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navybrat817 · 3 months ago

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Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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thoughtfulfiction · 29 days ago

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Operation: Den Prep

Author’s note: I feel like Joe is very dramatic about things he can’t control and impending parenthood is definitely chaotic. Hope you enjoy this fluffy piece!

All you wanted to do was take a nap. You weren't asking for much. Just an hour, maybe an hour and a half of uninterrupted sleep.

But no. That would be too easy.

The cars that lined the driveway couldn't be a sign of anything good. Joe wasn't really one to throw parties, and with exactly four weeks before the baby's due date he wasn't exactly the most chill or relaxed man in America. If anything, the cars were a sign that you wouldn't be getting that nap in any time soon.

A gigantic sigh leaves your body when you walk in the door. There are people—strangers— in your home, scrubbing every square inch of the place.

"Joe?" You call out, attempting to scoot past the people dusting the vents.

"He's upstairs in his office," a woman responds kindly, in the midst of scrubbing baseboards. Your friend Nikki, who was with you all day, stares at everyone in shock before helping you up the stairs.

You caught your breath a little while running your hand over your baby bump, feeling like you climbed Everest. Nikki knocks on the door and waits for Joe's voice, telling you two to come in. Your husband was seated at his desk, highlighting sections of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide for Dads-to-Be, surrounded by several other parenting books.

"Joseph..." Nikki begins since you still can't breathe. “What the hell is going on here?"

"Language," Joe says without looking up from his book, "he can hear you."

Nikki turns to look at you and you shake your head, not wanting to get in the middle of it right now. Your eyes were telling her to just focus on one problem at a time, the biggest issue at hand being the cleaning crew taking over the house. She seems to agree. "Okay, let me try that again," he nods, finally looking up, a disinterested look on his face. “Don't know if you know this but, there are people downstairs treating your home like it's a warzone on germs."

"I know. I hired them to do exactly that. Because it is." He says in a matter of fact tone. “I want everything to be perfect when the baby comes home. The house needs to be as clean as possible so he has a safe environment.”

“Joe, this isn’t prepping for the end of days. You realize babies don’t come out demanding hospital-grade cleanliness, right?” Nikki jokes, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe doesn't find it funny. “Do you even know how many germs are in the average house? I read it’s millions. Millions, Nicole. I’m not risking it.”

You sigh, walking over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. He was adorable when he got like this—focused, determined, and completely over the top. It was endearing, but you could already tell you'd have to reel him in before he booked a hazmat team to inspect the nursery. “Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do. But we’re supposed to be relaxing these last few weeks, not running ourselves into the ground.”

“You’re the one who should be relaxing,” Joe said, standing and gently guiding you to sit in his chair. “You’re growing a human being. That’s a full-time job. I can handle everything else.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Joe, I don’t need you to handle everything. We’re a team, remember? And besides, I don’t want you burning yourself out before he even gets here.”

“I’m fine,” Joe insisted, his tone firm but caring. "I promise. I just...want everything to be right for him. He’s going to depend on us for everything, you know?”

Nikki sat down on the couch in the corner of the office, still grinning. “I’m not gonna lie, this is kind of impressive. Most dads just install the car seat and call it a day. But you? You’re basically turning this place into a baby-friendly, germ-free utopia."

Joe shot her a look but didn’t argue as you let out a yawn. "Are you tired?" He rushes out, "they should be done in our room, you can go take a nap if you need it. I was serious about you getting some rest."

"And so was I about you getting some rest. We won't be sleeping as much when he gets here so getting a head start on sleepless nights isn't the wisest business decision."

"Okay," Joe folds the corner of the page that he's on and stands up, kissing you on the side of the head. "What if...we kick Nikki and the cleaners out and we go take a nap?"

"Um hello?" Nikki waves her hand in the air, "still here, in the room, with both of you. I can hear everything you're saying."

Joe doesn’t bother acknowledging her, his eyes focused on you as you nod with a laugh. “I love you, Nik, but he’s right. I need to lie down before I collapse.”

Nikki smirks, standing and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “You’re so lucky you’re carrying my baby, Y/N. Go take your little nap, I’ll see myself out.” She pokes Joe in the chest as she passes. “Joe, co-parenting with you is going to suck, but I gotta admit—you’re going to be a killer dad. You just don’t need to stress yourself into a heart attack to prove it.”

Joe rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "For the last time, it's OUR baby. Not yours. There is no co-parenting."

"Sure," Nikki smiles, patting him on the back, "sure buddy. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, good luck kicking out the cleaners. I'm pretty sure one of them is power-washing your oven.”

She’s gone before Joe can reply, leaving you shaking with laughter as he mutters, “I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

When you woke up from your nap, Joe was gone. You found him downstairs, scrolling through the notes on his iPad, intense focus that you'd really only seen when he was going over film. It was heartwarming to see that he was taking impending fatherhood as seriously as he took his job. In a way, being a dad was like taking on another job. With endless hours, no days off and no pay. But the rewards? They were going to be worth everything.

Sinking into the spot next to him, you leaned your head against his shoulder. “What are you up to?”

"Going over the checklist," he replied, his hand automatically resting on your belly, absentmindedly tracing small circles with his thumb. "We've got a bunch of deliveries coming tomorrow to get the nursery done which will probably take a couple days. Then we need to start getting the fridge stocked and pack our hospital bags. I was also thinking we do a trial run to the birth center."

"A trial run? Why?"

“I need to time it,” he said, his fingers still drumming softly against your bump. “Traffic could be bad, you’ll be in pain, and I’d rather not have to deliver a baby in the car. I mean, I can learn how to, but I’d rather not.”

You couldn’t help but smile as his focus shifted momentarily, his hand now lightly tapping your belly like he was sending a secret code. “Joe, we’ll be fine. We’ll get there when we get there. Not everything is gonna go to plan so let’s not waste time but trying to plan out every detail.”

“I hear you and I get what you’re saying but I’d rather be overprepared than caught off guard,” he muttered, flipping to a new note with his free hand. His other stayed firmly planted on your stomach, as though he could steady the world by keeping a connection to the little life inside. “Oh, and dinner with our parents tomorrow…that’s going to be something.”

"Be nice. They mean well," you reminded him, nudging his arm.

“Sure, but last week my dad said something about bourbon on baby gums helping with teething. I had to pretend to choke so I wouldn’t laugh in his face,” Joe said with a soft laugh of his own. Then, without thinking, he leaned down and whispered against your belly, “Just ignore your grandpa, buddy. We’ll do teething the right way.”

Your heart swelled at the gesture, and you reached out to thread your fingers through his hair. “Joe, you’re already such a good dad, you know that?”

His eyes softened as he looked up at you, his hand still cradling your bump. “I just want to get it right, for him… and for you.”

"You will. And you know how I know?" He shakes his head, his eyes locked in on you, searching for your answer. "Because once you put your mind to something, you don't let anything or anyone stop you."

For a moment, he’s quiet, his gaze softening before he speaks. “You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?” He reiterates your words, his voice is barely above a whisper as he leans in, sneaking a kiss.

Your laugh is light, but your heart swells as he places his lips on yours one more time. “Kid’s pretty lucky,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls back. “And he doesn’t even know it yet.”

The rest of the evening is spent ironing out some minor details of Joe's fool proof baby plans.

Your husband is not the handiest person in the world. He's more of a "I'll hire someone who's more qualified" kind of guy. Exhibit A? Full time chef so he doesn't have to cook. Exhibit B? Full time cleaning staff. To be honest, he probably doesn't know how to change a tire. But he also probably has access to triple A and one phone call from Joe Burrow might actually have everyone working that day rushing out to answer the call. With all that being said, you assumed that putting together furniture would not be something he'd be inclined to do. And then a few weeks ago he, Jimmy and your dad spent three hours building a custom Bellini crib. Now that he had a taste of satisfaction in knowing that he put it together with his own hands, he wanted to build everything in the baby's nursery.

Today's project consisted of your dad, Jimmy and Joe putting together a bunch of things that were delivered while you, your mom and Robin sorted through baby clothes and collected freshly washed laundry to place in his closet. Every tiny sock and little hat sent butterflies in your stomach at the thought of your own tiny person wearing these clothes in just a few short weeks. It was both daunting and exciting.

Throughout the day, more people were walking into the house, Ja'Marr came in first since he pretty much lived next door. Sam showed up 30 minutes later, a tool-kit in hand. A few high school friends even drove from Athens to help.

"Guess Joe called in the calvary." Robin says with a laugh, putting the onesies she just pulled out of the dryer in neat stacks to count and fold.

A few hours later, the three of you took a look at the inventory laid out before you. Your son probably had enough clothes to last him through four outfit changes a day for the next few months. You mentally reminded yourself to cut everyone off from buying any more articles of clothing until further notice.

The doorbell rang and Joe magically appeared downstairs to answer it, his Jeff Ruby's catering order had arrived. A few staff members carried in all the food and Joe thanked them on their way out. Before you could even ask, he said "you don't think they're all working for free do you? Had to give them a few incentives." You simply shook your head, a smile forming on your lips as he disappeared upstairs again.

When the guys were finally done, everyone gathered downstairs to eat dinner, casually chatting about life, Ja'Marr giving a recap of his offseason so far and what trips he had planned. Everything was actually normal until your mom spoke up.

"So, who are you guys gonna have in the delivery room with you?"

Joe nudged you under the table with his knee, giving you a look like "here we go."

"Um...we're still finalizing details of the birth plan. I was just thinking me and Joe for now, the less people seeing me at my worst, the better," you joke, trying to keep it light.

"Well what about visitors?" Robin chimes in. “How soon after are we going to be able to meet the little one?"

"We were thinking the next day. Gives us time to settle in, get some sleep and then have you guys meet him," Joe says casually. That seems to satisfy all parties, your parents nod in understanding and you breathe out a sigh of relief that the conversation doesn't go any further.

Pretty soon after dinner, most of the guests are gone and Joe asks if you want to see the nursery. You immediately hold out your arms and let him lift you to your feet, keeping a hand on the small of your back until you reach the room. Before he opens the door he covers your eyes with his other hand. "You ready?"

"Yes," you let out a small laugh, the anticipation eating away at you, "you've been hyping up these packages for weeks let's see what you’ve done."

"Alright," you hear him open the door and he guides you inside by the hand, still keeping your eyes covered. "3...2...1."

Some of the big things had already been put together. The walls had been painted, the closet space was set up, Joe had brought an LED starry-night ceiling projector (on top of the chandelier that was already in the room) and a sleek, modern changing table with a with several gadgets you weren’t ready to mess with. Yes it was too much. No, he wasn't going to return any of it.

Your eyes scanned the room: a plush, white rug that looked too soft to step on without socks, a glider that seemed to have more tech features than your car, and a Dyson purifier glowing faintly in the corner. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all the hands that had come together to make it perfect. “He’s not even here yet, and he’s already so loved,” you said, your voice catching slightly.

"He definitely is," Joe says happily, knowing he and his team nailed it. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." He gestures toward the window, "blackout curtains. I read that they can help babies and toddlers sleep better. They can also help regulate the temperature and reduce noise. For temperature though, I got a Dyson obviously, it's supposed to be the best.” He walks you over to the next spot. “Over here we have the changing table."

