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darksturnz · 10 days ago

Text

SNOWED IN

CONTENTS:・smut-heavy plot ・shypervy!matt ・pillow riding・unprotected p in v ・oral (m! & afab! receiving)・creampie ・fluff :3 + more WC: 5.1k

The blizzard outside was relentless, the kind that swallowed the streets of Boston in a suffocating white blanket and made the idea of stepping outdoors laughable. The windows of the apartment were fogged over, and every now and then the wind would whistle against the panes like it was testing the limits of the glass. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that trailed onto the floor, flipping through the channels with little interest.

Behind you, Matt stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He had that slightly disheveled look about him, like he’d rolled out of bed without fully shaking off sleep—messy hair, hoodie wrinkled, socks mismatched. You didn’t mind. Matt was always a little like that: casual, a bit quiet, but solid and easy to be around.

“You know, I feel like we should be doing something,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Something like what?” he asked, his voice soft but curious.

“I don’t know. It’s a snow day! Aren’t snow days supposed to be fun?”

He took a sip of his coffee, giving you a small, lopsided smile. “They’re also for staying inside and not freezing to death. I think we’ve got that part down.”

You sighed dramatically, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “Come on, Matt. Live a little. We’ve been roommates for, what, three years? This is like our… fifth snowstorm together. We’ve gotta mix it up.”

“Mix it up how?”

You sat up, turning to face him with a spark of determination. “We could have a movie marathon. Or play a game. Or—wait, hear me out—we could build a pillow fort.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “A pillow fort? Aren’t we a little old for that?”

“Never.” You grinned at him, sliding off the couch and padding over to where he stood. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to. You’re just scared you’ll get out-engineered by me.”

Matt scoffed lightly, but his ears turned pink, something you didn’t notice as you rummaged through the hallway closet for extra pillows.

“Okay,” he said finally, setting his mug down and rubbing the back of his neck. “But don’t blame me if this thing collapses.”

“It won’t collapse if you do what I say.” You shot him a playful wink, which only made the flush on his cheeks deepen.

The two of you got to work, pulling cushions off the couch and draping blankets over chairs to form the roof. Matt quietly followed your lead, handing you supplies and occasionally mumbling things like, “That’s not gonna hold,” or “You’re gonna need more support there.”

At one point, you stood on the coffee table to adjust a blanket, and Matt reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your back like he was afraid you might fall.

“Careful,” he said softly.

“I’m fine, Dad,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

His hand dropped, and he turned away, pretending to busy himself with straightening a pillow, though the faint redness creeping up his neck gave him away.

When the fort was finally done, it was a masterpiece—cozy and lopsided, with string lights you’d fished out of a storage box giving it a warm glow. You crawled inside first, sitting cross-legged on the floor and patting the space next to you.

“Come on, it’s not a real fort until you’re inside and it manages to stay up.”

He hesitated for a second, then ducked under the blanket and sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours in the cramped space.

“See? Isn’t this better than nothing?” you said, looking over at him with a smile.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “It is.”

You handed him a bag of popcorn, your fingers grazing his, and he froze for just a moment before quickly taking it, his eyes fixed firmly on the string lights above.

The two of you spent the evening talking and laughing, the snowstorm forgotten as you swapped stories and debated over which childhood cartoons were the best. Every so often, Matt would glance at you out of the corner of his eye, his heart thudding a little harder when you laughed or smiled at him like he was the only person in the room, which he was but that’s besides the point.

Eventually, though, exhaustion started to creep in. You yawned, stretching your arms overhead.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you said, crawling out of the fort and standing up.

Matt followed you out, watching as you gathered the blanket you’d been using earlier. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice soft.

“Goodnight, Matt,” you replied, giving him a little wave as you disappeared down the hall.

He lingered in the living room for a moment, staring at the now-empty fort before heading towards the bathroom for a shower.

As you settled into bed, wrapping yourself in the familiar weight of your blankets, you heard it: the faint hum of the shower turning on down the hall. The steady rush of water filtered through the quiet apartment, a soothing yet distant sound that seemed to amplify the stillness of your room. You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the sound wash over you like white noise.

But the second your head hit the pillow, the restlessness crept in.

You sighed softly, rolling onto your side, then your back again, punching the pillow as if fluffing it would trick your body into cooperating. But it was no use. Insomnia—your unwelcome, all-too-familiar companion—was already settling in. This was how it went most nights, the routine so predictable it almost felt like a cruel joke.

The weight of exhaustion was there, heavy in your limbs, but your mind refused to follow. Thoughts you couldn’t quite name flitted just out of reach, intangible but persistent, keeping you from slipping into the oblivion of sleep.

Another sigh escaped your lips, quieter this time, like you were trying not to disturb the silence. You could still hear the water running, muffled now, but constant. Matt was probably rinsing away the day, oblivious to the small storm brewing in your head. You wondered absently how he always seemed so calm, so unbothered by the little things that left you tangled up and wide awake.

You rolled onto your side again, clutching the blankets a little tighter, hoping the rhythmic hum of the shower might somehow lull you to sleep. But it wasn’t working. If anything, it was having the opposite effect. Your mind wandered, unbidden, to the thought of Matt in the shower—steam rising, water trailing down his skin—and suddenly, your cheeks burned with a heat that had nothing to do with the blankets wrapped around you.

It was no secret, at least not to yourself, that Matt was incredibly attractive. Add to that his quiet sweetness, his unshakable respectfulness, and it was a combination that left your head spinning more often than you’d care to admit. It wasn’t just you, either—your mutual friends seemed baffled that the two of you had managed to live together for years without any “accidents” during late nights out. But then again, Matt was Matt. Respectful to a fault, impossibly shy, and so unaware of the effect he had on people—especially you—that it almost made you laugh.

Almost. Because right now, the thought of him was doing anything but making you laugh.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that might somehow chase away the thoughts swarming your mind. But it didn’t help. The image of Matt—droplets clinging to his collarbone—lingered stubbornly. You shifted restlessly, the blankets suddenly too warm, your heart beating just a little faster than it should.

This is ridiculous, you told yourself, burying your face into the pillow. He’s your roommate. He probably doesn’t even think about you like that.

And yet, some part of you couldn’t ignore the moments. The tiny, fleeting glances. The way he always seemed a little nervous when he stood too close. The way his ears turned red whenever you teased him, like he wasn’t used to being the center of someone’s attention.

You groaned softly, flipping onto your back and staring at the ceiling as if it held some sort of answer. The truth was, you’d been toeing the line with Matt for so long that even thinking about crossing it felt dangerous. But tonight, with the sound of the shower still running and your mind painting pictures you shouldn’t be entertaining, the line felt thinner than ever.

The water finally shut off, breaking through your thoughts. You held your breath, listening as the faint rustle of movement came from the bathroom—Matt grabbing a towel, maybe shaking out his hair. Your cheeks burned again at how vivid your imagination had become, and you pulled the blanket over your face like it might shield you from your own embarrassment.

Moments later, you heard his footsteps padding softly down the hallway. He paused outside your door, long enough that you wondered if he might knock. But instead, he moved on, his door creaking open before clicking softly shut.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the apartment quiet once more. But now, sleep felt even further away, your heart racing with the knowledge that Matt was just down the hall, freshly showered and unaware of the effect he had on you.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, rolling over for what felt like the hundredth time. But as you closed your eyes, his face was still there, vivid and unshakable, lingering in the quiet of the night.

Your body betrayed you completely, heat spreading across your skin as the thoughts grew harder to push away. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest, the rhythm almost deafening in the stillness of your room. It wasn’t just your cheeks burning anymore—your entire body felt warmer, the blankets suddenly suffocating as you kicked them off in frustration.

Your breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as if even the thought of him—his damp hair, the curve of his jaw, the way he’d probably look utterly at ease in the privacy of the bathroom—was too much to process. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, trying to quell the restless energy pooling in your stomach, but it only seemed to make it worse.

Your hands clenched at the sheets, gripping them tightly as you stared up at the ceiling, willing yourself to think about anything else. But it was impossible. Every time you tried to distract yourself, your mind circled back to him, to the sound of the shower and the way you imagined droplets clinging to his skin, how he’d towel his hair dry in that effortless, boyish way of his.

Another frustrated sigh escaped your lips, and you turned onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillow. Your body refused to settle, every nerve ending feeling far too aware, far too alive. You hated how easily he got to you, how the mere idea of him could make your body react like this, even when you knew it was pointless to dwell on it.

Still, the thoughts lingered, stubborn and insistent, leaving you flushed and restless in the dark. You lay there for a moment longer, the ache between your legs growing stronger with each passing minute. The image of Matt fresh from the shower was seared into your mind. His scent, cedar wood and vanilla, seemed to linger in the air, taunting you with its closeness.

Unable to bear the torment any longer, you quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound. Your heart raced as you tiptoed towards your closet, retrieving your old pillow - one you'd secretly come to associate with these forbidden fantasies.

Returning to your bed, you positioned the pillow just so, imagining it was Matt beneath you. Slowly, you straddled it, biting your lip to stifle a moan as you began to grind against the soft surface.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you rode the pillow with increasing fervor, lost in the fantasy of Matt's strong hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. In your mind's eye, his piercing blue gaze locked with yours, filled with equal parts desire and restraint.

"Fuck," you whispered, the word escaping through clenched teeth as the pressure built within you. The fabric of your thin cotton panties grew damp, adding to the delicious friction against your most sensitive places.

Meanwhile, just outside your bedroom door, Matt stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. He had been about to knock on your door, to check if you needed anything before he seriously drifted off to sleep, your insomnia was always something he tried to find little tips and tricks on google to help you with it. But then he heard it - a soft, needy whimper that sent shivers down his spine.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he leaned closer to the door, straining to hear more. And then he heard it again, unmistakable this time: "Matt." Your voice, breathy and laden with desire, calling out his name.

Unable to resist, he slowly turned the knob, cracking open the door just enough to peer inside. The sight that greeted him nearly brought him to his knees. There you were, riding a pillow with wild abandon, your face contorted in pleasure as you chased your release.

Matt's mouth went dry as he watched you, transfixed by the erotic display before him. His cock twitched in his sweatpants, already half-hard from the tantalizing sounds spilling from your lips. He knew he should look away, give you privacy, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the mesmerizing sight of your hips undulating against the pillow.

Unconsciously, one hand drifted to his crotch, palming himself through the thin fabric. A low groan escaped him as he imagined it was his body you were grinding against, his name you were moaning so sweetly. Lost in the fantasy, he began to stroke himself in earnest, his breathing growing heavier with each pass of his hand.

As you continued to ride the pillow, lost in your own world of pleasure, Matt watched with bated breath. His hand moved faster over his now fully erect cock, the wet sounds of your arousal mingling obscenely with his own harsh pants. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to maintain his silence, desperate not to alert you to his presence.

As your climax approached, your movements became more frantic, more urgent. Your fingers dug into the pillow, anchoring yourself as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. "Matt!" you cried out, his name a prayer on your lips as you shattered completely.

At the same moment, Matt felt his own orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in his gut. With a final, strangled groan, he spilled into his hand, his vision going white as intense pleasure consumed him. For a long moment, he remained rooted to the spot, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Then reality came crashing back in. What the hell had he done? Guilt and shame washed over him as he realized the depths of his betrayal. You trusted him, and here he was, spying on you in such an intimate moment, using you for his own twisted gratification.

As the last tremors of your climax faded, you slowly opened your eyes, feeling deliciously spent and satisfied. It was only then that you noticed the faint crack of light seeping in from the slightly ajar bedroom door, illuminating the shadowy figure standing just beyond the threshold.

Your gaze snapped up, locking with Matt's wide, guilty eyes. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he had just run a marathon. And there, plain as day, was the unmistakable wet patch darkening the front of his sweatpants, the outline of his still-prominent erection clearly visible.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both stunned into silence by the weight of the revelation. Then, as if in slow motion, Matt's hands emerged from his waistband, his face twisting with a mixture of shame and residual lust. "I..."

"I'm sorry," Matt managed to choke out, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, unable to find the words to express the depth of his regret and self-loathing.

He took a step back, ready to flee, to escape the condemning judgment he expected to see in your eyes. But something stopped him - perhaps it was the way you looked at him, not with anger or disgust, but with a hunger that mirrored his own.

"I saw you," he whispered, his gaze dropping to the pillow still clutched between your thighs. "I heard you saying my name, and I... I couldn't stop myself." His hand drifted back to his crotch, cupping himself almost involuntarily. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Your breath caught in your throat at Matt's raw confession, desire warring with trepidation in your chest. This was dangerous territory, crossing lines that could never be uncrossed. Yet the aching need pulsing between your legs urged you forward, drowning out the voice of reason.

