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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years

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Promises

Katniss made a promise she couldn’t keep.

1930s Everlark in an orphanage. Angst

Trigger: Abuse

Ao3: x

The sun is beating down on my sunburned face when I spot the familiar black Cadillac sitting in the driveway. I stand there for a moment, my basket of gardening tools clutched in my hands, as I stare at the car. I know this car. It’s the same one Prim and I rode in coming to this horrid place.

“Mr. Heavensbee?” I question aloud, walking toward the driveway in a daze. What is he doing here? Is it for business?

“Katniss!” Sister Effie shrills, breaking my trance. My head snaps in the nun’s direction and she points to the rose garden where I’m supposed to be helping with pruning. I sigh, looking back at the car once more, before trudging back to the garden where the rest of my group works diligently. We were promised a special treat if Father Snow approves of our work and it wasn’t often we were rewarded, so we all took our tasks more seriously today.

My knees groan in protest as I sink to the ground to inspect the lower branches for anything dead. Days like today were my least favorite to work in, where the sun is merciless and the heat doesn’t let up for a second. Gardening the extensive gardens at St. Thomas’ makes me feel forty times older than my thirteen-year-old self ought to feel.

I’m cutting away dead branches when a hand caresses my back. I jump, squeaking at the touch, and turn to see a grinning Peeta standing next to me with the basket of branches we’ve been collecting for burning. My eyes squint as I look up at him and smile back.

“Care to help the needy?” he jokes in a creaky ol’ beggar’s voice, shaking the basket with a hunched back. “You, miss,” he acknowledges me, “please help the needy, or rot in Hell for all your sins!”

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, glancing over to see if Sister Effie had heard, but she sits, unfazed, under an umbrella she’d set up earlier this morning to supervise us, fanning herself, and I hand him my branches.

“That’s quite the punishment,” I play along. “Going to Hell for not giving you my branches.”

“Oh, God watches all, wretched child,” he continues in the voice, and we both duck behind the rose bushes to cover up our laughter before someone sees.

“You’re so lucky you get to go inside,” I whisper once we’ve calmed down. “I’m going to have a burnt head for weeks.”

“Hardly,” Peeta scoffs, popping his head up and deciding to take a break while I continue pruning. “Coin is there each time I go into the shed, inspecting everything I dump into the pile. It’s annoying.”

I nod, imagining the coolly composed woman standing watch as Peeta and the other select boys brought in their baskets of branches and dead leaves, closely inspecting each branch with the same critical cruelty she holds when inspecting our daily chores. “She’s like God, only worse!”

“Don’t ever compare that woman to God, Katniss. It’s insulting.”

I continue pruning the dead roses, their snow white petals wilting as I work while Peeta fans himself with his hand, complaining how it’s not fair that the boys are forced to wear pants in the humid summers while the girls got to wear dresses. I point out how I’m always cold in the winter time, but that doesn’t stop him from complaining over how unfair it is. We get into a tiny spat before Sister Effie starts to voice how our piles are gathering up. “Peeta? Has anyone seen Peeta?”

“Duty calls. I’ll see you in the kitchens,” he hisses before grabbing his basket and running to the next row over.

Carefully, so he won’t see me, I pop my head out and watch him run over to Annie Cresta’s pile. Peeta could complain all he wanted about the boys’ uniform, but I, well I kind of liked them. I liked how snug his shirt was against his broadening shoulders and the way the short sleeves seemed to bring out the small muscles he was gaining from working in the kitchens for so many years. His animated smile that I see in every dream he stars in is on his face, laughing at a joke Annie must have told him, and the small butterflies I’ve been feeling for weeks now flutter again. I know it’s a sin to be looking at him when I’m supposed to be working on my chores, but God won’t mind my looking for another second, right?

A blood curdling scream howls from the house, breaking my focus, and we all pop our heads up in its direction, wondering who Coin’s latest victim is this time. Screaming only worsens your punishment, so I have to give the victim credit for taking a chance, especially if the car does belong to Mr. Heavensbee, and that’s when it hits me.

The last time I heard that scream I was seven years old at the Hawthornes’, trying to help my mother drag a screaming Prim to the car, screaming how she didn’t want to leave Rory, the second-oldest Hawthorne son who was the same age as her. Prim didn’t have many friends at home since we lived with my dad’s parents in an older neighborhood than the Hawthornes, and Rory and Prim had clicked instantaneously. She begged and begged for Mama to leave her there, screaming when she was told no, and I remember pinching my ears closed, trying to block out the piercing sound. Wishing she would stop.

Before registering why she could be screaming, I bolt from the rose garden, ignoring Sister Effie's threats, and run through the back door, trying to target where the screaming is coming from.

What did Prim do to get Coin’s attention? Didn’t I always tell her to blend in? That standing out was a bad thing here?

The screaming sounds like it’s coming from the foyer, an area we are forbidden from entering unless scrubbing the floors and dusting furniture. Prim must have been curious about something and gone in there. I run toward the sound, sweat burning my eyes, and there at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the door frame for dear life, is my sister. Mr. Heavensbee is pulling at her to follow him, insisting they’re going to be late for their train. Prim continues to scream, telling him she doesn’t want to leave.

“I want to stay! Please let me stay!”

“Now, now,” Mr. Heavensbee consoles impatiently, “Child, we’re going to be late, and your new family is waiting. Remember how much you liked them?”

Her screaming continues and I have to shout over it, hoping she hears me.

“Prim?” my voice cracks. “Prim!” I race down the stairs, almost tripping on my own feet. Did he say she’s leaving? A new family? But what about me; didn’t he promise we’d stay together?

She looks up, her eyes puffy with tears, and yanks free of Mr. Heavensbee, running into my open arms. I run my hand down her sweaty hair, shh-ing and telling her everything is going to be alright.

“I don’t want to leave,” she cries into my dress, clinging onto me so tightly I fear she may break a rib.

“Who says anything about leaving?” Looking up at the large man, I ask what’s the meaning of this.

He opens his mouth, stuttering out a response, when a cold voice sharply replies: “That is not how a child speaks to an adult.”

My arms stiffen around Prim’s body as I look over my shoulder at Madame Coin standing on the bottom step, her bony hand clutching a small bag I recognize as Prim’s belongings.

No... No! She can’t!

“You’re sending Prim away?” I pray this isn’t true, that God is playing a cruel prank on me.

“Primrose has the opportunity for a better life,” Coin sniffs.

“She’s my sister!” I turn to Mr. Heavensbee. “You promised we’d stay together! You promised!” Tears of betrayal start to fall as I cling to my little sister. “You told me you’d make sure we’d stay together!”

He nervously traced the bushy mustache and glanced at his watch again. “Things change,” he tells me. “You can never tell in this profession.”

“But you promised!”

A sharp tug of my braids breaks my grip on Prim; Coin’s arm holding me in her clutches as Heavensbee captures Prim. I fight with all my might, knowing the consequences of acting out like this will be severe, but he promised! I promised! We would stay together after Mama and Papa passed.

“It’s been a pleasure having you under God’s house,” Madame Coin states with false sincerity. “May you find grace under your new roof, Primrose Williamson.”

I can barely see I’m crying so hard as the realization that my sister is leaving forever hits me. I’ll probably never see her again. “Prim! Prim!” I break out of the witch’s grasp and run outside to the car, begging Mr. Heavensbee to take me, too. “I’ll cook, clean,” I beg. “I’ll do anything to stay with Prim, Mr. Heavensbee. Just—please, let me go with you.”

He peels my hands off his suit, pushing me into the grass, and gets into his car. I watch in a teary blur as my sweet little sister drives farther and farther away until finally, the car is completely out of sight. My heart cracks to pieces. My body numb. The world spins and breaks all at once.

My eyes break away from the driveway and target the group of children peeping out by the side of the house, even a few curious nuns joining them. I try to compose myself, to brace myself for the inevitable punishment that is waiting for me inside, but all I can do is gasp for air, curling my arms around my legs. My little Prim is gone. She’s going to a new family. Without me. I truly am alone now.

“What do you think you children are doing?” Madame Coin snaps at the audience, shooing them with her cane. “Be gone and finish your chores, or God will punish you for meddling in others' business!”

I see Peeta in the crowd, his recent growth spurt making him a few inches taller than the other children, and my stomach sinks so low I’m sure the Devil can see it. This is my punishment for looking at a boy. Madame Coin, and even Father Snow, always insisted that we do not look. It is a sin to look when we were put on this earth to serve. I looked and lost my sister. I’m sure He’s laughing from above at my foolishness.

My eyes avert to my too small shoes, hoping everyone would just leave me be so that I can be punished and sent back to work.

“That was quite a scene you exhibited, child.” I know I should look up—children must look up to their superiors—but the thought of that woman’s cruel smirk at the sight of my tears made my blood boil.

“I apologize, Madame,” I hiccup, running my hand across my snotty nose. “She’s my sister.”

“Was,” Coin corrects and I do look up now, rapidly blinking as my eyes adjust to the bright sun hitting her light blonde hair. “She’s no relation to you now and I suggest you remember that. You lost all relations the moment your parents dropped dead.”

She was trying to get to me, wanting me to say something that would cause a bigger punishment than I could ever imagine, and I should keep my mouth shut and falsely accept her statement, but a little voice inside my head reminds me that lying is worse than a beating.

“Pardon me, Madame Coin, but aren’t we all God’s children? Doesn’t that mean we’re all related?” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. A lie would have been better.

“You insolent little girl!” she growls, reeling back her cane. I instinctually cover my face, praying to God for how sorry I am and for Him to please make the beating bearable. I don’t want to limp like Peeta, or flinch at every sound like Clove Anderson.

Please, I beg. Make it fast.

The wooden cane never strikes and I peek out from under my arm in surprise and see Coin standing there, a calculated look written on her face.

“Stand,” she commands and I oblige, too curious and confused at what was happening. “I should give you thirty lashes for that scene alone,” and the ball in my throat gets stuck at that. I’ve never received thirty lashes before. “But I’m going to be merciful today. Follow me.”

We walk past the gardens, my chin high in the air as heads cautiously pop up to watch us pass. I don’t know where we’re going, but soon we are close to the woods, about a mile I’d guess from the house. Questions fill my head as I wonder if she’s actually going to kill me out here in the wild, where no one can hear me scream. It’s numbing knowing I wouldn’t put up much of a fight if she did decide to kill me. There’s no point trying, now.

Coin stops in front of a small hut that’s no bigger than our gardening shed and pulls out a ring of keys. She unlocks the door and steps to the side, motioning for me to step in. I peer inside, cringing at the smell, and I know this is my punishment for acting out in front of Mr. Heavensbee and for talking back when I wasn’t supposed to. She’s going to lock me in here.

“Well get in!” And she grabs my collar, shoving me into the dank, dark room. From the smell alone I can tell no one’s been in here for years and I feel around for anything, the tiny hole near the floor supplying no light. The room is empty. “You will spend 40 hours in here. One hour for every lashing you would have received had I not been in such a good mood. You will repent to the only person out here: God. And when I return, I expect you to recite an explanation on your sins and what you have learned from your time out here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame Coin.”

She closes and locks the door and I am shrouded in darkness. Alone, I can finally cry without worrying about eyes watching, and I cry until God takes mercy on me and I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep, or how late it is, but a tiny knock on the door alerts me awake.“Who is it?” I demand. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Peeta hisses, knocking again.

I stand up and feel my way to the door. “Peeta? What are you doing here? Did you sneak out?” I accuse, wondering why he always put himself into harm’s way for me.

“What? No! No, Katniss.” I hear him sigh and I lean my head against the wooden door, imagining the way his chest rises, his hands in his hair because he’s agitated. “I brought you some bread and water.” A tray slides through the tiny hole by the ground and I stumble to it, my stomach growling at the knowledge of food. It’s hard to keep myself at bay while eating the single slice of bread, but I manage and take a tiny sip of water, savoring the refreshment I’ve been denied all day.

“Does she know you’re out here?” I ask at last, hoping he won’t get into trouble because of me again.

“She told Annie to bring it, but she’s afraid of the dark and I offered to take the tray instead.”

“Does Coin know you’re out here, Peeta?” I clarify.

He doesn’t say anything for the longest time and I know his answer before he even says it. “She knows you’re being fed, but no, she doesn’t know that I’m the one who’s bringing it to you.”

I sigh and roll onto my back, looking up at darkness. “God’s punishing me.”

“What? No! You can’t believe that, Katniss. Madame Coin is insane. Possessed, I’m sure.”

“I sinned, Peeta, and He took my sister away,” I simply tell him, my voice emotionless. I must have cried longer than I thought. “Prim’s gone because of me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in all that.” His hand finds my arm through the hole and I scoot up so that our hands are holding onto each other. I wonder if this is another sin we’re creating, but holding hands doesn’t seem terrible. I’m sure Jesus held his best friend’s hand and Peeta is the only person I can depend on in this place now.

“I don’t know what to believe.” And that’s all I say until he tells me he has to get back before they lock the doors, squeezing my hand in parting.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promises, but I’m beginning to lose hope in promises.

#Everlark #Everlark fanfiction #The Hunger Games #The Hunger Games fanfiction #Everlark fanfic #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Primrose Everdeen #Angst #I wrote this back in 2013 #So hopefully it still works lol #Enjoy and let me know what you think!#my writing

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blessedxblight · 3 years

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𝐡𝐚𝐧 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Look, she’s trying to force out some tears,” he whispered. A three year-old plunked onto the grass and lifted her arms overhead. She heaved loud, attention-seeking sobs and scrunched her face like a squeezed lemon. Noelle seemed to believe that if she kept puckering and squinting, she’d eventually juice out some convincing tears. His friends said that he coddled her too much, that he was too quick to place band-aids on invisible scrapes and sit with her until she felt better. Sometimes, he thought they were right. But he could never, ever say no to his little girl when she wanted to be held.

“Come here, my young con artist,” he said. “Let’s assess the damage.” Gil scooped her up like she weighed nothing. He deciphered her blubbering, something about a bump on her kneecap from when she’d tried running past Han and tripped over his shoes. “You’re fine,” he said. “Do you want to help daddy cook the burgers?” (Tofu burgers, of course, since his wife couldn’t bare to think about any suffering critters.)

Noelle buried her face against him. He felt her sharp nose – so unbelievably tiny, like the ridge of a precious button – dig into his fleshy shoulder. She smelled like sunblock, and the crown of her reddish-brown hair radiated heat from a summer sun. Gil thought she was the spitting image of her mother and had inherited all of her stubborn spirit, though her curiosity and mischief-making rivaled that of her father.

“What was I telling you about again, Simon? Was it something about work?” he asked. Gilbert had always had an auditory memory short as his bladder. That part of him hadn’t changed since the anklet had come off, at least. It was mind-boggling how the same, restless individual who’d once spent workdays building Rube Goldberg machines out of office supplies was a respected professional. He’d filled the awkward silence between him and his former handler with work-related small talk: presentations, contracts, some silly story about an eternally missing paper clip tray. Apparently, the former forger’s signature held enough weight to run an entire security consultation firm.

“Anyway, I can’t believe you still look the same – well, minus some fingers,” he said. He shot a pointed look at Simon’s shoes. “And probably toes.” His brown eyes still had their mischievous energy, even if surrounded by a few, newly spurred fine lines.

