his throat. He takes a few more sips as he towels off his wet hair and glances around the empty, dimly lit gym.

It’s a quarter past two in the morning. Bucky had gone to bed at around 10, only to be woken up by his own screams a couple of hours later, his skin covered in a layer of cold sweat, sheets tangled around his legs and heart thundering against his ribs.

The nightmare had been about Steve, of course. Bucky doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the details.

Fully aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with his brain feeling that wired, and unwilling to spend several hours tossing and turning in bed, whilst waiting for the sun to come up, Bucky had changed into a tank top and a pair of loose shorts to hit the gym. Even if he couldn’t tire himself out, at least he’d be able to occupy his time.

Bucky ends up spending nearly two hours in there. He does three rounds of his usual routine on the machines, before spending a ridiculously large amount of time pummelling the shit out of the reinforced punching bags. It’s a strangely cathartic activity.

After taking a shower, he changes into a clean sweatshirt and a pair of black joggers. Bucky dumps his gross-smelling gym gear and damp towel into the laundry basket they keep in the corner of the gym, before heading to the kitchen to make himself a midnight snack. He’s got a craving for macaroni and cheese.

The compound is in darkness, as would be expected at this hour of night. Bucky doesn’t bother asking FRIDAY to turn on the lights. He passes by the entrance to the common room-lounge area on his way to the kitchen and frowns when he hears the unmistakable sound of hitched sobs and stifled sniffles. He pauses, cocking his head to the side. Who could it be?

Keeping his footsteps as light as a feather, Bucky creeps inside. Though it’s dark, his enhanced eyesight picks out the silhouette of a figure huddled up on one of the couches, lying on their side with their back towards Bucky. He’s got a pretty good idea of who it could be.

“Y/N?” Bucky whispers.

The darkened figure startles, simultaneously uncurling and twisting their body, pushing themselves up onto their forearms. “B-bucky?” you ask, your voice croaky and thick with tears.

“FRIDAY, d’you mind getting the lights? Keep ‘em dim, please,” Bucky murmurs, as he crosses over to the couch and plops beside you, on your right. A few of the ceiling lights come on, casting pale yellow circles around the periphery of the room.

“Hey, hey—doll,” he croons, holding his arms out and letting you curl up against his side. “Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, as he tucks your head underneath his chin and loops his arms over your shoulders and around your waist. Your body is trembling uncontrollably, breath coming out as uneven sobs. Bucky strokes his hand up and down your back, whispers mindless babble into your hair. The front of his sweatshirt is quickly becoming damp as a result of your tears.

“Hey, now—what’s wrong, doll?” he murmurs, “Why’re you out here all alone, huh? Talk to me.”

“I-I-I,” you stammer, breaking off with a loud hiccup,as you fight to get your lungs to take in a deep enough inhale so that you can talk properly.

Bucky hums sympathetically, settling back against the couch and leaning away from you, to give you some space. You brush the backs of your hands over your cheeks, using the sleeves of your hoodie to wipe away the snot and tears. You glance at Bucky through the corner of your eye and let out a half-strangled sob. “Bu-ucky,” you hiccup, “I-I’ve gotta te-ell you something.”

“Mmm? What is it, doll?” he asks, only half-listening to you. Bucky’s more concerned about trying to get your lungs working the way they should. You sound worryingly like you’re about to have an asthma attack — and Bucky would know what those look like, given the number of times he’s had to help get Steve through one, back in the day — and Bucky’s not sure the extent to which asthma attacks and unborn babies go together.

“I-um. I-I still lo-ove—,” you bite your tongue, cutting yourself off and turning to look away from Bucky.

“Steve?” he offers, “You still love ‘im? S’okay, doll, that’s—,”

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” you interrupt, voice coming out surprisingly sharp, despite your tears. You wipe your nose one more time before turning to look Bucky dead in the eye, paralysing him with the intensity of your gaze.

“I was going to say you, Bucky.”

If this is a dream, Bucky’s not sure whether it’s one he wants to wake up from. He swallows nervously, before forcing his jaw to move, to shape the words. “M-me? I-I—but, Steve?” he stutters helplessly, brain unable to process what it is you’ve just admitted to.

“You, Bucky,” you repeat, turning your body so that you can look at Bucky directly, without having to crane your neck around. “I’ve always had feelings for you, okay? And I know—,”

“Wait, what?” Bucky squeaks, head spinning in confusion.

“Will you listen to me? Let me finish?” you ask impatiently. Bucky snaps his jaw shut and nods fervently, gesturing for you to continue with one hand.

“I—yeah. I’ve always had feelings for you, and you’ve—you always ignored me when I tried to show you. So—it didn’t look like things were even gonna work between us, no matter how hard I tried, which is why I started dating Steve—I—to…but now Steve’s dead, and a twisted, horrible part of me can’t help but feel g-glad, because I don’t think I would’ve been fully happy in that marriage and—but—I—shit this is so fucking messed up, and—but I feel so guilty for leading him on and I fucking hate this shit!” you hiss, your voice rising to shriller tones with each word that tumbles out of your mouth.

“I hate it, I fucking hate it! You made me do this!”

What?

