#but it made me think of how men are taught that everything that isn’t entirely catered to them are immediately treated as lesser

[supercalime]

Watching straight men react to red white and royal blue is more mentally taxing than I anticipated

[cozage]

2k followers lets goooo!!! (Proud follower hereee!!!) And ive been wanting to request smth from you for a while now and i think this is the perfect opportunity !! Can u create some hesdcanons for sabo, law, luffy, zoro, and sanji (maybe shanks too?) where the reader wants to leave the crew/organization their in coz of smth from their past, making them have to? They could've already left, about to leave quietly, betrayed them unwillingly etc!!! Do your thing !

^ - ^

Angst to comfort plsss my heart cannot take anymore heartbreaks huhuhu

A/N: just did the captains for now :)

Characters: gn reader x Sabo, Law, Luffy, Shanks Total word count: 1.2k

Blackmail

Sabo

You were gone when Sabo woke up. No note, nothing. But you had knocked out some security guards in your escape off the island. So Sabo set off, trying to figure out where you had gone. He would go to the ends of the earth to find you again if he had to. 

Some people called it denial. Some called it insanity. Some called it pitiful. He didn’t care. He had been called all those things before.

But he knew you. He knew that you wouldn’t betray him. Not like that. He refused to believe everything you two shared wasn’t just an act. 

He chased you for weeks, following your tracks and just barely missing you at several encounters.

He was so close, and he couldn’t help but feel like you were leaving him a trail. You knew how to disappear. The fact that he could find you meant you wanted to be found. 

When he finally found you, curled up in a bed with shackles around your arms as you slept, he knew you were doing everything against your will. The two men who were guarding you were easy enough to take care of, and he woke you up gently. 

“We’re going home,” he whispered, unlocking your cuffs. 

When you realized it was him, you began sobbing, apologizing for all the trouble you had caused. But he refused to accept your apologize-you owed him nothing of the sort. You were safe now, that’s what mattered. 

After you return home and he’s certain you’re safe, he sets off to find the mastermind behind the whole blackmailing situation. He’ll never let anyone ever hurt you again, and those people need to be taught a lesson. 

Law

Your plan was to slip out quietly, in the dead of night. You had snuck sleeping pills into everyone’s drinks, and you were certain they would be out until morning. 

So your heart dropped when the light flicked on as you were stealthing through Law’s office to take your leave. 

“Y/N,” Law’s voice was steady and alert. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.” You refused to look at him. He’d be able to see through you in an instant.

“Is that why you attempted to drug me?” he asked, and you silently cursed yourself. Of course he would notice. “This isn’t like you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said through gritted teeth. “Stay out of it.”

“I know you enough to realize your hands are clenched and your entire body is tight, which means you’re doing something you don’t want to do. I also know you won’t look at me when you’re lying, so you’re obviously hiding something.”

“Just stay out of it, Law.” You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if he got hurt.

He suddenly shambled in front of you, and you couldn’t hide your tear-filled eyes anymore. He stared down at you, slightly disappointed in your lack of trust in him.

“We can figure this out together,” he reminded you. “You’re not alone. And we’re stronger together than we are apart.”

You let out a sob and collapsed into his chest, thankful for his endless love and acceptance, even when you tried to push him away. 

Luffy

Luffy didn’t understand what you meant by “leaving the crew”. Especially since you wrote it on a note.

“We’re all in agreement, right?” he asked his crew. “Y/N needs our help. So we’re going to help.”

Everyone was in instant agreement. A goodbye note wasn’t like you. Even if you did want to leave, they all deserved more than a note. 

Luffy made it his top priority to find you. They scoured the island, searching for hours. But nobody found you.

The next day, Luffy was the first one awake, and he was on the island before Sanji could even make breakfast. He was searching, determined to find you. 

When he finally rounded a corner and made eye contact with you, your eyes widened. “Leave me alone!” you hissed, and then you took off running.

He easily chased after you and tackled you to the ground. “You’re not leaving!” he yelled, pinning your arms to the ground. “Not like that!”

“Luffy!” you hissed. You both needed to be quiet, or he would be seen. “Please go! Just leave.”

