#❛ leave a message after the beep. ❜–– inbox.

[stxriesfromasharchive]

"Sure I'm a little stupid, but that's like 80% of my charm!" for bff emmett

WE'VE GOT MAIL

Meme: Tumblr Text Prompts From @pantslessoptimism For: Emmett

"A little stupid?" he jests, leaning over and using the top of her head as an arm rest. "You're definitely like if a koala and chihuahua had a weird hybrid baby - and that's like 95% of your charm, the other five percent being a flamingo that's attracted to shiny things."

[deepsix-writing]

Fix You. Chapter 1 of 5. (BEGINNING)

After the events of Marble Hornets, Tim is left to pick up the pieces of what is left of his old life. One piece in particular has him haunted.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

When Tim had first seen the hooded figure lying motionless on its back after falling off the balcony, he'd thought, good. Another puppet of the Operator down… one step closer to putting an end to this nightmare. He hadn't realized it was, instead, the beginning of an entirely new one.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Never had Tim known the sound of a dial tone so well. His devotion to that voicemail inbox was as a priest to his god; He knelt in prayer morning, noon, and night, begging and pleading with whatever force it was that looked down on him from heaven to let him hear his best friend's voice just one more time. Steadfast in faith, he never stopped calling, never stopped hoping, even as the seasons changed and he did too. Even as the police came in search of missing persons, and went when they found nothing, Tim remained. His razor collected dust in his bathroom. A beard as thick as his misplaced hope had cropped up on his face.

The investigations had been particularly difficult for Tim, especially when detectives had shown up on his doorstep. For Brian's, he'd easily been able to shrug them off and convince both them and himself that the college student must have been off visiting family out in the west, or enjoying a break from classes by the coast. It was summer, and the benefit of the doubt was his seldom hope. He called Brian's number and let the voicemail play for the police once, then a million times more for himself after they were long gone.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Then came Alex's. The film student had worked up a track record of unexplained disappearances already (something Tim relayed to the cops word for word), but Tim didn't have much else to say about him. The man had already painted the walls of Tim's mind with a noxious crimson; he couldn't bear to lose another shred of his regards to him. The detectives said they would keep in touch with Tim if they discovered anything new, and they went on their way. Tim let the sound of Brian's canned voicemail message fill the empty space in the meantime.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't.'

Time marched on. Tim marched on. In the mornings, he took his medicine, listened to the voicemail, and afterwards he went to work. Admittedly, the job he worked was a crappy one, but it was the first he'd managed to hold down in years. It would do. Tim would keep to himself and do just enough to get by until he was let off in the evening. Stopping by a gas station for cheap junk food on the way home was a mandatory part of the routine; he would do anything to prolong the inevitable sight awaiting him in his apartment.

He wades through the garbage of his overgrown and messy apartment after he wedges the door open and carefully locks it back up again. It is welcome procrastination for when he makes it to his bathroom and looks in the mirror. When he looks at himself, all he sees is blood.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message…'

His god is dead. Tim isn't sure how long he's been praying to a corpse, but now he's able to smell the rot. It fills his nose and makes it hard to think. When he looks in the mirror, all he sees is death.

A tidal wave of blood replaces the ringing in his ears. He grips the edges of his sink. He stares down a murderer. A brutal killer that single-handedly delivered the end to all of his closest friends. People who'd had rich lives and bright futures ahead of them.

Alex's last moments replay in his mind. His hands, the same ones that had gone white with how tightly he gripped the countertop, were the ones he had used to stab the film student in the throat and the image would never ever fucking leave him. Over and over, again and again until Alex was coughing and hacking and drowning in his own blood. The sound of a punctured windpipe was not one he would ever forget. The scene had smelled like metal and victory at an impossible cost. His hands had been stained red ever since.

It was a microscopic change, one Tim hadn't noticed at first, but he was certain the skin on his hands was a shade redder than the rest of his body. No amount of hand-washing or showers or even bleach would fix it, and no one at his crappy job had known him long enough to see the change like he did. But Tim knew. Tim could hold up his hand against his face and be able to tell. His hands were cursed by a near-transparent shade of crimson, and any time he looked at them, guilt burnt a hole in his stomach. His anxiety would be remedied with another replay of the voicemail that never changed.

It had taken Tim longer than he could proudly admit to figure out what that had meant for his former friend. Combing through Jay's online archive of footage to find out exactly who the hooded man was had taken even longer. It was like watching his brother's last moments on video after finding out he'd died the same night. In comparison, the voicemail was like hearing the voice of his patron saint.

Tim's faith dies in the middle of the night, when he lies in bed with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. The device is perched over his head, shining down on his face as he calls Brian's number, listens to the voicemail, and hangs up.

'Hey. It's Brian…'

It's a neurotic dance he repeats until his eyes grow tired and he's just on the verge of sleep, and then…

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

Tim dropped the phone on his face before he knew how to react. It fell in the crevice between his side and the bed, and it took him a frantic moment to wrench it out.

"Brian, Brian! Holy shit, are you okay? It's Tim. It's me, Tim! Are you okay?? What, What happened–"

"Woah, hey!" Tim realized it wasn't Brian's voice. "-I'm not – I just found this phone on the side of the road earlier. It's not mine."

Then it set in. Then something withered inside him. When his lips moved, it was a miracle.

"…Where on the side of the road?"

"Oh, just by Rosswood Park. So are you friends with this Brian guy? He probably wants his phone ba–"

Tim snapped his phone shut and never called the number again. Sleep did not come to him that night, and in the next few weeks they were as lovers on thin, frayed ropes. Circles as dark as his guilt weighed down his eyes. Thoughts he'd put behind himself years before came running to catch up with him.

Tim was dead. His hope was a flickering candle that had been tossed into the ocean. It hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't stood a chance. He only knew of one thing left to do.

He found that one thing in his car keys and in his drive to Rosswood Park and in the loaded handgun he'd stuffed in his pocket. He parked his car sideways in the lot overlooking the forest. The front end of the car dipped past the painted dividers, and usually he'd hate it when people left their cars parked like that. Every time, Tim would grimace and regard the sight as a result of the driver lacking common decency. But in that moment, it was the last thing he could have ever thought to care about.

It was funny, how one simple piece of knowledge had changed Tim's entire perspective on life. He had decided that morning would be his last, and just like that, the world had flipped on its head. The rising sun was brighter, the morning sky was prettier, and his bed had been warmer. He even felt like cooking a meal for himself that day.

Tim went to the store after showering and dressing himself in his cleanest clothes. He bought just enough ingredients for this one recipe, and he even bought dried rosemary. It came in a little glass bottle, and was a dollar and sixty cents more expensive than the store brand spices he usually bought. Every time before, his eyes had passed over it. He'd excused the idea of buying it despite seeing it as an ingredient in countless recipes because it wasn't worth it, the dish would taste just as good without it, it was a waste of money. But when he used it to cook his last meal that day, it was like finding the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle he'd tried to put together years ago. It was the best food he'd ever tasted.

In the park, the birds chirped like an orchestra catered to Tim's ears. It was late fall, and the golden hues of falling leaves orbited around him. Before he joined the barren trees ranks, he sent a text to his former manager. Dead men can't work.

For a dead man, his feet were sure and steady. He knew exactly where he was going: the same place he'd died once before. Its once pristine white walls were peeling, and it was covered in graffiti now, but it hadn't changed any more than Tim had.

At the hospital, Tim had learned how the world worked. You start out whole, and every time the world beats you down, it takes a piece of you. With every friend he'd lost, Tim lost a chunk of his soul. And when he'd killed Alex, he'd lost a bigger chunk than he could have ever anticipated. Tim knew he wouldn't have enough of himself left afterwards to survive losing anyone else.

He'd always tried to find those pieces. It was the only reason he hadn't split town the moment he'd had the chance. Tim's eyes had always been full of stars and the against-all-odds hope that one day he could find those pieces again. Or maybe, he'd thought, he could find them again in someone else. But that someone else was gone, now.

Whatever pieces that had left him had rotted and decomposed. They nourished the soil that crept up from the floor of his old hospital room and grounded the lichen that hung from the ceiling. Time could put the very foundations of the room to ruin and Tim would still feel the years he'd spent locked away here like the ache in his feet from walking all this way.

It was as fitting a place as any to die. Tim envied his younger self: back when his mind was his biggest problem, and not his actions. As he closed the half-hinged door and trailed his hands along the peeling paint of his coffin, he hoped and prayed no adventurous teenagers would come and run into his body until the next summer, when wild animals had taken the pieces of him that would be left behind. He didn't want this place to harbor any more trauma for anyone else. He would end that legacy here and now.

Tim pulled the handgun from his pocket. It was warm from resting against his thigh. He brought it up to his chin, then thought better and let the tip of the barrel press against his temple. But it felt wrong. Too dramatic, too highschool. The warm metal slid to the center of his forehead instead. But he couldn't grip the trigger as well, he started to think that instead he could-

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Tim assumed it was the dead man's manager, replying to the dead man's lukewarm resignation text. But why not read a dead man's phone while he still could? He let the gun rest against the side of his head as he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

'Hey. I know it's been a while since we've talked and you're probably pissed at me (understatement I know) but I need a ride. Really really need a ride. I'm supposed to be gone by 4, so if you could be here by then, I'd owe you my life.'

The text was from a number he didn't recognize and was accompanied by an address for some place in downtown Tuscaloosa. Tim was just on the verge of clicking his phone closed, excusing it as meant for someone else, when the unmarked number sent another message and suddenly there was no air in his lungs.

'This is Brian btw. Lost my old phone.'

Tim's grip on the handgun's trigger turned to wrought iron in his surprise, and a loud BANG made the last piece of himself jump out of his body. His ears didn't have enough time to stop ringing before both his phone and gun clattered to the floor. His fingers shot up to his head and he felt dizzy when he pulled them back to reveal blood.

Tim fell down on his ass and suddenly there was a fire in his body that burned hotter than the pain in his head. He wanted - no, needed - to stay alive. Even if that text wasn't actually from Brian…

No, it had to be. Needed to be. Tim brought his hands back up to his head, clasping his temples and crying out in relief when he realized his skull was still intact. Blood and heat still poured from his head, but he'd managed to isolate the unknown injury to a graze mark along his left temple. It was enough to sting like a bitch when his fingertips met the open wound, but wasn't deep enough to reach the bone.

It was the second most profound miracle of the day.

The third was how he'd managed to get back to his car without anyone seeing the state of his face, and fourth was the first aid kit he had stuffed in his car. He'd bought it impulsively about a month after he'd started listening to Brian's voicemail recordings, just in case he ever ran across his old friend on the side of the road on his way to the store or work. He had always held out hope for that man.

Tim checked the clock. 3:24pm.

The address from the text message had to be at least twenty minutes away. Shit.

Tim's work of patching up his temple through the foldout mirror in his car was sloppy, and no neater was he when he stuffed his handgun into the glove compartment and jammed his keys into the ignition. The ringing in his ears was the only accompaniment to his wild thoughts as he sped down the road to meet the man behind the text that had given him a new lease on life.

The address turned out to lead to a neat little building just a few blocks from the not-abandoned, non-psychiatric hospital in downtown Tuscaloosa. The sign out front seemed medical, but through Tim's stinging temple and his racing thoughts and the fire in his gut, he couldn't read past 'rehabilitation'. Tim pulled his car into the lot by the front doors and his parking job is just as crooked as it was in Rosswood Park's lot.