Bucky’s mind has gone from confused, to stunned, to completely dumbstruck, all in the space of about ten seconds. He’s speechless. Completely, utterly at a loss for words. There’re so many things that you’ve just said that he needs to question, to examine, to pick apart and analyse — in fact, there’s almost too many. He’s not sure where to even begin. Although you seem delirious, and even though you’re probably sleep-deprived, there’s no mistaking the solemnity in your tone. You mean every word you’ve just said.

There is one statement that stands out, though. One that is screaming for more answers, for a further explanation.

“Y/N,” Bucky says softly, fighting to keep his anger in check and hoping that it doesn’t come through in his voice. “What-I—Steve? Why Steve? Did you—what? I don’t understand — were you actually in love with him?” he asks, “Did you—did you use my best friend against me? Did Steve ever mean anything to you?”

Bucky needs to know. No matter how much he may love you, no matter how much he may want to love you, there is one unwavering fact when it comes to Bucky and Steve: he’s with Steve ’til the end of the line. And if someone messes with Steve, by default, you can be goddamn sure that Bucky’s getting involved too. If there is one person he would die defending, it’s Steve Rogers.

You’re silent for a minute, chewing over your thoughts. Bucky’s words have apparently struck a chord. You stare off into the distance, fiddling with your fingers and biting on your bottom lip. Perhaps your silence should be alarming, Bucky thinks — if you truly loved Steve, wouldn’t your answer be an immediate, resounding ‘yes’?

“Not at first,” you admit softly, keeping your eyes trained on Bucky’s knees. It means that you don’t notice the barely-restrained fury in Bucky’s expression. “I mean…okay, so what happened was he asked me out on a date, back when you and I were still…yeah. He asked me out.”

You pause, running your fingers through your hair. “I will admit, at first, I wanted to say no, because like I said, I had — have — feelings for you. And I was still hopeful about us. But…but he asked so nicely, and he looked so hopeful that I—I didn’t have the heart to say no,” you murmur, your expression turning wistfully sad as you recall the memory. “I loved you, but…but—god this is gonna sound so bad,” you chuckle mirthlessly, “Some fucked up part of my brain rationalised that maybe…you seeing me with Steve would kick you into gear, or something—,”

“Y/N, I swear to god—,”

“I’m not done,” you say sharply, fingers clenching into fists in your lap. For a second, your entire body is tensed up, before you take a deep, calming breath, relaxing once more and continuing on with your story. “My point is: fucking sue me if you want to, but initially, I got with Steve with the intent of making you jealous,” you admit.

“Fucking hate me all you want, okay? Hate me because Steve’s not here to do so. I-I deserve it, yeah? I get it, I deserve your hate, your anger — call me a bitch, a coward, an asshole, a liar, whatever you want. I’m all of the above. I get it. Hate me, Bucky,” you growl brokenly, vicious venom lacing your every word.

Somehow, despite what you’ve just admitted to, Bucky can’t quite do that. He’s—a part of him hates you. Loathes you, in fact. But another part of him — the irrational, stupid, lovesick puppy inside him — still believes in you. He’s—torn. Conflicted. He’s fighting a warped internal battle between what is right and what is less right, because, as he’s come to realise, ‘wrong’ is simply a matter of perspective.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice calmer, softer now. It sounds almost eerily detached, even. “I started dating Steve despite being fully aware of the fact that he had feelings for me on a level which I did not reciprocate,” you say. There’s an undertone of bitterness and self-hatred to your words. “I knew that I wasn’t being fair. I was being mean. But—the thing is, Bucky, please, please, please, believe me when I say this…I never, ever meant for things to get this far.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky scoffs.

Bucky feels…a lot. He’s enraged, mostly. His entire perspective of you has changed. You’re not the person he once thought you were — that is the glaringly obvious fact that’s staring him in the face, right now. You’re not the person he made you out to be, the woman he fell in love with.

“You could’ve put a stop to it, anytime you wanted to, right?” Bucky points out, not bothering to conceal his pain and anger. In fact, it’s a relief to finally allow those emotions to bleed into his words, a relief to finally voice the thoughts that have been clamouring for attention inside his head.

“You weren’t under any obligations to stay with Steve. And—and besides, if you were done waiting around for me, instead of trying to make me—make me jealous,” he spits out, relishing the way you recoil at the word, “Why didn’t you ask me yourself, huh? Why couldn’t you come to me and ask me out?”

“I—I fucking didn’t want to pressure you, okay?” you snap, your gaze meeting his once more. There’s a heat in your eyes that makes Bucky want to smirk — he’s fighting fire with fire, and as irrational as that may be, it feels good.

“You—I didn’t know for certain if you felt the same about me,” you explain. “And I—look, I knew that it was overwhelming for you to have to adjust to all this,” you say, flapping your arms and gesturing wildly around you, “So I didn’t want to…to add my own pressures on you. If you fell in love with me—great, but—but I didn’t want you to feel like you had to date me, or love, or take pity on me, just ‘cause I had feelings for you.”

“And, I guess,” you sigh, your shoulders deflating and losing their tension as you drag a hand down your face, “I thought that with time, I could — maybe, fall in love with Steve and get over you. The heart can only hold so much love in it, right?”