Slowly, deliberately, you sat up, letting the pillow fall away as you met Matt's heated gaze. "Show me," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Show me what I do to you."

Matt swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, pushing them down just enough to free his straining erection. It sprang forth, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

Your pulse raced as you drank in the sight of Matt's impressive length, your cunt clenching around nothing with renewed desire. Part of you wanted to reach out, to touch, to taste, but you held yourself back, waiting to see how far he would take this forbidden game.

Matt's hand wrapped around his shaft, giving it a slow pump from base to tip. A shudder ran through him at the contact, his head falling back as he let out a low moan. "Fuck, y/n," he panted, his voice strained with need. "The things I want to do to you..."

His hand moved faster, stroking himself with purposeful intent. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with his harsh breaths and bitten-off curses.

Emboldened by Matt's brazen display, you rose from the bed on trembling legs, closing the distance between you with deliberate slowness. His eyes widened as you drew near, his hand faltering in its rhythm as he took in your small frame, your old band t-shirt brushing against your bare thighs and your face flushed and glistening with sweat.

"Touch me," you demanded softly, guiding his free hand under your shirt and to your breast. "I want to feel you."

Matt obliged eagerly, his calloused palm molding to the supple flesh, thumb grazing over the pebbled peak. Electricity zipped through your veins at the contact, stoking the fire burning low in your belly.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out, wrapping slender fingers around his throbbing cock. Matt groaned gutturally, his hips bucking into your grip as you began to stroke him in tandem with his own movements.

Lost in a haze of lust, Matt surrendered to the exquisite sensations assaulting his senses. Your soft hand on his aching cock, the press of your pert breast against his palm, the intoxicating scent of your arousal filling his nostrils - it was almost too much to bear.

With a growl, he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His hungry gaze raked over your naked form, drinking in every dip and curve like a man starved. "So fucking beautiful," he rasped, reverent and awestruck.

Lowering his head, he captured one perky nipple between his lips, suckling greedily as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. Your answering moan spurred him on, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass, kneading the firm globe possessively.

Matt's demeanor shifted abruptly, his usual shyness melting away like snow under the summer sun. In its place was a raw, primal dominance that sent shivers racing down your spine.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice a deep, authoritative rumble. There was no room for argument, no trace of the hesitant boy you knew. This was a man who took what he wanted, and right now, he wanted you.

Obediently, you sank to the floor, your heart pounding in your ears as you gazed up at him through lowered lashes. Matt towered over you, his cock jutting proudly.

"Open your mouth," he growled, fisting a hand in your hair and guiding you closer.

Your lips parted automatically, a thrill of submission coursing through you at Matt's commanding tone. He wasted no time, feeding his thick length past your lips and onto your tongue, groaning at the slick heat enveloping him.

"Fuck, yes," he grunted, setting a punishing pace as he fucked your face with abandon. One hand remained tangled in your hair, holding you steady while the other braced against the wall behind you, his muscles flexing with each powerful thrust.

Saliva dripped down your chin as you struggled to accommodate his girth, your jaw aching with the strain. But the depravity of it all, the sheer wrongness of being used so roughly by your roommate and best friend, only heightened your arousal.

Your muffled moans vibrated around Matt's cock as he continued to use your mouth for his pleasure, his balls slapping against your chin with each brutal snap of his hips. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the intensity, but you didn't dare pull away, submitting wholly to his dominance.

"That's it, take it all," Matt snarled, his voice guttural and rough with lust. "Bein’ such a good girl f’me, aren't you?"

His filthy words sent liquid heat straight to your core, your neglected cunt clenching around emptiness for the umpteenth time tonight. You needed more, craved the feel of him stretching you open, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

As if sensing your desperation, Matt suddenly withdrew, leaving you gasping and bereft.

"Need you so fuckin' bad, been waitin' years for this shit, kid," Matt rasped, his voice dripping with pent-up hunger. Before you could even process his words, he had you lifted off your feet, strong hands gripping your thighs as he tossed you onto the bed like a ragdoll.

You bounced slightly on the mattress, the springs creaking under your combined weight. Matt was on you in an instant, pinning you beneath his larger frame as he forced your legs apart, exposing your dripping sex to his ravenous gaze.

"Christ," he panted, his eyes dark with lust. "fuckin’ dripping baby, look at that, already making such a mess on your bed and i’ve yet to touch you."

Matt wasted no time burying his face between your thighs, his tongue delving deep into your soaked folds without preamble. “Matt! oh-“ You cried out sharply at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as he lapped at your essence like a man possessed.

"Mmmph, so sweet," he mumbled against your flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward. His nose nudged your swollen clit, inhaling deeply as if savoring your unique musk. "Could eat this pretty pussy all day long."

Two thick fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your fluttering hole, pumping in and out at a relentless pace. They curled just so, rubbing mercilessly against that sweet spot inside you, coaxing you towards the edge with ruthless efficiency.

"Oh god, Matt!" you keened, your voice high and breathy with need. Your fingers scrabbled desperately at the sheets beneath you, seeking stability as the intense pleasure threatened to consume you whole. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

Your hips bucked wildly, grinding shamelessly against his talented mouth as he worked you over with single-minded focus. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your sopping cunt filled the room, mingling with your wanton moans and his guttural groans of satisfaction.

It was filthy, debauched, everything you'd ever fantasized about late at night when you were alone with nothing but your imagination and your trusty vibrator for company.

Matt's tongue swirled around your throbbing clit, flicking rapidly over the sensitive bundle of nerves until you saw stars. His fingers never ceased their relentless assault, curling and twisting inside you, stroking along your inner walls with practiced precision.

"M’gonna...gonna come!" you sobbed, teetering on the razor's edge of ecstasy. Every muscle in your body pulled taut, quivering with the force of your impending release. "oh my god"

With a triumphant growl, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his fingers pistoning furiously. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the precipice, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave of pure bliss.

As the aftershocks of your climax rippled through you, Matt shifted his position, moving to hover over your trembling form. You could feel the blunt head of his cock nudging insistently at your entrance, smearing the copious juices seeping from your tight hole.

A small puddle of your combined fluids had formed beneath you, staining the sheets with irrefutable evidence of your mutual desire. The musky scent of sex hung heavy in the air.

Matt groaned low in his throat as he rubbed the swollen tip of his cock through your slick folds, coating himself liberally in your essence. The drag of his thick shaft against your sensitive flesh drew another desperate whimper from your lips, your hips canting upwards in silent invitation.

"You're so fuckin' wet for me," he rasped, his voice rough with barely restrained lust. "Bet this tight little cunt is just dyin' to be stretched wide on my cock, isn't she?"

"Yes, please," you breathed, your voice hoarse from screaming his name mere moments ago. " need you inside me, been wanting this for so long..."

Your hands roamed restlessly over his broad shoulders and back, mapping the planes of his muscular body. You could feel the tension thrumming through him, the barely leashed control he was exerting over himself.

"Please, Matt," you whimpered again, wrapping your legs around his waist and locking your ankles at the small of his back. "Don't make me beg."

“As much as I’d love to hear that shit,” he huffs out and with a guttural moan, Matt surged forward, bottoming out in one powerful thrust. Your velvety walls clenched greedily around him, drawing him deeper into your welcoming heat.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he panted, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he fought to maintain some semblance of restraint. "So tight, so perfect. Like you were made just for me."

He began to move then, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in with bruising force. Each snap of his hips drove you further up the bed, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall in a lewd counterpoint to the obscene squelch of his cock plundering your sopping wet cunt.

The pressure built steadily within you, coiling tighter and tighter with each punishing thrust. Your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red welts in their wake as you clung to him desperately, urging him deeper still.

"Harder-please," you demanded breathlessly, tilting your hips to meet his increasingly erratic strokes. "wanna feel you for days."

Your plea seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his control. With a feral snarl, Matt flipped you over onto your stomach, hauling your ass up into the air. He kicked your legs apart with his knee, opening you up completely to his hungry gaze.

"Gonna ruin this sweet little cunt," he promised darkly, delivering a sharp smack to your upturned rear. "Fill you up 'til you're leakin' with my cum."

"Yes, yes, fuck!" you chanted deliriously, pushing back against him with wild abandon. Each brutal thrust sent sparks of pleasure-pain racing up your spine, stoking the inferno building in your core.

The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely throughout the room, punctuated by your loud cries and his grunts. Sweat dripped down his brow, plastering stray locks of hair to his forehead as he rutted into you like a madman.

"M’close," he bit out through clenched teeth, his movements growing increasingly erratic. "Come with me, baby. Wanna feel this tight pussy milking me dry."

With a strangled cry, you came undone, your release crashing over you like a tsunami. Your walls clamped down vice-like around his pistoning length, rippling along every inch as you rode out the waves of ecstasy.

The sensation proved too much for Matt. With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside your cunt. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, marking you irrevocably as his.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, simply basking in the afterglow as you struggled to catch your breath. Finally, Matt rolled to the side, gathering you close and tucking your head beneath his chin.

"That was...fuck," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your sweat-damp temple. "Best damn snow day of my life."

The two of you lay tangled together, limbs intertwined as you slowly drifted back to reality. The world outside continued to rage, wind howling and snow piling up, but here in the cocoon of Matt's arms, all was warm and peaceful.

As your breathing evened out, you felt a strange sense of contentment wash over you. This was more than just a casual hookup born of opportunity and circumstance - there was a connection here, something real and profound.

Matt seemed to sense it too. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize your scent. "Let me stay tonight," he whispered, his voice soft and vulnerable but this time in a way you'd never heard before. "wanna hold you 'til morning."

A sleepy smile curved your lips as you nodded against his chest. "Stay," you mumbled, already feeling yourself slipping towards slumber. "Wanna wake up with you."

Matt pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his strong arms tightening around you possessively. "Sleep, sweetheart. I got you."

As consciousness faded away, you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so safe, so cherished. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new uncertainties - but for now, wrapped up in the warmth of Matt's embrace, everything was exactly as it should be.

And you could finally sleep.

AUTHORS NOTE: i’ve said it before but thank you guys again so so much for 200+ followers :,) i hope you enjoyed.

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1d1195 · 29 days ago

Text

The Lottery I

~3.7k words

From me: I thought I would close out 2024 with a mini-series. I'm hoping for shorter parts but I should be able to post on a regular basis (Mondays). You should see MANY similarities to my favorite show. I have been planning this one for over a year. I really hope you enjoy 💕

Warnings: angst (?) fluff

Summary: Small towns have the biggest romances and the best view of the moon.

“I don’t know how you ended up there,” Bailey shook her head.

“Bails,” she laughed. “I Googled it. It’s cute.”

The little town was adorably cute. The kind of place where the Christmas-hating CEO female lead in the movie would fall head over heels for the place in a month because of the small-town charm. It was about thirty minutes outside the city but with traffic it could take up to an hour. It was quaint. The exact kind of place she could envision her little dream.

“Your house is good?” Bailey asked. She nodded, flipping the camera to show her the little place she found to live in. Two stories. But the second floor was small. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a small room for storage. Maybe in the right light it could be a small office, but it would be better holding all her books. The bottom floor was open. Living room, dining area, and a kitchen. Down the hall was another bathroom and her bedroom. Right now, it was filled with boxes and no clear markers for any of the rooms. Her furniture was misplaced—the table in the living room, the TV on top of it, the couch was near the kitchen, and the lamps were atop the counters in the kitchen.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was home.

Moving in was second to her priorities. So the boxes would stay, her clothes haphazardly falling out of boxes, the iron on top of the island in the kitchen to get the wrinkles out of her blouses. “Neighbors are good?”

“I’ve only met Edith and David. They’re about sixty-five years old and hilarious. Edith is insistent on having tea by the end of the week and David wants to set me up with his grandson.”

“I can’t imagine you outside the city,” Bailey sounded wistful.

“It’ll be good for me to be away from all the big lights. I missed the stars... and the moon,” her voice was filled with fondness. Like the moon was her old friend she hadn’t seen in a while.

“We could see the moon in the city,” Bailey reminded her.

It wasn’t just the moon, it was the stars, and silence that the city never allowed. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“You know babe...” Bailey trailed off. “You look... happy.”

She was. Really happy. The kind of happiness that couldn’t be faked because she was supposed to be happy. The kind of happiness that would make anyone jealous. And why shouldn’t she be happy? She was young, basically fresh out of college, ready to start her own business, and do everything she wanted on her own.

“I am happy,” she nodded and looked at her best friend through FaceTime. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy. Try not to let them be too mean to me. I’m... I’m good,” she promised. “This is good.”

