#Stone might stick around just a little longer than I planned | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zgvlt · 2 years

Text

the dust in your place vil schoenheit x reader

summary: in which you are cursed to stay inside a mirror for years, and Vil begins to treat you as a close confidant

author’s note: i've been wanting to write something different from the usual (again), and i've been toying with the idea of cursed! readers... as well as the right person, wrong time wrong place trope

tags: gender neutral reader, sfw, fluff, light angst, cursed! reader, hopeful ending, 9.1k+ words, not beta read (so let me know if any gendered terms for reader are used i will correct it)

you can also read this on AO3

When he looks into the mirror he is the image of perfection, but he wishes he could see someone else in its reflection.

Vil Schoenheit hates dust. The accumulation of dust represented the lack of cleanliness in an area; a lack of attention; neglect. Dust was what settled on things lost and things forgotten, the left behind and the cast away.

Nobody wanted the particles of dirt and soot, specks of fabric fibers and dead skin cells, surrounding them more than they already do.

It is why when Vil climbs up to his attic, dirty and dusty, he is covered head to toe, the bottom half of his face even covered with a mask. Hardly a fashion statement, and Vil would rather eat a spoon of mayonnaise than be caught wearing such attire — not that anybody would ever visit — would an attic be so dusty if a person were to frequent it? He himself had only planned on staying for a few minutes, for old books on potions that he was certain were hidden somewhere.

Dust aside, the attic was filled with numerous interesting things. Props his father must have taken home from one of his films, like a sword or a cloak; furniture, a rocking chair or gramophone no longer used but too sentimental to throw away; and what he had come for — shelves of books neither he or his father had thought they would read again.

He had only come for a book or two, but it was in the middle of searching for them that he found himself drawn to something nearly buried and nearly unseen — a mirror, specifically the handle of a handheld mirror peeking atop a pile of scarves and a feather boa.

Vil, applauding himself for having the foresight to wear gloves, quickly abandoned the shelves to retrieve it. It was a pretty thing — vintage, maybe even antique, gold, ornate — awfully dusty, but that was something easily fixed. Vil was not shy to admit he had numerous mirrors ranging from full length mirrors to compact ones that fit in his pocket, but a regal looking hand mirror certainly fit him, would it not?

Well, his father wouldn’t be missing a mirror anyway.

His fingers wiped the glass clean as best he could before trailing them along the embellishments, stopping at a heart-shaped gap in the space between the handle and the glass, clearly some missing gemstone or other, and upon further pulling apart the pile of fabrics he had found it — clear as crystal.

The thing is that Vil had not thought it would stick right away. He merely wanted to test if the size was truly right, then either get it fixed professionally or figure out if magic would do the trick.

But when he slipped the stone into the mold the gold had melded perfectly, and unexpectedly what was reflected was not him but the unknown.

And you, the unknown, had opened your lips, and thus spoke,

“I think you might be the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

Vil’s not terrified. Magical artifacts have existed for centuries and will continue to exist, but color him surprised to find one just lying around in his family attic. Certainly surprised, for who knew he would ever come to possess a mirror that talked just like the Fairest Queen’s did! Not simply talked either, but one that possessed a seemingly corporeal form, physical if not for the fact that you were talking from within a mirror.

Truthfully, Vil’s a little excited.

“Is that so?” He tried not to show his pleasure, not that you would have known he was smiling with his mouth covered by a mask, “Even with this kind of attire, you find me beautiful?”

“Yes! I do suppose the attire is unusual. I have certainly never seen anything like it,” If he had seen until the upper half of your body before, now he could only see your head, as though you neared the glass to take a better look. “Still, no odd clothing can hide your beauty.”

“Never seen anything like it?” he repeated. It was a white long-sleeved shirt, a pair of gloves, and a disposable face mask. It was hardly a pretty outfit, but the items singled out were not at all out of the ordinary. From that alone, Vil was able to make an easy assumption. “How long have you been cursed to stay inside this mirror?”

He watched your throat as you swallowed before you spoke.

“I do not know. I think I might have been asleep for… years before you woke me up.”

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

He had only intended to put the mirror down for a few minutes, quickly scan the bookshelf not only for that potion book, but for one about magical artifacts or curses, but you suddenly looked panicked as he began to walk away.

“Wait! Do not leave me alone, please!” you exclaimed, almost desperately. “Bring me with you! I am sure I can be useful to you!”

Vil had not planned on leaving the mirror — or rather you, that would take some time getting used to — here in the attic, but he was interested in what value you seemed to have for yourself.

“In what way? I’m sure you’re quite limited being stuck in there.”

You looked a little upset at the reminder and he could not help but sigh. He had not meant to be mean, he was simply stating the facts, but he supposed sensitivity should’ve been implemented considering your pitiful position. “Just so you know, I had no plans of leaving you here. I’m not heartless,” and the mirror was rather beautiful, but he did not know if you would appreciate hearing that.

That seemed enough to reassure you, the nervousness leaving your expression.

“If you ask me a question, I am cursed to only give you the truth.”

Vil knew of several people who would simply hate to ask you anything, the fear of the truth in favor of living in a delusion, but Vil was not one of those people. Empty compliments, lies told with good intentions — they held value lesser than the harsh truth, less than even a truth told with bad intentions.

As horrible as a fate as it was to be cursed, he could not help but smile, and although you would not be able to see it with his lips, perhaps you would through his eyes.

“My name is Vil Schoenheit. Let’s get along, shall we?”

When Vil had packed to go back to Night Raven College after the holidays, he had made sure to bring a certain mirror along with him. He did not always bring you around everywhere, you stuck somewhere in his room as he attended classes, but he did his due diligence to talk to you every day.

The connection between the two of you was admittedly strange — him asking for your honesty about his hair and make-up, you happy to be able to talk to anyone — but it was something mutual in the sense that you both got something you wanted out of the other. Not exactly a healthy friendship — would something like this even count as a friendship? — but a beneficial partnership.

Sure, your compliments and opinions were nothing unheard of, if only a little odd with how fascinated you could get about modern clothing and sparkly cosmetics, but he enjoyed hearing them with the added knowledge that it was honest and, quite frankly, he just enjoyed getting praise out of you.

Plus, there was the novelty of simply having a magic mirror just like the Queen he admired so much, although one not as powerful and clearly cursed, but that aside, conversations with you were always a good way to entertain himself. A presence distant enough to not bother him when he needed quiet and some time to himself, but present enough a presence for when he needed to talk.

“Vil, what was that thing you were talking about earlier?” you asked, “The thing you said you were acting in. A moving, was it? Is that what they call stage plays nowadays?”

“You were close. It’s a movie,” he corrected, wondering how to best explain it to you, plus storing some new information he had learned about you — you were cursed during a time before motion pictures had been invented. Would you even know what a photograph was?

“Imagine being able to watch the same play over and over again,” he explained, hoping his descriptions were enough to paint a clear picture, “and the actors never change. When you watch it for the first time, it’ll be the exact same the second, third, twentieth time.”

“That sounds wonderful!” you exclaimed. Vil notes how among all the new technology and entertainment he had introduced you to, this was what you were most interested in. Well, lucky for you, he knew a good amount about movies and he was actually willing to talk about it for more than a few minutes. “And you actually act in these movies?”

“It’s been a while because of school, but yes,” he replied with a short laugh, finding your amazement amusing to watch. For all you knew he could have been some background character and here you were, lauding him for something you barely knew anything about.

“And just what stories, characters do you act out?”

Vil paused before he answered, lips pressed tight.

“Movies can have any genre, theme, story. It’s even more versatile than theatre in some ways; you’d definitely be surprised at how different they all can be from each other,” and how bland and stale they could also be, but nothing wrong with only mentioning the good things.

“But, ah, just where can you watch a movie?”

“That’s the beauty of it — it can be watched anywhere these days. You can watch one at home on your phone — the device I told you about before, remember? — but the traditional way to watch one would be at a cinema… cinema basically being a theatre, but for movies.”

He had his eyes off you for a few minutes, busy cleaning his face to prepare for the night, so when he had his eyes on you again he was slightly intrigued by how wistful you seemed to look at the thought.

“It would be nice to see one…”

Vil was, for the most part, immune to being affected by sad expressions and pouty faces, but you did seem genuinely upset that you couldn’t so he supposed he wasn’t annoyed by it. On the matters of actually doing something to resolve it…

“Bringing you to a theatre is out of the question,” With his lack of free time, going to a cinema was impractical. Why would he do it for you? And having to bring a magic mirror, having to point you towards the screen, making sure you stayed quiet to avoid suspicion — all of it seemed like a hassle. However, “but… I suppose I could set up a device or something to play movies while I’m gone.”

“Really?! Could you do that?”

He wasn’t technologically inept so of course he could. All he had to do was make sure the volume was low enough and put on subtitles for you.

However, there was something in it for him. He wasn’t just going to put on some second-rate movie, or a reality TV trash fire that might risk you getting addicted to them, oh no, certainly not.

“The condition, of course, is that you’ll be going through every film I’ve starred in since I was a child. I’m sure you’ll be able to give me some good criticism and comments, no?”

“Ah, then I will work on making my comments as eloquent and detailed as possible! Just to show you how really grateful I am!” What I’m doing hardly requires any effort, he would say, but he won’t deny liking your sudden enthusiasm. Even with your constraints you were doing your best in whatever way you could, and that kind of quality was always something to be appreciated in a person.

Vil was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It was not a matter of simply waking up on the wrong side of bed, but a series of unfortunate events that made it difficult to hide his growing irritation.

It started with the blender not working. Health-wise he had already been feeling pretty off that morning, maybe he had accidentally consumed too much dinner the night before or something of the sort, so he had been looking forward to making a particular smoothie that would help him but no, the blender had been broken.

He would say that was alright, what was one missed smoothie when you can get one from the cafeteria, but breakfast was easily the most important meal of the day and it most definitely worsened his mood to miss it.

Then there was Epel. Sure, he had accepted that the boy would never be the definition of being prim and proper, inwardly rowdy boy that he was who seemed to secretly crave a fight, but that did not mean he was okay with his junior literally getting into a fight! Just what was he thinking? Was he not concerned that his dorm leader was going to get a heart attack just hearing it?

(Plus, if he was going to get into a fight, at least make it a clean and elegant sweep! And hidden too so nobody would ever know! Would his blood pressure have risen if Epel had managed to keep it a secret? Absolutely not!)

Then he was paired with someone much too clumsy when it came to choosing herbs for the potion — they clearly had different smells despite similar appearances; then there was the call from his manager, and not to mention-

“Vil, you’re back!” Unlike him, however, you always seemed chipper and cheerful, at least by how excitedly you seemed to greet him. It was odd, considering how you probably shouldn’t be so happy stuck in a mirror, but maybe that was just how you are.

“You know you- oh,” you trailed off, apparently noticing how dreadful he must have looked. Normally he would not have shown his true emotions so blatantly on his features, but he didn’t think you’d mind too much.

Plus, it was a good chance to try something.

“I look terrible, don’t I?” You blinked once, then twice, at the question, and then looked almost as if you were trying to hold back from what you actually wanted to say. Then, with a scrunch in your face, as if you were desperately focused on not sounding too mean, you replied,

“To be honest, a little bit. Your hair is out of place, your eyebrows are furrowed, you...” An awkward laugh escaped your lips as you continued, “you are still beautiful of course, no irritation is going to change that, but… you… you looked better yesterday than today.”

Vil just had to laugh at how intimidated you looked, when really that was the exact answer he was looking for. Oh dear, how adorable was it for you to be so concerned over how he received your words.

Unless you were one of those people who found negativity and messiness beautiful, he doubted you would find him the fairest of them all in this particular scenario. In fact, he was likely more beautiful in that cleaning garb than now — evidence of rising stress levels were unbecoming on anyone, even him. Thus, you actually giving an honest opinion, one that he could believe, as opposed to just another shower of praise, had resulted in him placing more value on you as a person.

“I was wondering whether you truly were telling the truth all this time,” Vil said, not failing to notice the way your eyes widened slightly. He’s not surprised considering he had never really let on that he might have not believed you.

“You might think I just want compliments out of you, but that would make you no better than the barrage of comments I get on MagiCam — I’ll explain what that is later — which while I appreciate my fans, most comments are hardly interpersonal and unwilling to critique me,” He extended a polished nail up to the mirror, pointing at the glass to make sure you really paid attention.

“And because this is a partnership, I expect you to be more honest than you’re forced to be — that is, even when I’m not asking you a question, feel free to state your opinion. That’s how the curse works, right? The stipulation being that I have to ask you a question, but you’re free to lie as you wish elsewhere.”

“Right,” you breathed out, as if unable to say any more, with any less being utter silence, “however… this is a partnership?”

“I suppose we never discussed this formally, but I do believe so. You tell me exactly what I want to hear, and in exchange I offer you the fairest person in Twisted Wonderland as a conversation partner,” he said, and although you laughed he was only half joking, “and, of course, on the off chance I learn anything about your curse, I’ll let you know.”

“Wait, you will actually help me break free from the mirror?” More than looked, you sounded shocked, like you had not even thought that it was possible to break a curse.

“Now I didn’t say I would go out of my way to help you,” In the same way that the headmaster was helping Ramshackle’s prefect find a way back home, though he’d argue he would somehow end up doing even more than him. “However, curses all have something in common — they can’t be cast without having conditions setting it, conditions that can be fulfilled to break the curse. I’m sure there’s something out there to help you out.”

Sure, he wasn’t going to go out of his way, but the offer stood, and somehow that was more than enough for something to shift in you. Heavens, had you really not thought of it before? Was it a situation of lost hope, or a lack of opportunity? Unless it was a curse cast by one of The Seven, he was certain he could aid you if needed be.

“Now it feels as if I am offering too little, not that there’s much I can offer in this state — you would not happen to want my friendship, would you? I am a good listener!”

“That would mean I’d need to tell you my woes and worries in the first place. Do you really expect me to do so? I don’t give that kind of information for free.”

“Not right now, but who can say?” The answer is noncommittal, the likelihood of change hanging above you. “It is good to let the truth out sometimes, sometimes better than keeping it within, and what harm is there in telling a mirror? Who could I go to, who could I tell? Where would I even begin?”

You had a point there.

“Fine, I suppose I could let you in on a secret,” Vil said, smiling at how surprised you looked. So you really didn’t think he would say anything, hm? Of course, the secret was not so interesting a secret, but he had yet to verbalize it, and only to you he would.

“Today was a terrible day.”

He wondered if you would laugh at how silly it was before asking for the details, perhaps whine at how anticlimactic it had been and to tell you a real secret — that was the point of him telling you that, he had no intentions of pouring his deepest and darkest thoughts to you — but even though you smile and your eyes seem to crinkle slightly neither happen. Instead, you say,

“Thank you for telling me.”

Vil’s face is bare, unadorned with makeup. It’s not too big of a deal — makeup enhances his beauty, but he knows how pleasing he is to the eyes even without it — but it’s odd to be seen by someone without it, like a vulnerability he’d rather not expose.

It’s just you, though, and he hadn’t been wearing makeup either the first time you had met him. There was no real reason to have any on in the confines of his room as well, not when he could be putting on cleansers and toners and serums and the sheet mask you screamed at the first time you saw it.

You seemed to like the idea of it though, especially the cucumbers on the eyes.

“It would be nice if I could simply… manifest cucumbers with me, or have you pass me one through the mirror,” you said, wanting and whining, “It seems fun and relaxing.”

“Then add it to the list of things you want to do when you break your curse,” he replied, as if it was an inevitability. Vil honestly wasn’t sure, not when he hardly knew anything about how you ended up in this situation in the first place, but a possibility was worth being optimistic about on your end.

“First, watching a movie in a cinema-”

“-to see your movie in a cinema,” you interjected, and he could not help but laugh at that. The specificity is appreciated, particularly because he knows you’re not saying it just to flatter him.

“Then you’ll have to wait a while for that. I won’t have any for a while,” Unless luck struck and he landed himself a particularly desirable role, but his pessimistic — no, realistic outlook on life and the industry made him doubt that. “You’ll have to settle for the cucumbers.”

“Is it really settling if I desire it?”

He did not answer the question, rhetorical in its nature. He had a question of his own instead, one lingering in the back of his mind.

“Do you…” The question itself was completely valid, that is, if you really wanted some help in breaking your curse, but he could not bring himself to ask it. There must have been some reason you had kept a rather tight lip on any details of your past, and to ask you would mean you would be compelled to spill what could very well be the depths of your soul. With the nature of your curse, it hardly seems fair.

But when has that ever mattered? Fair he may be, but fair he was not.

“Tell me what you can about your curse.”

The wording is not lost on you.

“First and foremost, you must know that I was not exactly a good person,” you said, as though ashamed at the recollection. Vil raised his eyebrow, unaffected and unimpressed.

“Many people are not. In fact, goodness could be subjective rather than objective.”

The students of Night Raven College, as wonderful of friends they could be, were not exactly known to be “good” people to the general populace — and even if they were good deep down to their very cores, their reputations would claim otherwise.

He himself was not known to be good, and how hypocritical would it be for him to count on you being a good person? It was difficult to be good, much more good to everyone, when all that really mattered was that you were good to the people who counted — in this instance, him.

“Yes, well,” you laughed, “I wronged the wrong person… rather, being.”

“Meaning?”

“I was cursed by a fae.”

“A fae!” he exclaimed, before groaning at the thought. Now he was certainly impressed — just what exactly did you do to have a curse to this degree? On one hand you’re certainly not dead, neither have you ever claimed to be in any sort of physical pain, but to be trapped? Either the one who cursed you was incredibly petty, or you had greatly upset them, or both.