You laugh dejectedly, shaking your head as if you can’t believe how stupid you were. “Fucking wrong,” you snort, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was — am, still am — in love with Steve, but in love with you, as well! I ended up falling for Steve, because who in their right mind wouldn’t do the same?”

“You’re right,” you say, nodding your head slowly, “I was under no obligation to be with him, but I couldn’t end out relationship because I didn’t want to.” You lift your eyes to meet his gaze. Bucky’s breath catches when he catches the glimmer of unshed tears in yours.

“I love him, I love you, and I couldn't decide between you two. I’m a fucking selfish bitch, okay?” you huff, tightening your arms around yourself defensively. “There. I said it. I’m a fucking selfish bitch, who didn’t want to leave Steve even though,” you pause, gulping audibly. “Even though I knew I was hurting you.”

Bucky’s jaw tenses in anger. “You knew you were hurting me and yet you kept on doing it anyway.”

“I—,”

“Fuck you,” Bucky hisses, “Fuck you, fuck your manipulative games, fuck you for fucking with me, with my head, my feelings, do I—do I mean nothing to you?”

“You do!” you protest, “Bucky, I swear, please—,”

“Could’ve fucking fooled me,” Bucky continues, bulldozing onwards, as if you’d never interrupted him. “What with the way you treated me, and all.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Barnes,” you growl, your own anger finally making your composure snap. “You’re not perfect either, jerk. Look, both of us are in the wrong—,”

“But we wouldn’t even fucking be in this position had you put an end to things with Steve when you could!” Bucky shouts, not caring if he wakes up half the compound in the process.

You swallow, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that are on the verge of spilling from your eyes. “I—I never meant to get engaged, or anything,” you whisper, “I—it was only ever meant to be a couple of dates with him, and then I was gonna put an end to it and tell him it wasn’t gonna work out between us. I swear on my life, Bucky, that’s what I fully intended to do. But—,” you laugh deliriously, “You can’t help but fall in love with Stevie. I didn’t do anything to deserve him, but he—he loved me. A lot. And I—I found myself responding to that.”

“So did I love him initially?” you ask, straightening up and raking your fingers through your disheveled hair, “No. Probably not. Not the way I love you, at least. But do I love him now?” you pause, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling as you consider your next words.

“Goddamn it, I’m not sure. I love him, in some capacity. I care for him, and I’m—I’m brokenhearted because he’s dead, but—but it’s still not the way I love you. And…and I feel so guilty about the fact that—,”

“Don’t sob to me,” Bucky growls, cutting you off when your voice begins to waver and your eyes start to become teary, once more. Your mouth pulls into a tight line. Before you can say anything else, Bucky jumps in, wanting to share his own thoughts.

“I thought the world of you,” Bucky says softly. His tone is low, surprisingly calm, despite the roiling anger inside him. “I thought you were an angel on earth, a goddess among men. Turns out, I was wrong. Stevie should’ve had better than someone like you.”

You snap your head towards him, your eyes ablaze with rage. “Well fuck you, Barnes!” you shout, “Here is my fucking apology for not being good enough, for not meeting your—your unreasonably high expectations! And—and what the fuck? There are more dimensions of love than just the romantic, okay? Can’t you see that?”

“I—I still care for him, Bucky,” you explain, your voice more than a little bit hysterical, “And—I dunno, I have a feeling that he knew something was up. Steve—he knew…something. About—about…you and me.”

Bucky thinks back to Steve’s video and can’t help but agree with you on that one.

“But—he died with a lie,” you say, your voice cracking at the last word. You clear your throat. “I was gonna come clean and tell him, I really was, but I—but now he’s gone. He’s fucking dead, and he never got to know the truth.”

“No thanks to you.”

You snort indignantly. “Oh that’s rich, coming from you!” you snap, “Mr ‘I keep a million secrets up my sleeve’. You could’ve come clean to me, to Steve at any point and yet you didn’t. Do you even love me?”

Bucky inhales sharply. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to calm his thoughts.

It’s now or never.

“I do,” he says quietly. “Y/N—doll, I do, Ido love you. Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve loved you for—for as long as I’ve known you.”

Now that he’s started, there’s no stopping. He’s taken that first step — they say the first step is the hardest for a reason — and it’s all downhill from here. It’s like the dam inside Bucky’s mind has finally been burst. The words that he’s been holding back all this while can finally come rushing through. They spill out of his mouth in a mad, uncontrollable torrent.

“I—I need you the way I need oxygen, baby,” Bucky continues, “I love you, I swear, I love you. My heart belonged to you before it ever belonged to me, before I even knew what it was to love!”

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip and turning to look off into the distance, out of the window. Bucky drinks in your profile, which lately, has been more gaunt and waif-like than normal. “Don’t say that,” you whisper tightly, “Don’t say words like that if you don’t mean them. Don’t just say them just for the sake of saying them—,”

“I do mean them!” Bucky says urgently, his hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder. You turn to face him, your gaze locking onto his. God, the trepidation and fear in your eyes is enough to make his heart break all over again. “Y/N, I—we’ve done some stupid things, but I mean it. I love you.”