He's about to leave the car, but confronting whatever lies in wait for him suddenly wrenches his heart back to the park. His head lurches and he is in his bedroom with his phone, hearing the stranger's voice through Brian's number.

A cigarette would help ease his nerves, he's sure, but a sign by his car advertising a 'smoke-free facility' discourages him. He settles with rolling down his window and alternating between resting his arm on it and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It's an ineffective compromise.

Tim looks at the front of the building through the film of grime on his windshield and watches as people filter in and out of the front doors. Some are in crutches, others have casts. All are accompanied by medical staff in clean uniforms, all accompanied by smiles and kind, encouraging words. Tim wonders which of the staff fake their smiles, and which of them see their patients as less than human. He averts his gaze as he locks eyes with one of them, too scared he'll find thinly-veiled hatred for him, too.

When a skinny figure in a wheelchair exits the building with a nurse by his side, Tim does not make the same mistake of not recognizing his best friend. He is bumbling along the paved concrete at a snail's pace, struggling to get the wheels to move smoothly. The chair goes sideways every other inch he advances, but his clothes are clean and he is smiling.

He is smiling. Brian is alive and well and smiling and Tim is launching himself out of his car without so much as turning off the engine. Brian says something to the nurse and laughs and only has a fraction of a second to throw his old friend a surprised glance before Tim snaps up the space between them like a greedy animal and holds him tight. His arms squeeze Brian with no mercy until an awkward chuckle from the man threatens him to burst.

"Gh - uh. Happy to see you too, man." Brian's words are choked out through strangled breaths. "I'd hug you back, but uh– ok. I can't breathe."

Tim relents only a moment later when Brian starts wheezing, and when he peels himself away, his hand still lingers on Brian's shoulder. Wayward priest, meet your angel. Here to reunite you with your maker.

Brian is glowing, at least in Tim's mind. His clothes are cleaner than he's ever seen them, and even as Brian says something to him that he doesn't make out, he's smiling. It's that same stupid, cheeky grin he'd wear whenever he'd tell cheesy puns and jokes to Tim in highschool. Those upturned eyes that always looked towards the sun and would exchange glances with him that said a million words regarded him now with joy despite it all. The same fiery passion in his gaze and ice water in his veins was there now, even now that Tim had completely blanked out on his words.

"Uh… Tim? You alright?"

Brian's voice carries all of the same, and Tim is undone. A weight melts off his shoulders, but something holes itself up in his throat. All he can manage is a nod.

Brian exchanges a look with the nurse and looks back at Tim. Then, he laughs. The sound is a fire that burns away Tim's fear and anxiety and gives way to a giddy feeling he can't remember the last time he'd felt. He moves a hand up to wipe his face and sniffs. He hadn't realized how wet his face had gotten.

Then, he smiles back. He isn't sure if his words will hold, but he tests the waters anyways.

"I missed you, Brian."

I thought you were dead. I mourned for you. Grieved for you as if I'd watched the soul leave your body with my own two eyes.

"I missed you too, Tim."

Brian just smiles. And it's more than Tim could have ever possibly hoped for.

[mattuhoh]

Incoming call- Eddie Diaz

MISSED CALL. VOICEMAIL LEFT.

“Hi Buck, it's Eddie. Hope you get this, since the cell signals still seems a bit messy and stuff. I just wanna say thanks? For today, after work. You didn’t need to help me with Chris, and helping out with my car and getting us home after the quake. Just let me know if there is anything I can do to help make up for it, because I owe you a big one man.

Anyways, you have my number now. Thanks, again.”

END OF VOICEMAIL.

Delete?

Saved.

OR

Buck and Eddies relationship throughout the years, as told by their voicemail inbox.

[drifting-rocket]

🗣️: a voicemail (can be super old)

"You've reached my inbox, if you need to reach me urgently, you should've just came and found me. Petrel if this is about your damn Koffings again, please fuck off. Leave a message after the beep~."

*beep!*

"Proton, I have something very important to discuss with you. I know you're busy with your contracts but please come see me as soon as possible. I think it's better we talk about this face to face rather than over the phone."

[ilyuu-archive]

@tartaglia-apologist just know that i see your ask and that i am currently leaving you inboxed as a sign of my affections for you 🤭🤭,,,,, leave a message after the beep

[gemmaisabelle]

time as a construct eludes me and thus i cannot be bound to its passing . pls do not leave a message after the beep . my inbox contains nothing but ghosts . you will whisper to the static and it too will be lost . your communication translates to electrical humming and i cannot comprehend its buzz . i am deaf . i am mute . and my notifications are muted . forgive me .

i do not ghost purposely i just have no idea what to say ever

[khaotic-entity]

Inbox full.

beep beep beep, your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system [NULL] is not available right now. please leave your message after the tone, BEEP

….hey…its me. im…im calling again. i know i know, i haven't called in awhile…thinks have been weird with me. allot has been happening…but enough about me. what about you? how have you been…i-..i hope things are good where you are. i hope…i hope you are happy. wherever you are. his voice weavers a bit i-…im doing ok at least.. sniffle sorry, just..some dust. im alright. i made some friends. some new friends. blissful. azure…blueberry and the others, so i cant say things have been going terribly…youre plants are still alive…ever since you went away ive taken up watering them for you, they are standing tall for you. and im trying to take care of myself too…i try to groom myself. I try not to be too violent…I try….its just-…it hard. its so hard to do anything…i have to grapple with so much…but what makes it the most difficult…is having the grapple with the fact, deep down. i know youll never pick up this phone. youll never answer on your end…ill never again hear your voice from the other side, sniffles deepy and sobs lightly i miss you….i- i just….i love you…call me back later…. sniffle….

… …. …. Error - Message not sent - Recipient mail box full - try again later

[perfectionist-prince]

C, E, M?

( * VALENTINE’S DAY ALPHABET ! ) || C - Chocolate: Does your muse like chocolate? Which one is their favorite?

// Siegbert enjoys sweet things, but they’re not his favorite thing in the world. As far as chocolate goes, he prefers semi-sweet or dark chocolate, but only if it’s on its own; chocolate confectionaries (chocolate cake, chocolate tarts, chocolate pudding, chocolate mousse, etc.) are a no-go for Sieg. (Though he can’t turn down a good brownie.)

E - Embrace: Does your muse like hugs? What are their hugs like?

Siegbert likes hugs, but only from those he loves and trusts. If a stranger were to embrace him, he’d grow incredibly uncomfortable incredibly fast; if any of the Fates cast try to hug him, he’d return it, but wouldn’t quite melt into it and he only allows it to last a few moments; if his parents hug him, it’s like he’s nine years old again and absolutely clings to them for as long as they’ll allow (there have even been times where he’s lifted his mother off the ground from how excited he gets when hugging her). As for a lover, he’s incredibly affectionate towards them, so they get hugged frequently. Always a tight hug, always burying his face against them in some way.

M - Moonlight: What is your muse’s ideal date? Where, with whom, etc.?

Siegbert has never been on a date before, ‘cause, y’know, he’s Siegbert. But, as far as ideal dates go, he’d love nothing more than to be able to sit outside and watch the stars, curled up on a blanket in the midst of an open field.

He’d also be elated to simply have tea with someone and have that considered a date, really. As far as courting goes, he’s easy to please.

(As for ideal people, well... :3c)

[princehendir]

Hi, I really hope you don't mind, but I used this link just now and I want to describe in more detail how the tool works, and the process of calling, in the hopes that that will decrease hesitancy for people and make them more likely to call.

This is all explained again in clear instructions through the link (there are more scripts in there too), but what the linked website does is take your name and address (so that the service knows who to connect you to), and then you put in your phone number, and the service calls you. It takes about 30 seconds for the phone to ring, maybe less.

After you pick up an automated voice, like the kind used by telemarketers, will repeat the instructions on the webpage, and then ask you to press * to be connected. I didn't get a person for any of my three calls, and I never have while calling my reps in the past, so I can't tell you how that goes, but i will tell you that leaving a message with your rep's offices is exactly the same as leaving a voicemail anywhere else. You get their recorded message, possibly it may ask you to press a number to be put through to a specific line, and after the beep you start talking. Just press * instead of hanging up when you're done so that the service can put you through to the next office. Don't hang up until you've done the third call with your house rep.

Whole process took about ten minutes.

Some bullet points:

Have your script out in front of you in some way. What I did is I had the site open on my laptop while talking on my cellphone.

It's ok if you don't say the full script as long as you hit the key points. I ended up cutting the last two whole sentences off of the script in my first call bc i got freaked out and hit the button too soon, but it doesn't matter because i hit all the key points. I'm calling about Israel and Palestine, the senator needs to call for a ceasefire and a withdrawal of military aid/the representative needs to join Rep. Bush and Rep. Tlaib in calling for a ceasefire, this issue is important enough to me that I will withhold my vote and future donations over it. These are the kinds of things that whatever staffer who ends up listening to your message/takes your call will write down to pass along up the chain. Just hit as many of those points as best you can

You don't have to worry about or use any of your energy up on "sounding natural". It does not matter if you stutter, or pause, I did a lot of both. And it really does not matter if you sound like you're reading off a script, most people who call their reps are, it's expected. Again, what matters is that you said your name, what you're calling about, what your position is, and that it's a key issue for you.

If the inbox is full and you can't leave a message, send an email. There's a link on the site for that too.

I did this on my break from work. If you have a break coming up do it then. Do it as soon as you're off work. It does not take long, and while it may be difficult, stressful or scary (my nervous system is still lit up, personally) it is not harmful to you, and it genuinely does make a difference. You should do it.

‼️URGENT‼️

Everyone in the US, please call congress right now. I’ll leave the info and a script below. Customize your message however you want.

And please share this everywhere. We need to help Gaza immediately.

If you don't know what to say, you can use this.

“My name is _____.

I am a constituent of _____.

First, I would like to let you know that my future vote and donation will depend on your action in this matter.

We need an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

Israel is committing a genocide, and we will not stand for this.

Call for a ceasefire and allow the necessary humanitarian aid to enter Gaza.

Thank you.”

[bartxnhood]

need you now | c.h

calum hood x reader

summary: calum wonders if you think about him as much as he thinks about you.

part two to this. but can be read alone

warnings: angst, drinking, smoking, language, but happy ending !

a/n: everyone give my friends in slaysos gc a round of applause for helping create this masterpiece. hope you guys live this as much as i do. also i’m not a party person, literally never been and don’t plan so if i get some things wrong, oh well. this is pure fiction LMAO enjoy !

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2022 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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“hey, it’s y/n. sorry, i missed your call, leave a message after the beep. bye!”

“hey, uh, it’s me, just been thinking about everything tonight and i don’t know… i just miss you so much. call me when you can. bye.”

calum was a tragedy. every night he would be out partying or at a bar. since the breakup, his addiction to partying had only gotten worse. he couldn’t remember much in the past two months. he had been partying so much, it was killing him. he’d call you when he was blackout drunk some nights, confessing how badly he had messed up and how he regrets everything. other nights, when he isn’t so drunk, he’d still call, apologizing for the drunk calls.

he was spiraling down a deep dark alley, and if he didn’t fix himself now, he’d never see the light again.

he didn’t know he continued to party and drink so much. but, he continued without thinking about the consequences. even if he knew how bad he was under the influence.

some nights were worse than others.

one night it got very out of hand.

it had been hours since the party had started and calum had one too many like he usually does but tonight was different. he was angry. angry at himself for letting you slip from his hands, angry he treated you like gum on the bottom of his shoe when he should’ve treated you like the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

they were hearing the same sappy story about how he regrets everything. luckily, everyone had left before his breakdown happened.

luke sat with his head hung, rubbing his temples. “calum, you’ve had too much. cmon man. just go to bed and we will clean up. it’s almost five a.m”

“oh fuck off, luke. you try to act like this savior but in reality, you just ruin everyone’s lives.” he belted, throwing the infamous red solo cup at him, and letting the drink spill. “cal, someone is here for you” someone said, standing at the patio door.

his eyes shot up, “is it her? is it y/n?”

