#posting at absolute peak hours! past midnight

[mod2amaryllis]

KING THE HOUR IS FUCKING NIGH

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post #3: Life During Wartime

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by myriadimagines

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 3.2K (third post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

_______________________________

“Fucking farrick,” you grumble, trying to jam the locker door back onto its hinges. When it finally eases open, you grab your rucksack and head for the exit without changing out of your coveralls. 

You never remove so much as a shoe once you're inside the refinery. Showers were available, but no one used them. Cameras surveilled practically every inch of this facility. And just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t in here, too.  

Stepping out from under the dim artificial light, it takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the riot of color. It’s early morning, barely past midnight, but the sky is awash in brilliant yellows and oranges, alight with swirling pink clouds. 

Lakaran’s nearest sun only dipped below the mountains this time of year, never truly setting. When it sank behind the peaks at this hour, the ridgeline became a deep indigo against the horizon, its glaciers reflecting back the sky’s warm glow.  

Ehki is what the Lakarani called their star. Grandmother, it meant. Her daughter, Amular, was the world, and Ehki traveled around her in an unending circle to carefully watch over her children. So tonight, when the sun finally fell into darkness, and there would be several hours of real night for the first time in months, the Lakarani would throw a gigantic party while Grandma Ehki wasn’t looking. 

You know you should hurry up and leave before someone accuses you of loitering, but instead, you pause to take in the view. A small, inconsequential act of rebellion. The scenery is breathtaking up here. The air is thin and crisp. It’s the best part of your day to stand on this spot and take in the majestic landscape right before making that sharp turn toward the escalator. 

The view from the west side of the slope is decidedly less sublime. 

The scale of the encampments surrounding the processing plant is almost impossible to take in at first glance. The structures are a jumble of materials built on top of each other in layers that look more like debris washed up by the river than a deliberate settlement.

The skyline is dominated by the refinery’s cooling towers belching out steam that smelled acrid and made the air thick with humidity. The water used for cooling went right back into the river, along with the encampment’s sewage. Which is why you absolutely refused to eat anything fished or gathered downstream.

You step off the escalator and see Humia waiting for you outside the checkpoint. The security guard reaches for your bag, not bothering to look up or make conversation while she searched its contents. She doesn’t care to ask for your name either, just waits for the familiar beep of the transponder at your wrist to confirm your exit as you walk through the gate.

“How’d it go today?”

“Good,” you answer brightly, patting the bound folio strapped to your stomach. “I found this fire safety and evacuation handbook with a very detailed floor plan of level nine. Raceways, server rooms, access panels…I’ll have to ask my partner about the utility lines, but we might be able to bore into the operations center from an adjoining room.”  

“That is good,” she nods enthusiastically. "This is your partner, Nito? He’s the tech guy?”

“Yeah,” a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. Humia probably wasn’t envisioning a furry thirteen-year-old when she used the phrase tech guy, but that would be a fun little detail for her to discover later. 

Or sooner rather than later? You still haven’t heard anything from the Razor Crest about when to expect their arrival on Lakaran. Which is absolutely fine. Definitely not a big deal. Nope. Not at all something that you’ve been overthinking for the past eighteen days straight. 

Nope. It’s not at all distracting to obsess about how, after months of tortuous yearning, you finally had sex with the Mandalorian and have not spoken to him since. 

Gods, why is it suddenly so hard to breathe just thinking about him? The fact that you spend most of your nights alone, willing yourself to recall the memory of his hands on your body while the tears can fall without shame…has been, you know, not great for your mental health. 

So that’s why, a few nights a week, you take a break from drowning in insecurity and play at the Sabacc tables. 

Guess that’s out of the question now. You’ll need to avoid Johar Kessen like the plague.   

“Nito’s been dredging through the Imperial archive for more information on the refinery. The stuff he’s found is incredible. All of the records from when they built this place.” 

“Good,” she smiles appreciatively. 

As you descend toward the encampment, the rocky mountain path splits into three parts. Two fanned out onto the raised perimeter wall made of poured concrete and scrapwood that traced a broad circle around the sprawling camp. It had been constructed by the Tagge Corporation to help with mudslides, but what it really helped with was surveilling the Lakarani. 

You and Humia take the main path through the center of camp. 

The hut you shared was higher up on the slope, which was a blessing when it rained but a pain in the ass when you had to walk uphill after eating your weight’s worth of bean cakes for dinner or hauling laundry back home from the wash house. 

“Another option is turning one of the technicians, but I’m not having a ton of luck in that department. I can usually wrap scientists around my finger, but engineers are so tricky. It takes them an ungodly amount of time to realize you’re trying to fuck them.”

“For what it’s worth, I would turn for you in a heartbeat,” you say, holding your face between your hands, eyes wide with adoration. “Those dark lashes are criminally lush.”

Humia swats away the compliment. “I could steal a key card, but I have no idea how long it would take for someone to discover it’s gone. That might hold us to a very narrow time frame depending on when it’s reported missing.”

You follow her up the winding footpath that leads homeward. The camp is much easier to navigate this time of day, when everyone is still asleep. “I like the idea of entering from an adjoining room. That way, there’s no exposure in the hallway. Even if we’re in uniform, five people on the cleaning crew, when there are usually only two, will be immediately suspicious.”

The Mandalorian’s solution would undoubtedly be to come in through the front door, rifles blazing, but that’s not an option in this scenario. You have to secure the operations center before anyone from the Tagge Corporation realizes the refinery is under attack. The risk that they would activate the facilities’ containment protocol is too great. It would condemn not only everyone on site but anyone within five leagues of the processing plant.

“We could stuff Serenio and Davik into the cleaning cart?” Humia chuckles at the implausibility of this suggestion.

“I doubt we could even push the cart with Davik stuffed inside. He’s built like a stack of boulders.”

“I told him to quit training in the fighting pits. He’s going to attract too much attention.” 

“Why does every population center in this galaxy require some kind of fighting pit? It’s a weird kind of calculus. One communal latrine per 20 persons. One fighting pit per 100 persons.”

She rolls her eyes, “Do you know a more straightforward way to earn money than two people beating the shit out of each other? Though, I don’t think Davik does it for the money. He’s just like a puppy that chews all your socks if he doesn’t get enough exercise.” 

“He’s so young,” you sigh, feeling suddenly guilty. “Him and Serenio, both.”

“Most soldiers are,” Humia scoffs. “Revolutions don’t offer a very robust life expectancy.”

“That’s true. I didn’t expect to make it out alive when I joined the Rebellion. And I appreciate the protection. But I can’t help seeing them as children.”

She tosses her head with a derisive laugh, “And I didn’t expect you to be so tenderhearted.”

No doubt she thought it made you weak. But you’re wise enough to know empathy took far more bravery than cynicism. “Just because I can recognize the cruelty of this life doesn’t mean I’ve made peace with it.”  

“That’s rather noble coming from someone working with a Mandalorian.” 

Your neck turns sharply to catch the look on her face, but she’s already ducking around the pilings and cantilevered beams bracing your neighbors' houses against the mountainside.  

“You don’t like Mandalorians?” It seems like an odd prejudice. 

“No,” she sneers. “They say they are bound by codes and honor, yet they show nothing but selfish indifference toward the plight of others.” She stops abruptly on her heels to glare at you, brushing strands of auburn hair from her eyes. “And I like your Mandalorian least of all.”

He’s not my Mandalorian, your heart sighs.

The hateful disdain imbuing her words is like a slap to the face. Humia rarely revealed the depth of her emotions. What could inspire this level of rancor from an otherwise inscrutable woman? And why bring this up now?

You cough, clearing your throat to mask the apprehension in your voice. “I didn’t realize you already knew him?”

“I don’t need to know him. I know what he’s done.” But it’s a reflexive response, not a real answer. So you wait. “They’re all mercenaries,” she says, compelled to explain herself. “Condemning their souls for money. They profit from the misery of others for the sake of themselves.” 

You can tell she desperately wants you to ask, What has he done?

It’s not the first time Humia had hinted at a bitter history between the Mandalorian and her leader, Ubaa Dir. But you don’t take the bait. If you’re missing some part of the story, you want to hear it from his lips, not hers.

Instead, you remind her with a wry grin, “Well, now you’re working with him too.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she concedes. “Wars make for strange bedfellows.” 

An image of them together flashes behind your eyes, and the irrational taste of jealousy fills your mouth. Don’t be absurd! Hadn’t Humia just admitted she'd never met Mando? 

Lucky for you, she lets the moment pass without escalation. Her tone shifts, and she places a companionable hand on your shoulder.

“I’ve heard Kessen fights in the pits. We could go to watch him sometime? Belen’s right, you know, he’s got a crush on you.”

“I have no idea why,” you begin, but Humia raises her hand to cut you off.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Kasya. Hiding under workwear and bushy eyebrows won't change that.”

“Now, why would you bring my eyebrows into it?” You tease, as though it might erase her vitriol from moments ago. That is until you catch sight of the security guard standing on your front porch. “Is it okay that he’s waiting here for you?”

It’s the same guy she brought home last week. When he spots you walking down the path, his face breaks into a wide grin. He waves, looking giddy, as though he might jump off the steps to run for her.  

“This one, I can turn,” she mutters, slowing her pace. “I’m glad he told us how to block the transponders…but he’s fallen harder than he should. If he starts getting heartsick, it could be a problem.”

“Poor kid. You bat those lashes, and what hope do any of us have?” 

“See,” she looks at you askance, nudging you in the stomach with her elbow. “That shit is why Kessen likes you. You’re so sweet with your friends and no one else. He wants some of that honey for himself.”

You snatch at the opportunity to throw her off the subject. “Why Humia Fenrik, are we friends?”

“Why, yes, Kas,” her voice is laden with gooey sarcasm. “You’re my best friend. That’s why I got you this job, remember?” She adamantly refuses to change the subject. “Some men like a challenge. And Johar Kessen is very bored stuck out here with the likes of us, guarding all these soulless corpos.”

“So by challenge, you mean, like how I’ve given him absolutely no indication whatsoever that I’m interested?”

“Are you worried he might recognize you from the Rebellion?”

“What?! No, I’m sure he was much higher up the food chain.” Rumor was that Kessen had led special operations forces during the war. “Kinda sad that he went from Rebel hero to working for the Tagge family.”

“There’s your angle,” Humia says, snapping her fingers. “It would be good to have him on our side once the fighting starts. And Kessen might be elite for a bodyguard, but I bet they treat him like a piece of furniture, same as the rest of us. He must hear things.”

You cock your head at her. “Then maybe you should approach him?”

She’s probably already considered it, but come on! She didn’t have to rake her eyes over you like a bawd house madam ready to offer up her best girl. 

“I’m not the one he wants.”

“Listen, I’m flattered you think so highly of my charm, but I do not have the skill set.” You’re at least tactful enough not to say, I’m not like you out loud. This is Humia’s job. She’s very good at it. And it’s not your place to approve or disapprove of the way she went about it. “I’d be too nervous.”

You remember each time you had to quietly lock yourself in the privy to heave up the contents of your stomach whenever the Mandalorian asked you a pointed question, thinking, He knows! He knows I’m lying! 

Which…yeah, it turns out he did. “I think I’d have a panic attack and blackout.”

“Your cover story is a psycho ex-lover. Of course, you’re nervous.” At that, Humia gives you an appraising look. “You’re living under a stolen identity and seem to be doing just fine.”

“Exactly! Because I don’t talk to anyone.” A sudden knot lodges in your throat. “Have you asked Serenio to approach anyone?”

One of the refinery executives had an unsettling interest in her. You clean the facilities overnight, so there's rarely any staff on-site, but whenever he worked late, he made a point of saying hello to her. A good opportunity to practice his Twi’lek sign language, he claimed.

You know it’s a mistake to ask about it as soon as the question leaves your mouth. She immediately becomes defensive. “Serenio is loyal unto death. She would do whatever I commanded.”

Humia didn’t have to add, unlike you. It just hung in the air unspoken. 

“But Serenio is trained for combat, not espionage. And she’s green as a pea shoot.” 

“Ah, so I’m overripe?” You arch a bushy eyebrow at her. "Just falling off the vine. Thanks for that!"

“I’m just saying Johar Kessen is very attractive and likable. You wouldn’t have to pretend. It’s not much of a heavy lift, surely?”

“Okay, the sleeping with him part I could probably manage. But as soon as I ask Kessen a remotely leading question, he will immediately know what I’m up to!”

“There’s no need to tie yourself into knots,” she snaps. "Just be honest. You think it’s beneath you.”

Humia’s back is rigid, and her jaw is clenched tight. She looks so proud yet so vulnerable that it breaks your heart.

Is this why she’s so angry? She'd been seething all day, spoiling for a fight. It makes you question whether her anger about the Mandalorian is sincere or just an attempt to provoke you.

“Humia, this entire operation is built on your intelligence work. You think I look down on you because I’m horrified or judgemental about what you do. But it’s the opposite. I recognize what a dangerous game you’re playing and know I don’t have the courage for it.”

You wish you could give her a hug, but this was not the time or place to dwell on what was at stake, or the weight of what she carried on her shoulders.

“Fine,” Humia huffs, shaking off the tension. “Just think about it.”

Oh, you’ve had plenty of time to think about it. Sleeping with Johar Kessen is not going to happen for a number of reasons. 

Chief among them is he would discover that—contrary to your fake documents—you are not human. Which would inevitably lead to the discovery that you are not, in fact, Kasya Hawat. That secret would give him leverage, and you simply refuse to hand someone that kind of power over you.  

But you can’t tell Humia this. Because then she would know that you aren’t human, and that is something you don’t plan to share with anyone here on Lakaran. At least not yet. It’ll be another fun little detail for her to discover later.

Seven hells, now you’re doubly glad she doesn’t know. Given the course of this conversation, you have no doubt she’d insist that you use your influence to dig through Kessen’s thoughts and memories for something useful. That’s why Hapan courtesans were so highly prized—one of the few professions the Consortium allowed to leave the Hapes Cluster—and why they made the best spies. 

Amongst those other reasons…you have no idea how Mando would react. Though, if you had to guess? You’d guess poorly. 

While there’s the whole sworn warrior of Mandalore—I can’t call you mine—complication, you know how he feels about you. A man who struggles with trust would not find it easy to share. His sense of duty and commitment to the job might oblige him to accept it as a necessary tactic, but you aren’t willing to risk it driving a wedge between you. Things are already too delicate.

Aaand now you’re thinking about Mando again. 

Fuck, you miss him so much. You awoke every morning wanting him, a dull ache between your thighs. You wanted to hear the sound of his laughter, to touch every inch of his skin with your fingers and feel his heartbeat under your lips to know he was really all right. You wanted to feel his body over you, under you, inside you… 

Ugh, you’ve already thought about him about a dozen times today. What’s once more.  

“Okay, I’ll think about it.” You lie, hoping she’ll let this go for now. “Will I see you later?” You ask, looking meaningfully at the security guard waiting impatiently on your porch.

“No. Unless you’re going to the bonfire tonight?” Her gaze became conspiratorial. “Kessen will probably be there. All those corpos love Lakarani culture if it means slumming it up with us. He'll have to keep them out of trouble. Your pocket is chirping, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, distractedly patting down the front of your coveralls. “Um, sure. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“If not, we should meet for morning prayers at the temple tomorrow. Make our report.” Humia says, beckoning the guard over to join you. “Why are you smiling at your communicator?”

"Hmmm?"

The Razor Crest had just arrived on Lakaran.

****************

Continue reading: Volume 4-Post #4: Say goodbye to the old me.

Back to Volume 4 - all posts

[mcufox123]

Table 5

Summary: You are a 5-star chef. What happens when two avengers enter your restaurant. 

WandaxFemReader

AN: this is going to bea multichapter series. 

Warning: Slow burn 

I do not own any of the marvel characters.

Chapter 2. Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6

Hiss. You heard as you dropped a piece of halibut into the frying pan. You had ten order fires for your famous white fish dish. You sauteed the veggies and spinach that went along with the dish. It was hot in the kitchen, but you kept your head down and just kept working. It was a busy Saturday night at the 5-star restaurant you worked at. the kitchen was on the floor so all its patrons could see you hard at work.

You loved your job. You threw everything you had into the prep work during the day and the excitement of 10 order fires at a time at night. You laid the plates out and set them up so all you had to do was place the fish on top. Your eyes never left your station to look at the patrons. With your rough hands that had suffered many burns and scars, you placed a dish on the table to be taken out when you looked up momentarily and was completely caught off guard.

You looked up to see one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid eyes on. Her reddish hair fell perfectly around her face which held the most beautiful emerald eyes. You watched as a tall man pulled out the chair for her as she went to sit down. Your trance was cut off by Bill asking if the dish was ready to be taken out. You nodded as you wiped your hands on your towel.

“Bill keep me updated on what table 5 orders.” You said giving him a stern look at turning to finish the other 9 halibuts on the stove. Every time you put another plate on the table your eyes went to her.

“You know we have two avengers in here tonight?” Bill asked as up put up another fish.

“We do?” you asked interest peaked, thoughts drifting from table 5 for a moment.

“Yeah, Vision and the Scarlett witch. Vision told the hostess that he was going to propose here tonight. They’re over at table 5.” You looked over and your stomach dropped. The women who you had stolen glances of was about to be engaged, not to mention she was one of the most powerful beings in the world.

You covered up your disappointment as you told Bill to keep you posted on their order. Ten minutes later he informed you that they ordered a fish and a steak.

“I’m going to run their platters; you keep an eye on the fish when I do.” You informed Gerry who was working at the station next to you. You plated the fish and waited for the steak. When both were ready you wiped your hands, brushed down your hair and made sure you looked somewhat presentable.

You grabbed the platters and made your way across the restaurant. The servers were eyeing you suspiciously. You never leave your station; the governor even came to dine at your restaurant and requested to see you and you turned him down choosing to continue to cook. The only other time you left your station was when your mom was in town and decided to eat at your restaurant. You set the meat in front of Vision eyeing him up. He looked like an alright guy. Then you turned and put the fish in front of the Scarlett Witch.

“I am Chef Y/N, welcome to Contento. I hope you enjoy your food and if you need anything I will be working right over there.” You said talking mostly to the women glancing at the man occasionally.

“Thank you, Chef Y/N.,” Vision said trying to get your eyes off his girlfriend. The beautiful women just kept smiling at you.

“Enjoy!” you said while backing away from the table. You made your way over to your station picking up where you left off with the fish you were cooking. You glanced up at table 5 when you put another dish up.

Vision was on one knee and the Scarlett Witch had her hand to her mouth. You could see him talking and you could see tears form in her eyes. You became extremely uncomfortable at that moment and seemed to hold your breath.

Vision stopped talking and you could see the woman shake her head no as he got up off the ground. Then an argument between the two seemed to start. Vision held his hand up before walking out of the restaurant as the woman sat back in her seat with her head in her hands.

She sat there for the rest of the night. She ordered the chocolate cake and a bottle of wine. All night while you were working you continued to glance at table 5 to see if she was there. Usually, you would tell the servers to kick people like that out but when your most trusted server asked if you wanted her out you shook your head no. You finished up for the night and cleaned up your station. Instead of doing your normal prep for the next day you decided to pour yourself a glass of wine. You watched as the woman continued to sit at table 5.

“Should I tell her to leave or just start wrapping up the night?” Bill asked you.

“Just start wrapping up, I’ll take care of her.” You assured him. You stood behind your station continuing to drink your glass of wine trying to figure out the woman who sat in your restaurant. The servers and staff finished up for the night and one by one waved at you as they left through the back door. You waved back and finally decided to make your way to table 5.

“You have officially been the customer to stay the longest at my restaurant.” You say walking over to table 5 with the bottle of your best wine and wine glass in hand. You take a seat across from her

“Oh, I am so sorry! I didn’t even realize. Wow where did everyone go?” she said looking around the restaurant now realizing it was empty.

“The restaurant officially closed an hour and a half ago and my staff just left about 10 minutes ago.” You informed her.

“Oh my gosh its midnight.” She said now finally looking at her phone then at the dishes on her table. “And I left a mess, I can clean this up just let me know where it goes.” She said while stacking glasses and trying to brush up the crumbs. You put your hands on tops of hers to stop her and feel warmth spread throughout your body. Your eyes meet and you gave her a little smile.

“It’s totally ok just leave it. You are more than welcome to stay; I saw what happened tonight. I just wanted to let you know that I will be over there cooking.” You said as you picked up your wine glass leaving the bottle behind.

“Would you mind if I came over there and watched?” she asked hesitantly. You glanced back and saw hopeful eyes.

“Not at all Scarlett Witch.” You saw her flinch at the name.