You shake your head sadly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I thought—I thought hearing those words from you would be the best thing to ever happen to me, but—it’s not,” you say, sighing dejectedly. “It’s not what I needed to hear, right now. Now—now, when things are like this, when I have to have Steve’s kid—,”

“It might not even be his,” Bucky blurts, unthinkingly. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he catches onto what he’s just said. What he’s just implicitly admitted to.

Oh so slowly, you turn to face him, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”

It’s just one word, but one word is more than enough to instil sheer terror in Bucky’s bones. “I—Nothing. Nothing, forget I said that,” he stammers.

“What d’you mean, it might not be his?” you ask, your voice barely masking the threat lying beneath.

“Noth—,”

“Fucking tell me!” you screech, lunging forward and grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt. Your expression is positively feral. “How in all of fucking hell could this baby not be Steve’s and why on this goddamn planet would you fucking know?”

Bucky licks his lips nervously. “It’s not Steve’s,” he repeats slowly, “Or…at least I don’t think it is.”

“Why?” you breathe, voice wavering with wrath, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re—um,” Bucky swallows again, tries to remember how to make his mouth work.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you growl menacingly, yanking him closer towards you, “This is my body we’re talking about. If you know something that I don’t, spill it.”

“In KL,” Bucky says quickly, “In—in KL, on that mission, on—on that night, that last night, uh—you were drunk. And—um. And so I brought you back to the hotel and you…you wanted to have sex.”

“What?” you breathe, letting go of his sweatshirt in shock. Your eyes are as wide as saucers. “Why didn’t you—,”

“I tried to stop you—I, okay fine, I admit, you have no reason to believe me on this, but I swear on Steve’s head that I’m not lying to you!” Bucky says vehemently, “I tried to stop you. I told you no, I was gonna leave, but you—but you kept pushing, and I—I couldn’t,” Bucky pauses, blinking away the tears that have suddenly sprung to his eyes. “I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

“So we fucked,” you say flatly.

“We fucked,” Bucky confirms. “I—um. I didn’t think it was gonna happen, so I didn’t pack any condoms with me.”

“We had unprotected sex,” you murmur, burying your face in your palms.

“I—I did pull out,” Bucky says. “I did! I promise you, I did!” he repeats, throwing his hands up in surrender when you arch an eyebrow in disbelief. “I—I uhh, I really did pull out, but it—it was uh, kinda at the last second, so stuff could’a…y’know…it might’ve been too late.”

Bucky runs his tongue over his chapped lips. His throat feels unnaturally dry, perhaps due to the nerves. He watches as you slump against the back of the couch. You’re gaze is blank and you’re making no sounds. It’s beginning to unnerve him.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” you say, your voice eerily cool. “Fuck you for doing this to me.”

Maybe it’s your choice of words, maybe it’s the tone with which you’ve spoken, maybe it’s the cumulative effect of the events of the last week, but for whatever reason — that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“Oh, now I’m the only bad guy in this equation?” Bucky snorts, “Need I remind you which one of us is the manipulative bitch?”

Your jaw drops open in shock. “I—fuck you, Barnes, you’re one to talk about bad guys — you fucking slept with me when I was drunk! Taking advantage of me!”

“I said no!” Bucky roars, “I pushed you away, I told you I didn’t want it! You’re as much of a rapist as I am, in this situation!”

You blink rapidly, grinding your teeth together as your hands clench into fists. Bucky holds his breath, waiting for you to lash out, to land your next blow, and is surprised when it does not come.

“You’re—okay, you’re right,” you sigh, rubbing the heel of your palm into your eye tiredly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I forced myself on you, I—I can’t imagine how shitty I made you feel. I’m sorry I put us in that situation, I’m sorry I acted like an idiot, I’m sorry for dragging you into this drama, I’m sorry, okay?”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but it’s there. I’m sorry,” you murmur. You sigh heavily, removing your hand from your face as you look towards Bucky once more.

“But that doesn’t change how I feel,” you continue, your tone sharpening as your rage resurfaces. “The issue’s still there: I’m pregnant, and this might be your baby. Were you ever gonna tell me about this, by the way? Huh? Were you ever gonna tell how we fucked whilst I was drunk? How you broke all the rules we ever put in place?”

“I—,” Bucky sputters, at a loss for words. “No, you know what? Yeah. Yeah, I did break all out rules. And I’m sorry. I truly am sorry for that. But I came clean in the end, but—but what the fuck? You can’t be telling me that what you did was any less worse.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—,”

“Then what the fuck are you trying to say, Y/N?” Bucky asks sharply, “Because my patience is running thin and I am fucking done dealing with your bullshit.”

You clench your jaw. “Right. Okay, you know what I wanna say? You wanna know the real reason, the reason deep-down why I got with Steve? Wanna see how blackened and fucked up the innermost parts of my soul are?” you snarl. “I got with Steve because I wanted you to fight for me, Bucky.”

“Y/N—,”

“I wanted you to goddamn fight for me,” you hiss, “Are—are you blind? Are you an idiot, or something? Could you not see what I—if you truly loved me like you say you do, you would’ve fought for me, asked me to stay.”

“What kind of jacked up logic is that?” Bucky sputters, stunned. “Am I blind? Fuck you, Y/N, you’re the one that’s blind! Could you— could you not see? Could you not see how obvious I was? I adored you, clung to you like a needy puppy, but you had no clue, and I don’t know how that;s even possible! I was so fucking obvious! Smiling every time I saw you, laughing every time you talked to me — you didn’t see that?”