“i don’t think so”

his eyes fell, of course, it wasn’t you. you swore off parties and hadn’t attended one since halloween. but when he saw miya appear, rage encapsulated him. “now why in the hell are you here?!”

she looked the same as she did that night they met when miya tried to make a move on him that few parties you didn’t show up to. of course, it hit a nerve. and so, he was yelling at her for even thinking about showing up. “cal, you’re being a bit over dramatic, dont ya think?” he hand trailed over his shoulder blade but he pushed her off. “don’t you touch me. you know what you did.”

it was getting out of hand now, calum was screaming his lungs out at miya while she just stood there, finally luke called the one person he knew who would help. you.

“hey, y/n, i’m sorry it’s so late…well early but calum is drunk, very drunk. can you come to get him? he’s causing a scene.”

“what? oh, jesus christ. yeah, i’ll be there in ten” you shut off your phone, immediately hopping out of bed and finding the closest hoodie and sweatpants then running out of your apartment.

your heart was racing, the drive was a blur. trying to get there as fast as you could to prevent another fight. of course, you still loved him. you were still in love with him, currently. you listen to every message he ever left on your phone.

your inbox was full of them.

you heard every heartfelt confession, every drunk apology, each sober apology.

of course, you still loved him.

you never stopped.

“thank you for coming.” luke swung the door open letting you slip inside, then walked through the trashed house. “he’s back here.” you looked through the patio doors, seeing where he was pointing, and then you spotted him, with her. miya. everything froze in time, luke was no longer there, and everyone else disappeared.

you pushed the door to the side, stepping over crushed cans and cups to his side. “calum?” your voice was small, not sure how he was responding to your sudden appearance if he’d lash out at you or fall silent and walk away.

he picked his head up, eyes locking with yours. calum stops whatever nonsense he was doing, which by context clues, you could guess he was having another drunken tantrum. he stares at you in disbelief, was this happening? are you actually standing in front of him? was he dreaming?

“y/n?”

he says your name and you ask him "cal, what's going on?" and his eyes glaze over a little bit just from hearing the concern in your voice. it was genuine concern, any drunk person could see it. not just him.

he only blinks in response, trying to figure out the situation. he just can't believe you're there at his party after you have sworn them off and it's for HIM. not anywhere else, but his house. he repeats, “y/n” a few times before his arms are wrapped around you and holding you tightly. he couldn’t let you slip away again.

you just let it happen and hug him back saying, "hey i'm here it'll be okay" and trying to calm him down. despite your best efforts, he pulls away looking at you. taking everything in. but you saw everyone staring at the two of you. including miya, who looked like she had a lot to say in the moment. you saw the anger burning in her eyes and hid her chest turned red.

you saw luke who was about to say something, so you put your hand out to stop him shaking your head silently.

you knew calum was feeling bad, so you opted to take him upstairs. “hey why don't we get you upstairs and into bed?" you gently held his arm and that calms him down. he let you lead him inside, away from the party. you stop to talk to one of the boys on your way in explaining you're gonna take him to bed.

“thank you for calling me. i’ll get him situated and come back to help you clean up.”

so you take him upstairs, trying your best to hold him up. calum was mumbling incoherent words as you guided him to the bed. and after doing the usual drunken cleaning up and caring for him like you used to, you took a step back. anxiety consuming your body, and confusion. but, thankful his friends called you.

you’ve read stories in articles about his nonstop parties, and the drunk scenes he made. he was a wreck. but, that’s how he was coping. you, on the other hand, have been the opposite, staying in every night watching sappy movies, crying yourself to sleep most nights, losing an appetite, and making excuses not to see sierra or crystal. isolation was the only way you could cope.

standing at the side of the bed, looking down at calum who was in an out of consciousness you begin to rub the bridge of your nose out of anxiety. your heart was racing, at loss for what to do. calum opens his eyes and sees this and starts getting upset again. he feels guilty that you had to go to another party for him, he rubs his eyes before speaking, “you shouldn’t have come. y’hate parties”. you drop your hands, “i had to. i was worried.” he saw it in your eyes, you were being genuine. “you’re scaring me, cal” by now, tears began pooling in your eyes, you took a breather trying to calm yourself.

knowing he's extremely drunk and emotional, you try to get him to bed without admitting to anything or saying something you don't actually mean. “scaring you?” he breathed, watching as you tossed his shoes to the floor. “yes. you’re killing yourself. im not just gonna sit by a key you do that”. maybe you were being a bit too emotional now, so you looked away trying to get your thoughts in order and finish getting him ready for bed. if he decides to sleep.

once you get him situated you left the room for a bottle of water. he probably wouldn’t notice you were missing. no one was left except luke and ashton, picking up the litter from the party. they all looked up in your direction hoping for any news but you just shook your head and left it at that.

you returned, half opening the bottle and sitting it next to him. calum is kinda staring at you in awe. he says "you’re always the one taking care of me and i never deserved it. you deserved so much better than me." knowing he's extremely drunk and emotional you didn’t let it get to you.

you look down chewing on the inside of your cheek. don’t let him do this to you, y/n. you kept thinking, he was drunk he didn’t mean anything. you stand up to leave, wanting to go home and scream into your pillow because he misses you so much. he reached for your hand, holding it so carefully, and spoke "stay with me.” you freeze, turning your head and you look torn so he adds "please? just tonight." while looking into your eyes and looking desperate.

so, you stayed. laying on the opposite side of calum, you heard his breath steady assuming he was finally going to sleep. until you heard “i love you.” you had only hoped that if you were still he’d leave it alone and would just go to sleep. but he continued. “when i left that morning, i didn’t stop. i never did. you’re my whole world, and i hate the person i’ve become. i wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, but i screwed it up.” your heart was racing, picking at your nails you felt him shuffle next to you. “you were the best thing i’ve ever had and i let you go. ‘m sorry. you can hate me. i understand.” you waited a bit, but that was the last thing he said for the night.

you end up leaving before he wakes up, it was breaking daylight by now and you didn’t want to be there when he woke up. before leaving, you stood above him he looks so peaceful. naturally, you bent down and pressed the softest kiss on his forehead then exited the room. so, by eight a.m you were gone. on the way home, you have a small breakdown realizing the love was still there, and seeing him so vulnerable made your heart ache. but, you kept reminding yourself he was drunk. he probably didn’t even mean half the words he said.

later in the day, you had just finished your meeting now standing in your kitchen fixing a cup of coffee, until you were interrupted by a rhythmic knock. you sat the cup on your counter and walked over. but when you opened the door, calum was the last person you were expecting. “hey.” he said, stuffing his hands into his jacket. you stepped back, then saying “why are you here?” calum looked around. you hadn’t changed anything since he left. he didn’t know why you would change anything, but he expected at least something out of place. he shrugged, “i just wanted to thank you for last night, and everything.” you sighed, “come in” you stepped to the side and let him enter, then closed the door behind him. “do you want some coffee?” he sat down on the sofa, where the last fight happened. ouch.

“sure.” he answered, looking around the room. you came back with a black mug and handed it to him, and took your seat across from him.

his comment was abrupt. “i meant what i said, you know.” you looked up from your coffee, to meet with his eyes already looking at you. “what?” you blinked, placing the mug on the table. “last night. everything, i meant it. from me still loving you, to wanting ti spend the rest of my life with you. i meant every word.” he was being sincere, he held eye contact as he spoke and didn’t break it once. truthfully, you didn’t know what to say. the situation wasn’t ideal, and to be honest with yourself you knew you still loved him. “calum..” you finally spoke, followed by a long sigh and dropping your head into your hands.

“then why do you continue to do this? you’re drinking yourself to death, cal. how can i trust that you won’t do it all over again, even if i want to work this out?” calum contemplates, he sits back on the sofa searching for the right words. "i get drunk to forget the color of your eyes and the way your hair falls and how soft your skin is and the way your smile makes me feel; but it seems like the alcohol can't change my memory of you." he sets his mug down before saying, “i do it because it’s the only way i know how to cope and i know it isn’t the best way, but it’s all i know.” you crossed your arms, chewing on your lip. “and if that isn’t enough just tell me, and i’ll leave for good and you can go back to hating me.”

“i don’t hate you, calum. i was hurt. i could never hate you. not after everything we’ve been through” you rebutted. his eyes lit up. “you don’t hate me?” “no, i don’t. i could never hate you, cal” you saw him carefully reach for you hand and you let him. “y/n, i promise i’ll never do that again. i love you more than you’ll know. so please, just one more try?”

four months, three days, one hour.

that’s approximately how long it’s been since the wedding. since the day you both said ‘i do’ .

one year, four weeks, two days.

since he was at your doorstep apologizing for everything he had ever done to you.

you give him another chance, and it was the best thing you’ve done. he promised to love and cherish you forever. and he did exactly that.

the patio was decorated with fairy lights, faint music coming from inside and the two of you dancing to the music. he was humming quietly to the song, which was your first dance at the reception. “you know what?” he said to you.

“what?”

his hand on your back held you tighter. “you’re my favorite person, y/n.” he felt you chuckled softly, pulling your head from his chest. “yeah?” he nodded, “yeah.” he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll love you forever, even when i can’t.”

[mcyt-correct]

Martyn: You have reached the voicemail messaging service of Inthe-Little-Wood. Please leave your message after the tone

*beep*

Mumbo: Uh- Hi Martin! It's just me I just wanted to call just to-

*beep*

Martyn: Inbox full. Thank you for calling

[purplefangirl42]

Snowy Surprise

Summary: Finished with finals and about to head home for the holidays, you weren’t expecting Silco to gift you something so wonderful.

Pairing: Silco/GN!Reader

A/N: This was part of a gift exchange and written for the lovely @mmartos! Happy belated holidays Marty! Much thanks to @deny-the-issue for organizing this event 💜

Tags: Angst/Misunderstandings, School Stress, Modern AU, Missed Calls, Comfort/Fluff, Christmas/Holiday themes

AO3 Link

You let the door swing shut behind you as you entered your apartment, kicking the shoes from your feet and dropping the heavy backpack you were carrying on the floor. The few steps it took to get from the door to the couch seemed almost too much as you plopped down on your stomach. Exhaustion crept through your entire body now that it was no longer moving.

Whoever invented finals was either sadistic or a masochist.

Even thinking of the word finals drained what little energy you had left. The last one you had was today, and you weren’t even sure how you did. All the questions seemed to blend together after a while. Hopefully, it was at least enough to pass the class. You could live with that.

As if today wasn’t stressful enough, you had almost overslept. Also, you had forgotten to charge your phone the night before, which meant you had to leave without it this morning so it could charge. Not that you were expecting anyone to call or text you anyways.