“Please, call me Wanda. Scarlett Witch is just for the media really.” You smile and nod. You pulled up a barstool where Bill usually stands on the other side of the station, while you grab some veggies to cut. You had decided to make your own dinner tonight instead of eating a bag of chips.

“What are you making?” she asks as she sits on the stool and watches you curiously.

“I’m not sure yet, but whatever it is it’ll be my dinner.” You said honestly.

“Come here.” She instructed you and you don’t know why but you listened. You made your way around the station and saw her stand up from her seat and pointed for you to sit. “You have been working all night, you let me stay way past close, and you gave me a $500 bottle of wine to drink. Get off your feet drink some wine and let me cook.” She informed as she made her way around to where you had been just seconds before.

“Thank you, not many people are willing to tell a head chef to chill.” You said to her. You watched her as she pulled her hair back and began to expertly cut the vegetables. “And you know your way with a knife, remind me not to cross you.” You chuckled.

“Well, I like to cook myself. I try to cook something new whenever I can. I started cooking when I was young with my family in Sokovia.” She said as her cutting slowed obviously lost in a memory.

“I can relate to that; I grew up in an Italian family. I started when I was old enough to hold a knife.” You said adding to the conversation.

The conversation continued to flow as she began to throw them in a sauce pan. She searched your station for her next ingredients. Usually no one was allowed to go through your station, but you were curious to see what she was making.

“So, I know it is absolutely none of my business but are you ok?” you asked full of concern. You saw her freeze her search on a momentary pause before she continued to look pretending as if she didn’t hear you. You decided to keep talking.

“I was almost engaged once. I have been in this industry since I was 15. I have thrown everything I have into becoming the best. Two years ago, I started dating this girl. We dated for a year even moved in together. She tried to rush everything, like she was trying to prove something to herself. So, when she proposed I had to decline. Instead, I moved out and opened this restaurant. Hurting people is hard but sometimes it’s for the best.” You said trying your best to comfort her.

She seemed very concentrated on the chicken she was now expertly filleting. “We weren’t in love love. He’s my best friend and we do everything together, but I was never attracted to him. When he asked me out, I said yes and now it’s been two years. All because I was scared, I would lose him if I didn’t. Now I ruined everything.” She said turning from you to put the chicken in the pan.

It was quiet for a minute before you heard a sniffle. She turned around wiping her eyes and trying to pull it together.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to unload all of this after crashing your night. I should probably just leave you be.” She said while wiping her hands on the towel and turning to leave your station.

“Hey its ok, you’re ok. I enjoy your company.” You said while reaching out for her hand. She turned and looked at you curiously.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she said looking in your eyes for any trace of insincerity.

“I, I, I don’t know, but I feel like, like you can be good to me. That maybe you’re the one who can teach me something. What that is I have no idea, but I want to know.  And I want to do the same for you.” You said knowing that you probably sound like a mad idiot to this strange woman who you have only known for an hour.

She continued searching your face. “Your strange and bold. I like that.” She said while squeezing her hand before going back behind your station.

You sat back down and continued to watch the woman who piqued your interest continue to cook.

[thefanficmonster]

Phone Call Anxiety

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When wanting to make quality merch, one needs a quality team there to produce and work on quality ideas. Great minds think alike. Great eyes see alike and great hands make alike - the three keys to the formula of creating a clothing line that will be fashionable and up to his brand. Luckily, Corpse knows just who to call.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, I absolutely loved the idea! Sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be turned into a fic for so long, but I still hope you come across it and give it a read in which case I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

He’s not a fan of phone calls. Anyone who knows him even remotely is very well informed on Corpse’s distaste for phone calls and upholding a conversation over the phone. He’d even go as far as to say talking to a person face to face is less stressful for him than that previous option.

But still, seeing as how the person he’s trying to reach lives in a different state and is rather busy all the time, arranging an IRL meeting is basically impossible at the moment, and sending her a text results in running the risk of having the text overlooked or completely lost in the sea of notifications she probably gets on the daily.

Therefore, a phone call was his only proper way of reaching her. And it’s what’s got him pacing the room with his nervousness peaking.  He doesn’t know anything about this girl, nothing concrete at least. He was referred to her by Jack who brought her up in their passing conversation when Corpse mentioned how paranoid he was regarding his upcoming merch project. He specifically stated he doesn’t want anything basic and he wants the clothes to be fashionable, suitable for anyone no matter the age or gender and to be endurable. With all the love he has for his fans, he doesn’t want to give them anything less than what they deserve - the best.

“My friend’s the person you’re looking for.“ Jack said enthusiastically and confidently, “She helped me design the latest merch line I put out and I’ve never been more satisfied with my own merch. I’m planning on offering her a position in Cloak for her birthday. Make sure not to let that one slip out if you give her a call though.“ He warned half-jokingly. 

Bottom line, with that kind of intro, Corpse couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued. And so, he asked for this girl - Y/N’s contact info from Jack before he went to surf through her social media where she thankfully posted plenty of pictures of her creations, never failing to mention specifications in the caption of each picture so the viewers would get the perfect and most detailed idea of how high the standard for her work is.

And so he’s finally managed to talk himself into dialing her number that’s been sitting in his phone for weeks now. As he paces his living room, his nerves chewing him out like a dog would with a toy, listening to the ear piercing ring of the dial waiting to get picked up by the girl he’s trying to reach. 

Just then, Corpse’s head turns so that his eyes meet the glowing red numbers on his digital clock on his desk and he damn near hangs up the call right away - it’s half an hour past midnight. Fast as lightning, he removes the phone from his ear, his thumb flying over to press the red ‘end call’ button. Just then, a faint ‘hello’ reaches his ears, coming from the phone’s speaker. She’s answered the call.

He hurries to put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long to pick up, I ought to clean my desk eventually cause my phone was literally BURIED under a pile of papers.“ A cheerful sing-song voice rattles his stale and sleep deprived consciousness, as if awakening him from a half-dream state. “You’re either a wrong number caller or a last minute client, aren’t you? Need something done urgently?“

Corpse is taken the hell aback by her strong and downright awing first impression. Not to mention her energy at an hour unsuitable for calls. Lord knows he wouldn’t have picked up if her were in her spot. With the intention of not wasting any more of her time than necessary, he hurries to explain his situation. “Y/N, right? Um no, I’m neither actually. I was told about you by a friend, he said you were a real miracle-doer with fashion design.” He trails off for a second, not completely sure of how to hold this conversation, “Uh, sorry for the odd timed call, I lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to call you for hours now but I...I was nervous.” He cringes the second the word leaves his lips, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he wants to leave her with a great, better than realistic impression of himself but he does and as of now he deems his attempts as ultimate failures.

He hears her giggle from her end, rifling through what sounds to be papers, “Yeah, I’m her. And boy is it refreshing to get someone who’s calling with an actual purpose.” She sighs as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, “And don’t worry about the phone call anxiety. Makes two of us, to be honest.”

This catches him off-guard. The last thing he’d expect is for this girl to have phone call anxiety. In fact, she appears to be a natural, God-given talent at carrying conversations and upholding chit-chat with people. Maybe he’s a little too quick to judge - probably, considering he’s ‘known’ her for less than five minutes and knows nothing but her occupation, her name and the state she lives in - but that bubbly persona she greeted him with gave off the impression that it’s immune to any and all kinds of social anxiety - or anxiety in general. To hear such an honest and counter-to-assumptions confession on her part rattles him a tiny bit. In a good way though.

“How does that work for you? Isn’t your whole job depending on your phone conversational skills?“ He doesn’t mind that he didn’t phrase that too perfectly or that he straight up blurted it out. He knows he’ll be understood. She’s obviously a person who understands. Not just something specific, but everything. She simply understands. How he drew this conclusion and how accurate it is, he may not know until further notice.

“Well...“ she sighs as if genuinely looking to give him a proper answer, “You see, after doing it for so long and having been caught off guard quite a few times with some absolutely absurd orders, I’ve grown prepared of literally ANYTHING and I have a line prepared for anything the caller has to say. I just no longer let them catch me off guard and it’s fine. Helps avoid any possible awkward silences.“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up, her explanation only raising more questions rather than providing answers. But he’s not gonna be the annoying dumbass asking those questions at close to 1AM and bugging her. After all, if she agrees to this partnership, they’ll be hearing and potentially seeing a lot more of each other soon. “Impressive, honestly. You’re gonna need to teach me sometime.“ He’s unaware he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the window. However, he doesn’t bother hiding it. This conversation is actually making him feel good, serving as a reminder that he’s not the only one who periodically goes through turmoil over small things. 

She giggles again, this time the sound manages to draw a blush out of him, coating his cheeks, “I’d typically stray for revealing my secrets to professional success, but I’m willing to make an exception for you...” she pauses for a second as though she’s just now remembered something, “Oh shoot, I don’t even know your name.”

He wheezes out a nervous laugh, realizing he never introduced him, “Oh yeah, sorry, that’s my bad. My name’s Corpse, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you too, Corpse.“ Y/N replies, sounding pleased but teasing simultaneously, “Now tell me, you didn’t call me about my phone call secrets, did you? What may be the real purpose of your call?“

Oh shoot, he himself almost forgot what he was calling for. Luckily, the reference designs displayed on his computer screen remind him. “Right, well, I’ve been thinking of launching a new merch line either this month or the next, depending on how long the procedure will take, and I needed someone great on my team to make some merch actually worth the money people are paying for it. And, as I said, I was told you were in that ‘someone great’ category.”

“Told by who, if you don’t mind me asking?“ She briefly cuts him off, her voice now giving away the fact that she’s half-absent-minded in this conversation, added evidence be the ruffling of more papers on her end.

“Jack. I mean, Sean. You know, Jacksepticeye.“ Corpse explains, contemplating whether he should’ve ratted Jack out like that. Hearing the sound of delight Y/N lets out eases his worries ASAP though.

“Oh Gosh, I haven’t seen that cutie in so long! He’s like a brother to me so a friend of Jack’s is a friend of min-“ this time she cuts herself off so abruptly Corpse thought the line was cut or she hung up on him. She doesn’t let him wonder for long though, “Wait, wait, wait....Merch? And you’re friends with Jack?“ She pauses for a second once again, once again not a long enough second for Corpse to speak up. “You’re a famous YouTuber, aren’t you?“

He was completely unaware of the fact Y/N hadn’t realized he was someone famous yet. In fact, he didn’t think of it because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to her considering she’s friends with Jack-fucking-septiceye! In his mind, his ranking is far lower than Jack’s - despite that mindset being absurd - so the last thing he expected was for her to have some sort of impressed reaction to have been talking to him on the phone this whole time. Hell, she doesn’t even know his full YouTube name or what kind of content he produces.

“WAIT!“ She shouts urgently, startling him a tiny bit, “You’re Corpse Husband, aren’t you? Oh my God, yes you are, how didn’t I put it together sooner? Ah crap, I really need more coffee for this.“

“No! No, you need more sleep.“ Corpse hurries to correct her but is very clearly ignored or overlapped with the many sounds that are coming from her end, “What are you doing?“

“You’re getting the first rough sketch of a design by tomorrow morning.“ She says, taking a sip of whatever beverage she’s acquired for the purpose of keeping her awake, “You go ahead and get some sleep, I know exactly what I’m doing. Don’t worry about it.“

“I’m not worried about the design.“ He hurries to say before she, God forbid, hangs up on him, “It’s 1AM, woman, you need sleep! I don’t need those designs done by tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even need them this week!“

“You don’t, but I do.“ Y/N says, sounding almost breathless because of what seems to be overwhelming excitement, “You don’t get it - I’m designing merch for Corpse fucking Husband! You have any idea how crazy that is?“

“I personally would say it’s underwhelming. I mean, I’m no Pewdiepie, after all.“ He says, now sat at his desk with his free hand rubbing his temple as he stares at the designs he’s pulled up on his screen, ones he probably won’t need given that he’s now working with a professional.

“Oh, shut it.“ She chuckles, “Shut it and get some sleep, ok? I’ll talk to you in the morning.“

“Noooo...“ He leisurely stretches the word, “Tell me, Y/N, do you have Discord?” She clicks her tongue instantly, giving him a signal that the question he’s asked is bordering into the territory of ridiculous. He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright then, lemme find you. If we’re partnering up on this, we’re both staying up.”

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t fully trust me with this? Like, I won’t be offended, I get it.“ She murmurs in-thought, the sound of clicking evident on her end. 

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t want me bothering you and want me to leave you alone?“ He mimics her statement, smirking to himself as he pulls up Discord, knowing he’s already won.

She huffs and tells him her Discord info, quickly adding a small comment, “...but only because great minds think alike. I know we’ll be getting along on this design pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, sure, whatever you say.“ He laughs, “Accept my friend request and let’s drop this phone call.“

“Hey! - um, before we do that, I just wanna say a quick thank you.“ Y/N murmurs quietly, as if half-hoping he doesn’t hear her.

“For what?“ Corpse asks, his brows furrowing, unsure if they’re on the same page about this gratitude.

“For never once triggering my phone call anxiety.“ She admits, “I mean, I know I said I have lines prepared for every conversation scenario possible, but you totally caught me off-guard.“ She giggles a tiny bit, now sounding dangerously close to nervous, “But, not in a bad way, if that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, I need more coffee.“

“No, no, it does!“ He hurries to reassure her, “It really does. And thank you too. Thank you for, you know, tolerating my BS at this hour. God knows I would’ve ignored your call if our roles were reversed.“

He hears her scoff and can’t help but laugh, “Huh ok, I see.“ She says, sounding greatly triggered and mock-pissed at his confession, “I’ll make sure to think of that next time you call me after midnight. Or at all, ever.“

Laughing his butt off, the only thing Corpse can think of in this moment is:

Damn, this girl and I are gonna get along

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[secondhand-trash]

‘Not wanting to let go’ hugs with Kuroo at 2:18 AM in the kitchen sounds super cute. 🥺 please and thank you!

- kuroo cake anon

A/N: I was trying to post this at exactly 2:18 my time but then I realised that it won’t be 2:18 for most people on here so I gave up hhhhhh

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Word count: 739

16. ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs

“You don’t have to get up with me,” you sighed, trying to pull your arm out of Kuroo’s grip to stir the pot sitting in front of you only to have his entire frame squeezing around you even more.

“But I wanna...”

The freshly pushed up spike of his hair brushed against your neck as he rubbed his face against the crook of your neck, his back bent down all the way so that he could keep up with this unnatural posture. 

You were a night owl at heart, going to bed at 2 am was the normal standard for you before he slowly encroached your living pattern and forced you to go to bed before the clock strikes midnight with him using his combination attack of long limbs trapping you on the bed and his “good night” in your ear as he forcefully switched off the light. He argued that he slept better with you and while it sounded like an absolutely adorable lie, you were slowly convinced that it may be partly true. You had learnt that he was a terribly light sleeper, with even the slightest of movements being able to stir him awake and the most minor deviation away from his usual sleeping pattern putting him on energy-saving mode for the following day to come. If you tried to reach your phone at the other corner of the bedside table or slip out of the bed when he fell asleep, it almost wouldn’t be long until you heard a confused noise from his side.

You gave up trying to not go to bed after a while and started waking up early as a consequence of this change as well which you supposed was a good thing.

You never knew that there could actually be so many hours in a day, it was a revelation.

But despite his try in making you a healthy functioning human, sometimes old habits slip through the cracks and you caught yourself lying awake in your boyfriend’s arms, staring at the pitch-black ceiling pitifully clear-headed after you ran out of stories to tell yourself in your head. 

It was boring, it was very boring not being able to fall asleep. 

You crooked your neck uncomfortably to your side. Kuroo’s head had fallen to the crack between his pillows and yours, with the back of his head squeezing between the gap and your head tugged under his jaw, pushing his hair up by the side. You had thought that sharing a bed with someone might fix his bed head but it seemed like he would always find a way to get that signature peak. He was snoring softly, looking so at peace with drool leaking out of the corner of his parted lips and his cheek smushed out awkwardly by the pillow.

You were bored and it was just a little past 2, and you were starting to think it might be nice if you could get something down your stomach.

You truly did thought you succeeded in slipping out of your bedroom without waking him up, happily rummaging through your fridge to find the leftover soup from dinner in a tupperware which was equivalent to spotting gold for anyone looking for a late night eat like you were.

You were just about to turn on the stove after emptying the tupper’s contents into your pot when you felt a weight slumping over your shoulder, followed by arms grumpily wrapping up around your shoulder.

“You should go back to bed,” you said and you felt him shake his head as you watched the simmer on the soup calm after the heat was turned off, “I’ll come back right after I’m done with my soup-”

“Ngh...” he mumbled, not willing to let go of you.

You could not even point your finger at how awake he really was as he clung to you, hugging you close to his chest as you struggled to pull out a spoon from the drawer with this extra weight on your back.

“Don’t-” a yawn slobbered over his words, “wanna be alone...”

You sighed as you put your spoon right into the pot of soup as it was, smiling as you shook your head. He let out a pleased grumble when you leaned backwards, caressing his forearm with your free hand.

“Do you want soup?” you asked, holding back your chuckle when he let out a noise.

“Yea...”

[anonniemousefics]

The Walls Are Thin

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 5,282

Synopsis: The walls are very thin in the old rickety house they called The Slat. Inej attempts to quiet the strange boy who lives above her, but, over the years, gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

Inej opened her eyes in the dark. It was well past midnight, and Kaz Brekker was stomping all across the floor above her again.

She glared up at the low ceiling in her little room below his in The Slat, trying a bore a hole through the wood with her glare. She wanted to wring his neck. She’d just spent two days following a rich, adulterous merch for blackmail fodder, with barely two hours of sleep in between, and she wanted to sleep for the next ten days. Instead, she’d been listening to Kaz’s uneven gait, pacing for the last half hour. Sometimes, she’d hear him sit on his bed, the coils on the mattress squeaking beneath his weight. Other times, she’d hear his chair scrape across the floor.

Go. To. Sleep. She was trying her hand at telepathy. It wasn’t working.

What was she going to do? Kaz was only a little older than she was, but he had intimidation and menace in spades. He’d been kind to her, sort of, since he’d bought her indenture three months ago. One of the kindest Kerch she’d met so far, anyway, by a long shot. Nevertheless, he wasn’t a friend, and he was certainly unpredictable.

But she was so tired.

The next time she heard the grating bounce of his old mattress, she lost all patience. She shot out of bed, quivering in frustration and anger, and threw on a jacket over her loose blouse before trotting up the stairs to the door to Kaz’s room.

She was just going to inform him of the way the noise carried, she determined. Very professional. Totally polite. But, when she went to knock, she noticed the door had been left ajar. This gave her pause. She leaned sideways, slightly, her dark braid dangling over her shoulder, and peered through the crack.

Moments later, she’d wonder why she did it. She’d mentally berate herself for spying on the boy who was supposed to be her boss. But, for that brief instant, she was taken in.

She had never seen Kaz looking disheveled. Every waking moment, he exuded organization. He wore tailored suits only grown men wore. His dark hair was never out of place. He kept a cool, effectual air about him, quiet and scheming like a perfectly coiled snake.

But tonight, through that little crack in the door, she saw a boy who looked worn and exhausted, flat on his back on his bed, shirttails loose, his holey socks out in the open. The crook of one arm was draped across his eyes, while he gripped at his bad knee with the other hand. As Inej started to lift her knuckles to the door, he let out a low, wincing groan through his teeth, his fingers tightening on his knee.

She’d seen his limp – she knew the cane he carried wasn’t for show. Still. It was rattling to see a boy as composed as Kaz Brekker writhing in obvious pain.

She knocked anyway, straightening herself.

“Go away,” came his gruff reply. She peaked back one last time.

“Are you –?” She meant to ask if he was okay. But in the blink of an eye, she watched him pick up and throw something at the door, something resembling a shiny, polished shoe, though it was hard to make it out in the blur of its speed. The force of its impact slammed the door shut in Inej’s face with a bang. She flinched backwards. And frowned. Jerk.

Well, fine. She wasn’t stooping to his level. Inej squared back her shoulders and leaned her mouth close to the door.

“These walls are thin,” she informed him. “And some of us are trying to sleep for the first time in days. So…could you stomp quieter? Please.”

There. Professional. Polite. And there was no one around to see how hard she was blushing. Everything was going to be fine.

But Kaz was glaring at her from behind his desk the next morning when she came up to his office to give her report. Her stomach twisted, and she folded her arms in front of herself.

“Was that you knocking on my door last night?” he asked her. He didn’t sound mad, but he looked it. But then again, he always looked it. Jesper Fahey joked once that Kaz probably came out of the womb scowling. Luckily, Kaz had not been around to hear, although everyone already knew what his reaction would have looked like.