“In the first place, to get involved with a fae with enough power to plant this kind of curse…”

“It is a long story,” you replied, clearly unwilling to expound any further. That was fine, he had not posed it as a question purely so you could omit any details you wanted, but it only made him more curious as to how you even found yourself into that kind of entanglement. “Essentially, faes do not like being lied to, and I had to learn the difficult way.”

Oh, now he understood how your curse came to fruition.

“And because you lied a little too much, you wound up in a mirror, cursed to only tell the truth should someone ask you a question,” His conclusion was backed up with a nod of agreement on your part. Dishonesty, a mirror, and some fae you would not talk about — what was the relevance?

“Somehow, I think you got lucky with the conditions. At the very least you’re not forced to say the truth in every sentence,” Vil pointed out. “Thinking about it now, I wonder if you’ve ever lied to me.”

Now that he had more insight into your situation he certainly wouldn’t blame you if you had — self-preservation called for drastic measures, after all.

“I might have exaggerated a few times at first,” you replied, tone indicating some weight had left your shoulders, “but I have yet to lie. Never with you.”

He can’t tell if you’re lying — what would you even look like if you were? — but he chooses to believe it, believes he won’t regret it.

“Then I ask you — who’s the fairest being you have ever seen?”

Vil’s face is bare, unadorned with makeup, but just this once he thinks he might not need it, for he blooms like a flower when you reply —

“It is you.”

He chooses not to comment on it, but you both know he is appreciative — not just of the compliment, but for telling him as much as you had.

“Then, in exchange for your secret, let me tell you some of mine.”

He tells his secrets — still hardly real secrets, more simple things he would prefer not to spill for the sake of his image, but something kept to himself still counts as a secret — secrets told through a whisper, carried through a mirror.

And the mirror will hold your secrets; will learn of his.

It is not out of the ordinary for a Pomefiore student to look into studying up on curses. Pomefiore was known to house students excellent in both potions and curses, the expertise of the Fairest Queen herself, so Vil looking to read up on a few books outside the recommended reading was nothing to bat an eye at.

Or it should not have been, but Diasomnia’s Vice Dorm Leader seemed to think otherwise.

“There’s a faint trace of something on you.”

“What, my perfume?”

“Kufufu, I’m sure you know what I mean,” Lilia said, peering over the stack of books he had intended on borrowing from the library. “Just what is causing you to borrow The Complexities of Curses, Volume 2: Fae, Merfolk, and Other Creatures? Meddling with an artifact, a cursed human?”

“Both. I am both of those things,” he stifled a laugh as you spoke from inside his designer handbag, and then he realized something — it was one thing for Lilia to be able to sense you, but could Lilia perhaps hear you?

“Interesting,” Lilia did not wait for him to reply, smiling in that mischievous, almost all-knowing way of his. “I doubt you want me getting the way, so I’ll leave you to it! Who knows, maybe the answers you seek are easier to find than you may think!”

Before Lilia could fully leave his line of sight he had brought you out of the bag discreetly, giving you a peek of the fae’s retreating form.

“Just making sure, that’s not who cursed you, right?”

“No, he didn’t have black hair,” Then that crossed out Malleus as well, much to his relief. While he did not care too much about finding the perpetrator, the caster was hardly ever essential in curse-breaking, it would be troublesome if he was trying to break a curse cast by someone currently in the vicinity.

“You really do not have to put too much effort in looking for a way to break the curse,” you told him gently, for what might have been the third time today.

“This benefits me too. My signature spell has to do with curses, so any additional knowledge would be of help to me as well,” he replied. To himself he would admit that the main idea was to be of help to you, but the idea of being capable of not only casting curses but breaking them as well was enticing.

“Then just make sure not to rush. Even if you did succeed, what would happen to me? Where would I even go?”

Vil said the first thing that had popped up in his head.

“I’m more than capable of helping you out,” he told you, as if it was the inevitable next step. He had the money, and he was certainly interested in seeing you in some modern clothing, as well as the pampering you seemed intrigued by. He could always use another assistant, and he finds your company was pleasurable enough to the point that he would not mind having you around all the time — you technically already were so he doubted a physical form would change much of anything.

There was the matter of where you would reside, more than complicated if he broke the curse in school grounds as compared to back at home, but-

“Really, do not even think about it unless you plan on being in a new movie!”

“Quiet, we’re still in a library,” he hushed you, and though you had already been tucked back in the depths of his bag he imagined you were sticking your tongue out, maybe rolling your eyes at him. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve been a lot brattier lately? You used to be much nicer before.”

“But you don’t like nice,” you reminded him, “you said you like me best when I am being honest.”

“When I said you should be less conscious of trying to please me, I didn’t think it’d be like this. Sooner or later we might have our first argument,” He flapped a book open, looking through the table of contents. “Now, let me do some research while I have the free time-”

“But Vil,” you whined, “I’m bored… It's dark in here and I am sick of looking at your makeup products. What even is a primer anyway?”

Vil is as used to observing as he is used to being observed, and he knows you’re distracting him from actually diving deep into the pages of the books. He indulges you well enough, partly because talking to you is a joy he can indulge in, but mostly to keep you from complaining. He’s engaged, but not to the point that his full attention is on you.

There’s just something about you — your attitude towards your curse — that has him suspicious enough that he can’t simply shake it off. Since you’re doing so well in being honest, should he not extend that same honesty to you?

“You’re hiding something important. I know you are, and I know it’s something that can help you with your curse,” There was neither elegance nor subtlety in the question, very unlike him in phrasing, but he had figured that bluntness was better suited for the topic at hand.

You went silent, cutting yourself off from whatever it was you were talking about, but Vil was not having it; so he took you — the mirror, that is — out of the bag, staring intently as though you were his reflection.

(Hardly a difference when, these days, he looks at you as often as he does his reflection.)

You would not look at him, and when his fingertips glide atop the glass as a feeble attempt to grab your attention you merely shriveled up, shrinking, shameful, and shy like a touch-me-not.

“You don’t have to tell me, but it would be nice if you let me know if something was wrong.”

“But why?” you responded, “Why does it matter?”

Vil was unsure. He’s neither delusional nor in denial so he’s aware he’s come to care for you, although he’s unsure if it's a particularly good idea to care about someone stuck in a hand mirror, neither is he sure if the term friends applied to situations like yours and his— but yes, despite it all he does care for you.

“Because I want to help you.”

“Vil,” You smiled at him and he had wanted to smile back instinctively, but your reply stopped him from doing so.

“I do not think you will be able to break my curse.”

Vil had numerous ways of destressing, but picking up the hand mirror to talk to you had been his main way of doing so as of late. However, it was difficult to do just that when you were the one causing him distress.

It should not have been a big deal when there were numerous things he did before you came along — getting a massage, online shopping, yoga, lighting some scented candles, and even the rare cheat day were all things he could have done, but instead he found himself staring at the two not-cursed mirrors in his dorm room.

You were ridiculous, Vil thought to himself, because why could he not break your curse? Who else was capable of doing so? Who else would you turn to? What more would he have to do to become someone who could do so?

And not just that, but he had, in fact, caught onto the implication that you did have a clue as to how to possibly break your curse, maybe even knew exactly how to do it yourself! There was just some reason that you refused to tell him, refused to have him try; for the life of him he did not know why.

It was one thing to tell him to take his time with it, that was consideration, and it was one thing to tell him to not do it, that was a request, but it was another to tell him he could not do it. That he was incapable. How dare you imply that he could not do it! Worse, to have him wonder why he would not be enough?

Vil does not pressure you into telling him, not after the first time you told him you did not want to tell him the details, nor does he use your curse against you because he cares for you regardless, but he still seethes at the thought.

Despite there being no confession it feels like a rejection, a call for introspection; he wishes you would tell him what imperfection you saw within so he would no longer have to question.

He had thought the two of you good at communication, one of the best things about the two of you since he had the mirror in his possession, and yet… was he really going to wallow like this? He, who had always been called mature, slumped in dejection like this?

Was he worthy of being Vil Schoenheit if he continued like this?

“You,” Vil does not shout, he does not show his anger, because he is angrier at himself more than at you. Instead, Vil does something he never does — he pleads. “Tell me, please.”

“Why?” you ask. Lately, you ask more questions than he. “Why do you want to help me? You don’t have to help me, I never asked for it.”

“Because you have become dearer to me than should be normal,” he replies, exasperated, and draws himself closer to the mirror, “and it has never been clearer to me that, even with all your delays and denials, you would be far happier out here, curse removed from someone hardly even a sinner.”

You let out a little laugh, expression containing the same smile you had adorned in the library, and although he had thought in mocking in his previous perception, he now knew what it truly was — self-deprecation.

“To have become dear to you is a start, but I cannot tell if it’s enough,” you reply, a little ominously, and though he does not speak, the look in his eyes is pressing enough to get you to continue. “It is never good to lie to faefolk… especially worse to mess with their feelings, to take their love for granted.”

The missing link. That information you hid was all it took for it to click.

“Someone has to fall in love with you,” he guessed, “even with you being in a mirror, even with you being cursed to tell the truth when asked.”

He isn’t surprised of the nature of the curse, fae have been known to craft their curses around love and intimacy of all things, but what he is surprised by is that such a thing had been bestowed to you, how you seem to think you have earned it, and —

“Did you not want to try?” Vil asked, “Did you not want to try to get me to fall in love with you? Did you not say you weren’t a very nice person? Unless I’m wrong, you don’t have to return anyone’s feelings to break the curse.”

“I tried to do that, twice,” you admit, looking the most ashamed he has seen you, “not with you, but two other people who had the mirror before you. I suppose I just gave up at some point; I just wanted to try to be a nice person with you.”

Vil had not even entertained the idea that there would be others before him, but now that he thought of it, it simply made sense. But that begged the question… What happened to the others?

“Did they ever try to break your curse?”

“Yes. The first one actually figured out how to do it. Begged him to help me, and he liked me enough to try,” Which was why you were in no rush to try to figure out how to break it — because you already knew, and you knew, as he was, just like the ones before him, he would not succeed.

“Vil,” It’s your turn to plead with him, “you don’t have to do anything with this information. I told you because I don’t want to force you — I don’t want to force anyone anymore.”

“You—”

“Do not make yourself love me.”

You might not think yourself a good person, but Vil thinks he might be worse than you.

Since learning the full details of your curse, or as much about it as you yourself know, he had been more conscious of you, in the sense that he was actively trying not to fall in love with you, even the slightest degree.

Of course, Vil doesn’t get what he wishes for, because despite you not pulling any stunts and him trying not to entertain the idea, his perception of you changes — he isn’t sure if it’s love, but if it is, it is terrifying.

How does one measure love? Is something that’s only beginning to bloom, neither nectar nor fruits of harvest available for collection, counted as love? Would his feelings be casted aside for not nearly being enough, not something worth writing scripts about, not worth the poetry of the greats?

Ironically, Vil tried to not fall for you simply because he had grown to love you, somehow, someway, maybe not to the point that would be needed to break the curse but it was there.

It is not that he cannot see himself loving you with his entire being, you are a person worth loving, but among all other things it is the uncertainty of the effects thereafter that gives him pause.

One, he attempts to break the curse, and whatever magical conditions were set had decided his feelings were not real enough, then you would end up in some other being’s attic, still stuck in the mirror and as cursed as you had left off. For him, that would mean losing contact with you, likely for good, and for you, it would mean you would have to start over.

Two, say he did attempt to break the curse, and unlike the past two people who had come across the mirror he did manage to succeed… then that simply opened a whole other realm of possibilities. The good thing, the best thing was that you were free from your curse, but where would you end up?

He had talked of still having you around as company, helping you settle into a new time and a new place as if it was a pre-written end goal, but that was easily the best case scenario. As if it was a given, he had fashioned a place for you right by his side. But what if you returned to your original time from some years back? What if you get transported to some other world, just like Ramshackle’s prefect was?

He has his worries, he has his feelings, but he chooses not to keep it to himself for too long; he has learned from the last time to simply share it with you, especially because it had to do with you.

“Truthfully, I am just happy you have come to care for me this much,” He cannot blame you for thinking such a thing, even he thought it had been an odd turn of events, but he supposed odder things have happened to him before, things far more unpleasant. In his time with you, he has felt nothing less than pleasant.

“I am more than grateful for even that much love,” you tell him, “because at least, a small amount that is true is better than immense amounts falsified and forced.”

“I still wish I could love you a little more,” because it gave him more security that he could properly break the curse, because you deserved it, but he knows he could not show you the love you deserved like this. Still, it brings him comfort that you at least feel the same way.

“Right now… you’d easily be my whole world,” you admit, “so I can’t really tell if the love I have for you… I want to try, I want to confirm it, but not like this.”

“But not like this,” he agrees.

Thus, a date is set.

“Vil, if this works…”

“It will work,” he insisted, hoping it would not be wishful thinking on his behalf, “it will work, and then I’ll take you to the movies, and I’ll finally introduce you to my friends and my father, and then-”

“-then we can try this love thing again. Properly this time,” you said, uttering a small laugh to try and break the serious atmosphere. It did not work. “I was pretty lousy at trying to get you to love me, was I not? I know you said I could try, but I just could not-”

“No, you did not have to do anything in particular,” Because Vil never had a moment, nothing like the films the two of you would watch on slower, lazier days. One day he just looked at you and realized he would do anything for the chance to break your curse, even if it meant he might never see you again. “But you’re welcome to try. I think I want to see you try.”

“Then you have to wait for me,” you told him, wishing to share a promise with him “I don’t know where I’ll be in the world, when it’ll be, but I’ll come looking for you. Even if I somehow get thrown back hundreds of years from now, I’ll… I’ll find a way to become immortal! I’ll even go make a deal with-”

“No more getting entangled with fae, please,” he bemoaned, before letting out a huff of laughter.

“Just wait for me,” you repeated, before momentarily looking away, “or, if it’s too much to ask, then just don’t forget about me.”

As if he could ever forget you.

“I’ll wait for you, I will,” Vil promised, “and then I’ll show you just how it feels to carry the affections of the Vil Schoenheit — actor, supermodel,” and occasionally selfish fool.

What is a promise if not a vow, and what are vows exchanged between two people without a sign, a symbol, a gesture to seal everything together.

He is like a narcissus, the flower which kisses the river, and you, the reflection, comes as close as he goes. Two fingers press against the mirror to emulate petals, the shape of lips, and though the glass is cold itself there’s a warmth that it inflicts.

When Vil readies himself to smash the gem, he cannot look at you, but belatedly he will wish he did, for it will be the last time he will see you in a long, long while.

“I’ll see you soon,” Those are your last words to him. Not goodbye, not farewell, for you carried enough hope for both him and you that winter will come to pass and spring will cause the wilting flowers to bloom again.

Crack. When he hears the noise the eyes he had not realized were closed open instantaneously. It had cracked — the heart had not fallen off, but cracked, fractured into several pieces. That had to mean it had worked, that the curse had been broken, and yet… and yet you are nowhere to be seen — not in the mirror, not in the room, and not by his side like he had hoped.

It had worked, and you were gone.

He misses you, yearns for you, faster than he expects.

It is his yearning for you that he cracks the gem, but it is that same yearning that he finds his hand hovering above the pieces, wanting to piece the heart back together. He picks up a piece, but it crumbles immediately, disintegrating at the tips of his fingers — no, he had not expected that it would ever work regardless, but in his shock he looks down and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He never should have tried it — he has never been uglier than at that moment.

There is dust left in your place, as if nothing had really changed when really, everything had.

Vil is an actor, a professional, so it’s easy to pretend that everything’s back to normal, as if you had never existed, because you hadn’t — not to the rest of the world who knew nothing about you, never with he who had never, and for as long as he could help it would never, say anything about you. Maybe a few people had noticed something was off at first, but concerns were quickly forgotten as they had their own troubles to deal with, chalking it up to some vague career frustration on his end that they could never truly understand.

Even if he explained it, he doubted they would understand.

Vil, himself, tried to not spend more than a minute thinking about where you could be, but when he stares at the mirror looking for traces of you he knows it to be an impossible task.

Nothing had even happened, he reasoned, feelings that had barely bloomed and had no time to cultivate, and yet he mourned something that never was, doing so despite not knowing if he should even be allowed to.

How can he properly mourn the disappearance of someone he has never truly seen even once?

Perhaps absence did make the heart grow fonder.

But it had been the right thing to do, Vil would always conclude in the times that he had doubted, maybe not what he would have thought of as the right decision because what did righteousness have to do with anything, but it was what was best for the both of you — both of you had agreed as much.

(Yet he still thinks of the what-ifs. What if you were out there, somewhere in the world and at the same time as him, waiting to be found, even searching for him; consequently, what if you had forgotten him, or returned to the time you originally belonged? What if he spent a little more time with you, and what if he had met you in different circumstances — what would have become of you and him?)

It was okay for the heart to grow fond, but all was said and all was done, what-ifs will stay as what-ifs, and he has to move on. Forcing himself to forget is out of the question, so he allows you to live in the back of his mind, and although he looks at the mirror and fails to find you there, the self-criticism and praise sounds like you in his head, as though you had never left.

In some ways, it’s better this way. He has always been harsh on himself, harsher than he needed to be, but when it’s your voice he imagines the comments are more than pleasant, criticism not hateful, not expected but suggested.

He allows himself to look at the mirror once again — cleans it dutifully so that no dust would ever rest atop it. The crystal that once decorated the antique is gone, but even when it is clear something is missing he feels a little less so just by clasping the handle in his hands.