You let out a pained groan as you sat up and lifted your tired body from the couch and trudged into the bedroom to retrieve your phone, just to check if anyone had actually tried to get ahold of you. Once the device came to life, you could see several missed calls and a few texts. Your brow furrowed in confusion, wondering who it was that tried to contact you so many times.

Missed Call- Suspected Spam

Missed Text from ex- Hey ;) 

Missed Call- Suspected Spam

Nothing important then.

You threw the phone down on the bed before following it yourself, bouncing a few times before settling in place on the mattress. Your eyes drifted shut and you laid there in silence for a few minutes, basking in the peace that came with the end of a stressful week. The hope that the weekend would be better lingered in the back of your mind.

Not likely.

Your phone let out a muffled beep from beside you, indicating that you had a new message. Expecting either another spam message or a desperate call for attention from your ex, you ignored it. A few minutes passed before it beeped again. Sighing, you opened your eyes and grabbed the device and turned on the screen once again. There were two new messages in your text inbox. 

Both from Silco.

You blinked a few times in surprise at the notification on the screen. You hadn’t heard from Silco in over a week. Not after you snapped at him on a particular stressful day. You had been attempting to study for one of your exams and he had tried to ask you something. It had been a harmless question, simply wanting your opinion on a Christmas gift for his daughter. Your response had been short and annoyed. When he asked what was wrong, you had only given him a snippy response before gathering your things and leaving his office.

Thinking back on it now, you wish that you had tried to call or text him later that day or the following one to apologize. He had been nothing but supportive during the course of the semester. Only for you to repay him like this. You turned your attention back to your phone as you opened the conversation.

I hope your tests went well. Call me when you get home, we have something to talk about. 

Jinx sends her greetings and says to give you a thumbs up. I’m not sure how to do that, so consider the message passed along regardless. 

You smiled at the fact that Silco didn’t know how to use emojis. That he even texted at all was shocking in itself. Although, it made him less likely to monologue as he would have to type everything out that he wanted to say. But, even in this shorter format, his words held weight. Only Silco could make the phrase “we need to talk” sound worse than it already was.

The two of you weren’t even together. Sure you spent a lot of time around each other and you had bonded with Jinx, but nothing had progressed past light flirting and secretive glances and smiles. You weren’t even sure exactly what he thought of you. For all you knew, you were just the person that served him his coffee that his daughter had gotten attached to.

Then why is he texting you about your finals? Why would he let you study for them in his office?

You weren’t sure about the answer to either question. Maybe you would find out when you talked to him. You threw the phone back down and stood from the bed. A shower was required before you did anything. Maybe a nap as well. It wouldn’t be beneficial to snap at him again because you were overtired. That would get you absolutely nowhere.

A few hours passed before you were alerted to another message on your phone. You blinked sleepily as you grabbed it off the table beside your bed. There were another two texts from Silco as well as a missed call and voicemail. 

I hope everything is well. Give me a call when you see this message.

I don’t know if your phone is off or you are ignoring me. 

You pressed on the voicemail to listen to what message he had left.

The fact that your phone rang and didn’t go straight to voicemail tells me that it isn’t off. I sent you several messages with no response. Either you haven’t seen them or you’ve decided not to reply.

There were a few moments of silence before he started speaking again.

I’m not upset about what happened the other day, I just want to see you. Please call me when you get this message.

It almost sounded like his voice hitched a bit when he said he wasn’t upset. You felt bad for not answering his earlier texts. It hadn’t crossed your mind that he would be concerned that you didn’t answer. Hanging up from the call with your voicemail, you immediately went to his contact and pressed call. It rang once before he picked up.

“So you do know how to use your phone.”

“Says the man that doesn’t know how to send a thumbs up.”

You heard a huff through the speaker. You were unsure if it was annoyed or amused. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I was getting concerned.”

“Because I didn’t answer for a few hours?”

“I thought you might still be upset.”

“Silco…I’m sorry I snapped at you last week. I wasn’t upset, just over-tired and stressed. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I understand. I know this has been a stressful time, which is why I left you alone. I knew your last test was today, so I thought perhaps you would be ready to talk now that it was over.”

“Did you need something?”

“I have a surprise for you. I wanted to catch you before you left town to visit your family so I could show you.”

“Hence the urgency to get a hold of me.”

“Can you come by my office in about an hour?”

You looked at the clock on your bedside table. It said it was nearly 7 PM. You needed to eat some dinner and do laundry before you packed up to go home. The last thing you wanted to do was travel across town. But, you wanted to make things up to him for snapping at him. He had obviously done something that he wanted you to see, and given the blossoming feelings you held for the man, you would hate to let him down.

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you.”

You hung up after promising to be there on time. Grabbing some slightly nicer clothes, you spent a little time making yourself presentable. Before long, you were out the door and headed to the bus stop to catch a ride across town. When you reached Silco’s office building, you waved at the head of security, Sevika, as you passed her desk.

“What are you doing here so late?” she asked.

“Silco invited me. Said he had something to show me.”

You saw a small knowing smile on her face before she waved you off. You wondered what Silco had in store that would make Sevika smile like she knew a secret. You shrugged and got in the elevator to ride to the top floor of the building, where Silco’s office took up a majority of the space. When you stepped out of the elevator, you couldn’t believe your eyes. 

The lights in the office had been dimmed, allowing the multitude of twinkling white lights to illuminate the space. Small spotlights displayed small dots that almost looked like falling snowflakes on the walls and a fan allowed a cool breeze to sweep across the room. It was almost like you had stepped into an artificial winter wonderland. Something you had never experienced due to where you lived. 

“What do you think?”

You turned to see Silco leaning on the doorway to the smaller space where the private part of his office was. He was looking at you expectantly, awaiting your verdict on the scene surrounding you.

“It almost looks magical. I feel like I’ve been transported into a different realm.”

Silco let out a soft chuckle before pushing off the wall and striding toward you.

“That’s what Jinx said as well. The spotlight snowflakes were her idea.”

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“You said you had never experienced a snowy Christmas, so I wanted to change that. I couldn’t exactly make it snow for real, so I figured this was the next best thing.”

A wide smile spread across your face as you looked around the room once again. It was truly a sweet gesture. It was certainly more festive than anything you had seen. The displays in the shop windows never seemed to capture this essence and all the Christmases in your lifetime had been lacking the snowy aspect you saw in the holiday films.

“This was really sweet of you, Silco. Thank you.”

Silco came to a stop at your side and his lips curled into a genuine smile. Not the smirk you were used to or the disarming smile he offered when trying to intimidate people. It was full of affection, something you had only seen directed toward Jinx before.

“I’m glad you like it.”

When you looked up to meet his mismatched gaze, your eye caught sight of something hanging from the wood rafter above you. It almost looked like a sprig of mistletoe. Somehow you doubted that Silco had put it there. A certain blue-haired menace came to mind. One that enjoyed climbing amongst said rafters. 

Silco seemed to notice that you were looking at something and he followed your gaze to the secret plant above. His smile slipped a bit at the sight before he looked back down to catch your gaze again.

“I had nothing to do with that.”

In the soft lighting of the room, you could swear you saw a slight blush appear on his cheeks. You stepped closer to him and rose up on your toes, leaning in toward him. Your lips pressed softly against his scarred cheek for a second before you lowered your heels back down, moving away from him. 

“Can’t break tradition,” you said with a shy smile.

Silco stared at you, his good eye open wide in shock. You moved to take another step back from him and were surprised to find his hands grabbing yours with a gentle grip. You looked up at him, tilting your head in confusion.

“Silco?”

His shocked expression disappeared, the mischievous smirk you knew and loved replacing it. One of his hands released its grip on your hand and rose to your face. He gently cupped your cheek, his thumb passing softly across it.

“At least do it properly.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a light kiss, his hand never straying from your cheek, keeping you in place. He pulled away after a few seconds, his eyes scanning over your face as if to gauge your reaction. 

It was your turn to stare at him in shock. While the winter wonderland had been a surprise, the kiss was even more so. It seemed like he did think of you as more than just a coffee deliverer. You weren’t sure what to do with that information. The only thing you could think to do was to smile at him again. 

“I’m proud of you for all your hard work these past few months. Despite your busy schedule, you always made time for both myself and Jinx. Words could never show how much I appreciate that.” 

“So you went with winter wonderland and a mistletoe kiss?” 

“The mistletoe was not part of the plan, but I can say that I didn’t mind its inclusion.”

“Neither did I.”

You rose up on your toes again and leaned in close to him. Your arms rested on his shoulders, hands clasping behind his neck. 

“Merry Christmas, Silco.”

This time, it was you that closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his. His hands found purchase on your waist, pulling you even closer. Your lips parted again after a few seconds, foreheads still resting against each other.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

A/N: Give this a like, comment, and reblog and let me know what you think!

[jwnchstr]

Close as Strangers | d.r3

summary: daniel trying to reach you while you’re hospitalised.

characters: daniel ricciardo x you!reader

warning: plays with your emotion, mention of corvid-19

other fics masterlists | other f1 fics masterlists | f1 imagines

*   *   *

     “y/n? hey! it’s... it’s me danny. i... uh... i heard you fell sick the other day. um... sorry i didn’t reach you any sooner. i-- i got caught up with my job. if you got this message, please call me.”

     you pressed a button and the next voice message played in your ears.

     “um, y/n? it’s me again. you’re probably resting and recovering, right now. i shouldn’t... i shouldn’t be worried about you knowing that you’re very well taken care of, but please call me back.”

     once that message ended, you left your phone beside your ear on the pillow and let the system plays the next voice message.

     “look, i know this sounds despearate, but please call me. they wouldn’t let me visit you, but i need to hear from you. please, call me.”

     the system in your phone brought you to another voice message coming from the same person -- the one you didn’t realise you missed the most until you’re lying on your hospital bed and can’t do shit -- but knowing exactly what he was going to say, you quickly stop them. you cannot hear any more begging from him. the sound of his voice hurts you, just like how this illness hurts you in the chest.

     you felt like deleting daniel’s messages. it’s not because you hated them, but it’s actually the opposite. you’re just as desperate to see him and that’s what scares you the most because what if you didn’t survive this?

     there were a lot more voice messages received from your friends and relatives. most of them wishing you a fast recovery and hope to see you soon. however, little did they know, you have a very thin chance at living and they have a very thin chance of meeting you again. this illness is stealing your oxygen away. your chest gets very tight every time you inhale for clean air. and it hurts everywhere.

     indeed, you’re being quarantined for having the corvid-19 symptoms. you don’t know how and from whom you got it. you were fine one day, but then you had a high fever along with a very bad sore throat. the next thing you know, you’re warded because you’re very low of O2. and everyone started to get worried about you including daniel.

     you haven’t had a chance to get to know daniel that long. there were only three weeks before you were hospitalised. you didn’t remember how it happened. you just knew that you two clicked just as soon as you started a conversation with him. he was funny and talented. meanwhile, you passed his vibe check. but sometimes, what hurts the most is being so close.

     this stupid illness. fuck to those created this virus just to wipe half of the world’s population. who are you to do that? god? thanos? but even thanos was defeated by the avengers, at the end. and you? in your actual world? who are going to kill those people who invented this virus?

     you lay on your bed with oxygen mask on your face. the oxygen tank stood visibly beside you. the heart monitor beeped very slowly in your ear as if it’s telling you that your life is ending soon. but how soon? you wish you knew. even if you’re destined to die, you hope it’s easy and fast.

     after hearing the last voice message, you scroll your email inbox, your text messages, your personal instagram and twitter account. they’re filled with pictures of you smiling and being happy accompanied with the best wishes of recovery. all you can do is reply a gratitude for them remember you, but really. all you want is a friend.

     not that you don’t have a friend. you have plenty of good friends who would be there for your bad times, but are they going to understand your situation now?

     you found yourself scrolling through your contacts list and stopped when daniel’s name appeared. your finger lingered in the air for a few seconds, thinking if it’s worth calling him. after all, he was the only person who’d been leaving you multiple voice messages. decided not to want to make him worried, your thumb finally press the call button.