“You didn’t see how much pain you put me through?” Bucky continues, his voice harsh. “I’m pretty sure I was — am, probably — fucking depressed. When you told me you were dating Steve, when you told me that you’d gotten engaged, when you—,” he breaks off, laughing hysterically, “When you asked me to fucking pick out your lingerie, like— I was in pain, okay? The entire time! You hurt me!”

“Every time I saw you two together, happy together — whether or not you were pretending — it hurt like someone was stabbing a million knives into my gut, okay?”

“I was wrong about you,” Bucky spits, “I thought you were an angel, I though you were better than this.”

“No one told you to idolise me, Bucky!” you scream, lashing out, fighting back just as hard. “I’m fucked up! I am fucked up in the head, okay? I didn’t ask to fall in love with both of you, I didn’t ask you to fall in love with me, I didn’t ask for any of this to happen!”

Bucky leans back against the armrest, runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends slightly. “You know what? Fuck it, I’m done,” hey growls. He pushes himself onto his feet and moves to stalk past you.

Your fingers catch hold of the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling him to a stop. “Barnes, sit your ass down—,”

“No,” he hisses, shaking your hand off of him. “You don’t fucking get to tell me what to do, Y/N. I’m heading up. Goodnight.”

Maybe it’s the finality in his tone that sends you into a panic, but whatever the case, you leap up at that moment, your hand gripping onto Bucky’s shoulder. He grits his teeth and resists the urge to brush you away.

“Bucky—,” you whisper, “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, please sit down, please—let’s talk.”

“Oh, we’ve talked plenty, Y/N,” Bucky snarls, whirling around to face you. The expression on your face — a cross between on heartbroken, sorrowful and apologetic — gives him pause. The heated words he was going to hurl at you die in his throat.

Bucky sighs heavily as rakes his fingers through his messy hair. “Okay, look. Let’s—I think we need some time to cool off. To…to process everything that’s just been said.”

“Bucky—,”

“We can talk. I’m not—now. Sometime later, not now,” he mumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his joggers. “Now…this is too much. I—need some time to process all…this,” he says, gesturing wildly between the two of you.

“Okay,” you whisper, dropping your hand to the side, letting go of him. “I—I do love you, Bucky. Still. Even—even if you…even after—I do. I love you.”

Bucky turns away, not wanting to let you see his expression. Something in his heart aches.

Those are the words he’s wanted to hear from you, the words he’s always wanted to hear falling from your mouth for as long as he can remember. Hearing you say them should be a salve on the wounds of his broken heart, but…they’re not. They’re anything but.

They don’t have the same meaning, the same symbolism, the same weight that they used to. The no longer hold the same promise.

He loves you, still. Fucking hell Barnes, will you get a grip on yourself? he chastises.

Bucky loves you, even though he probably shouldn’t, at this point. Maybe it’s a different kind of love, maybe it’s not to the same extent — he doesn’t know anymore. He hates you and loves you in equal measure and if that doesn’t summarise how screwed up his life has become, then nothing else will.

The thing is, there’s more to the picture now, he has to remember that. How can he abandon you? He can’t just love you, not only because of his promise to Steve — as misguided as that may have been — but also because you’re potentially carrying his child in your womb.

Bucky feels like an absolute shit hole.

All he’s ever wanted in this life is for you to want him, to love him. And, as it turns out — you do. You do love him, but you probably hate him, as well. It’s fucked up, is what it is.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Bucky says tightly, as strides out of the common room. “I’ll—see you.”

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castawxayaway · 7 years

Text

never turn back

when I say I’m excited for you to read this, excited does not begin to cover it. I will warn you now it is semi graphic, there are descriptions of blood etc as this is the start of my Halloween writing!

let me know what you think as I’d love to know, anyhow enjoy.... ;)

collection of writing

Sitting quietly I try to block out their stories, the ones that match the growing fog along the country road. Everything surrounding us was becoming blurry, too blurry for comfort. I wipe my palms across my jeans, an action I find myself doing continuously as Kyle mutters about the dead woman behind me. Glancing over to him I watched as he stopped laughing at the story, instead, squinting his eyes as he pushed his glasses back into place.

Will leant forward, his head perched between the two of us as I kept my eyes aligned ahead. “According to the map, it should be just on your left here.” He spoke up with hesitance as the area seemed abandoned, let alone there being a maze here. Dan obliged, turning the wheel sharply as the gravel rattled beneath the wheels.

All of us sat in silence as the fog grew, it covered the windscreen, the windows leaving us all blind. Fear was growing around us, neatly contained in his car. Turning the corner I rolled down my window slowly, trying to ignore the intense beating of my own heart drumming in my ears. “Be careful,” Dan mutters in the eery silence as I scan the area, hoping, quietly praying something is here. “do you see anything?”

I don’t respond. It feels as if everyone is holding their breath, not wanting to be the one to freak the others out. So much for the ghost stories that have now vanished into the fog. My ears perk up as the gravel crunches, the sound of rocks being kicked moves closer and I can feel Dan's hand on my arm, bringing me back in. “Wind the window up,” Woody whispers towards the two of us as Dan’s hand remains firmly placed on my right forearm. “slowly.” Abiding his instructions I do so and lean back in the chair.

