Anon: Madara wanting a child from his s/o just because he needs a heir, but she thinks otherwise. His s/o wants a child so they can be a bigger family. The fight about it.
Word count: 806 words (approximately 3 minutes of reading time).
Warning(s): Turn away if angst and pregnancy is not your thing.
The bathroom felt cold. Maybe it was the hard tiles against your butt, or maybe it was because your body heat was chased away by your thoughts.
Your feet extended out, pushing some crumbled pieces of toilet paper out of the way. Your legs laid spread out across the floor, head drooped down in defeat. Always in defeat. There’s no possible way to win against Madara- on the battlefield or even in the safe confinements of your own home. You tried to be sensible, you really did, but there’s a certain point in a heated argument where you just explode, like a kettle’s excruciating whistle when the water starts to boil intensely.
“What do you think about having a child one day?
That was just a nonchalant question tossed during a lethargic day. You were sprawled over the couch with your legs laid over Madara’s lap. Madara was still, well, Madara, but at least he seemed slightly more relaxed than other days.
"That’s a great idea. Obviously we would some day, we need an heir.”
His answer struck more harshly than it should’ve. Was it offensive? Not in the slightest, but it still hurt.
“But just imagine, if we have a boy there’ll be a little Madara running around the house. His little feet would be agile, I would think.”
“That would be a nuisance.”
That comment was like a bullet. Didn’t hurt the shooter but it did injure the victim. A lot. Madara has said a lot of things, most of the time with a cold and malicious tone with an ill reaction from the receiver of those comments, but it’s comments like these in which makes you feel like there’s an immense pressure on you, but the perpetrator acts freely.
And that’s when the fire rose up and chaos ensued.
Your heart clenched when your memories remembered the climax of your argument. It was nasty, words and all. The line between what was said in the heat of the moment and what was the truth seemed blurred to you, and that scared you more than the thought of losing Madara.
“What do you mean by ‘nuisance’? It’s a baby, not something only benefiting your power.”
“What are you suggesting? That I actually have to have feelings for the infant?”
That one was like a slap across the face, fuelling more of your anger from within.
“What kind of a person, especially a famed Uchiha as yourself, wouldn’t feel love for a baby?! You’re thick you are, how can you even say such a thing?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Love is for children.”
Your hands reached to grab another fistful of toilet paper, but your fingers felt no paper but the toilet paper roll with shreds of toilet paper still stuck on the brown cylinder. Hand flopping down in defeat, the rest of the pandemonium played out in your mind while endless tears still streamed down your cheeks.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me?! How can you be so insensitive?
"I’ll consider love when they’re worthy. A true Uchiha proves his strength independently. Affection is unnecessary, in fact it might slow him down.”
“Am I slowing you down?”
There was a pause. An oh-so terrible silence that made you want to claw off your ears and pull out every follicle of hair.
And like a volcano- you erupted.
“Oh hell no. If I’m holding you back then why are you still here?
The rest was a mess. Most of what you remember was just a sling of profanities, with one last "just leave!” from you and a door slamming.
With things cooling down, your tears started to come out. Even though no one was around, you still managed to find yourself holed up in the bathroom.
Your head was in pain from the screaming and your throat hurts from crying. Your lungs felt like giving out from all the stress, and even though the night was quiet, it felt like there was a war inside your mind.
This was the second time you heard the front door close tonight, but this time it was much more serene than the first time.
Your quiet sobs came to a halt. He was home. A cold stone was dropped in your gut, setting a daunting fear resonate through your body.
Your eyes glanced to the side at the top of the toilet lid. There on the top laid what seems to be public enemy number one.
The funny looking stick practically mocked you with the positive sign ablaze, laughing at you.
How am I going to tell him?