     “hello? y/n?” daniel sounded unsure at first.

     the wariness in his voice made you think that he must be thinking bad thing was happening to you. it might not be you who was calling. it might be one of your family members to call him. maybe to tell him that you’re gone. after all, it was in your will that you want daniel to be the first person to know if anything happens to you

     you took a deep breath and sighed as if hearing his voice lifed all the stress on your shoulders. “hello, danny.” your voice was weak. you were struggling to breathe, but for danny you tried hard.

     “y/n?” you heard him excusing himself from his little crowd. “how-- how are you, sweetheart?”

     you smiled to yourself, hearing the nickname he’d gotten for you. much like dean winchester to every girl he sees.

     “i’m... good.” you coughed. it’s so hard to talk, but you know you needed to hear his voice. you’ve only known daniel for three weeks, but as you talk to him, it felt as if you’ve known him for years.

     you felt like daniel were about to say something about the cough. you waited for it, but it didn’t come. you imagine his assuring smile that didn’t reach his sad eyes as he said, “good to hear from you.”

     “how’s work?”

     “hard that you’re not here.” daniel was always being honest with you. you know how your presence was one of the reasons behind his motivation to drive every race. “everyone is worried about you, sweetcheeks. they talk about you everyday. they hope you’ll recover soon. they miss you.”

     “aw, i miss them, too.” you smiled as you remembered how nice and welcoming you feel whenever the F1 crews are around. yes, some might treat you like you’re just a visitor, but some actually treat you good despite being an outsider. daniel brought you to his workplace as his support system since he knew you.

     “and... i...” daniel’s voice cracked. he cleared his throat before continuing. “i’ve missed you, y/n. i’m not lying.”

     you let out another cough when you’re chuckling at his brave confession. “we’ve known each other for merely three weeks, danny. how can you miss me that much?”

     “we’ve had so much laughs together... silly jokes... i miss doing them with you.”

     you stayed quiet, touched and not knowing what to say.

     “you have to be tough, okay? you’re a fighter. i know you are. fight for your family. fight for yourself. fight for me, too. i’ll be here when you’re out of the hospital.”

     “don’t wait for me.”

     “i will always wait for you.”

     there’s nothing you can say except to smile at yourself and wish daniel could hear the gratefulness in your silence.

[pellucid-constellations]

Hiiii!

I read your fic "Voicemails to an Unmanned Inbox" and I wanted to ask you if you could write an alternate ending where it doesn't end happily? Like something happens to the reader? Thank u;)💖

Voicemails to an Unmanned Inbox (alternative ending) 

Summary: This is an alternate ending to this fic, beginning at the voicemails Bucky leaves the reader after a fight. This can be read on its own. 

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Heavy angst, death

a/n: Dang when you want angst, you want ANGST. This was painful to write, not gonna lie. 

Masterlist

He gave it about 5 minutes of staring blankly at his phone before he called again. And again. And again. Each voicemail he left was more desperate than the last, fear building in his chest with each one. 

“I know callin’ you again probably won’t do anything, but it's worth a shot, right? If you answer, I promise I won’t say anything. You can scream at me for however long you want and I’ll sit here and take it. Come on, sweetheart, you gonna pass up on a deal like that?” 

“Just give me anything to let me know you’re safe. Send me a text? Or whatever those things are called. I know I said not to text because I don’t understand it, but I’ll take anything you’ll give me. Please, baby, you got me beggin’ over here.” 

“Stevie said I should give you some space, and I’m more than willing. Just—I just need to know you’re safe. You can stay as far away from me as you want, sweetheart, but please at least call Nat. Tell her you’re okay. She hates me, so you can guarantee she won’t tell me where you are.”

“Shit, it’s raining. Call me back.” 

“Is this you leaving me? Please, don’t do this. I love you. I’d do anything to take back what I said, just please don’t do this.” 

Eventually, the phone stopped ringing, each call from Bucky immediately met by the answering machine. He found himself missing the shrill, monotone beeps; they meant there was a chance you would pick up. 

“Did your phone just die? God, I hope not. I got Tony tryna track your phone, but no luck. You pull the tracker out or somethin’?” 

“You’re tearin’ my heart out, sweetheart, I’m freaking out without you here. I know I messed up, but I need you. I need you to tell me when I’m wrong and when I’m bein’ stupid like how I was today. I need you to hold my hand and force me to take those meditation classes for my heart health or whatever you said it was for. I need—” he took a breath, tears falling down his face for the first time that night. “I need you here, loving me. Because that’s the only time I feel like Bucky. The only time I feel like me. Please, baby, let me—” 

“The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time, goodbye.” The call ended abruptly. Bucky called back, one last time, but was met with the same message. 

He stared down at his phone and contemplated chucking it at the wall. Was this really it? Had he screwed up so badly that you didn’t want him anymore? Or worse, were you hurt somewhere? Unable to pick up the phone because Bucky had forced you out of the safety of your bedroom. 

Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by a vibration in his hands. Looking down, he almost didn’t believe his phone is ringing, somehow drawn to the conclusion that the stupid thing didn’t work at this point. But the screen clearly read some number he’s never seen before, and the vibrations were strong in his hand. Expecting the worst, he lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse from overuse. 

“Hello, is this James Barnes?” 

“Who’s askin’?'' Bucky responded, already irritated that it wasn’t you on the other end of the call. 

“My name is Doctor Stevenson. I’m calling from the Albany Medical Center Hospital.” It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room as Bucky waited for the man to continue. “I’m calling about Ms. Y/l/n?” Bucky stopped breathing. 

“Is she okay?” He was frantic now, running around the room to find his shoes. He didn’t waste time putting them on, opting to carry them as he ran down the hall. 

“Can you confirm that I am speaking to Mr. Barnes? This is sensitive information that I should only be sharing with an emergency contact,” the man probed. 

“Yes! Yes, this is Bucky! I mean this is Mr. Barnes. My birthday is March 10th, 1917.” Bucky was getting angry; his bare feet slammed into the ground of the compound as he rushed to get to you. 

“1917? Let me double check my records one more—” 

“I swear to god if you don’t tell me if my girl’s okay, you’re gonna wish you never told me what hospital you’re at,” Bucky seethed. The doctor stuttered over the phone. 

“I—well I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Bucky stopped then, leaving a dent in the wall by the elevator as his left arm made brutal contact, his momentum impossible to control. 

“What?” He sounded destroyed. 

“Do you need a moment, Mr. Barnes? It may be beneficial to sit down or—” 

“Just tell me. Tell me my girl’s okay,” he begged. There was a long pause on the other end. 

“I’m sorry to inform you that Ms. Y/l/n was in an accident. She was brought to our hospital, but she passed moments after arriving. I am so, terribly sorry Mr. Barnes.” The sound of Bucky’s shoes hitting the ground was lost to his ears, his heartbeat so incredibly loud in his head. 

It was as if his world was tilted. As if the axis that kept him spinning in place was just shot out from under him. You were his axis, and now you were gone, leaving him to spin out relentlessly into a cruel, unkind reality.  

“No,” he choked out, utter disbelief replacing any irritation at the doctor's previous hesitance. “You’re lying—youre—you’ve got the wrong girl, right? Not my y/n. She—she loves me. She chose me.”

His lips were dry and his throat hurt. He felt like he’d been screaming down a void. The pressure that had been building up in his chest the moment you left the room was mercilessly crushing him now. He reached out to pull at his shirt, desperate to relieve the ache. 

“I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Barnes. Her identity was confirmed by the police upon her admittance. Would you like to come and say goodbye? We can keep her here on the unit if you’d like? Anything to make this easier on you.” Bucky couldn’t take the remorse in the doctor’s tone. 

“No. No, you’re wrong. Because if she’s gone then I can’t tell her—I have to tell her,” he slid down the broken wall, the front of his shirt ripping from how hard he was pulling at his chest. “I need to tell her I love her. I didn’t get to tell her.” 

Bucky didn’t get to hear the doctor’s response, the phone slipping from his hand with a violent sob. His metal fingers left indents in the hardwood floor as he pressed against it, heavy tears streaming down his upturned face. 

He wasn’t sure if he could handle this type of pain. When it was physical, Bucky could pinpoint its location like his body was a map. A broken leg was localized, manageable. But this? This pain consumed his entire being. It hurt so deep that it set into every one of his bones and pulled at his nerves. How could he do this without you? How could he live with the regret of his parting words? 

He couldn’t. He absolutely couldn’t come to terms that this was his reality now. A reality without your soothing words and kind touches. Without the one person who saw him fully and still accepted who he was. Who didn’t ask him to change but instead asked him to embrace every part of him, even the small, angry parts that he hid behind masks and agreeable words. 

Steve found Bucky some time later, huddled on the ground with pieces of drywall surrounding him. He was unresponsive, but Steve could gather what had happened by the look on his face. It took many long moments of coaxing before he could get his best friend standing. 

Bucky wouldn’t go back to therapy, not at first. He knew they would ask about you, and he found himself reluctant to speak your name out loud. After a month of no shows, a small box from his therapist landed in front of his door, your phone inside. Bucky had assumed it was with you when you crashed, lost on the road somewhere or crushed in a ditch. He picked it up and held it to his ear, a voicemail ringing through the speakers. 

“I know callin’ you again probably won’t do anything, but it's worth a shot, right?”

[cognacdelights]

a case of the sniffles

the domestic pleasures of indie routledge series masterlist

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summary: tilly and indie are both struck with a case of the sniffles which leads to both mama and baby getting stressed out. as tilly won’t stop crying, indie reaches her breaking point and calls on jj for some support. 

warnings: swearing.

author’s note: a little more sad angst with a happy ending for y’all! feel free to leave a comment or reblog with your thoughts and feedback on the chapter! or you can always coem talk to me in my inbox as asks are always appreciated! 

Being a parent, especially to a new born, wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows or snuggles and holding onto tiny, little hands as Indie was about to find out; more often than not it was sleepless nights, never-ending runny noses, high temperatures and running fevers, crying wails that could most definitely wake the dead, fussing over feeding, disrupted sleep routines, and clinging on to mom for dear life. It was, for absolute sure, a rollercoaster in which the track was unpredictable and threw rapid changes of direction and steep descents out when you least expected it.

Tilly was, for the first time in her life, sick. Her little, chubby cheeks were flushed a permanent shade of rouge and her tiny, button nose was stuffed up — however, it still seemed to run constantly and incessantly. It was gross, to say the very least, and Indie spent a significant amount of her time wiping away the never-ending, green snot bubbles that dripped from her nose. The poor, little mite had also been running a fever since last night and was uncomfortable in anything more than just a little vest and her diaper. She had also turned dramatically fussy with her feeding; Tilly was typically a baby who loved her breast milk and suckled on Indie’s nipple to her heart’s content. She wasn’t a stranger to a milk coma, to put it quite plainly. Yet, had refused to feed at all since her four o’clock feed beyond half a bottle of warmed-up breast milk, which she spat back up several minutes later.