Unable to catch the breath I was holding none of us speak up, we all sit in the tense nothing, waiting for something to go by. I turn my head to face Dan, his hand now holding mine tightly as his bright blue eyes remain muted by the darkness surrounding us. He mouths something as the others sit behind, unable to see clearly what he’d be saying.

Raising an eyebrow to him I watch as a small smile rises on his face, I carefully watch his lips move as he remains freshly shaven. As he finishes it sinks in what he’s said, he squeezes my hand tightly and all I do is relax into my chair, wishing we were alone for this moment so I could react. “Do you think we should still follow this road?” Kyle slices into the uneasy quiet, looking at all of us. Yet all we shrug our shoulders.

“If we can see the fucking road it would be helpful,” Dan mutters, turning around and shifts the gears then pulls the handbrake, we begin to move slowly once again. The only audible sound is the wheels and the engine, from behind I can see a faintly lit phone, Will still trying to navigate in the middle whilst Kyle and Woody sit either side. “wait, is that a?” I lean forward, as do the others from behind.

“Kyle?!” I pull my hair out of his grip, he mutters an apology as I sigh in response. Messing with my hair I barely focus on the sight before us, it all plays too quickly for me to even react.

Behind Dan a window smashes, I duck my head between my legs as shouts start, everyone yelling, but one is in agony. “Drive!” I scream and we all jolt forward at the force of the car moving then are thrown back into our seats.

Lifting my head back up I fight back tears as I glance around, the attempt to fight them back diminishes as they pour down my face at the scene. “Oh my god.” I sob, covering my mouth with one hand, the other reaching towards him. “Woo, Woody, Woody?” Tears spill into my sloppy speech as Wills' hands remain coated in blood, his head is low whilst Kyle just shakes his head to me, trying to keep it together.

Woody’s black top hides the damage to a certain degree, but even in this setting, I can see it seeps completely. His left side exuding rapidly, the attempt to stop the blood loss was useless. A mess of sticky damp hair covered his lifeless face as his arms were cut, Wills’ covered in scratches and the blood of his dead best friend.

Leaning back into my chair I run my hands through my hair as Dan continues to drive ahead in this fog. “This can’t be happening,” I repeat to myself as I sob uncontrollably, how can this have happened? “Dan where, where are we going?” Blubbering he did not shift his focus, his eyes were locked deep with the fog.

“To the maze, there we can get help.” He states blankly as if any emotion has drained from his body like Woody’s blood.

He continues to drive with an urge, the need to get there as quickly as we can. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Kyle mutters before unrolling the window, spilling his guts out whilst Will looks at his hands, barely blinking. I try to let my eyes glance to the person who tried to teach me the drums, who introduced me to his friend Dan all those years ago. The guy who helped me through a phase of heartbreak when I thought it was over, now he’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do.

Lifting my head up I forcefully wipe my eyes along with the snot that drips from my nose. Ahead, the fog thins, a broken wooden gate remains open and Dan heads straight towards it, no hesitation nor words exchanged. I felt a hand on my shoulder, I lifted mine up and held onto Kyles’ for support since Dan has become shut off, his sole purpose remaining on getting us help.

The car comes to a halt, he turns the engine off and before us is a large poorly written sign. ‘Halloween Maze, this way.’ A blood-red paint dripped arrow points to our right, a bungalow next to it with one light visible through the window. “Looks like we made it.” Kyle jokes to himself, letting out a dry laugh. We all react differently, Will still stays in his own space, Dan glares at him whilst I allow myself to let this sink in, Woody is dead. What’re we even doing?

“We should probably go to the bungalow, see who is there and if they can help.” Dan pipes up and I stare at him blankly. He raises an eyebrow to me whilst I simply look at him, unable to comprehend the suggestion. “There an issue with that?” His tone takes an authoritative turn, and I scoff in response.

Shifting myself I let go of Kyle's hand, crossing my arms over each other. “Are you bone idle? We need to call the police Dan! Stay put here as opposed to going into some freaky house next to a maze that looks as if it is designed to ensure you don’t leave a bad rating because you won’t leave at all!” My voice rises with anger and I push my hair back, huffing loudly. “If you want to go say hi to the owners and let them know that our friend has been fucking murdered, then go.” Motioning for him to leave he still masters the blank expression, void of any emotion that he had twenty minutes ago. “GO!” I yell and he slowly gets out, quietly shutting the door behind him as he walks off towards the house.

Once he becomes out of sight I burst into tears, “What is this?” Kyle mutter as I shake my head, fearing insanity that looms. “I mean, is this intentional?

Turning around my glossy eyes cause his soft brown to turn diluted. “Why would someone kill Woody?” My eyes focus on Will, he begins to wipe his hands on his jeans, the blood not leaving his skin. “Who knows, maybe Dan is next.” He mutters quietly, but in this silence, anything can be heard.

Whipping my head around I can hear my heart beating, “Shit.” I whisper. “Why did I make him go? Rule one of any fucking creepy place is don’t go alone.” Swallowing the lump in my throat I straighten myself up, undoing the seatbelt and moving to the driver's seat. Glancing into the mirror I can see Woody, I adjust it, too much sorrow in view as I have to focus.