"Does this...have a built in warming pad for wipes?"

"Yeah isn't it great?” He beams, “so his little butt is warm when we change him in the middle of the night."

You let out a soft laugh at how much of a softie he already is for someone he hasn’t met yet. "He's gonna be mad we're changing him either way, warm wipes or not. But I know you’ll be using it so it’s fine.”

He opens the top drawer of the changing table, "I put some miscellaneous stuff in here. All organic. Silk-blend crib sheets, swaddles, and burp cloths that I washed yesterday so they're ready to use. Over here is the feeding station and the mini fridge, which I'm really excited about."

"Why do we need a mini fridge in the nursery?"

"Think about this. I'm on overnight baby duty and you're catching up on sleep. Our baby is sobbing because he's hungry. Instead of making him wait while I go downstairs and grab a bottle, we just have the bottles in here. And then this little compartment on this side is a freezer so we can have milk storage bags in here too since the bottle warmer is right there. And watch this,” Joe said, pressing a button on the bottle warmer. “It’s like a Formula 1 pit stop but for babies. Two minutes tops, and he’s good to go.” You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh at his comparison.

"You know what? I'm not mad at it. Keep going."

"Right next to the fridge is the actual feeding station so we've got a couple pillows here next to the chair, burp clothes and then a little table in case whoever is in here needs water or to set something down. White noise machine is over here. You gotta play with the setting there's like 100 sound options and custom settings. The baby monitor is cool too, it has HD video, two-way audio, sleep analytics, the whole nine.” Joe pick up the expensive contraption. “Here, let me show you some of the noise machine settings."

He was too excited for you to decline, so you motioned for him to go ahead. "This one is ocean waves," he said, hitting a button. A soft crash of waves echoed through the room. "And this is rainforest sounds. Oh, and this one—"

"OW!" you yelped, clutching your belly and bending forward slightly.

Joe froze mid-button press, the sound of chirping birds now filling the nursery. "What? What happened? Is it happening?" His voice rose an octave as he practically leapt across the room to you.

You couldn’t help but laugh through the sharp jolt of pain, waving him off with one hand. "Relax, Joe. It’s not labor. It’s uh...lightning crotch."

"Lightning what?" His panicked expression turned to utter confusion, and he blinked at you like you’d just spoken a foreign language.

"It’s this sharp, sudden pain down there," you explained, gesturing vaguely toward your lower half. "Totally normal. Just your kid punching my nerves like one of those UFC fighters you're obsessed with."

Joe stared at you, wide-eyed. "That’s a thing? That’s allowed? Why does no one tell dads about this stuff?"

You shrugged, still giggling as you slowly straightened up. "Welcome to pregnancy. Every day’s a surprise," you reassure him, patting him on the back.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely rattled. "Okay, so let me get this straight. So far, there’s morning sickness, swollen ankles, back pain, weird cravings, and now lightning crotch? What’s next? Spontaneous combustion?"

"Would you calm down?" you teased, reaching for his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s not that bad. Just part of the process."

Joe let out a dramatic sigh, muttering, "You’re making a whole person, and I can’t even keep up with the symptoms."

"You’re doing great, babe," you said with a smirk. "Now, are you gonna show me what’s in the next drawer, or should I add 'Joe having a meltdown' to my list of pregnancy side effects?"

That earned a laugh from him, and he shook his head, pulling himself together. "Fine. But I’m looking this lightning crotch thing up later," he said, giving you a playful glare before opening the next drawer.

Joe is going through the various assortment of baby blankets but what catches your eye is the bookcase. You step closer to it, running your fingers over the leather-bound spines. "Are these…first editions of Goodnight Moon and Oh the Places You’ll Go?"

"Collector's editions," Joe corrected with a sheepish shrug. "My mom used to read these to me,” Joe explained, his voice soft. “I figured…maybe I could do the same for him. Only with the fanciest versions, of course.”

"Of course,” you affirm. “You're adorable. This place is...a lot. But it's genuinely perfect Joe, you guys did an amazing job, thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, I should be thanking you. You're making us parents soon."

"I know. Being in here and seeing it finished makes it feel more real. There's gonna be an actual person using this stuff. That's insane."

He grabs your hand and leads you out of the room, "it is insane. And I can't wait. I wonder what he's gonna look like."

"I hope he looks like you, that would be so adorable. Having a tiny version of you would be a dream."

Joe chuckled, a soft, boyish sound that made your heart flutter. "You’re setting the bar pretty high for this kid," he teased, then paused, his expression turning serious for a moment. "But really, no matter what he looks like I know he'll be perfect."

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the hallway, the soft hum of the mini fridge in the nursery the only sound. For a moment, everything felt perfectly still—just the two of you, on the edge of an adventure that would change your lives forever.

You said goodbye to the last of your visitors and you turned around to Joe standing in the middle of the living room holding a notepad and a pen. "Where did you even get that, weren’t you just hugging your mom?"

"I had it on the coffee table. We’re supposed to watch the video for our prenatal class, remember?"

"Right now?" You ask, looking at your phone. It was only 9pm but it felt like at least one in the morning. You felt like Joe with his strict bedtime during the season.

He nods, already reaching for the remote. "I have big plans for us tomorrow so yeah, now is the perfect time."

"Alright, put it on." You relax into him, grabbing your blanket. "You're really gonna take notes?"

"Yeah. This is for educational purposes, I need any helpful tips I can get."

"You're sure you're gonna be able to watch and write things down? I don't want to scare you but, it might be intense."

"Babe, I get chased by grown men who want to take my head off for a living. Intense is my middle name," he places the notebook on the table and ditches the writing utensil, lazily placing his arm around you before starting the video. "You know what? I might not even take notes this time, I'll probably watch it again in my office in a few weeks when we get closer to the due date and take notes then."

You shrug, letting him do his thing. "Whatever you say, babe."

Joe's relaxed posture slowly turned a bit more tense as the video went on, the graphic image of the baby crowning was unfortunately going to be engrained in his memory for a long time. You had to stifle a laugh as his usual cool, calm, and collected demeanor cracked like a fine china plate dropped onto tile.

"Is...is that what we're gonna go through? What you're gonna go through?" His voice was shaky, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Yup," you emphasized the ‘p’ sound. "That right there is the beauty of childbirth Joseph." You could practically feel his discomfort radiating off him.

"Oh my god." Joe muttered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he tried to mentally recover.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You know, it’s not all that bad. It's just...well, it’s a lot. And it’s very messy.”

He blinked at the screen, still not sure how to process what he’d just witnessed. "Right, sure, a lot. Just—" He exhaled dramatically, trying to find words. "I need a drink. I don't even like alcohol. Or we should maybe just call it a night and go to sleep. I need maybe a small...break from the miracle of life."

You chuckled, wrapping yourself up in the blanket and snuggling into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Joe. Just wait until you're actually in the room. This was just the trailer."

Joe leaned back, a hand on his forehead as he processed the visual overload. "Little man needs to stay in there a little longer. I'm not ready to watch that horror film."

After declaring that the two of you needed a break from baby stuff, you and Joe took it easy the next day, diving into a true crime marathon after he came home from his morning workout. It was the perfect distraction from all the overwhelming baby prep. But today, he was back at it—better than ever.

"Did you know that newborns don’t have kneecaps? They have cartilage where they should be. They don’t get kneecaps until later."

"Wait what?" you ask, clearly confused.

"Yeah, I read it this morning, it's crazy. He isn't gonna have knees for weeks. I could've used that trick in 2020," Joe adds nonchalantly, his tone as casual as ever as he brushes off his knee injury from years ago. The way he brings it up so easily makes you laugh.

"What else did you learn?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

Joe glances over at you, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I read that dads who are involved early on in caregiving—like diaper changes and feedings—bond with their babies faster and more strongly. So I’m all in on that."

"Baby?" you ask, tilting your head to the side as you look over at him.

Joe pipes up, looking away from his hospital bag, still gathering his things. "Yeah?"

"You didn't have a choice on that one. You were gonna feed him and change his diapers whether you liked it or not," you laugh and easily catch the t-shirt he tosses at you. It just happened to be your favorite one you liked to steal and it smelled just like him. That was definitely coming with you to the hospital.

You stand up from your spot on the floor, checking everything off your list. You had comfy clothes, fuzzy socks, four outfits (just in case), a phone charger, a portable charger, a water bottle and a robe which you'd never worn before but Joe insisted you bring it because what if this was the one time that you actually needed it. "What's in your bag?"

Joe opened the Nike duffel and let you take a look. "Why do you have your backup iPad in here?" you ask, a little puzzled.

"OTAs start two weeks after he's born. I need to glance through stuff and make sure I'm ready," he explains, glancing at you with a shrug.

You roll your eyes playfully. "Fine, but what are these doing in here?" You pull out his Bose noise-canceling headphones. "Are you gonna tune me out while I'm in labor?"

Joe looks at you with wide eyes, practically dropping the headphones in surprise. "What? No!" He quickly pulls out another pair, a sheepish smile on his face. "I brought some for you too, just in case you want to listen to music and, you know, maybe tune me out a little."

"You're really thinking ahead, huh?" you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Joe shrugs, his smile growing. "I try."

You nod, crossing your arms. "I mean, I guess we’ll see if those headphones get a workout during the labor part."

Joe gives you a playful look, his tone still light-hearted but his eyes full of genuine excitement. "I’m just saying, if you need a little escape from my endless rambling during contractions, at least you have options."

"Oh Joey, I love you."

“I love you,” he sighs, pulling you into a tight hug, feeling steady kicks against his stomach. "And I love you too, baby boy. Kid can't stand not having the attention on him," he smiles, his voice soft but filled with affection.

"Taking after his dad already?" you tease, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin.

Joe pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow with a mock-serious expression. "Now you know that’s just not true."

You chuckle softly, resting your head against his chest. "I guess we’ll see, huh?"

He lets you go and the two of you go through all three bags one more time before Joe announces the next task. "Are you ready for our hospital trial run?"

"I still think it's ridiculous but if it'll make you feel more comfortable then I'm in."

Joe carries all the bags down the stairs, tossing them by the door and has the stopwatch open on his phone. "Okay, here we go." He presses 'start' and grabs the keys and the bags while you stand in the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you waddle to the car.

"Babe, why are you going so slow? We're on a time crunch here."

"Well if you must know, your son is crushing all of my internal organs and grinding my hip bones together. If I walk too fast I’ll pee. And then you'll have to get me new clothes and I'll have to change. That'd be really bad for your time crunch."

He drops it immediately. "Okay you're right, take your time."

Once he helps you in the car he rushes around to the driver's side and buckles in, opening the garage door and pulling out of the driveway. You're holding the phone, watching his time as he drives carefully but efficiently, weaving through the streets like a man on a mission. "What if there's traffic that day?" You ask.

"Then I'll figure it out. I just need ballpark range how long it'll take us to get there." He checks the stopwatch again, the third time in the last five minutes.