“You know,” Bailey grinned and shook her head. “I think you’re right.”

She wore her lucky dress—the one that she is certain got her a scholarship—and chose a pair of flats over heels because in her quick self-tour of the town she noted the brick sidewalks were likely to take out her ankle. She made sure every single strand of her hair wasn’t out of place. She wanted this to be a good impression. All her books and shows told her that small towns were lovely, but she was an outsider. It was possible that they wouldn’t love a newcomer and so she didn’t want to make it seem like she was changing everything.

But since it was her first night in her new home, there was nothing to eat. Nor to cook with even if she wanted to. Maybe if she had a loaf of bread, she could find her toaster in one of the boxes. Moving on her own was tough but she was proud of herself. Another check she could mark on her to-do list.

Her first order of business was securing her business. However, that couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. She locked the door to the little home she now owned. The trim needed a coat of paint, and she desperately needed to buy a lawn mower. Some of the windows needed to be replaced. She tried opening one of them and nearly threw her back out. The bushes in front of the little porch needed to be trimmed or taken out altogether.

But it was home, and it was lovely. She was excited to do it on her own. It made her feel proud.

Her family was far away. Honestly, it was for the best. They thought it was a terrible idea for her to move, maybe because they couldn’t depend on her any longer. If she thought too long about it, she got upset. But this was good. She was doing what her grandma believed she could do. What her grandpa wanted her to do.

With a family far away, her place was filled with boxes. Hardly anything was unpacked. It was a miracle she found her lucky dress but perhaps that was why it was so lucky. With the distance between them, it was easier to ignore the group chat. Easier to not feel obligated to help her family.

They’re adults, honey. They’ll figure it out.

She hoped her grandma was right.

Her friends were still in the city. Completely shocked she left the hustle and bustle for a small-town place. Their lack of support or what they passed off as worry made her nervous all the same. How would it survive? But she researched the perfect place and took plenty of time setting up everything she needed so she was ready to go when she graduated.

The only thing she wished could be different, was that her grandparents got to see her.

The main part of town felt like a city. But way friendlier. People shouted in the middle of the road. Kids ran across the road to the school. There were very few cars but even the ones present parked illegally and the officer strolling the sidewalks didn’t pay any mind to it. It was adorable. It felt like she was in a Disney movie, and she wanted to sing.

The center green was being set up with seats and banners. People were on walkie-talkies directing more items about the area. The space was warm and cozy. Like where she could spend the day reading in the grass and have a picnic with herself or a friend.

God, she hoped she made some friends. It seemed possible. Everyone was so nice. They all knew each other. That was evident. It was so comforting, exactly the change she wanted and needed, and she prayed they wouldn’t hate her for trying to bring something new to their little place.

As her stomach reminded her once more of its presence and emptiness, she approached the diner on one side of the main street. Squished between the post office and a shoe store. Someone was exiting as she opened the door, so she gestured for them to exit before she proceeded. “Thank you, darling,” the man tipped his hat to her.

With one deep breath, she entered.

It was like she was the new girl at school. The second she crossed the threshold of the diner, everyone stared at her. There wasn’t a voice to be heard, the only sound coming from behind the counter in the kitchen. “Uh... hi,” she swallowed. Quietly, she made her way to the counter and situated herself at the end of it away from everyone else.

Sure, she wanted to be part of the community and wanted to be liked, but she didn’t want to force it. The place continued to be quiet, although the murmuring began. No doubt everyone whispered about her. “No newcomers lately, I guess,” she mumbled under her breath and pulled out her folder of paperwork to go over it again.

You’re going to crush it! Bailey’s message read. She smiled gratefully, feeling her heart slow. She was wearing her lucky dress. It was going to happen. She was going to be happy no matter what.

“Shit!” It was paired with the distinct sound of something shattering. She turned directly to the sound as did everyone else in the place and she was on her feet immediately. It wasn’t anything major, a coffee mug on the floor.

“Jesus, honey, watch it!” It was an older woman who scolded her husband with a light thwack on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to, Alice!”

“Harry!” Someone called.

“Jus’ a second,” the voice was from the back, low, almost like it didn’t want to be heard. He must have been cooking or something because there was a commotion in the back behind the kitchen door. She didn’t think much of it because she was worried that poor Alice and her husband were going to get hurt picking up the broken shards or slip in the mess of spilled coffee on the floor.

“I can help,” she offered and crouched near the older woman—Alice—as she struggled to grab the pieces. “Here,” she grabbed a rag off the counter even though she had never been there and it wasn’t her place to do so. Gently she pushed the broken pieces and coffee into a neat little pile sopping up the mess as best she could.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Alice chimed. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” she smiled politely.

“Did you just move here?” She asked. Perhaps that would satiate the whispering.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you living?”

“Oh... um... Oak Street,” she stammered. It probably didn’t help her newness that she stammered. But her new address was new; she was still getting used to it.

“Oh, Holliston’s place! It’s a lovely home,” someone called from across the room.

“Y’don’t have t’do that,” it was the same voice that called from the back but now right next to her.

“Oh...” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him. Did time seem to stop? That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t going to have a crush on the first guy she met on her first official day as a resident of the small town. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly looking up at him from her crouched position. “Happy to help and...” She stopped speaking again as he stared at her. His eyes were pretty, even if he looked grumpy. His mouth was set in a frown, and she noticed that once more everyone stopped speaking. “Sorry,” she said and stood, scooping the mess as best she could in her hands. Coffee dripped from the rag into the puddle at her feet. She could feel the splatter on her ankles, and she was nervous to look if she had ruined her shoes. It didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t sure she’d have time to head home and change before she went to the town hall.

Harry held out the tray for dirty dishes and she placed the rag, broken pieces of mug, and all into it. He dropped it on the counter about two spaces down from where her folder and purse remained. “Are you okay, ma’am?” She asked softly placing a gentle hand on her arm in a comforting kind of way.

“Alice, Ed, y’okay?” Harry—she presumed—was quiet. It almost rubbed her the wrong way that he repeated her, but he knew them, and she didn’t. So, she returned to her seat quietly after offering one more smile to Alice.

“All good, Harry,” Ed said in return.

Harry went back around the counter and fiddled with the coffee pot. He refilled a new mug and brought it over to Ed. When he returned behind the counter he stood in front of her silently. Waiting. Not offering a word nor question.

Harry looked to be roughly her age. Handsome. If this was David’s grandson, she would have reconsidered his offer. But his scowl was to be desired. Made her uneasy. She wondered if this was how he always was or if it was something about her.

But she wanted to be liked. People generally didn’t dislike her. It would devastate her if he did. As grumpy as he seemed, she wasn’t going to shy away from her own personality. “Do y’want something?”

“What’s your favorite?” She asked glancing from the menu to him.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a favorite.”

She blinked. He worked here. Did he own it? That would be crazy, he was so young. But she was young and about to own her business too. So who was she to judge his age? “How can you not have a favorite?”

“I like it all,” he shrugged.

“You seriously don’t have a favorite?”

“Since I own the diner,” he was explaining it like she was a toddler, “everything is good.”

“Well...” she took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she was one of those people who assumed everyone would like her, but it was... different to work for friendliness. Bailey told her she had the kind of face that would work wonders in sales. Everyone just opened up to her.

But not Harry. Harry was stoic as could be. It barely looked like he was breathing. Other than the irritation in his eyes, he had a really nice face. Smooth skin, angular jaw, and just pretty features that were probably wasted on someone so grumpy. But she could see something flicker in his eyes. Something that she wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see which is why it was merely a flicker.

Was this grumpy man amused? By her?

“...Do you have a recommendation then?”

“Anything. It’s all good,” he was clearly over this exchange.

She thought she could get him to budge but it didn’t seem that way. This was the fast track to nowhere. Not the impression she wanted to make on her first official day in town. Sighing, she glanced at the specials board. “You have peach pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have white chocolate chips?”

Harry sighed, exasperated with the conversation, and she hadn’t even ordered her coffee yet. “Yup...” he was staring at her like this was going to kill him. Or he was going to kill her.

“Can I have one of each? Peaches and white chocolate chip?”

“What?” He seemed surprised. Which was interesting because surely it couldn’t have been crazy. Peaches and white chocolate chips had to be popular if he had them. He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“Because s’extra work t’make a whole batch of peachpancakes and chocolate chip. One or the other.”

Maybe it was his tone or her frustration. The nerves of heading to town hall after breakfast. The piss-poor impression she was making at the extremely local diner where everyone seemed to know Harry. Even though he was grumpy they still ate there. It was obvious this wasn’t their first day being there. They still called out for him when the mug shattered even though she was more than capable of helping.

But she didn’t want to take no for an answer. Maybe if he had placated her or smiled. Or if he just didn’t look at her like she was the bane of his existence she wouldn’t have pressed. “But... I don’t want one or the other. I want one of each.”

“Get ‘em mixed together or don’t have ‘em,” he shrugged.

“But if I get them mixed together, the peaches will sink to one side or slide off all together. The chocolate chips always sink to the bottom. So the ratio in each bite will be off. I’ve tried it before; it just doesn’t blend well.”

“If I make y’one peach and one white chocolate chip, then all m’ratios will be off. I’ll have t’purchase different quantities of peaches and chocolate chips.”

“That seems a little dramatic for one plate of—"

“S’my diner! Jus’ order what’s on the menu or order four pancakes.”

“That’s absurd! I doubt I’ll even eat one whole pancake!”

Harry swallowed hard, his jaw flexing tight. Briefly he looked at the ceiling and then back at her. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “Order what’s on the menu or don’t order at—"

“Fine! Two peach pancakes!”

Honestly, she has no idea why she was arguing in the first place. It was idiotic and childish but there was something about the grumpiness that was off-putting and made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was solely because he didn’t seem to like her, and she was trying really hard to fit in and he was the only person she had met so far that was close to her own age. If she could get him to like her, then maybe she wouldn’t be friendless and lonely.

With another large sigh (like it was painful for him to be standing near her) he rolled his eyes and headed to the back to make her breakfast. She wouldn’t be surprised if he poisoned them.

The diner was still quiet, and she could feel eyes flicking over to her repeatedly, their gazes heating her up with knowledge she was being watched. To keep her cool, she continued flipping through her paperwork folder and scrolled on her phone.

About ten minutes later, Harry returned holding her plate. It was practically silent again. The show that ensued was not forgotten by the other customers. Harry failed to hide his interest in her paperwork and failed to hide the fact he was reading whatever was in front of her. It didn’t bother her, honestly. She wanted to be an open book. Especially in a small town and especially with the guy that looked beyond irritated with her.

Trying again was insanity. But she was nothing if not one for perseverance. “Do you know what time the town hall opens? I tried to find a time online but—"

Harry snorted. “Town Hall doesn’t do online. S’whenever Sutton gets there t’unlock.”

She blinked. Small towns. “When’s that?”

“Usually before nine-thirty.”

“Usually?”

Harry shrugged, placing the plate in front of her. She could smell cinnamon and maple. Of course, the peaches were starting to caramelize as well and so it really looked utterly delicious. “Sometimes he forgets his alarm. Then s’before ten-thirty.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Alright,” she nodded. “Hey,” she called quietly as Harry turned to leave. “Do you do tabs? I’m probably going to be here every morning before work. It’s fine if you don’t. Just... figured it would easier.”

Did it get even quieter? Harry had a way with sighing. Heavily. Like talking to her and thinking were the two greatest and hardest tasks he’d ever been given in his life. Her eyes quickly darted around the place. There were enough tables to seat about twenty people plus five seats at the counter. It was busy—not crowded or full, but busy. It was just after the morning commute group had left; she had to imagine. The hustle of the nine-to-five crowd was long gone. “Sure,” he shook his head. “Every Friday.”

She was certain she didn’t imagine it that time. The entire place was silent for another ten seconds before the low murmur picked up again.

“Okay, thank you. I just... moved into town and I had no food at my house.”

“Whose house?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whose house did y’buy?”

“Oh... uh... the Holliston’s?” Was that the name someone said a few moments ago? It had to be because no one corrected her, and it was apparent everyone was listening to her to talk to Harry.

“Nice couple,” she supposed she got it right then. “Do you want coffee?” He asked.

Was this him warming up to her? It was interesting. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t arguing. Which she liked. Although arguing with him was kind of... fun in its own way. But she needed a friend before she argued with him for hours on end.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded quickly. “Please. Thank you.” Was it hot in there? Harry was attractive—even if he was grumpy. A sour face usually turned her off immediately. But with Harry... it didn’t seem so grumpy anymore. Especially now that he stopped arguing with her. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared. His frown turned to a more neutral expression. She swore that flicker of amusement was back again. “This is a really cute town,” she remarked.