“Drive then,” Will speaks up, and without anymore conflicting thoughts I slam my foot on the pedals, and drive closer to the bungalow. Stopping I keep the headlights on full beam, hoping they’ll make the ivy-covered bungalow clearly, perhaps point out where Dan is inside of it. “now what?”

Rubbing my lips together I slam my hands down on the steering wheel, letting them know we are here, that Dan isn’t naive enough to come alone. “That ought to get their attention right?” I turn around and within seconds the sight behind me starts to glow.

All three of their faces become illuminated, the two of them etched with fear, their words are being drowned out by the intensity of the explosion. I watch as Kyle leans forward, pushing the gear into reverse and I move quickly before we get caught in it. Driving aimlessly backwards all becomes lost as I watch the bungalow burn to nothing, the structure remaining as the rest is burning all over the sight.

I can’t process the scene, but then I hear a thud from behind. My foot moves for the break, and I turn the engine off. Afraid to turn around my vision falters at the burning bungalow, not allowing me to think about who was inside and what he told me less than an hour ago. “What was that noise?” I grip the steering wheel, unable to stop my hands shaking as my feet hover over the pedals.

Will calls for me, his tone fearful. “I, I think you just killed someone.”

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goloveyaself · 7 years

Text

The Call

Camera One: Picture a woman, maybe 65 years old. She has MS, gets around with a walker. The bathrooms in her very old house are the size of shoeboxes; very tough to get in and out of if you’re larger than a 12 year old boy or have a walker. She is and does. Now this woman, because she’s sick, (and because she’s sick, she feels much older than 65), she has to go to the bathroom frequently. Like a lot. And going to the bathroom is a very time-consuming activity; struggling to first get to the bathroom, then struggling to get inside the bathroom door with her walker. Then there’s the getting the pants down, or the dress up, or whatever while holding onto the walker so that she doesn’t fall. Eventually, after what may be almost an hour, she gets to plop her exhausted body onto the toilet, knowing that when she’s done, she will have to reverse the whole process to get out of the bathroom and back to her chair in the living room (which may as well be 100 miles and 2 weeks away). She will likely repeat this process three or four times before her day is done.

Camera Two: Picture a woman, maybe 37 years old, pacing around her kitchen, a loaded handgun on the table. She’s wearing nothing but a pair of men’s boxer shorts; likely her ex-lover’s. Ah, her ex-lover, he has broken her heart. She is devastated by the loss of him. She helped him move out; thought she was was the bigger one. Truly believed that it would help their relationship, if he had some independence, the chance to find his own way. He had moved in with her when he was only 25; from his Mom to her. Now he was restless; acting cold, detached. She thought she could rise above, help him. They looked at apartments together; her always feeling that growing, gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach, the middle of her chest. But no, this would work. He would miss her so much; he would see what he had with her and he would want it back. She would help him; always help him. It seemed like the best thing. Until it wasn’t. Until Jennifer with her monstrous tits and stupid smile. She wasn’t even out of college yet. And she would drive his BMW, the same car that the woman drove almost every day when they were together. The woman would be getting morning coffee at Dunkin Donuts, and monster tits would pull in in the BMW. It wasn’t her car. And she would stupidly say hello to this woman, the one whose soul mate she was sleeping with, doing the things they used to do together in the bedroom and it made the woman sick to her stomach to think these things; the video tape rolling inside her burning brain. Ugh. She was driving his car. And she would say hello and the woman would want to jack her up onto the wall by her stupid neck and tell her…….it’s not your car…...he’s not your man. Instead she would just stare at her and hope that she might die on the spot, there in Dunkin Donuts while holding her medium regular extra fucking sweet.

Camera One: MS is a miserable thing, and this woman feels so alone, isolated even. Her children grown, her cheating husband long dead from a sudden heart attack. He lived long enough to get over all of his philandering ways, and just as he was becoming the husband she had always wanted, he dropped dead. So now she doesn’t remember his cheating and lying. She has forgotten his mean streak and sharp tongue that used to cut her to the quick at a moment's notice. She only remembers the love….”Oh, your Father and I were very much in love” she would say to her daughters. The younger one would always try to remind her... “Mom, he was a prick” she would say. But no, her mother wouldn't have it, she wouldn't hear it. They were in love, and he had been a wonderful man. So now she needs to get out of the bathroom, this sick and tired woman who is all alone in this big house. She is struggling to get out of the bathroom, knowing that in another few hours (if she can wait that long) she will need to get into this bathroom again. The doctor’s told her….drink lots of water, and she comes from that generation of people who believe every single thing that people in “authority” tell them. If the police, or the President, or the boss, or the doctor (or your cheating husband) says it, then it’s true. So she drinks copious amounts of water, maybe hoping it might cure her of this wasting disease she has acquired. This wasting disease of the broken-hearted. And this makes the bathroom a place that she must visit often. And she’s sweating and tugging at her clothes, trying to get them back into place. The bathroom door is so narrow; she drags herself along with the walker; this life is hell for her. Sometimes she just wishes she would die in her sleep to end this misery; each day blurring into the next with the bathroom being her focus. Like a full time job; never a break from it; no time off. She makes it back to the living room drenched in sweat. Falling back into her chair, she drops into the restless sleep of exhaustion.