"Joe, you don't have to treat this like you’re at the two-minute warning during the Super Bowl when you’re down one score."

His grip tightens on the steering wheel despite your words, his jaw clenching as he glances at you, "better to be safe than sorry."

You shrug, reclining in your seat to take some pressure off your back.

"You good?" He asks gently, his hand finding its way to your leg. "How’s the baby doing?" Joe asks, glancing at you between turns, a hint of concern in his voice. "Should we pull over so you can stretch?"

"No, I'm fine," you sigh, a smile tugging at your lips as you settle in more comfortably. "I could really go for some ice cream right now though."

"We'll get some on the way home," he laughs, a relieved chuckle escaping him. "Call it a reward for a successful trial run."

He pulls into the parking lot of the birth center with a sigh of relief, glancing at his phone in your hand. "13 minutes, not bad at all," he says with a sense of accomplishment.

"Yeah, that's great," you smile, a playful glint in your eyes. "I want a scoop of rocky road and a scoop of raspberry sorbet. In a bowl."

"Together?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in mock disbelief.

"Yes," you reply, grinning.

Joe pulls out of the parking lot, a proud smile on his face as if he just completed an Olympic event. "Mission accomplished. Ice cream in five minutes."

A week later, Joe was going over a food list with his chef Morgan. "For quick snacks, I was thinking Greek yogurt with granola and fruit, hard-boiled eggs—she'll need the protein. Maybe some string cheese or cheese cubes, nut butter with apples or bananas. We’ll definitely need to stock up on protein bars," he lists off items, looking through the fridge and cabinets.

"What‘a going on in here?" You walk into the kitchen and spot Morgan jotting down every word Joe is saying.

Joe looks up and smiles at you but then pauses for a moment, his eyes tracking your every movement as you waddle over to the counter. He raises an eyebrow. "You alright? You're walking like you just got off a horse."

You roll your eyes playfully but feel a grin spread across your face. "Nice to see you’re paying attention."

"Seriously," Joe says, now focused on you with concern. He steps closer, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he watches you shuffle around. "That’s a pretty pronounced waddle. You okay?"

"Yup, just one of the perks of carrying a tiny human in there." You shrug, trying to act casual about it, but it's hard to ignore how much effort it takes to move these days.

Morgan, glancing between the two of you, stifles a laugh. "It’s the baby," he explains with a knowing look. "The weight shifts, and her body’s getting ready for the big day."

Joe doesn’t look entirely convinced. "I don’t know, babe," he says, lightly tapping your belly. "Maybe we need to get you some support or something. You shouldn’t have to waddle all over the place. Like one of those belly belt things to help take the weight off your hips.”

You smirk. "Trust me, I’ve got it covered. But thanks for noticing."

Joe looks at you, giving you a soft smile that says he’s both amused and a little concerned. "Yeah, no problem. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable."

"Thanks, Joe," you tease, giving him a playful nudge before you turn to Morgan, who’s still scribbling on his notepad as Joe turns his away again. "So, what do you have so far?"

Morgan lists off everything he’s written, "Trail mix, chia pudding, pumpkin or sunflower seeds—"

"We never have those in the house," you note, crossing your arms. "Why now?"

"They're high in zinc and other nutrients that support lactation," Joe says simply, not looking up from the fridge.

"That's helpful but I really will probably need fruit, veggie sticks and hummus since you're interesting in me increasing my protein intake, maybe some avocado toast and smoothies too? Keep it simple, Morgan. I’ll also need the lactation cookies I sent you."

"Noted." Morgan says, catching Joe’s shake of his head as you laugh.

"Just get her whatever she wants," Joe sighs, exasperated, but with a fond smile. "I’m actually glad you brought up the cookies, Y/N, because I wanted to run something by you. Both of you, actually."

You sigh, already dreading the conversation, and the chef looks up from his list. "What’s up?"

Joe pulls out a folder from one of the kitchen drawers, showing Morgan the list of the “best” lactation cookie and energy bite recipes he could find.

"Babe," you groan, "I told you that you're overthinking the cookies. They’re just cookies."

“Lactation cookies,” he corrected, already flipping to another recipe. “These are important. They’re, like, your fuel.”

"My apologies your honor," you laugh again, "carry on."

Morgan laughs too and Joe playfully glares at him. "Yeah—yeah, laugh it up guys." He gestures toward the folder, "I highlighted the key ingredients on each recipe.”

The chef raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of recipes. “You want me to make all of these?”

You stand up and take a peak at the extensive list, "you don't have to do that Morgan, just make a few batches of chocolate chip and call it a day," you sense Joe tensing next to you and you rub his back a little, "you're doing that thing again. Where you're freaking out instead of relaxing. You need to relax," you say with a small smile, guiding him back to calm.

You take your eyes off of Joe and focus your attention back on Morgan. "Thank you for never flinching at his insane requests, but if these cookies don’t work out, you can just order some. As long as they have oats, flaxseed, and brewer’s yeast to support milk production, then I should be fine."

Morgan nods, jotting a few more things down before he leaves to head to the grocery store. Joe looks at you, his expression softening. You nod at him, offering a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, you’re not the only one who’s done their research,” you say, nodding your head as his lips twitch into a smile.

"I’m impressed.” He gives you tiny claps, the playful gesture breaking the moment of seriousness. “Speaking of research...I may have one more surprise for you."

"I don't think I can handle anymore surprises," you groan, "can you just tell me what it is?"

"I don't think you know what a surprise is," he laughs rubbing your back, "let me just show you and then I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

"That's a lie,” you reply flatly, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Okay, fine. It’s definitely a lie," he admits with a sheepish grin, shrugging like he’s caught red-handed.

Joe takes you to the most unlikely place to reveal a surprise. "Joe...why are we in the bathroom?"

"This is the surprise. Do you see anything different?"

You look around, not sensing anything extremely out of place. Until you see it and tears start pooling in your eyes. "How did you—when did you do this?"

"It's just a little something I put together to make things easier for you when we're home. There's another one in the closet downstairs. I'll move it out so you have easy access when it's time." He pauses, taking a second to collect his thoughts. "I just want to make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. I know this is going to be tough on you, and I...I want to feel like I’m helping, even if it’s in a small way."

A postpartum station, not the most glamorous gift in the world, but it was one of the most meaningful things he'd ever done for you. Imagining him sitting in his office or sitting up in bed at night doing all this research to ensure you were comfortable made you want to cry. You never thought the sight of adult diapers, nipple cream, and a portable stool could bring you to tears, but here you were, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it all.

Joe gently wipes at a tear that slips down your cheek, his expression softening as he says, ‘hey, don’t cry. I want you to have everything you need. You deserve it."

You blink back the new tears threatening to spill over, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you thought of all this. Thank you, Joe.

"Pretty much," he shrugs, giving you kiss on the side of the head. "Just one more thing to check off the list."

"And what's that?"

"Bringing him home and having him here, physically with us."

You laugh, resting a hand on your lower belly, on top of Joe's hand. "Oh yeah...that one minor detail."

“Minor detail?!” Joe grins, his eyes bright with amusement. “I think that’s the main event, babe. Let’s hope I don’t need a stopwatch for that one.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you in the moment, “Thank you, Joe. For this…for thinking of everything. If you’re this amazing now, I can’t wait to see you as a dad.”

His expression softens, his gaze dropping to your belly as if imagining the tiny life inside. “I just want to make sure you both have everything you need,” he says quietly. He spoke with such quiet certainty that it left no room for doubt—this wasn’t just a job to him; it was everything.

The lump in your throat returns, but this time you let it linger, because this—his quiet devotion, his unwavering effort—is why you fell in love with him. “You’re already doing it,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “And you’re doing it perfectly.”

Joe smiles, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Good. Now let’s get through the rest of this list before he gets here and turns everything upside down.”

Your laugh echoes through the bathroom, the two of you standing there in the glow of anticipation, knowing your lives were about to change in the most beautiful way.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic

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keferon · 1 month ago

Note

The inspiration bunny has struck again.

I blame Niechys’ amazing Texaid art.

TW Vortex

———————————————————————

“Careful. He bites.”

———————————

Vortex was in a shit mood.

You ever wake up in the morning and just know you’re gonna start something? Just need to rage and fight somebody?

Vortex can’t wake up anymore. But that same “I want someone to scream at” feeling rose just the same. ‘Cept maybe pricklier.

Most of the time, Vortex could ignore the psychological nightmare that was his existence. He wasn’t trapped in here. He escaped, and now he was hiding in their mother fucking walls. Waiting in the shadows like a slasher in a horror movie.

It’s easier to hold still when you’re waiting to pounce.

Waiting.

Just constant fucking waiting.

Boredom was a special kind of pain. The worst kind of pain. The kind of hysterical boredom you feel when you’re stuck in your chair on a flight and you keep getting delayed and delayed and delayed and you just fucking don’t know when you’re ever getting out of there. But at least you’ve got the rational thought that “this has to end eventually” to hold onto.

Except Vortex is never getting out of here.

Vents rattled as the fans were forced to rapidly switch between pulling air in and pushing air out. It didn’t feel like breathing.

Vortex didn’t just want to kill something this time. He wanted to get in a fight with somebody.

Back when he had his old body, it was easy to wind up Blast Off into a good ol’ cathartic screaming match. Or if Vortex wanted some pain to go with it he’d start shit with Brawl.

Then he’d get to terrorize the medical staff. Little vengeance for everything they put him through. They’d even gotten a special Hannibal Lector style muzzle just for him.

“Bite Risk.” Had to be underlined twice after the first few unlucky fuckers thought standard restraints were enough.

Vortex wondered if First Aid ever handled it.

The mechas visor slammed shut on nothing, sounding like a bomb going off inside the empty hangar. The red glass slowly returned to its resting open position.

Vortex wanted to fight someone not just something. Wanted to be a petty, shitty person.

Needed to be a person. You argue with people. Not with machines.

Blast Off and Brawl weren’t even here anymore. Swindle and Onslaught too smart to get close.

All that left was-

———————————————————————

“What the fuck is your problem today?!”

Finally.

First Aid was a tough nut to crack. He had to start digging into some seriously personal stuff before the little medic started responding the way he wanted.

The fuck off huge alien they were fighting looked a bit like an octopus impersonating a gorilla with a piercing stork head on the end of a viper-like neck.

They were actually pretty easy to kill if you got a clean shot on that long ass neck. ‘Cept Vortex wasn’t done fighting yet.

“My fuckin’ problem is I’m stuck with your useless ass!” Vortex jerked his head to the side, both to avoid a stabbing beak and to painfully throw First Aid against the restraints.

It would have gone through the visor probably. Would have killed Aid instantly.

That hysterical trapped-on-the-plane feeling was creeping back.

Why was he protecting him. Is it because of what Shockwave tried to do? Was he keeping First Aid alive because he liked him or because that cyborg fucker slipped some patch update through to make him compliant?

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

His panic was seeping through the drift. First Aid readjusted his grip on the seat, looking around the cockpit not angry but fucking concerned.

“Vortex are you okay?”

He had the alien pinned down underneath him with both hands. Knee pressed into its stomach, forcing the mechas entire mechanical weight onto it. The neck was still free and desperately trying to shish-kabob anything important.