(It is said that he is often seen with that mirror, tucked somewhere in his bag or even used as an accessory. Nobody bats an eye because it’s Vil Schoenheit, of course he would look at a mirror constantly… but they do find it odd when he murmurs from time to time, as if speaking to it. Nobody has the guts to call him out, though.)

A little later, near the end of his fourth year, Vil gets an offer to star in a movie. It’s not from some director who’s made hit after hit, nor is the franchise particularly popular or known — in fact, he’s surprised his manager even let him know of the offer without rejecting it outright, that is, until he hears the details himself.

Lead. Not just the main character or protagonist, but the hero. A little morally grey by the looks of it, but that aside it was enough to catch his interest. He knows what he’s best at, how he’s usually typecast, but he’s always wanted to play the lead, and you wished it for him too.

When he takes the opportunity it’s primarily for himself, but he would not deny thinking of how you would undoubtedly support the decision, how you would have likely celebrated with him.

At the very least, he hopes you’ll be out there, somewhere, watching him on the big screen like you’ve always wanted to.

And time moves on once again, fast and in a flurry that Vil himself had hardly noticed it.

It’s been a while since he had taken to actually going to a cinema, and a public one at that, but he supposed the nostalgia had gotten to him — when had he last visited the remote island where his alma mater resided?

When had he last seen that poison apple of his, all grown up but still a baby potato in his eyes; the prefect, well adjusted but still getting dragged into trouble; Jack, infinitely taller where even his heels couldn’t compare; even his favorite hunter, who had dragged them all to the movie theatre in the first place?

He looks at the poster, his name being the first name printed out, and he thinks of you again. Even now he carries that mirror, and even now he wonders where you could possibly be. Selfish wishes aside, he just wishes you were safe, and that you were happy.

He wishes he had brought you to the movies just once — even if it wasn’t starring him.

He sighs wistfully, belatedly noticing someone sidling up next to him.

“Excuse me, could you recommend a movie for me to watch?”

He knows that voice, has never forgotten that voice.

Vil is an actor by profession, but it’s difficult to hide the surprise that seeps into his expression. Then again, he doesn’t even bother hiding it, the fact that he was in public and in the company of friends is the farthest thing from his mind.

“You-”

“Perhaps this is silly of me to say, but I have never been to a cinema before to watch a movie, so this is all new for me,” you laughed, and Vil, just to himself, weeps a little — at how your smile is unchanged, if not a little brighter, and at the sheer audacity of how ridiculous it was that you made him wait this long.

Really, you had no shame! Could you not have at least found a way to let him know where you were, that you were in the same timeline, but most of all that you were alive and okay?

“You’ve waited that long?” Exasperation dripped from his voice, but the eyes were the windows to the soul, and nothing could hide the joys, the relief that laid within.

“It is your fault for taking this long to be a part of another movie,” you said, huffing playfully as you directed the blame at him. “And even then, it is so difficult to find you! You have the money between the two of us, you should have been the one looking for me!”

Vil could not help himself then, dropping all pretenses and laughing — at you, at himself, at everything.

Heavens, he had missed you.

“Do you remember our promise?” There were numerous other places he could have brought that up, but the lingering fear of you just disappearing into thin air compelled him to simply speak of it. Eavesdropping friends, if they were trying to do so, be damned — he needed to get something out of his chest now.

“I have never forgotten.”

“Then let’s try again this time,” he tells you quietly.

Maybe things won’t work out this time around again, but he had wanted to give the two of you a chance — to get to know each other better, to catch up with each other’s lives, to see that now that the circumstances were finally right, maybe you two could make lingering feelings flourish into something beyond the two of you.

From dust, you return.

#twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil shoenheit #twst imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #nathya twst writing

934 notes · View notes

jakesullysdreads · 1 year

Text

“I’m Sorry” Kent x fem!reader

Warnings: mention of death, fluff, angst?

Word count: 960

Requested: No

Edited: No

Content: Wednesday character Kent x fem!reader. Reader is a witch. Takes place during and after the Poe Cup

Summary: Reader is nervous for her mans and only wants him safe.

Chewing on her lip, she shook her head. She was standing next to Kent on the dock by the lake waiting for the Nevermore student's canoes to pass by. The signal for Kent to enact Bianca’s sabotage plan.

It’s not that she didn’t like the Poe Cup, she did. She just didn’t enjoy Kent ‘helping’ Bianca that way. It always made her nervous. The girl knew that her boyfriend could pull it off easily. The water is his element more so than those competing. But, it still didn’t ease her as she hoped.

“I can feel you staring. Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She spoke to the male siren.

“You’re nervous,” he stated.

The girl opened her mouth to deny the accusation that came from his lips, but he beat her to it.

“Don’t try to deny it. You're chewing your lip. You only do that when you’re nervous,” the boy turned his body to face hers. “So, what is it?”

She let out a shaky sigh. Her heart hammering in her chest she was sure he could hear it, even without the werewolf hearing that her fellow students had. The pressure in her chest felt like the stones used to press Giles Corey to death in the Salem Witch Trials. She felt as though if she had to endure the pressure and keep her feelings and thoughts about the plan to herself much longer, her tongue would stick out of her mouth much like poor Mr. Corey.

Kent might not be the brightest student at Nevermore, but he has a good heart. His intentions are always in the right place, even when it doesn’t seem like it. He always knows when something is wrong with her and at times, it drives her up a wall. But, she does love him and he loves her.

“I don’t like the plan this year. Not with Wednesday competing with The Black Cats. We don’t know her and what tricks she may have up her sleeve. I don’t want you getting hurt.” She looked into his eyes.

�� He smiled softly and leaned in to place a kiss on her temple. He rested his head on hers and whispered words of affirmation and promises of staying safe into her ear. Moments like these were their favorite, though neither one would ever admit it. Being alone, basking in the energy of one another. Whispers of sweet nothings and physical intimate affection they wouldn’t dare show around others.

They weren’t prudes, they were actually far from it. But they both felt that moments like these needed to be just them and not in front of the eyes of nosey peers. The couple would hold hands and be moderately physically affectionate when around others. Maybe a small kiss here and there but that was the limit.

He pulled away from her and went to the end of the dock right as the canoes started to pass by. He hurriedly took his shirt off, looking back and blowing a kiss to the girl who looked as if she wanted to sink into the deck and become one with it before he dove into the lake.

---

The girl ran from the quad at Nevermore, where she was awaiting her siren friends, to the lake. She waited for 30 minutes before Enid showed up, with Wednesday in reluctant tow, and told her that Kent had been hit in the face by Wednesday when he tried pushing their canoe into a buoy. She glared daggers at Wednesday, nostrils flared, before thanking Enid for letting her know why her friends weren’t there. She knew her glare wasn’t going to intimidate the raven-haired girl, but it made her feel a little better.

Upon coming to the dock, she saw Kent sitting with his legs over the edge. He was buttoning the shirt that was handed to him by his twin, Divina, who wore a sympathetic look on her face. Bianca stood there fuming over the fact they lost.

“So let me get this straight,” the female siren started. “First you got trapped in a net shot at you by The Black Cats. Then as you’re pushing their canoe, a hand swims through the water and punches you in the face. And it wasn’t from anyone above the surface. It was just a hand?”

“I know you think I’m crazy Bianca, but it’s true!” He defended himself.

Divina lightly shook her head at Bianca, a signal that now isn’t the time, before her gaze landed on the girl at the other end of the dock. Her eyes widened before she started rapidly tapping Kent, catching his attention to turn around.

Kent felt his mouth go dry when he saw the person who his twin was freaking out over. He quickly jumped to his feet, rushing to the girl.

“It’s not as bad as it looks!” he hurriedly exclaimed, hoping his girlfriend wouldn’t get too upset over the red and purple-black eye he had acquired.

“You promised you wouldn’t get hurt,” she whispered.

“I know! And I am so sorry! I had no idea it was coming,” he tried to soothe her.

He placed his hands on her cheeks, prepared to wipe the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes. His heart broke with the knowledge that he was the cause of them.

The girl didn’t say anything in response. She wrapped her arms around his torso, her head on his chest, and held him. Kent kissed the top of her head, holding her tighter against him. No words were spoken between the two. They didn’t need to be. Everything that needed to be said was spoken with the way they held one another.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

----

Let me know if you guys would like a part 2!

if it's rusty, not my fault, i haven't written in a long while

58 notes · View notes

egopocalypse · 2 years

Text

A Prisoner’s Dilemma

Whumptober Day 13: “Are you here to break me out?”

Enjoy this tumblr-exclusive sneak peek at the next chapter of A Warden’s Secrets!

Tommy's face lights up in relief.

"Sam!" he says. "Oh, big man, am I glad to see you. Are you planning on getting me out of here? Because honestly, this place is a little claus-tro-pho-bic, if you get what I’m saying, and that’s not really a good place for me to be, Sam. It, ah—it makes my breath all heavy and shit. It’s not fun, like—at all.”

For a long, awkward moment, Sam doesn’t speak. The constrictive heat soaks the clothes under Sam’s armor in sweat and glues them to his skin. His shirt collar clings to his throat, applying pressure that doesn’t fade even as he swallows and fails to figure out what to say.

Tommy, meanwhile, fills the otherwise dead air with his own voice and picks up speed as Sam’s silence continues.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Really, not much to worry about when you’ll get me out soon. Though I didn’t know the Courthouse got an upgrade, Sam. Guess I’m so good they put me in high-class. ‘Course, I could get out myself if I wanted, but this barrier—kinda tacky to have it be netherite, dare I say—it’s kinda keeping me in, which—admittedly—does not make it poggers. It just makes this place look like it’s been fucking built by a prick. A tory, if you will.”

Oh god, Sam has no idea what the heck Tommy’s saying. The kid talks way too fast for him to catch his words, and despite his bombastic energy, there’s a nervous hint to it as Tommy’s eyes constantly flicker between something above Sam’s head and anywhere else, refusing to keep eye contact for a second.

A cold, sinking dread freezes the sweat on Sam’s skin. His trident is still raised, held aloft as his shock turned his limbs to stone. He drops his arm with such a speed that the trident slips from his slick grip, and he barely manages to prevent it from tumbling into the bubbling magma below.

“Tommy,” he starts, but Tommy steamrolls right over.

“Are you my lawyer then, Sam?” he says. “You have to be, if you’re here to see me. Don’t know why you’re here, but I can’t expect Dream would let you in otherwise. But it’s fine; Big Man Sam’s got a plan, right? You’ve got a way to get me out.”

“Tommy—”

Tommy pushes against the barrier and leans as far forward as he can reach. “’Cause let me tell you, Dream? He’s a wrongun, and whatever he’s got on me is a fucking lie, so remember that. Swear to me right now you’ll remember that.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat. God, he wants to believe Tommy, he really does, but there’s more evidence stacked against him than he thinks.

And yet, isn’t this what Sam had hoped for in the first place? Didn’t he argue just last night that whatever happened was a misunderstanding? He wants to know the truth so bad, but with each account—with every witness to Tommy’s crimes—it grows more and more muddled until he can no longer verify the actual order of events.

This is why we need a trial, he thinks. Unfortunately, the only proper lawyer this server has is dead.

In the wake of Sam’s silence, Tommy falters.

“Sam?” he says. “You’re gonna swear it, right? You know Dream’s a wrongun.”

Does he? Sam doesn’t think he knows anything anymore.

Didn’t Dream warn him about this, though? He said that Tommy would be desperate when the potion wore off, but Sam didn’t think it would be this bad. Does he even remember the reasons for his arrest?

“Tommy—”

“Don’t—don’t fucking Tommy me,” Tommy says. “You have to swear it. If not, I’m gonna have a real fucking reason to go to the courthouse. I’ll take a fucking knife and shank you—just stick it in there and wiggle it around a bit, then you’ll have wiggly bits in there and you’ll die.” Tommy grimaces, and from the other side of the lava, the shadows age his face. “I’m friends with Big Law, you know. Give me your com since Dream fucking stole mine or—or destroyed it, and as soon as I call Big Law, he’ll get me off before the trial. He might even put you in prison for dying, like you should be—”

“There isn’t going to be a trial.”

Sam isn’t sure why that statement of all things allows him to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth, but from the way Tommy’s tirade cuts off, it manages to let Sam—the Warden—regain control of the conversation. Now all he has to do is keep it.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Sam,” Tommy says. “I know my hu-man rights. I need a trial.”

“You’ve already been declared guilty,” Sam says. “For the safety of everyone on the server—” including yours, Sam doesn’t say “—it was determined you would stay here in the prison while you carry your sentence out.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy squints against the lava’s glare. “Are you a cop, Sam? Because you’re sounding a lot like one right now. What the fuck am I even in here for?”

Sam’s taken aback. “You mean you don’t know?”

“How the fuck would I know? You never gave me a trial, Sam!”

God, maybe he should’ve waited for Dream. He would’ve had a much easier time explaining everything. Sam’s only had one conversation with Tommy—the prisoner, he has to remember that—and yet he already feels like he’s falling apart at the seams. How is he going to manage this for Tommy’s entire sentence?

Sam retreats into the shell he’s crafted for himself. He’s the Warden now; it’s about time he started acting like it, especially when Dream isn’t here to back him up.

“You’ve been arrested for murder, Tommy,” Sam says, “and the victim can’t testify themselves.”

Tommy’s affronted shock boils into anger. “Murder? Who the fuck do you think I killed? I don’t kill nobody!”

Sam’s chest aches. It’s hard enough trying to talk to Tommy as the Warden, but now he’s lying right to Sam’s face? Maybe if he hadn’t come back from talking to Jack, he’d be a bit more lenient, but Tommy’s completely disregarding the facts.

“I have it on record you’ve killed more than once, actually. The final death is what locked you in here.”

“So what, you’re just gonna listen to them? To Dream?” Tommy’s hands start to shake. “I don’t even get a chance before you lock me in here?”

“It’s not my decision,” Sam says. Surely if he explains, Tommy will understand? “I wanted to, but I was overruled.”

“This isn’t fair, Sam. You know this isn’t fucking fair!”

Shame burns in Sam’s gut. The last time he saw Tommy this pissed, he was fighting and screaming in Tubbo’s face at the Community House. Even though he’s weaponless in the prison (something Sam is suddenly grateful for), what other barbs is Tommy capable of throwing from his cell?

“If I could do something about it, I would,” he says, “but there’s nothing. I can’t.”

Tommy’s shoulders droop. “So you’re just here to what—to fucking mock me? To keep an eye on me or something? Make sure I stay in this—in this fucking place? ’Cause let me tell you what, Sam—” he gestures to the lava “—I don’t think I can leave!”

Of course he can’t. The whole point of Sam’s design was so the prisoner couldn’t leave. He made sure of it and scoured every last inch in search of minuscule cracks in the blocks and details to fix. There is no way Tommy can escape on his own. He needs Sam in order to leave.

So why does Tommy stating it make him sick to his stomach?

Tommy folds his body over the barrier, and for a moment, Sam’s afraid he’ll crawl over it and run straight for the lava.

“Please, Sam,” he whispers, “let me out.”

The Warden’s armor weighs on Sam’s shoulders, rooting him in place like a concrete block despite the Feather Falling etched into the plating. He has a job to do now; he can’t apologize for something the Warden deems right.

He can still care for his ward, however.

“There’s a health pot in the chest,” he offers. “I recommend taking it before—”

A sharp pull yanks at his naval, and his vision swims as the floor rips out from under him.

@seaswalllow @thisisaname-whatahappyname @miishae @shriketrap @sleepypuffpastry @isa-ghost @phantoids @a-humble-narcissus @fear-is-nameless

#whumptober2022 #no.13 #are you here to break me out?#Dream SMP #fic #dsmp fanfiction #tommyinnit #awesamdude #River's Writing #A Warden's Secrets #Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

55 notes · View notes

shesonlylittle · 2 years

Note

since everyone was so great the last time around, I have another writing challenge! (again- no pressure if you don’t want to participate, but don't be afraid to post even if you aren't a fic writer :) write a blurb/share something you've already written about Lexi telling Fez she's pregnant....

Hey Anon! I don’t have the brain capacity to go full fic but please have the outline of how I would write it if I did have the capacity:

They have a few close calls while Lexi’s in college. She’s late, he’s panicking. Not because he doesn’t want kids with her, but because Lexi made this whole Ten Year Plan and he’s taking it very seriously. (She wrote it down, she means business.) Also, he’s already raised a kid and had to do it before he was ready— he doesn’t want that for Lexi.

So Fez plays it pretty close to the vest. Every time she’s late he’s like “we don’ gotta worry till we gotta worry, you feel? couple more days and you’ll take a test, it’ll say yes or it’ll say no. either way we’ll figure it out.” He thinks he’s playing it extremely cool. And he would be! If it weren’t for the fact that every time he gets too stoned or drunk he looks at her, goofy stupid happy, and says “you’d make such a good mom”.

He doesn’t remember. But she does. She remembers every time very distinctly.

So! When Lexi’s out of school and set up with her first steady writing gig maayyybe she gets a little more lax with condoms and birth control and Fez is very 🤔🤫🫡 about it like “I gotta assume she knows what she’s doing… oh captain my captain, you know? Cap says we’re hittin’ it raw tonight, that’s wassup.”

But it takes like… a while. Longer than Lexi thought it might. Which ends up being good because she has a good long while to adjust to the idea of it, to talk with Cassie about it, to want it for herself and not just for Fez, long enough to kind of forget about it and all of her anxiety about being a good parent.