Naturally, Indie was concerned for her baby having never experienced such behaviour or symptoms in Tilly before — however, feeling off herself and running on only a couple of hours of sleep made the whole experience just that much worse. She was completely overwhelmed and being the only one at home with Tilly since JJ had returned to work meant that she didn’t get so much as minute’s reprise from the incessant wailing and the constant neediness. It had gotten to the point that she had found herself verging on a breakdown, red, puffy eyes glazed over with tears as she paced laps around the messy living room with her phone pressed anxiously against her ear.

It rang once, then twice, and then a third time before the familiar sound of JJ’s voicemail rang through her ears. The person you are calling is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone. Beep. She let out a helpless whine, accompanied by a defeated sniffle as her vision blurred with the impending waterfall of tears that was brimming on the very edge of her waterline. She peered downwards at a wailing Tilly, feeling her tiny, claw-like fingers gripping tightly onto the thin fabric of JJ’s old, logo-printed t-shirt and attempted a half-rocking, half-bouncing motion in hopes that it would calm her upset baby. However, as the cries turned into screeches, she felt began to feel completely at a loss.

Sniffling once again, Indie pressed redial on JJ’s contact and pressed the phone to her hear once more. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up,” she muttered quietly to herself as she willed her fiancé to answer his damn phone. She really, really needed him.

After the third symphony of ringing tones, JJ’s gravelly tone eventually sounded throughout the speaker. “Hey,” he answered in his usual, chipper tone, “I’m just out on a call right now. Can I call you ba—”

“Come home,” Indie interjected him immediately, an urgency to her demanding words.

The dire tone to her voice and the cacophonous screeches of his daughter in the background sent a flood of panic through JJ, which manifested in his quick and questioning response, “what did the doctor say? Is Tilly okay?” As far as he had known, Indie was taking Tilly to see the doctor at the local practice and hadn’t spoken to her since he had left for work that morning. He had assumed that the call was to inform him of the outcome of their appointment, but the urgent and desperate undertones of Indie’s voice had portrayed something much more serious than a bit of a cold.

“No, she’s not okay,” Indie snapped back — her words harsh with a sarcastic flare to them as the squealing cries almost drowned her out, “she’s sick.” She continued to pace the familiar circular track of their untidy living room and rock their crying daughter, desperate for the sweet relief of quiet and a sleeping baby which she could carefully peel from being stuck against her chest. Oh, how she longed for the freedom of not having to carry around a clinging, wailing baby any longer; the small of her back twinged with every movement she made — no matter how subtle, and her head pounded harder with each and every scream.

“What did the doctor say?” he questioned once more, very evidently concerned. Before Indie could respond, she heard the distinctive sound of passing cars from the roadside and a fainter, “yeah, I’ll be right with you in a minute, man. My fiancé’s on the phone about my daughter. She’s sick.” There was a fuzzy rustling and a second more of the passing cars before JJ’s deep, gruff tone passed through the speakers once more, “sorry, go on. What did they say?”

“The doctor said that she’s just got a bit of a cold and a fever,” she told him, “she said that it’s nothing to worry about and gave me a prescription for some medicine but—”

A deep, hearty chuckle cut her off before should continue, “is that all? You had me thinking that she’s dying. Jesus, Ind.”

“Don’t joke about stuff like that,” Indie scolded him. Her splitting headache and blatant overtiredness had seriously affected her mood, and such a fact was showing through her snappy, argumentative responses. She was well and truly at her wick’s end and didn’t have time for JJ’s jovial banter; whilst he had the luxury of a day spent working at the garage — having actual, adult conversations with other people and was allowed the sweet relief of listening to something, anything, other than the incessant wails of their sick daughter — Indie didn’t have that. She was stuck in, what was at that very moment, her personal hell.

“I—” he began before swiftly cutting himself off — deciding against his curt comeback upon remembering the urgency and desperation oozing from the brunette’s voice at the very beginning of their phone call, “— so what’s the matter? Why do you want me to come home?”

“Because I can’t take it anymore.” JJ caught a second verse of sniffling cries — however, this time they weren’t his daughter’s; this time, they were his beloved fiancé’s. Indie continued to snivel into the phone as she anticipated his response.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” his voice immediately softened, “talk to me.”

“I can’t cope with her,” she admitted, a very evident sense of embarrassment and sadness peeking through her words as she halted in her pacing. Once again, she peered down Tilly and observed her mid-wail as her tiny, little fingers locked around her the ends of her chestnut waves in a death-grip. With a defeated, quiet voice, she continued with her explanation, “she won’t stop crying, even after I’ve given her the medicine that the doctor prescribed. She won’t leave me alone. She won’t let me put her down for two minutes. She just screams even louder at me. If I put her binky in, she spits it back out. She won’t feed, she doesn’t need her diaper changing, and she won’t sleep. I don’t know what to do; I don’t know what she wants from me.”

“I don’t think Tils knows what she wants right now either,” he attempted to comfort from the other end of the phone, “she’s just uncomfortable and wants mama.”

Indie let out another helpless cry once more before continuing with her venting, “I’m so touched out right now, JJ. She’s been holding onto me since she last fed this morning. I’ve got the worst headache. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I feel sick too. I’m all stuffed up and I can’t breathe either. I just can’t cope with her right now. Please come home and take her off me.” There was such a shameful melancholy hidden within her words as they slipped out of her mouth; she felt terrible that in that very moment, when struggling with overtiredness and a sickness of her own, that she didn’t want her daughter. She felt terrible, and ashamed, and unworthy.

“Have you tried taking her on a drive?”

“Yeah,” she responded with yet another sniffle, “she wouldn’t go off to sleep and cried the entire time.”

“What about a walk?” JJ suggested hopefully.

“I’ve tried walking her around the block but she’s still running a fever and she gets annoyed at having to be wrapped up, but it isn’t warm enough for her not to be.” Indie was becoming ever more frustrated as the sounds of Tilly’s never-ending cries filled the background of their phone call. “I can’t do it. It’s too much. Make it stop.”

“Okay,” he soothed, “calm down.” Taking a deep breath, JJ took several further steps away from the customer and turned his muscular body away — aiming for as much privacy that he could possibly get in that very moment. “Where’s Tilly right now?”

“Pulling on my hair,” she mumbled an answer to his question.

“Put her down in the bassinet,” he instructed.

“But she’ll—”

“It’s okay,” he continued to reassure her, “just put her down in the bassinet. Give her the teddy and her binky, then turn the baby monitor on.”

This time, instead of arguing, Indie did as she was told. Carefully, she placed a half-dressed Tilly down on the cushioned mattress of the bassinet. She grabbed one of the many, pink binkies that were scattered around the untidy house and gently placed it in her open mouth. Tilly continued to with her loud, overbearing crying even whilst sucking on her favourite binky. Then, several seconds later it was spat back out with a determined force — falling beside her on the cream mattress. Indie then placed the little, grey teddy bear at the very bottom of the bassinet, propped against the woven, grey side.

“Is she in the bassinet?” JJ’s voice rose above the cacophonous wails, the phone still firmly pressed between Indie’s dainty shoulder and her ear.

“Yeah,” she answered in a completely deflated tone, “but she spat her binky out.”

“That’s okay,” JJ continued with his assuring words, speaking calmly and gently, “she doesn’t want it.” He paused for brief, fleeting moment, before continuing with his instructions, “now walk away. Take the baby monitor with you and walk out of the room. She’s probably going to carry on crying but it’s okay. For now, she’s safe. You’re stressed out and that isn’t doing either of you any good. You’re stressed out, so she’s stressed out, which is stressing you out even more. Take yourself out of the room.”

Slowly and anxiously, Indie began making her way towards the kitchen one step at a time — baby monitor held loosely in her ring-cladded hand. She passed through the open doorway, into the equally as untidy and clutter-filled kitchen, and made her way towards the sliding French doors. She was tentative as she stepped out onto the wooden planks of the decking, but the cool, afternoon breeze slapping against her heated skin felt like a temporary relief. For the quickest of moments, she didn’t even hear the incessant cries blaring through the speakers of the baby monitor.

“Where did you go?” JJ questioned, still on the other end of the phone.

“Outside,” Indie whispered a response.

“How do you feel now?” he asked, slightly tentative himself. Whilst motherhood was an all new, undiscovered territory for Indie, it was also unchartered territory for JJ also; he was just as clueless as how to navigate such a situation himself and was only relying upon what he thought was the best call to make. Hopefully it was the right one.

“Bad,” she mumbled, “I feel bad for leaving her. I shouldn’t have left her. What if something happens to her?”

“Listen to me,” his voice was stern now, “nothing is going to happen to her. I will be ten minutes, fifteen at the most. She’s safe in her bassinet. She isn’t going to starve in the ten minutes it takes me to get there, and you have the baby monitor just in case. She will be fine. The worst she’ll do is cry it out and cry herself to sleep. Take some deep breaths. Play with axel. Calm down, and I’ll see you at home real soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Indie whispered into the phone once more.

“I love you,” JJ felt the need to remind her, “I won’t be long.”

“I love you too.”

JJ was true to his words, as he always was; no more than ten minutes had passed before his shining, black pick-up truck had pulled into the driveway of their cul-de-sac home. With one swift motion, he had climbed down from the towering height and had made his way along the rose-bush-lined driveway and up the perfectly painted steps of the front porch. His swiftly inserted his key into the lock and with a quiet click, the door unlocked easily. He let himself inside and instantly noticed the distinct lack of screeching wails as he stepped further into the lived-in room.

He peeked ever so cautiously over the cushioned rim of the rocking bassinet and saw his daughter sleeping peacefully — as if she hadn’t been screaming bloody murder just minutes prior. He assumed that he had been right, that she had tired herself out with all of the crying and had eventually fallen asleep. For a pro-longed moment, he watched as her chest rose and fell ever so gently and listened to the quiet but grizzling snores that came from her blocked and stuffed-up nose. With a tender touch, he brushed the back of his ring-cladded forefinger over her flushed cheek; it still burned a mean temperature — just as it had that morning before he had left for work — and he refrained from covering her little limbs with her favourite, powder-pink blanket.

As he continued to watch Tilly whilst she slumbered quietly and contently, her little mouth parted slightly, and he took the opportunity to slide her princess-themed binky into her mouth. Of course, this time she was accepting and took the pacifier into her mouth — sucking away on the rubber end as she wriggled around. Then, he brought his two, stubby fingers up to his lips, placed a loving kiss against them before ever so tenderly printing the kiss against her warm forehead; he was ever so careful not to wake her, knowing what screeching hell that would unleash back onto the house.

“Daddy loves you,” he whispered softly, toying ever so lightly with her half-clasped fingers, “even when you’re driving your mama crazy.”

He stayed, observing her intently and with an affectionate glisten illuminating his sapphire eyes, for a second longer, before making his way into the kitchen. His heavy work boots were rather loud against the wooden floorboards as he opened up the dishwasher and retrieved a clean glass. He filled the glass half full of cold water before rifling through the kitchen drawers for any kind of painkillers. Eventually, he came across some name-branded capsules and popped two from the foil packaging. Then, he proceeded out into the back garden — making his way through the slightly cracked, sliding French doors, and following the light echoes of Axel’s paws pitter-pattering across the decking.