No no no no no no no no.

Vortex did not want fucking pity. He wanted someone screaming in rage at him because it meant he wasn’t doing what they wanted. What the fuck was he supposed to if something was making him want the same thing as someone else?

Irrational panic exploded across the circuitry of his brain: What is the absolute last thing anyone wants you to do right now, including yourself?

“YOU DO IT. YOU KILL THIS FUCKING THING.”

And Vortex let go of the controls.

First Aid’s panic was instantaneous. He barely saved the mecha from falling limp as the medic scrambled to take hold of the controls.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!”

Yes.

“I can’t fight! The only thing I know how to do is open and close the visor!”

Also yes.

Vortex stewed in the back of his consciousness. Steeling himself to not intervene. First Aid was flailing, and the itch to reach through and take over was overwhelming.

“Just- fuckin’-“ Vortex wished he could bite off his own tongue.

First Aid was keeping the thing down but fucking barely. The alien seemed to sense the shift as well, and started thrashing harder to try and throw them off with renewed aggression.

“Vortex!” First Aid’s fear was absolutely liquid pouring across the bond. Vortex clamped down on every fiber of his being to not respond.

He watched Aid’s vitals skyrocket.

BPM 96, 97, 98, 99

First Aid breathing somehow got even faster.

100, 103, 111, 121

Holding the creature down with both hands, First Aid hit the trigger to open the visor.

Woah woah WOAH.

124, 126, 130, 131

Vortex felt First Aid inhale so deeply it hurt. Then scream from the depths of his chest.

For a frantic instant Vortex tried to wrest control back, save this suicidal idiot because holy fuck he didn’t mean to push him that far.

Instead, First Aid tore through Vortex, driving the mecha forward.

They lunged.

The mecha’s visor came down on the monsters neck. Thousands of pounds of force driving through meat and vertebrae, snapping closed in a cascade of staggered crunches.

The visor shut. Cockpit flooded with ichor and half a neck. The mecha pulled back, tearing free of the alien-turned corpse.

Wobbling, the mecha straightened. Nearly stumbling backwards before Vortex took back control.

The visor opened, allowing viscera and liquid to spill out of the cockpit and down their chest.

First Aid coughed, shivering violently.

In a quiet voice blown out from screaming, he said, “Vortex, take me home.”

——————————

Later, when Vortex had stepped back into his cradle, the usual cohort of engineers and medics rushed to retrieve his pilot.

What was new however, was the surprise visit from Onslaught. He looked older.

As First Aid was pulled away down the umbilical, Onslaught lingered, looking over the cockpit.

On a filthy screen Vortex knew only Onslaught would see, he displayed a message.

“Careful. He bites.”

———————————————————————

I’ve been having fun writing the ongoing Jazz and Prowl submissions but one-shots are just so much fun.

Every pairing in this AU is just so uniquely delicious in how they interact.

- SSTP

OH..OH GOD. OH IM SO FUCKING NORMAL ABOUT THEM RIGHT NOW

You know like. When you was writing Roddy its was literally oozing with energy and happy mood and everything?? Yea. Here. Imagine me pointing at the ask HERE IS THE SAME but instead of "happy" it's almost claustrophobic AND IM SO HERE FOR IT. Like the whole goddamn feeling of being trapped, of being so powerful but yet so out of control over your own life??? The whole thing with not needing to fulfill your physical needs anymore but also not having any way to handle your emotional ones?? FUCKING. MUAH.

OH AND THE B I T E

#maccadam #tf mecha universe #mecha writing #mecha ta writing #texaid #tw blood #tw gore #tw vortex lol #sstp I saw your another ask yesterday but didn't have energy to read gimme some time ILL FIND IT

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fastandcarlos · 7 months ago

Text

Nothing Lasts Forever : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: left abandoned once again, you find yourself wondering whether your relationship with george really can last forever

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you walked back into your apartment to see George sat absentmindedly on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t even look as you walked through the door, only when you cleared your throat did he acknowledge that you were there. His eyes studied you closely, admiring the dress that you wore, before reality smacked him in the face.

You were all prepared for date night with George, heading down to the restaurant early to make sure that you got a table by the window overlooking the beach, where George always loved to sit. That table was where you sat for almost an hour, hoping that George was only running late, but he never did show up.

It wasn’t the first time recently when George had forgotten you, your plans together seemed to be bottom of his list of priorities. George’s eyes were wide as he realised why you were dressed so nicely, silently cursing himself for messing up yet again and forgetting about you.

Your movements around the apartment were silent, almost pretending as if George wasn’t there. You took off your heels, hung up your bag and got yourself a glass of water, heading straight for your bedroom. George faintly called out your name, but as he expected, he was completely ignored by you.

You didn’t have anything to say to him, yet again you’d been left to look like a fool whilst George basked in his job. George wasn’t prepared to just let you walk away though, standing up from the sofa and following you into the bedroom. Although as he did, he almost wished that he didn’t.

“Babe, I know sorry isn’t good enough right now, but I’m so sorry that I forgot,” he hurriedly told you, but his apologies were far from good enough for you.

“Can you just leave me alone?” You asked, keeping yourself surprisingly calm.

“Just talk to me, please,” George whispered in reply.

“I don’t want to.”

George knew he was going to be far from in your good books, but the harsh tone in which you spoke to him took him by surprise.

You’d had your moments, but this was the first time you’d really vented your frustrations to George. You’d had enough of being second best, of being forgotten and embarrassed by him. You knew where you stood with George, and you weren’t going to let yourself stay there any longer.

You tried to ignore his presence as you moved around the bedroom, knowing exactly what your next step was.

George’s heart stung as he watched you open up your wardrobe, pulling a small suitcase out in amongst the mess that you had in there, picking it up and throwing it onto your bed to unzip it. He didn’t need to be told what happened next, struggling to keep himself composed as he watched you start to grab a few bits.

You didn’t care though, you wanted George to feel the hurt that you did.

“Love, what are you doing?” George nervously asked, hoping that what he saw before him was a completely different plot to the one he feared. “You don’t need to do this, let’s just talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” you argued, “I’m fed up of feeling like I mean nothing to you.”

George desperately wanted to reach out and stop you doing what you were doing, but you were avoiding him at every turn, refusing to give him the chance.

As you grabbed a pair of shoes, you spoke again. “I can’t keep being treated like this George, I need some time to decide if I can do this anymore.”

“Do what? You mean us? Being together?” He quizzed, all of his thoughts tumbling out of his mouth as George began to lose control.

“Yes,” you bluntly replied with a sigh, “this isn’t the sort of relationship I deserve to be in right now George.”

The look on George’s face dropped.

“Where are you going to go? You can’t just leave.”

“I can’t be here with you right now,” you sighed, throwing the last of your essential bits into your suitcase. You quickly zipped it up and picked up your phone. George tried to reach out for the case to stop you, but you were too quick, swiping it away and heading for the door. You blocked out the many calls of your name as you slipped on the same pair of shoes you had taken off only minutes earlier.

George rushed over to the door, trying his best to pin it shut as you approached, but your head shook, silently asking him to just let it go. He reluctantly stepped aside, but not before taking a hold of your hand, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“I-I love you,” George whispered, squeezing tightly onto your hand. "Please don’t do this,” he pleaded, sniffing back the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel this way, but I don’t know what I’ll do without you here.”

“It’s for the best that I do this George.”

His head shook as you slipped your hand out of his hold, smiling weakly across at him.

“Who is this best for? It’s not for me.”

“I’m not here to just be forgotten George.”

You quickly closed the door behind you before allowing your first tear to fall.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

A heavy sigh came from you as you woke up the following morning, looking around the apartment of your best friend. You’d barely slept as you wondered whether leaving your home was the right call, or if you’d moved to hasty.

George meant everything to you, you were two of the most popular people around the paddock, but you were starting to feel more and more distant from him. It wasn’t the first time George had forgotten about you or made you feel like you didn’t matter to him, but you couldn’t stand back and let yourself be treated like a toy anymore. George either wanted you, and to spend time with you, or he didn’t.

It didn’t take long before your phone buzzed beside you again. Most of the night you’d been met with texts or calls from George, wishing you to come home. You’d tried your best to ignore them, but if George was one thing, he was definitely persistent.

After letting his call almost ring through once again, you decided to grab your phone, pressing the green button in the centre of your screen. “George,” you whispered, hearing a sharp intake of breath come from the other end of the line.

“Babe,” George sighed, throwing his head back in relief as he sat on your shared bed at home. You waited and waited for George to speak, but you were met with silence, unaware of George trying to find the right words to say.

“What is it George?”

“I just wanted to know when you’re coming back,” he finally spoke, “home.”

“It’s not as easy as just coming back George,” you huffed, brushing your hand over the top of your head. “We can’t just carry on like nothing.”

“You mean you’re not coming back?” George quizzed, his voice faltering as he spoke, “you’re not coming back…ever?”

“I don’t mean ever, I just need some space,” you tried your best to calmly assure him, “I need to think about whether this is really what I want or not.”

“Y-you’re not breaking up with me, are you?” George frantically asked, feeling tears threaten to spill once again.

“No, I’m not breaking up with you George, I just think we both need a bit of time to think about what our priorities are and figure out whether a relationship is for the best.”

“I already know it’s for the best, I’d be lost without you,” George quickly spoke.

“I don’t know if it’s the best for me,” you honestly admitted.

“Well, if time is what you need, I guess I’m going to have to give it to you, to fight for us.”

“Thank you, George.”

“I love you,” he whispered, knowing that he was moments away from losing all contact from you for however long you needed.

“I love you too.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Around the paddock people barely recognised George for the next couple of weeks. He barely spoke to anyone except for when someone mentioned your name, hoping that someone had heard from you. But no one ever had though. He was left wondering constantly, anxiously awaiting a call or text from you.

Beside him, Lewis watched George closely, as he had done throughout. He could see better than anyone how hard George was being on himself.

“What do I do if I never hear from her again?” George asked him nervously.

Lewis’ head shook as he rested his hand against George’s shoulder. “You can’t think like that. She wanted you to show her that you prioritise her, so that’s what you’ve got to try and do, right?”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Despite your frustrations with George, you couldn’t help but keep up with everything going on. You still watched all the races, tried your best to watch their interviews, despite what had happened, many of the drivers you watched were still your friends.

As you caught up with what happened during the race in Austria, you couldn’t help but glance up at the screen as you heard the presenters mention that they were cutting to the media pen with George ready to interview.

Your heart stopped as he appeared on the screen, he was far from the usual George that you saw. His hair was messy, his smile was nowhere in sight, for the first time ever he looked as if he didn’t want to be there, the man who adored racing almost appeared as if he’d fallen out of love with it.

You couldn’t quite believe the version of George that you saw in front of you, it was unlike anything you ever saw before. Even when the interviewer tried to offer him a smile, George was unresponsive, like it didn’t even matter.

“George, P5 today in tricky conditions, you don’t look particularly pleased with the points, were you expecting something more from the race today?” She smiled, extending the microphone out to him.