And then she’s late again. She gathers Cassie and Rue and paces back and forth in the little apartment she shares with Fez, awaiting the results. Cassie’s elated, Rue’s dubious about being an auntie but she’s really happy for her friends.

I think Lexi telling Fez is super quiet though. He walks in the door a few hours later and she says she has a surprise. She walks him over to the bathroom, with her hands over his eyes. And she just lets him figure it out looking down at the stick that says ��Pregnant’. (Okay she aaabsolutely went back to the CVS and splurged for the expensive test that just says it and takes it again so that Fez doesn’t have to figure out what the fuck the symbols on the little stick mean.)

The face journey he goes through. My god. Get this man somewhere to sit down, he’s having SUCH an experience. He’s weepy, he’s overwhelmed, he’s elated, he’s so scared because they have four months left in the Ten Year Plan before babies and he doesn’t know how much wiggle room she’s okay with.

But they talk it out quietly on the couch, over pizza and beer (non-alcoholic for Lexi).

They write the new Ten Year Plan together.

#anon asks answered #Fexi imagines

23 notes · View notes

aberrantmood · 2 months

Text

A little bit about me! (That isn't already on my carrd)

🍵 Who am I? Hello! I go by "Leda." I'm a short (5'2", but we'll pretend I'm 5'9", alright?) 19 year old femme stone bottom. And I'm POC; biracial afro latino. WARNING: I'm a multi-paragraph texter. Even this introduction may be a bit longer than others, which is something that some people enjoy more than others. With that in mind, if you aren't willing to read at least my opinions/stances or carrd, you won't have the best time here. 🍵 What's my general "vibe?" I often put my filter on the back burner. Because of my commonly blunt language, specifically when it comes to sexual topics, various friends of mine have become more open. I'm the one they come to if they're unsure of which toy to buy and if they're too scared to order/buy one themselves. I'm the one they come to if they need sexual advice, I'm the one they (specifically my writer friends) come to when they wanna ramble about their OCs sexual preferences and interests. I will absolutely be that same friend towards anyone who decides "Hey, her blog is pretty chill. I'll stick around."

🍵 Why am I on tumblr? To talk about sex and, hopefully, help break the stigma a little bit behind it. I'm hoping my frequent talk about it will help not only others out there feel more open―just as it did with my friends―but at least relieved to know that they aren't alone in any kinks they may have (and that they're completely valid, at that). I actually highly recommend Evie Lupine if you're looking for further and more in-depth kink education. She's asexual, too! Kinky asexuals aren't commonly known of nor talked about, and she plans to break that. So, despite not being asexual myself―she taught me a lot about the asexual spectrum community, and helped me immensely with fighting the common guilt that comes with being kinky. I highly, highly recommend her. I'm also here to spread education about LGBTQ+―specifically us Aromantic Allosexuals, which I am. "Aromantic Allopansexual," to be specific. I don't only post about sex and my sexual identity, though. I also may post about my personal interests/hobbies, which you can find on my carrd. Main topics might be about horror, as I've been a huge fan of it since toddler age.

🍵 What am I into (NSFW wise)? In short, I'm a "pillow princess" submissive. A sub is self-explanatory. For pillow princess though―to me, "pillow princess" means I'm all for receiving oral, but have an uncontrollable repulsion to giving it. I used to beat myself up for that, thanks to the common "give what you get" expectation when it comes to oral, but came to accept it. That I not only can't help my repulsion, but shouldn't "have" to do anything in sex I'm not comfortable with. That it does not make me boring or selfish. To anyone who's similar: I hear you. I understand you. And I promise you, there are many people out there entirely into it. Though I am curious to try out deepthroating a dick or strap-on, as I frequently do in my fantasies―a real dick would have to fit my personal bill of attractive to even want to touch it. As said before, though, there are people entirely into it. Hence, I prefer only sleeping with partners who don't want their own genitals touched. As I'll admit that giving-oral-repulsion guilt still lingers from time to time. But if I'm with a partner who doesn't want their genitals touched in the first place, it really shuts that inner guilt off. (Stone tops, we stand in solidarity). As you can tell, I'm more than open with my insecurities. Please feel free to be on my blog as well. Kink wise and a more in depth list? Here's a document, if you're curious. 🍵 Tags? • #askLeda for my asks and answers. • #nsft for "not safe for tumblr/not safe for work" related posts. Mainly humerous/not so serious posts. • #sexualfantasy for, as it says, posts related to my fantasies. • #aromantic or #aroallo for Aromantic related posts. • #sexualeducation or #ethicalkink for, also, just as it says on the tin. Educational and encouragement, and potential ramblings/rants, of healthy practices when it comes to sex of all kinds. Be it vanilla or kinky. • #toyrec for adult toy recommendations and reviews.

• #Ledastunes for songs I'm either currently listening to on repeat, and/or just wanna recommend. 🍵 Some opinions/stances? • Sex and romance are not inherently bad. While the way that society, at large, interacts with them is flawed (e.g: toxic monogamy/amatonormativity)―completely getting rid of them is far from the solution. • Sex repulsion/aversion is not an excuse for sex negativity. (e.g: "Eww! People have sex?! Y'all are disgusting!") • Children shouldn't be sheltered from the topic of sex. And around teenage years, they should feel comfortable enough to ask you for a toy or advice. If your child grows up fearing you'll be disgusted by them, then I firmly believe you fucked up there. • As kinky and kink positive I am, kink should never be a replacement for therapy. • But with that in mind, kink (especially edgier/violent leaning ones) are far from inherently misogynistic and are a sign you need your head checked. Anti-kinksters and radical feminists tend to have this viewpoint. So, and I say this as respectfully as possible, leave my blog if you fit any of those bills.

• “Virginity” is not medically real. It’s not a medical term, and it’s not based on any scientifical evidence. Instead, virginity is a social and cultural concept that is more important in some cultures and religions than in others. Particularly, purity culture. • Doms using safe words/hand signs/etc is absolutely necessary. The sub isn't the only one in control―both (or all) parties are. Each person in a power play dynamic absolutely deserve, and need, a safe word/hand sign/whatever. Including sadists. Far too many people (especially newcomers) in the BDSM community either aren't aware that doms, too, need check-ins and tap outs. Then once some people/subs do learn about/experience that, they scoff. This all goes for aftercare, too. • You aren't "sex positive" as you may think if you're anti-kink. I don't care if it's for personal reasons (in that case, that's called projection)―if your argument is "I support x because x is better than y" then you actually don't support x, and should maybe reconsider your stances and views. "Oh, have as much sex as you want! That's totally great for you! So long as it doesn't involve any kinks like masochism or anything. That's for brainwashed and gross people who are just inherently harming their mental state or are inherently abusers, haha :)" We've been told that sex is degrading and takes away a person's value one way or another, and we recognize that that's a problematic way of viewing things. But instead of saying "no, that's not true" and instead saying "yeah, it's true, but not under these conditions" and you think you've made it better? Once again, I would highly recommend sitting back and listening to those with different experiences and thoughts. • You aren't supportive of aromantics and "all complex queer identities" until you learn and accept that not every aromantic is asexual. Neither that all aroallos are bi/pan/lesbian/etc―some are heterosexual, yet still absolutely belong in the community. Aromantic, in of itself, is a queer identity. 🍵 QUCK NOTE: Trans women, you are absolutely loved and welcome here, and it will be kept that way. I say that as not only a promise, but a threat towards any transphobes reading. Mark my words, I will not tolerate any hate towards my trans sisters on my fucking blog. 🍵 Rules for asking/interacting: Here.

#introduction #intro post

0 notes

fluffy-critter · 1 year

Text

#crosspost #busybee

0 notes

gatheringbones · 3 years

Text

["At the end of August in 1981, I found myself in a small town in Arkansas, where I knew no Lesbians other than my new lover, Lynn. I wanted it that way. We were living in hiding from my armed and vengeful ex-lover who had abused me for four years and had threatened both of us with deadly harm. This was five years before the publication of Kerry Lobel's ground-breaking book, Naming the Violence: Speaking Out About Lesbian Battering. I knew I had been battered, but I did not understand how deeply I had been injured.

I only knew that I seemed to have saved my life at the cost of my sanity. I jumped at loud and not-so-loud noises. A frown from a stranger could reduce me to tears. I was afraid to bathe if I was alone in the apartment. I relived every word of every fight in relentless flashbacks. I had blocked much of the unbearable pain of the previous four years out of my consciousness at the time, in order to cope with immediate danger. Now that I was "safe" it all came flooding back. To escape, I watched TV compulsively, avoiding anything violent—nature shows were my favorites—and I read science fiction. Having lost faith in women as well as men, I was a serious candidate for a species-change operation.

Luckily, at some point in that bleak winter, I read a magazine article on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) in Vietnam Vets, and I recognized all my symptoms. I had a name for my suffering, and 1 knew I was not "crazy." I'd felt so much guilt and anger towards myself for not being okay, that is, my old self, since I was "free." Now I knew healing would take time and effort, and I gave myself permission to not be normal right away. Also, seeing how much my condition resembled that of war survivors helped break down some of my denial about the hell I'd been through.

Still, I had no guidance on how to recover from PTSD. I followed only the dimmest instincts. First, I began to read accounts by survivors of any serious trauma. These people became my invisible support group. I found myself drawn especially to stories of political prisoners and concentration camp survivors. Although my experience was not like theirs, these were the people I felt would understand how my will had been sapped and my strengths twisted, how the smallest acts of resistance and mere endurance had needed all my wits and courage. Bruno Bettleheim in his chapters called "Behavior in Extreme Situations" (The Informed Heart) finally answered the question I'd put to myself every 44 hour since my escape: "How could I have been so stupid?" He made me realize that under abuse, especially the combination of intermittent threats, unpredictable violence and constant psychological torture, everyone responds differently, but everyone changes fundamentally, and everyone has their breaking point.

One day as I sat reading at the kitchen table, I looked out the window at the small yard beside our duplex apartment, and I began to imagine growing a garden there in the spring. It seemed like a highly improbable idea: the area was very small, steep, bare of everything but gray shale and orange clay, and the house shaded it part of the day. But the notion of a garden took root strongly. For the first time in several years I had something pleasant to anticipate.

I wrangled my landlady's permission to put in a garden. Then I mailed off postcards for seed catalogs. I persuaded an acquaintance who owned a truck to bring me a load of cedar slabs discarded by a local sawmill, and I used these to construct two frames, about four feet by six feet, and two even smaller ones, just three feet by four feet. By this time Lynn and I had saved enough money to buy a very old VW bug, so we drove to a nearby creekbank and filled bushel baskets with rich bottom dirt, which we dumped into the frames to make raised beds about four inches deep.

To supplement the tiny growing space, Lynn scavenged large cans from the cafeteria of the hospital where she worked. I painted them a hopeful green, filled them with soil and placed them along the sidewalk below our porch. Old-timey "Corn-row Beans," originally bred to tolerate the shade of cornfields, grew up strings tied to the roof and bore prolifically.

I didn't have much money from my SSI income to spend on garden gadgets, so I made do. I wove a trellis for my peas from six-pack rings liberated from a liquor store trash bin. (I can testify that this plastic never biodegrades—the pea fence survives to this day.) I got some more bushel baskets from the local grocery, painted them with non-toxic preservative and lined them with garbage bags after snipping a few drainage holes in the bottom. Placed around a small stone patio above the garden, these became containers for large plants.

The garden rewarded me before the first mouthful of early spinach was harvested. It moved me out of the gloomy apartment and into the sunshine, watering can in hand. It motivated me to interact with people and to occasionally risk asking for help. I found out they would usually say yes. My attention was now focused on the future, not the bitter, unchangeable past. At night when the flashbacks threatened to roll, when I dreaded the dreams I might have, I put myself to sleep with 45 detailed plans of my next crop rotation. I found out I could learn a major new skill, a little at a time. I could do things right, even come up with ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible difficulties. And when I did things wrong, plants were most often forgiving. The plants themselves were a tremendous source of inspiration. Talk about survivors! They defied every book written about their needs, often thriving with too little sun, too little water, and too little soil. At the end of a year, I could easily stick my shovel in the dirt up to the hilt, where only four inches of top soil had previously existed; compost and the action of the roots had created friable loam out of shale and clay.

When I experienced failure with gardening, it was never the kind of disaster I'd grown to associate with mistakes. We didn't go hungry, because other crops outstripped our expectations. My lover didn't beat or berate me, but sympathized and helped. The garden was important to us economically, because we'd both lost almost everything we owned in our escape. Luckily, in southern Arkansas, it's possible to garden yearround. The garden gave me precious, desperately needed tastes of success. Disabled, unemployed, I still felt like an important contributor to the household. I even had food to give away sometimes, and that was a delicious feeling.

Gardening was not the only factor in my recovery, but it was an important one. I didn't grow up with abuse, but battering and similar traumas can expand minutes into hours, years into decades, until four years feel like most of a lifetime. At the end of a year and a half of gardening, I no longer felt as if I'd spent the majority of my life in a battering situation. Healing had acquired a new definition for me: I didn't insist on having the old me back; I'd mourned her long and well. I accepted the fact that some injuries are too severe to be made whole, that I might never be the same again. But I began to actually like and trust the me I am now, scars and all. As my garden taught me, I must make do with what I am. I have discovered that my flaws are not fatal and my successes are greater than I'd hoped for. So far I have not gone hungry, and I even have something to offer."]

Amy Edgington, Gaining Ground, from Garden Variety Dykes: Lesbian Traditions In Gardening, Herbooks, 1994

#amy edgington #lesbian literature #terra preta #cw abuse #you are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out

811 notes · View notes

littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

6K notes · View notes

gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Starlit Confession

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: On a camping trip tradition, your friends have got other plans neither you or Sirius are aware of.

Requested by @expelliarmusmyass : “can i request a classic enemies to lovers "there's only one bed" sirius x reader where all the marauders (+lily!) have a sleepover or camping trip of some sorts and lily and remus finally decide they need to get reader and sirius already and plan to get them to sleep in the same room/bed/tent ? thanks !!”

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, mutual pining, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for my first Sirius request!! I absolutely loved everything about it, I hope you enjoy!

July 1979

The breeze swept coolly across your face against the warm summer sun as you stuck your hand outside the window, the air gliding over the back of it. You were headed to the stretch of woods that you’ve all come to know so well, something that was highly anticipated the moment the summer season had begun. Camping. It was something you and your friends had made into tradition without much discussion against it for the last three years. Lily had saved up for the very Volkswagen bus you’d been sitting in, knowing for a fact she’d get more use out of it than a simple small car; she knew her four closest friends were in it for the long haul and that was something that would always remain true.

It was mostly a golden yellow color, near orange, its roof white with a matching tire cover on the front of it between two round headlights. It was adorable, it was perfect, and most importantly it was big enough to fit a boisterous group of friends that surely needed the space. It’d already housed jovial memories that would be cherished for years to come.

You’d each packed up a bag or two, tossed them in the back and set off to the ever familiar place the five of you had found to be the perfect spot. A clearing amongst the woods, a place not far from the waters edge. It looked near enchanting when sunbeams filter through old yet thriving trees, as much as it could be for being a place without the very magic you’ve known all your life. It was perhaps your favorite tradition out of all others that had been created, one that you never failed to look forward to. No matter what’s been going on with any of you, traditions were never missed or forgotten. That was one thing that was constant and one thing would never change.

Another thing that had been just the same was the constant need for Sirius Black to get under your skin. You’d known him ever since you both were fourteen years old, and every day since then had been a battle of who’d been more witty and your three best friends had yet to determine who had been the rightful owner of that title. You were always bickering about something or another, always tossing narrowed stares and scrunched noses, grumbling under breaths and eye rolls. Even despite that, James, Remus and Lily especially had been convinced that there were feelings amongst it all. It hadn’t been too terribly hard for them to jump to that conclusion. They had their suspicions with each and every look Sirius had found himself giving you when your attention was fixed elsewhere. At the very same look you’d cast upon him when he wasn’t looking. They were absent minded actions to you both, and that was all the more reason for them to think there was something there.

It drove the tight knit group absolutely mad to see their two dearest friends love each other without even knowing of that very fact—James found himself far too close on multiple occasions to flat out complaining of the sheer obliviousness between you two. To simply tell them how blind the two of you must be. But each and every time he’d nearly done so it was promptly stopped by a stern Lily Evans who was not to be defied. They felt another day of this was simply not an option, too painful to watch a second more.

Even now, as you sat in the back with the raven haired wizard, the seating arrangement proved to make for an interesting trip. There was a flurry of jests and quips to match them; it was inevitable when he’d taken the seat right next to you, Remus on his other side. It’d been something entirely intentional on Lupin’s part, though the bickering was something to be expected.

First it had been over who was taking up too much of whose space, something accompanied by a lighthearted series of shoves and stifled laughter when you looked away in hopes the other wouldn’t see it. Then it had been when he’d changed the radio from your favorite song to his with a simple twitch of his fingers, a back and forth battle of rock and ABBA that nearly broke the radio, one that nearly drove your friends insane.

But now, Sirius had found himself staring as he so often does, at the way you waved your hand with the breeze, the way said breeze sifted through your hair and the way you sang along with James to the very same ABBA song that’d been on repeat for the past fifteen minutes. He’d reckon your voice far better than that of the brunette behind the wheel. He doesn’t know just why he always finds himself settling his attention upon you every moment he gets the chance. Or maybe he does and just refuses to admit the reasons for it. But there was something about you, there was always something about you to be admired. You were utterly enamoring even when you’ve got your brows scrunched over something entirely because of him. They never seem to stay furrowed for long.