Much had changed throughout the time it took him, a man who used to insist he would never have kids, to have three of them. It was the little things: the sport of silver at his temples, the beachside tan, the faded glow of last week’s sunburn across his cheeks. His face was fuller underneath the new beard; he’d gained a touch of weight since leaving New England. For once in his life, he looked relaxed, well-rested, finally at peace with himself. He took well to a life of domestic bliss, having stayed out of trouble since his last workday at the FBI. In fact, he hadn’t seen Simon in person since the day he got his anklet cut.

It was like his life flourished the moment Agent Mulder was no longer in it.

“Han looks way older than me,” he teased, loud enough for the psychologist to hear. “Breathing in all that house mold causes premature aging.” Gil flipped the burgers over. His stomach growled; unlike anything Han would’ve prepared, these were actually appetizing. Just thinking about Han’s questionable, meat-related experiments was enough to make anyone sick. Gilbert and Jessica had been smart enough to supply their own meat (read: tofu) around Hanjae Song, that’s for sure.

“Jess, they’re almost ready!”

Han squeezed Simon’s hand a bit harder, trying to already pull out of this cook-out he hardly agreed to. he wanted to go home, their home, the home Simon had to take over while Han was busy paying his debt to society. the tables were completely turned after the long 8 years of meddling & gaslighting. now, for once, Han couldn’t enjoy Gilbert’s straight edge demeanor. he missed and wished for his old felon friend back, not the dad-bod, sunburnt, awkward fellow before him. families always ruin everything– Han’s family with Simon and Johanna, obviously aside.

“I’m allergic to tofu,” he lies. though the amount of questionable meats he had consumed and cooked for the past, nearing on decade, would likely cause a rebellion in his stomach. the flesh its used to would eat tofu for it’s own sustenance. his mouth is dry and parched from thinking of spongey burgers made from a propane tank. “I’ll break out in hives. It’s worse than my lemon allergy– I may combust, if I put that in my mouth.” again, he’s lying.

while Gilbert speaks to Honey, Han doesn’t offer anything of use to the conversation. Simon can and does speak for himself, and in all honesty, Han does owe it to the relationship of the two previous partners he single-handedly ruined. still, with his hand in Simon’s, Han must look like an overprotective puppy with his tail between his legs.

contrary to Gilbert’s words, mold hadn’t aged him, but two years without direct sunlight had poisoned the pores of Han Jae Song. the once flawless face of the ex-professor was now tarnished with not only age, but poor lighting in general. of the sixteen correctional facilities in Massachusetts, his home for the past couple of years was the Middlesex Jail and House of Correction. he’d served two grueling years, and almost in complete solitary for violating a restraining order the Mrs, had put on him. and despite him plainly stating the classes and work Han had put into his anger management, he could still feel her burning gaze upon him. it likely wasn’t helping any– the look on his face as he watched the young con-artist known by Gilbert as Peanut try and fool her father into attention. “Speaking of fingers– are Peanut’s clean? If she’s helping, it’d be unsanitary of her to touch Simon’s fake burgers without washing. He won’t be able to eat either. In fact, none of us would.” he doesn’t find her acts of duplicity charming. he finds the fact that Gilbert’s face had merged with Jessica’s abhorrent and still something hard to get used to…

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

It’s both strange and unsurprising to see Gilbert as a father. Simon hadn’t heard of Gil ever mention wanting to have children of his own. Then again, it isn’t a common topic he cares to bring up. When coworkers in the office care to show off their own newborns with large heads and wrinkled fingers, Simon offers them an obligatory smile and a brief ‘Cute’ and takes the next opportunity to return to work. No, he never pictured Gil as a father, but even as Simon stands there, he can see how the life suits him.

Better men might revel in the fact that their partners - especially a partner like Gilbert, a convicted felon, a con-man, a prisoner - had turned their life around, had settled down and started a family and made themselves happy. But the image doesn’t sit well for Simon. He watches Gilbert’s offspring press her little nose into his shoulder. Another baby is swaddled away.

The truth of the matter is that Gilbert’s life is far, far better without Simon. And for all of Gil’s…nuances, his lip-popping, sticky-fingers, his constantly-moving lips, and his knack for finding trouble regardless of where they were…Simon misses him.

He absently flexes his left hand which is most noticeably missing his ring finger. Willingly given. But it’s just among the list of things that Simon doesn’t speak of. Not in front of Gilbert. “Just a small accident,” Is the explanation he gives.

“Don’t listen to Han –” With his remaining fingers interlocked with Han’s, Simon scowls at him to at least behave. “He…isn’t one for plant-based alternatives. But we’ll both try something new,” When Simon squeezes Han’s hand, his own knuckles whiten against his forced smile. “Isn’t that right?”

Unaware of how to help…and unsure if his help is even wanted regarding the cooking and the food, he stands feeling awkward. What is there for him to say when he can see what Gilbert’s life without him looks like? Simon clears his throat. “You did mention work…what is it exactly you’re doing again? Security…something or other?” He asks as if he hasn’t tried to keep his own tabs on Gilbert. “Is that…cyber security? Home security systems? Locksmithing?” He leaves the obvious question of museum security out of it. “Whatever it is, it…seems to suit you.”

she deviled some eggs that are on the tray in her hands– though she’s bringing them out for the two new arrivals, her eyes are on Noelle, the little rascal she’d produced with Mr. Big Shot Tofu Burger flipper over there. she shakes her head at the fuss– she couldn’t really blame Gilbert for coddling the little girl in matching tiny pigtails– the five year old, nicknamed Noodle was at her side still insisting on carrying the tray. “Nicholas Gladestone, if you don’t settle down, you won’t be having any cookies for dessert.” she casts a warning mama gaze at her son as a coo emits from the swaddle carrier on her back. Holly, was, of sorts, mocking her brother– for his scowling. Nicholas pouts, though, Jessie offers a wink as if to say of course her little boy would always get cookies. she offers an alternative, “Now, go give Uncle Simon a nice tackle.”

she sets her tray of deviled eggs before the three men, and slowly eyeballs the two new ones. “Glad you finally showed up.” there isn’t much friendliness in her voice– but she’s trying. she knows how much this reunion means to Gilbert, especially after his and Simon’s brief falling out. she hardly casts a gaze to the recently free from incarceration, but she does supply the alternative, “He can load up on eggs, then.” there is no sympathy for the whining man.

she nods her head toward Simon, places her hands on her hips as she feels the movement in Holly’s carrier squirm once more. she was going to be the handful, regardless of Nick and Noelle’s hijinks “And you missy,” she’s talking to Peanut, “Mama didn’t raise a crybaby did she?” she knows it’s a moot point, but she tries putting her foot down, “You stop that fussin’ you hear?”

but to the grown up conversation, “It suits him just as much as that new apron I got him, don’t you agree?” she chuckles to herself as she casts a look down at the tofu burgers– they did look just about done, and despite the complaints and anti-vegetarians present, they looked crispy and juicy. “I figure we could eat at the picnic table–“ she points towards the end of the custom-built red outdoor furnishing ( it was as big as a sleigh for Santa to travel in ) where a pitcher of lemonade glistens in the sunlight next to some home brewed iced tea. “We got a couple of drinks over yonder– help yourselves.”

𝐡𝐚𝐧 & 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & @quiltedflames & gentlemxnthief:// 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

— “Let me see if your hands are clean,” he said, speaking to the toddler in his arms. Noelle held out the tiny, chunky digits of a three year-old with a wide-eyed look. The little girl’s head tilted in confusion. Even a child that young thought that surely, she was nowhere near as dirty as the stinky man she’d tripped over earlier. He planted a swift kiss to his daughter’s hand. Noelle shrieked with a delighted giggle, pulling her hand away fast because her father’s beard always tickled. “Seems perfectly clean to me!” he concluded.

Gil may have become a father – something he truly hadn’t seen coming almost a decade ago – but, his mischief-seeking nature hadn’t changed a bit. There was still the look of a troublemaker in his brown eyes as he smirked at Han. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he would call Han a friend anymore. But, he knew that the psychologist still needed at least one person willing to try and so he hadn’t completely given up on him.

(Yet.)

“Security consultation,” he said. Across his face, an already proud smile broadened. He’d come a long way, and it wouldn’t have been possible without both Jessica and Simon’s support. (So why, why hadn’t Simon even showed up to his wedding? They had been friends, hadn’t they? You didn’t try to capture someone for four years, worked with them for four more, and then felt nothing when they exited your life in the blink of an eye.) Either way, at least Simon agreed that it suited him well.

“I advise banks, galleries, museums, private companies – all the things that make the FBI breakout into a cold sweat when I’m around. It’s my full-time job when I’m not wearing a Kiss The Cook apron,” he teased, grinning at his wife. His chest puffed out with pride; he’d truly come a long way into carving out the life he never once believed that people like him deserved. He would’ve gladly prattled on, but he was interrupted by his son’s excitement.

“I HAVE AN UNCLE!” cheered Nicholas. The five year-old excitedly passed the tray to his mother, his duty as their family’s “head chef” paling in comparison to meeting a real uncle. He sprinted across the lawn, his light-up sneakers pounding against the grass until he flung himself at Simon’s leg in a giggly tackle. One hand was sticky with marshmallow from the Rice Krispy treats he’d “helped” his mother bake. The other was neon orange – thus, matching the crumbs all around his mouth – from sneaking into a bag of Cheetos that Gil had absentmindedly left within his reach. He latched onto Simon’s leg so tight, he may as well have been stuck there with Velcro.

Gil began loading up the tofu patties onto one of Jessica’s kitschy, reusable platters. He’d already loaded up lettuce, tomatoes, sautéed onions – all the little ingredients into platters, since he’d learned that the “serve yourself” model of burger building worked best for fussy toddlers. They were already laid out on the picnic table and judging by the lopsided tomatoes threatening to fall off the plate, Nick must’ve insisted on helping. “Wow, when did you have the time to squeeze all that lemonade?” he asked his wife. “I could probably drink a gallon of that.” Sometimes, it was like you could blink and she’d pull the buffet out of the oven like a magician of the kitchen. “Alright, everyone to the picnic table,” he said, mostly speaking to his two eldest children. “There’s plenty of food for everyone to eat.”

He shot Han a pointed look.

“Or starve, if the picky eaters would prefer.”

the sound of the kitschy woman’s voice was grating on his ears. the smell ( or lack of smell ) from the tofu burgers was making his stomach whine with even less hunger than he arrived with. the deviled eggs looked like gelatinous goo inside even gooier husks and perhaps if they were salted more or spiced more with chili flakes he may have taken the tray for himself to swallow in his own corner– sharing in the penitentiary was frowned upon even among the smallest of acquaintances. Han was not enjoying the time, as Simon suggested. still he tried for his partner. the squeeze in his hand attempts to curb his poor behavior, a grimace pulls his mouth into a grin as he comments, “Thank you, Mrs. Gladstone–” yes, he refuses to call her by her first name, and the title does make his skin itch speaking it. he would forever resent Yoko for breaking up the band.

the barreling five year old aiming for Simon’s kneecaps is what finally breaks Han’s grasp from that overt PDA they were showing. that was one problem Simon would be encountering alone. his nose crinkled and lip curled at the sight, Simon with a child attached to him. he was certain he couldn’t hate anything more in that damned world. even if their own Johanna were to bring a child of her own in the world ( she was smart enough not to ) Han wouldn’t ever feel comfortable with the sight. “Yes, Peanut’s hands are clean, but I should have asked about... Noodles’...” there is an ounce of vomit, Han feels trailing up his esophagus which is forced down by a gulp.

the mold uncle– the monstrous being could handle smoking indoors, mold spores growing on walls, natural fertilizer composted in splendorous flowers, and the ripe smell of piss transforming to ammonia, but Gil in turn kissing the unclean hands of his three year old were his breaking point, as well as the sticky marshmallow residue of the other child’s hands, and especially now that they were latched onto his Simon’s legs. he mutters, “I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

there is a wince in his face as he sways back, trying to avoid the threats of running tackles for himself, yet he’s ushered to the picnic table– joy. he, like a useless sailor leaves Simon with little to no lifejacket in a sea of five year old Nick Gladstone.

though he finds it important to shatter the hopes and dreams of the child, “Simon isn’t your uncle. Not by blood, which is what really matters. He’s technically only your godfather, which means, he’d become your real father if something happens to your parents....”

he chortles at his own dark sense of humor as he looks between Gilbert and Jessie. “Let’s hope nothing happens to them, unless you decide you like your–” he feels the nausea rise once more, “Uncle Simon.” a grin flashes to his partner, as if he is asking if this behavior was better than his made up allergies, speaking of which, “I’m allergic to lemonade. Can I have a bottle of water instead?”

𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 & 𝐡𝐚𝐧 & quiltedflames & @gentlemxnthief // 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃: EIGHT YEARS LATER…

Simon is unsurprised with the coldness in Jessie’s voice, but surprises himself with just how much it stings. A time did exist, not so long ago, where she had called him out of desperation, bleeding for Simon to miraculously save the man she loved. He’d asked Gilbert once, if Jessie was worth risking everything for, and earned a shiny black eye because of it. Evidently, Simon had been wrong. At least that is how he feels watching Gilbert and their wife dote on one another, coo at their children, and work in sync together.

“The picnic table is just fine. And so is lemonade,” He scowls back at Han with the hopes of reminding him to play nice. At least as nice as it is possible for him to.

For the briefest of moments, Simon wishes they could all go away. Jessie, Han, the food, the kids. He prefers to sit and pick Gilbert’s brain - what it is like advising for the security systems he once fought his way into. Did he still live for the thrill of being caught? Or had he, truthfully, decided to leave all that behind for the domestic bliss Simon sees unfolding in front of him? Does he miss the days it was just the two of them, with Gilbert sneaking out of bathroom windows and Simon following behind just a step too late? Or were the memories tainted with Simon’s own betrayal?

Maybe it’s for the best they’re all bound together by social obligations, at least for the time being. Simon’s not sure he wants an answer to that last question. And neither does he want the small boy, Nicholas, to remain attached to his leg. He can see the lines of Gilbert’s face in him, namely the signature elongated forehead. “Now, now…lets…er…go sit with your mother…Don’t listen to Han…” He pats the boy’s hair. Unsure if he should pry little Nicholas from his leg, or if that would earn him a scolding from Jessie, Simon waddles to the picnic table with the boy still attached to him.

He eyes the pitcher of lemonade with distrust, knowing what the drink would do to Gilbert and his infamously small bladder. “I hope there’s a bathroom nearby,” Although it’s muttered under his breath, Simon has a silent hope that it’s loud enough for both Gilbert and his offspring to hear. He clears his throat and continues on. “I’m…glad to hear that you’re enjoying what you do,” Which is a joke for Simon alone, for he is certainly lying through his teeth with the statement, as evident by the words laced with both jealousy and frustration over Gilbert’s improvements in life. “Though I may recommend looking into a better sunscreen…it looks like that hurts.”

the young sprout of Gilbert and Jessie Gladstone still at Simon’s legs turned to look at the mold uncle. an arm was still wrapped around one of the pant legs of Simon Maurice Mulder, clinging to his new favorite specimen. Nicholas just LOVED having an uncle. a dribble of a runny nose hung from his face, and with squinted eyes, Nick Gladstone held up his hand to show them both, “I’M FIVE.” it was very important information to tell them both. even more so was the importance of leaving an imprint of Doritos dust upon Simon’s pant legs to indicate his age– before sprinting back over to the lemonade corner.