“Haven’t you learned?” he asked, his voice breaking. “We’re a family. We solve problems together. You don’t leave notes saying goodbye. Don’t we mean anything to you? Don’t I?”

His big, sad eyes finally made you break down, explaining everything to him and how you couldn’t sail with him due to a problem you had on the island. 

Needless to say, Luffy fixed that problem immediately and had already forgotten about it all by the time the two of you got back to the ship. 

Shanks

“That’s a lot of supplies for a quick run to port.” Shanks’s joking tone was present, but you could hear that his voice held something else.

“Things to sell,” you replied smoothly. If you could get off the boat and away from the crew, then at least they wouldn’t be hurt in the process.

Shanks hummed, clearly not believing you. “Strange of you to sell your most prized possessions, yet leave the emeralds and diamonds we picked up from that other ship.”

“Shanks-”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on.”

You thought about running, but a glimmer from the crow’s nest told you that Yasopp was watching closely. Time to switch to Plan B. “I’m leaving.”

You could feel Shank’s gaze on you, his heart breaking at your words. 

“I don’t like it here anymore,” you said, trying to keep your wits about you. “It’s suffocating. I can’t stand it.” You turned to look at him, mustering all the hatred you could. “I can’t stand any of you.”

You could see Shanks wrestling with your words, trying to decipher truth from lie. You had an excellent poker face, but unfortunately, he knew that as well. 

“Kiss me, then.” Shanks walked toward you, and you stiffened at the thought. “You may be able to lie with your words, but your lips don’t lie when they’re pressed against mine. So let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

“I never want to kiss you aga-” His lips crashed into yours, cutting your words off. 

You tried to pull away, but you couldn’t. Your body simply wouldn’t let you. After a few moments, he pulled away, and you let out a soft whine in protest. 

Shanks grinned, the answer to his question plain as day. He was relieved to know you didn’t actually hate him, but now there was an actual problem to be solved. 

But he didn’t blame you, he blamed whoever put you in this situation. And surely they would pay.

[heliads]

Hi! Could I please request a Nikolai Lantsov x reader where they’re childhood friends that fell out of touch (with mutual pining, no doubt :) but meet up again on the open seas, when he’s tailored as Sturmhond but wants to talk to them as Nikolai? I like the idea of a pirate reader, though I’d love to see where you go with the idea. Thank you so much! Love your work ♥️

the vibes of this request >> let me tell you anon i was THRILLED

masterlist

There was a time when you thought the world could only ever end, that you would live your life start to finish within the same four walls, or at least variations of them. You centered your entire being around insignificant things that could never last long— a wildflower left without water in the dry earth outside your home, a friend you made when you were just a child— and grew consequently hopeless when they all left in turn. 

What do crackling leaves and vanishing golden blond boys have in common, though? They teach you lessons no one else will. Lessons about how if you crave something not given to you, you must take it by force. Lessons about how although everyone leaves, it is far less painful if you are the one shipping out on strange tides. You did your time of learning, and now you push it further still on the bow of a ship you taught yourself to sail and master. 

Few people would expect someone who had once been a well trained Ravkan to trade their entire life for one at sea. Those who know you, though, wouldn’t even bat an eye. You have never been made for cages, and now you break them. It’s as easy as that. 

There were a few times when you wondered if you were making a mistake to cast off all your old ties for this. There had been moments when you swore your precious Ravka held everything you could ever need. There was a family, once, that promised you the world. There was a friend, once, who made you think that you could have it. 

Your childhood has long since disappeared, however, carrying with it parents and their fables as well as blond boys who know too much for their own good. You know what was expected of you, and you hated it. Too terrified of turning into those same people you saw every day, you fled. Let the gilded gates of Ravka wither with rust. You will not be there to see them fall. 

Thus a ship was acquired and a crew was found. It can be difficult to track down men worth trusting in any province, let alone one run by gold-drunk old men, but you make do with what you’ve got, you always have. Convicts and criminals may run with wolves every night, but they’ll protect you in a heartbeat, and rather do it above anything else.