Harry ignored the comment as he poured her a mug of steaming coffee and placed a little plate of cream and sugar packets beside it. “What brings y’here?” He asked. She did hear his skepticism like maybe he was going to kick her out before she unpacked if she wasn’t good enough for the clique-y village.

“Oh,” she swallowed. “I’m hoping to open a book shop.”

Harry tilted his head at her, surprise all over his face and she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why that would be. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. Approval? Was she in the club? “Alright, well... welcome, I guess. Let me know if y’need help with the water at y’house. It always gave the Holliston’s trouble in the winter, and I’d have t’go over and fix it. Don’t want y’pipes t’freeze.”

That was it. He walked away. She watched the grumpy, attractive man tend to the tables, cleaning, and serving all by himself. The others were patient. There was no rushing to get to work like it was Starbucks and everyone quietly waited their turn. There wasn’t a lot of small talk with Harry, but people smiled at him. Like they knew him from the time he was a baby. Maybe they did.

She hoped he would warm up to her. It would be nice to have a friend like him.

Turning to her breakfast, she cut into both pancakes stacked on top of one another, brought a bite of the two little pieces to her mouth after drowning it in enough maple syrup to make the man look at her suspiciously from across the room.

There was no way someone was that concerned about ratios of one patron. He could be grumpy all he wanted, but Harry was dramatic too. (Even if it was way more syrup than she needed, and he probably had a point in worrying about syrup—especially if she was going to be there every day.)

But as the bite hit her tastebuds, she had to look down and see it for herself.

One pancake was peach and the other was white chocolate chip.

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#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #grumpy!harry x sunshine!reader #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #love at first sight!harry #the lottery

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wolverigrl · 3 months ago

Text

Party (2)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Please don’t be mad at me, but I think there will only be 1 or 2 (maximum 3) other parts of this fanfic! Thank you all for your support, love, and comments! Much love! xx

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, alcohol and nausea, angst!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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"What if you were pregnant?"

he asks suddenly, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

I blink, the question catching me of guard. "What?"

He shrugs, though there's a serious look in his eyes. "I mean, what if you were? What would you think? We've joked about it before, but... I'm asking for real."

For a second, I don't know what to say. The thought had crossed my mind before, but hearing him say it out loud makes my heart skip a beat.

"I think I'd be happy." I say softly, searching his face. "I mean I love kids and if it happened, if we ended up with one, especially with you.." I pause, a smile tugging at my lips. "It'd be like winning the lottery. You're the most amazing dad."

His eyes soften, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. "You really think so?"

"I know so." I say, my voice steady now.

"I see how you are with your kids, how you care. You're perfect. And if it happened... it wouldn't scare me. Not with you."

For a moment, he just looks at me. His expression unreadable. Then, he leans down and presses a soft lingering kiss to my lips.

"You amaze me everytime baby." He murmurs against my skin.

The music was still thumping softly as Hugh and I made our way back to the party after our little escape to the storage room. The air felt lighter between us, the tension gone, but the heat still lingered. I caught Hugh’s eye, and he gave me a playful smirk, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back as we rejoined the crowd. I felt a little flushed, still high from everything that had just happened. His shirt was slightly rumpled, and I knew my lipstick had to be smudged from where I’d kissed him.

It didn’t take long for someone to notice. Ryan and Blake were sitting near the bar, chatting with some of the stragglers who remained. The moment we approached, Ryan's sharp gaze caught the lipstick stain on Hugh’s neck, and he raised an eyebrow. Blake followed his gaze and let out a knowing giggle.

"Well, well, look who’s been busy!" Ryan said with that signature mischievous smirk of his. He pointed at Hugh’s neck, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression. "You’ve got a little something there, mate. Lipstick, hickeys... did someone interrupt you?"

Blake playfully slapped Ryan’s arm, trying to hold back her laughter. “Come on, give them a break. It’s her birthday!” she teased, winking at me. “Though, you guys could be a little more discreet.”

I laughed, the alcohol still buzzing through my veins, making everything feel funnier than it probably was. “Oh, come on! Like you and Ryan haven’t snuck off at a party before.”

Blake threw her head back in a dramatic laugh. “Touché.”

Hugh, ever the composed one, just chuckled and shook his head, his arm tightening around me. “What can I say? You know how it is. She’s irresistible.”

Ryan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. If anything, I’m impressed. Just don’t blame us if Chris or Scott see you and start giving you a hard time.”

The party had thinned out, most people either drunk or already heading home. I could feel my legs wobbling a bit more than before, the room starting to spin slightly. I had drunk a lot tonight, more than I probably should have. The champagne, the cocktails, the shots - especially the shots with Chris and Scott. I swayed on my feet, leaning heavily into Hugh for support.

“I think it’s time to get you home.” Hugh whispered into my ear, his voice filled with warmth but tinged with concern.

I pouted, not ready for the night to end, my mind still in a drunken haze.

“Nooo, I’m fine! Let’s dance more!” I slurred, tugging at his shirt, my hands brushing over his chest. My fingers wandered lower, more out of impulse than intent, but Hugh caught my wrists gently, chuckling at my tipsy boldness.

“Love, you’re completely wasted.” he said softly, his voice full of amusement. “I’m here sobering up, and you… well, you’re ready to pass out.”

I frowned up at him, my body warm and heavy with alcohol. “I’m not ready to go!” I protested weakly, though my words were slurred, and I could feel my body growing sluggish.

Hugh just smiled, ever patient. “I know you’re having fun, but it’s time. Let’s get you home.”

I tried again, tugging at his collar playfully, but Hugh was already maneuvering us toward the exit, his arm wrapped securely around me to keep me from stumbling. I could feel my legs giving out beneath me, but Hugh, ever steady, guided me gently, never letting me fall.

Ryan and Blake followed close behind as we stumbled our way outside, where a cab was already waiting. “Need some help getting her in?” Ryan asked, though I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was clearly enjoying my drunken state a little too much.

Hugh shook his head, already opening the door and helping me inside. “I’ve got it. She’s just affectionate when she’s drunk.”

Ryan snorted. “Affectionate is one word for it.”

Blake laughed, climbing into the cab after me. “Come on, let’s get you home before you start a new round of inappropriate touching.”

“You’re doing God’s work, Hugh.” Ryan said, a grin on his face as we closed the doors. “Getting this one home in one piece.”

Hugh just laughed. "I'm sure it won’t be the last time."

I put my head on Hugh’s shoulder and put my arms around him, trying to pull him as close as possible to me.

"Baby, I'm still not tired." I slurred, my fingers running over the buttons of his shirt again.

Hugh just shook his head with a soft chuckle, gently catching my hands and keeping them still. “Sure you’re not.” he said, his voice full of warmth and amusement. “But let’s get you home, and we’ll see how awake you are then.”

Once we were settled, the cool night air and the soft hum of the car's engine started to lull me into a sleepy daze. I slumped against Hugh’s chest, my head heavy on his shoulder. The warmth of his body, combined with the gentle rocking of the cab, had my eyelids drooping almost instantly. I could feel Hugh’s hand stroking my hair, his fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm.

“Shh, just rest. I’ve got you.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I sighed, my body sinking further into his embrace, completely safe and content.

The next thing I knew, we were home. I barely registered the door opening or the cool breeze as Hugh scooped me up into his arms. My head lolled against his chest as he carried me inside, his steps quiet and careful.

“I can walk..” I mumbled, though my body betrayed me, limp and uncooperative.

Hugh just chuckled softly. “Sure you can, love. Just relax.”

He carried me up the stairs to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. I was half-awake now, my mind hazy but aware enough to realize I was still in my dress. I groaned, trying to kick off my shoes but failing miserably.

“Let me help.” Hugh said, kneeling beside the bed. He removed my shoes and then gently tugged at the zipper of my dress, helping me out of it with a tenderness that made my heart swell even in my drunken state. I managed to help him pull one of his T-shirts over my head, the soft fabric comforting against my skin.

As he tucked me under the covers, I reached for his hand, my fingers curling around his. “Thank you.” I mumbled, my eyes barely open. “I love you.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I love you too, y/n. Get some rest.”

I fell asleep almost instantly, the last thing I felt being Hugh’s warm lips pressing a kiss to my forehead.

The next morning, I woke up with a groan, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. The light streaming through the curtains felt too bright, and the pounding in my head made me wince. But worse than the headache was the nausea rolling through me in waves. I barely had time to think before I shot out of bed, racing toward the bathroom.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up, my body heaving violently as I emptied the contents of my stomach. I felt someone rush in behind me, and then Hugh was there, his hands holding back my hair, his voice soft and full of concern.

“Shh, I’m here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” he whispered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as I retched again.

Once I finished, I collapsed back against him, my body weak and shaking. He handed me a glass of water, helping me sip it slowly.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress.

I nodded weakly, though I felt far from okay. “I feel like death.”

Hugh chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “That’s what happens when you drink half the bar with your friends.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Never again. I am never drinking like that again.”

Hugh smiled knowingly, helping me to my feet and guiding me back to the bed. “You say that now, but we both know you’ll forget by the next party.”

I shook my head, wincing as the movement made my headache worse. “No, I mean it this time.”

“Alright, I’ll hold you to it.” he teased, pulling the blankets up around me. “I’m going to make breakfast. Try to rest for a bit.”

I nodded, sinking back into the pillows, my stomach still churning. Hugh kissed my forehead again before leaving the room. I closed my eyes, hoping that sleep would take me again, but the nausea was relentless. Hugh disappeared into the kitchen, and I could hear the faint clinking of pots and pans.

After a few minutes of lying there, my stomach still swirling, I figured it was better trying to eat something than to keep lying there feeling like death. I dragged myself out of bed again, my legs shaky but steady enough to make it to the kitchen.

Ryan, Blake, and Hugh were already there when I entered, laughing about something I couldn’t quite catch. Ryan was standing at the stove, poking at a pan of sizzling bacon, the smell instantly hitting me like a wave. My stomach churned violently, and without a word, I turned on my heel and rushed back to the bathroom, the nausea hitting me harder than before.

I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up again. It was worse this time - my stomach heaving painfully as I coughed and retched, bile burning in my throat. I collapsed to my knees, clutching the sides of the toilet as my body shook. I heard soft footsteps behind me, and this time it was Blake who appeared, crouching down beside me, rubbing my back as I tried to catch my breath.

“Oh honey, that doesn’t sound good..” Blake said gently, her hand moving in soothing circles on my back. “Take deep breaths.”

I nodded weakly, leaning back against the wall as I wiped my mouth with the tissue she handed me. I felt shaky, weak, and utterly miserable.

Blake glanced toward the door before looking back at me with a concerned frown. “Are you sure this is just a hangover?”

I blinked at her, my head still spinning, my stomach twisting with the aftermath of throwing up again. “What else would it be?” I muttered weakly, closing my eyes for a moment to block out the light.

Blake hesitated, biting her lip. “Well… you know, it could be something else.” She paused, watching me carefully. “Y/n, have you thought about doing a pregnancy test?”

Her words cut through the fog in my brain, and I blinked at her, the thought landing like a rock in my stomach. Pregnant? The idea seemed so far-fetched, so out of place, that for a moment I just stared at her, trying to process what she was saying.

“No. ” I said, my voice hoarse. “I mean, I had my period last week, so I can't be.. you know.. It’s just a hangover.”

Blake’s frown deepened, her hand still rubbing my back. “That’s not always a guarantee. Some women still get light bleeding in early pregnancy.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft but serious. “You’ve been really sensitive to smells, throwing up, and you’ve been more emotional than usual… It might be worth taking a test, just to rule it out.”

I sat there, blinking at her, trying to process her words through the fog of nausea and the pounding in my head. The idea seemed so absurd that I almost wanted to laugh, but at the same time there was a small, nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Could she be right? Could all of this be something more than just a brutal hangover?

Blake gave me a soft, encouraging smile. “Look, I’ll grab a test later today. Just to be sure. You never know.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I-I don’t know, Blake. It seems unlikely. I mean, we’ve been careful. Mostly.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Mostly?”

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling unsure. Had we been careful enough? The thought sent a ripple of nerves through me, and I suddenly felt a little more sober than I had just a few moments ago.

Blake squeezed my shoulder gently. “Don’t stress about it, okay? Let’s just check later, and if it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”

I nodded slowly, still feeling a little dazed. “Okay,” I whispered. “Just to be sure.”

Blake smiled warmly and helped me up, steadying me as I wobbled on my feet. We made our way back to the kitchen, where Ryan was still standing over the stove, flipping the bacon with a grin on his face.

“There she is! Feeling better?” he asked with a laugh, glancing over his shoulder.