Inej wasn’t going to let the scowl intimidate her. She’d been the polite one. She wasn’t the one throwing shoes. She lifted her chin a little.

“It was,” she confessed, trying to appear unashamed. He didn’t need to know she’d snooped, too.

Kaz’s frown deepened, and Inej swallowed.

“What did you want?” he asked. Strange. He still didn’t sound mad. Maybe, she was starting to realize, maybe he wasn’t angry – just confused. There were subtle differences she was starting to pick up on.

“I can hear everything happening in your room from mine,” she told him.

“Ah.” He looked down at the papers on his desk, starting to rearrange them at random.

“I didn’t know if you knew that,” Inej went on, watching his gloved hands skim over papers. She didn’t feel the need to hold her arms in front of herself quite so tightly now.

“I’ll…take better care,” Kaz replied, awkwardly. “And I won’t throw shoes next time.”

“I would appreciate that,” Inej said with a nod. Interesting he would assume there would be a next time, she thought later. She certainly had no intention of doing that again, not after how badly she felt after.

Unfortunately, a side effect of becoming the Wraith was how her sense of hearing seemed to sharpen with each passing month she spied and sleuthed. Where she once struggled to overhear a conversation through a closed window, now she could wait in the bushes and piece together every word.

This also meant becoming keenly aware of the nights Kaz was preoccupied with the pain in his leg, pacing the floor to loosen the tight muscle or tossing and turning on his noisy, old mattress.

She tried to ignore it, to let him be. They weren’t friends. It was none of her business. Although, six months after he’d thrown a shoe at her, she was certainly less intimidated by him and his cool exterior. So, when she heard him again one night, in the middle of a bad thunderstorm, she climbed the stairs once more and knocked on his door.

“What?” she heard him bark from the other side. She could envision him now, kneading at his knee, scowling beneath his flung arm.

“It’s Inej,” she said, leaning against the door with her arms crossed.

“What do you want,” Kaz shouted back. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t care what she wanted, only that she would be going soon.

“Can I get you anything?” Inej said to the door. “To help you sleep?”

“Go to bed, Inej,” was the only grumbling reply. She seethed a quiet sigh. I wouldn’t be here if that was an option.

“Ice would help it, if the muscle’s inflamed,” she pushed. “This is coming from an acrobat who’s hurt many limbs. I know a thing or two. I can help you.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Kaz’s voice was snarky and mean, and Inej scowled to herself. “I’ll just wire the ice shop and have a fresh batch of ice delivered up right now.”

Inej rolled her eyes. So rude.

“Would you like me to bring you some ice, Kaz?” she drawled, her own voice mocking-sweet. Anything for a night’s peace in this rickety old house.

There was a long pause.

“Fine,” came the muffled, reluctant reply. Say please, Inej wanted to say, but she wouldn’t push the issue. They weren’t really friends. Not really.

Instead, rolling her eyes, she shoved herself away from the door and trotted the three flights of stairs toward the shared kitchen of The Slat. They kept an old ice box there, rusting and dilapidated, but it kept things cold. She shucked some ice out of it, wrapped it in a blue tea towel, and returned upstairs. When she reached the landing, Kaz was waiting with the door ajar, his hand extended. He didn’t even lift his gaze to look at her. She dropped the ice bundle in his waiting palm, and he withdrew, slamming the door without so much as a thank you.

Inej suppressed an exasperated sigh in her throat and returned to her little room for a few solid hours of sleep. He’d get his own ice next time, she swore.

Unlikely.

Because the thing of it was, while Kaz Brekker excelled at nearly everything, he was absolutely rubbish at stairs. And, given his rudeness, Inej was wickedly glad sometimes to do something he couldn’t do, though she’d never admit it. That would just be mean. Much like Kaz himself. Whom she was nothing like.

And so it started to become a ritual: every few weeks, particularly after long, physical jobs, Inej would pop up to the third floor to see if he needed ice. She’d get more sleep that way. Eventually, she stopped asking altogether. If she could anticipate it – even more undisturbed sleep. And undisturbed sleep was a gem to Inej. So, she watched him throughout the day, noticing if he seemed stiffer, if he was carrying his weight a little differently, all so she would know whether or not to make a quick trip to the ice box before turning in for the night.

Her timidity around him wore off quickly this way. During the day, Kaz Brekker was a formidable force few had the courage to try to understand. But the grumpy boy she delivered ice to some nights? That Kaz was all bark and no bite.

If he’d been particularly nasty during the day, Inej had no qualms about dropping the freezing cold bundle of ice directly onto his stomach before marching away. In fact, it was a little satisfying to hear his surprised, uncomfortable grunt when she did. Once, when he’d failed to mention the scouting assignment he’d sent her on required her to wait for two hours neck-deep in a vat of vegetable oil, she took a significant amount of sick pleasure in pretending to drop the ice onto his groin, catching it at the last second. Though not before half his body curled up off the mattress while he shouted something unintelligible in wide-eyed horror. Inej had to bite both of her lips to press back a laugh while he snatched the ice from her hands and flopped back onto the pillows with a heavy sigh of relief, the mattress squeaking beneath him.

“Get out,” he rasped, pointing to the door, though Inej knew him well enough now to know that, somewhere deep down, he was mildly impressed with her reflexes.

“’Thank you, Inej,’” she cued him in a sing-song voice, as she slipped through the door.

“Yes, thank you, gentle Inej, for not sterilizing me,” Kaz grumbled after her.

“I don’t want to point this out,” Inej leaned back into his room with a wicked grin, hanging onto the doorframe, “but you’d be less focused on your leg right now if I had.”

“Don’t point it out, then.” Kaz looked mortified, and Inej snickered. When she did, a quicksilver smile flickered across Kaz’s lips, there and gone in a breath. “You’re not helping,” and he tried to frown. “This is not helping me. Go to bed.”

“Good night, Brekker.”

“Good night, you sadistic spider.”

And that was the worst bedridden Kaz Brekker could do: tell her to get out while trying (and usually failing) to look angry at her. Not that he didn’t try to get her back some nights. If she wasn’t quick enough, sometimes he’d dig his fingernails into the ice and flick freezing, wet bits of ice at her if she wasn’t leaving as fast as he would have liked.

“You know what,” she said once, trying to keep a straight face as she wiped the cold water off her face. “Get your own ice next time.”

“I think I’ll just go back to my usual nighttime hobbies instead,” Kaz said, narrowing his eyes up at her from his bed. This was how he joked. Much like how Inej imagined sharks would joke.

“You don’t have hobbies,” she said, slitting her eyes at him.

“I absolutely have hobbies,” Kaz objected, totally deadpan. “Marching loudly, jumping on squeaky mattresses, smashing china on the floor at completely inconsistent intervals--”

“You are insufferable.” Inej was shaking her head. She was not going to smile; she was not going to encourage him.

“I was thinking of taking up the tuba. Just as a nighttime hobby, though. Nothing professional. That won’t bother you too much, will it?”

Try as she might, Inej couldn’t hold back the laugh that came with the image of Kaz fucking Brekker playing a goddamn tuba. Kaz grinned stupidly when she cracked up, and it was contagious. She was still laughing to herself as she trotted back down the stairs to her room.

Some nights were entirely different, however. Some nights Kaz didn’t say much at all. Those were his bad nights, Inej realized, and it was often when a big storm was rolling in from the harbor. Changes in the weather seemed to affect him most severely, and sometimes it seemed like ice did absolutely nothing to help.

“Sometimes, stretching with a counter weight can help,” Inej tried to offer one night, when his face looked pale and drawn. “If I held the leg here--”

“Don’t touch it.” Kaz bolted upright in the bed, his hands flying to block hers from brushing his bare ankle. “Don’t.” His black eyes were blazing, and, for the first time in over a year, Inej felt frightened by him. She recoiled instinctively, holding one wrist close to her chest, her hand balled in a fist.

For a brief moment, Kaz looked out of breath, wild-eyed and panicked. But when his gazed flickered up at Inej’s startled expression, he made a concerted effort to try to soften. He took in a deep breath and adjusted the bundle of ice over his knee, swallowing hard.

“I just,” he fumbled, “I don’t want it touched.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Inej tried to explain.

“I know.” Kaz closed his eyes for a moment, looking frustrated. “I know. But don’t. Don’t touch it. Ever. Please.”

Inej blinked. Kaz never said please, not in the entire span she’d known him.

Saints. Are we friends now?

“I won’t touch it,” she promised, gently. Her gaze drifted to where his black leather gloves sat on his nightstand, and something itched at her brain. She’d never seen Kaz touch anyone. Kaz Brekker made himself untouchable. Her fingers lingered on the mangled scar where the peacock feather tattoo on her arm had once been, the tissue now waxy and lumpy. Maybe Kaz didn’t want to be touched. That was something she understood.

“How did this happen anyway?” she ventured as Kaz shifted himself back, propping himself up against the headboard of his bed. In the years Inej would know Kaz, she would hear him tell many different tales about his leg, each story tailor-made to intimidate whomever he was trying to size up. And she would wonder why, that night, he decided to tell her the unexciting truth.

“Fell off a roof ages ago,” he muttered, as he tried to mash the ice bundle to encompass his kneecap. “It broke, and it’s never really been the same since.”

Inej frowned.

“Kaz,” she started, carefully, “that’s entirely fixable, you know. You could visit any Grisha Healer, and they’d put that right in a day.”

But Kaz scoffed, glaring down at the leg.

“Pain isn’t the enemy,” he said, his rasp harsher than usual. “Pain is a reminder that something needs to be set right.”

“In this case, your leg,” Inej nodded, pointedly.

“Metaphors, Inej.” Kaz looked exasperated, shifting his gaze up at her. “If I took you to a Tailor to have that scar covered up, would you go through with it?”

He was looking straight at the remnants of the peacock feather tattoo, and Inej held a hand over it, her face warming. She didn’t like the turn this had taken. She didn’t like Kaz thinking of the way he’d found her. And yet…

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly.

When she had torn into her own flesh, cutting at the tattoo’s colors and swirls, she’d meant to take back control of her body and cut herself off from how the Menagerie had used her. But it had never been quite that simple. Now, when she looked at the scar, she remembered the other girls who had been taken, the ones who had not been so lucky. The ones who could not cut themselves off. When she looked at her scar, she was reminded of why she fought and spied in the shadows of this saintsforsaken city. Because, one day, maybe not soon, but some day, she would help them as she had been helped. And she would take down the ones who’d marked her.

It was a reminder.

“What does this help you remember?” Inej asked, looking back at the ice on his knee cap. But Kaz clicked his tongue, shook his head.

“We’re not talking about that.” His harsh rasp was flat. “I don’t ask you about the scar. You don’t ask me about this.”

Kaz Brekker makes himself untouchable. Inej wanted to be untouchable, too. They were more alike than she cared to admit.

“Fair enough,” she relinquished with a nod, and left him alone with his ice and his memories.

She intended that night for that to be the end of it. They were untouchable, and there were barriers between them that would never be breached. That was how it ought to be with your boss, Inej would tell herself, since that it was Kaz was. Although, he wasn’t exactly. Not anymore.

The Ice Court and the Van Eck affair would change all of that. They were no longer untouchable – worse, she thought about his touch now. She longed for it, in ways she now understood he couldn’t give, maybe not ever. And there was no ignoring the new quality of Kaz’s glances at her, no matter how reserved he tried to appear. There was nothing that could take back the way his gloved hand had gripped hers on the deck of the Ferolind, the tone of his voice when he’d asked her to stay. To stay with him.

She’d tried to stay in her old room in The Slat one night only when the dust began to settle in the aftermath of the Church of Barter. It had been her home once, after all. It was still her home, wasn’t it? It wasn’t.

She could hear him up there, the mattress creaking, his uneven footsteps pacing. Just like it had always been. And yet, somehow, nothing was the same. Her heart raced this time as she stared at the low ceiling above her. What if she took him a bundle of ice? What if their hands brushed, or he asked her to stay again, or, really, spoke at all in that voice of his, with that soft mouth that had just barely kissed her neck, those lips that had taken her breath away? Her fingers twisted in her sheets at the thought. Suddenly, she didn’t trust herself anymore. She didn’t want to leave him with a bundle of ice. She wanted to curl up on that squeaking mattress next to him. She wanted to kiss him until he stopped hurting. She wanted him to give her a reason to stay.

Clearly that wasn’t happening, and Inej wanted to scream. The walls had never seemed thinner, and it terrified her.

She didn’t give an explanation when she packed up her things the next day and moved to the Van Eck mansion. Jesper was there, after all. Kaz was more than welcome to follow, if he wanted. (He wouldn’t.) It didn’t have to be a strange thing.

She almost bolted for The Slat the first night, when the unending silence of the enormous house stretched before her like a bottomless pit. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to fall asleep without the rusty creaking and that comforting, uneven footfall above her.

But she did. Sleep could come for her in all kinds of new and strange conditions, she would learn, as she set sail on the Wraith for the first time. Maybe she wasn’t actually a light sleeper, she’d wonder sometimes. Maybe it had just been Kaz.

For that reason, for a long time, she chose to stay at the Van Eck mansion when she visited Ketterdam, and Jesper and Wylan didn’t question it. They might have even preferred it, Inej realized, when they presented her with her own key, even as she and Kaz both made concerted efforts to take down their own walls that separated their hearts from each other. She accepted the little brass key wholeheartedly. If anything, she just needed the rest. She didn’t want to lie awake at night, thinking about what she wanted to do to Kaz – and couldn’t -- when she heard his footsteps.

Until –

“I forgot my key,” Inej told Kaz at two in the morning, while they drained the last of their drinks at The Crow Club. It was a lie. The key had been a formality, a thoughtful gesture, but the Wraith had never needed keys. And surely Kaz knew this when he set his drink down, shaking his head at her.

“Whatever will you do,” he said, in that teasing way of his. Not unlike a cat throwing a bird around, Inej had once noted.

“Sleep in the gutter, I suppose,” Inej shrugged with a smirk. “Or on the roof. Or beg some charitable merch to take me in.”

“There’s going to be begging?” Kaz lifted his eyebrows, eagerly. “I was going to offer you a room, but if there’s going to be begging--”

Inej kicked him under the table.

But she took him up on it. The rain began to fall on their slow walk back to The Slat, where a wash of old memories flooded in when Inej breathed in the house’s old musty scent.

She said goodnight to Kaz at the door of her old room and left a soft, lingering kiss on his rain-damp cheek. She heard his breath catch, his body stiffening, and he darted a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one had seen. Then he nodded his goodnight, his hair wet and mussed, and Inej watched him hobble away until she heard the floorboards of the stairs groan beneath his slow ascent to the attic.

And then again on his walk to his room. And then again as he paced his floor.

Inej sighed as she sat lightly at the edge of the bed, hearing the mattress above her groan at the same moment. The walls were as thin as they’d always been.

They could be thinner.

She changed out of her wet clothes, hanging them out to dry along the footboard of the narrow bed, all the while listening to the creaking above her head. She threw on an old nightshirt Kaz had lent her – it hung to her knees, but at least it was dry. She combed out her wet hair with her fingers before braiding it tightly for the night, and then she crawled under the covers in the darkness. The floorboards above her sighed with every uneven step.

Her palms were starting to sweat.

Kaz was probably changing out of his wet clothes, too, she realized. Toweling off the hard planes of his torso. Raking his bare fingers through his crow black hair. Raindrops trickling over the curves of his shoulder muscles.

Inej was staring at the ceiling, this time wishing to see through walls.

Or his leg might hurt, she thought. It had been ages since they’d done this particular dance. She could just take him a bundle of ice as she used to, and if he happened to be half-dressed when she got there, well, that wouldn’t be her fault, would it? She was just trying to be helpful.

When did you become such a creep? She would wonder to herself as she shucked ice out of the old icebox in The Slat’s shared kitchen. She clenched her bare toes nervously while she wrapped up the ice, and then darted up the stairs before anyone wandered out and caught a glimpse of her in only Kaz’s shirt.

Her heart was racing when she knocked on his door.

“Yes?” came the tentative response. Did he sound expectant? She leaned closer to the door.

“It’s just me,” she said, hand on the knob.

“Come in.”

Inej gave the old door a shove and inched inside. Kaz had changed out of his tailored suit, opting for a pair of soft, dark sleeping trousers, and – sweet Lizabeta – he hadn’t put on a shirt. Inej felt her face warm as she shuffled the ice between her palms, absentmindedly. He hadn’t even looked up – he was hunched at the edge of his bed, tense and kneading at his bad knee.

“Am I making too much noise again?” he asked. Inej could see him wincing even though he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I thought you might want some ice,” she offered. Kaz huffed, trying to straighten the leg.

“Ice doesn’t actually do much when it’s raining,” he confessed, his voice strained, and it was Inej’s turn to scoff.

“Wait. All these years…?”

“I just wanted your attention? Yes. Yes, I am a bastard.” And Kaz started to raise his head, a crooked, painful smirk on his mouth, but his eyebrows lifted suddenly, noticing her bare legs. It was Inej’s turn to smirk. She didn’t have to be the only one made to feel things.

She closed the door behind her.

“You know, I do know other things that might help,” she offered, setting the bundle down on his nightstand as she crossed to his ogling stare. “Stretching or massaging or--”

“Touching.” Kaz’s stare darkened. Not at her, she knew that now. At his own inner demons.

Inej gave a soft shrug and moved to brush the wet, tangled hair back from his forehead.

“I’ve already broken that promise, haven’t I?” she said, half teasing. “What’s one more?”

Kaz fell silent, considering, his dark eyes drifting to her knees. His fingers tightened on his kneecap, like he could hold himself together just there.

“What do you want me to do?” he rasped, after a long moment.

“Just sit comfortably,” Inej said, and, though it pained her a bit to add: “Put a shirt on first, if that makes you more comfortable.”

It would make him more comfortable, it seemed – he threw a plain white shirt over his head before slowly inching back down onto the edge of his bed, wincing on the way down. He was trying to fix his longer locks of hair when Inej crawled up behind him, as if trying not to look as unraveled as he clearly felt.

“What are you doing?” He threw her an alarmed look over his shoulder before she even put hands on him.

“Everything’s connected,” she explained. “If your leg’s hurting and you’re walking unevenly, you likely have tense muscles elsewhere, too.” And she gently rested her palms just above his shoulder blades, where he was warm and solid beneath his soft shirt. “Mhmm,” she confirmed, pressing in. “Oof, you’re as tense as a Fjerdan diplomat.”

Kaz’s shoulders shook a little in a light chuckle, loosening just a bit. Inej smiled to herself.

He loosened even more as she worked her way down his back, kneading around the wings of his shoulder blades, stroking down his spine. He sighed, soft and contented, as she rubbed over the slopes of his muscles, and, when she glanced up once, she noticed his eyes had fallen shut. Once he seemed sufficiently relaxed, she moved to the side and told him to lie back.

The nervous light in his eyes flared up again as he inched back and lowered himself back toward his pillow, the mattress rasping with every movement. Oh, Saints, the whole house is going to hear.

“Relax,” she whispered to him, and softly pressed a warm hand to his bad hip. His eyes still betrayed his skittishness. “When have I ever hurt you?”

“You tried to throw ice on my balls once,” Kaz frowned, looking wary. He was still propped up on his elbows, refusing to give in the last few inches.

“You still remember that?”

“I still have nightmares about it.”

But that quicksilver smile of his flickered when she muffled a laugh, and while he looked more at ease, she moved to softly massage his thigh.

“Wait,” he hissed, tensing, “That’s -- huuuuh…” He never finished his sentence. Inej ran the side of her hand down the tense muscle on the back of his thigh toward his knee, and his eyes started to roll back in his head. He released his hold on his elbows, dropping back onto his pillow with a groan, and the mattress coils squeaked.

“Shhhhh,” Inej insisted. The walls were so thin. “Is this all right?”

“Mhmm.” Kaz had pressed a tight fist over his mouth. She was softly stroking his thigh with both hands, gently bending his knee.

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “It looks like it hurts.” His dark brows had knit together, lines crinkling in his forehead.

“Oh, I��m sure,” he said, in a single moan. Inej shushed him again, unable to tear her eyes off him in fascination. Surely no one had ever seen Kaz Brekker so undone.

He only continued to collapse as she gently rubbed down his calf, taking great care around tough bits of scar tissue and atrophied muscle. When she made her way down to his ankle, he released the hand from his mouth with a sigh, like the mattress had begun to swallow him whole. She glanced up at his face, his features relaxed in the flickering lamplight.

His eyelashes barely fluttered when she moved to his other leg.

“There’s more?” he asked. He sounded half-awake. Inej hummed a confirmation.