The very second he stepped out he was met with the sight of a broken Indie; her cheeks were stained a blotchy shade of scarlet and glistened with the tears that had continued to spill from her puffy eyes. She had curled herself up on the far side of the cushioned swing seat — her jean-clad legs brought up to her chest and her dainty arms secured tightly around them. The baby monitor was clasped tightly in her hand, and he watched carefully as the bright, blue lights illuminated at the noise of Tilly’s snoring.

JJ stopped right before Indie and crouched so that he was eye level with her, the half-filled glass of water and painkillers still in his hands. He spoke with a soft and understanding voice, “crying isn’t going to help your headache, pretty girl.” His lips pursed ever so subtly into a thin line as he offered the painkillers to his saddened fiancé, as his teal eyes peered up at her with an abundance of sympathy.

Indie remained mute but reached her dainty hands over to JJ and held them cupped to receive the painkillers. Once they had dropped into the palm of her sweating hands, she threw them into the back of her throat — washing them down with the ice-cold water. She remained holding onto the cold glass with one hand, whilst the other — still clasping onto the baby monitor — wiped the salty tears from across her raw cheeks. Sentences, words, and even syllables hitched in the very depths of the back of her throat and choked her into continued silence as she peered down at JJ, her mahogany eyes dull and sullen and her features downturned with defeat.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked with a genuine concern and a soft voice.

“Like a bad mom,” she muttered quietly, her voice hoarse from the crying. She sniffled once more, rubbing her reddened nose with the back of her hand before elaborating, “I feel bad for just… leaving her when she’s so unwell. I feel bad for walking out on her when she was crying but— but I just couldn’t deal with any longer. And, the worst thing, is I was just being dramatic… like, she’s fine now. She’s asleep. I got worked up over something like this, so how am I supposed to cope when it all gets worse? When she doesn’t stop crying after five minutes of leaving her in her bassinet?”

JJ let out a low breath before placing his warm hands atop of Indie’s, “you’re not a bad mom. You’re not a bad mom in general, and you’re not a bad mom for walking away from her. You made sure that she was safe. You gave her, her teddy, and her binky. You turned the baby monitor on and took it with you. You just stepped out for a breather, and that’s okay.”

“But I wished that someone would come and take her off me…”

“No,” JJ corrected her, “you asked me to come home and help you look after her when you were overwhelmed. You didn’t wish her away, Ind. You just asked for some help, and I would rather you do that than suffer and stress yourself out to the point that you do something that you can’t take back.”

“I’d never hurt her,” Indie stated quickly.

“I know you wouldn’t. You love her, even if she’s being difficult because she’s sick right now,” he brushed this thumb across the back of her hand gently before giving it a reassuring squeeze, “I meant more like walking out on her permanently. I don’t want you thinking that you’re not good enough for her, or that you can’t do this, because you are, and you can. This is just one bad day. You’re sick, Tilly’s sick, nobody’s had any sleep. It’s okay.”

“It’s a lot,” she admitted with a heavy exhale, “I don’t know what she wants or needs. Everything I do just makes her more uncomfortable and cry even more.”

“I don’t think you’re the problem here, sweetheart,” JJ continued to soothe in his deep, understanding tone, “the problem is that Tilly’s sick and even she doesn’t know what she wants. You’re both already uncomfortable and feeding off of each other’s stress. She wants you because you mean comfort to her, but you’re all stressed right now which is making her all stressed and it’s just one, big cycle.”

“I feel less stressed now that you’re here.”

“That’s good. That’s a start,” he offered her a small but comforting smile. “If she woke up and started crying again now, would you feel more comfortable going in there and calming her down or would you feel stressed again?”

“I feel better about it than I did ten minutes ago,” she told him, although her tone of voice oozed hesitancy.

“Is that because I’m here or because you’re feeling calmer?” he questioned.

“Both,” Indie chewed against her bottom lip ever so slightly, “I think the tablets are starting to kick in. My head doesn’t hurt as much now.”

Nodding his head in acknowledgement, JJ stood from his crouched position. He then allowed himself to flop down onto the cushioned seat of the porch swing — opening his muscular, tattooed arms and beckoning Indie over with another, directed nod of his head. His boot-clad feet lay play across the wooden decking and steadied the swing, as Indie shuffled her dainty silhouette towards him. He felt the warmth of her slender silhouette against his toned chest and wrapped his arms around her in a tight and comforting embrace. His stubble-lined lips placed several loving kisses into the depths of her messy, cinnamon tresses before muttering lowly to her, “it’s all going to be okay.”

Both Indie and JJ remained in one another’s arms for what felt like an eternity, basking in the quietness of a sleeping baby. The serene peacefulness of the moment radiated outwards, and Indie soon found herself verging on falling asleep. Her eyelids were heavy, and her blinks became slow and reluctant as soft, almost snore-like breaths slipped from between her stuffed-up nose. JJ’s ring-cladded fingers gently ran themselves through her slightly knotted mane, toying ever so gently with the ends until the blaring cries of a now awake Tilly echoed throughout the speaker of the baby monitor.

Her tired eyes snaping open, Indie jolted herself awake at the abrupt noise and sat herself upwards. She rubbed her eyes with her now free hand, ridding them of the crust-like flakes that had gathered in the several minutes that she was half asleep.

“I can go, if you want?” JJ offered softly — his loving arms still wrapped protectively around his exhausted fiancé and his indigo eyes focused intently on her puffy, roseate-tinged features.

“No,” took a deep breath, held it within her lungs for a brief moment, before letting it out, “I can do this. She’s probably hungry, anyway. She’s barely taken any milk since four this morning.”

“That’s my girl,” he placed a reassuring kiss against her cheek, before allowing his burly arms to fall limp around her waist. He sent her a confidence boosting smile and watched as she disappeared off through the open, sliding French doors — listening out for the baby monitor.

As Indie stepped back into the untidy living room, she took yet another deep breath to calm herself. Tilly’s pained wails grew even louder as she made her way closer, and — without hesitation — reached down into the bassinet. Indie scooped the uncomfortable infant up into her warm and welcoming arms — allowing her to lay flat against her prominent, milk-filled chest. Her tiny fingers grasped onto the soft cotton of JJ’s old t-shirt immediately as she allowed herself to snuggle into Indie and her rosy lips parted as she searched for Indie’s nipples.

Pulling Tilly’s favourite blanket from being strewn across the cushioned sofa, Indie wrapped her up accordingly before making her way back through the kitchen and out onto the decking. She, once again, half-rocked and half-bounced Tilly in an attempt to comfort her as she regained her position beside her doting fiancé. Her efforts were, as suspected, futile and a slight flash of disheartenment shot through her — however, she refused to let it consume her. She allowed herself to get comfortable back in JJ’s warm embrace before lifting her t-shirt upwards and allowing Tilly to search for her nipple once again. Within no time, she had latched on and was feeding, suckling against the nipple hungrily.

Indie, now feeling immensely calmer, laid with her back pressed against JJ’s side — his protective arm laid around both her and their daughter as her sock-covered feet stretched out along the remaining length of the porch swing as JJ’s boot-clad feet rocked all three of them back and forth in a gentle cadence. Axel, with his favourite stuffed-duck toy slowly padded his way over to the swing and jumped up onto the cream cushions. He flopped down atop Indie’s stretched-out legs and rested his head against her thigh — his wide, glimmering eyes peering upwards at Tilly. JJ nonchalantly reached over and scratched behind his ear in his most favoured spot.

“I’m sorry for calling you out of work,” Indie apologised in a hushed, raspy tone.

“You don’t need to be sorry, babe,” he responded meaningfully, “I’m here to support you whenever you need it. Like I said, I’d rather you call me and tell me when you’re having a bad day.”

She exhaled deeply, “I know, but—”

“Indie,” JJ interrupted her with a sterner tone, “you’re not doing this on your own. That’s our daughter. You’re allowed to have a bad day and you’re allowed to ask me, and anyone else, for help when you need it.” He leant downwards ever so slightly and placed yet another tender, appreciative kiss into her tangled, chestnut waves. “But maybe next time you could not try and not give me a heart attack and convince me that my daughter’s dying.”

“I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t give you a heart attack all the time.” A small, playful smile tugged at the very corners of her full lips.

“True,” he chuckled lowly in agreement, “although I’m not eighteen anymore. One day you’re going to give me a real one.”

“You’re twenty five,” Indie rolled her eyes, “it’s not that old. I thought I was being dramatic today, but damn you should get an Oscar nomination for that.”

“And she’s back,” he dragged out his words, “I can go back to work now, my job’s done here.”

“Oh, hell no. I’m still sick and exhausted. We’re all having a family nap.”

“I’m just figuring out how I’m supposed to tell the guys at work why I couldn’t come back in. Sorry guys, my fiancé said it was my nap time. They’re gonna rip me to shit,” he laughed light-heartedly.

“I want to be cuddled right now, but I also need sleep, so the solution to that is we all nap.”

“We can nap, baby,” JJ confirmed, pressing another loving kiss to her damp forehead, “I’ll just get bullied by my employees for it.”

[winter-soldier-vibes]

Come Back Home (Bucky x reader)

Come back home

Bucky x reader

Word count: 3,061

Summary: You were getting worse and were afraid to hurt Bucky, but unable to hide it. Instead of talking it out, you ran away. Embarrassed and afraid, you avoid the calls and voicemails from the man you left. But one night, you can’t help but listen to them, and you need to hear his voice.

Warnings: depression, reader blames herself, Bucky blames himself, anxiety attack, lots of tears, lots of fluff and comfort

I actually got this idea from @thelifeof.jana on TikTok, she posts different scenarios with comfort characters and I wanted to make it into a fic. 

Tags: @buckfics @buckys2thicc @abitgryffindorky @stucky-on-spiderman @thatfangirl42 @thundering-barnes   

A/N: It’s nearly finals week and it is CRUNCH TIME so I’ve been writing when I can, I apologize for the sporadic-ness of it. Thanks for sticking with me! 

A/N 2: I left a few things to interpretation, such as a nightmare. Insert what you want, I know everyone has different experiences and I wanted this to be as relatable to as many people as I could. I also left out when y/n gives an address because 1) I don’t know New York and 2) It’s likely somebody’s address in real life so...interpretation. 

-----------

Your phone began ringing, piercing the otherwise silent house and startling you

Answer it.

You stared at the phone, taking a deep breath.

Ring 

You picked it up and turned it over, closing your eyes and letting a breath out.

Don’t answer it.

You looked at the screen again, seeing the name of your favorite person.

Bucky…

Ring 

Answer it

No. 

Please, I wanna hear his voice.

I can’t

Ring

Letting a breath out, you put the phone down and sat on the floor next to your bed, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Then you were left in the silence once again.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, waiting a few more seconds for the next noise. Sure enough, your phone made a sound, notifying you of yet another voicemail.

Another addition to your library of ignored messages.

You picked up your phone, clicking to see the messages you never listened to.

25 unheard messages. All of them from Bucky. 

Your finger hovered over them for a moment, allowing yourself to ponder listening to them. But you sighed, closing your phone and placing it back on the nightstand. You couldn’t listen to them. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to resist calling him back. And you couldn’t take that risk. 

You’d spent this much time without him. Once you heard his voice you’d be spilling everything to him. Just like you used to. Which is why you left in the first place. 

Bucky was special to you. He always had been. Despite all the trauma he’d gone through, he was still kind and gentle. He had been the one to pull you out of the dark place you were in at the time. He was always there to talk to you, listen to you, or help you take care of yourself when you just couldn’t anymore. He’d sat through many of your panic attacks and calm you down if you had a nightmare, just as you would for him. He would drop anything for you, you always came first.