“I’m happy with the race, it was the best that I could do,” George shrugged, “but racing isn’t the most important thing in the world, is it? I love my job, but there’s things that I love more which aren’t going well right now, that’s probably why I don’t look thrilled. There’s a few things that I need to fix, I’ve been reminded too much recently that as great as this is, it’s not the most important thing in the world to worry about."

You sunk down in your seat as George spoke, brushing your hands over your face as his words sunk in. You’d never heard him speak like that before, but now that he did, you realised just how important you truly were.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Your knocks were impatient as you stood outside of the apartment door, knowing that George had returned home only a few moments earlier. Your heart was racing, even if everything was familiar, you were still stood in front of your home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it.

Your body tensed up as the front door opened, a dishevelled looking George staring back at you. He blinked several times, almost as if he needed to convince himself that it was really you in front of him.

“Hi,” he fumbled, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, everything alright?”

“Can we talk?” You anxiously asked, nervously playing with your fingers, unable to bring yourself to meet George’s eyes.

“I…of course,” he smiled, inviting you in. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to speak to you, to tell you just how much you mean to me and how sorry I am for every making you feel as if I don’t care about you, or that you’re not the most important thing in my life.”

“I know you feel that way now.”

“Seriously?”

You nodded as you took a step closer to George, allowing your hand to slowly take a hold of one of his.

“Maybe I overreacted a little, I shouldn’t have just walked away.”

George’s head shook, he knew now that walking away was what you needed.

But he secretly always hoped that you’d go back to him, and he was beyond thrilled to finally have you home again.

George’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you as tight into him as he possibly could. His head buried into the crook of your neck, refamiliarizing himself with the comfort of you again.

He refused to let you go, holding you tighter than he ever had done before.

“Will you come back home?” George whispered into your ear, “I don’t think I can spend another night here without you.”

“Of course, I will.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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cameronspecial · 9 months ago

Note

I thought about Rafe and reader having a fight or heated argument and their child is scared that they will get a divorce

Divorce

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Arguing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

Loud screams coming from downstairs cause Colin to wake up from his dream where he is a firefighter. In fear a monster is in the house, he goes running to his parents’ room. The bed is empty and terror grows. What if the monster ate Mommy and Daddy? He rushes down the stairs in hopes they will be there. While on the steps, he recognizes the sources of the yells. He freezes where he stands. “I don’t understand what is so hard for you to understand. There is nothing going on between Heather and me. She is just my assistant,” Rafe argues. Through the bars, Colin can see his mommy’s eyes roll. She chuckles, “It’s not that I think you are doing something with her. I don’t like the way she looks at you. I know she wants a bite of you and I’m not sharing.” Colin has never heard his Mommy use such an angry tone. He remembers something his friend said about her parents screaming a lot before they got a divorce. Now, she can’t see her mommy or daddy every day. He has to stop this; he can’t let his parents get a divorce.

Tiny feet slapping against the hardwood floor causes both parents to turn their heads in the direction of the stairs. Small blue eyes stare up at them with tears at the edge of his long eyelashes. “Colin, Sweetie, what are you doing up?” Y/N questions, bending over as he runs into her arms. His short arms wrap around her neck and she picks him up while she stands straight. Even if they are arguing, Rafe doesn’t hesitate to step forward and rest his left hand on Y/N’s hip and the right hand on Colin’s back.

Colin’s head buries into his mother’s neck, “You and Daddy no get a divowce.” Warm tears begin to stain her neck. Rafe’s head tilts to the side. “Why do you think that’s going to happen, Buddy?” Her fingers flatten the hair on the back of the little boy’s head. “You and Mommy fight,” he muffles against his mom. The mother coos at her son, “Aww, Sweetie. Just because Mommy and Daddy have a little disagreement, it doesn’t mean that we are going to get a divorce.” “Weally?” he confirms, looking up at her through teary eyes. Rafe jumps in, “Yeah, Buddy. I know it sounds like Mommy and I are very angry at each other, but we really love each other and I, for one, know that we can overcome anything.” Y/N presses her lips to her son’s cheek. “Daddy and I can. I may not like how Ms. Heather looks at Daddy; however, I trust your Daddy and I know he loves me very much. Sometimes, Mommy needs to vent to Daddy a little bit,” she adds.

This little pep talk seems to appease the worried boy and his breathing steadies. “You pwomise no divorce?” he confirms. Rafe nods with a smile, “I promise, Buddy. Now, how about we go night night. You can sleep in our bed tonight.” The little boy lights up with a grin. “Yayy!” Y/N sets down her son and gives his bum a little tap toward the stairs. “Why don’t you go get your T-rex and head to our bed? We will meet you upstairs,” she suggests, laughing as he runs to the second floor. She turns to her husband, “You know I trust you, right? She just makes me feel uncomfortable.” He presses his lips to her forehead and pulls her in for a hug. “I know. I understand how you feel and I’ll see if I can transfer her to another department. Not because I want her to stay, but because I can’t fire her for no reason,” he says. She nuzzles into his neck, “Thank you. How about we get upstairs so we can snuggle our baby boy to sleep?”

He guides her in their movements to their room. “Let’s. I love you.” Her head falls on his shoulder, “I love you too.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron oneshot

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revelboo · 11 days ago

Note

I just realize everything is alright!human is tech the parent in law with alcohol eyes!human. The casettes also will a have a future sibling with the spark that soundwave’s in the snippet.

Yep, that sparkling is going to be very spoiled and able to get away with anything

Everything is Alright Pt 127

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• It’s the sound of Megatron loudly clearing his vents with a growl that makes all three of you realize he’s still lingering there in the doorway, watching you. And it’s the annoyance on his face twisted together with what might almost be longing that aches through you. Makes you feel guilty. Part of this now because he’d tried to save you, but still on the outside looking in. And those tired optics don’t leave your face. “The spark will need regular contact with its carrier to thrive,” he mutters, a big hand flexing against the side of the doorway. And there’s almost a question there, not a request. That guilt growing as you can’t look away from him. ‘Thank you for saving me. And the spark,’ you manage, and he just stares at you before turning and leaving.

• Servos gently turning your face back his way, Starscream brushes his lips against your cheek. “Don’t worry about him,” he mutters, hand sliding to your neck. And it’s really sinking in that Megatron has to listen to him, can’t just dismiss him. And can’t punish him for speaking up. “I would like Shockwave to run some scans, make sure you’re okay after-” After what he’d done had nearly cost him everything. That panic lifting through him as his wings tremble, because he’d nearly lost everything by his own hands. His own actions. And your soft hands cup his face, pressing your forehead against his jaw. ‘I’m okay.’

• Servos flexing against your sides, that bitter ache inside Soundwave grows. Your emotions washing into him, but it feels stunted somehow, less bright than it had been. Knows it’s that broken bond and hates that loss. “Also request Shockwave to check on you,” he says, feeling awful that he wants to know if there’s a way around your lifespan. A way he can have everything he wants without risking what he has. Wanting something for himself, not just for the cause or his cassettes. Wanting to be able to be greedy. To ask for things for himself.

• Shoulders hunching, it’s hard to argue with Soundwave’s soft request. Hard to deny him anything. It hadn’t been your fault, but you can’t help but wonder if there might have been a way to stop Star from severing his partial bond. If maybe you could have done something. And that thought is a guilty ache inside you. That you’d let it happen, that maybe you could have fought for him. That you should have. But Shockwave is just creepy. “Sure,” you weakly manage, feeling Soundwave gently butt his helm against the back of your head before both mechs pull away from you. Mass displacing and your eyes narrow when Soundwave staggers some. “You need energon, don’t you?” He offers you his cupped hands and you scowl. “Go eat something first. Refuel.” Pointing imperiously and turning your frown on Starscream when he makes a noise that might be a badly suppressed laugh. “Both of you.”

• It’s not forgiveness, but if you feel okay enough to fuss over him, it might as well be. Flashing you a crooked smile, Starscream reaches to stroke your cheek with a servo, smiling wider when you smack at him. ‘Now,’ you demand. Feeling like everything is going to be okay. That you’re both going to get past this. “Bossy,” he mutters affectionately, but he goes to retrieve two energon cubes, scowling at Soundwave when he offers him one. Making an effort to keep you happy. “This has to be the most fragged up Trine in existence.”

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #soundwave #megatron #starscream

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lockheed-martin-unofficial · 4 months ago

Text

Starscream is given a bath, Part 4:

Bet y’all thought I was done with this. I’m not done, I was just stuck on this part for a really long time. It wasn’t going the way I wanted it to, but then again, I always have doubts when it comes to Starscream’s characterization.

Anyway, it ended up being pretty long. 1298 words. I’m not all too satisfied with it, but I gotta just post it and move on.

Part 3: here

Part 5: here

——————————————————————————

“Starscream.”

He opened his optics once more, taking a few seconds to recalibrate. It appeared that he had actually fallen into a recharge without noticing. He looked down at himself, seeing that his arms and chest were looking…shinier than usual. He flexed his digits, touching the tip of every talon to his thumb. She’d done a good job, for a human. Collecting himself but still feeling a little drowsy, Starscream looked down at her.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I need to clean your vents.”

He bristled at that statement, his expression quickly turning sour. “You don’t need to do that.” He waved a servo, wings flattening behind his back.

“Come on, would you rather be breathing dirty air for the rest of your life?”

“My cooling system cleans itself.” He huffed. “I thought you knew that by now.”

“Your air filtration and internal components do. The vents don’t. They’re external.” Damnit, why did she have to know so much about cybertronian biology? The human reached up, her hands grabbing onto the vents on both sides of his face and tugging on them. He grumbled at that, still wanting to avoid this wretched fate. Nevertheless, he allowed her to pull him down. He knew by now that arguing would be pointless.

“I won’t get any water in, I’m just gonna run a towel over them.” She let go of him, stepping out of the bathtub. She quietly walked to a cabinet, opening it and grabbing a soft little towel. The human ran some warm water over it, before squeezing out the excess and returning to him.

“Lean on the side of the tub, please?”

He didn’t say anything, but did as told. His wings were hanging low, as flat as they possibly could be. Seriously? Did he hate vent cleaning that much?

“This won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”

He only grumbled in response.

The human brought the towel up to him, first rubbing it over his faceplate to wipe off anything that wasn’t cleaned by the initial run of water. She cleaned him with the soft cloth using one hand, the other holding onto the side of his vent intake to keep him still. Starscream had shut his optics as tightly as possible, not moving an inch during this part of the cleanup.

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice gentle as if talking to a child. “Doesn’t that warmth feel so soothing, Starscream?”

“Don’t patronize me.” He replied, his voice muffled from the towel she kept rubbing on his face. The human just chuckled at the sight.

“Now if you just tilt your head back, I can move on to the vents.”

He did as instructed, but she could easily see how tense he was. Starscream’s servos gripped the sides of the bathtub, holding himself still. She tilted his chin up ever so slightly, noting that the seeker still refused to open his optics. Slowly and being as gentle as possible, she pressed the towel into his vents, using her fingers to assist in cleaning any grime off the grilles. The process went smoothly for the most part, Starscream obviously uncomfortable but managing to keep himself still. All the way until-

He yelled and kicked up the water when she touched a bad spot, his servos finding and gripping her wrists as he pulled her away from himself.