“This one’s doing all the work,” she explained, pressing in on his stronger thigh. Kaz let out another groan, this one deep from his chest, as she kneaded her knuckles into the tissue.

He was as still as a corpse by the time she had finished, and Inej slipped off the edge of the bed, tip-toeing to turn down the lamp. She thought to sneak back downstairs. When she’d glanced at him once last time, his lips were slightly parted as his chest slowly rose and fell, and she’d assumed he’d fallen asleep.

But instead, to her surprise, he murmured her name, “Inej,” and reached out to touch her sleeve.

“Feeling a little better?” she whispered. She perched at the edge of his mattress, trying to keep the springs from squeaking, and Kaz gave a comfortable hum.

“Come here.” She looked in amazement at his sleepy eyes as he opened up his arm and started to fold her in.

Kaz shifted his weight and began to pull his girl in, and, Saints, the sounds the lurched out from deep within the clunky old mattress then. It was Inej’s turn to wince. There was no getting around it. The whole world probably heard. No hiding anything now.

“Saints, Kaz, how cheap are you,” she hissed. “This bed sounds older than the making at the heart of the world.”

“Shhh,” Kaz hushed her, mocking. “The walls are thin. Everyone can hear you.” But Inej couldn’t help grinning to herself in the dark, even as she rolled her eyes.

He tucked her head below his chin, cradling her head against his bicep as he bent his arm to hold her head. Something warm and welcome spread in her belly as his fingers slid into her hair, and she pulled him closer, an arm over his torso.

“That’s a yes, then?” she whispered, as his other arm circled around her. His hand curled in the fabric between her shoulder blades. “You’re feeling better?”

“I defy any man who would have me believe that sex is better,” Kaz mumbled, half- asleep, and Inej stifled a laugh into his chest.

“Nina would say don’t knock it til you try it.”

“Nina’s a podge, too, then.”

And, outside, the rain fell, dribbling down the clay rooftop, but inside The Slat, the night was warm and dark. And silent. And right.

[heyheshi]

“We might be pregnant.”

3.4k words

written and uploaded: July 11, 2020

🦋 - fluff

🌙 - angst...?

💎 - a hint of smut...?

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 3

_________

The last three weeks have been absolutely divine! Harry managed to convince you about closing your clinic earlier than usual, he said and you quote, "the babies are gonna be safe with their parents, lovie", so that's what you did, you closed your clinic early for the Christmas Season and told your patients that you're just a call away.

You managed to snag a couple of Christmas Gifts for your husband and for both of your families. You were never a fan of late shopping but after the fight you and H had, you've been nothing but inseparable. Always tied on each other's hips and always wanting to feel one another's presence.

Both of your families drove at your house during the 23rd, wanting to spend Christmas Eve together. All you can hear are the joyous laughter and love for one another and you can tell that Harry is savoring every moment for when he leaves for his tour.

You both agreed on visiting him often and staying with him for a month before you go back to your job for another month then visit him again. It will be a tiring process especially for you but it was the best you both can come up with. It was a compromise the two of you can work with and it will be all worth it in the end.

Harry talked about his excitement about his upcoming tour with your families. Everyone spent time with one another but you can tell that Harry enjoyed it the most. Your families stayed for a week, leaving on the 30th.

He's been spending time with the kids the most. With your sister having a newborn and Gem being pregnant for the 3rd time, he caught a glimpse of what it's like being a father. You would often catch him staring at you while holding the kids and it made you smile. You can't wait for the time when Harry is holding your own child but you've talked about not trying until after his tour.

It wasn't Harry's fault though. You never really thought about having an irregular menstrual cycle and was never really bothered by it before the marriage but now it was all that's in your mind. H taught you to love yourself and your body though. He was so understanding of everything which makes your heart burst every single time.

You've been eating more than usual and you always feel bloated. You told Harry that one-night whistle your families were there but he only told you that you still looked beautiful. You have never been a stress drinker though you still drink on occasions, you are more the stress eater type of person.

You've been very stressed about hosting your families for Christmas and hosting the upcoming New Year Party, and the fact that you might not fit in the dress you bought for that event adds to the fire. Harry understood and tried to help you with everything he can to lessen your stress. He once joked about opening your clinic to stress you more so you'll cook more food for him to munch into.

---

It was 30 minutes before midnight. Your friends were scattered around your house, talking and laughing and drinking and catching up with one another while you, however, tried being the best host as much as you can.

On occasions like this, you'd like to at least have a drink on your system but you couldn't risk messing something up, you are a strong believer of the saying, "what you do on the 1st day of the year, will be what you're doing for the rest of the year", so if you are crying on new year then you'll be crying for the year but if you're laughing during the new year, then your year would be filled with happiness, plus you managed to fit in your dress! God forbid you staining it and having to deal with staining your clothes for the whole year. 

You haven't seen Harry since Zayn arrived, you figured that the lads have been catching up and the thought made you smile, but right now you really need his help. You're running out of cupcakes, and you don't know what to do!

Someone snaked their hands from your behind and you're startled by it until you smelled the perfume you know by heart and saw the familiar tattoos on the person's arms. You couldn't help but lean back to relax a bit and laced your fingers with your husband.

"What got you so stressed bunny? I can see your frown from the living room. Know I hate seeing you frown baby.", Harry said into your ears that sent chills down your spine. There was no loud music but you're sure that the voices in your house would beat the sound if there was one.

"We're running out of cupcakes! I think it was me, it's all I've been consuming since our guests arrived!", you sighed after you said that but your husband only laughed and turned you to him.

He smiled widely at you. "You're really cute baby.", then bopped your nose with his. "I got us covered angel, there are spare cupcakes in our room."

"H! Why are there cupcakes in our room?!", you couldn't help but laugh at it though. 

"Because the tables were full and I don't know where to put it and our guests were arriving so I just put it on the first place that comes into my mind!", H tried to reason you but you were already laughing at him. He pouted at you but couldn't help but laugh along at the situation, he loves hearing your laugh!

"Okay okay baby H, let's get the cupcakes here, yeah?"

"Did you just called me Baby H? Hmm?", he playfully asked you, "We both know that you're not calling me that when we're alone.", he whispered to your ear hotly and you felt your stomach drop. "Why don't we try that theory of yours baby girl? Let's find out if we're really going to have sex every single day if we do it on new year.", he sounds so hot and you're so flustered, and that's when he laughed.

"Gotcha baby! Payback for laughing at me!", the crinkles on the side of his eyes appeared while cackling, he's even patting his knees while doing so courtesy on how much he found the situation funny and you can't help but admire him and laugh along instead of being annoyed with him.

"Oi oi what you laughing about love birds?!", Louis smiled at the both of you while entering the kitchen.

"Nothing Lou, H is just being dramatic.", you said as Louis rounded the table to inspect the food and his eyes landed on the single cupcake at the plate.

Harry noticed, "Mate were just about to get more cupcakes, you can have it."

"Thanks man. And great party you two!", and with that, Lou sauntered out of the kitchen with the cupcake in his hand.

"Guess we really do have to get the cupcakes down now, huh?", you playfully asked your husband as he intertwined your fingers and pulled you upstairs to get the other boxes of cupcakes.

After the party, you really did test the theory of yours. You made love for the first time of the year, before he leaves for his tour tomorrow night.

---

Harry has been away for the past few weeks. You never really paid attention to the changes of your body, but your abdomen seems to have a bit bump to it but you're not even on your period. You really don't want to get your hopes up that you're ovulating for the month, your husband is not there anyways. 

You used to hate getting your periods when you were still a teen up until your early to mid-twenties, dread for it actually, but now, all you wanted was for your period to greet you even in the most inconvenient times!

You're eating more, but you don't have any weird cravings since you eat almost everything - you're not a picky eater so it was so easy for Harry to take you out on dates and not worry about you not going to like the restaurants he picks at the start of your relationship - so you pass that as your stress. Stress on your job and missing your husband.

But then you started feeling nauseated all the time. It wasn't every morning after you wake up, it's actually in the afternoon. You thought that maybe it was your eyes again. You refuse to wear glasses and contacts even though you're mostly looking at the computer screen so you didn't bother much about it until one day at the grocery store.

"You're glowing, Doc! Early stages of pregnancy don't really look great on everyone but you pull it off!", Mrs. Green, the mother of your patient, said as you bumped into her while running some errands.

You blushed at the thought, "no, I- I'm actually not um pregnant.", you stuttered. 

"Oh I'm sorry, I just thought..."

"It's alright, probably just the weather outside!", you talked to her for a couple more minutes before she has to go but during your conversation, you couldn't help but think about it.

Can you really be pregnant?

And with that question lingering on your mind, you went to the pharmacy of the story and bought more pregnancy tests than necessary.

You graduated with a Ph.D.! How come you never thought about this! Yet again, you and H never really talked much about pregnancy either so it wasn't the first thing that came to your mind.

Never in your life you'd have thought that you'll be drinking this much liters of water in a span of an hour. Numerous pregnancy tests wrappers on the small bin on your bathroom along with more than 10 pregnancy tests on your bathroom counter but never once you had peaked on any of it. You just couldn't do it.

You left the bathroom an hour ago and you're sure that every single pregnancy test results are done now.

You're so excited but scared at the same time. You know that Harry would be really ecstatic if he's here but he's just starting his tour, you don't know how he'll react but at the same time, if you're really pregnant then it wouldn't take long for him to accept it.

But you're more scared that those tests may come all negative. You got your hopes really high now and you're really wishing that you're carrying Harry's child. If the tests are negative then Harry wouldn't need to know that this ever happened, but you sure as hell would be really down and disappointed.

You decided to go to the bathroom to finally face your fears. You stood outside of the bathroom door and counted the pregnancy tests on the counter. 15. You don't know what to expect but you pray to God to give you strength no matter what the results say.

You slowly walked inside and looked at the first test. Negative, and boy did it disappointed you more than getting an 88 on your test when you were still in college.

The next pregnancy test came out positive. You froze, one negative and one positive equals negative, so you need more proof.

The third one came positive yet again. You still didn't believe it and look at the next test. 

Positive. 3 positive and one negative. You're slowly starting to smile.

The next was another positive. You feel like you couldn't breathe so you look at the next one.

Negative. And there it goes again. All your hopes and dreams crushed. 4 positives and 2 negatives.

The next came out as positive, negative, positive, positive, positive, positive, positive, positive, and the last one was again, positive. 

With each look at the pregnancy test, you couldn't help but cry. 3 negative tests and 12 positive tests. This is it, you're really pregnant. After years of trying. 

You cried of happy tears and for the first time in your life, you put your hands on your tummy with so much care and look at it with so much adoration. "Are you really there, baby?", you continued to sniffle. "Gosh, I love you so much already. Daddy will be so happy. We get to see him in the next few days!", with that you wiped your tears and looked at the mirror to admire your body. 

You took your first body picture as pregnant in front of your huge mirror in your walk-in closet and went to pack for your one month visit to your husband.

---

The plane landed a couple of minutes ago and you're on your way to Harry's hotel to drop off your things and go to the arena where he's performing. During the ride it made you think that about how you're not really sure if you're pregnant. You need to get an ultrasound to make sure but you also remembered that Harry would have loved to attend the first time you went to the doctors so you didn't think much about it.

You arrived at the arena after dropping and changing your clothes at the hotel. Harry was having a soundcheck so when he took a break and went backstage to change his shirt, he was so surprised to see you there. He thought you wouldn't be coming until two days before his birthday.

He ran up to you and almost crushed you. You being really cautious, put your arms to shield your tummy before he reaches you. H didn't notice what you did since he missed you so much and just wanted to hold you. When you felt like its safe to remove your arms, you hugged him back and swayed the both of you side to side. His head was in the crook of your neck and is pressing multiple kisses to your skin.

"Missed you so much. Though you're not gonna be here until the day after tomorrow.", he mumbled on your neck still hugging you tight. 

"Jeff helped me with everything. Missed you so much more handsome.", then you kissed for the first time after being away for the last 3 weeks.

---

It was his birthday. You brought him presents and celebrated really early with him before you both have to leave for his soundcheck. You never would have thought that you're going give him another gift. You were going to wait until Valentine's day to tell him that you might be pregnant but things don't always happen as you please.

Harry saw a pregnancy test laying around his dressing room earlier, it was positive. He thought it might be Sarah's since she and Mitch have been planning on starting a family after this tour, much like you and him, so he didn't dig further to it, as a respect to his friends' privacy.

You weren't acting weird, only when you threw up after lunch, he thought your stomach wasn't used to the food so he let it slide and just made sure you were okay, in which you replied to as "just probably ate a lot". Then it was time for a few shots and a cake before he went to the stage. He's dressed and ready to go, 20 minutes before his last call. Everybody was having a shot and greeting your husband but you stuck to your water and 2 big pieces of cake.

Harry thought you were just hungry since you emptied your stomach earlier so he let it slide again but when you refused a drink, he couldn't help but pulled you to the side and ask.

"What's up with you baby? You sick my love?", he looks so concerned and you found it really cute so you pecked his lips. Hormones.

"I'm not, just really hungry.", you smiled at him. You're good with lying and you get away most of the time with it but not with your husband. No matter how good you are with it, he knows you better than anyone else.

"You refused my drink babes, it's my birthday", he pouted, "it's an occasion my love."

"I know H, I'm sorry, I couldn't drink, I really don't want to.", you tried to reason him but he wasn't having it.

"Don't lie, baby, I know you. Please tell me what's wrong pretty girl.", he took your hands and kissed your knuckles.

"There's nothing wrong with me, I promise. Go on, enjoy you-"

"Harry, 5 minutes!", Jeff yelled signaling Harry to get ready.

"Y/N just tell me. I'm worried, please baby. I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. You're acting really strange and yo-"

"Pregnant.", you whispered.

"Come again?"

"We might be pregnant.", you said in a whisper while slowly meeting your husband's eyes.

"You're what?!", he's jumping on the balls of his feet now.

"Yeah, I might be pregnant.", you looked down, feeling disappointed. This isn't the reaction you were hoping to receive and it made your eyes water.

"How sure are you?", Harry asked in a strained voice. "12 positive tests and 3 negatives...", you said not meeting his eyes even though you can tell that he's looking at your figure.

Then Harry forced you to look at him, cradling your face with his hands. His eyes were so wide and green, blown pupils and you can see the tears starting to form in his waterline. "Are you really?", his voice breaks in the middle. You only nod your head.

With that, he kissed you, passionately. He didn't care that Jeff was yelling at him to go to the stage and that his fellow bandmates are stalling different tunes just for him. He kissed you like his life depend on it until he pulled back and dropped to his knees and lifted up your shirt.

"Can you hear me my love?", he whispered to your small tummy and you couldn't help but tangle your right hand with his hair, not caring if you messed it up, while your other hand is clamping your mouth. You're crying so much. "I love you bubs, daddy loves you so much.", Harry met your eyes and smiled at you.

"Both of you wait for me here, okay?", he stands up slowly while bringing your shirt down. "Eat as much as you please and I'll have some guards near you and give you a seat in here, mkay?", he looks so happy. 

"Okay H. But we're not totally sure yet. I only told you, wasn't planning on it until the 14th s-"

"Then we'll go to the doctors first thing in the morning okay? Gotta take care of you more now, the both of you", you smiled at his concern.

"If that's what you want then. But for now, go and please the world.", you slowly pushed him off you.

He kissed you one more time before jogging backwards to the stage while yelling "I love you."

That night he performed with all of his energy and everyone can notice the change in his demeanor. To some, it's probably because it's his birthday but to both of you, there's a different reason behind it.

During the middle of his concert, you saw him whispered to his bandmates and everyone nodded.

“I'm going to sing another song I wrote a couple years ago. This is not on the setlist but tonight I'm making an exception since this is probably one of the best nights of my life.", the crowds cheered for him, "please if you have your phones, open your torches and bring it up in the air. I'm singing without a mic so please be quiet.", the crowds cheered grew louder then he winked at you from the side stage.

"This is Sweet Creature."

And with that, you know that whatever the future holds for the two of you, you'll be facing it together with your small family. You'll be now taking care of your own baby aside from your patients in a mere 33 weeks!

But maybe not "small family” after all, when you find out that you'll be having twins. And you'll have to compromise again about visiting him on tour with the babies on the way but there's nothing in the world you'd want to trade it with.

_____

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 7 - Stuck

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Could two friendships on the rocks result in two new ones? 

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: Posting a tad early this week. Hope you enjoy! 

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 6

I'm sitting here stuck And plastered to my seat I th i nk up a reason to leave When you finally stop speaking I'll take a long slow Walk down Washington Street Half asleep on my feet Half aware if I'm dreaming

  Hermione managed to stow herself away in the library for nearly sixteen hours, one of her personal bests, before Madame Pince kicked her out. The grave woman nearly threw her from the premises, claiming she was closing the library early and that despite her biases Hermione should spend some time away from the stacks of books. So now she wandered the castle, lost in thoughts of tournaments, legislature, hidden agendas, and friendship. The castle held the same familiar chill as her feet chose her destination, eventually leading her to a part of the castle only recently familiar to her. At the end of a long corridor, illuminated by two torches placed on either side, hung a painting. Mechanically, Hermione sat on the cold stone, tucking her robes around her, and stared at the landscape that drew her in the first time she saw it three days ago.

Like most paintings in the wizarding world it was enchanted, but instead of some historical witch or wizard as the focal point, the only movement in the frame was the soft sway of long grass and leaves that rustled in the wind. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds, casting ever changing rays of light across the meadow. She felt a calm envelope her as she looked at the bright yellows and peaches of the Adonis and honeysuckle dispersed throughout the grass. Several bees visited the flowers before disappearing from the frame. Hermione followed one as it zigzagged towards the edge of the field near the trees. It stopped on a small patch of zinnias and Hermione felt herself hit with a wave of emotions that had been threatening to capsize her all day. A single tear ran down her cheek as she thought of Ron and Harry. While she was quite familiar with solitude, having grown up an only child and often alienated by her peers, here, sitting on the floor of an empty corridor, she felt for the first time utterly alone.

And despite Harry and Ron’s cruel treatment towards her, she still felt responsible for fixing it. She spent all afternoon trying to figure out how to get her two best friends to cease being angry with each other and how to keep Harry alive this year. By the end she felt no closer to a solution for either problem. Tears continued to fall silently down her face. Hermione’s vision blurred over white gardenias and blue periwinkles, and she remembered the last time she encountered the painting. Her thoughts had been stupid – trivial ramblings questioning her worth as a woman and whether any boy would ever like her. That time the field had been nothing but white heather. What a lovely bit of magic, thought Hermione.

Eventually, when her joints were stiff and backside sore, Hermione stood and made her way back to Gryffindor tower. She walked through the threshold of the portrait hole, thankful that she hadn’t been caught out of bed by Filch or a teacher. Looking around the empty common room, Hermione realized that despite the emotional drain of the day she wasn’t tired. So, she picked up a nearby book left on a table and sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. It hurt to read, her eyes red and puffy from the crying she’d done earlier, but still she pushed on. She had only been there a short while when the sound of the portrait hole opening took her by surprise. Who could be getting in this late? she wondered. Her question was answered when a pair of shaggy red-headed hooligans walked through the opening. Hermione willed herself to be as small as possible. The last thing she needed was the two of them making fun of her in a rare moment of weakness. Much to her dismay the pair noticed her immediately. They walked towards her with large impish grins and Hermione desperately tried to think of how she could get them to go away. Despite her bright nature her brain did nothing for her in that moment and she was left to sink further into the couch, hoping it would swallow her whole.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here Freddie?”

“Why it looks to be our favorite fourth year Georgie.”

The twins seated themselves on either side of her. Hermione hid further into her book, hiding her red eyes and splotchy face. So much for being the brightest witch of her age. She couldn’t even figure out how to escape two bumbling Weasleys.

“Burning the midnight oil Granger?” Fred asked, shaking his hair out of his face.

“You should really give it a rest there,” George teased, nudging her shoulder.

“Yeah, give everyone else in your class a chance. They’ll never come close to your marks if you’re staying up this late studying every night,” added Fred. Hermione remained silent, hidden behind her book. When they received no response, they tried another approach.

“As you can see our grey hair and wrinkles have completely faded,” George pointed out.

“Yes, except I don’t remember the bags under George’s eyes being quite so bad. You better hope that wears off mate or I will definitely be the more handsome twin.” Fred received a smack on the back of the head from his brother for his cheeky remark.

“What Granger? No, ‘I told you so’?” Fred directed his attention back to the little witch between them as he rubbed the back of his head.

“No, ‘you should have listened to me’?”

“No, comment on our dim-witted attempts at fame and fortune?”