Jessie doesn’t have to speak on Han’s words, nor how threatening they were. a raised eyebrow, instead counters the idea that neither her nor Gilbert were going anywhere, “Good thing one of us knows how to shoot a couple of knee caps should anything happen to the other.” she was speaking on experience, of course– with a hint of warning to Han Jae Song. Gilbert was to be left alone and intact, OR ELSE. but that was neither here nor there.

she knows, however, that this cook-out is most important for both Gilbert and Simon and chooses to ignore the attitude of Simon’s plus one. a gut in her stomach tells her that she should be a better host and accommodate for the plus one, but on the other hand she does take Simon’s words at their core. if anyone could curb the insane demeanor of the ex-con, it was Simon. it was a devotion between the two she still couldn’t understand– nor would she ever try to...

she speaks, Noelle, the other clinger is still in helping her daddy flip tofu burgers– “Come on peanut, let’s get you washed up before it’s time to eat, huh?” she doesn’t holds her arms out right away. not with Holly dangling– the cute socks upon her feet kicking and sprawling in their own tiny excitements. Jessie is expecting a fuss, given the fact Noelle’s favorite arms were far more thicker in muscle and warmth. ( it was something Jessie was biased towards and would never hold against the little tot ). Nick, the five year old is already trying to open the cooler of capri-suns, he hadn’t asked his mama’s permission for… yet everything seems as if it’s in his place, Han, excluded.

though she giggles at Simon’s astute observation– “It’s a miracle he puts any on at all. Always forgetting his sunblock and such–“ a playful roll of her eyes does remember she’s got some sunscreen inside– something to bring out once they’ve all settled in. “You know I couldn’t trick him into the ritual if I tried....”

#;; the snake: threads.#;; braids of action: threads.#;; Han & Simon & Jessie & Gil.#//idr the order of this thread or if i got all of it but it's most

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write-it-good-imagines · 4 years

Text

Game night - Im Jaebum

OH MY GOD HELLO EVERYONE! okay i’ll tone down the caps, *ahem*, I just have to say, this was so much fun to write! I want to thank @iwanttobejaebeomsslut for giving me this idea, lmao. It is Jaebum centered, but it also turned into Got7 game night

ajsndjkefnjrfnjdcfndf, it’s better to leave you to read it yourselves! Enjoy

~5.3k words, excessive fun, fluff, romance

“Hyung, hyung, hyung! Is Y/n coming too?”

Jaebum turned his body abruptly to an overexcited Jackson. He quirked a brow as his friend waddled over to Mark, a goofy smile on his face.

“Well,” Mark nodded his head, pushing Jackson’s face away jokingly “She is the one who throws us the party after all. I guess her friends are coming too.”

“Wah, Jackson hyung, we are going to have fun then!” Bambam meddled in, bumping his fist to Jackson’s.

Jinyoung playfully threw his arms around each of them, nudging Jackson with his hip. “Maybe it’s time for you to ask her out, huh?”

Jaebum approached Mark with a curious glint in his eyes. Youngjae and Yugyeom jumped in the commotion, building up their offense to tease Jackson about his transparent excitement. “Who are they talking about?”

“Ah, you don’t know.” Mark smiled at Jaebum. “Remember last time I went home, in LA? I invited Jackson and Bambam and my childhood friend offered to be their babysitter for the day while I spent time with my family. I’ve known her since we were like… infants. You might as well say she’s my younger sister.”

“Oh? She must have left a very good impression on Jackson if he’s this excited.” Jaebum laughed and stuffed his things in his bag.

Mark tapped his chin with his index. “Well, she is his type somewhat. She told me the other day she got an internship at a company in Seoul but keep it a secret from Jackon. I am not in the mood for that.”

The two older brothers chuckled and shook hands to seal their silent agreement. Jaebum approached the herd and clapped his hands in an attempt to grab their attention.

“All right, everyone! Practice is done for the day. Don’t forget we have a flight to catch in the morning.”

“That’s a reminder for you, hyung!” Yugyeom teased and took two steps back under Jinyoung’s deadly glare. All the others laughed in unison.

Youngjae checked a list that he made on his phone, making sure no small detail escaped his mind. “Mark hyung, is there anything we can help with? I feel a bit bad that the girls are organizing everything for us.”

“Those were the instructions, though,” Mark replied, raking a hand through his hair. “I think it was something along the lines ‘sit still and be pretty’.”

“It would do you no good to question that, Youngjae.” Jackson chimed in, gesturing dramatically with his hand. “Y/n is really stubborn.”

“Still, not all of us know her, or her friends.” Jinyoung reminded his friend. “It’s very nice of them.”

Jaebum fixed the cap on his head and smiled at his members, trying to mask and otherwise excited stance. Taking a break was always a nice thing; taking a break in LA with everyone was on another level. “Then all we have to do is make sure we have fun.”

The flight to LA felt relatively shorter than all of their other flights, partly thanks to the contagious excitement the foreign members had. The others were a tad worried about the language barrier but quickly dismissed the thoughts as soon as Mark assured them all of them spoke their language well. The boys started making all sorts of plans, from playing games to telling stories, to the undying game of rock-paper-scissors. It was a pleasant sight to see, being so excited. Jaebum wished nothing but the best for the boys.

However, he couldn’t deny that he was a little nervous. Leaving Jackson and Bambam aside who had already been introduced to the hosts, he was admittedly awkward around strangers. Easygoing as he considered himself to be, he needed some time to open up to people he had never met before, unlike the two who were living social butterflies. He was thankful, of course, that someone tossed their personal schedules aside to organize them something, but there was a certain anxiety in the back of his head.

Papa Tuan was the one to pick them up from the airport, the atmosphere drastically quieter as they did not make their arrival public. Mark went ahead to greet and hug his father and the others gathered around to welcome Mark’s father one at a time.

“Thank you for having us.” Jaebum stated as he shook Papa Tuan’s hand and dipped his head in a bow.

“What are you talking about, Jaebum?” he reciprocated with a laugh, patting the leader on the back. “We missed you guys! Staying at our house was the only option!”

The seven of them followed Mark’s father to his van and threw their luggage in the back, fighting for the comfortable front seats afterward. As soon as everyone was gathered inside the car, Bambam couldn’t push back his curiosity and he extended his neck from the back so Mark’s father could hear him over the blasting music.

“Say, Dad! I heard the girls organized a party for us! Are all of them single?”

Youngjae burst out in his resonating laughter and swat Bambam’s shoulder. Soon, the van was filled with laughter.

“I’d say they are? All four of them are, I think. Y/n broke up with her boyfriend a while ago.”

“Hear, hear, Jackson.” Jinyoung winked at Jackson and won an embarrassed smile. The latter leaned over, placing his hand on Papa Tuan’s shoulder.

“On a scale from one to ten, what are my chances?”

“As you are now, barely a 6.”

Mark and his father laughed together before Mark explained the joke to the others. The members followed their example. Jackson folded his arms over his chest and collapsed in his seat.

“Even so, I promise all of them are very nice girls. Aside from Y/n, whom we all have known ever since she was in diapers, Mark grew up with everyone. They are very nice girls. The boys apologized they wouldn’t stay long, all of them have night shifts.”

Jaebum looked out the window. However assuring Mark’s father was, he couldn’t tame the unknown feeling in his chest. He clicked his tongue as if preparing himself for a completely unforeseeable outcome.

Papa Tuan finally parked the van outside of Mark’s house and he couldn’t contain his excitement as he noticed his mother and his younger brother, Joey, waiting for them outside. Mark got out rapidly and rushed over to glomp them in a tight hug, as well as indulging himself in their presence.

“I missed you guys!”

“Oof, such a big baby you are!” Mama Tuan laughed and wrapped her arms around her son. Joey walked over to the other members to greet them, executing the signature salute with Yugyeom which Bamabam immediately requested to learn.

“I’m telling you, guys,” Joey began, giving Jackson his high-five “the house is going to be such a mess with you here!”

Jaebum shook his hands, panic imprinted on his features. “We won’t destroy anything.”

“You’d better not make a promise you cannot keep, hyung.” Youngjae chuckled and patted the leader on his shoulder. Jaebum swore it was going to be a long and anxious stay at the Tuan residence.

“Hey, Got7!” Mama Tuan called for the boys and all of them turned their attention to her. “Welcome home! Everyone is waiting for you inside!”

The boys didn’t need to be told a second time. Jaebum and Jinyoung stayed back to help with all the luggage as all the others crowded over to the house in turmoil. A loud cheer made Jaebum perk up and he followed everyone inside, a rather large gathering filling up the living with applause. The members exchanged glances among themselves and, under their leader’s guidance, they did their introduction with wide grins spreading on their features. A loud pop signaled a tube of confetti was brought forth.

As he looked up, Jaebum noticed a vast palette of balloons adorning the room with various messages written on them, mostly of a warm welcome. Everyone wore content smiles on their faces as they received the members and warmth engulfed his chest. He chuckled to himself when he saw three men distinctively dressed in formal attire and pitied them for having to go to work amidst such a party.

“Hey, Jackson, cat got your tongue?”

A mellow voice carried the English sentence vividly into the air and hypnotized Jaebum all at once. He tilted his head toward its master and his lips parted unintentionally at the sight of you. Your summer orange dress embraced your figure and emphasized the softness of your skin. The sunflower in your hair embellished your alluring characteristics but it truly was the elegance in your teasing smile that subdued Jaebum’s existence.

When Jackson rushed over to you and threw his arms around you so he could spin you around, Jaebum felt something click inside of him. The wide smile tugging at your lips as he sustained your body in his arms irked Jaebum down to his core. Although he would never admit that.

“Leader-nim,” Jinyoung nudged Jaebum in the ribs with his elbow as everyone scattered to introduce themselves to the hosts, “why do you look like you want to kill our Seunie?”

It took a moment to register Jinyoung’s words. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Eh, stop it!” Jinyoung laughed at his leader. “Your jealousy is showing, hyung.”

“Jealous?” Jaebum’s eyes widened and he scoffed. “Jealous of what? It’s okay, they know each other, it’s only natural.”

“Mhm. We’ll see about that.”

The sound of metal clinking against glass made everyone turn to Mark who found himself by your side. He spoke loudly, enthusiasm in the tone of his voice. “Now that all of us here, our dear host tonight and my oldest friend, Y/n, has an announcement to make!”

A bashful smile was sketched on your face as another fervid round of applause, accompanied by Bambam’s cheers, echoed in the house. “First of all, I welcome Mark and all of Got7 in LA! I hope you will have a pleasant stay here, with us.”

Jaebum nodded his head, his eyes curling into crescents. You continued.

“I know you might be tired from your flight as it is evening already and hungry and all that jazz, but we have to get this party started, right?”

Everyone responded in anticipation. “So I have a proposal to make for our dear boys!”

Jaebum blinked yet again, the clarity of his native tongue coming from your lips taking him by surprise, he had to unexpectedly adjust himself to the change. You turned to him and his eyes found yours effortlessly; the intensity of your orbs humbled him all of a sudden.

“I know some of you might protest because of ‘airport fashion’, Bambam,” you feigned a cough, “but what about we play a round of rock-paper-scissors to see who takes a short dive in the pool to open the fun?”

“Fuck airport fashion!” Bambam protested and walked forward, warming up his wrist. “You are taking a bath, Y/n.”

“Drown him.” Jinyoung chimed in, also getting ready for the game. Yugyeom draped his arm around Jinyoung’s shoulders, cackling at the previous remark. The members gathered around you and your friends in no time, a childish aura of competition flooding the living. Jaebum was the last one to attach himself to the group, his body opposing yours.

“Should we make four people? We are twelve in total.” Your friend’s proposition passed unanimously.

You looked up at Jaebum and offered him a tender smile. “Then shall we play, leader-nim?”

Jaebum lifted his eyes to look at you and clumsily dipped his head, visibly not accustomed to you and your enthralling voice. “Of course.”

You thought you heard Youngjae mocking his leader’s words in a deeper tone and Jaebum caught his gesture too, alas having no time to react. The game ended as fast as it started, miraculously deciding the losers in one round. The boys lost no time to film the unlucky ones, pushing a protesting Bambam along with Mark and two of your girlfriends to execute their penalty. You giggled as Bambam cried out in displeasure for his favorite jeans.

Jaebum approached you, his eyes focused on you rather than on the pandemonium around the pool. He cleared his throat. “As crazy as ever.”

You beamed up at him immediately, your hands clasped together. It was the most beautiful smile Jaebum had ever seen in his life. “They are so cute! They are so fun to have around.”

He couldn’t peel his eyes off you. There was no plausible reason for his actions, why he felt so awkward around your bright and easygoing nature and why he considered everything he wished to say to you twice before actually speaking it. Jaebum knew his silhouette was tense. “They are. I am so blessed to have them.”

“I envy you.” You chuckled and leaned your body over to him. “Can you help me carry the food outside? There’s no chance we move that here.”

Jaebum chuckled and agreed in a heartbeat. He followed you to the kitchen like a child would follow his mother faithfully everywhere. He was grateful he could at least express himself to you freely. “Thank you for this. It means a lot.”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing! Mark took me by surprise when he said all of you would come over for a few days and I wanted to make it special somehow. I hope it is fit to your liking.”

“How can it not be?” Jaebum questioned too fast for his liking. He hated to think you’d doubt yourself. “I don’t need to go out there to tell people are having fun.”

A sheepish smile painted your features and Jaebum couldn’t be more pleased with himself. Merely thinking he was the cause of your smile satisfied him. He helped you with the first set of fried chicken and fries to calm the hunger of the children outside. Much to your surprise, everyone evacuated the area, most likely to change their clothes and put on the swimsuits. There was only Mark and Youngjae outside, setting the table.

“Where’s everyone?” Jaebum inquired, placing the food down.

“Went upstairs to change for battle.” Mark laughed and approached you, giving you a proper welcoming hug. You swayed with him from side to side playfully but eyed him suspiciously. “Battle? What battle?”

“You know the chicken game? Jinyoung bet 20 dollars that Bambam and Yugyeom would not be able to defeat him and Jackson on a, quote, ‘confrontation’. And because we know our maknaes are young and restless, they agreed the losing team would do a sexy dance for all the girls.”

Jaebum covered his mouth with his hand in sheer shock. “And you just stood there and agreed?”

“What is the worst that can happen?” Youngjae stuffed his mouth with fries. “It’s a show however you see it. Literally.”

“Oh my God.” Jaebum sighed heavily. He could feel a headache kicking in prematurely. “There’s no way in hell we’re stopping that, are we?”

“Nope.” Mark and Youngjae bumped their fists together and you witnessed a rare sight of Jaebum at a loss for words. You tugged on his shirt and gestured to him to follow you inside, doing your best to contain your laughter.

“You know,” you began through the giggles, “it’s not a disaster.”

“Never underestimate those guys, Y/n.” he stated, defeated, and lifted a case of beer from the refrigerator. “You should run for your life while you have the chance.”

You carried two bottles of juice and pursed your lips for a second. “Why should I? I don’t mind receiving a sexy dance from one of you handsome males.”