That was where one chapter closed and another began. You’ve been on the seas for a few years now, staying afloat through odd jobs that have a miraculous way of paying you far more than they should. Interest runs high when there’s no one to check you. It would certainly be a shame if your men took more than their fair share from those who have too much money to ever miss it, wouldn’t it?

You’ve gained a name for yourself over these years as well. Among the lighthearted community out there on the sea, few could hope to have half the reputation that crowns your head. There’s one like-minded soul that you wouldn’t mind meeting, but then again, the list of people who’d like to meet Sturmhond could fill an armada. You’ve heard rumors that he’s talked of engaging with you as well, but you can only take those with a grain of stolen salt. Thieves of the sea forge truths as often as false documentation; until you meet the man himself, you’ll never know for sure if he truly wants to know you or not.

Still, when you’re out with your crew one day, heading out of the Ravkan harbor after another successful voyage, it isn’t beyond you to search the endless seas for some sign of another ship. And, when one of your crew stationed up in the crow’s nest for lookout shouts something down about seeing a schooner speeding up towards you, you can’t help a leap in your chest. Everyone’s heard stories about the Volkvony, but fewer still have actually seen it in person or lived to tell the tale.

When you stride over to the side of the deck to get a better look, though, your hopes are confirmed. It is indeed the Wolf of the Waves, Sturmhond’s flagship, and it is indeed approaching you. This close to Ravka, it’s hard to tell if the privateer could actually be gunning for you or just headed towards the coast, but they drop anchor soon enough.

You haven’t done anything to irritate the infamous seaman as far as you’re aware, so this meeting could be merely a passing pleasantry. All the same, you tell your crew to be on high alert. Sturmhond is notorious for narrow escapes and bold moves. It would be just like him to rob a fellow privateer just for the thrill of saying he could do it.

When the redheaded man first steps foot on your deck, however, you do have to wonder if he could truly be here for any nameable crime. His face is harsh, weatherbeaten and rugged as if carved into being by a blade instead of shaped by any Saintly hands, but it still holds a certain something that lends itself well to receiving stares. He takes his time getting a good look at the ship and the crew before he looks at you, so you have the pleasure of studying him before Sturmhond is ever able to consider you.

You take your time in it, too. You have never met the privateer, and would certainly remember it if you did, every detail down to the flamboyant teal frock coat, yet you can’t shake the feeling that something about him is familiar. You find yourself searching his face for some sign of recognition– perhaps a shade of muted green in his eyes that you’ve seen elsewhere, or a lock of copper hair that reminds you of a sailor you’d passed before, but can find no explanation anywhere in your memories.

At first, you think you must be confused, merely trying to delude yourself into thinking that you could have a connection with such a famous master of the seas, and then Sturmhond looks at you at last and you know you’re not making things up. He is careful to keep his face light, his expression sharp yet bright, but for a moment his demeanor slips. There is one half second in which you lock eyes and you swear that he recognizes you, and in that brief infinity, you know that you were wrong to ever doubt yourself.

The instant is over in a heartbeat, and then Sturmhond is back to his usual self. He claps his hands together, announcing for all the world to hear that he had heard of your ship in passing and wished to meet a fellow captain. He’s done this before, you’ve heard of Sturmhond evaluating sea captains to see if they’d fit in well with his fleet, so it’s not unusual for him to pay you this visit.

Still, when his eyes linger on you, you can almost convince yourself that there’s another reason for his presence here, something that he’s not telling you or at least won’t mention in front of the crowds of pirates surrounding him. You nod once and extend a hand towards the captain’s quarters.

“How about we speak somewhere in private? I would welcome any chance to confer with a fellow seaman.”

Sturmhond laughs briskly at the understatement of his title, and strolls over to accept your invitation. He keeps up his air of unconcerned bravado while all eyes on him. It is a different story once the door shuts behind you and the voices of the crew fade into the background.

You take a seat behind your desk and gesture for Sturmhond to relax as well. He makes a show of flicking his coat as he sits to show off rows of pistols, knives, and other weapons, but it doesn’t faze you for a second.