They wagged their eyebrows at her, but Hermione remained behind her book, hoping they would consider it a calculated and obvious sign that she was ignoring them. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, her lack of response only fueling their desire to investigate further. Fred reached over and tugged at the top of the book.

“Hey, what’s this then?” Fred asked, getting a peak at her complexion. He reached towards her face and swiped a thumb across the reddened skin under her eyes. “Why are you crying Granger?”

Hermione shied away from the contact and cursed herself for not doing a glamour spell or at least a disillusionment spell on herself.

“It’s nothing. Um, sad book is all,” she lied, trying to feign indifference. Sad book? Of all the excuses, Hermione berated herself. George grabbed the book from her hands and inspected it.

“I never knew Charms could be so heart-wrenching…we’re not idiots Hermione,” George stated plainly.

“Are you alright?” Fred asked as he lifted her chin. For a second time that night, Hermione felt the weight of the past twenty-four hours fall on her. This time, it was as though her body had been waiting for some sign that it was okay to fall apart, and the twins’ kind gestures had been just that. A short sob escaped her throat and her eyes began to sting as fresh tears welled, daring to spill past her lashes.

“Alright, alright. Come here,” Fred cooed, scooting closer and pulling Hermione onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. George followed suit, draping her legs over his lap, and giving her calf a reassuring squeeze. Hermione buried her face in Fred’s chest and continued to sob harder than she’d ever cried before. The two silently comforted her, George rubbing a hand up and down her leg and Fred stroking her hair. They sat like that for a while, never saying a word – simply acting as figures of stability. Finally, when her body was no longer wracked with little tremors and her cries subsided into sniffles, Hermione pulled away from Fred and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.

“Feel better?” Fred asked, brushing her smothering hair from her face. Hermione nodded, realizing in horror that not only was she currently on top of the twins, but she had ruined Fred’s sweater. Scooting off of their laps, she sniffed and mumbled a meek apology.

“It’s just a few tears. Now, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Fred asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Did someone step on one of your books?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Did you do poorly on an essay?”

Hermione shook her head again and scoffed at the idea.

“Is it…girly problems?” George made a face at the thought.

This caused Hermione to let out a short giggle and shake her head again.

“Then what is it?” Fred pushed.

“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, wiping her red and swollen eyes. She knew she must look an awful fright. When they didn’t say anything, she took it as her cue to continue. “It’s Harry and Ron; they’re mad at me. Harry, because he’s convinced that everyone’s against him even though I’m not, and Ronald, because I’m not angry with Harry. I know they’re both under a lot of stress what with the tournament and Ron’s jealousy, but I guess I just feel like neither of them really care how I feel.” She sniffed, shaking her head at how pathetic she must sound.

George looked at his brother. “I should have known that our thick-headed little brother had something to do with all of this. First of all, we don’t think it’s ridiculous,” George stated firmly.

“And secondly, you have every right to be upset,” added Fred.

“Really?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Of course! They’re being selfish gits and I have half a mind to put itching powder in all their clothes,” Fred fumed.

“But because we know that’s probably the last thing you want us to do—” started George.

“—we won’t. Instead we will remind you that you’re Hermione Granger and absolutely too good for either of those imbeciles.”

“So, next time you see our little Ronikins…”

“—you can tell him exactly where to shove his attitude.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. You really don’t have to be this nice.”

“Nonsense, you may be our idiot baby brother’s friend, but we’ve grown quite fond of you,” said Fred with a friendly nudge of her shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re like a second sister to us. No one gets to mess with you but us and that includes our brother and the Boy Who Lived. It’s sort of a rule.” George leaned across Fred and tapped a finger to the end of her nose. Hermione let out a small laugh that turned into an overwhelming yawn. Realizing she was utterly exhausted, Hermione waited for the small bit of anxiety that now came with the thought of sleep these days. To her surprise, it never came.

“Alright Fred, looks like we’ve worn her out.”

“I think you’re right George. Up we go! Time for bed!” Fred decreed, hooking his arms under Hermione, and lifting her into the air.

“Frederick Weasley! Put me down! I am entirely capable of walking. I’m tired, not paralyzed! Hermione crossed her arms and gave the boy a disapproving look. Fred merely smiled politely before placing her down at the base of the stairs leading up to the girls’ dormitories. Hermione let out a little huff and ran her hands over her mussed hair, attempting to flatten it.

“Goodnight you two…and thank you. I suppose I owe you. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll tell you why your aging potion didn’t work, and how you could have actually gotten your names in,” Hermione stated with a small smile.

“I’m calling you on that one Granger,” scoffed George.

“Even you’re not that brilliant!” the twins exclaimed in unison.

Hermione raised a brow and with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, she shrugged her shoulders and began to walk up the stairs.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” she threw back at them as she disappeared around the bend.

It was a strange day at Hogwarts that following Monday morning. The weather outside was dark and gloomy once again, but the mood of the students was quite the opposite. The first challenge of the tournament was only three weeks away and the school was abuzz over what it could be, and who would come out on top. Hermione heard whispers in her morning classes of Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory; it seems they were everyone’s bet. Then of course there were the harsh words and accusations toward her best friend. It hurt her heart to hear such dreadful things about someone she cared for, even if he was being a complete jerk. Malfoy was the worst, with his open mocking and constant bullying in Care of Magical Creatures. Many times, Hermione fantasized about wiping the stupid smirk off his face like she had the year before. But instead she ended up taking her frustrations out on two second year Hufflepuffs gossiping in the library that afternoon.

“It would do you two well to not talk about things you know nothing about—" she seethed, sliding her things into her bag “—and no talking in the library. Or else I’ll be tasked to inform Madame Pince.”

She regretted the way she spoke to the younger students. While it certainly taught them a lesson on gossiping, she shouldn’t have been so harsh – they were still young. She didn’t even have her usual excuse of sleep deprivation to blame either. Much to her surprise, after departing to her room, she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. In fact, she slept so deeply and so peacefully that she missed her alarm and had to rush to make it to her first class on time. It wasn’t until she was in her seat, quill in hand, that the memories of the night before came rushing back and Hermione had to focus to determine whether it had all been a strange dream or not. The oddities only continued to pile up, as just before lunch she realized she had completely forgotten to write a short Transfiguration essay that was due later that day. She had no idea how it managed to slip her mind, as it was very out of character for her to forget an assignment at all. She rushed to the library, forgoing lunch and came upon the next strange thing to happen that day. Viktor Krum, of all people, was seated at her favorite table. This forced her to sit at a different one, much too far from the window overlooking the lake and much too close to the stacks, which resulted in her overhearing the two Hufflepuffs.

Now, as she made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, stomach growling, she realized her sour response might have been a result of low blood sugar.

It seemed Hermione’s whole day was destined to be a whirlwind of obstacles, for as she entered the Great Hall, she faced her next challenge – where to sit. Ronald sat with Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, and a few other Gryffindors in their year near the end of the long table and for fear of confrontation, Hermione decided that sitting with them was probably the last thing she wanted to do. A little further down the table, Harry sat sullen next to Neville Longbottom. The presence of the sandy blonde boy gave Hermione hope. Maybe Harry’s finally over his delusions, she thought making her way over and seating herself across from them.

“Hullo Hermione!” greeted Neville in a friendly tone. Neville was one of her favorite classmates. Where he was bumbling and lacking in self-confidence, he made up for it in kindness, acceptance, and all-around goodness. It was always surprising to her that he hadn’t been a top pick for Hufflepuff. But then again, his actions their first year gave insight to his true potential.

“Hullo Neville. How are you coming along with the Charms essay?” she asked, setting her bag down next to her.

“Not very good. I’ve got all the ideas but I’m not quite sure how to put them down. I may need some more help…” he admitted bashfully, looking down to his plate.

“That’s alright Neville. That’s a fairly common problem. I’d be more than hap—”

“Why are you sitting here?” Harry cut her off. Hermione, shocked by his outburst, was at a loss for words. “I don’t appreciate you sitting with me just to act spy for Ron,” he spat bitterly, not even looking up from his food.

“Harry, I’m not—”

“Look, I know how you and Ron feel, and I know how everyone else feels. So just stop pretending,” he snarled harshly, looking up at her with cold eyes. Hermione pursed her lips and stood, utterly embarrassed. She tried hard not to look at Neville’s pitying face as she lifted her book bag onto her shoulder and walked to an empty spot at the table. Staring at the wood grain of the tabletop, Hermione wondered if it was even worth trying to eat something. Willing herself not to cry, a movement caught the corner of her eye and voices began to speak to her.

“Not hungry Granger?”

“That’s a shame. The spread looks exceptionally delicious tonight.”

“He’s right. I think it might be the house elves trying to show off for the new guests.”

“We have a bet going as for how long they’ll keep it up.”

“George here thinks it will be over by January.”

“But Fred insists that it will keep up till Durmstrang and Beauxbatons leave.”

“What’s your take on it, Granger?”

Hermione lifted her head and stared at the red-headed twin sitting next to her in utter confusion. She glanced at his face and recognized him as Fred, but couldn’t manage to process the fact that she had to in fact speak. She must have been staring for too long because Fred pressed further.

“You know, because you know all about them?” He looked at her expectantly, but Hermione’s mind remained a foggy mess.

“What?” she asked dumbly.

“You know, because of all the research you’ve done for your organization. What’s it called again? S.P.E.W.?” George added helpfully from across the table.

“You know about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?” said Hermione in surprise.

“Of course—” started Fred.

“How could we not? You’ve given us at least twenty buttons so far this year!”

“To pass out to others! You did pass them out, right?” Hermione looked from Fred to George. The pair wore guilty expressions.

“We may have charmed them to, I guess you could say, spew actual vomit and then pinned them to the back of Filch’s robes,” admitted Fred scratching the back of his head.

“Frederick! I gave you those so people could see them!” Hermione reached forward and started to pile her plate high with potatoes, vegetables, and chicken.

“Well technically, a whole bunch of people saw them,” remarked George, starting to fill his plate as well.

“Unfortunately, it was as Filch was slipping and falling into a giant puddle of vomit,” said Fred with a chuckle, looking skyward at the memory.

Hermione pouted into her chicken, cutting into it with her knife.

“Don’t look so sour Granger. It’s probably for the best—” George reached across the table and grabbed a steaming, buttered roll from a basket “—we’ve been down to the kitchens loads of times and not a single one of them gives a toss about house elf rights. In fact, they view the idea of getting paid for their work as insulting.”

“That’s because they don’t know any better!” cried Hermione, throwing down her fork.

“Now Granger, don’t go infantilizing them. If they’re smart enough for you to think they should be equal members of society, then they’re smart enough to decide whether they want to be paid or not for their work,” Fred chided, picking up his napkin and wiping at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but found, very surprisingly, that she had nothing to say. She’d never considered that before. Curiously, she stared at Fred. He had a very valid point. It still rubbed her the wrong way when she thought about it. To enslave an entire race of individuals and not pay them or give them any choice? They had no real rights, no real say in anything. Some of them were treated so poorly they resorted to punishing themselves. In the muggle world, something like that would have started wars. But things were different in the wizarding world. There were customs she was unfamiliar with and mindsets she couldn’t begin to understand. She continued to muse on the topic as they sat eating silently. Once she had had her fill, Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and asked the question that had been on her mind all throughout dinner.

“Why are you two sitting with me and not your friends?”

She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm fall over her shoulders and she looked up at him.

“Are we not allowed to partake in the loveliness of your warm and inviting personality Granger?” he teased, calling out the brashness of her behavior thus far.

“Yeah, maybe we genuinely want to spend time with our favorite little book worm,” added George with a wink.

“Or, maybe you remembered that I promised to tell you how you could have gotten past the age barrier on the goblet and now you’re looking for me to pay up,” Hermione pointed out rolling her eyes.

“Drats Freddie! She’s figured us out.”

“Told you she would Georgie. She’s too bright to let our trickery get past her.”

“Brightest witch of our age I hear.”

“Really? Of our age? Imagine that.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at their banter. It wasn’t every day her intelligence was praised as opposed to ridiculed. “Are you two quite done or do you not wish to hear my secrets?”

“Alright Granger let’s hear it then. Where did we go wrong?” Fred asked taking his arm off her shoulder and turning on the bench to face her. Hermione glanced between the two expectant faces and then began.

“Well there are three ways in which you could have gotten your names into the goblet. The first two have to do with maturity—”

“Maturity? I happen to be quite mature, thank you!” George stated in mock hurt.

“Right…and the third has to do with common sense.”

“She’s got us there Georgie. That is something we tend to lack,” Fred added sarcastically.

“To be fair, you two had the right idea when you made the aging potion. However, it’s not enough for you to appear a few months older. It’s your soul as well as your body that must age,” Hermione continued. She appeared to now have the twins’ full attentions.

“How would we do that then?” Fred ask earnestly.

“The first way of course would have been to wait until you turned seventeen, somehow come into possession of a time-turner, sent yourself into the past and then put your names in the goblet. However, it’s extremely ill-advised and dangerous to meddle with time and so it’s probably best that you didn’t do that. Not to mention, time-turners are highly regulated and incredibly hard to get your hands on. The second way would have been with a maturing draught. The first difficulty with that is the rarity and price of the ingredients. The second is that the potion becomes more complicated and takes longer to make as the amount you want to mature increases and for you two, I imagine it would have taken a very long time for you to brew.” She ended her last comment with a smirk, chest swelling with pride as the twins’ mouths hung open.

“Did you just hear that Freddie? I think our little Granger just made a joke.”

“And at our expense it seems.”

Hermione let out a small laugh before continuing, “Of course that is all conjecture.”

“Wait. So, it’s all just theory then! You have no idea if that would even work?” George exclaimed.

“Brightest witch of our age indeed…��� Fred added, earning a playful slap from the witch sitting next to him.

“Well it’s not as if Dumbledore took me aside and told me exactly how to get past the age line. But I think those are as good as any theory you’re likely to hear!” she defended herself.

“What was the third way? You said there was a third way. Hopefully, this one is better than conjecture.” George rolled his eyes.

“Well isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked, looking between the two.

“Obviously not,” said Fred.

“You could have just bribed an older student to put your names in for you,” Hermione stated plainly. There was a moment of silence amongst the group, and then all three burst into laughter. Their cries turned heads from all around the Great Hall, but none of them seemed to notice or care.

“There was no way that George or I were going to spend our heard-earned sickles on some seventh-year prat for a chance at eternal fame and glory!” Fred stated when he finally found his breath.

“Yeah, not when we can get that all on our own!” agreed George.

“Goblet be damned!” Fred exclaimed loudly, standing up to make his point. Hermione quickly grabbed him by his robes and pulled him back down, embarrassed by his outburst but still laughing all the same.

“To be fair, we did try and bribe Jordan with some very enticing Honeydukes chocolate, but he wouldn’t go for it! Can you believe that? Some friend he is…” George shook his head in disappointment.

“Gee, I can’t imagine why a few chocolate frogs didn’t convince him to aid in your rule breaking,” Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What’s wrong with chocolate frogs?!” the twins asked together.

    “I think we should head back to the tower,” said Hermione, looking around her with a surprised expression.

Fred stopped and did the same only to realize that the Great Hall was nearly empty. It seems while they were busy talking and laughing, the rest of the school had left to go about their nights. Fred found that once he and George got the little witch to open up, it was like a faucet with a broken tap. The bushy-haired girl gushed with charisma, humor, and wit. In fact, she spoke as if no one ever asked her about her interests before. He thought that was quite possibly true as all the times he observed the “Golden Trio” in the past, it was usually Ron and Harry talking about quidditch and then rolling their eyes whenever Hermione spoke about anything. Could it be that none of her friends showed any interest in her? Fred couldn’t help but notice the bit of fire hiding behind her eyes when she spoke about magical creature equality, books she had read recently, or subjects she just learned in class. It was the same fire he saw in her more and more these days; he saw it back at the burrow when they talked in the kitchen, in the hallways when he walked her back to the common room, in the woods when they…Fred shook his head of the memory. Nevertheless, there was something about that fire, that strength she showed that absolutely intrigued him.

Standing from their place at the table, they made their way toward Gryffindor tower, continuing their conversation.

“You’re telling me there’s no market for love potions?” George asked incredulously.

“I’m not saying there isn’t some market for it. I’m merely saying they’re silly, and highly dangerous when you think about it. I can’t believe they’re not banned!” cried Hermione, tucking a curl behind her ear. Fred, too engrossed with the movement of her hand, neglected to chime in on the argument.

“Come on Hermione, they’re not as bad as you’re making them out to be.” George rolled his eyes.

“Really?—” Hermione spun on the spot, walking backwards as she spoke “—Okay, for the pure purpose of debate let’s say I was to concoct a love potion and give it to Fred.”

That sentence caught Fred’s attention quite well.

“Go on,” spoke Fred and George.

“And let’s say that as a result he fell madly in love with me. You wouldn’t see anything wrong with that?”

Fred snorted. “Aside from being in love with a little swot?”

Hermione shot him a dirty look.

“The potion would wear off eventually,” challenged George, clearly still operating within the confines of their argument.

“Not if I kept giving it to him—oof!” Hermione’s sentence was cut short by running into a solid stone bannister at the end of the corridor. Dropping her book bag with a loud thump, her eyes grew large as she started to fall backwards. Using his quidditch reflexes, Fred reached out and grabbed the witch by the forearm before she could topple over the bannister and down the many floors. Once Hermione was set right on her feet, Fred grabbed her book bag from the ground and flung it over his shoulder. Despite the strength he had from many years of quidditch, Fred still gave a little groan at the sheer weight of it.

“Merlin, Hermione. What do you have in here? The entire library?”

“Just the necessities! If you’re going to complain, I can just carry it myself.” Hermione reached for her bag, but Fred swiftly avoided her.

“Now, now. I wasn’t complaining! I’m just surprised you can lift it,” remarked Fred, as they began to walk towards the tower once more.

“What? Because I’m a girl I can’t carry a heavy bag?”

“I think he’s more referring to the fact that you look like you weigh barely eight stone dripping wet and your arms are about a thick as a Bowtruckle’s,” laughed George, pinching Hermione’s arm through her thick sweater.

“I’ll have you know I’m not as feeble as you make me out to be,” sniffed Hermione.

“You hear that Freddie? She’s not as feeble as we make her out to be.”

Fred knew the tone in George’s words all too well. Briefly sharing a wicked grin, the two swooped down and lifted Hermione into the air. She put up a good fight, Fred had to admit that, but in the end, she relented, George’s arms linked under her armpits and Fred’s hands grasped firmly around her ankles. The twins laughed obnoxiously as they rounded the last corner up the stairs and came to the portrait entrance to Gryffindor tower.

“Okay, you can put me down now. You’ve had your laugh!”

“What do you think Freddie? Have we had our fill?” George asked, beaming at his twin.

Fred pursed his lips, pretending to think on the subject for a moment before he shook his head from side to side. “Nah, I don’t think we have. Balderdash!” he yelled the password to the Fat Lady with excess enthusiasm, gripping Hermione tighter when she began to thrash, realizing they were carrying her into the common room.

“Make way, fresh catch of the day!” yelled George over the crowd of Gryffindor students.

“Fred! George! Put me down!”

The two ignored her, grinning from ear to ear as they parted through their interested peers, obviously surprised to see such a sight. It wasn’t uncommon for Fred and George to make a ruckus in the common room, but to make one that included Hermione Granger? Absolutely unheard of.

“Oi!” barked Lee Jordan from a nearby table. “What have you two got there?”

“Oh, this here?” asked Fred casually. “Well while we were out, George and I thought we’d do a bit of bird hunting.”

The comment earned him a few laughs, filling Fred with pride.

“And believe me, she wasn’t the easiest of prey. Isn’t that right Fred?” George asked his brother.

“I wouldn’t say that George. I’d say she nearly leapt into our arms. She did threaten to slip me a love potion.”

That comment earned him a swift kick from Hermione’s right foot. Not paying attention, the kick landed squarely in his gut and Fred dropped her legs as he wrapped his arms ‘round his middle. Now able to use the leverage of her feet, Hermione pulled out of George’s grasp and grabbed her book bag from Fred’s shoulder. She took a moment to stare down at Fred, as he stood doubled over in pain. Her brown eyes narrowed down at him, her hair falling around her face.

“If I had a love potion, you’d be the last person I’d waste it on, Frederick Weasley,” Hermione stated plainly, before patting him lightly on the head and walking towards the girls’ dormitories.

A smattering of ‘oohs’ came from the crowd around them, and Fred had to fight very hard not to go red as he straightened out and watched Hermione Granger exited the common room. Despite having embarrassed him, he couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he watched the curly headed girl walk up the stairs with a bounce in her step. He couldn’t wait to see how she would surprise him next.