“Should I do it myself, then?”

The clumsy wink Jaebum gave you, along with the mortified sliver of laughter that followed right after made a hue of pink color your cheeks. You watched Jaebum’s broad back as he walked with the drinks outside and bit into the plush of your lower lip. It was an entertaining offer.

You followed outside and the earthly fighters were getting ready for their so-called battle. The cocky attitude the two youngsters had amused you. The older brothers, on the other hand, were either booing or mocking them. The spectacle was just about to start.

You nested yourself by Mark’s side who pulled you close to him. “Who do you wager is gonna win?”

“I have a horrid feeling Jackson and Jinyoung will have to move those hips for you soon.”

The two of you laughed and you looked up at him. “Missed you, bestie.”

“Missed you too, kiddo. Although, kiddo is not quite right.”

“Why? Do I finally become a woman in your eyes?”

Mark poked your nose before pointing to Jaebum who seated himself by the side of the pool, somehow enjoying the uproar despite his protests. “Not me.”

Your best friend took charge of the speakers and opened the big gala with David Guetta’s song, ‘Club can’t handle me’. You dug your nails into the palm of your hand, trying to dismiss Mark’s words. He had always loved teasing you and you tried not to take it to heart. It was reasonably fair to say Jaebum couldn’t have taken an interest in you.

You followed your girls and plopped down next to Youngjae and Jaebum who were aggressively munching on the chicken. The splashing of water indicated the clash had started and you extended your hand to the bowl of fries, watching intently. It was both a comical and serious match, nothing but absurd. It was a close match, with the guys fooling around with one another until Yugyeom took a mischievous step to Jackson who was sustaining Jinyoung on his shoulders and cracked an opening. Bambam seized the momentum of Jinyoung losing balance and pushed him into the pool, erupting in celebration. The maknaes bumped their chests and mocked the disturbed Jackson and Jinyoung.

“Show me the money, losers!” Yugyeom wiggled his hand and earned a huge reaction from the spectators.

“While you’re at it, shake that ass for me too!” Bambam completed and it was the last straw to make Youngjae explode in laughter. Jinyoung would have drowned Yugyeom if it hadn’t been for the oppressing embarrassment of their loss.

“Oh, they are so dead.” Your friend commented and tied her hair in a messy bun. “Guess it’s time to dance.”

“Hey Jackson,” Mark yelled, “what should Bree play for you? Do you have any preference?”

Yugyeom clapped his hands frantically and helped set the chairs for the girls. You allowed yourself to be dragged by your friend to one of the designated seats, laughing under your breath.

“You’d better entertain us, Jinyoung hyung!” Youngjae took a deep breath. Jinyoung ruffled his hair with a towel and then threw it at the vocalist. He grabbed a bottle of beer for himself and downed it in one shot under the devoted cheers of both of the maknaes.

“Jackson, you got me into this mess, better give them something worth staring at.”

“How is it you’re the one excited for this?!” Jackson squealed and placed a hand over his bare chest. All the eyes were on him and Yugyeom let out a whistle. “Look at the muscles, Jackson hyung!”

When Rihanna’s ‘Wild thoughts’ started playing, it was safe to assume everyone collectively lost their cool. You couldn’t bear to look at the abashed protagonists but you also knew they wouldn’t get away without doing anything, especially because they lost to their youngest members. Something had to happen to satisfy their curiosity. Everyone else gathered around you and the girls, sly glints in their eyes.

The humiliation on Jackson’s face disappeared as soon as he walked over to you, opening the show with a slow and controlled body roll, his defined abdomen contracting with every movement. He thrust his hips forward and inched closer to you, effectively seating himself above you as he kept on rolling his hips back and forth. You added fuel to the fire as you attached your fingertips to his chest, sheepishly pushing him away only for him to draw closer to you. Jinyoung was doing fine on his own too. Following Jackson’s example, he ran his hand down his torso and bit his lip as he rolled his body majestically, then curled his fingers into your best friend’s wild locks.

And although Jaebum was smiling on the outside, he was reeking of dissatisfaction. He had no reason to; by all means, he wasn’t entitled to judge you for anything but if he could change something about those events unraveling, he would have seated himself above you, right where Jackson was.

“Jesus Christ, give me something to cool down. I could have died.” You joked as soon as the song ended, causing the spectators to erupt in laughter. You ruffled your hair and caught Jaebum staring at you; he looked away.

“Now we talk!” Bambam went over to a vexed Jinyoung and scarcely avoided a punch. “Cheer up hyung, not even strippers move as you do. You should be proud.”

“Boys, warn us the next time you buckle your hips like this, alright?” Bree chuckled and offered you a bottle of beer. “What would your majesties say about a game of beer pong? The winner decides what we play next.”

Jinyoung waved his hand dismissively and leaned down on the grass. “I’ll sit this one out. I need time to glue my integrity back.”

“Ay, hyung, you do that on stage all the time.” Yugyeom teased and hid behind you in fear. “Boys against girls?”

“Sounds good to me.” You smiled. “Who’s gonna play, guys?”

The members gathered around and started discussing their strategy. It was unanimous that Youngjae and Mark should play, based on their high tolerance of beer. Jackson proposed Bambam play in his stead and Jaebum turned to him at his odd remark. Their leader was chosen to be the fourth participant. They put their hands together to do their lucky chant and scattered. Jackson placed his hand on Jaebum’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I overstepped the line earlier. I wouldn’t, had I noticed the way you look at her.”

Jaebum chuckled dryly. “Nonsense, Jackson. That’s nothing to apologize for. Whatever did you do wrong, anyway?��

“Hyung.” Jackson cocked his eyebrow. “I think everyone noticed by now. And I won’t be the one to ignore it. You’re too blatant, you know? Take the chance.”

Jaebum watched Jackson walk away and let out an annoyed sigh.

You returned from the house with a brand new deck of cards and placed yourself in the middle of the human circle everyone formed. The night enveloped the nature imperceptibly, the tenderness of the late spring leaving an unusually warm air in its wake. Sparkling dots in the sky made for a splendid tableau and the timid sound of crickets harmoniously completing the acoustic tunes of the playlist.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you began in a stern voice, “I present you a little game me and my girls came up with. It’s called the next card.”

“Suggestive.” Mark chuckled and lunged for one of the cookies on the tray.

You rolled your eyes at him. “You pick a type of card you want to play with, either the king, or number four, any of the existing types of cards in the deck, and you put all four of them in a separate deck with what everyone else chooses. Not by clubs or diamonds, but by number. We shuffle them and announce a dare.”

“Oh, so the card that is pulled out has to do said dare?” Jinyoung questioned, sharing the remaining fries with your best friend.

“Correct. The fun thing is we don’t know who’s next. It could be me four times in a row for all we know.”

“Question!” Jackson raised his hand. “Can we make something like ‘the next two cards’ do this or that?”

You nodded your head. “Makes it even more interesting.”

“But we can also ask things, like in truth or dare?” Jaebum looked up at you and you nodded once again.

“However, we are a bit tipsy.” You stated and everyone else agreed through a laugh. “Will anyone have a guilty conscience if we do…certain things?”

Bambam folded his legs. “Does this get dirty real quick?”

Yugyeom smacked him. “It’s you who’s the perverted one here.”

“When we used to play with our friends in college, we used to put something like ‘the next two cards kiss’ or ‘the next card fakes an orgasm’. That’s why we ask beforehand.” Bree completed and nudged Youngjae for another bottle. “We could play it without this kind of things if you feel uncomfortable.”

Jinyoung extended his arm to take the deck from your hands, looking for his desired card. Jackson gave him a subtle look before leaning over to whisper something indistinctive in his ear.

“I think we’re all okay with that, are we not, guys?” said Mark and was met by no protest. Jinyoung divided half of the deck with Jackson to help choose everyone’s cards and then boasted his ability to shuffle the cards. He proved to be proficient. You seated yourself in between Mark and Bree just as Jinyoung put the cards in your previous spot.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Bambam interrupted hurriedly, a disgusted look on his face. “So if it’s the next two cards kiss and it’s me and Jaebum hyung, does this mean I kiss him?”

“Hey.” Jaebum scoffed at him. “What’s wrong with kissing me?”

Jackson challenged the first card. “You in, or you out, Bam-ah.”

Bambam muttered a silent prayer in his native language and got cackles out of both Jinyoung and Yugyeom. “He shudders at the thought of kissing Beom.”

You looked at Jaebum who was seated opposite to you and he seemed personally attacked by Bambam’s little antic. You chuckled under your breath. His unhappy expression was adorable.

“Let’s take it slow then. Next card dives into the pool.”

“Let’s take it slow, says Jackson hyung.” Youngjae started laughing when the flipped card belonged to the owner of the dare.

“Well, fuck.” Jackson snickered and threw himself in the water with no second thoughts. All of his members applauded his efforts diligently. Jinyoung was waiting for him with a towel. “Express your wish, Seun-ah.”

Jackson ran his fingers through his wet hair and Bree let out a gasp. All eyes were fast to turn to her before the public cracked up. “It’s not my fault he’s so disrespectful!”

The game continued cheerfully, with dares stretching in a vast domain, growing from eating grass to Bambam licking Yugyeom’s neck and the main vocal watching his soul leave his body as he faked out the sultriest moan he could muster. Anxiety grew as the game took a sharp turn, hands hovering indecisively over the cards. There was a general air of expectancy in the crowd.

“Now to the main attraction of the night,” Bree cleared her throat, trying to compose herself after giving a twerking class, “The next two cards share a beautiful French kiss.”

You clenched your fists. Your card failed to show up during the last few turns and it was a high possibility it could appear at that moment. There were also more boys so it was almost inevitable you would be paired with one of them. Jinyoung extended his body to tend to the cards, wiggling his fingers above them.

“Now, now, now, who should we call out?”

“Stop the bewitching, Jinyoung!” Mark threw a cookie at him and turned his body to Jaebum’s direction. “You might summon Bambam and Jaebum from the abyss of romance.”

Bambam refrained from making any comment. Notwithstanding some member’s objections, the first card flipped was, indeed, Jaebum’s. The leader covered his face with his hands, all the other boys going in a frenzy. They couldn’t miss a chance to explore their leader’s suffering.

“It can’t be. I swear to God, if Jaebum hyung and Bambam kiss, I will sign up for mental counseling.”

“Sign me up for that too, Youngjae hyung. I can picture Bambam drinking bleach.”

“These brats.” Jaebum growled from behind his hands before straightening his body to accept his fate. “Come on, flip the next.”

Jackson hissed and reached out for a dignified pat on the shoulder. “That’s a true man for you.”

Jinyoung poked out the tip of his tongue and slid his finger over the back of the card in anticipation. The look in his eyes was that of a man who knew what was coming next. Jackson folded his arms over his chest, the same twinkle in his chocolate orbs. Jinyoung put the card next to Jaebum’s and you widened your eyes in a stupor. It was yours.

Looks were quickly darted back and forth between the two of you, a bizarre silence absorbing the curiosity of all the people present. Jaebum looked at his card, then at you. Mark shoved your side lightly.

“I mean, we don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to, Jaebum.”

No other team in the world could synchronize as well as Got7 did when they turned to their leader.

“Huh? But I want to.”

You unconsciously pointed to yourself, forsaking any attempt to form coherent words. Jaebum smirked at you as he stood up to walk over to you, offering his hand to help you stand up.

“Look at him, being all sleek.” Bambam clicked his tongue, shaking his head in the process. Jinyoung retreated victoriously to his previous spot, Jackson taking a hold of his shoulders to cling to him. Mark sent Jaebum a wink when you took his hand.

“Go ahead, we won’t watch.” Youngjae stated but failing to disguise the keen interest in his voice.

A laugh escaped your lungs and you leaned your forehead into the crook of Jaebum’s neck. He circled an arm around your waist, a grin of his own expanding on his lips. When push comes to shove, his members were but supportive so they started chanting the magic word, deepening the bashfulness in your chest.

“We have to give the public what the public wants, Y/n.” Jaebum whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pulled back and locked your arms around his neck, a velvety smile directed to him only.

“Let us obey, then.”

Jaebum leaned in and bound his lips to yours. You closed your eyes at once, melting into the softness of his touch and the addicting sweetness of his lips. Jaebum lost no time to part your lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss with masterful movements. You dissolved into him, detaching yourself from the hoots and cheers echoing in your ears, and indulge yourself in the sinful ecstasy. You were not sure of it but it felt as if Jaebum longed for you.

You pulled away from the kiss and Jaebum leaned in to steal another peck from you. You lowered one hand to his chest and glared gleefully at him. He chuckled and sent you a cunning wink.

“Get a room!” Jackson yelled. “The tension is so thick I need a halberd to cut through.”

“Fuck off.” You laughed at him and reluctantly released yourself from Jaebum’s arms. He didn’t even bother to conceal the satisfaction. All the more to let you know.

“It’s my turn now, huh?” you plopped down next to Mark who poked your lower back to gain a secret handshake. You adopted a smug look as your eyes fell on the cards.

“Next card lists his three favorite kinks.”

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lunasilvermorny · 4 years

Text

Luna finds Jacob - The Portrait Vault

So... I wrote the scene where Luna finally found Jacob in the vault.

I never really posted anything serious that I wrote, so constructive criticism is always welcome, but try not to be too hard on me, I haven’t got any experience in these kind of things.

One last meme to take the edge off:

Luna: You promise not to run away again?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: We’re a team and we’ll find the final vault together?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: You SWEAR you won’t leave?

Jacob: Yep!

Luna: *frees him*

Jacob: *disappears immediately*

Luna:

Anyway, I hope you’ll like it and... yeah. Here it is:

Luna ran through the door into a room similar to the other vaults, only the walls were covered in portraits. She looked around, her heart still pounding while she’s catching her breath from the fight with Rakepick.

“Luno!” she heard a cry and raised her head immediately and turn to look at the huge portrait to her right.

It’s him.

“Jakube?” what came out of her mouth wasn’t more than a faint whisper, because she felt her throat closing up. He looked so different and yet she had no doubt in her heart that it’s him. Other than the obvious physical changes, there was something different about his expression too. He never looked at her like that.

“You made it!” his voice was the same, but she never heard him so happy before. His hands were pressed against the edge of the portrait, he was beaming. “The column! Open the column!” he urged her.

She was barely able to breathe. All doubts cleared from her mind, while only one thought remained – she has to get him out. Without a second guess, she raised her hand and touched the column, so focused on the mission at hand, she barely heard him say- “You can trust me!”

Something felt off when he said it, but she had no time to think about it, because at that very moment he floated out of the frame borders and landed right in front of her.

He gave her a sincere smile that she never saw on his face before, at least not aimed at her. She was barely aware of her legs moving in his direction as she threw her arms around him. He embraced her tightly in return. Have they ever hugged before? Probably, but they never really meant it, because it felt like the first time.

“What took you so long?” she heard him say over her shoulder with a familiar sarcastic tone, but it wasn’t as malicious as she remembered.

She let him loose, took a step back and crossed her arms while raising an eyebrow. “Really?” she said, imitating his tone.

“No, Pip!” he laughed and shook his head. “Not really. I know it wasn’t easy to find me.”