“That’s enough touching, thank you very much.” Starscream scrambled away to the other corner of the tub, a flash of irritation on his faceplate and a defensiveness to his mannerisms.

“Hang on, I think I saw something in there.”

The seeker wrapped his arms around his frame, pulling his knees all the way up to his chest. The human let out a soft sigh, sitting on the side of the tub and trying to sound as gentle as possible.

“Do you want me to get it?”

He met her gaze and the look on his faceplate momentarily shifted as though she’d just offered to rip his spark out. Then, his expression changed again to one of contemplation. He knew this was going to hurt. But he also knew that he was going to feel much worse over the long run if she didn’t get it out. Could she really, though? Get it out?

Starscream could tolerate pain, best to just get it over with. Better her than asking the Autobots for help. Fine, he’d trust her to get it out.

“Fine. Just… be quick about it?” He asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

The human nodded, and Starscream shuffled back to his previous spot, unusually timid. He was partially acting, pretending to be more scared than he actually was with the hope that it’d earn him a gentler touch.

“Try not to make any sudden moves, alright? I won’t lose a finger if you flinch, not there, but please… be mindful of your strength.”

“Right. The usual.” He replied with a tiny chuckle and a subtle crack of his voice.

Evidently, it had worked. She held his faceplate between her hands, positioning it just right so she could see inside the grilles- which he had feathered to a 90-degree angle for better access.

“Thank you.”

She leaned forward, peering inside. Once she had a good look at the piece of debris, she spoke up.

“Okay, I’m gonna start now. Don’t panic.”

Starscream didn’t resist, just kept his optics shut hoping that this would all be done soon. Carefully, the human reached her fingers inside- this felt weird. This felt so weird. Cooling vents were not supposed to have anything solid entering them. Not so deep. Even though he knew the human’s hand was there to help him, that she was not a threat, he had to clench his servos in order to ignore every coded instinct telling him to keep his vents clear, to remove the obstruction that was her hand immediately.

He was so focused on keeping still that he didn’t even realised she was done until his temperature regulation system suddenly stopped yelling at him. Hesitantly opening his optics once more, he was met with the sight of the human looking down at him, a shard of metal in her hand covered in dried energon.

The first thing he felt was relief, as he took in a strong intake of air and a slight smile found its way to his faceplate.

That hadn’t hurt all that much.

“See? Got it out. didn’t hurt too much, I hope.”

Seeing as he didn’t reply, she continued.

“But I think it left behind a cut, do you need me t-“

Oh no. He knew exactly what she was going to ask, and he wouldn’t allow it.

“No, no need!” he suddenly cut her off, and grabbed the piece of shrapnel from her hand, examining it. “If this is all that was in there… my frame will be able to repair any leftover damage on its own now.”

He turned his gaze back down to her.

“As helpful as you have been, I’d rather not have you rooting through my internals any longer than you absolutely have to. Especially there.” he explained, an aversion of his optics accompanying that last word. He didn’t want to seem rude, especially after all this human had done.

“Hmm, that’s fair. I guess I see why it’d be uncomfortable if our roles were reversed.”

He was relieved at her understanding. Well, his problem was solved. He should probably thank her for that. Starscream scoffed. He was doing too much thanking today.

“I’m…grateful. For the help.”

She smiled. Huh. There she went again. He could really get used to that.

“Don’t mention it. Must’ve been painful. And besides, it’s not time to thank me yet. We’ve still gotta do your wings.”

#spif writes #starscream bath #transformers #tfp starscream #starscream tfp #starscream #transformers prime #tfp #transformers fanfiction #transformers fanfic #starscream x reader #transformers x reader #cybertronian x human #tf fanfic #tfp fanfic #tfp x reader

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seravphs · 2 years ago

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence.

Your termination is effectively immediately.

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered.

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months.

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it.

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business.

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember -

They’re all at work.

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go.

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye.

Onigiri Miya, it reads.

Japanese comfort food. Family owned.

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more.

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then.

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?”

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service.

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.”

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is.

At least the delivery is quick.

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically.

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya.

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself.

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs.

That the food is good is an understatement.

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing.

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next?

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it.

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep.

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible.

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch.

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning.

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong.

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?”

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?”

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?”

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.”

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.”

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?”

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles.

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.”

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!”

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain.

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot.

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby.

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life.

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders.

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time.

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat.

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week.

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate.

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.”

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star.

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you.

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you.

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way.

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it.

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.”

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen.

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately.

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny.

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up.

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them!

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart.

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri.

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.”

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.”

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back.

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?”

He gives you a look.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.”

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you.

“Is this…?”

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.”

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.”

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

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jumexju · 9 months ago

Text

¿OH, QUÈ SERÀ?

Pairing !! : House / Reader

Fic Type !! : Oneshot / Fluff

CW !! : House's jokes (He's an ass), reader is latino/a (gender isn't specified), untranslated spanish is used

Summary !!: He made a bet with Wilson.. and lost.

Note !! : the house md brainrot is consuming me lol (szn 5 is making me physically ill)

✦ MASTERLIST

“You Like them!” Wilson barged into House’s office as if he had made a grand discovery. House dismissed his team and continued eating his tacos de birria, waiting for Wilson to expand on his outrageous claim of him liking a woman. “It’s been three weeks and they're still living with you, ergo: You haven't kicked them out or you haven’t told me — and the latter can’t be true because you tell me everything!” The blonde had his hands on his hips while he talked.

“Who? _____?” House asked, feigning confusion. “They cook and they're not boring. Plus they clean- And for free too!”

“Not for free, they need a place to live, they're probably just being courteous, House!” Wilson warned, “You’re trying to hide the fact that you care about them because then it makes you seem more human and you don’t want that because you hate when people see your nice side!” The Oncologist kept lecturing him but he wasn’t really paying any attention to it.

“I have a nice side?” House's words dripped with sarcasm. He did, however, seem to be enjoying the birria tacos you’d made the day before. Apparently it was a big thing in latin american culture to cook as if you were feeding a whole village, so you had a lot left over.

“Yes, you have a-! That’s why you’re letting them stay!” Wilson argued, a boyish smile on his face at the realization that his friend had a crush on a fellow colleague.

“I’m not letting them do anything, I’m just taking advantage of their cooking and cleaning skills.” He dipped the end of the taco in the consumè you’d made, savoring the explosion of flavor that was currently happening in his mouth.

“You know that’s not true.” Wilson sat in front of House’s desk, facing him with the smile still present. “You L-I-K-E them,” The blonde spelled out, “Just admit it!”

“If I do, will you leave me and my tacos alone?” House lifted a brow as he licked his index finger and thumb.

“You didn’t happen to delete a message they were expecting from an apartment manager, did you? ,” Wilson questioned, a knowing look on his face.

“... No-”

“Aha!” Wilson exclaimed, “Your hesitance indicates that you did! Jeez, just ask them out, House. It’s not that hard,” Wilson shrugged, “Unless you’re too chicken of course…”

“You wanna bet?” House laid back in his chair, empty tupperware sitting on his desk as he smirked.

“A hundred dollars if you ask them out and go out on a genuine date.” Wilson said as he crossed his arms. See, he knew something that House didn’t. Around a few months ago, you confided in Wilson and told him about your feelings for House. However, when Wilson had suggested that you ask him out, you said you didn’t want to risk it, especially because you knew there was a high chance he wouldn’t reciprocate. Of course, Wilson said it was reasonable and left it alone, listening to your vents about House and whatnot whenever your attempts to bury your feelings failed.

Unfortunately for House, You were a great actor, because not even he knew of your feelings for him. You kept it professional, or well tried to before you had to move out. You didn’t tell him the details of that, but somehow you ended up living in House’s… house. Certain that you would say no, House replied: “If you lose, you owe me a hundred.” With that, the bet was in place and House couldn’t be more excited to get his hundred dollars tomorrow and see the defeated look on Wilson’s face when he told him that there was no date.

With a pep in his step, House could hear the faint salsa playing before he even opened the door. His keys jingled while finding the right one but before he could insert it into the lock, you opened the door. Did you recognize the jingle of his keys? “Hey? You’re back late.” You smiled before leaving him to walk in and close the door himself.

“Yeah it Wilson was begging me not to go, He’s clingy.” House joked.

“You guys make the cutest couple,” You said sarcastically as you stirred the rice you were making.

House sat on the couch and popped a pill, “I wear the pants in the relationship, just so you know.”

“Yeah I can’t picture you wearing a skirt,”

“I can picture you wearing a skirt,” House insinuated as he checked you out, “You’ve got a great ass for it.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’ve gone senile, Atrevido.” You shook your head and laughed at his comments. “Has that line ever worked on anyone?”

“Usually,” House shrugged.

“Yeah maybe back in your day,” You finished off the rice and began slicing the potatoes you’d put off to the side earlier. “Anyway, You haven’t heard any messages about the apartments I applied at, have you? They said they’d call me back like two weeks ago and I haven’t heard anything.”

House pursed his lips and acted clueless, “Nope, Nada.” The older man shrugged and positioned his feet on the coffee table in front of him. “What are you making?”

“Carne con papa y arroz,” You told him. “My mom used to make it for me as a kid and I missed the taste so I’m making it. ¿Te terminaste los tacos de birria que hice ayer?”

“Yeah.” House left out the part where he smacked Wilson’s hand for trying to steal a taco.

“What’d you think of them?”

“They weren’t horrible.” House, being himself of course, wouldn’t admit that he loved them.

You smiled to yourself, knowing House, that was probably the closest you were going to get to a compliment about your food. Because the tupperware was basically clean, you could tell he actually liked them. For House, his actions usually spoke louder than his words. Once the meat finished cooking, you added the potatoes and put the lid over the pot, the only thing left to do was to wait for the potatoes to soften. With a sigh of relief, you grabbed your cup of mango-strawberry flavored wine and hummed the tune that played softly in the kitchen as you walked over to the couch to sit next to House. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, House spoke up.

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

You looked up from your magazine, “A date?”

House slowly nodded, “That’s what I said, yeah.”

You shrugged, “As long as you’re paying.” You chuckled and kept reading your magazine, you didn’t even take a moment to mull it over. House was a little surprised by your lack of hesitance, but it was overshadowed by his disappointment.

“Wait, really?” House asked but he didn’t seem thrilled by your willingness to go on a date with him.

“I mean, yeah? It’s free food. It’s not like you like me or anything so why would I pass that up?” You chuckled, “Unless you actually like me, in which case, I probably look like an asshole right now.” Your eyes widened and you put your magazine down. “You don’t like me do you?”

“No, it was a bet, which — thanks to you — I just lost.” He sighed and slouched into the couch.

“My bad,” You laughed, “How much did you bet on me saying no?”

“A hundred dollars.”

You almost spit out your wine, “You were that sure I’d say no??”

“I was, up until a moment ago.” House glanced at you as if you’d sabotaged him.