Instead, you steeple your fingers on the table in front of you. “Do you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

The privateer laughs again, and you swear that there’s something familiar in it, some sort of tone that you’ve heard before. “Can’t I just drop in on a friend?”

“We’ve never met before,” you counter, but add on something more when his face drops almost imperceptibly, “or have we?”

“I would hope that I’d make such a fantastic impression that you’d have no choice but to keep vivid memories of me wherever you go,” Sturmhond says pleasantly, “If that’s not the case, I’ll need you to keep that to yourself. I have an image to uphold, you see.”

You nod once, eyebrow raised. “Oh, of course. And how does that image relate to the fact that you’re being Tailored?”

Sturmhond’s face drops in a flash, although he picks up his charade a half second later. Still, even the momentary lapse is enough for you to recognize that you’ve seen straight through him. “I hope that’s your way of saying that I’m so handsome that I have to be the work of a Grisha, but it’s not the case. Many have tried to discredit my natural beauty, but–”

You cut him off with a raised hand. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You look at me like you’ve seen me before. That would only work if you’re wearing a different face than when we met. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You knew me as someone else and you want to see what’s become of me. Tell me, was it before or after I took to the seas?”

Sturmhond waits a second, two, and you’re just about to wonder whether you’ve colossally misread the situation and Sturmhond really isn’t Tailored at all when he sighs. It sounds like the dying breath of a god, all weighty pain and deep grief.

“Before,” he whispers, “long before.”

It is the easiest thing in the world for a pirate to lie; you’re all taught it at a very young age. Still, you know instantly that Sturmhond is telling the truth. You don’t know how you know, you just do. You know him better than you know yourself. It is something only many years of contact would teach you.

“How old were we when we met?” You ask tentatively. Pieces are starting to click together in the back of your mind, memories you haven’t thought about in quite a long time. His face may be changed, but his voice– something about his voice, maybe, his eyes, the way he looks at you–

The corners of Sturmhond’s mouth prick up into a half smile. “I don’t remember. Very young. We knew each other for quite some time too, and then I had to leave suddenly. I don’t even know that I was able to say goodbye. I was–”

You interrupt him again, this time with a shaky laugh. “Blond. You were blond and a prince. Saints, Nikolai, what have you become?”

It is a gamble to say his name like this, out of nowhere with little to no evidence to back it up. All the same, seeing Stumhond– Nikolai– and the way his face lights with some indescribable emotion the second you say his name is how you know you’re right beyond measure.

This is him, then. This is Nikolai Lantsov. This is the childhood friend you worshipped when you were barely knee height, the boy you grew up with until he disappeared one day without a trace. You had met him somewhere you can’t remember, on a street whose name is both the only thing you will ever know and also the first to vanish from your mind when you need it most. Nikolai had been your best friend, your truest friend, and the one whose absence hurt more than any blade when he left.

It makes sense now, of course. Nikolai was a Lantsov above all else. Of course he would be called away from you at some point, he had duties you couldn’t even begin to understand. You heard rumors that he was in the military, or studying in Ketterdam, and then some other grand plan that criminals like you wouldn’t be privy to in a thousand years, no matter how well you knew Ravka’s golden youngest son.

Here he is now, though, wearing a face that isn’t his and smiling at you like he has finally found the one treasure no pirate could ever dream of taking. You look at him, and although every facet of his face is changed, you see him. Nikolai. Your Nikolai.

You can’t help a smile. “What are the odds that we’d both pick this career path?”

Nikolai grins as well. “Surely very small. I didn’t think you’d recognize me this easily, though. I have to say, it’s making me doubt my own appearances, and I prefer to do that as little as possible.”

You chuckle. “I’ve known you for years, Nik, you can’t honestly believe that I wouldn’t see straight through you. What was your plan, then, if I didn’t recognize you? You would sweep up to my ship, engage in some idle chatter, and leave without telling me a thing? Would you really be so cruel as to let me go another few years without knowing that I’d met you again?”

Nikolai’s eyes shine at the nickname. “I didn’t know what my plan was. I had heard stories, but I didn’t dare connect your name with them until I saw you and knew for sure. When my men spotted your sails this morning, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away unless I saw you again. It’s been too long, Y/N. Far too long.”