“If you take a picture, it just might last longer,” you suggest with a raised brow and a smile indicative of your teasing, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s just you’ve got a bug in your hair,” he counters quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Your eyes are quick to widen slightly as your hand rises to your head in mild panic, combing your fingers through your hair in a hurry. His laughter was a telltale sign of his deception, that ever so familiar frown pulling down your lips as you swat at his shoulder. “Sirius Black, you’re a pain!”

His laughter was immediate as he caught your wrist from swatting him once more, “I’m not lying! There is something in your hair.”

He releases your arm in favor of reaching upwards, the tips of his fingers pinching the delicate flower petal tangled within your hair. Your words fell silent as his fingertips traveled down to the very end of your hair, a gentle action that had your cheeks staining what must have been an obvious pink as you found yourself looking at the smile on his lips. One that was soft and lopsided, one that grew as he held up the small pink petal before tilting his head at you. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until that moment, hadn’t realized the new found quiet had drawn everyone’s attention.

“Told you so,” he states confidently, blowing away the petal and leaving it to flutter to your feet.

You squinted at him and mimicked his words to quickly move on from dwelling on your burning cheeks, something that brought a different kind of smile to his face mere seconds before you’d ruffled his own hair in retaliation.

“I meant what I said,” you remind him, trying to fight your grin as you watch tangled strands of black hair fall back against his cheeks once more.

“I am so terribly hurt,” he scoffs, placing a hand over his heart in a display of faux offense.

In that moment you settle for shaking your head, biting the inside of your cheek in a pitiful attempt to conceal your smile. A smile so awfully contagious he found himself mirroring it, having lingered on his lips even when you’d looked away from him in favor of looking out of the window. In doing so, you missed the way James had been glancing at you both in the rear view, at the way he shared a knowing grin with Lily, who’d then done so with Remus. It was a moment missed by you both, how could it not be with the way your thoughts had entirely been about each other unbeknownst to you.

It’d been quiet after that, save for the radio and James’ occasional startling outburst of song should a part come on that he’s fond of. It’d been peaceful and upbeat as Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying desperately not to think of how you’d made his stomach twist and flutter with butterflies. It was nothing, that’s what he told himself.

—

The place was just as beautiful and just the same as you’d left it the previous year, the sun still beaming through tall trees and the birds still chirping just as contently as they always do. Upon closer inspection, your initials had been carved in the very same tree, untouched since the five of you had left your mark on it the very first time you found it. Of course, it’d become weathered over time, moss having flourished over the bark, but the engraved letters remain regardless of that very fact.

The fire pit that James and Sirius had made still sat in the center of it all, it’s crumbled stones and charred logs and sticks sitting in a heap within it, waiting to be lit once more. Even the logs circling around it to serve as seats had still sat untouched by anyone else, unmoved from how they were left the previous trip out there.

It was exciting to finally be back there, to finally be out of the car in a place you longed to see again. All was well, except one thing.

“That is absolutely not happening,” you state matter of factly, the twigs snapping beneath your foot as you frown at Lily before narrowing your eyes at Sirius. One look at his smile, just one look, and you return your displeased gaze to the two in question, James making no effort to stifle his laughter at the situation. “No way, that is ridiculous!”

“Lupin must have forgotten to pack a third, Y/n/n,” Lily sympathizes with the softest of frowns to accompany her words, though you hadn’t missed the grin she’d tossed her friend’s way as he scratched the back of his neck and fought his own. “I’m sorry!”

“Then I’ll sleep in the bus with Remus,” you state quickly with a raised brow, crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly as you squint at Sirius’ very obvious grumbling behind you. His reasons for doing it were entirely unknown to you.

“C’mon, Y/n. Pad’s won’t bite,” James chimes in with a laugh, earning a swat to the back of the head from Lily before he protests her actions in return, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his head. “Not very hard, at least.”

You purse your lips at the brunette and glared, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. A smile that quickly faded as you glanced over your shoulder at the little tent that hadn’t stood very tall on the other side of the fire pit. Your heart leapt and raced within your chest at the thought of being so close, lips tugging downward as you looked back at them with a huff.

“I would say I can’t believe you, but I can,” you groan, brushing past them to get to the lake before they could become aware of your smile.

—

The last traces of sunshine were warm against your skin as you sat along the water’s edge with Lily, taking a moment to yourselves away from the utter chaos that came with the trio in the water. It was still a bit too cold to swim in but that’d never stop them from doing just that. Despite the chill that ran through you from it, everything around you had been exactly how it’s always been.

Wildflowers had bloomed just about everywhere you could imagine amongst patches of green and overgrown grass, framing the lake in varying hues of blues, yellows, purples, and pinks. When you sat at just the right angle, the reflection of the sky over the water had been absolutely wondrous, painting the water orange and pink. The ongoing breeze had been sifting through the leaves in the trees, leaving some to fall to the ground in its wake.

It was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t think of just anywhere else you’d rather be in that moment than right where you are. You wouldn’t want to be there with anyone else.

“I think this is our best trip yet,” Lily states, leaning back on her palms as she tips her head back, allowing the sun to sweep across her skin.

“I think so too,” you sigh, letting your eyes fall closed as you hear another aguamenti spell used, followed by a bout of laughter that had a smile pulling at your lips at the sound. Her absence in conversation was sure a sign something was on her mind. It always was without fail.

She hadn’t left you to sit and wonder for too long before she spoke up.

“What do you think about Sirius?” There it is.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the question you anticipated, at the one you hadn’t expected her to wait so long in asked you. A soft huff left your lips as you opened your eyes, brows furrowing as she gave you an expectant look.

“Why do you ask?” You say, the corner of your mouth quirking up at her nosiness.

She shrugs her shoulders as she sits up more, heaps of red hair falling to splay against her back. “Just wondering.”

Her smirk was more than obvious as she looked at you, her smile widening. Lily and Remus had kept an eye on you both for quite a while, they knew that something had been there, it wasn’t that hard for them to figure out. Even if you hadn’t been aware of your own foolish love yourself, they’d certainly picked up on it. Because after every witty remark and every scoff and glare, there was always a smile to follow. After every frown and and nose scrunch as one of you stuck their tongue out at the other, there was always a lingering stare just moments after. Anyone could see that, anyone but to two involved that are far too stubborn and argumentative to realize that.

“Well?” She continues.

“Well what?” You ask, pulling your knees to your chest as you look at her.

“You can’t possibly have nothing to say about him, not after all the banter you do. What do you think of him?” She repeats.

You roll your eyes as you avert your gaze from her, resting your chin on your knees as you look ahead. You mull over your words as a laugh leaves your lips, your head shaking slightly as your eyes fall upon him. He’s got strands of wet black hair stuck to his face, cheeks reddened ever so slightly from the combined heat of the summer sun and the chilliness of the water. His smile was beaming and bright as he tips his head back and laughs at something James had said.

“He’s a pain, Lily,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “He’s a pain.”

She laughed at your words, though she took note of the smile that’d been on your lips as she followed your gaze to the very one in question. She hadn’t failed to notice the smile he had returned to you after having done a double take, an action that was far less subtle than he’d hoped. He couldn’t help it though. Not with the way you’ve got flowers tucked in your hair and the way the sunshine made you glow. But when he found himself looking for what he felt was far too long he’d stuck his tongue out at you, wiggling his fingers before you rolled your eyes.

“Oh really?” She inquires, her smile evident in her voice, laughing when you narrow your eyes only briefly.

You pluck a flower from the ground and hold it under your nose for a moment, twirling its stem as it sat pinched between your fingers. You shook your head once more.

“Yes, really.”

—

The tent was rather average, having danced dangerously on the edge being too small. Every gust of wind, no matter how gentle, had puffed against its very walls, rattling the zippers and the flap of the door until you’d finally closed it completely. You knew for a fact your friends had to have done this on purpose, at this point there was no way they couldn’t have judged by the smiles they’d done a terrible job at hiding.

It was becoming increasingly obvious when you sat around the campfire that evening when Lily sat with James, and when Remus managed to take up the entirety of the log he’d claimed his own. It left you no other option than to sit next to Sirius, his chin in his palm as he hid his taunting smile behind his fingers.

You could tell by the way their gaze fell upon the two of you more often than not, and by the way James had displayed his emotions a little too obviously each and every time Lily had whispered something undoubtedly about the two of you in his ear. By the very way that no matter how much your group of friends could talk and bounce from topic to topic with ease, the conversation would always, without fail wind up circling back to the two of you. You were becoming painfully aware of the plan made by none other than Lily and Remus.

You should have known they’d do something like this; they’ve done it at the spring ball in sixth year. It was the very first time Hogwarts had done something like that, it was magnificent. However, you thought your date had stood you up as you sat with Lily and Remus, the mysterious date they’d set you up with. Said date had finally showed up by the side of James, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head upon realizing just who they’d set you up with. You’d frowned as you danced with him, accompanied by a few laughs when he twirled you, accompanied by a few eye rolls when he said something witty. The night had been far better than it started, but you hadn’t spoken of it since.

They’d done it at Hogsmeade. They’d told everyone to meet at the Three Broomsticks, having diligently reminded everyone to do so. You and Sirius had been the first ones there, having sat awkwardly across from each other as you sipped your butterbeer. It was quiet until the two of you began to bicker over something too trivial to remember, one smiling when the other wasn’t looking. It took about thirty minutes for you to realize that the rest of the group hadn’t been coming, thirty minutes with Sirius Black.

So yes, you should have known better than to think that they wouldn’t do something like this again.

“Sirius?” His only response is a hum in that moment, a rather dismal one at that. “How do you suppose I’ll get any sleep if you keep huffing and puffing? It’s rather hard to ignore, you know.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” he quips, though you could hear the very smile in his words even without seeing him.

You shake your head at that with a huff of your own, but he could see the shake of your shoulders from your stifled laughter that you had fought so hard to keep at bay. No, he most certainly could not know that he’d been making you laugh, that would be absolutely terrible to your cause for he wouldn’t forget that he’d been able to do something other than make you grumble.

It was quiet for a few moments after that, nothing but the crickets singing just outside the little tent and the whisper of the wind in the trees. He hadn’t huffed anymore after that, and you quickly came to realize that it was in fact not the cause of your restlessness, though a part of you already knew that. You knew as you lay in that tent that you hadn’t hated his company, not in the slightest as much as your protests would beg to differ otherwise on the matter.

“Would you really rather spend the night with him than me right now? Remus?” He asks quietly, curious after a little while, and you didn’t miss the small bit of offense in his tone. It was the most subtle of indicators that he’d been jealous. Not terribly so, but it was enough to have your words stick in his mind for a few lingering moments longer than it should. He found himself to be just a little offended, because while he hadn’t expected this to be the sleeping arrangements, he’d hoped maybe you wouldn’t dread it as much as you seemed to have.

“In this particular moment, yes,” you quip softly, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth when you hear his displeased huff. “I might even sleep outside with the bears should you continue being jealous.”

“That is not happening,” he says, quick to add more once he realizes just what you’ve said. “And I am not jealous.”

As much as you two may have bickered near incessantly, as much as it may have seemed as though you couldn’t stand each other, he didn’t want you to do such a thing. It was dangerous after all. He knows a flimsy tent would do little to protect you, he knows you’re more than capable with magic, but he’d much rather prefer you weren’t out of his sight. It was safer that way.

“Who’s to say?”

Your back remains to him as you close your eyes briefly, your grin having gone unseen. It’d always been your personal mission to get under his skin ever since he was just a boy who had made it a point to get under yours, and now that he was nearly twenty your goals were no different. Maybe they weren’t as childish and filled with a certain annoyance as they once had been in the very beginning, but the habit was still very much there.

“Y/n/n, could you be serious just once in your life?” He asks.

“You know,” you start, rolling over to lay on your other side. Your breath hitched upon realizing your closeness, his face mere inches from your own and you nearly lose your train of thought as he’d done the same. But you quickly gathered yourself as you swallowed thickly, a smile gracing your lips. “I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

He rolled his eyes as he moved to lay in his back once more, his smile bright as his hair splays across his pillow and you follow suit. Your heart had still been beating wildly in your chest at the closeness you’d shared just seconds earlier, cheeks flushed a soft shade of crimson as you dare not look over at him. He supposed he’s grateful for that because he’s too caught up in looking at you, that same smile on his lips that he knows shouldn’t be there. One look at him and you’d have days, even weeks worth of material to tease him with. But he can’t help it.

He also can’t help it when he laughs, his eyes squeezing shut. “What is it?”

He shakes his head as he continues, your own curious smile forming in your lips as you turn your head and look at him. “I’ve got that bloody ABBA song stuck in my head.”

Your smile widens and a giggle falls past your lips as you return your gaze to the sky, the mingled laughter between the two of you having been something not uncommon as of late. “Well I’ve got that dreaded AC/DC song stuck in mine.”

“It is not dreaded, it’s a classic,” he defends, scoffing lightly as a lingering chuckle accompanies his words.

“And so is mine,” you counter, just as much defense in your voice as he held in his.

“That is absolutely false.”

“It is absolutely not.”

He responded with a heaving sigh, a smile on his lips despite it but he let you win the argument this time because surely there would be more. There would always be more when the two of you were together, but he feels as though he can hardly count on one hand the amount of times you had argued over something serious.

Your shared laughter had since died down to silence amongst everything else, leaving you know choice but to think of how close the two of you were. To think of the fact that never in a million years did you believe you’d ever share a tent with each other. You will admit, only to yourself, that you hadn’t hated it as much as he may have thought. A part of you had found yourself thinking that maybe you’d even miss him had you not been less than a foot away. You thought that a lot lately, unbeknownst to everyone else, or so you thought.

It was then, as you lay beneath the stars in a tent you’d felt was far too small to house two, that you felt his knuckles brush against your own, the very tips of his fingers soon to follow it. The simple touch felt far more electrifying than you had cared to admit to, especially for a simple accident caused from the sheer closeness of your proximity. To be quite honest, you felt rather foolish with the way your heart had skipped a beat and fluttered relentlessly within your chest.

And it was then that you risk a glance to your left the same way he had risked one to his right, eyes meeting in a gaze that’d been shared for the very same reason. You both looked away from the other almost immediately, smiles pulling at your lips as you focus your attention on the sky. No attempts had been made to move.

“Something funny, Y/n/n?” He asks, humor in his tone that only made you smile more than you felt you should have been.

“Yeah,” you start, a soft laugh leaving your lips as your eyes flutter closed. “Are you desperate to hold my hand?”

The laughter he exhaled was immediate at your words, but not out of mocking. “Love, if I wanted to hold your hand I wouldn’t waste my time brushing my fingers over yours.”

That most certainly was a lie, it was absolutely false. As brave as Sirius Black can be, as bold as he always was, he was nervous to hold your hand. He felt as though he was tempting fate already by the mere nudge of his hand over yours. To him, the thought of being in love was both exhilarating and terrifying all the same. To care deeply for someone was in his nature despite his hardships, though he’ll never ever admit it aloud. He didn’t need to.

Sirius could and would risk his life for his friends without a drop of hesitation, he always would. But the idea of slipping his hand in yours, of telling you just how he felt—it was a feat that proved to be difficult. You, you were terrifyingly wonderful and breathtakingly beautiful. You always have a quip to counter his wit, and you would never hesitate to cast a harmless jinx upon him.

He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to tell you until that very moment, that very day for that matter. With the way you sung that song he swears he dreads every time it plays on the radio. With the way you smiled at him, your cheeks stained a rosy pink when you told him he was a pain. Or the way you’d been beaming as you tucked flowers in your hair with Lily by the lake. He hasn’t known how he made it quite this far without telling you, it was beyond him how he did it.

You weren’t just the girl he’d bicker lightheartedly with on a daily basis over the most trivial of things, always ending in scoffs and eye rolls and narrowed gazes that were more humorous than intended. You weren’t just the one who’d turn his hair every shade of the rainbow given the chance, who could outdo him on the scale of stubborn bravery. You were the girl he found himself following wherever you went, who he found himself thinking of far more often than he told himself he should.

He’s pulled from his thoughts at your soft laughter, turning to lay on his side once more. Before he could ask the reasoning behind it you’d already reached up, your fingers brushing through his hair to grab the lone petal tucked pretty and yellow amongst the strands of black. His gaze never left you, gray and admiring as you tucked his hair behind his ear, the tips of your fingers lingering for just a moment before you pulled them away.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, his breath fanning warmly over your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was soft yet confident, having had enough of the question merely sitting at the edge of his tongue for days, weeks, months on end. It’d made your heart skip a beat, and you were nearly unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Because Sirius Black, the boy who’d never failed to get under your skin, who never failed to make you roll your eyes or purse your lips, the one you’d seemingly loved all along was asking to kiss you.

The grin on your lips was nothing short of an indication that your words would be that of something jesting. “It depends.”

“Do tell, on what?” He inquires, the glow of the moon illuminating the mischief dancing in your eyes.

You moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, your grin widening a fraction the more you look at him. “Just how long has it been that you’ve wanted to ask me that?”

“Who’s to say I’ve ever given it thought before this very moment?” He counters, though he knows he has a million times. You roll your eyes then, tipping your head back only momentarily before looking at him again.

“Could you be serious just once in your life?” You ask, copying his earlier words.

“I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

You shook your head as your hand settled on his cheek, quieting his further mocking as you pressed your lips on his. His laughter sounded softly against your lips, soon dissolving in favor of finally kissing you, of finally doing just what he’d longed to do for an amount of time he’s far too prideful to admit. He found himself smiling when your hair brushed against his skin, at the feel of your nose nudging his own and your fingertips just barely tangling in his hair.