“Pip.” She repeated while narrowing her uninjured eye. Just hearing that nickname again made unpleasant memories surface, the kind that were buried deep in her subconscious for a reason. “All those years and that’s the best you can manage?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for the classics. Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit.” He paused for a second and then added- “Well, aside for some minor details.”

“So you like the blood?” she gestured her upper lip area, that she just noticed at that very moment was still bleeding. Jacob offered her a handkerchief, so she could press it against the open wound.

“It left quite a cut; it’s going to become a nasty scar if you don’t tend to it.” If he was trying to sound caring, he failed miserably.

“No shit.” She pressed the wound a bit too hard out of anger, but refused to show any sign of pain on her face. “Any other brilliant advice?”

“No, I won’t meddle with your edgy style. I do I like the shiner, though.” He pointed on her black eye “Gives you a tough look.”

“I have fought a dragon just now, you know.” She puffed her chest with pride.

“Well, even with a bruised face, you still look like good ol’ Pip.”

“Really? Because you’re a lot shorted than I remember.” She couldn’t help herself.

A flash of disdain appeared in his eyes, it was so quick she barely noticed it.

“I guess you’re right. You are freakishly tall just like father.” He smirked. “You really are taking after him, aren’t you?”

Luna’s jaw clenched. That sounded more like the Jacob she knew.

“Well, I’ve been trapped in this portrait for years.” He sighed. “If it weren’t for you, I might have never gotten out of this hell hole.” He sounded so tired. “You must have gone through a lot to get here.”

“Not more than you have, I’m sure.”

“Well, obviously.” His tone slowly reverted to the one he used when he was talking down at her. She clenched her jaw even tighter. These small stings started to taint the mood.

Was she glad to free him a moment ago? Because she’s starting to forget why.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” His voice trembled a bit, when he gave her another unfamiliar yet soft smile.

Right. That’s why. Is she being too hard on him? He was stuck in a portrait for years and years, can she really fault him for being a bit rusty when it comes to human interactions?

“Well, you are my big brother.” She said. “Also, maminka kept nagging me about it.”

He lowered his gaze at the mention of their mother and after a few seconds, return to look at her, while a painful smile spread on his face.

“She must have been so worried.” He shook his head. “How is she?”

“Who knows?” Luna didn’t share his sentiment and couldn’t hide the resentment in her voice. “She shops a lot.”

“Well, that’s a start.” He said and a whiff of their old sibling rivalry was starting to surface. “I hope you weren’t causing her any trouble while I was gone.” Luna rolled her eyes and he said- “You know what I mean.”

“Not my fault she has the mental capacity of a child” Luna spewed without thinking and then added - “I forgot how much of a mama’s boy you really are.”

“I am what I am.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing she’s still with father.” He added before she was able to say anything.

“Why wouldn’t she? Their marriage is clearly perfect in every regard.” Luna roller her eyes again. To her surprise, Jacob laughed.

“Yes, they are the embodiment of true love.”

Luna laughed as well. “You missed so many great moments. I’ll give you some highlights – an awkward silence when we ate supper together and an awkward silence when we sat together in the living room, waiting for father to go to work already.”

“Ah, if only we had a time turner, we could have relived those precious times. Oh well.” Both their smiles were fake, but it’s better than getting upset over something that is out of their control.

“Is that my sweater?” He said all of a sudden and caught Luna off guard.

“Oh, yeah.” Luna said casually. “I forgot it was yours. Maminka attempted to do the laundry one day and shrank it. Lucky me.”

“But it’s all torn up and bloody.” He gestured her wounds.

“Well, as I mentioned earlier, I fought a dragon.” She said defensively.

“Why not in your own damn clothes?” he frowned.

“This sweater is way too small for you anyway.”

“Couldn’t you have tended this nasty cut instead of bleeding all over my valuable sweater?”

“You didn’t even-! Forget it.” She said impatiently. “By the way, speaking of nasty cuts, what’s with the shaved head?”

“Believe it or not, I was aiming for an undercut similar to yours, but Duncan and his shaky hands-“ for a brief moment he was completely immersed in nostalgia as he laughed to himself. “-he ruined it completely, so I had no choice but to shave it all off.”

“I’ve met him.” She said. “He told me some interesting stories, but somehow failed to mention this one.”

“Of course, the cocky bastard would never tell about his own mistakes.” but right after he said it, his expression changed and he stared at her, surprised- “Wait, what do you mean you’ve met him.”

“He’s a ghost hunting the Prefects’ bathroom. Kind of hard to miss.”

Jacob cleared his throat. “Yes, I-“ he stopped for a second. “I just didn’t think you’d meet him.”

“Yeah, and he’s not a fan.”

She definitely hit a nerve.

“I imagine you heard a lot of things about me.” He said with the slightest hint of blush appearing on his cheeks. She could tell that wasn’t what he originally intended to say. “Mostly bad-“

“Almost exclusively bad.” She said without thinking, but before she had the time to regret her tactless words, he started laughing.

“I’m glad my reputation stands.” He shook his head. “I had to stab a lot of people in the back to achieve this status of resentment, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.” She felt uncomfortable the longer he laughed, since it became clearer he was doing it to mask his true feelings. The pain was barely noticeable, but she was able to pick up on it easily, since it’s exactly how she’s dealing with these kind of situations. They really are more similar than she thought.

There was the sound of footsteps followed by Bill and Charlie entering the room. They both stared at Jacob with big smiles on their faces.

Jacob raised an eyebrow - “Who are those chaps?”

“My friends, they helped me find you.” she was mildly irritated by his tone of voice.

The brothers looked confused and Luna realized that she and Jacob were still speaking in Czech.

“Bill, Charlie, this is Jacu- I mean, Jacob.” She turned to her brother. “Jacob, these are Bill and Charlie Weasley. They are my secret family.”

Jacob put on a smile, but still said in Czech- “Couldn’t you have found one without gingers?” then said in English- “Pleasure.” and shook their hands.

Luna suppressed the urge to kick him.

“We heard a lot about you.” Said Charlie in a kind voice.

“Yes, my little sis and I were just talking about it.” His rude tone was too familiar. “All good, I hope.”

“Yes, Luna was very determined to find you.” Bill said with pride and Jacob gave him a lazy smile.

“Of course.” He patted her gently on the back and Luna noticed that he’s already bored of their conversation. “Who else would be talented enough to find this vault if not her?”

Bill hasn’t noticed the Jacob’s sarcasm.

“They helped rescue you, you prick.” Said Luna in Czech, but kept her smile so Bill and Charlie won’t suspect anything.

“Are you sure? They don’t look so bright from where I stand.”

But before she had the opportunity say anything about his snarky remark, Merula and Ben entered the room. Merula still limping and Ben shooting her worried glances ever few seconds.

“Merula, you should be resting.” Luna said, ignoring Jacob’s yawn.

“She insisted.” Ben said. He was clearly not on board with it.

“I’m fine.” Merula said stubbornly. “So this is the famous Jacob Silver.”

It was very subtle, but Luna saw a flicker of disgust in Jacob’s eyes when he looked at Merula.

“Blimy, Pip.” He put more effort in the fake smile and turned to her, then said the rest in Czech. “How many damn wizards does it take to get into a single vault?”

“The right amount to not get stuck in a portrait for years to come.” She said bitterly, and again to her surprise, he was amused by her disdain.

“And here I took all this time to pick you a nice spot on the wall next to mine. Such a waste.”

Luna felt confused again. His attitude was so unpredictable it was tiring.

“What the hell are they saying?” Merula looked at the other that shrugged in return.

“Any other unexpected guests?” He said, ignoring the confused looks her friends gave them.

“No, we had a last minute cancellation.” She said, but wasn’t able to carry the lighthearted banter when she thought of Rakepick’s betrayal.

Jacob picked on the change in her tone and ask- “What happened?”

“Rakepick brought us here-“

“Rakepick!” Everyone jumped when he shouted her name. There were no remains of the fake smile, his expression conveyed pure fury. “You know her? She’s here?!”

It took Luna a few seconds to recover.

“No, not anymore. She apparated-“

“When?”

“Just before I found you.”

“I have to go. I have to stop her from finding the final vault.” It was almost like he’s looking right through her, as if she doesn’t matter anymore. “R can’t get their hands on the treasure.”

“I know, so what’s our plan?” she asked seriously.

“Our?” he repeated, barely paying attention to her words. “There’s no ‘our’ anything, I’m going alone.”

“What?” she protested. “But I-!”

“There’s no time.” He cut her off. “Don’t tell maminka I’m back yet.”

“You don’t get to bloody decide! Do you have any idea-“

“Pip, there are more important things at stake here!” he gave her the same look he always gave her when she was in his way.

“We can stop Rakepick together.” She insisted, but he shook his head. He can’t go without her, he said they’re in this together!

“I know I got you into this, but it’s my fight, not yours.”

“Yes, you dragged me into it and now this is my fight too!” she refused to let him diminish her role in this. “I found three vault by now, I can help!”

“We’ll find each other again, Luno.” He put his hands on her shoulders.

“No, don’t say it like-! Dammit, Jakube! I want to find Rakepick too! You’re not the only one she betrayed-!”

“Be safe.” He lowered his arms and turned his back at her.

“Don’t you fucking dare-!”

But before she was able to finish the sentence, he apparated.

“Jakube?” She started trembling. That's the Jacob she remembered. The Jacob that treated her like she's a nuisance, the Jacob that always acted like he’s better than her, the Jacob that left his family behind for his selfish goals.

"Jakube!" She shouted, even though she knew it’s too late. She stared at the air where he stood a second ago, with a dropped jaw and eyes wide open. Her breaths got heavier, as the shock prevented her lungs from functioning properly.

Then she closed her mouth, grinding her teeth so hard it hurt. She clenched her fists, her blood was boiling.

She was furious.

He used her. All this time he guided her, made her feel like they are a team, but it was all a show so she could free him and then get left behind. Again. Like an old tool, like an annoying child. Now that he’s free, she’s worthless to him.

“What happened, where did he go?” Merula broke the silence, but Luna ignored her.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout every profanity possible at him.

Still shaking, she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She jumped back just to see Bill’s worried face. He put his hand on her shoulder again and lower himself a bit so their eyes are at the same level.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone very serious, but still empathetic.

She glanced at the others. They all stared at her with the same look as Bill, even Merula.

That awakened a hidden part of her that was responsible for shielding her true emotions from the world. Her furious expression turned neutral in a matter of seconds, her body stiffened and her eyes turned blank. Then her expression return to normal – conveying annoyance rather than anger.

“He left to find Rakepick on his own.” She said in a stable and casual tone, but the sharp shift in her attitude made everyone feel unease. Bill lowered his hand, but remained unconvinced.

“Did he say-?”

“No.” she said immediately, before he was able to finish the sentence.

“That was rather rude of him.” Luna was surprise to hear those words coming out of Merula’s mouth, but she was too busy with keeping a façade, than to give an honest response.

“I’m sorry, Luna.” Bill said sincerely.

Luna let out a venomous chuckle and felt her blood boiling again, although it wasn’t shown on the outside.

“Why? It makes perfect sense.” She said as her tone grew colder. “He was always a selfish bastard, why would he behave any differently now?” Bill and Charlie looked genuinely surprised by that. “What, have I never mentioned that Jacob is a garbage person, forged in hell by Satan himself? My bad.” She let out a frustrated chuckle and clenched her fists so hard, her nails started to pierce through her skin. “I should have known he’s just using me, god knows what I bloody expected-“ but she stopped when she felt her emotions getting the better of her again.

Charlie and Bill exchanged looks.

“At least now you know he’s all right.” Charlie tried to comfort her, but it just made her feel worst.

“Until Rakepick will inevitably kill him, because the moron went after her all by himself.” Her words were still loaded with resentment, but she sounded calmer than expected.

“I’m sure she-“ but Bill never got to finish the sentence, because Merula collapsed again and Ben barely caught her before she hit her head on the floor. Merula struggled a bit, but managed to bring herself back to her feet.

“I’m fine, leave me be!” she pushed Ben away.

“We’ll handle him later, we should get her back to Hogwarts first.” Said Luna and hurried to support Merula’s body weight when she started dozing off again.

----

Luna afterward:

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #writing #Headcanon #hphm headcanon #Luna Silver #Luna Kateřina Silver #jacob silver #bill weasley #charlie weasley #ben copper #merula snyde

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nymphl · 5 years

Text

In the General’s Bed - Regency!Hux x Reader - Ch. 4 - To play a General

A/N - Hi, darlings! xD As promised, here I am to update chapter 4 of ITGB. This one has one of my fav cliffs ever. Sorry I do love cliffhangers xD I also quite like how Hux and Reader try to understand each other a little better here, but they’re people of their time and if couples aren’t known for talking to each other nowadays, what can we expect from people from 1815, right? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Story Summary: The General is cornered… Upon returning from a successful campaign in Battle of Waterloo, Armitage Hux knows he has no excuses left; he must produce the much-needed heir. The problem is, when the two of you parted five years ago, it was not in the best of terms. Now, he may not find his wife, you, so willing as he first expected, nor keen on taking part in any of his political games. [Hux x Reader – Hux x You – Regency AU].

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: Regency Era; Alternate Universe; Alternate Story; Alternate Universe - Historical; Arranged Marriage; Politics; War; Napoleonic Wars; England - 1815; Married Couple; OOCness; Smut

Wordcount: 6687.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT CHAPTER

“MY LADY,” THE GOVERNESS BEGAN, HER TONE DID NOTHING TO HIDE HER NERVOUNESS. SHE WAS SHAKING. “HIS LORDSHIP ASKED IF YOU WOULD GIVE HIM THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY IN THE BREAKFAST TABLE.”

In other words, Hux demanded your presence. Right. Now.

You smiled in spite of yourself. You would have laughed but thought that maybe it the governess would think you were laughing at her — which was also the case, but not only nor the main cause. Bringing your cup of tea to your lips, you savored it as if you had never tasted anything so good.

“You may tell him that I appreciate his invitation, but I shall decline.”

There was a moment of silence, which you used to drink more of your tea before you lost control of yourself and laughed out loud. Then a sharp intake of breath and finally a confused, “My Lady?”

“That will be all.”

She bowed, her face contorted into a grimace of both fear and… disapproval? You did not know, and you did not care. Before she could leave, however, you said, “I see that your uniform is in… adequate condition today.”

You could have asked if Rae said something, but you thought that she would have more than enough to handle as soon as she told Hux you would not be joining him.

She blushed, visibly embarrassed with your words.

“Thank you, Your Ladyship.”

As soon as the door was closed, you put your cup on the tray and brought both of your hands to your face. Your head hit the pillow and you finally laughed. If not for having the tray placed over your legs, you would have kicked the mattress as well.

What a day!

What. A. Day.

By now, your beloved husband probably had finished reading The Times and mainly the gossip column — only that could explain why he asked for your company when he knew you were dismissed of having breakfast at the table.

As a Marquess and a married Lady, you were actually encouraged to have breakfast alone, secluded in your own chambers. It denoted your nobility and importance in a household. And while you thought that was simply old fashioned bullshit, it never came so in hand.

You laughed again as you thought about Hux’s face right now.

Did he yell at the governess?

Did he hit the table with his fists?

Did his face get as red as his hair?

Ah, you would simply love to be in his company right now.

No.

Actually, you would give everything you had to be a small fly, so you could spy on him without denouncing yourself.

That would be… just awesome.