The moment the smell of the bacon hit me again, my stomach lurched violently. I pressed my hand over my mouth, barely managing to shake my head before I turned and bolted back to the bathroom. This time, Blake was right behind me, rubbing my back again as I heaved into the toilet for the third time that morning.

When I finally stopped, I collapsed back against the wall, my body trembling with exhaustion. Blake knelt beside me, her expression serious this time. “Okay, y/n. We’re definitely getting that pregnancy test.”

Blake and I stepped back into the kitchen after my second round of nausea, and the moment we entered, the smell of bacon hit me like a wall. I flinched, my stomach rolling violently. Blake was quick to jump in, giving Ryan a pointed look.

“Ryan, put the bacon away. Please.” Blake said, her tone somewhere between commanding and concerned.

Ryan raised his eyebrows, clearly confused, but he nodded, lifting the pan off the stove. “Alright, alright!” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “No more bacon. I thought we were having the classic hangover cure breakfast, but I guess not.” He shot me a teasing grin, but I could barely manage a smile in return. I still felt nauseous, and the smell lingered in the air like a bad joke.

“Thanks..” I muttered, sitting down slowly at the kitchen table. The wooden chair felt unusually hard beneath me, and the room swayed slightly as I rested my head in my hands. The world felt too bright, too loud.

Hugh, who had been standing near the counter, came over and placed a hand on my shoulder. His eyes were filled with concern. “You alright?” he asked softly, crouching down so that he was level with me.

I glanced up at him, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, just a huge hungover.”

But Hugh wasn’t convinced. His brow furrowed, and he leaned in closer. “You sure it’s just the hangover? You haven’t been able to keep anything down since you woke up.”

Before I could answer, Blake chimed in, her voice light but purposeful. “Maybe we should all skip the bacon for now and just go for something lighter.” She glanced at Ryan, who finally relented, wrapping the bacon up and placing it in the fridge.

Ryan, with his usual flair for dramatics, gave a mock sigh. “Fine, fine. Guess we’re having toast and eggs then. Maybe some fruit if you’re feeling fancy.”

Blake shot him a grateful smile, but I could still see the concern lurking behind her eyes as she glanced at me again. We both knew there might be something more going on.

Hugh stood up, but he didn’t stray far. I could feel his eyes on me, the warmth of his hand still lingering on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time, more intimate. He knew me too well. He knew when something was off.

I looked up at him, my heart clenching slightly. There was something about the way he was looking at me - so protective, so deeply caring - that made my throat tighten. “I’m okay, I promise.” I said softly, but the words felt hollow, even to me.

Blake cleared her throat, sensing the tension. “Let’s just have breakfast!” she said brightly, pulling out a chair and gesturing for Ryan to start serving up the toast and eggs.

The four of us settled down around the table, the atmosphere easing up a bit as we started to eat. But I could still feel Hugh’s eyes on me from time to time, his silent concern hanging in the air between us. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the food in front of me, though every bite felt like a chore.

Blake glanced at me after breakfast, a knowing look in her eyes. The subtle exchange between us was enough to make my stomach twist. We both knew what we needed to do, but there was no easy way to get through it - especially with Hugh and Ryan lingering around.

“I’ll go grab something at the drug store.” Blake said, her voice calm but determined. She stood from the table, adjusting her sweater as if she was about to run a quick errand.

Ryan looked up from his phone, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you need to grab? You just went grocery shopping.”

Hugh chimed in. “Yeah, Blake, what secret are you hiding from us? If you’re buying ice cream and not sharing, we’re going to have a serious problem.”

Blake rolled her eyes but smiled, her hands resting on her hips. “You boys and your ice cream obsession. It’s nothing - just girl stuff. Nothing to worry about.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious but too lazy to press further. Hugh, however, looked from Blake to me, his concern still evident.

Blake waved them off with a casual laugh. “You three just stay here and look after y/n!” Her tone was light, but I could tell she was eager to get out the door before they asked more questions.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Alright, but if you come back with some girly drama that needs solving, I’m out. Hugh, it’s all on you, man.”

Hugh gave a half-smile, but his eyes remained on me, his concern still present even as Blake slipped out the door. The boys didn’t ask any more questions, and I was grateful for Blake’s smooth distraction.

While Blake was out, the rest of us stayed in the kitchen, casually cleaning up and chatting about the party last night. Ryan, as usual, kept things light with his jokes, but Hugh’s attention would drift back to me every now and then. I could feel it, the quiet, worried glances he gave me when he thought I wasn’t looking. My stomach churned - not just from the remnants of the hangover, but from the anxiety creeping up inside me.

When Blake returned, she had a small paper bag in her hand. She slipped it into her purse quickly, her movements smooth, as if she’d done this a hundred times. She didn’t say anything right away, just casually joined the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Hugh looked up from his spot at the table. “You’re back quick. Everything okay?”

Blake smiled brightly, her eyes flicking to me for the briefest of moments before turning her attention back to Hugh. “Yup! Everything’s good.” She clapped her hands together, clearly ready to move things along. “Alright, boys, let’s set up a movie or something. How about we go pick something out?”

Ryan groaned. “Ugh, really? But not another rom-com, Blake!”

She laughed and grabbed him by the arm, leading him and the others out of the kitchen. “I’ll even let you pick, Ryan. But you’re banned from all superhero movies, deal?”

I watched as Blake expertly herded them into the living room, leaving me alone with the test still hidden in the bag. My hands were trembling slightly, the weight of what was about to happen starting to settle in.

The bathroom felt impossibly small, the silence pressing in on me as I stared down at the pregnancy test in my hand. My fingers trembled as I looked at it, my reflection in the mirror barely recognizable. I was almost 30 years old. That thought kept echoing in my mind, louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest like it wanted to escape.

I couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts. How would Hugh react? He was already a father - his kids adored him. But this… this would be our child. Our baby. The idea of it thrilled me, but it also terrified me. I hadn’t expected this, not so soon. Not after one and a half years. My stomach twisted at the thought, nerves gnawing at the edges of my excitement.

What about my family? My mother would be overjoyed, but what would she think of me having a baby with Hugh? And my friends - they had no idea what was coming. Could I even handle all of their opinions? I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to steady myself.

Two minutes. I just needed to get through these two minutes.

The timer buzzed, and I hesitated, my heart pounding in my ears as I reached for the test.

Two lines.

For a second, everything froze. I couldn’t process it. I'm pregnant. I was actually pregnant.

My knees felt weak, and I leaned against the sink, trying to catch my breath. A mixture of disbelief and joy surged through me, but beneath that, fear crept in. This was real. It was happening. I had to tell Hugh.

I left the bathroom, the positive test still clutched in my hand. Blake was waiting near the door, her eyes searching mine. She didn’t need words - she knew. I gave her a weak smile, and she nodded, offering silent support. But I couldn’t stay here with her. I had to talk to Hugh, had to tell him.

As I walked into the living room, I saw Hugh sitting on the couch with Ryan, both of them laughing over some joke. My stomach fluttered nervously. How could I tell him? How could I explain that everything was about to change? I cleared my throat, my voice barely steady as I said, “Hugh, can we talk?”

Ryan, always the joker, raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, bedroom conversation time? I’m sure nothing serious, right?” His tone was light, teasing, but I barely registered it. My heart was too heavy, too full of what I had to say.

Hugh noticed my tone and immediately stood up, his smile fading into concern. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice gentle as he approached me.

I managed to smile, but it felt fragile, like glass about to break. “Can we talk in the bedroom?” I repeated, trying to keep my nerves in check.

Ryan chuckled as he leaned back on the couch. “Sure, just leave the door open so I can hear all the juicy details!”

Hugh shot him a look but followed me into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. As soon as we were alone, I felt the full weight of what I was about to say, and it hit me like a wave.

I started pacing, my mind racing, words tumbling out of my mouth without making sense. “You know I've been feeling weird for a while now.. and I thought it was from drinking too much last night and because if my period but it wasn’t, and now I don’t know how to say this, I-”

“Y/n.” Hugh interrupted, his voice calm but full of concern. He stepped closer, his hands gently resting on my arms to still me. “Hey, you’re scaring me. Just tell me. What’s going on?”

I met his gaze, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath, feeling the tears start to sting the back of my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

The room fell into an almost deafening silence as Hugh stared at me, his expression unreadable at first. My stomach flipped, unsure of what he would say, how he would react. Seconds ticked by, feeling like an eternity. Was he shocked? Was he upset?

Then, slowly, his face broke into the widest smile I had ever seen. “Wait… you’re pregnant? You’re serious?”

I nodded, biting my lip, feeling my own emotions teetering on the edge. His hands moved from my arms to my waist, and before I knew it, he was lifting me off the ground, swirling me around in a tight circle. I laughed, clinging to him as he spun us around.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, still holding me tightly. “We’re having a baby!” His voice was filled with pure joy, and my heart soared.

“Hugh!” I laughed, trying to catch my breath as he set me back on my feet, both of us giddy with happiness. “I can’t believe this is real.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. “You’re amazing.” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard. We’re going to have a baby.” His eyes were shining, and I could see how much this meant to him, how deeply it touched him.

I felt the sob building in my chest and buried my face against his chest, my body trembling as I cried.

A sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks. My body tensed as the memory of last night's party flooded back - how much I had drunk, how wild everything had been. My breath caught in my throat, and I pulled back, staring up at Hugh with wide, panicked eyes.

"Oh my God, Hugh!" I whispered, my voice shaky. "I-I was drinking. I got wasted last night, and I’m pregnant! What if I hurt the baby? What if- "

“Hey, hey, love.” Hugh interrupted gently, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes full of warmth and reassurance. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“But- ” I started, my chest tightening with anxiety. "What if something’s wrong? I should have been more careful, but I didn’t even think- "

“Shh..” he soothed, pulling me even closer. His voice was soft but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was one night, and the baby is going to be fine. We’ll see the doctor, and everything will be okay. You’re healthy, and the baby will be, too.”

I blinked up at him, still feeling that knot of fear twisting in my stomach. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I love you so much.” he murmured, his lips pressing softly against my forehead. “I can’t believe it.”

“I love you too.” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I was so nervous.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still shining with unshed tears as he kissed me softly, tenderly, over and over. “How could I not be happy?” he whispered. “This is everything I’ve ever wanted with you.”

I smiled through my tears, my heart swelling with love for him. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through my hair. “But we’re in this together, always.”

After a moment, he pulled me back just enough to look into my eyes. “Wait... is this why Blake went out earlier? To get a test?”

I nodded, laughing softly. “Yeah, she knew I needed to find out.”

Hugh chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to thank her later!”

I wiped at my face, feeling lighter, freer than I had in hours. “We should tell Ryan and Blake.” I said softly.

Hugh smiled, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “Yeah, let’s tell them.”

We called out to Ryan and Blake, who came into the bedroom looking curious. Ryan, as always, was already grinning, clearly suspicious that something was up.

“Alright, what’s the big secret?” Ryan asked, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “You two have been waaaay too quiet!”

Hugh and I exchanged a look, and then I took a deep breath before saying, “We have some news... I’m pregnant!”

Ryan’s eyes widened for a second, and then that trademark grin of his spread across his face. “Well damn, Hugh, looks like you’ve got pretty good aim!”

Blake slapped his arm, but she was laughing, tears already welling up in her eyes. “Ryan, stop it!” she scolded, though her smile was just as wide.

Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, though, congrats, you two. That’s incredible!” He pulled Hugh into a hug, then turned to me, his expression softening. “You’re gonna be amazing at this.”

Blake immediately rushed to hug me, her voice quiet and full of emotion. “I’m so happy for you! And I'm so proud of you!” she whispered. “This is huge.”

I smiled, hugging her back tightly. “Thank you, Blake. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As we all sat down, the conversation naturally shifted to the baby, to the future. Hugh held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing back and forth over my skin as we talked about doctor’s appointments, ultrasounds, and everything that was to come. Through it all, I felt Hugh’s love and excitement radiating from him. And I knew, without a doubt, that everything would be okay. We were going to be a family.

---------------------------------------------------

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07 @rachb629 @chronicallybubbly @marvelgirlie-4

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#hugh jackman #wolverine #hugh jackman x you #marvel #x men #hugh #jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman imagines #fluff #blake lively #ryan reynolds #logan howlett #hugh jackedman #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #party

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qwimblenorrisstan · 3 months ago

Text

Bubbles | König x Reader

Day 7: Hoodie Weather w/ König

Summary: When Task Force 141 joins together with KorTac for a mission, he doesn’t expect the bubbly member of the 141 to give his entire base a Christmas surprise.