His hand came up to rest over your own, the action soft and distracted as you parted from him only briefly. Brief enough for you to smile against his lips, for your giddy laughter to puff softly against his skin. Fleeting before he kissed you again—once, twice, three times more.

You pulled away completely then, his hand falling from yours as you swipe the pad of your thumb across the dimple in his chin, your cheeks flushed and his lips kiss swollen and pink. He followed after you for just one more, gray eyes sparkling and smile blissful as you lay back on your side.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “bloody hell I do.”

“Sirius Black,” you say, taking your lip between your teeth as you looked at him. “I love you too.”

With that he tugged your hand gently, pulling you back to his lips in a soft yet lingering kiss, one that made your heart pound and another bout of butterflies to flutter in your stomach as he held your hand to his chest. He’d waited too long to ask you just that, wasted too much time bickering over this, that, and the next thing.

“Our friends will never let us hear the end of this, you know,” he murmurs, forehead resting on yours. “They’ll go on for weeks, love.”

“Let them.”

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @ch0colatefr0gs @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

#sirius black #sirius black oneshot #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine

407 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Life Goes On

This if for @buckybarnesplumwhore

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; grieving, funeral, breeding, handcuffs, warnings are not exhaustive so read at your own discretion.

This is dark! Andy Barber x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You volunteer at the local youth center but when one of the kids meets an unfortunate end, you cross paths with his father. No stranger to grief, you try to help him cope but find it a bigger than task that you expected.

Note: When I started writing, I had no plan. When I kept writing, there was still no plan. And then it just all kinda happened.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

It was too sunny for a funeral. A funeral come too soon.

The service was held out in the sun, rows of wooden chairs and a sombre old priest. You never knew if the Barbers were religious but it was easy to find a holy man in Massachusetts, as easy as those early years of settlement found in textbooks.

There were no flowers, only two oblong caskets shrouded in black cloth, the name of each of the dead on silver placards, no pictures, no souvenir of who they were.

It was like Andy was already trying to forget them. He was at the front, the grieving widower and father. You were lost somewhere in the middle with his co-workers, there out of propriety more than empathy, and distant relatives who attended out of courtesy, some passing acquaintances who followed the story in the papers more than out of compassion. It was a spectacle and Andy had done his best from feeding the leering onlookers.

You knew Jacob more than his parents. He was younger than you, almost ten years apart. You knew him from the youth group you volunteered for, the same one you'd been in at his age. He was out of place there, he was from a better neighbourhood than the other kids, they called him the rich brat, and he resented himself more for it than he did them.

His attendance kept his mother happy. He didn't like the individual counseling, he didn't talk, so she put him in the group and he talked there. Sometimes. The kids never went on philosophical monologues but they understood each other and shared what they needed to.

Laurie was always late to pick him up. So he stayed to help stack the chairs and you ended up waiting with him, making sure he wasn't alone in the dark. He hated that at first too, until he realised you weren't on the stoop to council or judge. You were just two people, chatting to pass the time.

Sometimes Andy picked him up. He was friendlier than Laurie. Jacob's mother was always in a rush, even on her way home where there was no deadline. She said thanks, maybe, and drove off as she began to lecture Jacob about how he wore his hat. Andy offered you a ride, every time, as if he had some compulsion to be the good guy, the saviour. You always said no, the bus was a five minute ride to your building, fifteen minutes if you walked.

Now Jacob was dead, his mother too. Another tragedy inflicted upon those least likely. Even death didn't stop the whispers, even that venue, the priest's collar, the Biblical dirges, the grim family man in black did not silence them. It sickened you as the service ended and the people rose in a hushed murmur.

Andy left without talking to anyone. The procession of cars would drive through the streets with flags to mark the grieving on their way to the interment. It was as if Andy was doing what was expected more than what he felt he owed the deceased. He was ever the lawyer, formal and curt.

You followed the grey parade. Not out of obligation but out of genuine regret. Jacob seemed like a lost kid, even in death. The rumours, the accusations, the suspicion, followed him. The people didn't watch the dirt fall from the shovel to see him at peace, they watched it as some grand finale to the great show of the Barbers.

When the metal no longer cut and scattered the soil, the crowd thinned out. You stayed as the diggers packed up. You were sad for Jacob, for Laurie. Andy hadn't been there to see the burial. You couldn't blame him but you were surprised. He just disappeared after the service, apparently done with his part in the play.

You went closer and stared at the new stone that stretched above both plots. Laurie Barber… and her son, Jacob Barber. May they rest. It was as short, as minimal as anything else about the affair. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. You didn't know if Jacob was a bad seed, it wasn't your job to make that call, but he had just been a kid and all that potential was now six feet down.

"Didn't think anyone would stick around," the dark figure stepped up beside you, his steps muted by the grass, "least of all, you."

"I'm sorry, I…" you looked at Andy and then the dirt, "I'll go."

"Wait," he said before you could move, "I thought-- I thought I wanted to be alone for this…" he shoved his hand in his pocket, "but I've been alone since it happened and I'm realising, I'm gonna be alone from here on out."

You didn't say a word. You didn't know what you could say. He'd heard a hundred apologies, a hundred condolences.

"I'm happy someone stayed, that someone cared," he cleared his throat, "thank you."

You nodded and played with the buttons on your cardigan.

"He was too. Happy, you know, that someone cared. I think back now and I realise that you probably saw him more than me. He was always excited to go to the centre but he got in that car and he just… deflated." He shook his head, "maybe this is better. One way or the other, he wanted to get away from me but he never could get away from Laurie. She wouldn't let him go."

He chuckled sardonically but it quickly fizzled in his throat.

"Sorry, I'm rambling…"

"You're processing," you said, "a lot of the kids down at the centre, they lost parents, one way or the other, orphans, fosters… I always told them that they didn't have to make sense because grief never really does."

"Now that makes a lot of sense," he said, "but you shouldn't have to listen to me."

"I shouldn't or you don't think you should say any of it?"

"Hmmm," he hummed, "yeah, maybe."

"I don't get paid to listen to those kids, I just get a time and a place to do so. This isn't different. It's just talking and a lot of that is just figuring things out. Listening is easy, you're doing the hard part."

"Jeez, you come up with this stuff on your own or is there some sort of how-to book?"

You lifted your chin and sucked in your lip. You could tell where Jacob got the bite from.

"Sorry, that was… mean," he said after the silence settled with the dirt, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you said.

"You got somewhere to be?"

"No…" you answered cautiously.

"Do you think you might wanna listen to me a little more? I'll buy you a coffee for the trouble."

"You wanna talk? To me?"

"Better than anyone I do know," he snorted, "they all just give me that dumb look. They pity me, judge me. You don't have to say yes but I started now, if I stop, I'll...stop."

"Coffee?" You glanced over at him, "I'd rather tea."

"I'm sure they got that too," he fiddled with the trim of his pocket, "anytime you wanna bail, let me know."

"If I can handle teen angst, I think I can handle you."

🖤

That afternoon wasted away in the corner of a café. It felt like any other day but for Andy, you knew, it was likely the worst day of his life. Likely a day he wouldn’t forget. You sat patiently until the last of your tea was cold. He didn’t finish his coffee, he hardly even touched it. When you checked the time, he looked down embarrassed.

“It’s late,” he said, “I… I’m sorry for keeping you so long.”

“I didn’t have anything to do. I doubt you did either,” you swept up the paper cup and your purse.

“No, really, I mean, you don’t know me. You knew Jacob and I just sat here and talked your ear off for hours. I--” he looked out the window, “I know that when I go home, the house will still be empty. That’s why I’m here.”

You looked past him as he turned back. You chewed your lip, “Andy, have you looked into counseling yet?”

“It feels… too early for that.”

“Too early?”

“I don’t want to let it go. Don’t want to let them go,” he sucked his hands in his pockets, “if I go, that’s what they’ll tell me to do.”

“No, they’d help you live with it, not forget it,” you said, “but I know, it’s scary. Have you done anything? Read anything?”

“Read?”

“Self-help isn’t for everyone and those dummy books aren’t great I admit, but sometimes a start is better than nothing. What about… a routine? Do you have one?”

“I work, I come home, I sleep, and try not to notice they’re gone,” he shrugged, “and repeat. Lot of overtime.”

“You’re still working?” you went to the door and he followed.

“Well, I talked to you. That’s what I’m going to do about it.”

You stepped out into the evening din and spun to look at him. You crossed your arms and stood across from him on the pavement.

“Well, unfortunately there’s an age limit down at the centre,” you said, “but I could give you a number for an adult group.”

“No, I don’t wanna talk to a group of sad parents and widowers. Just remind me how pathetic I really am,” he scoffed.

“Do you think that what you’re doing right now is better?”

“Do you have a degree in this?” he wondered, “what are you doing down at that youth centre talking to degenerates?”

“I have a certificate that says I’m good at listening, but no, I couldn’t afford a degree,” you dropped your arms, “but, will you come down? Sit in on a session. Just listen… for Jacob? It helped him, I think, after a while?”

“With the kids?”

“Yeah, with the kids,” you said, “maybe it will help you decide.”

“Decide what?”

“If you’re going to keep doing what you're doing; nothing, or if you’re going to try. Trust me, after a while, just sitting there, ignoring it, it gets old and it won’t get better.”

He looked down and stared at his leather shoe as he ground his toe into the pavement, “is that allowed? Am I allowed to do that?”

“I don’t see why not. I have parents sit in all the time.”

“But I’m not-- not anymore,” he gulped.

“You are,” you patted his arm gently, “you always will be.”

“What time?” he raised his head.

“Tuesdays and Thursdays at four-thirty. We do accept late arrivals. Kids come in and out. Usually hang out til seven before I let them go.”

“I think I can make that work,” he exhaled deeply, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For putting up with me.”

You nodded and gave a bittersweet smile, “I miss Jacob too. I might be little more than a glorified babysitter but it means something to me. The kids… they feel like they’re mine sometimes. At least on those two nights a week.”

“Well…” he peered down the street, “you need a ride?”

You chuckled quietly, “you now, I think this time, I do.”

🖤

Andy was early. He took a chair near the wall as the kids flopped on the low sofas and into the colourful armchairs. A government grant had seen an upgrade in the lounge, although the kitchen needed some work as the cooking classes were still short on supplies. Dark circles darkened his eyes and the hairline wrinkles around them added to the hollow effect. He wasn’t sleeping.

You waited for the room to quiet. You greeted the kids and went through the usual ice breaker; one bad thing, one good thing, and one way they could improve the bad. Many of them were reluctant at first, they resisted what they thought were cheesy and inane exercises but they all came around. They were able to voice things that otherwise would be kept to themselves and they were afforded a respectful and often rapt audience.

When you finished, you kept from naming your own three. You looked at Andy.

“I’m sorry, everyone, I’m so forgetful. This is Andy,” you gestured to him, “he’s sitting in with us today. Andy, why don’t you tell us your bad thing, your good thing, and one thing you can do to improve the bad.”

He looked startled but he stood and cleared his throat. He glanced around at the kids and the shadow left his face. “Well, I lost a file, there were free bagels at work, and… I guess I could try to look again tomorrow.”

“Very good,” you smiled, “alright, my turn at last. My bad thing is I spilled tea on my shirt, my good thing is it’s a dark shirt, and my thing to improve is… wear a bib.” You laughed as you audience stay stone faced, “alright, alright, I’ll just be more careful and not run with hot liquids.”

You sat and started with Danica. She was always the most talkative, that encouraged the other kids. Today was no exception and you had to remind her to save some time for everyone else. Erik was next, then Andre, and Shamea. You almost didn’t notice Andy as he stood and sidled against the wall. Not until he was at the door, he looked back darkly and you saw his chest fall heavily. His nostrils flared and he was gone.

You tried not to show your disappointment, tried not to let the kids notice. They were all caught up in the circle and breaking it was never good. Shamea passed the stuffed bunny to Naima and you focused on her. Maybe it was too soon for Andy, you understood that, but you hoped too that he might have found a piece of Jacob there.

Before the kids left, you handed out the coloured markers and they each scribbled down a few words before a high-five. They passed through the open door in pairs and singles, and you bent to add your own note. You tucked the card into your bag and locked up. Jacob was usually the only one to hang around. Not anymore.

You headed out the front door with a wave to Martha at the front desk and took a gulp of the fresh evening air. There was someone sat on the flat stone at the bottom of the broad rail of the stairs. You recognised Andy as you neared, much too big to be a teen.

“I’m sorry,” he dabbed his nose with his sleeve, “I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay in that room.”

“But you’re still here,” you said.

“I didn’t wanna just leave you hanging but… they all remind me of him,” he stood, “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies,” you opened your purse and searched, “I had the kids put this together. Actually, it was Milo’s idea. He didn’t know it was you but he wanted to send it in the mail--”

“What?” he took the card and opened it. He turned so he could read it in the yellow light of the street lamp, “oh my god.”

“Is it too much?”

“No, no,” he ran his thumb over the ink, “it’s…” he closed it and tucked it into his jacket, “the only other thing I’ve got is the bill for the caskets. It’s… amazing. Thank you.”

“Not at all. They always surprise me,” you said, “most of the time, in good ways.”

“You need a ride?” he checked his watch.

“I don’t live far,” you waved him off, “but I always appreciate the offer.”

He nodded and frowned, “and if… if I didn’t want to be alone? Would you grab a burger with me? Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch, I, uh… I guess it couldn’t hurt,” you said.

“You gotta be up early?”

“Nah, not too early.”

“What do you do? I mean, outside of this?” he turned and directed you to his car.

“Data entry,” you sighed, “it’s not very exciting but I work remotely and the pay is decent and I still have time for the kids.”

“It’s a living,” he said as the door locks clicked and you grabbed the handle, “no judgment. Trust me, being a lawyer, it’s really not as glamourous as it seems.”

🖤

Andy’s routine changed. He came around every Thursday and listened. After a few weeks, the kids figured out who he was. They didn’t treat him any differently and even invited him to join in on the teambuilding games you arranged. He wasn’t bad help as you welcomed a few new members from the group home.

That night, you weren’t feeling great. Even the kids hadn’t helped much. You were exhausted and nauseous. You blamed it on the late night shawarma. You said goodbye to the kids and packed up. Andy stacked the chairs without you asking, even when you told him not to.

You leaned heavily on the table and checked your phone before slipping it into your bag. You wiped your forehead and shivered. Some gravol, ginger ale, and sleep would be your indulgence that night.

“You okay?” Andy asked.

“Stomach thing,” you rubbed your middle, “nothing major.”

“You don’t look great,” he said, “well, I don’t mean it like-- are you sure--”

“Oh, gee,” you slid past him and out the door.

You ran to the restroom across the hall and into a stall. You wretched and the acid seared your throat. The bile bubbled in the toilet water and you shuddered. You heaved a few more times and rinsed your mouth in the sink.

Andy was waiting for you in the hall, “let me drive you tonight,” he insisted, “even if it’s just a block away.”

“I can’t even say no,” you grumbled as he handed you your purse.

“What’s wrong? You eat something?”

“I think,” you groaned as he held the door open and the cool air outside chilled the sweat on your neck, “urgh, I hope it’s only that.”

You got to his car and fell heavily into the seat. You slumped against the console as he started the car. He paused as the engine idled and felt your forehead. He nudged you back against the seat and turned his hand to press the back of his fingers to your cheek.

“You got a fever,” he said, “I don’t think it’s food poisoning.”

“Oh, those kids carry bugs like rats,” you muttered, “just take me home, I’ll get over it.”

He pulled out of his spot and you closed your eyes. You leaned against the window, frigid against your forehead and hugged yourself. You dozed off before he even turned out of the lot, the belt keeping you from folding over entirely.

🖤

You woke up between fresh linen. The sunlight was soft in its early hues. It wasn't your bed. You rolled onto your side and your stomach ached from how empty it was. You pushed back the thick duvet, you were sweating. You didn't remember more than the car ride and a few fuzzy glimpses of the bottom of a bucket.

You were cold again and pulled the blanket back. The door was open and Andy filled it as if he'd heard your grumbles. He stood at the bottom of the bed in a pair of plaid pants and a blue tee.

"Why am I here?" You asked.

"You fell asleep. You're sick. I couldn't just leave you outside your building," he said, "how are you feeling?"

"Bad," you replied curtly, "I can go," you sat up, "stop by the pharmacy, go hide in my own bed."

"You should stay here," he insisted, "just until the fever breaks."

"Really… ugh," you moaned as your belly clenched, "Andy, I should--"

"Lay down?" He came around and caught your shoulder, "I used to call in sometimes when Jacob was home sick. When he was a lot younger and… I stir up a man cup of noodles."

"You don't have to--"

"It's completely selfish," he interrupted, "it's been a long time since I had someone to take care of or at least it feels like it."

You were light-headed as you tried to stand but he kept you from getting to your feet, "I guess I can stay a little longer."

"Don't act like I don't owe you," he tutted, "now relax. I'll get you some soup. You need something in your system. I got some anti-nausea pills in the cupboard, too."

"Thanks but you don't owe me anything. I'm gonna owe you big."

"Why don't we just call it even then," he backed up, "seeing as that's my bed and my couch, it's really not made for sleeping." He stretched his arms and his shoulders cracked, "especially at my age."

🖤

You stayed another night. You tried to convince Andy to let you take the couch instead but he was a lawyer and rarely lost an argument. It was easier to eat by the evening but you were still dizzy and you couldn't stop yawning. You'd never been so tired.