You laughed some more and concentrated on your breakfast, your eyes on the world beyond those windows. Albeit closed, the curtains were opened and you could see the sun shining outdoors.

What a lovely day.

You closed your eyes and inhaled your tea. It was warm — you bet as warm as the beautiful sunrays coming through the window, it was a pity you would not go on a walking with Lux that morning.

He loved playing outdoors, but after what you did — and mainly after Poe’s funeral — you thought that was not a smart decision.

Again, how did Hux react?

The waiting was killing you.

You counted to ten, expecting him to come banging on your door. He did not. But that was to be expected. He demanded you — with polite words, of course, but that was still an order — to come to him and explain yourself — you defied him — and he would not go to you. Unless he wanted to be seen as weak he would stay exactly where he was.

Clever.

That was a very childish power play and neither of you wanted to give up. Neither of you would give up. Neither would be seen as weak.

You expected him to avoid your chambers till night, when he would have to prepare for the Ball hosted by His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, in honor of the great and well-regarded Commander Poe Dameron.

Honestly, if not for having Lady Organa — and Rae, if you could convince her to join you; she simply hated such events — you would have declined his invitation. The man was getting ahead of himself. A Ball in honor of his Commander a day after his burial? As much as Poe was a lively person, you viewed the Duke’s action as reckless and not so thought-out.

A small smile crept to your lips…

Well, even more reason to go and put a convenient smile to your face. If the Royal Family would not meet their General — as responsible for the unbelievable victory over the French as their Major General — you would make sure they heard of him.

You wondered if after his thunderous reputation after the Battle of Waterloo he talked about politics with his wife — he probably did not. There was word out there that his marriage to Catherine Wellesley was highly unsatisfactory, with the Duke pursuing other partners in broad daylight — and who were his political advisers. They were probably all old men and lacked the necessary qualities to play the politic game in the Ton.

A sigh left your lips as you thought that Hux was not that very different. Although he did not consult with old rags — he had Rae Sloane, but Rae knew about Wars, not about the Ton — he did not talk to you. It was beyond frustrating!

Well… You just had to prove him wrong.

To prove them wrong.

It was past lunch — this time you had to go downstairs, but Hux was locked in his study in what seemed to be a very important meeting with Rae Sloane and a manager recently arrived from Dublin — when you finally crossed paths with him.

You would have turned away, before he noticed you — and declared he had won your little, petty competition — but stopped at hearing his voice.

He was in the drawing room with Lux. To your complete despair, he was reading a story to the boy. Reading the same fable you did when you caught him faking illness.

If you did not think him utterly ridiculous, you would have felt some anger creeping through your veins.

And judging by Lux’s confused face, that was certainly not the fable he had been reading before you entered the drawing room. That made your need to smile even more noticeable.

Ridiculous.

And he dared calling you childish.

The smile quickly died in your mouth. If he still believed you were lying — not that you vehemently denied and dismissed his romantics about being Lux’s fathers last night, actually you merely waved him off and said that he would never know the answer for sure —, he would be very mad after tonight.

Well, he would be very mad at you for meddling in his business — he already was — but that had to be done. The announcement over Lux’s adoption on The Times was necessary. Actually, vital to his political career.

By now, the Royal Family must have heard of him. If not about his successful campaign in the Napoleonic Wars, at least about his courageous and heartfelt act after a brother in arms suddenly and tragically passed away.

You would make sure of that.

However, your actions may have seen as another of your childish attempts at driving him away from whom he thought to be his son and heir. Now you regretted your answer. If you told him — for real — the whole story he would understand, wouldn’t he?

When Lux saw you, his smile brightened, and he disentangled himself from your husband and ran to you.

A small smile touched your lips as you bowed slightly and patted his ginger hair lovingly. He giggled when you tapped his little nose.

“Mama, would you like to hear a story?”

You even opened your mouth to reply, but Hux closed the book within his right hand immediately, indicating he would by no means read you a story — perhaps another fable on why lying was a bad thing. Perhaps you should read some on why he should trust his family.

Trust you.

If you said Lux was not his son it was because he was not.

Period.

What was so difficult about that?

You barely realized you forgot to give Lux an answer and was instead glaring at Hux. The boy pulled the skirts of your black dress and asked, his brows furrowed, “Mama?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” you replied with a warm smile. “I would love to, it is, if Lord Hux would be so kind to read us another fable.”

“He was reading one about how the horse…” He touched his lips with his index finger, a pensive expression taking his childish features.

“The Horse that lost its Liberty,” Hux completed for him, opening the book in the same page of before.

This time, you were the one who furrowed your brows.

“Why?”

“I love horses!” Lux said in his place, his tone as eager and enthusiastic as ever.

All traces of that crying boy from last night were gone. He did not look as a child who had just lost his father. In fact, it seemed he did not even remember Poe and his importance in his life — which was not that great, you reminded yourself.

And Lux is just four.

Just yesterday you were telling yourself that a child his age had problems grasping the concepts of life and death, you could simply not expect him to keep on crying all day long. That was too much to ask of a child.

Besides, you loved when he smiled.

Just not when Hux was the reason.

You glared at your husband again. He shrugged, and the shadow of a smile tugged the corner of his lips. He seemed very pleased with himself for again making Lux more interested in him than yourself.

How you hated him.

“Believe it or not, Lady Hux, one can read fables without disciplinary thoughts in mind as well.”

You bit your bottom lip, not very keen on giving the answer he deserved in front of Lux.

“Will you read for us, my Lord?” you said instead.

He eyed you with those bluish eyes of his filled with some feeling you could not quite put your finger on, but deduced he was having some fun at your expense.

Lux took you by the hand and approached the couch, where they were both sitting before you arrived and took his seat between you and Hux. The boy leaned against you, as he usually did when you read him a story, and placed your hand on his hair, so you could run your fingers through his ginger locks. You kissed the top of his head and inhaled his sweet scent.

His innocent and seemingly subconscious action brought Hux’s eyes to him, eyeing him with renewed interest.

Bothered with his stare, you cleared your throat and glared at him. He glared back, and his voice was finally heard in the so far silent drawing room.

“Will you tell him the truth?” Rae Sloane asked as if that was nothing as she the tightened your corset to its maximum.

You gasped and placed one hand over the mirror positioned in the middle of your dressing room to balance yourself. After spending the entire day reading agreements and taking Hux’s young manager, Dopheld Mitaka, to a walk in Hyde Park, she dismissed your Lady’s Maid, stating she would help you herself tonight.

Not very keen on picking an unnecessary fight — even if Rae was just horrible with your hair —, and actually eager to be in her company, you accepted her help — but you would do your hair yourself or just call your Lady’s Maid back. Rae was not touching a strand of your hair. Although proficient with the most complicated hairdos, she always left you with a bugging headache whenever she got near your head.

Right now, she was leaving you breathless.

“Gods, Rae, I can’t breathe!”

“You have gained weight,” she changed topic as if her last question meant nothing. And in fact, given the current situation, you would say it didn’t.

“I can’t be pregnant,” you replied, fanning yourself with both hands. “We haven’t even…” You bit your bottom lip. Why were you telling her that? “You know… Properly… Well, yes and no.”

She cast a hard glance at you through the mirror. You felt all color leaving your face.

“I am not interested in your intimate life with the General, (Y/N).”

You breathed through your nose and laughed shortly.

“General…” You shook your head, it made her pull even tighter the corset strings. “It’s funny when you call him like that. It’s feels like you’re not his—

“I am not,” she interrupted you, tying the knot firmly in place. She moved away, searching for the skirt of your clothing and you finally breathed slowly. “There is a reason why I never had children, (Y/N). I am not his mother, as you are not Lux’s mother.”

Well, you told yourself that every single night before sleeping and every single day just after you woke up, but hearing those words leaving someone’s lips — someone you considered dearly — in such a crude manner always hurt you.

They felt like a slap to your face.

“You love him as such…” you whispered and bit your bottom lip. Any chance you had of saving a little of your dignity was long gone now.

She gestured for you to stay still as she adjusted the buttons of your dress and smoothed its skirt. It was a gorgeous evening gown; one you prided yourself on owning. With its bluish, black and white colors, it was surely a different piece of what everyone paraded within in the Ton.

Perhaps black was the more appropriate color, but you bet the Duke’s wife would be wearing such color and you refused to be compared to someone’s else — even if someone of higher position in the Ton.

“My feelings have nothing to do with this mess you’ve created.”

Again, a slap would have hurt less.

“I know nothing of the Ton, (Y/N), as you well know. But let me tell you something, I do know your husband and he will not forgive you if you play him. Tell him the truth. Tonight.”

You bit your bottom lip.

What did she expect you to say? Your statement to the newspaper should be enough. If Lord and Lady Hux were adopting Poe Dameron’s son, it was because the child was not his!

“Could you do it yourself?” you asked, only to be met with a hard glare through the mirror. “You know he listens to you far more than the listens to me.”

She took her time to give you a reply and you feared for your dignity again — it is, if it still existed? When she did not, she left you agape.

“I am calling your Lady’s Maid to help you with your hair.”

If you had to use a word to describe this night, it would be hypocritical. The very same feeling of yesterday at the funeral returned.

No one was there to celebrate Poe’s life or his importance as a Commander in the War — most people there did not even know about their soldiers. On the contrary, they were eager to strengthen their alliances with the Duke and maybe get a closer look at the General and you.

At least you made a far more striking pair than the Duke and his wife, that’s for sure. As expected, everyone was dressing black and your colors contrasted to those present in the Ballroom.

The Duchess was certainly one to set fashion tendencies and every guest expected her to dress black — and she did not disappoint them and neither you. Once again, you were right. People in Ton were so predictable it hurt.

And it was boring.

You cast a glance at Hux over the shoulder of your current partner. A traditional Ball — even one taking place after a burial — required good wine and brandy, music and dances. After having dancing with your husband twice, you had two more partners.

One of them was the hateful Agent Terex — you did your best to seal your lips and prevent yourself from giving him a piece of your mind. The other was Captain Solo — he was known to be a Pirate in the past and whisked you away from a very displeased Lord Terex. Lady Organa’s husband was a sarcastic man who hated Balls and anything even remotely related to the Ton — which was actually refreshing. It was funny how a popular Duchess fell in love with him — everyone knew their marriage to be one of love, no sane woman would marry Han Solo, a poor sailor — after he decided to leave his days as a pirate behind him — the best in the whole world, or so he said.

Their son, Ben Solo did not come with them, which seemed to please Hux greatly. You would have to know what happened between them back in the War, it seemed to affect their relationship significantly.

Lady Organa and the Duchess Catherine both congratulated you on your and Hux’s decision to adopt Poe’s son. According to the Duchess, the poor, little thing needed a family more than ever now. She even said she would adopt him herself — in spite of the fact she had two children already — if no one stepped up to take care of him.

You felt your blood leaving from your face as you forced yourself to smile and hold your tongue. Part of you was taken by an almost uncontrollable fury as she cogitated the possibility of taking Lux to herself. You never needed Rae Sloane so much in your entire life! At least Lady Organa was there and changed topics, complimenting you for your dress.

She wore white and orange — Poe’s favorite colors.

Now you were dancing with the Duke of Wellington himself. Hux’s eyes were on you as the musicians stopped playing the melody of the traditional Strasbourgeoise Cotillion and the tune of a waltz began.

A few older ladies gasped — Lady Organa was certainly not one of them — for waltz was a popular dance in France, people in the British Empire still considered it too bold — scandalous even. It was certainly a dance that demanded too much of body closeness.

After the first steps, everyone was forced to stop. Agent Terex was close to the musicians, hitting his goblet of champagne with a spoon he probably got from the dinner offered earlier.

He cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice sounding much louder in the now silent Ballroom. “I propose a toast…”

Before he could continue, every footman filled waiting cups with the finest champagne or gave goblets to those who did not have any.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you waited for his words. That was definitely not what nor whom you had in mind when you thought about the announcement tonight.

It was impossible not to notice the Duke was tense as well.

You searched for Hux’s eyes, but he was not looking at you this time.

“For Commander Dameron.” He finished, raising his goblet.

Everyone in the Ballroom mimicked him. The Duke relaxed visibly.

“And…” Agent Terex continued, his voice denouncing how much he had drank — as if his terrible breath was not enough. “I would like to congratulate Lord Hux and Lady Hux…”

Definitely not what you were expecting — nor how you were expecting…

“…for their empathetic and wise decision to adopt Commander Dameron’s son.”

His last words were followed by a minute of silence — in which your husband finally looked at you. Your heart galloped in your chest in rhythmless beats — and then everyone repeated For Lord and Lady Hux.

A few guests, having their crystal goblets placed over trays the footmen were carrying around, even applauded the announcement.

With the help of Captain Solo, Agent Terex left the small area and the musicians resumed playing. The melody filled the Ballroom and the couples were once again dancing around you and the Duke.

He bowed dutifully in front of you and brought your gloved hand to a courteous kiss.

“It warms my heart to know such a young boy will be well cared for, my Lady.”

This time, you could not discern in his tone if he was being sincere or if that was just another mask. You narrowed your eyes, but there was no time to come to a conclusion, for Hux approached you, followed by the Duchess of Wellington.

The Duke slowly let go of your hand and instead offered his arm to his wife. A sigh of relief left you as soon as you saw them ready to leave you and your husband alone.

“We just hope—” the Duke began, his eyes fixed on Hux, “that he won’t be forgotten as soon as you finally bear Lord Hux his heir.”

With him positioned behind you, it was impossible to see his reaction — if he expressed any. Part of you expected such direct attack from the Duchess, but she seemed far politer than her husband. Another part of you tried to come up quickly with a response that would show he picked a fight with the wrong people, but Hux beat you to that. Taking your gloved hand between his and bringing it to his lips, he said,

“Your worries are groundless, Your Grace. Lady (Y/N)’s love for Lux is immensurable.” He placed a small kiss on your cheeks. “Now, if you are worried about heritage, then perhaps you should ask your own wife about her opinion.”

A small gasp left both you and the Duchess. The Duke’s face contorted in anger, but he remained silent. He would not risk his image over something that would have the entire Ton talking for weeks to come and the gossip columns in The Times making a fuss about next morning.

It did not mean you did not feel sorry for the poor woman. It was a truth universally acknowledged, that His Grace did not seek her anymore. Their marriage was one of convenience nowadays and even if she bore him two sons, everyone questioned their first offspring.

They departed in silence. Both you and Hux bowed dutifully. You had no idea how differently you could have acted. You shifted your attention to him, about to ask if he was ready to leave when he pulled you to him.

“That was mean,” you said as soon as he placed his hand on your waist and directed your left to his shoulder. “Even for you.”

He did not give you an answer. Not that you expected one. You should scold him for saying such outrageous words to a Duke, nonetheless. And yet, you saw yourself thank him in your mind. Although you considered his reply disrespectful and even offensive, you could not blame him for defending you. After all, the Duke was the first to treat you as a mere offspring repository.

He saw that coming.

People would talk — he would talk — if Lord Hux did not defend the honor of his own wife.

Instead, you saw yourself saying, “I thought you were mad at me.”

There was another moment of silence as he guided you in light and fluid steps. He was a great dancer, you always thought that. Your heart always accelerated whenever he took you to the center of the Ballroom. As an adolescent, you would always watch him dancing with other ladies and get jealous of them for having his attention all to themselves.