And that was the problem.

He did too much for you, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. This man had already gone through so much pain and suffering and was finally getting better. He was going out more and the nightmares happened much less often. You were grateful for the love he gave you, and you loved him more than anything.

Which is why you couldn’t bring him down anymore. So, one day when he was out on a mission, you had packed up your few positions and left him a note.

Bucky,

I just wanted you to know that I love you so much, but I have to go now. I’m sorry. 

-Y/n

You had to keep it brief. If you said anything more you knew you’d say too much, and it would only make leaving harder. And if he knew you were leaving because you were hurting too much, he wouldn’t stop until he found you.

Not that he wasn’t looking for you know.

You had rented out a room in the cheapest hotel your could find in somewhere-New-York-City. It was small, it wasn’t the cleanest, but it was fine. You didn’t care, it was functional. Within hours of leaving, your phone started ringing. Not that you answered. You couldn’t, not when you would start crying once you heard his voice.

You got many texts and calls that night. 

What happened?

Where are you? Y/n are you okay??

Tell me where you are, we can talk this out, please.

You couldn’t bring yourself to read more than that. You silenced his messages and let the calls go to voicemail, never able to bring yourself to reject a call, instead letting it ring all the way until he got the same voicemail message every time.

Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!

The same fake cheery message every time, giving an empty promise.

What you didn’t know was that on the other end of the line, Bucky was shattering a bit more with each voicemail he left. 

Bucky’s POV:

He couldn’t understand what could have happened. Why you had left all of a sudden. He knew you had some bad days, and the first time he had read it he was terrified that you had done something. He usually was able to see when things were getting bad again but he couldn’t think of what he could have missed. When he saw that you had read his texts that night, seeing the word read appear after a few of them, he told himself that you were okay. 

Because he didn’t know what he was going to do if you weren’t.

What you didn’t know was that you had helped Bucky just as much if not more so than he had helped you. His nightmares happened less often because you were there with him every night. He was more outgoing because you had dragged him out to those first few bars and parties. He felt happier because he was helping you, and you made him feel safe and wanted.

And then you left.

He couldn’t sleep most nights, worried about you. Most of the nights he did sleep, he dreamt about you and everything that could have happened. He called you every day, multiple times, needing desperately to hear your voice. He withdrew again, only going on one mission when the team absolutely needed him. It was his only sense of purpose anymore, but it meant nothing compared to what you had meant to him

But you didn’t know that. Because you hadn’t opened any of his messages yet. 

It was late now, and Bucky was discouraged. It had been over a week since you had left, and his texts had gone unread ever since a the first night you left. It wasn’t a long time. But it was still too long. He decided to try your phone once more. 

Ring 

Ring 

Ring 

Ring 

Bucky closed his eyes, begging you would pick up, silently knowing you wouldn’t.

Ring 

Ring 

“Hi, it’s y/n. Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, have a nice day!”

Sighing, he got ready to leave a voicemail. After the beep he said, broken.

“Please y/n. Come back home.”

Your POV:

You sighed as yet another round of rings echoed through your apartment, hearing the notification soon after, notifying you of yet another new voicemail. 

You looked at the time. 11:03 P.M.

You sighed, knowing you should get some sleep. But no matter how tired you were, you knew that once you closed your eyes, you would have nightmares again. And no one would be here this time. 

You couldn’t deny it, you weren’t doing well. Your appetite had diminished and you relied heavily on caffeine to supplement the sleep you refused to get. Not that it helped your appetite in any way.

You would go through the motions, make it to work (most days) and get through the day just to...get through the day. You weren’t living really. Just surviving. You knew it was getting bad again, some nights so dark you weren’t sure if you would see the light the next day. Yet you couldn’t let yourself call him. You didn’t want to hurt him.

But you didn’t know that you had already hurt him more by leaving than you ever could’ve by staying.

You sighed, knowing that eventually, you were going to need to sleep. Might as well try to. You didn’t know if for sure you would have a nightmare, so may as well try?

That turned out to be wishful thinking.

Major wishful thinking. 

You woke up screaming, drenched in sweat and looking around the room frantically. When you realized it was just a dream, you put your face in your hands and felt tears immediately prick your eyes.

When was this going to stop?

You felt your chest contract as you realized the truth. It wasn’t. Not like this at least.

Just over a week and you were already at your breaking point.

Call him

You looked at the time. 2:47 AM.

You couldn’t call him now.

Call him.

You opened your phone and found Bucky’s contact, finger hovering over the name once again. At the last second, you clicked your voicemail inbox instead, scrolling back down to the first one on the night you left.

“Y/n?”

Your breath hitched as you heard his voice, fresh tears pricking your eyes. Not just from his voice and how much you had missed it, but also the absolute panic in his voice.

“Where are you? Are you okay? Why- why did you leave? Please, answer the phone, I need to know you’re okay.”

You clicked on another one from a few hours later.

“Y/n, please, I saw you read the first few texts I sent. Please answer the phone. We can talk this out, whatever it is just - please call me.”

Tears were falling from your eyes, and you didn’t have it in your power or even the desire to stop them. You flicked to another one that was sent a few days later, this one was longer. 

“Please y/n,” it started, his voice soft and cracking with emotion. “Where are you? Just - just tell me where you are, please. I need you. These past few days it’s like I hear your voice and then there’s nothing. I miss you so much. I’m nothing without you please....please just come back home. I don’t care what you did or think you did or why you left. I love you. And I could never stop loving you. I can come get you, we can talk this out. Please. I can’t do this without you. I - I’m falling apart.”

You were now sobbing as you flicked over to your text messages and clicked on Bucky’s name, seeing texts upon texts from him.

One of the more recent one’s caught your attention.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

Never, never in your heart did you ever think Bucky would think that he had done something to drive you away. Your heart broke, realizing he could be blaming himself for your leaving. It was never his fault. It could never be his fault.

With shaking hands, you pressed the phone icon below his name, bringing the phone to your ear as you listened to it ring.

You tried to control your breathing through the tears, falling apart after a few seconds of thinking you had it together.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Please pick up, I need to hear your voice.

Ring 

I’m sorry this is all my fault.

Ring 

Please, I -

“Hello?”

Your breath hitched and your eyes flew open. Your words got caught in your mouth, having no idea what to say. Bucky, on the other side of the line, hadn’t even looked at the caller ID. He hadn’t fully fallen asleep yet, but the tiredness was evidence in his voice.

“Hello?” he said again

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he pulled away his phone, seeing your name across the screen. All exhaustion was gone from his body, and he heard you trying to control your breathing on the other side of the line.

“Y/n?”

“I’m so sorry…” you said again, breaking out into sobs.

“Y/n, can you tell me what’s wrong? Where are you?” he said, panicked and getting out of bed, pulling on a shirt and shoes.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you said again, not being able to say much else. 

“Y/n, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re okay. But I need you to tell me where you are, can you do that for me?”

He waited for a moment while you tried to pull yourself together enough to repeat the address of the hotel.

As you did, Bucky was already out the door and in the car, starting it and putting you on speaker, driving as fast as he could to the hotel and ignoring all traffic signals. It was the middle of the night, and you were not okay.

“I’ll be there soon, angel, can you keep talking to me?

“I’m sorry Bucky…”

“It’s okay y/n. You’re okay. We’re okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

His words didn’t reach your ears, your breathing getting harder to control and your tears fell faster. You had fucked up, this was your fault. Why did you call him, now he knows where you are and you were going to burden him with all your shit again. 

He could hear your breathing become labored as he sped further towards your location. He tried talking to you more but he soon realized that he wouldn’t be of much use until he was in front of you. His heart was breaking and he was hoping nothing was seriously wrong. 

But you wouldn’t have called him like this if nothing was wrong.

Clenching his jaw, he scanned the street signs for yours, knowing the city well enough to know he was close. 

When he pulled up to the street, he couldn’t help but wince at how dingy this place was. It was run down and the smell was putrid. He was so sad that this was where you had run off to. He took his phone, saying how he was here but it fell upon deaf ears. You weren’t calm enough to hear his voice from the phone you had dropped when you had moved to cover your face instead.

Bucky took the stairs 3 at a time, getting to your room in record time. He pounded on the door, trying the knob even though he knew it would be locked. Calling out your name and getting no response, he decided to break the door in. It was barely hanging on its hinges anyway.

“Y/n? Y/n where are you?” he called out, met only with the sounds of your labored breathing. He followed it to your room, where you had curled yourself into a ball against the headboard, hands covering your face as you struggled to breathe. 

He walked over to your side, reaching out his hand but thinking better at the last moment. He needed to make sure you knew that he was there, he didn’t want to scare you.

“Y/n?” he starts softly. 

You lifted your head and looked around yourself wildly, startled when you saw the figure of a man standing in front of you, trying to push him away. He grabbed your arms and you tried to break free

How did he get in here? 

What does he want with me? 

Why- 

Your eyes settle on his. Light blue eyes, staring right back into yours. You knew them, you were safe with them. Your own eyes, red  and blotchy flash with realization and you let out a sob. 

“Bucky…”

He took you into his arms as sobs wracked your body, rubbing an arm up and down your back in efforts to calm your shaking form. He was repeating comforting words over and over again. You clung to his shirt as you kept apologizing over and over again, not knowing what else to say - or even how to say it. 

“I’m sorry”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Shh, y/n, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m here. I got you.”

You tried to focus on his heartbeat, steady and strong, as you tried to take deep breaths. Eventually your tears slowed down as you still clung to him, tears drying on your face as you were able to deepen your breathing to match his. His hand still rubbed up and down your back as the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes.

You took a shaky breath. “I - I’m so sorry Bucky.”

Bucky took a deep breath and held her a little more tightly. He could still feel her heart racing. What could she possibly have to be sorry for?

“What happened y/n?”

You felt tears prick your eyes again. Sadness, shame, embarrassment and made you feel sick to your stomach. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before you were able to speak. 

“I - I don’t know.”

“Please y/n. Tell me why you left.”

“I just… I was… “ you swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “It was getting bad again,” you said, voice barely audible. 

Bucky clenched his jaw, angry at himself that he didn’t see it. “Why didn’t you tell me? I told you you could talk to me about anything.”

You screwed your eyes shut. “That was the problem…”

Bucky pulled you back to look at you. “What?”

Your eyes darted everywhere but Bucky’s face. You didn’t want to see the pained expression you knew he’d have right now. You took a deep breath. 

“I just… you were doing so well. And I - I just felt so bad for bringing you down all the time. You would drop anything for me, and you were always there and you were always perfect but I wasn’t.” you finally looked at him. “And I left because I realized I was never going to be.” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t want to put you through that when you were doing so well.”

You looked away, unable to look at Bucky’s sad eyes any longer. Bucky broke the silence after a few moments. “You were the only reason I was better.”

 Now it was your turn to look at him confused. “What?”

“You brought me out to places when all I wanted was to hide. The nightmares stopped because you were there to make me feel safe. Every time I helped you, I was helping me too,” he said, voice cracking. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You weren’t too much for me, you never could be.” 

When you still looked unsure, he moved his hand to cup your cheek. “It’s okay to let people help you, y/n.”

Tears pooled in your eyes once again. That had been what you had said to him when he began closing himself off, be it an intense nightmare or being triggered. Back when things were bad. Like they were for you now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay.” he whispered, hugging you again. “Let’s go home.”