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: None!

A/N: the könig brainrot is deadly. it is infecting me at an unprecedented speed. on a positive note, we’re one week through with October! hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You were known to him as the bubbly one.

König had caught his men referring to you as Blasen—bubbles, rather than your actual name, something he kept forgetting how to pronounce anyway.

How you, a small little thing compared to him, could be deadly on the field was a mystery to him, but your teammates in the little group you had, called Task Force 141, seemed to trust you. Especially the one with the mohawk. He often heard you and him laughing together down the halls, because of a mission where KorTac, for God knows why, required the additional help of the 141 due to border disputes with the enemy they were hunting down.

It was stupid. He knew that.

But you’d brought out a surprising little bit of happiness and cheer to the base.

Christmas was nearing, and you seemed to have settled into their base by now, despite not speaking a lick of German other than the very basics that you even butchered at that. You mostly just used basic gestures or made the tall man, with the strange mask, translate for you.

König woke up early in the morning, earlier than anyone else, pulling his clothes and uniform on, walking out of the bunks, only to find tinsel with little ornaments hanging from it, no lights—they would be a fire hazard, in the hallways.

If it weren’t for his mask, anyone could’ve seen the plain surprise and confusion on his face. His men surely hadn’t done it, he knew they were busy training, or keeping themselves occupied until the next mission. And the only other person with enough time on their hands, and the balls to pull it off, would naturally be…

“Ah.”

He muttered to himself when he found you, standing on top of two barrels stacked on top of each other, adding a small fake star to the very top of the tree that had somehow been moved inside the center of the rec room.

You must’ve noticed him despite his quiet steps, throwing your head back to give a bright grin, jumping off from the barrels, and landing on your feet to lean back and look at the decorated tree from afar as you backed up until you were right next to him, hands on your hips.

“What are we thinkin’, Kön?”

He despised the nickname. Or at least he tried to, despite the way your audacity alone made him want to let the laughs bubbling up in him go, and not hold them down.

“It is…a tree.”

He stated, swallowing, not sure what to say, wondering how you’d even gotten a tree in here, knowing it was real based on the sap he could smell coming from it.

“That, my friend, is a lovely observation.”

You said, grinning, clapping him on the back as he stared, utterly gobsmacked when you sauntered over and plugged something in, and lights began glimmering from the tree.

He blinked, blue eyes filled with confusion as he tried working out the math in his head, only to fail every time. He watched as you walked back over, looking proud as a peacock, despite the little shiver in your small frame.

“How.”

He asked, accent thick as you sniffled, nose running slightly, before answering.

“Well, I went and got a tree, brought it back here, then dug up some old shit from your storage room. Simple as that.”

König hadn’t even known they kept anything in that storage room. Let alone Christmas lights, or anything to decorate, really. And to gather an entire tree, it must’ve taken all night, and with the storm blowing through—

You must’ve been freezing.

No wonder you were shivering, small body not large enough to keep warm as long as his, or any of the other men on base.

He reached out, pressing the area where his glove and sleeve failed to overlap against your exposed neck, frowning with worry at the temperature he felt. You probably hadn’t known. How could you, when you were probably used to the temperatures at your old base? There was a reason they wore thicker clothing here.

Humming to himself in thought, he pulled the hoodie he wore over his normal uniform off, and promptly placed it on top of your head, watching as your expression transitioned from confusion to understanding, then amusement as you pulled it over your head, putting the arms in, savoring in the warmth the thick material brought you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I would’ve been fine.”

You pointed out. He’d been expecting it. Women were undermined already in the military, so it was no surprise they usually made up for their size with their attitude and wits.

“You needed it, Blasen.”

He spoke simply, watching the confusion overtake your face again as you tried to figure out what he’d just said in German. It was a little funny. That was, until, he heard the signs of the other men in base waking up, with confused and excited German and English being exchanged through the base, with a familiar,

“Steamin’ Jesus!”

Being heard through the hallways your grin somehow spread wider. König heard Horangi and Nikto conversing, wondering what the hell was going on, only to stop dead in their tracks when they saw the Christmas tree in the rec room.

The masked man cocked his head at König, who only jerked his head towards you with a shrug, Horangi just taking everything in with a furrowed brow.

The 141 weren’t too soon after to file in after more soldiers on base, Soap first to greet you with a laugh and some gibberish in an accent so thick not even König could understand it. He ruffled your hair, eyes taking notice of the hoodie you wore, raising a brow at the large German man standing awkwardly nearby, watching, but commenting nothing.

Then another man he’d forgotten the name of came by, a dazzling white flash of teeth, then he was trailing off to find Soap and keep him out of trouble. The Ghost took one glance at the room, shook his head in what König assumed to be exasperation, and went to sit with Price, the man who seemed to be in charge and had been up early, taking all of the decorations into account already.

As everyone settled into the new surroundings, you and König exchanged a long glance, before you swallowed, almost nervously, giving a small smile.

“Well, uh—thanks for the hoodie. I’ll see you around?”

He took your words into account for a moment, before nodding.

“Ja. See you…around.”

And you sauntered off to the table where Price and the strange Ghost man were seated, only for Price to raise a brow at the hoodie you were wearing, muttering something König couldn’t hear from his distance before he walked to join his men.

He was greeted with a,

“Permission to speak freely?”

Carefully eying Horangi, he responded.

“…Granted.”

“Am I invited to the wedding?”

Tags:

@hawke1917

@flufftober

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cannibalisation · 1 month ago

Note

i literally loved the tattoo artist!sirius fic you wrote it was literally pure gold!!

if you take requests could i request a James Potter x reader where reader works at the record store and he is a regular— some romance after a while of the two exchanging small talk :3 thought that would be cute!

ill just put 🐙anon whenever i make a request

i. flirt

thank you so much for your request! and i’m glad you enjoyed my sirius fic. i might write a second part if it is asked for ♥️ (1.3k)

james potter/gn!reader

caution. flirty (cringy) james, reader is nervously whipped(?), bastard cat, uncreative title, so many music references, i’ve never written for james before as he is to me the most challenging marauder to write for, i hope that i haven’t butchered his character.

i’m new to the marauders fandom and have limited knowledge, sorry for any character inaccuracies.

THREE hours and twenty-five minutes have passed since you first clocked in.

For roughly two of the three hours, you spent stacking shelves with cassette tapes and lining racks with ageing vinyls. It wasn’t a challenging job; you’d prefer it to anything else, but that doesn’t make the work any less tedious.

You’re more than grateful that the manager of Blackbird Records is not a cruel one. He allows any type of music to your liking, and fortunately he hasn’t insisted on a Christmas carol mandate until late November.

Glenn Frey’s smooth croon of lyric sounds out in the store, and you hum along to the words. It’s mostly empty inside; a handful of customers are dotted around, shuffling through the record bins. A young girl with messy copper-coloured pigtails lurks near one of the clearance bins at the end of an aisle; you pretend to not notice as she pockets a lone cassette tape with a sly grin—she has good taste after all.

Angus, the fat ginger cat of the store, sits to your left. He is a favourite among customers, and his picture even rests beneath the “Employee of the Month” plaque. He is lazy, though; he doesn’t even give you a piece of his mind when you attempt to push his sleepy form off the till during busy hours. He likes lying in the sun, so you are kind enough not to bother him right now.

The entrance doorbell chimes, and somehow, without even looking up, you know who just walked through.

James, though he insists you call him Jamie, has been a regular at Blackbird for quite some time now. And for the last few months, he has been trying to convince you to at least go on one date with him.

He’s nice about it, which you’re grateful for; he isn’t pushy or demanding; it’s really just casual flirting. Every time he comes up to the register to purchase his chosen items, he manages to throw in a cheesy pick-up line. On each occasion he does so, you either grimace in embarrassment or your face happens to heat up.

Sometimes he comes into the store with his mates; they laugh at him when the amorous quips clearly don’t woo you.

James clicks his finger in your direction and winks as he struts past you. He looks nice today, in dark denim jeans and a red polo jersey, much too big for his frame.

With a subtle glance, you watch as he flicks through the LPs that sit inside a storage bin. His supple fingers are adorned with silver and gold rings; you can’t help but admire the flex of the veins in his hands as he skims over the albums.

You retreat your gaze quickly as he turns his head in your direction, how humiliating it would be if he had caught you essentially checking him out. From what you knew about him, which was a limited amount of knowledge, as the only time you see him is during your midday shifts, James was a playful type.

Once you had thought that you’d recognised one of his friends sitting at the same table as you during your psychology class, but he wasn’t exactly discernible. He was quiet and kept his head down for most of the class, but that tweed grey and navy sweater he had on (something you think your grandfather would wear) was too familiar.

James moves on to the listening station now, where the staff picks are located. He turns one of the record player dials and shifts a pair of battered headphones atop his mess of curls. You busy yourself with caressing Angus’ patchy fur as James nods his head along to the running track.

The one-eyed cat observes you with an astute gaze, like he knows exactly what you are thinking. You stare back at him, matching his gaze with equal telling—furrowing your brows to intimidate him. Obviously that does not work, and the beast just looks at you as if you were a fool (he’s right).

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks you out of the staring contest shared with the cat, and you plaster on your customer service facade with grace.

James stands in front of you now, bronze skin gleaming in the sunlight. God, there was truly no reason to disagree with the fact that he was a cut above the rest. His eyes, chestnut in theory but hazel in the sun, eyed you with a playful look.

You stutter out a quick “Hello” and ask, “Did you find everything alright today?” As he places an album onto the counter. The Clash’s Sandinista!—your staff pick. He had listened to your pick of the week and is purchasing it.

He laughs with a small nod and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, eyes not leaving yours as he does so. You smile politely in return and move to scan his item; your hands are shaking.

Under his gaze, you can’t help but grow self-conscious. He has pretty eyes; there's no denying that, but they are especially heavy on your form today, and you don’t know why. Was the Beatles shirt a no-go for today? You work at a record store; musician-based articles of clothing are practically compulsory.

Despite that, you choose to ignore any building thoughts in your mind and read him the price owed. He complies with a more-than-friendly smile and hands you the exact number of bills. In an amicable—or rather teasing—manner, you bid him farewell.

For a brief moment you think he looks almost dejected, that once again you have rejected his kind-hearted attitude. That idea is quickly erased as James puffs out his chest and clears his throat once more.

“Hey—Do you live on Abbey Road? Because you got me crossing the street just to be near you!”

Oh god.

You see James again on one of your closing shifts. He saddles himself up beside the wall as you finish stacking a shelf with CD albums. His arm rests right in front of your face, and you try not to urge forwards.

“Can I help you?”

“Sure can. You, me, local pub. My mates are in a band and are performing there on Friday, think you’ll like them.” He states, voice like honey. It’s true, you probably would enjoy watching a local band perform, but you doubt you’d even be able to be calm in such a situation. Hours, if anything, spent in an enclosed, stuffy area with James? Your heart would burst right out of your chest.

As he awaits your answer, James grabs onto each CD you place down and flips it around on the shelf. You say nothing as you repeat the action; neither does he. You doubt you’ve ever met someone so annoying, yet beautiful at the same time.

“Come on—I’m dying over here.” He gasps dramatically, dragging his fist across his chest as he jokingly heaves out a final breath before sliding down to the floor. You can’t help but laugh as he does so, removing yourself from the task at hand to peer at him with a small smile. You can already feel the judgmental gaze of Angus before you even speak.

“Fine, fine! I finish at half five on Friday; now will you get up off the floor? It’s grimy.” He quickly does so at that declaration and looks with hopeful eyes. James places his hands on your shoulders and grips them lightly; it leaves you breathless. “Seriously? You’re being honest this time?”.

With a laugh, you grab a hold of his hands from where they rest on your shoulders. “Yes, will you pick me up?”

“Obviously, here, half five.” He lilted before turning away and skipping over to the front door, “You won’t regret this, I promise!”

You hope that you won’t.

authors note. my first request, thank you again and i hope it was to your liking 🫶🏻 please feel free to request anything else! this is my fandom/character list and I’ll practically write anything so long as it inspires me to do so.

#mine #🐙 anon #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfic #marauders fanfiction #marauders x reader #the marauders x reader #marauders oneshot #marauders fic #marauders imagine #the marauders #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter universe #marauders era

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ramseyselfstorage · 2 months ago

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drefear · 7 months ago

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Major in English, Minor in Criminology

Murderer!Miguel x Journalist!Reader

TW: smut, cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick. Murder, violence, rough sex, light BDSM and squirting, manipulation, voyeurism, probably other shit, he's a fucking murderer.

This is where your English degree got you.