In the shadows, you watched him and imagined yourself in their place, in his arms, dancing with him — you even dreamed of kissing him. It was with indecorous happiness — for no woman should take so much pleasure in such simplistic occasion — that you had your first dance with him when you debuted in the Season, when you were eighteen years old.

Seven years…

You were startled to realize so many years had gone by. After that dance, your life changed forever. With eighteen you had your first kiss with him. With nineteen you got engaged to him. With twenty, the two of you got married.

Touching his cheeks — a highly improper move that had guests all around you gasping —, you furrowed your brows. There was no time to say anything, for he began,

“You fooled me.” His voice was cold; his eyes expressionless. “I must say I am impressed by your strategy.”

Brows still furrowed, you removed your hand from his face and moved it to his shoulder. He used that opportunity to bring you closer to him — the closeness between your bodies far more shocking for those people unused to such scandalous dances —, his mouth on your ear, so no one would hear his next words,

“You say you love Lux, but all you did recently was using him to improve your social position in the Ton.”

As if burned, you stopped dancing altogether and glared at him. If not for the guests all around you, you probably would have hit him right in the face.

Perhaps punched him.

You had never punched anyone, but the need was never as great as it was right now. Biting your bottom lip, you let your fingers slip from his hand.

His eyes were focused on yours as he ran his right hand over your face. The need to step back and get away from him was almost overwhelming but you held yourself in place.

“You say I have changed… But you are someone else entirely, (Y/N).” He ran his fingers over your bottom lip, it trembled slightly as the need to bite him — spite on him, cry because of him — took over you. “I expected so much more from you.”

When you finally found your voice, it was broken and hoarse. Your eyes were full of tears you did your best to cover.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lord Hux.”

After you arrived from the Ball, you entered Lux’s bedroom and dismissed his tutoress. You expected him to be sleeping soundly, but he was wide awake. You sniffed and blinked twice to dissipate the need to cry.

He was holding between his chubby fingers the very drawing that fell from your book when that very fateful day when Hux returned to your life.

And how you hated it.

Hated him.

Every ounce of love you felt for him was slowly dying whenever he addressed you with his cruel, unkind words.

You are a bad liar, a voice in your head said. Part of you knew that it only hurt — his words, his behavior, his coldness — because deep down — in the very bottom of your heart — you still loved him. Part of you tried to reassure you that you loved the man from the past. Not the man who came back from a successful campaign in Waterloo.

You shook your head and concentrated on Lux. He did not realize you were in his chambers. He was so engrossed with the drawing, he could not have seen a real horse trotting in front of him.

It was Hux’s drawing. One he had made in one afternoon the two of you escaped to a picnic. Your lady in waiting was left behind — only to be harshly punished by your father later; that poor creature — and you found yourself alone in his company. As your father could not suspect any illicit nor lusty activity between you, Hux took his time to draw your horse.

Obviously, it did not prevent you from rolling in the grass — with you landing over him and wresting with him for such prized position — and kissing till your lips were aching and swollen.

Those were indeed happy days…

… and you could only regret that they were gone, and you were stuck with a control freak and pale shadow of the albeit melancholic, so very romantic man you had fallen in love with.

You recalled that afternoon as if it happened just yesterday. When the two of you were parting, he kissed your hand in a gentlemanly gesture in front of your father and handed him the proof of how well behaved while he was alone with you. In your fingers, though, there was a small paper with your face sketched and a small message written in a careless manner.

Soon, beloved.

Of that small sketch of your face there was nothing left. Your father made sure to rip it apart when he caught the two of you kissing in Hux’s study room — he had reasons to believe the worst; you were sitting over his desk and he was between your legs. His hair was disheveled and your hands were between his clothes, touching his chest. That was how far you went, but your father was sure you had disgraced yourself that day and it took you a while, and daily doses of humiliation extended to Hux as well, to prove him wrong. He tried to do the same to the other drawing, but you placed it in your clothes before he could get his hands on it.

Lux was holding this drawing close to his chest and looking at it with the innocent passion only a child could muster.

You approached him and sat on his bed.

“You really like him, don’t you?” you asked, running your fingers through his cheeks. It seemed to tickle him, for he giggled and slapped your hand gently away.

Offering your hand to him you helped him sit on the bed, you watched as he handed you the drawing as well, so you could place it on his bedside table.

He nodded his response.

The boy has a sweet tooth, he had said last night when the two of you talked in the dead of the night in each other’s arms. He likes toffee.

“Because he gives you sweets,” you tried, your voice a bit unsure.

His smile was so bright it could rival the very sun. Although you loved to know Lux could like someone like Hux instead of merely hating him, it worried you greatly that he could be hurt in the near future. For you knew for sure Hux did not know how to love or how to reciprocate anyone’s feelings.

He merely ‘liked’ Lux for now because he firmly believed to be his father. It was very convenient for him to father a son — the Royal Family would look kindly upon any man having a family. Once he believed you and accepted the truth, you doubted he would be so willing to give the boy even a sideway glance.

But his words…

…they mean nothing…

…they must…

You were conflicted. Part of you wanted to find excuses for his behavior — even if you knew there was none — and another part wanted to label him as Satan himself.

The mere thought made your heart break. Albeit strict, Armitage Hux was a man who exerted some sort of fascination over people. He was alluring. And people who came to know him, loved him easily. Rae Sloane, for one, did love him. Needless to mention your own feelings for the man… and now Lux loved him as well…

Oh, Gods! You would kill Hux if he made your Little Lord suffer!

“Yes, and because he will give me his horse.” His high-pitched voice dragged you back to the present time.

You looked at him with widened eyes, surprise all written over your face.

“He will?”

Lux nodded. His smile easy on his face. He brought both hands to his eyes and rubbed them a few times.

“It’s time to sleep, Little Lord.” You helped him under the covers and ran your hands through his hair. “Actually, you should have slept hours ago.”

He shook his head.

Too tired, but too excited to give in to sleep.

So stubborn…

“He will teach me to ride too, Mama!”

His excitement seemed to die a bit as he yawned.

“When I get big and old.”

He focused his chestnut eyes on you and asked, his voice no more than a worried whisper, “will that take long?”

You laughed a bit and kissed his forehead.

“It will come soon enough, Little Lord.”

Sooner than I expect.

Or want.

You were returning to your chambers when you stopped in front of Rae’s bedroom and recalled her words.

Tell him the truth.

You bit your bottom lip and shook your head.

No.

You were not going to talk to him.

Not even if your life depended on it.

Tonight.

She would be very disappointed in you next morning.

But what could you do?

Hux made it very clear he did not believe a word you said about loving him, about Lux’s parentage. He did not believe you. Period.

It made your heart ache and you felt highly stupid for still having feelings for him. He was the last person in the universe who deserved your love.

Heavens, he did not believe you when you said you loved Lux — your most precious thing. The light of your life.

You did your best not to recall his words, they were to cruel and made your heart sore and small.

Shaking your head, you opened the doors of your chambers, only to find him sitting in the anteroom, a cigar between his fingers and a glass with brandy resting on the coffee table.

It was very rare to see him smoking. He was not a man of vices. In fact, this current Hux in front of you was a very meticulous man, a man who controlled and was not controlled by anyone or anything.

A man who hurt and never got hurt.

His words returned to you with full force.

You say you love Lux, but all you did recently was using him…

You cut his voice in your mind, shaking your head and walking to the bedroom. He did not spare you even a single glance.

The words continued, this time almost a chant.

You say you love Lux…

Biting your bottom lip, you removed your dressing gown and held it in your arms.

You say you love Lux…

“Enough!” It took you a while — and a confused stare from him — for you to realize you had said the words aloud. You even brought both hands to your mouth in a mortified gesture, but you shook your head.

Tell him the truth.

You were trembling.

With rage.

With disgust.

With disappointment.

With love for Lux.

…for him…

But you were also trembling with hate.

For him.

For yourself.

For his father.

For your father.

You walked to him. Stopped right in front of him. And took his glass of brandy, taking the liquid all at once.

If you were to say the truth — the ugly truth — you had to have at least some alcohol running through your veins.

“Do you want to hear the truth?”

He did not give you a reply.

His bluish eyes were focused on you. Intense. Burning with a cold flame that hurt you more than his words. In a dismissive gesture, he brought the cigar to his lips.

It was clear he did not want to hear whatever you had to say.

But now he would.

You would make sure he did.

“My father hated you.”

If these words bothered him you would never know, for he did not how any reaction to them. It was well known that your father disapproved greatly of him and his ancestry.

A bastard!

You gave yourself to a useless bastard!

He had called Armitage a bastard in countless occasions. His own father called him that every once in a while. Not every day. No. It would be the same of reminding himself he could only produce an heir — any heir — outside wedlock. It would remind him of his own failure.

You braced yourself for the next words.

“He would never allow any child of yours to live.”

That made Hux’s shoulders tense. He sat straighter in the couch and lowered the cigar to the cinder-box.

“Did he…” He let the question in the air. He could not even look at you. His eyes were cast on the floor. Your negative reply made him cast a glance at you with some relief. “I would kill him if he—

“No. But he laughed at me when my menses came.”

It still hurt to recall his happiness while you cried yourself to sleep in Rae’s arms. Your heart was flooded with fondness for this woman who took you under her care as if you were her own child.

There is a reason why I never had children.

She was a far better mother than most mothers you had met in your life — your own included.

“He was happy that it did not take root. It was not even six months after that and upon your disappearance that he decided to marry me off to another man.”

His lips were pursed into a thin line…

…And you thought that you saw some anguish in his eyes…?

You shook your head. You were reading too much into his reactions. It was only natural that he would be mad at your father — men all over the Empire considered women to be their properties. Hux was no different.

“But then, he suddenly stopped.”

He furrowed his brows.

No words left his lips.

His silence was never so welcomed before.

“It took me and Rae a while to figure it out… But he was having an affair with a village girl in Southampton.” You sat beside him and took the cigar. You had never smoked before — the only time you tried, you did it wrong and ended up with a coughing fit. He took it away from you and brought it to his lips.

“Go on.”

You bit your bottom lip, regretting the fact that you did not have anything alcoholic to drink in your chambers.

“This girl…” You looked down. “This girl had your hair… but chestnut eyes.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line.

“You know… Don’t you?” you asked, your voice broken.

He nodded.

For long, uncountable minutes there was only the sound of the cigar becoming ashes in the cinder-box. A sepulchral silence enveloped you.

Subconsciously, your hands sought his and your fingers entwined.

“I suspected it,” he finally admitted it, looking at your palms pressed together. He ran his thumb over your pulse absentmindedly.

“She was younger than you and me,” you continued in a whisper. “But she was the legitimate daughter your father never knew he had. My father—

You did not realize you were crying till you felt his fingers on your face, wiping them away.

“Is a monster.”

He brought you to the comfort of his arms. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and cried your heart out. It had been long since you let yourself think about this story.

“Was a monster.”

He ran his fingers through your hair, trying to comfort you. It only made you cry more.

“She was no more than a child. He…”

“Forced her,” he finished for you; his voice no more than an emotionless whisper.

This made you cry harder.

He had never met his sister. He never would.

Your father was truly a monster. The worst kind of monster. Because he hated Armitage and the prospect of him having his title — even if he desperately needed Armitage’s money — revolted, sickened him, he forced himself upon your husband’s only living parent. Thus, their offspring — unlike yours — would be fit to have his damned title.

In his eyes, you were no better than a whore — the only daughter he had had given herself to a bastard.

“Lux is my nephew,” he said, holding you by the nape and forcing you — albeit not unkindly — to face him.

You nodded.

“And my brother.”

A/N - Well, that’s it for today, kids! Unlike BB, I still have left two more chapters of this story to update here. I’m on a tight schedule right now, so that’s why you aren’t getting ant updates from me. Sorry, but I really have to finish my thesis xD. Anyways, I hope you’ve liked it xD

#hux x reader #hux x you #in the general's bed #in the generals bed #regency!hux #regency hux #star wars #sequels #fanfic #fanfiction #general hux x reader #general hux x you #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #regency story #star wars fanfic #star wars regency story

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rainbowoffics · 7 years

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FIC REC’S OF 2017 part 8 (august - september - october)

CHAPTERED

Paint Me In A Million Dreams by @greenfeelings / ao3 (110k) CHAPTERED

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

I Have Your Dreams (And Your Teeth Marks) by @aloequeerafic / ao3 (118k) CHAPTERED

Louis and Harry don't believe in second chances, but sometimes it feels like the universe does. A Music Industry/Getting Back Together AU.

He remembers how they were, always, Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis. He remembers the late nights and the lie ins, all the words they gave each other. He remembers how Harry would look at him like he hung the moon, and like he knew Louis’d done it just for him. He remembers it all. The problem, he thinks, is that he remembers how it fell apart, too.

Feels Like Coming Home by @phd-mama / ao3 (60k) CHAPTERED

The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.

This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.

Outed by @milehigh-larry / ao3 (30k) CHAPTERED

Louis Tomlinson needs a safe place to hide when his night out ends up on every major entertainment site. His safe place has always been Harry. Will ten years make a difference?

Don’t Want Shelter by @fullonlarrie / ao3 (76k) CHAPTERED

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other.

Linger by shamelessamy10 (136k) CHAPTERED

Louis has a truckload of painful memories and a custody arrangement where a family could’ve been. The last thing he’s looking for is a new relationship.

Harry has accepted that he’s not made for relationships and isn’t interested in getting burnt again.

It’s a good job they’ve both got meddling friends.

Tightrope by @sadaveniren / ao3 (33k) CHAPTERED

Louis knows he and Harry are going to be together for the rest of their lives and one day they were going to get married and have three point five children, a dog, and two cats. But life hasn't matched up perfectly yet and that time is not now. So they are both happy to be best friends and casually date other people until life decides they really should get their shit together.

aka Louis gets pregnant from "one last time" sex and he and Harry somehow think they'll be able co-parent without it being weird for anyone (most especially their new boyfriends).

In Repair by teaandtumblr (36k) CHAPTERED

Louis didn't handle his and Liam's divorce - probably because he never saw it coming and because Liam somehow managed to find the love of his life at the same time.

Harry is a daycare worker who really just wants Louis and Liam to get their shit together.

California Sold by @isthatyoularry / ao3 (123k) CHAPTERED

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

You Love Me, If You Love Me, Don’t Let Go by @shadowofyoursong / ao3 (71k-) CHAPTERED (last chapter coming 8th of November)

His name is up there. He’s the only Harry in this group. His eyes land on Louis, who swallows thickly. He gives Harry a small smile, brows raised a little. Harry is not dancing a solo. He’s dancing with the boy, who he never remembers. How the hell can he ever get anyone’s attention, when he doesn’t have any connection with this guy. - Or the one where Harry and Louis are students at The Juilliard School of Performing Arts and are dancing in the same group. Harry never notices Louis, the boy who is a year younger than him, mostly sticks to himself and practices hard (or that's what Harry thinks). Louis on the other hand always sees the confident and focused Harry. Now they’re paired for a duo performance and they have to make it work, even though Louis’ eyes are towards London and Harry’s are towards a career after graduation, which he thinks he can only get with a solo performance.