Camera Two: The younger woman continues to pace the kitchen. She sits at the table and spins the gun around in circles like playing spin the bottle, except she’s the only player and the only kiss coming her way is a bullet searing through her tortured brain. She picks the gun up and holds it to her temple. She’s suffering, her guts feel like exploding with this pain that has no relief. How could he do this to her? How will she ever get over this; he said he loved her; she believed it could never end. Soul mates. Forever. Together. She puts the gun down and rises from the table, walks into the bedroom. She sees the bed where they used to sleep spooned up against each other; where they used to make explosive love, melting into each other, disappearing into each other as though they were one person. Is he doing that with the girl with the huge tits now? Does he feel that way with her? Can she possibly bring him to that place, that spiritual oneness that they shared. Oh...My...God. The pain is unbearable. Yes, she’s been hurt before, but never like this. He was supposed to be “the one”. She’s out of her mind with grief, the empty space where his love used to be growing larger and darker, about to consume her; swallow her whole. She goes back to the table, picks up the gun. Holds it to her temple, puts it into her mouth and wraps her lips around the barrel. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. Just pull the trigger; PULL IT! It will be so fast, she knows she won’t even feel it. BANG! Lights out; pain over.

Camera One: The woman wakes up from her short sleep; this short respite from the drudgery of her life of back and forth to the bathroom. The doctor’s won’t just give her a catheter and bag. She’d like one, but they want her up and about, walking as much as possible. They know that if they catheterized her she would sit in her chair and rot from lack of desire to live.. She doesn’t want to live without him. She doesn't know how to live without him. The night he died, and she returned from the funeral home, she said to her daughter, her youngest daughter…”well, now when he doesn’t come home, at least I’ll know where he is”. She said that. And her daughter told her “Mom, maybe God is giving you the chance for a whole new life”. She was only 51 then. Still young; still pretty. She could have started over, had a second chance. But she couldn’t do it; couldn’t live without him. “We were so in love, your Father and I” she would say. And this was true for her; the way she had chosen to remember it. And it would make her daughter sick, because she saw it, she was there for it, and she knew that it wasn't true. So now the woman is awake, and she has to go to the bathroom again. And she just wants to cry, because this is what her life has come to. And she thinks….”he would never have stayed with me like this; he would never have loved me like this”. And she begins the long journey to the bathroom, again, the long miserable struggle, for the third time today, and it is only just past noon. She thinks what she wouldn’t give for a pair of legs that work, and eyes that see clearly, and to walk without the help of a walker. She remembers when she could do that; when she was young, her body strong and healthy. What she wouldn’t give…..Please God, just let me die in my sleep, she thinks.

Camera Two: She can’t take another minute of this suffering; her world has fallen apart. What's the point in living? She picks up the gun again, opens the chamber to make sure the bullets are there. No turning back. She can pull the trigger and be done. No chance for this to happen to her ever again. No more pain and suffering. She puts the gun against her temple, she puts it back on the table. She crawls onto the kitchen floor and sobs, rolling around, writhing in this heartbreak; sick of herself, sick of the pain, sick of it all. She gets up and grabs the phone. Someone…. someone has to help her, make this pain stop, someone has to answer the phone. She calls a friend; no answer. Fuck! She calls her Sister; no answer. It’s meant to be that she dies today; no one is out there to help her. HELP ME she screams inside her head. She gets off the floor and returns to the table, picks up the gun.. she puts it in her mouth again; one shot, take out the brainstem. Done. Over. Her finger squeezes the trigger just a little. Her hand is trembling. She puts the gun down; picks it up again. Into her mouth, another squeeze on the trigger. She's scared; FUCK! SOMEONE HAS TO HELP ME; PLEASE FUCKING HELP ME! She puts the gun down and grabs the phone, tears running down her face; snot running out of her nose. She doesn’t care anymore; who fucking cares???? She dials her Mother; her Mother answers the phone. She cries into the phone “Mom, please, please help me….I’ve got a loaded gun, Mom, in my mouth...she’s blathering, barely making sense….”a loaded gun, Mom, I can’t take the pain, can’t take it anymore, please”......

Her Mother’s voice breaks through her tears, interrupts her begging and crying and says simply to her, to this young woman who is putting a gun to her head, sticking a gun in her mouth, her Mother, her poor, sick, sweet Mother says….”Can you please call me back, I’m in the bathroom”.

The woman looks at the phone, her crying stops. She suddenly feels calm. She hesitates, thinks for a minute, then says…”sure Mom, I’ll call you back”. She puts the phone down on the table. She stares at the gun; she looks back at the phone. She gets up from the table, taking the gun with her. She calmly walks into the bedroom and puts the gun back in the case under the chair. She stands silent in the middle of the room. She thinks she’ll just take a shower now, get dressed, and get on with her day.

Camera One: A Mother, miserable and suffering in the tiny bathroom, all alone in her old house, just trying to get through another miserable day, and as she pulls herself up from the toilet once again, sweating and struggling; she doesn’t even know, that in her struggle, in her misery, she has just saved her daughter’s life.

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