You nod in agreement. “What will you do with yourself now that you know it’s me? Pack up your things and sail off to another distant corner of the world just like you’ve been doing all this time?”

Your tone holds no malice, only the faintest hint of regret. Losing Nikolai had been like losing yourself when it happened all those years ago, and now you’ve got to say goodbye to him all over again despite just getting him back.

Nikolai, too, seems unwilling to part ways just yet. “We don’t have to separate,” he whispers, “I’m in need of a good captain in my ranks. Someone I can trust more than anyone. That has always been you and you know it.”

You let a small smile slip onto your face. “Are you offering me a job, Sturmhond?”

You emphasize the false name and he rolls his eyes. “Your old friend misses you,” he replies, “isn’t that enough? That and the promise of untold wealth?”

He holds out his hand, and you shake it without a second’s hesitation. “I’d follow you anywhere,” you say simply, “I would hope that you’d know that.”

Nikolai stands, and, crossing around the desk, pulls you into a tight embrace that leaves you breathless. Without his Tailored face hidden in the crook of your neck, you can pretend that nothing has ever changed, that you are both still children growing up on Ravkan shores that have yet to cast you off.

“I don’t want to let you go again,” he says against the top of your head, “I look forward to seeing you fly my colors, moi kapitan.”

You laugh. “Always the flirt, weren’t you?”

“Anything for you,” Nikolai says breezily, and extends a hand towards the door. “Shall we tell your crew of the good news? I’m sure they’ve been waiting long enough.”

You nod, but steal one last moment to stand here and look at him. You have your friend back, your Nikolai, your captain. Nothing could make you happier. At last, you walk to the door of your cabin and push it open. A wave of dazzling sunlight threatens to blind you, and through the rippling light, you see Nikolai by your side. Him and nothing more.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy

[jedimaesteryoda]

Victarion had been sent by Euron to retrieve Daenerys to be his bride, but Victarion has other plans: he intends to marry Daenerys himself and become king not just of the Iron Isles but all of Westeros. Having spent his entire life being the follower serving others from his father to his brothers, and having failed to win the kingsmoot, he now takes the opportunity to become the leader.

"Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen." The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

-ADWD, The Iron Suitor

On wings of song I fly to you, Daenerys, the iron captain thought.

-ADWD, Victarion I

The way Victarion thinks of Daenerys is notably similar to another Westerosi suitor, Quentyn. Quentyn saw himself by his own admission as on “a grand adventure . . . Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren” only for his plan to marry her fall flat. Victarion likewise was sent to retrieve her by his sovereign, and thinks of her as a reward at the end of his long quest. 

It’s seen further in his thoughts on her.

But I shall make the dragon queen mine own. She will share my bed and bear me many mighty sons."

-ADWD, The Iron Suitor

And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow's Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

-ADWD, Vication I

The way he refers to her as “gift” and “prize” shows how before he even meets her, he’s objectifying her. He projects his fantasies onto her as some prize or damsel in distress wanting a big, strong man to come get her to become his trad wife who gives him sons, and just goes along with what he wants without even wondering what she might want. 

He’s missing some clear indicators about the abilities and person of the girl he means to marry that are pointed out by Tyrion:

"I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.”

While the submissive Vicarion was handed the Iron Fleet, Daenerys built nearly everything from the ground up. Daenerys didn’t get her dragons, her army or her city by being meek and submissive, but has shown herself to be strong, smart and resourceful and capable.  

Victarion will find to his dismay when he finally meets her that Daenerys isn’t some meek, submissive damsel but someone just like his niece Asha who is a strong, proud leader (and smarter than him) not willing to subordinate her goals and ambitions to his.

He had seen the wench wed too, but what of it? She would not be the first woman Victarion Greyjoy had made a widow.

-ADWD, The Iron Suitor

But then where does he go from there? The dumb brute’s ideology is constrained by the Old Way which taught him nothing about diplomacy. What happens if she rejects his offer of marriage? Victarion likely will not give up after having come so far, and when in doubt, he would consult the Old Way or ask what Euron might do. 