Chapter 8 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

[random-mha-thoughts]

Night Drives (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader 

Genre: Fluff/Comfort, College!AU

Summary: You’re having a rough and stressful week, and Shinsou helps by taking you out for a late night trip.

Word count: 1,814

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

a/n: I know I promised angst, but I really wanted to write this little comfort/fluff piece for anyone who might be facing a mid-semester funk/depression like me.  I was inspired because I went out to pick my cousin up from the airport late last night and I never realized how therapeutic night driving can be.

I also wasn’t really sure which character I wanted to write for this (bc they would all fit one way or another), but I chose Shinsou bc I haven’t written for him in a hot minute and he deserves some more love.

I hope you guys enjoy it, and I hope it helped some of you and maybe helped cheer you up 😊

I sit at my desk, hands carding through my messy hair.  Pouring over my notes is the most stressful thing I could be doing this weekend, I'd rather be sleeping or doing something more relaxing.  Weekends before exams are always the hardest because it's when I get my biggest chunk of studying done, so I'm usually holed up in my room the entire day.

It's also times like this when the dark thoughts roll in.  I've always been a smart kid, but being in college really makes me question it.  Getting low B's and high C's on exams in my major classes don't mean the end of the world, but I rethink who I think I am because of it.  I still get A's in my other bullshit classes, so why am I struggling in the classes that are supposed to teach me the skills I need for my future career?  Should I rethink my future?  Do I even want to go into my chosen field anymore?  Am I making a huge mistake being here?  I'm wasting my entire scholarship money if I decide to start over from scratch.  My fingers close in on my scalp.

"Kitty?"

The warmth in his voice jolts my head up.  "Oh, hey."  I straighten my back, not even realizing how hunched over my back was.

Shinsou's eyebrows are furrowed at me.  "Are you okay?"  His large thumb brushes over the wetness clinging at the corners of my eyes.  "You're crying."

I tug at the sleeves of my hoodie.  "Yeah, I'm fine."

He studies my face carefully, his own dark circles standing out against his pale skin.  He knows how I get when I'm in this mode, staying respectful of my study habits.  Since I don't come out of my room, he'll let himself in and stay in my bed, reading, sleeping, doing his own studying, or watching something on his laptop until I'm finished.  Just a few moments ago when I peaked over my shoulder to see what he was doing, he'd fallen asleep with his headphones on, lightly snoring.  He doesn't bother me.  It's something I appreciate about him.

Shinsou crosses his arms over his chest.  "When was the last time you ate?"

My stomach admittedly feels empty.  I've only been snacking when I felt hungry.  Looking at the clock, it's almost midnight.  "Since breakfast," I answer feebly.

A sigh escapes his lips.  "Are you finished now?  You've been like this all day."

I cast a dreadful look over the pages of notes.  There's still a few chapters I need to look over, but my brain feels that it might explode if I try to cram anymore information in.  The worst part is I don't even feel like I've retained anything I've read in the past few hours.  I start closing my books.  "Yeah, I'm done."  And utterly defeated.

Shinsou gently takes my hand in his, calling my attention to him.  "Come on, go wash your face and change.  We're gonna go eat."

He leaves me to go to his room and fetch his wallet.  Trudging into the bathroom and following his instructions, I wash my face to wake myself up, change into some jeans, and pull on a hoodie that's more presentable for going out into the world.

Shinsou returns, changed into a pair of jeans, hoodie, and denim jacket, and we head out of our dorm building.  The air isn't as cold as I thought, but it was just as deserted.  The scattered lamp posts across the pavement are the only illuminations in the parking lot.  I walk with my hands in my pockets and my hood up.

How the hell am I gonna learn everything by Tuesday? I despair.  I hate how I always end up thinking about work even when I don't want to.

Shinsou closes the distance between us and snakes his arm around my torso.  "Have you ever considered getting a hoodie with cat ears on them?" he asked casually.

I'm thrown off by his random question, but I have to laugh.  "Uh, no?  Why would I wear it?"

"So I can pull at the ears, duh."

"You and your cat addiction needs to chill."  I want to shove him away, but his warmth feels great to touch.  "Where are we going?"

"Noodles?" he offers.  "It's been getting pretty cold."

"Is it wrong that I want something...filling right now.  And no, get your mind out of the gutter!" I shove Shinsou before he can say anything.

"I wasn't even thinking it, who actually has the dirty mind, hm?"  He pokes the side of my head.

After I'm done pouting at him, I suggest, "Do you think there's a tempura place open around here?  Actually, I just really want fries and something else."

"Anything else, your royal highness?" he smirks and unlocks his car.

"Mmm," I hum as I settle into his passenger seat.  "A pet dragon would be nice too.  Or full payment on my college education."

Shinsou chuckles at my sarcasm.  "Anything for you, kitty."  Holding my hand, he kisses my palm before starting the engine.

As he drives down the abandoned road, I lean my head against the window, staring out the windshield.  The sky's already black, but there's too much light and the car's moving too fast to count the stars.  Something about the emptiness of everything at night calms me down.  It almost feels like Shinsou and I are the only 2 people in the world at this hour.  Even the parking lot of the fast food joint down the block is deserted.

"I'll get it to go so we can eat in here, what do you want?" my purple haired prince asks me sweetly, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"10 piece nuggets and medium fries.  And a diet soda, I'm watching my calories."  I whisper the last part.

"Coming right up."

.

"Are you sure it's okay to eat in your car?" I ask, tentatively opening the paper bag of food goodness.  I didn't realize how hungry I was until the smell of high calorie fast food wafts in front of my nose.

Shinsou's eyes are on the road as he drives down the roadway.  "Yeah I don't care, it's not like my car's new or anything."

I dip into the bag and grab my box of nuggets.  A smile graces my face when I notice he remembered the sweet and sour sauce.  "Why are you so good to me?"

"Because you're my kitty and I love you," he answers without missing a beat, his large hand messing up my hair.

A familiar fuzzy warmth fills me as I lean into his touch.  Digging into my nuggets, I end up completely demolishing them, the hole in my stomach finally filling  at the process meat.  I don't care how old I get, I will always have chicken nuggets at fast food restaurants.  Every once in a while, Shinsou would ask for one of my fries, and  I'd happily feed him.

I have no idea where we're going; for some reason, we're on the highway.  I just quietly finish my meal and sip my drink.

Shinou's eyes glint with mischief.  "Since we're alone on the highway..."

My eyes widen.  "Babe, no-!"

The engine revs to life under my boyfriend's lead foot and the car jolts forward.  I clutch my fries and almost choke on my soda as we speed down the highway.  The biggest grin spreads across his face.

"Hitoshi, I'm not ready to die!"

He takes his foot off the gas and the car relaxes, as does my heart.  But he knows how much I secretly love it when he does that.  "At least wait until I'm not about to choke before you do that!"

Laughing at me, he passes me his phone. "Play whatever you want, kitty."

Oh, it's over now.

I select a playlist of hype songs we both love, belting out the lyrics from the top of our lungs as Shinsou speeds down the highway. A mess of screams, laughter, loud music, and singing fill the entire space as we zip past all the lights on the highway.  It reminds of what it might feel like rocketing through space. The pit of my stomach feels weightless from the excitement and the speeding car.

Are we crazy?  Maybe.  Did I savor every second of it?  Absolutely.

Shinsou finally slows down and exits down a beach.  Pulling into an empty space, he parks the car and gets out, waving for me to follow him.  We end up sitting on the hood of his car, eating our food under a blanket he keeps in his car.  A nearby streetlight dimly illuminates our dark space.

I snuggle Shinsou's left arm and look out into the dark expanse.  I can finally count the stars, between stealing bites from Shinsou's burger.  Clutching my end of the blanket over me, I lay my head on his shoulder.  "It's so strange sitting on the hood of a car."

"Guess you've never done it before," he replies quietly, balling up his empty wrapper and placing it back in the bag.  Both arms wrap around me, resting his head on top of mine.  "I used to come here when I wanted to clear my mind.  There's just a whole lot of nothing and silence."

I can't agree more.  The darkness - the absence of light - makes everything seem quiet and empty.  Something about it feels liberating, letting all my emotions flow out in front of me freely and let me just be.  A breathe in and let it rattle out of me.  The endless void surrounds us, isolates us, encloses us so our thoughts can't bother us.

Shinsou brings me closer, letting me sit halfway on his lap, placing a gentle kiss on my temple.  "Are you feeling better, kitty?  I know you're pretty stressed, more so than your usual anxious self.  I figured bringing you out here would help somewhat."

My heart swells with warmth.  I hug him tighter and close my eyes, leaning my head to his chest.  "Thank you, Hitoshi.  You've done a lot for me, I really appreciate it.  You really went out of your way  for me."

"Nothing's out of my way for you."  His large hand rubs my scalp.  "You work so hard, you deserve this."

I snuggle deeper into his chest, my eyes slowly closing as the rhythm  of his heartbeat calms me.  "What did I do to deserve you?" I mumble.

"Well, maybe you saved an entire country," he jokes, pressing another kiss into the top of my head and running his fingers lightly on the back of my head, "But I think you just being perfect deserves all the happiness I can give you."

"You're too sweet."  I drift off to a light sleep in his arms, surrounded by his warmth, choosing to think about life some other time.

[monster-bait]

I was reading those wake up/sleep routine asks/posts on your page and thought to add my own. I have the ADHD circadian rhythm of peaking at like, 11pm-2am, but also that absolute hate of sleeping past 8am. So... I'm just permanently exhausted. xD On work days, I wake up at the humble 7:30am and try to be in bed by midnight. But damn does COVID + heavily reduced work hours make it hard to keep a healthy schedule... I cannot focus on anything for long.

I wrote my first book in those 11pm-2am hours, and GOD DAMN do I miss that night energy magic. When I look back at my productivity from 3 years ago (about 200k words of quality writing), from two years ago (close to 400k words of quality writing including a novel and two novellas), hell even parts of last year (I wrote Girl’s Weekend, Linden Trees, and Gel & Lisette and Bronn & Leida last October) there’s one commonality that I’m missing right now—the structured schedule of a day job, something I had to focus on, which funneled into that ADHD superpower sweet spot of hyper focus on everything else too.

Now I don’t have that and my brain is a pile of gooooooooooooo

So...we can not focus on anything together, I guess? 

[thecoolkidsbasement]

Nancy Drew - Midnight in Salem ‘Fix it Fic’

So because I wanted to take a little writing break from my Inventor’s Absolution fic (so I wouldn’t suffer from the burnout of writing exclusively in one universe for so long), I got somewhat invested in writing a ‘fix-it fic’ for Nancy Drew’s Midnight in Salem game because it was Terribad(TM), and then got un-invested by the time I finished the scene LMAO I don’t think I’ll ever seriously put more time into it (maybe I’ll post it on AO3 + FF.net since it’s a completed scene and to get more eyes on it), so I thought I’d just leave it here for the Clue Crew to enjoy if they so wished. Basically I wanted a rewrite of the game in ‘novel form’ to fix dialogue, plot holes, puzzles, and other various things that I felt needed improvement in the story and plot. This starts at the beginning of the game, shortly after the Book of Apologies thief escapes, and before the opening talk between Nancy Drew and Deirdre Shannon.

Enjoy! Fic under the cut, thanks for reading (and apologies if Nancy seems a bit OOC, I tried doing a mix of ‘new Nan’ with ‘old Nan’. Happy reading, happy writing!

Amongst the verdant firs of the Salzburg forest, our young detective, Nancy Drew, navigates her way back to Moosham Castle after a book thief apprehension gone awry. Through the crowning tops of the wavering trees where they split amongst the drear sky are the towering eaves of the historical estate—the only guide she has in returning to the castle’s footbridge. She surmised the hike back would be a strenuous one, and furthermore considered herself lucky to not have rolled her ankle, or worse, broken a leg, from the way she launched herself over the bridge’s edge as carelessly as she did.

Not a story for Ned, that’s for sure, she decided while rummaging through her shoulder bag to examine the few pieces of evidence her book thief had dropped in their escape; an expelled home-made smoke bomb; a key with an usual blade, the teeth spelling ‘AW’, left abandoned in the cage lock that the Book of Apologies was bound with; and a torn plane ticket to Boston, Massachusetts.

Which was boarding at 3:40 PM.

Tomorrow.

I’ve got to find them before they get back to the states, or else I could lose their trail! Nancy lamented as she pulled her phone from her pocket to check the time, while also seeing several missed calls from a River Heights number — proven earlier to be that of Deirdre Shannon’s. Tucking her phone away, she decided she’d respond later with a lingering thought of how odd it was that Deirdre was calling her. Repeatedly. But right now she had other things to worry about, like how she would apprehend her book thief!

The Vienna International Airport is about a 4-hour drive away. With this ticket I at least know what flight my thief will be on and what seat they’re in! I’ll have to get past airport security first... I wonder if there're any open seats left on this flight?… Nancy puzzled as she climbed up a steep hill, using the rocks protruding from the earthen ridge as makeshift foot holds for a quick return back up to the main road. Brushing dirt off her hands and clothes, she took notice of a tear clean through her pants leg—most likely snagged on a sharp rock or thorny bush while she was running.

Definitely not a story for Ned, the detective sighed to herself as her phone buzzed once more in her jacket pocket. It was Deirdre, again.

The two hadn’t seen each other since the old town hall fire in River Heights last year, and they certainly weren’t on friendly terms once the truth and Nancy’s innocence had come to light… not that they were friendly beforehand, but reveling in Nancy’s short stint in prison certainly didn’t do their tense acquaintanceship any favors.

"Okay, Deirdre, you now have my undivided attention.” Nancy remarked once she answered the call. “What is it?”

“You know, when someone calls you in a panic and tells you not to hang up, it’s probably pretty important that you not hang up!” She snapped from the other side of the line with a huff.

“I’m sorry, but I told you I was in the middle of something. I said I’d call you back later, didn’t I?” She reasoned as she began walking the road back to the castle, lined on either side by dense trees, and examined the tear in her pants again as she walked.

“This isn’t something that can wait! I—…” All the ire in her tone died to a tense silence, in a pause so long Nancy removed her phone from her ear to check if the call dropped. The phone service out amongst the forest wasn’t the best, but her phone confirmed they hadn’t disconnected.

She put her cell back to her ear. “Deirdre? Are you still there?”

“I need your help, Drew.” Deirdre admitted quietly, her voice reluctant and almost ego-bruised, as if she were thinking better of having called the detective in the first place. “My cousin’s gotten into some trouble, and I thought I could help her, but—… but it’s a lot more complicated than what she told me over the phone. It’s worse than I thought it’d be.”

“What kind of trouble?”

"Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Gauging the distance of the road ahead, the peaking towers and the outer curtain walls of Moosham Castle cut through the trees. Nancy hadn’t realized how far she strayed until now. “Well, it looks like I just came into a bit of free time… if you’d like to talk about it?”

“I thought you said you were in the middle of something?”

“I was. I was literally chasing down a suspect when you called and got a little lost on my way back to the castle.”

“…A castle? Where in the world are you, Nancy Drew?”

“Austria, at this place called Moosham Castle. I was trying to locate an artifact for my dad on behalf of a judge friend of his, and—it was the craziest thing!— When I had my back turned, someone dressed all in black appeared out of nowhere and stole the artifact, disappeared in a puff of weird blue smoke, and jumped out the window!”

"Are you saying this guy got away? And here I thought Miss Nancy Drew always got her perp,” Deirdre said with blatant smugness in her voice.

You didn’t see them—they must’ve scaled up the outer wall somehow to come through the window… and they were quick. If they hadn’t stopped when they did to open up the book, I never would’ve caught up to them, Nancy realized glumly. Whoever this person is is crazy athletic, and they knew what they were doing. They knew that the book was here, and they had the key to get it open. This was no random robbery.

“I didn’t think anyone used the word 'perp’ anymore, Deirdre,” Nancy replied with a soft teasing, which granted her a scoff from the other end of the line. Possibly an eye roll, too. “Anyway, back to your cousin. What kind of trouble is she in?”

"Right. Well—… to make a long story short, my cousin, Mei, lives in the infamous Salem, Massachusetts. About a week ago one of Salem’s most historical mansions was nearly burnt to the ground, and now the entire town believes she was the one who caused the fire! They don’t have any evidence she did it, which is unbelievable, but any idiot can see she wouldn’t do something like that—!”

“Deir—Deirdre—Deirdre!” Nancy finally had to yell just to make herself heard over her incensed rambling. “Why would the town believe your cousin Mei would do such a thing if there’s no evidence? What evidence did they find? Did she provide a strong alibi? One that someone, or multiple people, can confirm? Are there any other suspects?”

"God, I forgot about that annoying thing you do where you ask a million questions a second,” Deirdre huffed exasperatedly. "I don’t know what evidence the police have. When I tried reaching out to them, they just laughed at me when they found out I was Mei’s cousin—like they thought it was funny I was trying to prove her innocence! Like it was so obvious Mei would do this and I just couldn’t see it! I had to leave before I gave them the smart-ass piece of my mind… it would’ve only made the situation worse for her.”

“I’m so, so sorry to hear that happened to you, Deirdre… really, I am.” Nancy offered genuinely, just as the footbridge was coming into sight, and she quickened her pace to meet it. “It sounds like your cousin is being falsely accused, or at least he police don’t seem interested in looking into other suspects.”

"Mei hasn’t been accused.” She clarified before sighing defeatedly, grumbling with a tight jaw. "…Not yet, at least, on official record… but everyone in Salem thinks she did it and we both can see where this train is heading. The only people here who see the truth are me and Mei’s older sister, my other cousin, Teegan. Nancy, Mei didn’t do this, and like I said, the situation’s really complicated… more complicated than I can explain over the phone. It’d be easier in person.”

“Are—Are you asking me to come to Salem?” Nancy inquired dubiously. She expected their exchange to be more of a mentoring; for Deirdre to ask for her advice on how to pursue the matter and that would be the end of it, so for her to imply—no, outright admit she needed Nancy to come to Salem—it became clear just how ‘complicated’ this problem really was.

And how desperate Deirdre was to save her cousin.

"You’re really going to twist my arm, aren’t you?” Deirdre groaned. "Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking, Drew. I’m not going to beg.” There was an abrupt pause. "…I might say please, though, if that’ll convince you, but you can never breathe a word of that to anyone!”

As Nancy stopped on the footbridge to lean over the railing, the open window of the north-tower marked where the thief had jumped from the ledge to a sheer drop below; it was almost too high up to jump from without breaking your neck, and the exterior walls were built with smooth stone weather-worn from the years. How could the thief otherwise get up there, let alone get back down as quick as they did without injuring themselves? Perhaps a hook and rope? Climbing tools? Pure agility, athletics, and clever leverage? Perhaps through some other tools or means unknown to her? It seemed clean, professional, planned, and most importantly, puzzling.

“Do you know how far the Boston International airport is from Salem?” Nancy inquired while digging into her shoulder bag to produce the thief’s torn plane ticket, upon remembering it’s destination out. The detective wondered, was it merely coincidence that the Book of Apologies was stolen in the same week a fire vandalized a Salem landmark? Since Moosham Castle and the book itself both had a connection to the witch trials, it couldn’t be completely improbable that there was some deeper relation between the pieces, and her thief’s flight out to Boston only solidified her gut instinct.

“Boston Logan? Uh—it’s like an hour drive from Salem, I guess?” Deirdre said quizzically. “Does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’m definitely coming. In my book thief’s escape, they left behind a torn plane ticket. They were going to the Boston International Airport. The destruction of a Salem monument, the theft of an important artifact involving the witch trials, and the thief’s flight coming into Boston can’t be coincidence. I don’t know if my thief will be in Salem, but I’d bet they’re still linked to the town somehow.”

“That sounds pretty far-fetched, if you ask me.”

“I guess I’ll find out when I get to Salem. I’m going to see about taking an afternoon flight out of Austria tomorrow—think you can hang tight until I get there?”

“As if I have a choice,” Deirdre bit sardonically, before a softened sigh allowed her to continue in a kinder tone. “I’ll pick you up from the airport. Just text me your flight details, and try not to get in at, like, 2 in the morning or something. I’m not afraid to leave you at the mercy of a taxi driver.”

“I hear you. We’ll figure this out, Deirdre… I promise.” Nancy declared, and despite the silence from the other end, she knew Deirdre was still there—listening and careful.

“…Thanks,” She replied, before quickly hanging up as if it would hopefully diminish the tender gratitude in her reply.

[cptnsantiago]

take me home

2/?

~ all i want for christmas is your name

read on ao3

Everyone expects baby Peralta-Santiago to arrive early. It’s a Santiago child, they’re all early. Amy had expected, or  hoped, that early meant after Christmas but before the new year. That’s not the case. 