ONE SHOT

Dust To Dust by @dinosaursmate / ao3 (23k) ONE SHOT

“There’s no way it’s true.” Harry shrugged, letting out a small laugh. “Louis can’t be… dead.” Dead. The force of the word hit Harry like a ton of bricks. There were actually rumours that his Louis was dead. His heart rate picked up. It wasn’t true. No way. --- Harry, an active participant in the One Direction Tumblr fandom, comes across a rumour that Louis died and has been replaced with a lookalike.

I Don’t Wanna Hurt Anymore by @hazzabooween / ao3 (5k) ONE SHOT

Harry walks a thin line between breaking his best friend’s heart and fighting a losing battle.

Back To Seventeen by crimsontheory (26k) ONE SHOT

As a first grade teacher in a small town in Illinois, Harry’s life is pretty simple. He loves his job, is close with his family, and has a best friend he would go to the ends of the earth for. When a new soccer coach starts at the local high school, things start to get a bit more exciting for Harry. Because that coach just happens to be Louis Tomlinson; the guy Harry was unrequitedly in love with in high school.

Or the one where Louis moves back to his hometown and Harry realizes he’s still not over his high school crush.

Leap Of Fate by @happilylouie / ao3 (12k) ONE SHOT

After one too many failed dates, Harry decides he’s had enough. He is going to start a family on his own, everything falls into place as Harry finds the perfect donor. But when Harry realizes who the donor actually is it hits him like a curveball. He wants Louis Tomlinson to be involved in his baby's life, but first he has to figure out a way to date him.

Or Radio Show Host Louis Tomlinson is going to be the father of Harry Styles’ baby, the only problem: He has no idea.

Just Breathe by @littlelostpieces / ao3 (35k) ONE SHOT

It's a portrait worthy of hanging over the fireplace: two incredibly handsome young men and their equally adorable children, all shined up and polished, politely posed and smiling, a split second perfectly captured for eternity.

As a photographer, 18-year-old Harry loves a good snapshot, a well-preserved moment in time. He also likes kids an awful lot, has always wanted to raise a family with a loving and supportive partner of his own. Meeting Louis, a 25-year-old father of two, after a night out seems like the perfect realization of all of Harry's dreams really.

Louis, however, knows that one photograph can't begin to tell an accurate story of parenthood, of the joys and challenges of constantly living with wonderful, yet sometimes incredibly odd and frustrating, little humans. He's already had a partner who couldn't handle the pressures, one who left Louis with a mountain of doubt that anyone else will ever want to join his cracked family.

Falling in love is as easy as releasing the shutter. Developing the entire picture may take a little more time and effort than either of them expected.

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sarahbearah1914 · 7 years

Text

Love and Coffee 3

Chapter three is here! To refresh your memories, here is the link to chapter one and chapter two

Chapter 3: Mother Knows Best

Sunday January 17th, 2016

11:30 AM

Kisame Hoshigaki was a mama’s boy. As an only child whose father was building his business empire during the early years of his life, Kisame spent a lot of time with his mother growing up. His mother, unlike the mothers of his friends had come from a more humble background and thus didn’t rely on nannies or housekeepers to raise her son; as such they were very close. So close in fact, that Kisame had gone home to spend time with his mother every Sunday without fail since he moved out. That’s not to say that he didn’t go home more often than that, but Sundays for the Hoshigaki family were special mother son days and had been for almost his entire life. When he was young they were dedicated to special trips or outings, and now that he was older he treated his mom to lunch, maybe some time out on the town, or a simple afternoon at home just catching up before the small family ate dinner together. It wasn’t that Kisame didn’t have a good relationship with his father, he was supportive in his own way, talked to him about girls and whatnot, and they shared a love of marine life.

It was almost noon when Kisame pulled through the gate and up the driveway of his parent’s home, stomach growling as the smell of garlic chicken Alfredo, and chicken and shrimp carbonara filled his car. He’d stopped by his mother’s favorite Italian place just as it was opening and put in their usual order, he’d even gotten extra soup, breadsticks and desserts because his spirits were so high. His date, minus a small hiccup (which turned out really good for him, he’d gotten a very nice shock at the kiss Sachiko had given him before running off to her roommate) had been, as cheesy as it sounds, the best date he’d ever been on. He was humming the same catchy song non stop since he dropped Sachiko off, the same song that came on as she shut the door of his truck. It was like the radio had read his soul, giving him exactly what he needed.

“I’m already thinking ‘bout you and me getting out of here and taking a drive,” Kisame sung under his breath as he walked up to the door. Kisame had been too busy watching Sachiko walk away with her friends out of the garage, and was glad he did because he got to see her turn and wave, but between watching her and his thoughts the idea of actually looking to see what the song was completely slipped his mind. He was kicking himself for half an hour as he flipped through his presets trying to find it again. The song was quickly purchased, and the ring tone was still tempting him. He resisted though, reminding himself that Sachiko wasn’t his girlfriend (yet) and so her messages were given their own ringtone, specific to her, but from the provided tones that came with his phone.

Just as he was reaching for the handle the door opened.

“Hi Pumpkin! Come in, come in, it’s cold!”

“Ma, I’m in Graduate School, I haven’t been a Pumpkin for a while,” Kisame groused good-naturedly as he walked through the door and placed a kiss on his mother’s cheek. Aiko Hoshigaki was a short woman compared to her son and husband but in reality was five foot eight, and while she didn’t pass height onto her son, she did pass on her eyes and work ethic. She had been working as an assistant to an accountant while trying to put herself through pastry school when she met Kisame’s father. Her face was kind and the beginnings of laugh lines were beginning to show.

“You’ll always be Pumpkin, baby, no matter if you’re three or three hundred,” His mother sassed, taking a bag and walking with him to the dining room. Kisame began taking the food out and his mother went to get silverware, unaware that he’d been humming. “You’re in a good mood,” His mother chimed from behind him.

“I had a good day yesterday Ma. How have you been?”

“I’m good, how was your date?” his mother inquired, buzzing with excitement. Kisame stopped what he was doing, take out container still in his hand as it hovered just above the table.

“How did you know I went on a date yesterday?” Kisame mentally backtracked, he was sure he didn’t tell his mother about it, and no one that they saw yesterday would have told her about it. Kisame purposely didn’t mention the date as to not get his or his overzealous mother’s hopes up. A sly grin stretched across her face, looking much like the cat who got the canary.

“I couldn’t reach you on your cell last night, so I called your apartment and you would not believe what Itachi-chan told me! He told me that my wonderful, ONLY child went on a date, and didn’t tell me, his mother about it!” The look on her face wasn’t just of the cat that got the canary, but the cream too.

Itachi, you little weasel, Kisame mentally cussed his roommate five ways to Sunday.

“I was a first date, Ma, didn’t want to get either of our hopes up.” Kisame explained as he sat down. His mother was practically vibrating as the next in what was sure to be a long series of questions tumbled out her mouth.

“Well, did it go well?” she asked, but her question was followed by a high pitched squeal as he nodded before she could even finish asking. Kisame pushed a finger into his ear and shook it, trying to dispel the ringing. “Tell me EVERYTHING, Kisame, and I mean everything!”

And so he did. He spilled his guts like a bunch of preteen girls on a sleep over.

“Ma, I thought the whole night was screwed when we got to the bus stop and it was pulling away. Why the hell doesn’t the University have later buses? Anyway, I drove her to a parking garage on campus and her roommate and a friend met her there.” Kisame cleared his throat, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. “She kissed my cheek before hopping out of the truck.” By this time they were making their way through dessert and he was staring intently down at…whatever this chocolate thing was. A calculating and protective look flashed across his mother’s face.

“You really like this girl, don’t you? She sounds nice,” She stated as she took a bite of her own dessert.

“She’s great, we talk just about every day, I want to ask her out again, but our first date was yesterday and I don’t want to come off as pushy.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She has no idea about Mist, about what dad does. I get to be a normal guy with her Ma, and I love it, but what if I screw up? She didn’t even know I was on the swim team.” Kisame poured his heart out, sending a hopeless glance to his phone. However his phone, being an inanimate object didn’t feel obliged to answer his silent prayer and stayed silent from its spot next to his plate. At his admission the protectiveness receded from his mother’s eyes.

“So how did you two meet?” she questioned, face softening with the realization that her baby just might be in love, well, maybe not love, but there was definitely a shine to her son that wasn’t there before. And so she listened to the tale, scoffing at Sasuke’s rudeness and nodding proudly at her son’s insistence of replacing the girl’s drink after chuckling at his clumsiness at knocking it to the floor in the first place.

“It took a bit for her to finally warm up to me and tell me what was really wrong, because no one could really get THAT upset over coffee, right? Turns out she was stood up. Can you believe it Ma; some idiot actually stood her up!” Kisame exclaimed angrily before going on to tell her about how they sat and talked before Sachiko had to run to class. As Kisame talked and talked his mother relaxed more and more. Sure, she was going to have a full background check done, but Kisame didn’t need to know that.

“You should ask her to come to your swim meet, your father and I won’t be able to make it because of a charity event, so it would be nice to have someone there to cheer you on, huh?” At his nod she pressed on. “Ask her NOW, Kisame.” She sent him an indulgent smile that let him know this wasn’t something she was going to let go. Grudgingly Kisame unlocked his phone and began to type.

[Kisame] Hey, if you aren’t doing anything next Saturday, would you like to come to my Swim Meet? It’s at 1.

He and his mother stared at the phone like a bomb about to go off in their faces. Her customized chime went off much quicker than expected.

[Sachiko] I’d love to!

However, before Kisame could text her back, his phone was snatched from his hand and his mother danced out of reach, typing as she went. “And send!” she exclaimed.

[Kisame] I could tell you about it over lunch?

Kisame went as pale as a ghost.

“Ma, what did you just do? Mom, mother, please give me my phone. What did you do?” Kisame tried getting his phone, but wouldn’t be able to unless he grabbed his mom first, and grown man or not, he would get his ass beat if he ever man handled his mother, joking around or not. Kisame knew he was a big man and could very easily hurt someone if he wasn’t careful. He froze, still as a statue when his phone chimed again. Grinning, his mother read aloud.

[Sachiko] Sounds great =) Does Tuesday work for you? I promised Tenten we’d get sushi tomorrow.

“Sounds great. Oh look she put a smiley face honey, and she uses the equals sign when she makes it, that’s cute. Does Tuesday work for you? I promised Tenten we’d get sushi tomorrow. Who’s Tenten?” Still grinning she fought the urge to read over their previous texts; though she did spy the goodnight texts they sent each other.

“Tenten is her roommate. What sounds great, what did you say? Mother give me my phone please.” Kisame would later deny that the sound that just left his mouth was a whine; it was not a whine, just a desperate request from an exasperated son to a meddling mother.

“Your lovely mother just got you a lunch date for Tuesday; oh I can’t wait to tell your father! Have you told Zabuza and Haku about her?” She was very proud of herself when she finally handed his phone back to him.

“No Way! Zabuza would have spent every swim practice giving shitty-“

“Kisame, language!”

“-sorry Ma, bad advice, and Haku, has Haku even been on a date?” Kisame pondered his own question for a moment.

“Well, Zabuza probably isn’t the best guy to go to for dating advice. I love your cousin but he goes through girlfriends like tissues. As for poor Haku, it’s been a while, Zabuza scares off every boy he brings home.” She tutted softly and shook her head. Kisame might be an only child, but he and his two cousins were as close as any brothers could be. Zabuza and Haku were the sons of Kisame’s uncle, Zabuza being only a year old than Kisame, and Haku being two years younger. While his uncle was older, and had a different father and last name, the Momochi and Hoshigaki families were as close as could be and would continue to be through the generations.

The cousins had been in swimming programs together as far back as any of them could remember and worked well as a team. Their closeness had some drawbacks though. Kisame, and especially Zabuza were very protective of Haku, first because he took after his delicate mother, then later their protectiveness skyrocketed when he came out as gay. Zabuza had even been suspended from school at one point for putting a bully in his place. There was no one more precious to Zabuza than Haku, and he wasn’t about to let anyone say a bad word about him or hand his innocent baby brother to just anyone who showed interest. No, Zabuza had very high standards for any would be suitor to fill when it came to his brother, though no real standards to speak of when it came to himself.

The rest of the visit consisted of the two of them sharing dessert and his mother giving unwanted dating advice on top of their normal weekly catch up. Kisame considered the events of the day over and over as he began the journey back to his apartment. If not for Itachi and his mother, he might not have gotten the courage to ask Sachiko out until the next time he saw her, and who knows when that would have been? Now not only was he seeing her on Tuesday but she was also coming to his swim meet. Figuring that it was only fair to treat his roommate, Kisame stopped at a little hole in the wall sweet shop by the police station. If Itachi was to be believed they supposedly made the best dango in the entire city, and when it came to dango he really was an expert. He acquired two sticks of the tricolored confections before continuing on. Itachi was looking over some files at the kitchen table when he got home.

“Hey tattle-tale,” Kisame called out to him as he kicked his shoes off and hung his jacket on his hook. Itachi didn’t even look up from whatever he was working on.

“Hn. Answer your phone next time.” Itachi turned a page and squinted at the text.

“Who pissed in your morning tea? And wear your glasses, squinting is bad for your eyes.” That got him what he called Itachi’s trademark “I don’t have time for your shit” look.

“You aren’t my Oka-san Kisame. “

“You don’t know where your glasses are, do you?”

“Hn.” Nope, Itachi didn’t know.

“They’re in the medicine cabinet. But because of that attitude I’ll just have to eat these myself.” Kisame gave a grin, all teeth and pulled that take out bag from behind his back.

“Are those-“

“Yes, they are from that place you like,“ Kisame answered him before the question was even finished and Itachi’s eyes followed the bag like a bloodhound on a scent. Kisame really shouldn’t have so much fun teasing Itachi, but there were so few things the Uchiha got truly worked up about. No, only someone with a death wish would get between Itachi Uchiha and sweets. Kisame watched Itachi gather his things and go to his room, making a pit-stop at the bathroom to grab his glasses. He knew that Itachi would not emerge from his room until he was finished with whatever work he was doing when Kisame came home.

Sunday January 17th, 2016

10:30 PM

Itachi Uchiha rubbed under his eyes, tired but satisfied that he was finished reviewing the cases his father had him look over. He’d make his family proud, but the weight of being an Uchiha prodigy was getting heavier by the day. The harder he worked, the better of a life Sasuke got, but Itachi was starting to consider that maybe he spoiled his precious otouto a little too much. The elders were shifting the focus of their pressures lately, he’d proven he could live up to their expectations both professionally and academically so their focus was shifting to his personal life. Resigning himself that this was just too much to think about right now, Itachi poured the hot water for his evening tea and opened the fridge to get the milk. There, sitting innocently on the top shelf was the same bag from earlier, but now it had a note stapled to the front. Reaching out he plucked the note with nimble fingers. Written in Kisame’s neat script was the following message.

Got another date Tuesday, so thanks, Weasel.

They’re all yours.

Opening the bag, Itachi looked upon the two perfect sticks of dango with the same fondness that a mother looked upon her newborn child.

THIS was why Kisame was his best friend.

#kisame #kisame hoshigaki #kisaoc #romance #modern au #college au #fluff #lots of fluff #teeth rotting fluff #naruto #itachi is a tattle-tale #Kisame is a momm'a boy

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