You patted his arm trying to calm his butthurt-self, a bright smile on your face, “Sorry House, Free food is hard to pass up.”

“Yeah, Milk the hot doctor of allllll his money, that’s your plan huh?” House looked up at the ceiling.

“Dunno about the ‘hot’ part but everything else is accurate,” You laughed, picking up your magazine again.

“Yeah, I’m not as hot as the burning food on the stove right now.” House stated. Your eyes widened as you hopped off the couch, setting the wine on the coffee table and running to the stove.

“You ass! You couldn’t just remind me like a normal person??”

He sipped on your glass of wine as you checked if the food was burnt, “I’m far from normal, I thought you’d’ve known that by now.” House chuckled.

“You shouldn’t drink when you’re on drugs y’know.” You snatched the cup from him as you sat back down, “You’ll end up doing some serious damage to your brain.”

“Like I can get any worse, It’s not like I’m dying.” He turned on the TV, the rom-com you two would watch together came on.

“Yeah it’d suck if you died,” You finished the cup of wine.

“Would it?” He asked as he glanced at your lips, wet from the wine.

“Yeah. Where else would I live?” You met his eyes.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Freeloader.”

“Hey-! I’m cooking and cleaning as payment, so not freeloading.” You nudged him with your elbow, playful smile on your face as you looked back at the TV.

Maybe Wilson was right. Maybe he did like you.

Just a bit though.

#house md #house x reader #house md x reader #greg house #greg house md #gregory house #wilson house md #hilson #malpractice md #greg house x reader #james wilson

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moutainrusing · 5 months ago

Text

rumour mill

See, Sirius was terrified out of his mind to confess his feelings for Remus. Even though it was definitely about time; he’d been talking James’s ear off for years at this point. In all fairness, James had been talking Sirius’s ear off about Lily for far longer than that, except as James smugly pointed out, and much to Sirius’s resentment, James had actually confessed to Lily.

This led to a wrestling match over who was the bravest. After around ten minutes, James captured Sirius’s arm between his legs and twisted it upwards until Sirius was yelling, “Fine! I give up, you win, now get off me!” (Mary had walked into the dorm looking for Peter, but with wide eyes and a traumatised expression, she’d backed out immediately, muttering about how they should lock the door. Honestly, it was just a typical brawl, some people genuinely had no guts.)

“Ha!” James cried victoriously. “I’m braver, I confessed to Lily, and you’re just a pathetic pining loser!” Jabbing Sirius in the stomach, he teased, “Zero. Guts.”

“I said get off,” Sirius grumbled petulantly, shoving James away just to collapse on top of him again. “I just can’t,” he whined miserably, tracing erratic patterns along the side of James’s body. Thinking of actually speaking to Remus about how whenever Sirius was within his vicinity, his heart lodged in his throat, would probably cause his heart to leap out of his throat, flailing around on the floor at Remus’s feet like a dying fish, gasping to swim in Remus’s bloodstream as if that were its only survival.

“Hey,” James gently took Sirius’s agitated hand between his own, caressing the skin until the shaking stopped. “You can, I know you can. You can do anything you put your mind to, Padfoot.”

Sirius grouched, “Don’t wanna put my mind to it.”

James squeezed his hand.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Fine, I do. And I know he likes me back. Well, I think he likes me back.”

James snorted, “He’s head over heels for you.”

Sirius blushed, but shrugged it off, “Not as much as I am for him.”

“Oh, it’s equal alright,” James nodded sagely. “S’why you’re perfect for each other.”

Sirius buried his head in James’s thigh, unable to respond. He had so many reasons for why he and Remus weren’t perfect for each other, but no matter what, James would always argue against them. If Sirius expressed any misgivings, James would brush them away, as if he were the wind carrying Sirius’s worry to the other side of the world, but even there, Sirius’s worry would still exist. James didn’t get it, and if Sirius conveyed his concerns, it would be a never-ending back and forth of how his concerns were meaningless, but they meant something to him, but they shouldn’t, but they did, and James would drive himself in spirals for not being able to help Sirius, but nothing could help Sirius, his worries just existed.

It wasn’t something to fix. They could be lessened, but they could never be fixed. They could be vented about, but then James would try to return a solution. What if Sirius just wanted to rant for no reason?

- - -

“Ooh, dorm hug!” Peter smiled as he entered, collapsing on the floor next to James. Wrapping an arm around him, he sighed, “I’m exhausted; Mary needed Divination help, but it involved so much searching in the library - we needed five books - and then it turned out the Divination was based on Astronomy, so we had to look through Astronomy books, and now tonight we have to climb all the way up to the tower in order to see the Hercules constellation, which is apparently going to predict our future for the next three years if we look at it through purple lenses. Oh, this homework is also due in two days, I wasn’t there in the lesson, and Mary didn’t even tell me until now!”

That was what Sirius meant by ranting for no reason. It wasn’t about finding a solution, it was just about ranting. But James didn’t know that, and as expected, Sirius looked up to see James opening his mouth to provide Peter with a solution—

“POTTER!” Lily burst through the door, pausing for a brief second to glance at the three of them all curled up on the floor. Sirius thought he saw her smile fondly, but it vanished the second she looked at James. “You,” she wrinkled her nose, “are supposed to be in detention right now. With me,” she added begrudgingly.

“Oh!” James leaped off the floor, causing Sirius and Peter to roll towards each other. In shared misery, they slumped into one another, Sirius giving Peter a commiserating pat on the shoulder for his Divination struggle.

“I am honoured to have you overseeing my detention, Prefect Evans!” James gushed, following Lily out of the dorm. “In fact, this is a reward rather than punishment, that I get to gaze upon your radiant face for a whole hour…”

“You’ll be writing lines, Potter.”

“While you watch me…”

Peter and Sirius burst into laughter. When they settled down, they were slumping again. Peter poked Sirius’s side, “You know why I’m moping, what about you?”

“Remus,” Sirius sighed.

“Ah,” Peter replied.

“Yeah. It’s just, what if something goes wrong? Sure, I want to date him, but I love being his friend; that’s everything to me. Plus, friendship is superior to romance, I don’t wanna fuck that up just for a snog. I love being in his presence and breathing in the same air as him and listening to his voice and his thoughts and staring at him. I need his friendship, I want to date him. There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Yeah,” Peter patted his shoulder. “I know.”

Sirius smiled. “I know you know.”

Sirius kept talking, and Peter listened. Peter began talking, and Sirius listened. They didn’t go to each other for help, but for this.

- - -

Tossing and turning in bed, Sirius felt his thoughts fluctuating back and forth too, his brain flipping in his skull like a pancake, flopping and rising, pulling this way and that, should he do this or should he do that?

“Paddy foot,” James sang, climbing into bed beside him. “Padfoot, madfoot, sadfoot, radfoot—”

“Shut up, forkhead,” Sirius swatted him. His eyes glinted in the dark, and in an exaggerated accent he sang, “Forkhead, fockhead, fuckhead—”

James gasped, “Language!”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“You shut the… frick up,” James retorted. Sirius snorted, and James muttered, “Swearing’s bad, okay?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow while James flushed. “Anyway,” he tried to change the subject. “Oh, yeah! You were being really noisy, flapping around on your bed like some kinda whale, mate.”

“I’m not a whale,” Sirius protested.

“Aw, it’s okay, my great big humpback,” James cooed. Sirius shot him a withering look, which also read as, what the fuck? James ignored him, continuing, “So now you’re fine with being a whale, what else is up?”

“Think I’ll confess to Remus,” Sirius whispered.

James lit up with excitement immediately, throwing his arms around Sirius. “That’s amazing,” he mumbled into Sirius’s shoulder, grin stretched across his face and pressing into Sirius’s skin as if permanently imprinting itself there.

- - -

“Okay,” Sirius clapped his hands. “This is the plan. While Remus is in the library, I’ll stand up on a table and yell, ‘I’M IN LOVE WITH REMUS,’ to everyone in the Great Hall. Then, the gossiping will start until it spreads to Remus, and he’ll know I’m in love with him! It’s flawless.”

“Er—” Peter shrugged. “Sure.”

“It’s so romantic,” James swooned. “He’ll come up to the dorm for clarification and you can be there holding his favourite chocolate while you tell him all the rumours were true, it’s adorable,” James squealed.

“Right?” Sirius agreed, jumping up and down next to James. It also meant that he didn’t have to admit it directly to Remus’s face - he could ease himself into it. First, rumours. Then, the truth. It would also ease Remus into it, make Remus’s perpetually overthinking brain more open to the idea that Sirius actually liked him back. First, rumours. Then, the truth.

- - -

“I’M IN LOVE WITH REMUS!” Sirius yelled from the top of a table. The whole hall froze for a second, before the chattering increased by tenfold.

Sirius felt goosebumps break over his skin, wobbling slightly as the nerves took hold of him again, but he maintained his position, standing atop a table with his chin jutting out, ruler of the whole rumour mill.

“Sirius Black!” McGonagall’s shrewd voice cut through the crowd. “Get off the table!”

He saluted her lazily, then nodded at James. “JIMMY BOY!” He took a running leap at him, landing wrapped around James’s body. Kissing his cheek, Sirius dramatically gushed, “Thank you, my dear saviour.”

James rolled his eyes while Peter laughed, and a few students looked at them curiously, muttering to their friends.

- - -

“Oh, chocolate,” Remus smiled as he entered the dorm, accepting the gift from Sirius’s outstretched hand. “Thanks, Pads.”

Sirius hesitated, “…No problem, Moons.”

Remus eyed him strangely, before addressing the whole dorm, “Are James and Peter here?” Upon hearing their names, the two opened the curtains around their beds.

“Yeah…?” James looked between Sirius and Remus. Peter and James had wanted to give them privacy for whatever confession they’d need to make, so why was Remus asking for all of them?

Grinning, Remus flopped onto his bed and sat up with gesticulating hands, “So, I was in the library, as usual, but then people were coming up to me asking if we’re all in a polycule? It’s pretty funny, they think ‘cause we’re so touchy, we’re now in a relationship?” he laughed. “Oh, and apparently we gaze at each other lovingly all the time,” Remus snorted. “We’re just the epitome of platonic love, so much that it’s borderline romantic.”

Sirius coughed, “I—”

“What—”

“That makes sense,” Peter agreed.

They looked at Peter incredulously. He raised his hands in defence, “I just agree to everything, okay?!”

James sighed, “Yes, and we love you for it.” He paused. “Oh… we do say ‘I love you’ quite a lot, don’t we?”

“Oh, yeah…” Sirius realised.

“Well, apparently we’re so madly in love with each other, the whole school knows. A couple Hufflepuffs were discussing the ways in which we shag while McGonagall was walking past, and y’know her usual no-nonsense, unreadable expression? I saw it crack,” Remus shook his head as if all was lost, his laugh almost sounding like a sob. “I had to shake my head at her like, no, of course that’s not true, and I can’t believe they’re discussing our sex lives!” he complained, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“It’s okay, Moony,” James clambered into the bed, Peter and Sirius following as they wrapped their arms around him.

“Yeah, some people still know the truth about your non-existent sex life, don’t worry,” Sirius reassured him.