She instead decides to begin her journey into the world on the coldest night of the year, only four days from Christmas. Amy feels the first contractions at 4am, after spending the whole night attempting to find a comfortable position. All the while Jake snores next to her,  taunting her. 

She can’t bring herself to be genuinely angry at him - not yet. Jake had been nothing but supportive and excited for their baby, he had been since they decided to start trying. They were having a  girl. It had shocked everyone but Amy and she had been three hundred dollars richer for it. He had cried with her at the ultrasound when they found out were having a girl. Jake also stayed up late with her, gave her massages at her demand, provided her with every craving she had. He may not be carrying a 10-pound human (maybe an exaggeration, Amy couldn’t tell) inside him, but he deserved his rest as much as she did. 

So she lets him sleep until the contractions are close enough to worry, but it doesn’t take long until they hurt bad enough to dig her nails into his arm. “Ames?”

“B-baby.” Amy winces again before sucking in a deep breath as the contraction slowly subsides. 

“Is something wrong?” Amy shakes her head, “Is… Is she coming, Ames? Was that a contraction?”

“Yep.” Amy laughs, finally smiling at Jake’s concerned features. “Nine days early, she’s really outdoing the rest of the Santiago’s.”

“David couldn’t beat you at this if he  tried .” Jake encourages with a teasing grin. “We’re having our baby?”

“We’re having our baby.” Amy cries happily, shifting closer to him so he can wrap his arms around her, “I love you.”

The next 15 hours are a blur. Jake is a lot calmer than she expected - not like in every movie or TV show ever where the dad freaks out and faints at the sight of anything gooey - but he stays calm, he guides her through her breathing exercises and offers physical support when she needs it. Jake gets the nurse to back off when she congratulates them on a Christmas baby, because he knew how stressed she was about the dessert she definitely wasn’t bringing for Christmas. He’s really the perfect partner. 

Amy remembers the days of feelings simmering just under the surface and thinking to herself,  Jake is way too immature. It would never work  . Before Jake, Amy thought that being right was everything. Against David, Amy always had to be right and could never lose an argument without lowkey being the end of the world for her. She had never liked being wrong, but she wears this misconception with a badge of pride because there is  no one  else Amy could imagine or  want  to do all this with. 

Jake Peralta was her person. And they had a baby girl together. 

A baby girl born at 7:37pm on December 21st. Seven pounds, twenty inches. A baby girl whom they keep calling Baby Girl Peralta-Santiago because she had been cursed with decisive cops as parents who were apparently indecisive in every other way. 

It’s not really at the top of their priorities - they’re busting adoring every inch of her wriggling in her mother’s arms. Amy traces with her finger the dark hair that peaks from under her hospital issued beanie, over her eyebrows and past her blinking and confused eyes down to her cheeks, nose, lips and chin. “She’s actually your twin, you’re just born many years apart. This is a scientific discovery, babe!” 

Amy rolls her eyes at his quiet enthusiasm, her fingers moving back to stroke their daughters cheeks. “Santiago’s just have strong genes.”

“That’s why you’re all so gorgeous of course. Thanks Victor and Camila!” Jake slides closer behind Amy so she can rest her head against him, and both of them are able to watch their daughter attempt to focus on something. “What’s your name, mija?”

The post baby hormones are almost more of a bitch than her pregnancy, so she has to take a moment to pull herself together at Jake saying  mija to their daughter . “Por favor, no te pongas de acuerdo con Naomi. He just wants to name you after Nakatomi plaza and we have to stick together so he can’t trick us!” 

“Oh  please  , Ames. You were the one trying to name her Hermione.” Jake scoffs, “She’s gonna end up being Baby Girl forever. We can’t even make that work! People will think we’re trying to copy Friends!”

“Her name is definitely not baby girl. We’re going to figure it out, let’s just enjoy her and fall asleep.”

~ 

They leave the hospital without a name. The nurse informs them that they have two weeks to decide and get the paperwork in. But the time restriction somehow stresses her out more than picking the perfect name, combined with Christmas being in two days and not having any presents or an outfit for her to wear. 

Jake holds her hand the whole time she rants, just as he always did, his eyes shifting occasionally to the tiny newborn sleeping in the bassinet next to their bed. “Ames, take a deep breath. I’m almost certain she’ll forgive us if she doesn’t have any presents at four days old, and Charles already told me he found four potential Christmas outfits.”

“What would I do without Charles?” Amy sighs happily, turning to run a hand through Jake’s sleepy curls. “What would I do without you?” 

Jake leans forward so their foreheads were touching, both leaning into the quiet moment with only their breathing and tiny baby snores and grunts in the background. He kisses the side of her mouth, his heart warming as a small but tired smile creeps on her face. “We should probably sleep while she’s sleeping.”

“I still have so much to prepare.” Amy whines, her head falling down to his shoulder. 

“Just a little nap, Ames. I’m sure she’ll be screaming at us soon enough for the boob.”

~

It’s a lot of the same for them. Sleep, feed baby girl with no name, change diaper, attempt to think about Christmas, sleep more, eat when Charles comes over with food, brainstorm baby names, and sometimes even more sleep. 

A tradition of their own since they had moved in together was to stay in on Christmas Eve, watching  Harry Potter  and stay up till midnight so they could open each other’s presents - it was a little harder this year. Jake was holding a milk drunk, almost four day old baby in one arm while his other was wrapped around his half asleep wife, trying himself not to fall asleep while Harry fought off Voldemort for the first time. 

Even when he wasn’t nodding off himself, his eyes were usually on the baby in his arms. Charles had gone all out in the baby Christmas outfit department. She had on a thick red headband with a bow on the side, snowflakes printed all over with matching pants, a onesie that read ‘My 1st Christmas!’ and a knitted cardigan over the top to keep her warm. Jake was afraid of the parents he and Amy were becoming, because they both  loved  it. She looked so  cheesy  but it was the cutest thing in the world, and they even did their own mini photoshoot before she started screaming to be fed. 

So here Jake was, surrounded by his family - a milk drunk baby and his wife fast asleep on his shoulder. The baby in his arm begins to squirm, grunting and opening her eyes. “Cómo te llamas, mija?” Jake’s heart warms as she meets his eyes, “Angelica? Eliza? Peggy? Or no Schyler sister names?”

“Absolutely not.” Amy mumbles next to him, eyes still closed. 

“Eliza isn’t a bad name.” Jake replies with a frown. 

Amy opens her eyes, stretching and looking at their baby. “She doesn’t look like an Eliza.”

At that, she grunts and her face contorts in a grimace. 

“Gotcha, no Eliza.” Jake snorts, both him and Amy watched in amazement as she continues to grimace before closing her eyes again and smiling. “Ames! She smiled, definitely not Eliza! She must have hated Eliza.”

“That, or she passed gas.” Amy giggles, pinching her nose. “Hey, look at the time.”

“Midnight! Happy Christmas!” Jake whispers, stroking her cheek lightly before turning to peck Amy on the lips. “Merry Christmas, I love you.”

“Merry Christmas…” Amy sighs happily, closing her eyes again for a moment. “Already four days old and she’s about to face the most chaotic day of the year.”

“We can just skip it?” Jake questions, his voice squeaking as he tries to believe his own words. “I know it’s crazy, but who expects us to go out with a four day old for more than half an hour?”

“My parents is who.” She shakes her head, “Maybe we can be late?”

“Wow you  are  sleep deprived.” Jake laughs softly, “What if we’re late  and we leave early?”

“You’re talking crazy talk now!” Amy snorts, biting her lip as to not disturb the sleeping baby. “I’m getting sick of calling her baby girl, seriously.”

Jake nods in agreement and they fall into a peaceful silence, with only the sounds of the city and Harry Potter in the background. She never thought it would be  this impossible to choose a name for their baby. The baby wrapped up in Jake’s arms was too perfect to have their name rushed. 

The time they spent  trying  , and waiting for results and keeping it a secret from Boyle - it all lead to this moment. Not so much her being born, even though that was a  huge  deal, but being given her name. She had to live with it for whole life (unless she  wanted to change it  - they had both been very adamant in supporting this potential for their daughters future). Maybe they were overthinking it, and the fact that they’ve had a combined thirteen hours sleep in the last two days wasn’t helping them make a choice. 

“Maybe we should revisit some names?” Jake offers, and Amy’s certain he’s read her mind.

“Okay, yeah. Good idea.” Amy agrees, “But no Naomi.”

“Yeah! I get it! Naomi’s out of the picture!” Jake tips his head back in laughter, which wakes the infant in his arms. They’re lucky she doesn’t cry, but just stares up at her father again. “Good you’re awake, we need your help.”

“Now should we go over the suggestions from the squad?” Amy looks to her phone, which has an extensive list. 

“I mean, Rosa’s suggestion is Kid and Charles insists on Charlotte, so no?” Jake shifts the baby so she’s resting on his bent knees. This way she’s able to attempt to look at the both of them while fighting off sleep again. “I think I have an idea…”

“Do tell.” Amy’s not looking at him but looping her pointer finger so she can grip tightly onto it. 

“So I thought Luna-”

“Jake we agreed no character names!” Amy groans, pouting up at him.

“I  know but hear me out, Ames. I’ve thought about this.” Jake’s eyes begin to shimmer, either from tiredness or pure affection, she can’t tell but she knows he’s sincere. “So I thought Luna Rey, for a few reasons. So first, they both have a meaning in Spanish, right?”

“Moon King?” Amy snorts, “That barely makes sense.”

“Ah, but they have meaning. Rey has more of a meaning of Captain Holt to me, and he’s your mentor and best friend after- nevermind he’s your best friend. But also Captain Holt is basically king of the precinct, so it totally works.” Amy can’t really fight that, so she nods and waits for him to continue. “ And Luna, because, well you probably don’t remember because you were deliriously tired but there was a full moon the night she was born. And I stood with her in my arms by the window and just thought about how beautiful they both were. Our baby, and the moon - except she’s prettier. So Spanish meaning, boom!

Okay... So, uh, reason one was basically all my reasons meshed together, and I’m too tired to put up a proper argument for you right now  however  , my final statement. Luna Rey Santiago-Peralta, has both personal and cultural meaning while also happening to be named after two  badass characters that we both love. Rey and Luna Lovegood. Debate over.”

Amy’s lack of sleep is the only reason she’s unable to keep the tears at bay as she laughs at her husband. The first time she had heard the name Luna, she had been so vehemently against it but now after hearing Jake’s case, she can’t remember those protests. 

“Luna? Es ese es tu nombre?” Amy whispers, her heart expanding five sizes as she says it out loud. She doesn’t react like the last time, but she does attempt to pull Amy’s finger into her mouth. “Luna Rey Santiago-Peralta.”

“We’d like to formally apologise for giving you too long of a name.” Jake chuckes, “Do you really like it?”

“Yes, I do.” Amy sniffles, smiling at him brightly. “I’ve really turned you into a debate genius.”

“Only for Luna. It’s what she deserves.” Jake teases with a kiss to Amy’s nose before his eyes drift back to Luna. “It’s really her first Christmas, I’m too tired to process any of this.”

“Happy Christmas, Luna.” 

“The happiest of Christmases, to both of you.”

[nhlarchived]

NYC ~ Mathew Barzal

Chapter Two

Ch. One ~ Ch. Two ~ Part Three ~ Ch. Four ~ Ch. Five

Word Count: 2,752

Warnings: Mature Language

Wattpad

The next morning I woke up and started getting ready before planning to go see my family next door. I decided to shower in the guest room because I liked their bathroom better than the one in my parents’ house. After getting ready, I left my hair out to air dry, changed my clothes and started walking down the stairs. 

Upon entering the kitchen I noticed Mat was sitting at the table reading the daily paper. I stopped in the hallway and began to contemplate whether I wanted to walk past the table to the side door that was closest to my parents' house, or avoid him and walk out the front door. 

“Good morning.” I heard Mathew speak from the table. I jumped as I was not expecting him to notice me. I peeked farther around the corner and his sight stayed locked on the newspaper. Not even looking up when he spoke, so then I was left to wonder if he was even talking to me. 

“Good shower?” He questioned, peaking an eye over the top of the paper he occupied himself with. Yeah, he was definitely talking to me. My mind began scanning for answers. I didn’t know how to respond, and I was still shocked he was even in the home. 

“I️.. uh.. yeah. Yeah, it was nice.” I stuttered. Kicking myself in my mind for being so awkward. Normally, I was very confident and didn’t have problems speaking to people. But for some reason he throws me off. Especially since he’s staying in the house. 

He found my stuttering amusing. Giggling after I finished speaking, leaning his head further down to hide his smile behind the paper. “So, what are your plans for today?” He inquired once containing his light laughter. Sparking loads of questions I began to ask myself. 

“Why is he asking me that? Do I appear to be doing something? Is he asking me to hang out? Wait, no. He wouldn’t. We just met. Do I tell him I’m hanging out with my parents? Or make up some cool story? I don’t want him to think I’m boring or something. Ugh.” After staring off into space for several seconds too long, I decided the easiest route would be to tell the truth. 

“My parents live next door. I’m going to go hang out with them for the day.” I answered. Beginning to walk closer to the side door in hopes of a quick escape from the awkward tension I accidentally created. 

“Aww, you’re not going to stay here today? Maybe you should come over later for a game of street hockey?” He proposed placing the paper down onto the table. My heart began to beat so loud that I thought he would be able to see it. So many thoughts started to flow through my mind that I couldn’t even understand myself anymore. 

“I️ just figured it would make it an even 2 on 2.” He added. “Plus, the kids said you were pretty good.” He continued, this time leaning back in the chair, crossing his arms. An instigating smirk plastered across his face, making it clear he was trying to compete with me, and boy was it intriguing. 

“I️ don’t know. I️ wouldn't want to embarrass you.” I retorted. Finally, the confidence I knew and loved coming back. I crossed my arms over my chest, giving him the exact same smirk he had just given me. 

“Well then maybe you’ll just have to play on my team.” He proposed. At this point the organs in my body felt like they were melting. He was so damn good at knowing what to say and I’ve only known him for less than 24 hours. But it was fun to have a little competition around. 

“That wouldn’t be fair to the kids.” I acknowledged. Even though I wanted to be on his team more than anything else at the moment, I wanted to make him work for it. 

“In that case, we’ll just have to play one on one after dark. That way no one would be around to see you get embarrassed.” He teased, fueling the fire that had started in my stomach. 

“Driveway at midnight. I’ll meet you there.” Mat concluded. Picking himself up from the chair and walking out into the other room. Refusing to break eye contact with me until he was behind the wall that covered the hallway. 

Once he disappeared around the corner all my senses started coming back to me. I can’t figure out how he makes me feel that way. Almost as if I was floating and the room is spinning around us. This was definitely something I wasn’t used to. 

The rest of the day I spent enjoying time with my family. We took a trip into the city to do a little shopping and find something good to eat. However, no matter how much we did that day, Mathew sat in the back of my mind. I wouldn’t say I was thinking about him constantly, but whenever my mind had a break, it would anticipate the date we had semi planned for the night. 

Midnight rolled around, and not wanting to seem too thrilled about the meet up, I decided to be ‘fashionably late’. Which, only ended up being about five minutes past midnight due to the anticipation building up inside of me. 

Looking out from my parents side door I saw Mat occupying himself already by shooting pucks into the net. It may have been dark out, but I could still notice him in the dim moonlight. Covered by a tan jacket and again, black skinny jeans. 

Quietly, I walked out of the house and headed to my parents garage where I had kept some of my old personal sticks. I used to play when I was younger. Always stuck on the all boys team either by myself or with one other girl. I absolutely loved playing but once I started college, I didn’t have time anymore. Either way it earned me enough skill to not embarrass myself tonight. 

“You’ve got your own sticks, eh?” Mat questioned as I began walking to where he was standing. He hesitated shooting a ball he had prepared to give me his full attention. 

“I️ played a little bit in my days.” I admitted, taking a tennis ball and stickhandling to show off a little bit. 

“That’s cute.” Mat said giggling under his breath. Turning his back to me so he could assemble his shot once again. He then hit the crossbar deflecting his shot. That’s what he gets for making fun of me. 

“That’s cute.” I imitated before taking a shot of my own, sending it straight through the right corner of the net. He then turned around to face me with an impressed grin across his face. 

“So, where are you from?” He questioned, leaning against his stick to watch me. His cheek gently resting on his hands that sat on the top knob. I couldn’t help but smile due to the soft appearance he had. I felt comfortable talking to him, his personality made him inviting and it seems as if all the first impression butterflies had now settled. 

“Here. What about you?” I responded, continuing to take shots from the pile of plastic pucks and tennis balls on the concrete. 

“Canada.” He answered continuing to admire my company from just a mere foot away. Luckily no lights were on outside, that way he couldn’t see my features. As they were probably equivalent to someone who just found out they had won the lottery. 

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” I confessed now focusing only on my stickhandling to avoid possibly staring at him absentmindedly like I did last night. 

“I️ can take you one day if you want. I’ll bring you to a game. Take you around the city.” He offered. I paused my actions then stared up at him. Unfortunately, there was a confused demeanor across my face due to his proposal as it wasn’t something I was expecting, since this was the first real conversation we’ve truly had. 

“I️.. uh.. I’m sure the kids would love it too. They seem to like hanging out with you.” He attempted to correct himself, making it seem like it wasn’t only for me. I began to snicker under my breath, flattered. 

“I️ would love that actually. I️ mean.. we would love that.” I stated with a smirk, which Mat clearly took a liking to. He started smiling from ear to ear, looking towards the ground that way I couldn’t notice his cheeks blushing. 

Throughout the night the conversations never stopped. He was very curious to figure out my personality and see the things I liked. Comparing and contrasting to his own personal preferences. There were lots of laughs and smiles being exchanged, making it feel as if this was something out of a fairy tale. 

After a while Mat had positioned himself in front of the net to block the shots I was making. Purposely to upset me. So, I kept getting closer to the net that way it'd be harder for him to stop them. 

After about three more shots of making it past him and into the goal, he dropped his stick and started walking towards me. He grabbed me from behind and wrapped his arms around my body that way I couldn’t shoot anymore. Both of us began laughing like little preschool children. 

“You’re cheating you can’t do this!” I argued in between cackles. 

“Goalie interference! No goal!” Mat began to yell back in between his own laughter. Butterflies infested my stomach as I felt his body up against my back with his giggles in my ear. Eventually, I gave up trying to fight him off as it was impossible with the grip he had on me. I allowed him to basically just hug me from behind, enjoying our intimate moment. 

His grip eventually loosened releasing me. Still giggling, I turned around with my back now against the side post of the net and Mathew standing in front of me. Once steadying my breathing, I looked up and noticed his eyes reflecting seduction, accompanied by a smirk that made my body feel hot even with how cold it was outside. 

He was standing only centimeters away when we found ourselves staring amusedly into each other’s eyes, wondering what was going to happen next. His eyes watched every move my eyes and mouth made. Studying me. Making me want to kiss him desperately, but I refused to make the first move. 

He started inching closer making my mind race a million miles a minute. I felt his curled index finger gently lift my chin up towards his while his opposite hand pulled my back into him, causing our stomachs to touch. My eyelids slowly began to shut but before either of our lips made contact we were blinded by two headlights pulling into the driveway. My hands shot up to cover my face and protect my eyes as I couldn’t see anything other than the beaming white orbs. Mathew quickly backed off to watch the lights himself, wondering who was coming home this late at night. 

The car pulled up almost as close as it could get to us as we simultaneously observed the vehicle waiting for answers. I heard the engine cut off yet the lights were still too bright to even make out what kind of car it was, no longer who was in it. Soon enough the driver side door opened and shut right before Dennis walked around the front, blocking one of the lights, making it possible to see him. 

“You guys are out pretty late huh?” He inquired while his hand was fumbling his keys and sight flicking between Mat and I. My body practically froze. Not only from trying to process almost making out with Mathew, but now from being caught alone with him at 2:30AM. 

“Believe it or not, she was showing me some shooting tricks.” Mat spoke attempting to cover the ground with Dennis. Thank god he could speak because I couldn’t even think of a single letter in the alphabet at the moment. 

“At 2:30 in the morning?” He continued to press leaving Mat speechless. Damn, now I didn’t have a choice but to say something. 

“I️ was with my parents all day, so we didn’t have a chance until after they went to bed because I️ didn't want to neglect them.” I added in hopes of sounding convincing enough to be left alone. Which, it seemed to have worked. 

“Understood. Just try to keep it quiet, the kids’ rooms are right above your heads. Also, you should be heading to bed soon Barz. You’ve got practice in seven hours.” Dennis finished before entering the door to his house, the car lights finally shutting off. 