Despite your uneasiness at overstaying your welcome, you slept more heavily than before. Your guilt didn't keep you awake for long as you sank into a deep sleep and you woke slowly, a murmur escaping your lips as grogginess weighed you down. You were still so very tired but it was already morning.

You stretched and your wrist caught. You winced and tugged at your arm. You sat up in horror as you stared at the metal cuff attached to the hoop drilled into the headboard. You tugged until your arm hurt and your hand throbbed. What the fuck.

"Andy! Andy! What--"

"Shhhhh," Andy hushed you as he entered, "it's okay, you're okay."

"No, I'm not. What did you do?" You pulled again and the metal pinched your skin.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said calmly.

"Unlock it. Let me go," you struggled as you kicked off the blankets, "Andy, what the fuck?"

"Hey, don't talk like that. It's...nasty."

"I don't understand," you began to pant, "why are you doing this?"

The panic crawled like tendrils up your neck and back. You twisted and pulled but the metal cuff didn't budge. You felt the bed shift and Andy grabbed your shoulder. He forced you down, pinning your other hand beside your head.

"I'm taking care of you," he said, "don't be so ungrateful."

"I can take care of myself. Let me go, please."

"No, you need me," he snarled, "like I need you."

"Andy, you're wrong--"

"Stop!" He covered your mouth, "stop! You don't know what you need. Now be still. Be quiet." He squeezed until your jaw hurt, "don't make this difficult."

He slowly lifted his hand and you didn’t move. You stared at his hand then looked at his face. There was a desperate anger in the depths of his oceanic eyes. He sat back and his jaw clenched as he watched you.

"I'm going to make breakfast. Be good. You need to eat." He backed off the bed and went to the door, "I mean it."

He left you and you listened until pans clinked and clanged in the kitchen below. You folded your thumb against your palm and tried to wiggle free of the cuff. It was too tight. There was only one other way out and you couldn't do it alone.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE PLEASE!" You screamed, "someone help me!"

The footsteps hammered up the stairs and Andy stormed in. He grabbed you and clamped his hand over your mouth again.

"Listen, no one can hear you, you got that? Windows are soundproof, but I really don't want to hear it so it's up to you if I gag you."

You blinked and your lip trembled against his hand. Your eyes rounded and you nodded stiffly. He tore his hand away and sighed as he clapped his hands on his legs in frustration.

"Good," he said quietly, "now, let's just hope," he stood and strode to the door, "that the bacon didn't burn."

🖤

You fell asleep again shortly after eating, even with the adrenaline and panic surging through your veins. You woke again in the afternoon. Your limbs were heavy but the fever was gone and your stomach felt better but you were still terribly tired.

Andy was there. He had a leather file in his lap as he looked over papers and scratched his beard. He sensed your movement and looked over at you.

"Hungry?" He asked, "you slept through lunch."

"No," you smelled your sweat on the duvet, "but… can I have a shower? I haven't...since I got here."

"A shower?" He closed the folder and stood. He set it down and pursed his lips as he thought. "Fifteen minutes," he said as he dug around in his pocket, "I'll be here."

He unlocked the cuff and you rubbed your wrist as you sat up. He stayed close as you rose and stayed between you and the bedroom door as he pointed you to the bathroom.

"I don't have much for you to wear yet but you can take another one of my shirts," he said.

You nodded and closed the door between you. You closed your eyes and pressed yourself to the wind. How was this the same man that you spoke to that day at the cemetery?

🖤

He slept beside you that night. You were on your side, your arm bound again by the cuff with the pillow between it and your head. You were uncomfortable, more so with him against your back. He wore only a pair of boxers. You shied away when he undressed and never looked at him again.

You dozed despite your nerves. You couldn't shake the drowsiness. You just felt more and more tired. When you opened your eyes, his arm was around you. He ran his fingers over your stomach, fingers crawling beneath the baggy tee shirt. You shivered and he nuzzled the back of your neck.

"I was thinking… well, I've been thinking for a while now, how happy we could be," he said, "I'm still young enough to try again, do it right and you… you're young, ready." His hand brushed up to your chest and he cupped your tit, "you're kind, you're caring, you're...beautiful. You’re my second chance."

“Andy,” your voice was brittle as your pulse beat furiously, “what you’re doing, it’s not right. You need to let me go.”

He went rigid and his hand stopped. He unsnaked his arm from around you and the springs coiled as he fell heavily onto his back. In the silence, you could only hear his steady breaths and a low growl.

“No, I’m helping you,” he said, “like you’ve helped me.”

“Andy, please,” you eased onto your back and looked over at him, “this isn’t how you fix this.”

“How do I?” he snarled, “huh? How? You don’t know!” he sat up and glared down at you, “you can’t know.”

“You think hurting me is helping me? That’s what you’re doing.”

“No, no, no,” he bent his legs as he grasped his head and gripped it as if it would crack, “No! I haven’t hurt you. I feed you, I keep you clean, I… I take care of you!”

“Andy,” you reached over shakily and touched his bare shoulder, “this isn’t what I want and I know you don’t want it either. You want someone who really loves you--”

“You love me!” he turned so quickly you yelped. He gripped your jaw tightly as he held himself against you, “you love me,” he pressed his lips to yours and you murmured in surprise, “you love me,” it was a maddened chant as he pulled back, “...love me.”

“And--”

His hand flew up to smother you and he lifted himself over you. His knees pressed to your legs until they parted and his other hand explored your curves through the rumpled cotton. You squeaked and tensed against his touch, your wrist chafing from the cuff.

“Shhh,” he hushed as he pushed the shirt up.

He kept his hand on your mouth as he slid down your body and left a trail of kisses along your torso as he unveiled it. He bunched the tee above your chest and bent to dote on your tits. You shuddered and pushed on his head as you mumbled into his palm.

His fingers tickled along your side and hooked into the side of the drawstring shorts he gave you. He tugged until the string snapped and edged them down as he continued to tend to your chest. You kicked around him and felt his bulge as he leaned into you.

He ripped his hand away and sat up. He grabbed the waist of the shorts and wrenched them down your legs, quickly taking his between them again. You wriggled and batted out at his chest as his thumbs pressed against your hip bones and his hands crept down to knead your thighs.

“I can start again,” he brushed his fingers down your vee and you trembled as they danced along your cunt.

“No, Andy, please, you can still stop--”

“Shhhh, honey,” he pushed between your folds and you gasped, “it’s okay. I’ll still take care of you,” he glided over your cunt and made you twitch, “and the baby.”

He poked along your entrance and you whined helplessly as you reached to the cuff and pulled with both arms. Every muscles in your strained as you tried to break free of the headboard. He pushed a finger inside of you and you cried out.

“Andy, stop, please, no--”

He added another finger and slipped them in and out of you as he purred. You looked at his face and it sent a chill through you. His eyes were dark and clung to the movement of his hand, his brow set and his jaw squared with his intent. He wasn’t the grieving widower, he wasn’t the man lost and lonely, he was a monster.

“That’s it,” he turned his hand and flicked your clit with his thumb, “you want me. I feel it.”

You looked away as your wetness spread to his knuckles and along your folds. He kept his thumb moved as he curled his fingers inside of you and the pressure built as the tip of his touch. You gritted your teeth and shook your head helplessly.

“No,” you whispered, “no, no, no…”

He took his hand away suddenly and you felt empty. He lifted himself on his knees and rolled down his boxers. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t, you only saw the silhouette of his nudity.

He pushed your thighs apart and spread himself over you, his elbow just beside you as he felt around between your bodies. His hot breath grazed your cheek and he kissed it firmly as he angled his tip between your folds. Your thighs clenched around him in a futile act of resistance as he found your entrance.

He pushed inside slowly and brought his other arm up beside you. He forced your head straight and you squeezed your eyes shut. He cradled your head between his hands and his lips brushed yours as he spoke, “open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Andy,” you murmured as he slowly got deeper, “please--”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “look at me!”

Your eyes snapped open and met his stormy blue ones. He bucked his hips and impaled you completely. You exclaimed and grasped his thick bicep in shock, your other hand balled above the cuff. Your legs bent around his thick thighs as you tried to stop him.

“God, you feel so good,” he purred as he began to rock, “don’t I feel good too?”

Your lashes fluttered away the rising tears and you sucked your lip in to keep from making a sound. You could look away as he held your head straight, his hand clamping around your jaw as he other arm bent beneath yours.

The room echoed with the noise of his flesh slapping yours as he sped up, his grunts and groans interlaced with the sickening symphony. You quivered as his pelvis rubbed against yours and stoked the heat in your core. You could not hold back the illicit response of your body as he ravaged it.

Your breath grew heavier and he gulped it down as he kissed you again, forcing his tongue between your lips as he devoured you. The whole bed moved in time with your body and the headboard knocked against the wall as his thrusts came closer and closer together and he buried himself as deep as he could with each tilt of his hips.

He drew his mouth away and pressed his cheek to yours as his muscles tensed and he puffed into the pillow, “this is it, honey. It all starts here.”

“Ah, please…” your voice fizzled and smothered your moan against his shoulder as your body spasmed. Your legs bent around him firmly as you orgasmed and your body arched beneath his desperately.

“That’s it,” he cooed, “that’s it. You take me so well. See… it was meant to… be.”

His breaths grew more rampant with his rhythm. His hand slipped down to cradle your cheek and his thumb stroked your flesh tenderly as he dipped into you over and over. His deep groans grew louder around you. He jerked into you sharply and his motion stuttered. He gripped your hip and held you down as he sheathed himself in your walls.

He quaked as his hips slowed and he flooded you. He exhaled and as his lungs emptied, the strength left him entirely and he lowered himself over you weakly. His body pressed yours into the mattress, your sweat and his turned sticky as the air settled over you.

He stayed like that for what felt like forever. He moved slowly to lift himself up and he sat back, watching his dick slide out of you. Your thighs shook as your legs splayed around him. You felt his cum leak from you and he dragged his fingers along your cunt and scooped it back into you, coating his fingers in as he pushed them past your entrance once more. He smiled at the wet sounds of your cunt.

“That felt like the one,” he said, “but we can try again...”

He pulled his fingers out of you and admired the slickness that glistened over them. He reached down and gripped his dick, half-soft and spent. He winced as he began to stroke himself and let out stifled moans between his teeth.

“Maybe this time,” he purred as he angled himself inside of you again and lifted your legs against his torso. He bit his lips as he trembled, his cock oversensitive and overworked, “as many times as it takes, honey.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #one shot #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #defending jacob

768 notes · View notes

merakiaes · 3 years

Text

Hate You, Hate You Not - Armitage Hux

Pairing: General Armitage Hux x reader

Requested: By anon.

Prompts: #1 & #58 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: (SHOULD I MAKE A PART 2 WITH MORE ROMANCE IN IT?) This ended up being much longer than I planned so it's most likely very boring and dull😭 Might be a bit, if not a lot, out of character since this is kinda my test-run for Hux and Star Wars in general. Getting the characters mannerisms in might take some practice. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This is the first time ever that I write for Star Wars and the first time in like 5-6 months that I’m writing in general so I’m a bit rusty. Please reblog and leave comments to keep my motivation going and let me know if you’d like to be added to a Star Wars taglist <3

Wordcount: 5632

Summary: One of Kylo Ren’s many tantrums results in your room being inhabitable for a night, which in turn results in you having to share a room - and bed - with the person you hate the most.

Everyone who had ever, at some point in their lives, worked alongside Kylo Ren in his quest to bring the Order to power, knew how much of a hassle and inconvenience his temper, or lack thereof, could be.

Not much was needed for him to lose his cool and it happened on a much too frequent basis than what was considered normal for a man in his early 30s, at least according to you.

Of course, however, you couldn’t actually tell him that, nor could you think it, with the risk of him probing your mind.

So every time he came back from a failed mission and completely obliterated your hard work, you could do nothing but bite your tongue, clear your head and repair the damages like you’d done oh, so many times before.

That’s what you got for being one of the highest-ranked engineers of the Order, you supposed.

But on this day you would’ve, for the first time in your life, very much preferred to repair the damages left behind by your tantrum-prone leader like you always did. Because if that punishment had to be compared to the one you were now facing, you would’ve chosen the former without even a shadow of a doubt.

But, unfortunately, that was not an option this time around, as the room that had fallen victim to the sizzling beam of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber was your bedroom.

Well, not originally, of course, but sparks had flown from the totaled control panels and a piece of supposedly fireproof metal scrap had caught on fire before you and the other engineers reached the room for a damage-control, starting of as a small flame and then proceeding to spread like wildfire as fire did, in ways completely unbeknownst to you as, like already mentioned, the place was supposed to be safe from fires.

The licking flames had managed to melt through several walls before you got to the scene, and one of those walls was the wall to your bedroom.

It was late when it happened, only fifteen minutes before you were supposed to end your shift, and as you were on the verge of having a mental fucking breakdown, you personally requested an audience with Kylo and were granted permission by him after a very carefully-worded explanation to start early in the morning.

But that only took care of one of your problems, and only temporarily at that. Now you were left with the issue of finding other sleeping accommodations since your room was currently not habitable. You had no choice but to ask for another room and, of course, Hux thought that to be the perfect time to crack a sarcastic joke about throwing you into one of the prisoner cells.

You had never, in all your years of being alive, glared so fiercely at another human being as you did then. And in your moment of anger, you accidentally let your walls down and let your thoughts run freely through your head – your annoyance directed at the General, but also at Kylo Ren, being exposed.

You felt it before you saw it – that little prickle in your head, that little sting of your mind being probed – and only a second later, Kylo Ren turned his masked head in your direction, walked up to you with patronizingly slow steps and spoke:

“I think you’ll find that General Hux’s quarters will suffice for the night, until repairs can be done to your own. He has more than enough space for both of you.”

He turned his head to look at the baffled man standing behind him, all of the attitude he had previously been harboring against you now completely melted away.

“Isn’t that right, General?” Kylo continued asking, giving him the time he needed to regain his composure.

The general in question had never been very good at holding his tongue, not even when receiving orders from superiors, and was quick to protest.

As anyone would’ve been able to guess, that didn’t go very well, and you weren't even gonna try hiding the satisfaction you got from seeing Hux be force-choked against a wall for speaking out of turn.

No matter how good both of you were at hiding your spiteful thoughts toward him, Kylo knew how much the two of you hated him. And more than anything, he knew how much you hated each other.

Kylo had become very predictable to you during the time you had been there and you knew his ways good enough to know that he wouldn’t have wasted petty energy in putting the two most hateful people he knew in the same room if he hadn’t been pushed to do so.

You knew that you weren’t the reason in this scenario, despite the fact that he had probably felt your spite directed towards him, which only left one option; and that option was the bitter, infuriatingly stubborn ginger currently walking by your side.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and glared, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides in the same manner you had been doing ever since Kylo had ruled his decision final and dismissed you for the night.

His eyes remained trained on the metallic corridor that seemed to be stretched out for miles in front of you and your blood boiled at the sight.

You would’ve lost your shit if he’d had the nerve to even consider looking at you after putting you in this situation, but at the same time, you were also on the verge of losing your shit about him having the audacity to ignore you.

You wanted to scream at him like you’d never screamed at anyone before, but you knew that doing that would only fuel the petty grudge Kylo had against the two of you and give him more ways to cause you torment. The only thing you and the general would ever have in common was not wanting that.

But still, what harm could a tiny bit of friendly banter do?

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Armitage?” The question you’d been sucking on for the past few minutes finally slipped out into the air, making your anger known.

“Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies.” You sarcastically shot back with a dry laugh. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, general?”

“No, it was awfully tempting.” Was all that he replied, his eyes not once flickering and neither his stone-cold scowl nor fast-paced stride faltering.

Well, you might have absolutely despised each other but in the very least, you never bothered lying to each other. That had to count for something, right? Not that either of you cared.

No more words were exchanged, and that was probably for the best. Engineers and stormtroopers all moved out of your way as the two of you marched through the corridors, side by side, knowing better at this point than to get on your bad sides when you were together and this obviously angry both with each other and in general.

Soon enough, you finally reached the corridor in which Hux’s sleeping quarters were located and once the mechanic doors slid open, you pushed yourself past him into the room before he even got the chance to react.

He fumed behind you as he watched you make yourself at home, dropping your dirty jacket on his perfectly made bed.

“You’ll take the floor, then?” You asked as you turned around, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a forced smile.

“Hardly.” He spat, eyes narrowing, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“You must be a real hit with the ladies with those manners.”

At that, he stepped further into his room, allowing the sensory-triggered door to shut behind him, successfully shutting the two of you in together.

“I don’t have time for fooling around with women.” He spat out the last word with such malice that you automatically raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that explains it.” You mused, the corner of your lip tugging upwards ever so slightly.

“Explains what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed further, and this time it was his turn to cross his arms.

“That stick you have up your ass.” You wasted no time in shooting back, and before he got a chance to reply, you continued. “I know this might be news to you seeing as you’re, well, you, but gentlemen are supposed to sacrifice their comfort and offer themselves to take the floor when a lady, due to unfortunate circumstances, is forced to stay in their room.”

You sarcastically smiled at him and sank down his bed, something that he, judging by the snarl overtaking his face, didn’t appreciate.

“You, a lady? That will be the day.” He scoffed. “Even calling you a woman is a stretch with your mannerisms.”

You could only roll your eyes.

“Well, I’m not sharing a bed with you.” The glare that had temporarily been exchanged for a teasing smirk returned to your face. “I’d rather share a bed with Millicent.”