Tied up in someone’s… garage? Basement? Storage container? You didn’t really know, since you just woke up here. How long has it been since you’d seen sunlight? Your skin felt sticky and filthy from the sweat and grime on you.

This all started because you, a reporter, wanted to get into more serious reporting instead of stupid “Dairy Queen Price Changes,” or whatever you were supposed to be doing. You instead begged your boss to do something more dangerous and cutting edge, which would be the murder happening near the library in your town. You’d been going there to take notes about the crimes when someone grabbed you from behind and hit you with a heavy, lead pipe.

And you woke up here.

The door is metal and the walls are concrete, with a toilet and a sink, and a wrought iron bed bolted to the ground. There’s a slot in the metal door, and there’s blood stains all over. The sheets of the bed, the sink, the floor by the single window that’s been covered from the outside.

You’ve woken up a few times and can only assume it’s been four days. You’ve flipped your pants inside out and used your blazer as a blanket by now, trying to use your resources to at least be slightly less uncomfortable. Even your throat feels raw and gross, having not spoken since the day you got here.

Suddenly, the slot opens and food slides through before you sigh.

“Thank you…” you speak quietly and the slot opens again, sliding through a bottle of water… with tape on the top of the bottle instead of a cap.

“Did…” you begin to yell, “did you drug this?”

A laugh is all you hear through the cracks of the slot and you sigh again. If you were any less sane, you’d think the laugh was sexy and raspy, but at this point, you’re sure you’re just deprived from human contact.

Completely dehydrated and starved since you are basically getting nothing here, you gulp down the bottle of water in no time and begin to scarf down chicken nuggets like it’s no one’s business.

“Um… excuse me?” You call out, with no success. “Can- is there any way I can take a shower?” Another laugh roared through the door and echoed in the room as you bit your bottom lip.

‘Don’t cry, don’t cry.’ Your mind played that mantra over and over until you were strong enough to not cry.

The next day, or so you thought, you woke up stiff and dehydrated once more as you heard another meal slide through the door slot, but you ignored it. You were beginning to hope for death, maybe die of starvation or dehydration instead of giving him the satisfaction of killing you himself.

A grunt made you perk up and you turned towards the slot to see two eyes peering at you in the humid, uncomfortable darkness. A chill went down your spin as his eyes looked red in the dark lighting, like two lasers, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

‘You’re just hallucinating, it’s ok. It’s not real.’

A second water bottle sliding through the slot made you look back to see the eyes once more, just blankly staring.

You slowly moved to grab the two waters and back away, like a small animal trying to escape a large predator.

As you retreat and knock against the iron bed frame, you calm down and think to yourself, ‘I win this round… but what happens when I lose?’

Your conscious wrestles with itself while you nibble on the empanadas he gave you, and shiver on the cold floor. A second goes by before you lock eyes with the man on the other side of the door once more, feeling them first before you gazed back at him. A beat passes before something else slides through the slot. You pick it up and realize it's a thin sheet. Did he know you felt cold? Did he see you shivering?

You covered yourself with the paper-like blanket and sat in silence as he closed the slot, leaving you once again with your thoughts. Why was he being nice?

Hours later and you could hear him walking around, heavy footsteps across the door. Were you… In his house? You tried to map out a few rooms from where you could hear things echoing before you heard what sounded like a refrigerator opening.

“Hello?” You called out and all sounds of movement seized. “Can I have more water?”

A few footsteps came closer to the door, but nothing came. “Please?”

The sound of him walking away was all you could hear before you huffed and pouted. The hot and cold moods were annoying, and you were literally being held captive! You pushed the slot open a bit and saw a bottle of water, open, sitting a few inches from the slot. He was playing games with you.

A grumble pasted your lips as you wiggled your hand through the slot and tried to grab the water, despite it feeling like your hand may get stuck. As you made a swipe at the bottle, it toppled over and spilled away from you. Laughter filled the room as you realized he had been watching, and you tugged your hand through with rough pull, scraping the top and giving yourself a scratch. You slumped your shoulders as he was still chuckling and sat on the bed, no longer interested in his games.

The next day was the same, he shoved the food in with the water, but you again didn’t move. You have no energy or attraction to his schemes to play with you like a puppet. A grunt made you turn towards the slot and red eyes looked back at you, but you shoved the finger into the sliver of light and turned back to the wall.

A few hours later, you sat with your knees tucked to your chest when through the cracks, you heard the voice once more. The rumble of a groan and yawn is all you heard before the door swung open and a large silhouette stood before you, almost reaching the top of the door frame. His big arms held where his head almost hit and you realized that you were in bigger trouble than you previously thought. Most killers were scrawny or at least normal sized, using weapons to kill.

This man was a monster!

You were confident that he could use his bare hands to kill you.

His red eyes glared towards your cowering body as he began to close in towards you. Of course, with your luck, you were already sitting in the far corner of your “bed” as he latched a hand around your bicep and jerked you towards him. Tears pricked your eyes as he turned you around and forced you to bed over on the bed. You felt him begin to tie your hands together with a brittle rope, biting into your wrists with the roughness, and squeezed your eyes shut.

“You’ll take a shower and I’ll watch.” He said, with the same sexy rasp you thought you’d hallucinated. His words sunk in and your eyes popped open like a champagne cork. “Really?” You perked up and smiled a bit. A shower! It’s what you really wanted, but a second passed and another thought about what he just said made you look down. “You’re going to watch me?”

“Can’t let you escape because I was dumb enough to leave you alone in my bathroom.” He answered and pulled you up, practically carrying you out the metal door.

You looked around and saw the cozy insides of a house, pictures on the wall, a centerpiece sitting on the dining room table. He even had the tv on in the living room, a soccer game playing. He was keeping you in his home.

You looked back at him and saw something else now.

He was fucking gorgeous.

The fullness of his lips, the high cheekbones, his tousled and messy brown hair, and deep olive skin… He was basically perfect. You tried not to look so obvious, but you couldn’t help the blush creeping up your neck.

Of course you would be turned on by your kidnapper.

He readjusted you in his arms and basically tossed you over his shoulder, which made you let out a small, helpless squeak, to which he chuckled. You felt something hit you in the back of the head and realized it was the door frame.

That’s how large he is.

You sighed as he sat you on the counter and you looked around as he started the bathtub. The countertops were all bare, and he had no shower shelves or anything to put any bottles or soap bars on. There were three containers sitting next to you: shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Your brows furrowed as you looked back at him, now staring at you were vacant eyes. He was completely unreadable as he looked down at your clothing and then back up at you. Following his line of sight, you looked down and saw he was just looking at your shirt.

Then it made sense.

“You… you’re going to take my shirt off?”

“I have other clothing for you to wear, but I’m going to cut it off you.” He concluded and when you were about to protest when his eyes darkened while he held a knife. Suddenly seeing your kidnapper holding a knife so close to you made your jaw lock and your throat go bone dry. Your heart rate quickened as he tugged you closer to him and pushed the tip of the blade under the fabric, slicing towards himself. Your eyes focused on his face and you saw how concentrated he was on his knife on you. You stayed as still as possible to avoid him possibly nicking you, and soon the shirt was torn through and you were in your bra. He looked like he was thinking hard as he looked at your bra. The silence was heavy as he just watched you, your chest heaving up and down from the anxiety beginning to really take hold. His lips pursed before he spoke.

“Why were you at the library that night?” His voice almost surprised you from how quiet the room was, and you hesitated before you answered.

“I am- I was reporting the murders.” You corrected yourself as he moved the knife towards your cleavage before you leaned away. “Wait-! The straps are removable… so you don’t have to ruin it. You can just unhook it and then unclip the straps.” You pleaded and he just blew a stray strand of brown hair from his eyes. He relented without a word and started unclasping your straps, continuing to question you.

“So just to get this straight, you went alone and unarmed to the scene where a murderer was finding his victims knowingly?”

You looked at the ground, ashamed. “Well when you put it that way, I sound stupid.”

“You are stupid.” He announced and you bite your tongue, seeing as he was a knife-wielding murderer and you liked your blood inside your body. As he continued to unhook your bra, the cups fell off of your body and your breasts were free. He stared, briefly in awe, before he got back to cutting off the rest of your clothing.

Once you were naked, he just picked you up and placed you into the water before wetting your hair and starting to massage shampoo onto your head. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out a question you’d been thinking of all day.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You asked and he froze, then sighing and continuing to clean your hair.

“I don’t kill women. I kill men who like to assault or hurt women and children.” He grumbled and you stirred in your thoughts before asking more.

“…Oh.” Is all you could say. He frowned deeply as he began rinsing out your hair. “So… why murder them? Why not report them?”

“Tried that… cops don’t do shit.” He answered and you just nodded, noticing how he was getting more and more sour. “It… started with my mom. I just hate how these guys beat women and then get away with it.” He continued, and your heart strings were suddenly vibrating with empathy.

“So why are you still keeping me here?”

“There’s a few reasons. You know I’m a murderer, you’re being held in a small room in my house, and I hit you over the head with a fuckin’ pipe. I wasn’t expecting you to skip out of here, thanking me for the fun adventure, and promising not to call the fuckin police.” He retorted and you could understand that, which was alarming since you were agreeing with your captor and a murderer. “But the biggest reason is, you weren’t my original target.” Silence fell over you two once more, but this time, it was comfortable… not heavy, but comforting. There was understanding in the air as you thought for a second. You decided to ask the most logical question after being lost in your own head.

“Who was your target?”

His mouth closed to a scowl as he poured conditioner into his large palm and moved to rub it into your hair. When it was obvious he wasn’t answering, you sunk into the water a bit more and closed your eyes while you just enjoyed the way he massaged your scalp.

You knew this was wrong for a thousand, million reasons. Or maybe one reason, but a big ass reason.

He’s a fucking serial killer.

But you couldn’t help it, for a weird reason. The way his forearms looked as they massage your scalp in the bathroom mirror made you want to bite them, to drag your fingertips across the tense, veiny skin. This man was doing things for you that you couldn’t have predicted. And for some reason, the fact that he didn’t mean to hurt you was a huge turn on, that he was targeting men who had previously hurt others or done terrible things. You ignored the fact that you might have Stockholm syndrome and directed your thoughts back to the way his biceps flexed in the fogged reflection. Maybe it was how the hot water made your brain hazy with seductive images of you under him, but the droplets on your skin dripped in a way that had you getting wet beneath the water.

“Hello?” His voice made you jump a bit, the water sloshing up against the side of the tub and soaking his shirt. “Were you even listening?”

“Yes, absolutely!” You lied, but he didn’t look convinced. His eyes canned your face and you knew that you looked flushed, so you did what anyone embarrassed of their thoughts would do and turned your face so he couldn’t see you. His hand held your cheeks squished between his fingers and turned you back for him to assess, and he didn’t seem pleased.

“You’re overheating, let me add some cold water.” He announced and turned the faucet back on, letting you sink back into the depths of the tub and your own self-loathing for your lack of ability to conceal your mind. “Better?” He asked and you just nodded, not concerned with the water temperature. He watched you from the corner of his eyes and this made you nervous. You were being watched by a cold-blooded killer, and whether he killed the bad guys or not, it was still scary. He rinsed his hands and cleared his throat as you snapped out of your mental trance, looking up towards him as he stayed stone cold in his expression. “Since I don’t plan on untying you, I’m going to wash your body, but if you don’t want me to touch you, then I could use a loofah or something, like a towel- I didn’t really think this through.” He muttered and you just shook your head.

“You can touch me.” You spoke softly and he nodded without any emotion, giving you no idea what he was thinking. He began by washing your back and scrubbing a bit, before moving to your arms and feeling you roll your neck to let him get to the nape and around your throat. He was surprised by how trusting you were being, but the truth was he didn’t feel dangerous to you, which was absolutely insane since he had killed people 10 feet away from where you were currently sitting.

His hands began to wash your chest and before he moved any lower, he looked up at you. “This feels wrong, I’ll just-”

“It feels good, actually.” You interrupted him and his eyebrows shot up in shock. “I mean-” You began to blush as you realized what had happened, but he smirked a bit before you could say anything else.

“Would you like… if I made it feel even better?” He asked, his voice dropping a bit as he leaned closer to your burning face. You nodded slowly as his fingers brushed against the bottoms of your breasts, moving to graze your bare nipples and forcing a gasp from your lips. His thick digits twist the pert nubs and you let out a quiet sound like a small animal, giving into the predator in front of it. He keeps a cool demeanor as he teases your boobs and makes you squirm. “Still feel good?”