Relieved, Mat and I both sighed after he entered. Happy we didn’t have to go through a lecture. Knowing very well he saw what was going on, letting us off the hook, for now. 

Ignoring what had happened, I began to retrieve the tennis balls to help clear the driveway for the night while Mat moved the net and our sticks over by their garage. I finished putting the last ball in the bucket and noticed him fiddling with the sticks nervously as I walked up the concrete to place the bucket next to him. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mat questioned. Turning his body to face me as I grabbed my stick from the top of the net. 

“I’ll be back home and at school tomorrow.” I admitted just above a whisper, beginning to walk towards my parents side door. 

“Back home? I️ thought you lived here?” He then questioned apprehensively. Following by my side to make sure I arrived home safely. 

“Well, my parents live here..” I said pointing to the house. “I️ live in an apartment in the city.” 

“By yourself?” He continued to ask. I laughed at his curiosity while we now stood at the destination with my left hand on the door knob. 

“Yeah, by myself. You might have to stop by sometime.” I offered, hitting the side of his arm with my elbow trying to deplete the uncomfortable tension Dennis had created that had clearly made Mat nervous. 

Unexpectedly he pulled me into a hug. The aroma of a fresh cologne taking over my senses. I relaxed myself into him as I wrapped my arms around his waist. Resting my head on his chest, allowing my eyes to shut for a moment and enjoy the embrace. 

The hug loosened so I dropped my arms down by my side and when to open the door next to us, but before I could turn the knob Mat placed his hands on either of my shoulders, positioning himself to speak into my ear. 

“So basically, I'll see you tomorrow.” He whispered, then placed a kiss on my cheek before quickly jogging across both driveways to his own house. Once he got to his door he turned around and waved one last time while we both entered our heated homes. I shook my head and rolled my eyes while a flattered scoff left my lips. My cheeks feeling sore from the amount of smiling I’ve done throughout the night. 

After entering the dark kitchen, as I was kicking my shoes off, I noticed my stick was still in my hand and I had forgotten to return it to the garage. Too tired and lazy to go back outside, I placed it in the corner by the door planning to put it away when I leave tomorrow. However, something at the foot of the stick caught my attention. It had distinctive black markings across the tape, which was strange since I had only played with plastic pucks and tennis balls. Curious, I flipped it towards the dim moonlight shining from the window to get a better look. I then noticed Mathew had written his phone number followed by a winky face across the tape on the foot. 

A permanent smile plastered onto my face that nothing could prevent. I felt the interior of my body warm up like an oven with excitement. Now knowing 100% that Mat was just as interested in me as I was to him, and I couldn’t wait to see where this was going to go. Especially with how amazing tonight went.

[cg29]

Runaway

Once again continuing with the reposting of fics that I've shared on here that have since gone walkies... Previous posts here - The Canvas & Bad Day

And yes this one is also another Virgil one :D

***

Runaway:  A short story set when the boys are children - Virgil had made his decision, he was ready, the clock had just struck Midnight… It was time to run away! (A rewrite of an older previously posted fic)

***

Virgil sat on the bed rifling through his rucksack filled with all of the essentials he would need. Snacks, a blanket, torch, and some pocket money he’d managed to save. Happy that everything was prepared, he grabbed his favourite bear, pushed it inside, then pulled the bag onto his back. He was ready, the clock had just struck Midnight… It was time to runaway!

Quietly, he opened his door and peaked through the small gap. Everything was dark and quiet, except for his grandmas’ snoring coming from her room. So, taking the opportunity he slipped into the hallway, and down the stairs, his heart immediately sinking when he saw the large bolt was pushed firmly across and locked. Virgil surveyed the lock with a frown, he had really been hoping it would have been unlocked, his father wasn’t normally home from work until the early hours, unless… He spun himself around, half expecting his dad to be stood behind him. Thankfully, he wasn’t there, and he heaved out a sigh of relief, before turning his attention back to the door.

Stepping backwards, he gazed up at the lock, searching his mind for ideas on what to do. His first option: Try and open it himself. However, Virgil knew that even when standing on his tiptoes he could not reach that latch. A scowl spread across his forehead, why did he have to be so short for his age? When his two older brothers had been 8, they were twice his size. Yes, they kept telling him he would be bigger and stronger one day, but he hadn’t had his promised growth spurt yet. Releasing the frown, Virgil thought through his second option: Wait until morning, it was a Saturday, he could have his breakfast, and then slip out, but he wouldn’t get very far, not when one of his brothers was always nearby. Third option: He could just leave it and go back to bed. His family would never know what he had intended to do. No, he had been planning this for too long, he’d decided tonight would be the night, it was now or never.

Determination to follow through regained, Virgil dumped his bag on the floor, and began looking around for something he could use to stand on. Maybe then he could reach that lock. Unable to spot anything useful, he made his way into the kitchen, picked up one of the chairs set next to the kitchen table, then carried it back into the hallway. After a short breath out to steady any nerves, he climbed onto it, then finding he still couldn’t reach, he raised himself up onto his toes, his arm stretching up above his head. Finally, his fingers grasped onto the bolt, but his smile changed to a grimace when it would not budge. Refusing to give up now he was so close, Virgil tugged at it again, and this time it began to move, along with his chair, and himself… His eyes snapped shut, his body tensing as he began falling backwards. However, instead of hitting the cold hard floor, Virgil felt himself fall into someone’s safe and strong arms. Slowly he opened his eyes, and blearily gazed into the eyes of his oldest brother… "Scotty?”

"Hey Virg, going on a trip?" Scott asked, indicating the rucksack which Virgil had placed next to the door.

"No… I just wanted some fresh air."

"Fresh air,” Scott remarked, continuing to hold his brother tightly in his arms, “Virg, it's past midnight, if you needed fresh air then you could have opened your window. Besides, you definitely don’t need to pack a bag to get fresh air."

Virgil looked away from Scott, knowing his brother had guessed what he was trying to do.

“Now, are you going to tell me why you are running away?"

“No,” Virgil responded, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Okay,” Scott replied, carrying his brother into the kitchen and sitting him down on a chair, “wait here please.”

Virgil quietly watched his brother leave the room, then quickly return with the chair and his rucksack, before making his way to the fridge and taking out some milk.

“Now, I really fancy a hot chocolate. How about you?”

"Yes please."

“Okay, I'll make you a deal,” Scott said placing a saucepan on the cooker, “tell me why you are running away, and I will make you the creamiest hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted."

Virgil looked down at the floor, he knew that his brother wouldn't stop hassling him until he told him, plus the thought of one of Scott's hot chocolates was too irresistible… “Okay.”

Scott smiled, instantly setting to work at making both of their drinks, when he was finished, he placed the saucepan in the sink, and then ushered Virgil into the family room. As soon as they were both settled on the sofa with steaming mugs in their hands, Scott pressed the question again. “Now, what’s going on Virg, why are you trying to run away?”

“I… I don’t want to hurt dad anymore.”

“Ah… How are you hurting dad?”

“Since mom died,” Virgil felt a tear trickle down his face, “every time someone mentions how much I look like her, I can see that it upsets him… it makes him miss her more… He tries to hide it, but I can tell that it makes him cry, and I… I don’t want to make him cry anymore.”

“Come here,” Scott whispered, placing his and Virgil’s drink down before pulling him into a warm hug. “Dad loves you. Yes, he does get upset when he thinks about mom, we all do, but…”

“Virgil.”

“Dad,” Scott exclaimed, releasing his brother from his arms and looking towards the door,” I…”

“It’s okay son,” Jeff returned, moving out of the doorway he’d been listening at and stepping into the room, “I heard what was said… Why don’t you take your drink up to bed, I’ll sort this one out.”

“Okay.”

Jeff ruffled Scott’s hair on his way past, then once he had left the room, he sat down on the sofa and gently brought a pale worried looking Virgil into his arms. “Now, listen to me… Scott is right, I do love you and yes, I do get upset when I think about your mother, but that will change and eventually we will all smile when we remember her… I’m sorry if you’ve seen me getting upset when people say you look like her… Sometimes I do feel sad because it reminds me how much I miss seeing her smiling face, but then when I look at you and your brothers, I’m reminded that she will never be gone, because a part of her is in each one of you, and that makes me so happy… And I can tell you now, if you weren’t here then I would be more upset, because not only would I be missing your mom, but I’d also be missing you… And even though you all fight like cats and dogs sometimes, I know your brothers would miss you as well.”

“Really?” Virgil questioned wiping away his tears.

“Absolutely… Oh, and another thing… You may not have noticed but whenever you play the piano, or complete a new drawing or painting, the pride I feel for you is overwhelming.”

“I thought it upset you when I played the piano and did any drawings because mom enjoyed them too.”

“Is that why you’ve stopped playing recently?”

Virgil nodded.

“Oh son.” Jeff sighed, as he pulled his son tighter in his arms. “Far from it… Please, please keep drawing, painting and creating music… It’s who you are.”

“I will.”

“Now, please no more running away?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” Jeff whispered, gently rocking Virgil in his arms, “I love you son,”

Virgil breathed out wistfully, allowing his eyes to close. “Love you too daddy.”

Also available on A03 & Fanfic.net

[unreliable-narrator]

would u slaughter me if i asked u to do all of them. all of the greek goddess asks

i spare u from slaughter and do all of them

aphrodite - who do you love most in this world?

i love a lot of people and i love a lot of things so this is a hard question but i love my mom and i love my cat and my friends and-

hebe - what’s you’re fondest memory from childhood?

ok ill expose myself. playing roblox w my first online friends when i was like 9 and roleplaying all casually was really my peak i was so happy!!!

melpomane - what is your favourite song?

i love a lot of music. just an absurd amount. it really depends on any given moment but i think ill give the general award to “it only gets much worse” by nate ruess because i love that song so much. or darkside by shinedown. or lg fuad by motion city soundtrack.

nike - what are you most proud of?

it was the summer of 2018. i was going crazy on farming simulator 17. i found all 100 gold nuggets in 3 hours on the bonus hunt for 1000000 in-game dollars. god save my soul

thalia - who can always make you laugh when you’re feeling sad?

@avothoto and @madpanda14 are both peak comedians and i love them very much

urania - do you believe in astrology? why/ why not?

the logical part of me would love to say no but there’s that part of my brain thats like...what IF....i can’t lie on this post or ill get called out. i know too much about astrology. i need to know people’s signs. i always know what season it is. i wish i didnt. help

selene - would you rather the sky had no moon or no stars?

i’d rather keep the stars at all costs. the stars are everywhere and they are bright and their dust makes up all of us and they’re beautiful and we as a species have done so much with them. that being said i love the moon and i think if we got rid of either the moon or the stars there would be like? physical consequences? maybe we should keep them lmao

polyhymnia - do you belong to a religion? which one?

i do not but i do believe in a general deity or higher power that i refer to as the Universe

pheme - which celebrity do you find most inspirational?

ngl i have absolutely no idea. i love celebrities but like i don’t know their life stories? i dont know who is inspirational and who isnt srtjhksdfjsdfgjhk

hecate - if you were a witch, what kind of animal would your familiar be?

i KNOW its a cheap answer but 100% a cat. specifically, my cat, peanut butter. she’s a bastard and would currently be laying in front of me if she had not been whisked away to bed only a moment ago. she’s 11 years old, she has no teeth, and certainly no braincells

clotho - do you want children? what do you want to call them?

NOT GONNA LIE w/ the right wife i think i might like some kids. i go crazy for kids. they’re so small. as for names? good question all i know if i love traditionally masuline names for girls and i’d definitely name a son Daniel and i have no logical reason

artemis - are you a vegetarian/ vegan?

nope

athena - do you have a favourite piece of art? what is it?

i don’t know art at all. i know absolutely nothing about art actually. however i’ll take this opportunity to say that everything ever drawn by @buzzybez is the most beautiful and talented thing ive ever seen 

enyo - do you get angry easily? 

no but i DO get unhealthily angry at small things that have no relevance so there is that

harmonia - if you could learn to play any instrument, what would it be?

oh my god the drums 100% i’ve always wanted to learn but i have no idea what drums even. do. aren’t they just for the background? how do drums work? what’s sound?

hestia - would you rather live in the countryside or the city? why?

not to sound gay or anything but i dream of cooking eggs for my wife while the window of our ranch house is open and i can hear the animals outside but also sitting on the fire escape with my wife looking over the streets. maybe what we’ve learned from this is that i want a wife

hygenia - are you a tidy person?

not particularly my room is cluttered and small but it is cozy and entering gives you a sleepy buff

nyx - when was the last time you stayed out past midnight?

probably never. i genuinely can’t remember it’s 8pm right now and it’s already my bed time late night is Not Lexi Hours

hehe that was fun thank u very much <3

[unproduciblesmackdown]

posts about things with absolutely no introduction but it's because i was reminded of the topic the other day

this one's for those of us in the lifelong isolation no friends society, i know sometimes there's other people out there!! anyways i've been thinking about how like, personally, obviously, b/c idk how other ppl do it b/c we aren't friends with each other lol, its just a fuckin wild thing to deal with in part cuz its one of those answers to which there's not necessarily any Right Way to handle things or Answer or Solution or anything. isolation p much = more isolation and plus not having friends makes ppl less likely to socialize with you so that's rough; anyways yknow, the point is just oops you can't Choose to like, obtain a friend. u can try to get ppl interested but you can't control it beyond that, so, yknow

anyways what am i getting to? yeah so i've never had close friends in that i was never able to share personally honest things anyways for the longest time for a couple reasons, and also, people just didn't like me. the double whammy of "oh no its abuse" and "oh no you're lowkey socially ostracized by your peers from preschool on without end" is like, good luck to little me getting friends! i had sort-of friends in like a couple ppl who'd hang out with me regularly and on occasion we'd go to each others houses or smthing but it wasnt able to be like, the normal fun event it should. oh well. middle school was a little better and a little worse but i didnt keep up w ppl cuz i went to a different school later and its that situation where you're friends-ish Because you're at the same school right...smh...didnt thrive in college magically, but one essential thing was i was away from home more often than not so, that was real important ultimately. but anyways in the end i had like a handful of college friends-ish (accepted by other friends groups lol) and theres a couple of them i still talk to now and again

so like, yknow, friends, mostly friendly acquaintances, my siblings i'd classify as friendly acquaintances, i'm very glad about all of them really. just unfortunately i've only just started to have friendships that are like a decade old and the "longtime close" friendship is nonexistent b/c college is just four years and then you go other places, and i'm not at the heart of friend groups and not "good" at communication in other ways so its hard to keep in touch in ways. smh!!

funnily enough i'm also not good at internet stuff though it's been absolutely essential, god knows. that's why i'm able to talk to anyone rn!! but i can't do group chats and i only like approaching things "one on one" aka i don't like feeling like im in the midst of a group even outside group chats. if you get what i'm saying. like even back being in the small early mh fandom of like, three dozen ppl, in retrospect i didnt like having to be in the entire Group yknow. lemme just be over here. which is what i do now.

anyways for additional reasonsl, communicating has been trickier these past few years and for the most part its been kind of a situation where i wasn't necessarily going to get to talk to someone every day, though usually it'd maybe only be like, a gap of a day or two. and anyways, the thing is that, over the past ten years especially its started to be Distressing like wanting friends, not as much having them, and also having it be more obvious that there was some kind of deficiency keeping me from having (and having had) friends like other people did. not fun! but what i'm getting around to here, whats been wild, is just this like, decade-ish (or two decade-ish if you want) Personal Effort to just figure out how the fuck to stop having to feel like shit about it all the time right? then you're lonely AND stressed and probably self loathing also

so like yeah, the thing is that the other day something was going on about like, yknow, the idea of the longtime close friend with a steadfast presence in your life, and that's just always like, lfjdglmao what!!! sounds nice. i had a friend for a week in second grade and im not sure we ever spoke and then the teacher made us sit on opposite sides of the classroom and it was too embarrassing to be friends anymore. that's kinda close but lol for real......it's not only the lack of friends to tackle but also like, i don't assume to have friends in the future. it's something that like, i would obviously theoretically want, and be happy if it happened, but i can't say i hope for it, because that implies too much being expectant or whatever. and it's weird!! its a weird time just kind of presuming friendlessness until otherwise occurs. and it's not great, i'm definitely still unhappy about all this shit. its just that i've also like, been able to shave off how distressing the issue mightve been in earlier years yknow

like it sounds all depressing to say like, i've just had to be less emotionally invested in the whole thing, but it's kind of true. not by ignoring it or ignoring the feelings so much as like...just acknowledging that this is how it is and there's only so much i can do but not hating myself about it is a start. and yeah it's like "oh, feeling less, depressing" but also frankly when i decided also that its less horrible to be friendless than to feel stuck w crap ppl / ppl who you aren't too important to / etc, i figured that i'd also rather be friendless and just enjoy being myself than try to make myself easier to talk to. i'm not like intimidating or anything, i just can't hold a conversation. but i'm not very interested anymore in trying to convince ppl to like me, yknow, i'm out here, and if i'm ever going to have friends i'd like them to be people to like me For Who I Am, wipe tear. what i'm just saying is "a weird dumbass" b/c its just vague social weirdness that ppl don't necessarily like, loathe, but probably they'd rather talk to someone else. i'm not great at socializing stuff, like i said, hence social rejection since age 4

oh and i meant to say!! i've been able to turn up my emotions by turning down my investment in the idea of Needing To Always Be Trying To Make Friends b/c, as anyone might know, all i like to do is talk at great length about whatever weird, niche shit i'm into at any given point. and that's pretty much it. i'm not pretending to be deep by not really knowing how to do small talk. lmao you guys know what i'm talking about. and obviously not everybody is into Getting Enthusiastic or super focused on whatever weird thing at any point, and i'm not Into getting my passion all fired up and being brushed off or anything, so we can all avoid each other, and i get to continue entertaining myself

so that's a way i've been able to turn my feelings up actually lol.....dunno how to segue into it so i won't but it's also just like, not saying that i Truly Don't Care about not having friends, or that it doesn't hurt that i've had this relative friendless past and the futures looking bleak, b/c it does!! it's still distressing. but like, its turned down. the whole general issue can be a very Bitter one for sure!!!! and it has been in the past sometimes and like.....it's still there basically, i've just been able to turn down the volume a lot on a bunch of these shit feelings like "that's upsetting" or "i'm bitter about that" and just kind of calmly let it simmer back down b/c i'm sort more familiarish with what sets it off and more familiar with Dealing With It Always overall

no idea if i've made the point i was setting out for there. dealing with the No Friends Isolation Life society life is not fun but we're out here, sometimes. it continues to be not fun. "oh well," is an often relevant sentiment. c'est la vie. c'est ce que c'est? i think. and i think it's nice that after years and years of just like, struggling to figure this shit out myself, and probably feeling like shit most of the time, i've at least managed to go "shh" at some Bad Feelings. definitely still there. but this time it doesn't heap extra shittiness on top b/c of having to deal with the intensity of it and feel bad about that too etc etc. it's all weird! getting more familiar with dealing with some shit which is just, the way that it is in part because of bad luck and of course i'm jealous of everybody who does have friends. but oh well. b/c c'est la vie. im also glad for everybody who has friends, obv. it's all complicated!! which is just part of why this post exists. it has no real point, i'm just kinda going like, weird, huh? and kind of good, and kind of a bummer. oh well

also im aware this is a suddenly long, technically depressing post at like circa midnight for a lot of people, but basically this is just me in normal mood. sometimes it's depressing posts time out of nowhere, but i'm not especially depressed!! nighttime is just more of my Peak Hours. night owl 4 life. thanks

oh and ps. another thing i would think about (with more distress in the past, and like, no distress now) is that its also funny cuz, one thing i’ve generally had to do is be aware that it’s a bigger deal for you (me) to get a new Friend than it is for them to be getting you as a friend, b/c math says so. and so i’ve had to push myself to not be overly hopeful or invested in order to be both fair to them and myself. and nowadays that’s just kind of how i view the no-friends-ness of it all, like. i’m not mad that i’m not for some reason way closer to anybody i know. why would i be. and i don’t expect anybody to think like “oh my god we have to be Good Friends” because like. not in a self deprecating way but like, why would any random person want that. and i dont expect to be better friends with ppl im just casual friends with, which is great, cus like Friendly Acquaintances and other lite friendships are fantastic and im very grateful. but i am aware there’s plenty of reasons making it difficult to just like, pick up a Close Buddy and i’m not like “oh i demand one from somewhere, from some reason.” so what i am trying to say is that keeping my expectations honestly realistic is an effort to be fair to both other ppl and myself and i think it works. no friends!! we out here!!!!