“Like you can talk,” Remus swatted him pathetically.

“You know,” Peter hummed thoughtfully, “really, this calls for a celebration.”

“What?” Remus whipped his head towards him. “You want to celebrate the fact that people think we’re fucking?”

“Language,” James muttered hopelessly.

Peter hesitated, “I mean, if you want to celebrate that—”

“Pete,” Sirius whacked the back of his head. “You don’t need to agree to that, no one wants you to agree to that.”

“Oh, good,” Peter sighed. “No, Remus, of course we’re not celebrating that, you dumbarse.”

“Harsh,” Remus mumbled, while James carried on moping over the misuse of language.

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh, sorry—”

“Get on with it, Wormtail!” Sirius interrupted.

“Right, yeah,” Peter nodded, “what I mean is, we should celebrate this new stage in our friendship!”

“That’s brilliant!” James cried, turning to Peter with large, adoring eyes. It did look like he was about to kiss him.

Sirius snapped his fingers, “What was it you said, Moony? We’re so platonic that we’re borderline romantic?”

Remus grinned at him, love written all over his face, “Yeah. Let’s celebrate that.”

“What if we were actually romantic?” Sirius pondered.

“Then the rumours would be true,” Remus shrugged, leaning into Sirius as Sirius leaned into James and James leaned into Peter and Peter leaned into Remus.

Sirius buried his face into Remus’s hair. He could make their relationship romantic later. Right now, the Marauders were everything already.

“So,” Sirius turned his head out of Remus’s curls to rest his cheek there instead. “How’re we gonna celebrate?”

The mischief alight in all of their eyes as the four of them grinned at each other was identical.

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darkeralmond · 2 years ago

Note

Do you write smut for conrad fisher? If you do can you do a jealous conrad x reader? thank you!!

i do now! thank you so much for requesting ILY anon ❤️❤️

WANNA BE YOURS

Conrad Fisher x fem! Reader

summary: You and Conrad were at a party for Belly’s birthday hosted by Nicole. You were stranded by Conrad and notice a guy alone on the couch. You decide to be friendly and talk to him before dancing with him. Conrad and you get into an argument over this until you say the thing he’s been waiting to hear.

warnings: 18+, smut, angry Connie, car sex, penetration, she/her pronouns, arguing, vulgar language, Conrad calling you “good girl”, dirty talk

word count: 1.9k

a/n: connie is a popular guy in my request board 😭, not complaining tho i love him!! thank you again for the request!! P.S. I LOVE ARTIC MONKEYS AND PAXTON H-Y!!!

masterlist | request info

The music was loud in your ears as you entered the crowded living room. Conrad had left you alone to go find out where Steven was, but all the people in one space triggered your claustrophobia.

You looked over and saw a guy sitting by himself on the couch with a look of defeat on his face. There were people dancing all around him while he chugged whatever substance he had in his red solo cup. Usually, you don’t feel sympathy for strangers, but something about this guy made your heart wrench.

You approached him. “You alright?” Sure, it’s weird when a stranger asks others how they’re feeling, but some people need to vent to someone they don’t know.

He looked up at you with red eyes, you couldn’t tell if he was high or if he had been crying. He sniffled, “Yeah, uh, I caught my girl cheating on me with my homeboy upstairs.”

Shit. “Oh,” you replied.

You sat down next to him while he explained, “It’s chill. She was a bitch anyway.” He brought his cart up to his lips and took a hit. He was high. “You wanna hit?” He offered it to you.

You shook your head, “I’m straight edge.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “The fuck is straight edge?”

You laughed at his reaction. It was the same one every person had when you told them the same answer. “That means I chose to stay sober.” Your thought process was by staying sober, it helped you avoid all the drama that starts when you’re black out drunk. Drunk confessions, drunk fighting, the list goes on. “It just helps me stay out of trouble.”

He exhaled smoke from his lips and nose. “Ohhhh,” he laughed. “Respect.”

“Yeah,” you giggled. You then looked out at everyone dancing and having a good time. “Why don’t we dance?”

He smiled, “Sure.” The two of you got up from the couch and went to the middle of the living room. The Motto by Drake and Lil Wayne played over the speaker, the bass shaking the whole house. Due to all the people crammed in one room, you and the mystery guy danced fairly close to each other. “Hey, what’s your name?” he yelled over the music.

“Y/N!” you shouted back. “What’s yours?”

“Noah!” Noah yelled. You nodded your head while smiling. The two of you danced while screaming the lyrics to the song. “You’re really cool, Y/N! I think we’d make great friends!”

“What do you mean? You’re stuck with me now!” You and him laughed. That’s when you spotted someone familiar pushing through the crowd. It was your boyfriend finally coming back from his search. “Conrad, hey!” You waved. “Did you find Steven?”

He completely ignored your question, his eyes set on the guy who you were dancing with. “Get away from my girl.” He stepped in front of you.

“Woah, man. We weren’t doing anything.” Noah held up his hands defensively.

“Conrad, stop!” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s fine! We’re just chilling.”

He scoffed in response, “I recommend staying away from Y/N. We’re going home.”

“Conrad-”

“We’re going home.” He cut in.

He sounded pissed, it made your guy twist as you looked back at Noah. “Sorry about him,” you said with a frown on your face.

“Don’t stress about it, maybe I’ll see you around.” He waved bye as you got dragged out of the house by Conrad.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you yelled as the two of you left the house. “Am I not allowed to make friends now? Why don’t you ever trust me?”

He rolled his eyes, “I trust you! I just don’t trust that guy!”

You yelled, “You don’t even know him!”

“Neither do you! You don’t know what his intentions were, Y/N!” His eyes were wide with anger as he looked into yours, the veins in his neck strained. “Get in the car.” The car beeped as he unlocked the doors.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone, so you just did as he said and got in the passenger’s seat. You folded your arms over your chest and stared out the window. He got in the driver’s seat next to you and started the car before putting it into drive mode. “Just so you know, his girlfriend cheated on him and he was by himself,” you mumbled while pouting.

“Y/N,” he said. This gave you a glimpse of hope that he’d finally listen to you, but he then followed it up by, “I don’t fucking care.”

You rolled your eyes and frowned, shaking your head. “You’re a fucking child.” He didn’t say anything, he just kept driving.

The radio quietly played music, the air was tense as you refused to look at him. He stopped the car at a red light. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he finally spoke up. “I get really insecure, babe, and I just want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

You looked over at him, your expression softened as you said, “Connie, I’m yours.” You placed your hand over his that draped over the shift stick.

He glanced over at you and saw your innocent expression. You knew something instantly changed in him as you noticed his demeanor swiftly change. “Say that again,” he breathed.

Now it clicked. It turned him on to know that you and your body was for him and him only. You batted your lashes and smiled deviously. “I’m all yours, Connie,” you teased.

He stared at you longer, his breath slightly hitched. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. When the light turned green, he took a turn that was the opposite way of both your guys’ homes.

“Conrad?” you said, concern present in your voice. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling the car over so we can fuck.” Butterflies swarmed in your stomach due to the assertiveness in his voice. He pulled the car over close to the beach where there were no lights except for the car’s headlights. “You fine with that?”

You nodded your head, “Y-Yeah.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and look up at him. Conrad’s hand reached up to the side of your neck and connected his lips with yours.

He was hungry for your kiss touch. He was desperate for his hands to be all over your delicate body. He pushed into you, his tongue slowly licking the seam of your mouth, which led to a more forceful kiss. He gripped the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer.

You broke away and smirked. The anger from the argument earlier melted into lust. He slightly leaned the seat back as you climbed over the center console. You rested on his lap, your legs straddling him. He moaned as you kissed along his jaw line, then his chin before leaning down to his neck and sucking on it.

His fingers dug into your hips and pulled you closer, making sure you could feel his hardening erection against your lower body. “My… job is to make you… mhm… feel good,” he said between moans.

You pulled away, “What? I’m not allowed to be in control?” This won a chuckle out of him. “I’m kidding, go ahead. I already said I’m yours.”

He ran his fingers through your hair while biting his bottom lip. “That’s my good girl,” he husked before locking his lips to your neck.

Your back arched off his lap as he sucked harshly on your pulse point, your breathing became heavy and erratic.

Your hands found their way onto his hair as he continued working his way down your neck. You couldn’t tell who was taking control anymore; the two of you were too busy focusing completely on each other. Your body began reacting.

One of his hands came up to your hip, gripping tightly as another hand traveled to your breast. Both of his hands were touching the fabric of your shirt and caressing the skin underneath. A gasp escaped your lips as your hand found its way to his crotch. Your fingers brushed against his sensitive member, eliciting a moan out of him.

‘You like that, huh?’ you thought to yourself.

He suddenly let go of your breasts and grabbed your face gently with his hands, pulling your lips forcefully to his own. He kissed fiercely, his tongue slipping inside your mouth. He bit your lip causing you to moan, his hands moving from your face down to your ass. He started grinding against you roughly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body.

A loud moan fell from your lips as you bit your bottom lip. “Connie, just fuck me already,” you pleaded. “Stop edging!”

He chuckled, “You’re still on the pill, right?” You nodded your head eagerly. “Good.” He reached down to his pants which caused you to back up slightly. He unzipped the zipper and pulled down his boxers slightly to reveal his erection. You got up on your knees so you could pull your panties, that were soaked, off. He helped lift your skirt up and slip your panties down your thighs. Once they were off, he threw them to the car floor on the passenger’s side.

Slowly, he inserted himself in you. A gasp escaped out from you while Conrad groaned from the feeling of your warm walls. His thrusting was slow at a steady pace, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter by the second. He placed one hand on your thigh as his free hand gripped your ass. Your breathing grew shallow as the pressure building in your body increased.

“Oh god,” you whimpered. “Please! Connie, I need you so bad!”

He continued to work his way into you until he slammed his pelvis against yours causing him to let out a loud grunt. He rasped, “You take me so well.”

As you continued to grind against him, he let out an animalistic growl. “God, Y/N, please,” he panted. You continued to grind against him, he was close, you knew it. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sounds that were begging to fall from your throat.

His grip on your leg tightened, causing you to cry out as a wave of pleasure that rocked through your whole body. “Connie,” you whined. “Cum for me, baby, cum inside me!”

He pounded faster and harder. You felt your walls tighten around him, squeezing his erection. As he came, you let out the loudest scream anyone has ever heard from you. You clamped your eyes shut and squeezed your thighs around his waist even harder to keep him in you.

After a few seconds you managed to open your eyes. You looked down at him and could see his face twisted in ecstasy, sweat drenched over his forehead. You felt something hot pool in the pit of your stomach. You leaned down to kiss him again before getting off him. You reached for your panties and slid them back on. “You feel better now?”

He nodded his head as he caught his breath. Both your faces were flushed red from the heat of the orgasm. After recovering from his orgasm, he smiled softly. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer to him once more, placing his lips on yours. “We should head back. It’s almost midnight. And I wanna have some fun with you somewhere more comfortable”

You giggled and kissed his cheek.

#conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher smut #tsitp conrad #tsitp x reader #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty

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