As you said that, you picked up a single strand of cat hair from his bed, held it up for further inspection and raised your lip in disgust.

He stared at you dead serious, hands clasped behind his back and eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

“You’re allergic to cats.” He pointed out, making your head whip back around to face him with a glare equally as fierce as the one you were met with.

“Yes, that’s my point.” You deadpanned. “But it would seem that said point just went right over your thick-skulled head.”

“Do you think I am any happier about this than you are?” He scowled, and you stood up, slowly approaching him and coming to a stop right in front of him.

He took a small step back, a move that made your lip tug upward ever so slightly. The fact that he was so obviously not as tough as he wanted people to believe gave you a special kind of satisfaction and he knew it, judging by the way he only turned stiffer after that.

“You should be.” You smiled sweetly at him, keeping your eyes connected to his. “Because you’re sure as hell lucky I haven’t choked the life out of you yet for getting us into this situation in the first place.”

He glared and you glared right back, challenging, no, daring him to fight back. You knew that he wanted to, you could see that he wanted to, but in the end, not even he was that stupid.

So he said nothing, and once you realized you had finally managed to successfully back him into a corner, you backed away from him again and plastered on another forced, overly sweet smile.

“Now, I need to take a shower. I reek of burnt plastic.” You stated flatly and pushed past him, making a beeline for the one extra door in the room that you could only assume was his bathroom.

You heard the squeak of his shoes rubbing against the floor as he quickly turned around behind you, and then came the determined steps and the proximity of his body closing in on you. However, before he got the chance to object or reach you, you entered his bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face, smiling contently to yourself as you listened to the muffled string of curses that followed.

You didn’t spend any more time thinking about it, though, not wasting any time before doing what you came in there to do.

You got out of your horrid-smelling clothes, released your equally as nasty-smelling hait from its ponytail and stepped into the shower.

If there was one thing you appreciated a little extra about living at the Starkiller Base, it was that everyone used the same scented soap. Because that meant that you wouldn’t have to go around smelling specifically like Hux, but rather just like you always smelled.

Once you finished washing your hair and body, you had to stop and think for a bit.

Your clothes obviously still reeked and needed a proper wash before they could be worn again, and you obviously couldn’t go naked.

After much thought back and forth, you finally settled with your own leggings as they were the one piece of clothing from your previous attire that smelled the least of smoke, and a plain black, long-sleeved undershirt that you found in a pile of Hux’s clean laundry.

Once you vad gotten dressed, braided your hair and re-entered the bedroom accompanied by a stream of steam, you found it to be empty, Hux nowhere in sight.

You couldn’t deny that you wondered where he’d gone off to, but you shook your head free of his face pretty quickly, settling with believing that he just went to take his frustration out on some poor stormtrooper or low-rank intern like he so often did when things didn’t go his way, much like Kylo Ren beat the shit out of any control panel he could get his hands on.

While you awaited his return, you occupied yourself with going around the room and lighting the small night-lamps like you normally did in your own room before going to bed.

That obviously didn’t take long, however, so you were soon enough once again left alone with your boredom and started walking around the room, inspecting all of Hux’s belongings.

You realized pretty quickly that he was not a person to whom inanimate things had much sentimental value, as he definitely didn’t have much to his name aside from the basic interior that all of the sleeping quarters on the base had.

He had a ring on his drawer, a few books in one of his two bookshelves while the other stood empty, a small bed in a corner for his cat, clothes in his wardrobe, and that was pretty much it. He had no pictures of family, no real personal belongings that could signify any kind of emotional value.

But then again, who did in these parts?

“Is that my shirt?”

You jumped when you heard the sudden voice behind you, quickly turning around where you stood twirling the ring you had found in the light of the lamp standing beside you.

Your eyes found his form immediately, shocked meeting stern.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” He almost instantly repeated himself when not getting a reply the first time, slowly beginning to walk in your direction with his hands clasped behind his back.

You quickly put the ring back down on the dresser and turned towards him, regaining your composure.

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, my room and everything in it was burnt to a crisp. The smokey smell on my clothes was giving me a headache and kind of would have ruined the purpose of taking a shower so when I just so conveniently noticed a pile of clean clothes, I helped myself.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, and to you, it wasn’t.

Hux, however, didn’t seem amused in the slightest.

“Yes, you seem to have a habit of thinking you’re entitled to everything you want.” He spat back at you, coming to a stop while there was still a good amount of distance between the two of you.

Any chill you had previously had melted right off and your annoyance quickly returned at the sound of his words.

“Oh, do excuse me. I just thought one headache would be enough.” You retorted and rolled your eyes, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “So, how are we doing this? It’s late and I need to be up early to see to the repairs.”

“I thought that I made myself clear.” Hux was quick to scoff, his glare not faltering for as much as a second. “I’m not giving you my bed.”

Once again, all you could do was roll your eyes. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to suck it up then.” You stated flatly and sat down on the bed, wasting no time in starting to divide the pillows into two piles rather than one.

You took a few seconds to adjust the pillows to suit your needs before looking back up, eyebrow raised at the fact that he had yet to say or do anything.

Your eyes once again met his and you almost laughed out loud at the sight you were faced with, but thankfully managed to control yourself and avoid making the situation even harder than it already was.

Long story short, Hux had never looked more horrified than he did in that moment.

He basically looked at you like you had killed his cat, and that was putting it lightly.

You took a few seconds to just enjoy watching him squirm and silently scramble to make sense of the situation, but even you knew when enough was enough and raised a questioning eyebrow at him in an attempt to get him moving.

“Well? What’s it going to be?” You asked. “It’s either this or the floor, just like it was for me.”

Hux opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He obviously hadn’t been expecting you to actually agree on sharing his bed with him and now that you had, he was left at loss for words as he clearly hadn’t been preparing for anything other than you sleeping on the floor.

But after a good moment of just standing there and looking like an idiot, he finally picked himself back up, squared his shoulders and walked around the bed to the other side with frustrated strides and a snarling lip.

The feigned confidence melted right off, however, when he reached his destination and awkwardly shuffled into bed while simultaneously avoiding your amused and mocking stare, silently grabbing the extra blanket that was folded upon his bedside table.

Both of you laid down on your backs and a heavy silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. The only sound you could hear for a few moments were each other’s breaths and your own heartbeats. For a moment, only for a microscopical moment, you were actually on your way to admit to yourself that it was kind of nice.

But that thought went flying out the window just as quickly as it had knocked on the door of your mind when Hux broke the silence by beginning to adjust himself to get ready to sleep, and in the process of doing so made the active choice to tug the pillows from right under your head.

The back of your head hit the mattress with a soft thump and you closed your eyes, your lips pulling into a straight, tight line and one, sharp breath being released through your nose as you attempted to keep your cool.

You took a moment to calm down, before you turned your head to his side of the bed where he now laid with his back to you and tugged the pillows back – maybe with a little too much force than necessary.

Hux had quickly rolled over to his other side to take them back and in anger and an eagerness to get to sleep, you exclaimed: “Stop stealing the pillows!”

He met you with a stare cold enough to have anyone else shaking in their boots and spat back. “They’re my pillows.”

You grumbled under your breath and let go of one of the two pillows, letting him pull it back to his side while you held on to the last one.

You stared at each other for a moment, both of you eventually coming to a silent, mutual agreement that you were too tired to fight and therefore he'd let you keep the pillow you were holding on to as if your life depended on it.

He, once again, laid down and turned his back to you, his hands holding on to the pillows under his head while you struggled to get comfortable again, this time with only one pillow.

“Why is your bed so damn hard?” You muttered under your breath as you angrily shoved your elbow into the mattress in an attempt to make it more comfortable – as if that was ever going to help.

“Stop complaining.” He only snapped back.

“How could I when I’m stuck in a bed with you?”

“You could’ve asked for other accommodations when you had the chance.”

“And what, be the next victim of Ren’s lightsaber?” You scoffed. “I’m the one in charge of the repairs that are needed every time he throws a wobbly. I’ve seen the kind of damage that thing can do and I’m not in any hurry to find myself at the receiving end of it.”

You muttered the last part under your breath as you finally managed to get relatively comfortable, plopping back down on your back and folding your hands over your stomach.

“How did you know I’m allergic to cats, anyway?” The question spilled out before you could stop yourself, and before you could even register that it was on the way.

Where did that even come from? Cats weren’t even close to being the subject at hand.

Hux didn’t seem to care much about the random change of subject, however, simply muttering back a reply. “You start sniffling and scratching your arms every time you’re in the same room as me for more than five minutes.”

He was clearly tired. Tired in general or just tired of you, you didn’t really know, but you guessed that it was a mixture of both since that was the case for you.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to you.” You muttered back with a shrug, even though he couldn’t see you, and he scoffed at that.

“Had that been the case I’m fairly certain it would go both ways and, unlike you, I don’t go around oozing snot everywhere I go.”

“I don’t go oozing snot everywhere.” You calmly protested, throwing the back of his head a disapproving glare before turning to lay on your side so that your back was now turned to his.

He didn’t say anything else and neither did you, sleep coming in and catching you completely by surprise and having you knocked out within the next two minutes.

When you woke up early that next morning, Hux was unsurprisingly already gone, Millicent instead laying in his place and looking right at you.

With a disgusted snarl and hesitant movements, you reached over to the other side of the bed and awkwardly patted her head twice, probably very much in the incorrect manner as you had no experience whatsoever with animals.

You got out of bed after that, put on your jacket and shoes, and wasted no time in getting to work once you’d gotten some food into your system, your team joining you in the damage-inflicted area to start on repairs like you’d done so many times before.

Everything was going fine and dandy, just a light-reckon day that started off like any other – if you didn’t count waking up in Hux’s bed with his cat – but a few hours into your workday, the unmistakable sound of Kylo Ren’s heavy steps could be heard echoing through the entire corridor you found yourself working in.

A big share of the Order’s pilots had been either killed or badly hurt a few days prior in an ambush. No one had expected any pilots to be needed for at least a few days but Kylo had gotten a sudden lead on the map that would take him to Luke Skywalker and was now walking around the base recruiting anyone capable of helping him get what he wanted.

Unfortunately for you, you were not only a highly-ranked engineer, but also a pretty decent pilot, and couldn’t say anything in protest when you were whisked away to a ship.

As anyone who wasn’t driven by an unhealthy obsession would have been able to guess, the lead was just too good to be true with a way too simple access.

Just like the last lead, this one fell through when it was revealed to be another ambush. You weren’t completely sure what happened, but over the comms, you had heard something about Leia Organa and some scavenger.

You didn’t have time to think about retired war heroes though, no matter how much you’d love to pry and the get in on the gossip, as you had to shoot yourself through a big fleet of Resistance starfighter corps, barely getting through with your ship intact.

Your fellow pilots were shot down one by one, only a small amount of you managing to get out of there. And even then, you were met by more starfighter corps just as quickly as you’d gotten away from the last line.

Everything was just a mess after that. You weren’t able to get through to anyone over the comms, only barely being able to make out a “pull back!” before your comm system was blown to pieces along with one of your main engines.

Along with several other ships, you were forced to crash-land on a small planet filled with thick woods and when your ship collided with the ground, your head slammed into the controls, rendering you unconscious for who knows how long.

By the time you came back to it, you were hanging upside down, the only thing preventing you from falling down being the seatbelt keeping you strapped in.

You struggled to get out of there but you managed, and had to take a moment to get your surroundings to stop spinning before moving forward to look for survivors as well as a ship that wasn’t completely beyond salvation.

You weren’t sure who you’d find, but the person you’d shared a bed with the previous night was definitely the last person you’d expect to have crashed in the same place as you.

And still, you recognized his ship immediately. After all, you were the one who had personalized it to fit his liking.

Lucky for you, his ship seemed to have gotten a pretty soft landing. As you circled around it, you were able to determine that no major engines had been blown out. Damaged? Definitely. But they looked intact enough to at least be able to put some more distance between you and the Resistance pilots and get you to a safer place. Hopefully, the inside would be as untouched as the outside.

The ramp was lowered to the ground but didn’t look broken, so you wasted no time in jogging inside.

The lights were out completely in the entrance area, and just flickering in the ceiling when you came further in.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the piloting pit was that the pilot was not breathing. How could you tell from that far a distance? Well, let’s just say that something that was not supposed to be stuck in his eye, was stuck in his eye.

Upon further inspection, you noticed another body on the floor. However, this one was very much alive.

You would’ve expected to be met by a desperate “help me”, maybe even some begging and pleading or in the very least a “please”, but instead, even when in the process of bleeding out on the floor, Hux narrowed his eyes at you as you approached him and asked you with ragged breaths:

“Is that my shirt?”

You panted as you dropped to your knees at his side, still pretty shaken up from your own crash. “What? No.” You replied in a breath, and you wasted no time in starting to inspect his injuries.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why would I be wearing your shirt?” You asked simply, struggling to see in the dark as the flickering lights weren’t providing much assistance by means of light.

“That’s my shirt.” He kept insisting, and flinched when your hand made contact with his lower abdomen.

Only then did your eyes register the glimmering piece of metal through your blurred and disoriented vision, sticking out of his side.

You flinched at the sight, not needing any more light than you had to know that it was really bad.

Your heart suddenly picked up in speed in your chest, and your hands began shaking as they became covered in his blood.

You had never been in the middle of the action before now, you’d always just been surrounded by metal and electricity. The most exciting thing you’d ever experienced was when a new engineer circuited a control panel the wrong way, resulting in it blowing up right by your workplace.

But it wasn’t the action in itself that had your heart about ready to burst through your chest, nor was it the blood in general, but rather the fact that it was his blood covering your hands.

His life was completely dependent on you at this moment and you had absolutely no idea how to behave accordingly.

But if there was something you knew, it was that the last thing you were supposed to do was to show a dying man your panic, so you took a deep breath and tried your hardest to steady your racing heart, going back to the conversation at hand.

“How could you tell the difference, really?” You asked. “All of our shirts look the same. All black, all equally as sufficient when used to stop blood flows.”

As you said that last part, you released another breath and ripped off a big chunk of the lower part of the shirt you were wearing.

A shirt that was, in fact, Hux's.

The man in question let his head fall back against the wall that he was propped against and his eyes squeezed shut when feeling your hands return to his side.

“Do you always wear shirts several sizes too big?” He managed to get out through clenched teeth and you replied without missing a beat.

“There was a mix-up in the laundry room.”

“So it isn’t your shirt?” He continued to be persistent and despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn’t help but to let a small smile slip.

“Do you want to keep fighting about whether or not this shirt is mine or would you rather maybe, oh, I don’t know, focus on getting the hell out of here?” You asked him lightly and at that, he raised his head to meet your eyes with a distrusting glare.

“Why are you helping me?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, sparing just a second to meet his eyes. “You have a piece of metal stuck in your side, why the hell would I not help you?” You asked and as quickly as you had looked up, you looked back down at your hands to see what you were doing.

“You hate me, and I hate you.” He deadpanned, and you couldn’t deny you felt your heart tug in your chest.

“Who told you I hated you?” You asked, and listened as he let out a dry, struggling laugh.

“You did. On countless occasions.”

He hissed when you accidentally bumped your hand against the piece of metal. You quietly apologized but didn’t stop, knowing you didn’t have much time before the enemy would catch up with you.

“Thinking that I’m entitled to everything I want isn’t the only bad habit I have. I also have a tendency to overexaggerate.” You joked with a smile. “I do find you insufferably infuriating, though.”

Another chuckle left his lips. “Likewise.” He said and dropped his head back against the wall.

You said nothing more, ripping another two pieces off of the shirt, tying them together and wrapping it around his waist like you had the first piece. You tightened this knot significantly more than the first one, though, right above the piece of metal, and just as quickly as he had relaxed, he jerked back forward with a yell.

“I need to stop the bleeding, you need to keep still.” You hurriedly scolded and sternly pushed him back down by his chest.

He muttered bitterly in return, but didn’t protest.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He seethed, and you raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Whenever I’m feeling down, I just think back to the multiple times I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing you being force-thrown across a room by Ren. Puts a smile on my face every time. But that doesn’t automatically mean I want you to die. So stop wallowing in your internalized self-hatred and put your hand over mine.” You told him, trying your hardest to keep a lighthearted attitude, more so for your own sake than his at this point as you were literally about to pass out.

But he did as told, contributing with the strength he had left when you got to your feet and started pulling him up and into one of the seats that were still intact.

He put a trembling hand over yours and in turn, you put your other one over his and pushed down. He hissed and you gave him a moment to adjust, and when you were sure he was pressing hard enough with his own hand, you slowly removed both of yours and fastened his seatbelt.

“Keep pressure and hold on tight. This is most likely going to be a rough ride.” You warned him, and he slowly looked up at you through a mess of ginger hair.

“It can’t be any worse than the ride here.” He retorted and you nodded, taking that as a “go ahead”.

You wasted no time in getting into the pilot’s seat after pulling the previous pilot out, as well as the thick tree branch on which his head had been impaled, and started up the controls. It took a few tries to get out of the hole the ship hade gotten stuck in when crashing, but soon enough you were up in the sky.

With a bit of dumb luck, you eventually reached your destination and got brought back in to the base by your team of fellow engineers, all ready to repair the wrecked ship.

Hux was immediately taken to the medical bay while you stayed behind to help with the ships, and from two ends of the base, the two of you silently and separately came to realize that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate each other as much as you thought, after all.

#hux x reader #hux imagine #hux #armitage hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux imagine #general hux #general hux imagine #general hux x reader #domnhall gleeson #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #kylo ren #knights of ren #the first order

559 notes · View notes