“Yes…” you whispered and closed your eyes as his hand slipped under the water to massage the rest of your body, pushing his fingers gently through your folds and pressing directly onto your clit. You yelped in pleasure and shivered as he bent his head to your throat and kissed your pulse point behind your ear. r ear. His lips were soft and full on your skin as he pushed and toyed with the bundle of nerves in between his fingertips. The water splashed as you jerked a bit at the sudden sensations and he chuckled, pulling your soaked body up and throwing you over his shoulder once more. “Hey-!” You protested, but a slap to your bare ass shut you up, followed by a dark laugh. Miguel carried you into the room near where you slept and you saw a single king size bed with tall posts on all corners, being thrown to the center before he reached behind him with one hand and pulled his shirt off over his head. He took your bound hands and placed them on the bulge forming in his pants. It was almost as thick as your forearm and long as well. You blushed red before then meeting his eyes and seeing the shining cockiness reflected. You gulped down the tension between your thighs and looked at him through thick lashes as he stared down at your naked body. It was like he was analyzing you with malintent, the look on his face creating a dark shadow clouding over your morals and conscience. His large hand flattened on your abdomen as he kneeled before you and inhaled between your legs, his exhale leaving goosebumps against your exposed mound of flesh. He was clearly entertained by the prickle of your skin and immediately dove into you like a child on Christmas morning, licking heavily into your lips and lifting your asscheek on his shoulder. Your back arched almost so much it pained you as you jumped from the abrupt amount of sucking on your clit, a strained sound falling out of your mouth. You’d never heard that before, but then again, no one had literally sucked and licked the life out of you like this.

He reached up a meaty hand and pinched at your nipple hard, twisting enough to make you scream and feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You felt his teeth graze against your sensitive peak and your eyes snapped onto where his mouth was currently on you, eliciting a chuckle from him as you shivered.

“Yeah? You want me to hurt you a little?” He asked in a raspy whisper before slapping your breast a bit. You gasped loud and he smiled, his sharp canines gleaming a bit.

Miguel moved to hover above you before rubbing his cock against your clit, the friction making you tense up a bit before he grabbed your throat. Your eyes found his, and he bent his head so his breath was warm against your ear.

“I’m not going to play nice just because you’re a pretty little thing.”

Without any other words, he shoved his dick in you and the burning stretch of his thickness made you let out a painful whine. The sound made his shiver as he jutted his hips into you even further, his cock nudging something so deep within you that tears pricked the corners of your eyes. He seemed to get even harder when he saw the small bits of pain he caused in you, and that made you hornier. The crazed look in his eyes made you flush and pant while he fucked you rough, practically making you dizzy from the jerky and harsh movements. He grunted as you felt the coil in your core begin to heat and tense, before it snapped and you instantly climaxed. It was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had as he smiled, like a predator enjoying the thrill of the hunt, and you gulped when he grabbed your waist before drilling back into you at a panickingly fast pace. Tears welled in your eyes from the pressure in your abdomen from his violent fucking, but the adrenaline made you begin to build towards another orgasm. This time was different, it was almost a burning feeling in your lower body and a surge as you swung your arms around his neck to help hold on.

“Fuck, just like that, so fucking tight.” He mumbled, and you questioned if he was even speaking to you or just vocalizing his thoughts to himself, but you were distracted by the crash of the second climax and the sudden, very wet feeling on your stomach. A loud, pregnant growl made you shiver as his hips spasmed and rutted into your in a painful way, so deep you thought you may have hurt something, but you were enjoying this all too much to care at all, and he hovered over you for a moment while he caught his breath.

“Holy shit, that was fucking great…” He whispered and leaned down before licking the wetness on your body to your breasts. “You are never leaving.” He smirked and you laid on your back, thinking about how you were completely fine with this.

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marlynnofmany · 9 days ago

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Preferred Speed

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

The cargo bay was full of people and packages. This was, they told me, how things used to be in the old days.

“Only four deliveries to the same location is simplistic,” Zhee declared with a flick of his antennae. “There were days when we had six or seven, and Sunlight or Mimi would be sent out too.” He flicked his antennae in a different direction at the missing honorific. “She wasn’t the captain then.”

“Sounds busy,” I said. “Was that Pockap’s idea?” I’d only spent a short time under the previous captain’s leadership, but I didn’t have much positive to say about it.

“Among other things,” Zhee agreed.

“Hey Zhee, we’ll get back to the ship first!” announced Blip with a wide grin on her fishy face. Blop did stretches behind her, next to a hovercart carrying a heavy-looking crate.

“You will not,” Zhee said with serene confidence. “I will be here well-rested long before you appear.”

“You say that now!” Blip bantered back. “But I think you’ll find us lounging on the ramp when you return.”

Blop finished his stretch and threw a mischievous glance at Paint. “We definitely won’t be the last to arrive.”

“No fair,” Paint complained, clutching her own small box to her chest like a scaly child. “You all have longer legs than me.”

I said, “I could give you a ride if you want. I have the hoverbike.” (I did. I was looking forward to it.)

Paint regarded the old-but-serviceable machine like an untamed horse. “Maybe?”

I brought up the map on the handlebar screen. “Your spot is along the main road, right? That’s an easy stop on the way to the observatory. And your package is small enough to carry while you hold on.”

“Isn’t there room in the storage compartment?” Paint asked hopefully.

I didn’t even have to look. “Nope. Mine barely fit. If we could get both in there, Captain Sunlight probably would have just had me deliver both.”

“Both what?” asked the captain from the doorway, hearing her name.

I explained, “I’m going to give Paint a ride to deliver that package, since she can carry it while it won’t fit in the bin.”

“I see,” said Captain Sunlight. “Very resourceful. And very brave of you, Paint.”

Paint sighed unhappily. “It sure is.”

Mur followed the captain in, chuckling. “Better you than me. Enjoy the speed.”

“I can drive slowly if you want,” I told Paint.

Paint stood as tall as she could, which wasn’t very. “No, I don’t want to hold you up. Regular speed is fine.”

“Great to hear,” said Captain Sunlight with a clap of her scaly hands. “Everyone take your places; we’re about to land.”

We all got ready. Blip and Blop maneuvered their hovercart to be near the front; Zhee shouldered in next to them with his bundle worn like a backpack; I got onto the hoverbike and Paint reluctantly climbed up behind me.

“Have fun!” Mur called with a wave of a blue-black tentacle. “I’ll be doing meal prep with Eggskin, thinking of you.”

I could hear the scowl in Paint’s voice. “I hope it’s something stinky.”

The intercom chimed with the landing tone, just in case we were distracted by bickering or something. A subtle change in engine tone, and we were there.

Captain Sunlight opened the bay door. Blip and Blop scrambled out, yelling cheerfully after Zhee when he used their hovercart like a springboard to jump ahead.

While they all ignored the captain’s reminders to be careful, I drove down the ramp at a sedate pace with Paint’s hands clutching my shirt, and we were out into the alien city.

This was a nice-looking one. Very sunny and clean. The spaceport was right next to a public thoroughfare, which felt weirdly trusting after the tight security at some other places we’d visited. Apparently all the screening for ne-er-do-wells was handled before landing here, or they just didn’t expect any trouble. Either way, it looked safe and pretty, with single-story architecture that reminded me of sandcastles made of porcelain. Everywhere were rounded walls with domed tops, tapering from the bottom like someone scooped the material together. Then turned it glossy white with lots of intricate patterns, and translucent bits where it got thin enough for the sun to show through. Most of the pedestrians were either Strongarms or Waterwills, and I wondered whose culture had come up with the design. Maybe both together.

I was maneuvering the hoverbike onto the convenient skyroad that passed over those pedestrians, and thinking idly about whether there was a different word for people who walked without proper feet, when I noticed how tight Paint’s grip had become.

“Should I slow down?” I asked over the wind. “Or would you rather walk after all? I can pull over.”

“I’m okay,” Paint said, a little tense. “Pretending we’re on the ground. I don’t have to look. Enjoy your crazy human death wish.”

I laughed and shook my head, but didn’t bother to argue. She wasn’t going to enjoy speed or heights no matter how eloquent I was about it.

So I did enjoy the ride, on the nice wide skyroad made of a transparent material that was probably a Waterwill design. Most of the single-person scooters and bigger buses hummed along slowly, though there was plenty of room to weave past them and admire the view of the city while I did. Those porcelain walls got really colorful farther out, and most of the walkways were tiled in colorful squares.

Much too soon, the map showed Paint’s destination up ahead, and I took an off-ramp down to a lovely little public park. There was even something like grass, though the vegetative lumps that passed for trees didn’t cast much shade.

“We’re here,” I told Paint. “Your location is right over there.”

After a pause that was probably Paint prying her eyes open and taking in the surroundings, she let go and said, “Oh good. Thank you.”

“Package okay?” I asked. Hopefully it hadn’t gotten squashed.

“Yes, it’s fine. I’ll meet you back here, right?” She slid shakily off.

“Sure thing,” I agreed. “Shouldn’t take me too long. Enjoy the sun after you drop that off!”

Paint smiled the honest smile of a cold-blooded lizardperson under a warm sun. “I will!” She trotted off with a wave, and I zoomed up the onramp back into the sky.

I drove much faster this time, and it was great. The road got even emptier as I reached the edge of the city, which, for our purposes, was conveniently close. The observatory rested on a hill outside of town. I wondered if the telescopes and whatnot inside had trouble with the city glow, but when I looked for streetlights, I only saw little downward-facing things that I’d taken for security cameras. Maybe this city didn’t glow much at night, at least not in an upward direction. Pity we were doing the delivery now and I wouldn’t get to see it. Though, I reflected, I’d likely enjoy this skyroad less in the dark.

The road sloped down to meet the ground when it ran out of buildings, and I zipped past more tree-lumps on the way up to the observatory. It was built out of porcelain too, looking extra thick and sturdy.

An Earth-style doorbell seemed very out of place, but it was at knee height on me, so that tracked. I rang it and got the package out of the storage bin.

A thick chunk of wall pulled inward then slid to the side with a thud. “Hello!” said the client, a Strongarm with vivid red coloring and a pointy squid head like Mur. I glimpsed another in the background that was a roundheaded coral pink, and much less chatty than this one. “Thank you so much for the delivery! I hope the drive went well? No traffic or accidents or whatnot?”

I handed her the box, which was large but lightweight. “No, it was nice and easy. Nothing to slow things down, and the view was lovely.” This delivery didn’t require a signature the way most of them did, so I wasn’t sure how much conversation I was in for now that my job was technically done.

“Good, good,” she said, juggling the box with a random assortment of tentacles. “Oh, is that one of those really fast vehicles? I could never! I hope they pay you enough for the risk.”

I smiled. “The pay’s just fine, and it goes at a good speed for me.”

“So bold and daring. Here! Take this for your troubles.” She set the box inside, then grabbed a little bag that looked like commercial snack food. “These are the best, and I just cannot stop eating them. You’ll do me a favor by taking a bagful.”

From inside the room, the other Strongarm yelled, “Give two.”

“Yes, quite right. Have two.” A second bag joined the first.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting them graciously. The label held a posing Strongarm that suggested I check with Eggskin’s species database before trying any. Their food was usually pretty compatible, but I wouldn’t want to be wrong.

“My pleasure! Have a lovely day, and a safe drive back!” She waved three tentacles and fairly pranced back inside before slapping the door close button. Even after it shut with a thud, I could make out her excited voice talking about the package.

I put the crunchy snack food into the now-empty storage bin, and sped off down the hill.

There was nobody out there, so I upped my speed from “reasonable” to “enjoyable,” and made it back to the park in no time flat.

“That was fast!” Paint said as she scampered over. She’d actually been lying on one of the lower tree-lumps like a fence lizard soaking up the sun, which was adorable and not something I was going to comment on.

“Yup, and I even got food as a tip.” I opened the bin and showed her a bag.

She grabbed it in delight. “These are the best! Pockap used to get them, and he’d never share!”

“Help yourself,” I said. “I got two.”

Paint made delighted noises and opened the bag to crunch a mouthful happily before folding it into the storage bin and settling into place.

I caught a whiff of seafood, like low tide during the peak of summer. Maybe I wouldn’t bother asking Eggskin if I could eat it.

“All set?” I asked.

“Yes,” Paint said decisively, getting a solid grip.

I scooted the bike gently toward the ramp. “You can have both bags. If Mur likes them too, you could bribe him to trade with you on the next delivery.”

“Ooh,” Paint said. “Thank you. I might do that. Or I might just eat them.”

“Your choice,” I said, then zoomed up onto the skyroad. I tried to go slowly, but I was pretty sure Paint closed her eyes anyway.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#everybody's getting in on the pranking today #page three of five #having fun with it #and this story is a calm little slice-of-life #only time will tell what next week holds #my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #science fiction #writeblr #writblr

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