The Old Way taught him to take things by force, including people. Victarion has taken salt wives before, and he was even willing to kill Dany’s husband Hizdahr just so he could marry her without even taking into account her reaction to such an act, showing a clear lack of regard for her consent. I think should Daenerys make it clear that she won’t marry him freely, it would result in him trying to marry her by force. 

"In the Seven Kingdoms, there are tales of dragons who grew so huge that they could pluck giant krakens from the seas.”

That, of course, won’t end well for him. While “at sea the kraken rules supreme,” in the Dothraki Sea, the dragon reigns supreme. His attempts at courting Daenerys will likely end the same way Quentyn’s did as the dragon Daenerys named in the spirit of the husband who protected her, Drogon, will likely deal with this troublesome suitor.

The deeply misogynistic Victarion who abducted women as salt wives and beat them to death for being raped by his brother, dies at the hands of a woman he tries to take by force. Daenerys herself ends up taking his Iron Fleet after having paid the Iron Price of Victarion.  

Thus is the fate of any Greyjoy who strives for a crown. 

[myreia]

Desiderium

CHAPTER TWO: PROMENADE

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 2,426 Notes: Set during early Endwalker, spoilers for the start of the expac. Summary: After arriving in Old Sharlayan, Aureia wants to see Thancred’s old haunts. He could not be happier to oblige, but his thoughts are occupied by something else entirely. Prompt: ii. hands | blush Chapters: one • two • three • four • five Read on AO3

The snow falls in earnest as they wind their way through the streets, the tall, marbled domes and columns white against the darkened sky. The more she sees, the more confused she is. It doesn’t feel right, this place—a city built of angles and symmetry and mathematical precision, as if it were from a different era, a different age. Its wide plazas and elegant fountains are more suited for a land of temperate weather like Terncliff, not the cold of the far north.

“Did you enjoy your sightseeing today?” he asks. “I’m sure Krile and G’raha were ecstatic to show you the sights.”

“I think I have found my bearings, yes,” she replies. “I didn’t expect to enjoy visiting the Studium, but it was worth it to see Alphinaud get swarmed. Quite the little celebrity, that one.”

“You shouldn’t tease the boy.”

“But he makes it so easy—”

“I think he has become the butt of a joke too many.”

“Alisaie agrees with me.”

“Alisaie is his sister. Of course she agrees with you.”

She blows out a puff of air in mock irritation and takes stock of their surroundings. They’ve climbed higher now and the city stretches out below them, the harbour transitioning into the Agora with precise fluidity. She squints, wondering if she can pick out Urianger’s familiar form walking about somewhere below. “It was good,” she says after a moment. “Hearing the stories, learning about everyone’s favourite haunts… I’d love to see more of them.”

She trails off, her tone more somber than intended. It used to bother her—years ago, when she first joined the Scions of the Seventh Dawn—that her companions were all united not only by their common goals, but by virtue of being Sharlayan. The one thing she couldn’t share in. Now she is here, of course she is reminded of that.

He squeezes her hand.

“It’s nice, I suppose,” she continues. “How recognizable everyone is. I’m glad they’ve been able to reconnect, truly.”

“Aye. But…?”

She shrugs. “It’s not important. I was wondering… Y’shtola and G’raha and even Urianger have been recognized right away. But you haven’t.”

“Ah. But I have.”

“When?”

“You haven’t been paying attention—”

She makes a face.

“—or you haven’t known what to look for. You do recall what I am an Archon of?”

“Even if I happened to forget—an impossibility at this point—you would remind me.”

“My master’s pupils will have no doubt spotted me immediately, even if they have not made their presence known. I am sure I will hear from them when they are ready. Or if I choose to seek them out myself.”

“Your master?”

“The man who taught me everything I know. Louisoix left me in his care.”

“I see.” This is the first she is hearing of it. Alphinaud and Alisaie’s grandfather was a great man, of that she has no doubt, but even great men have their flaws. Thancred still considers him his mentor, but to know that he was plucked from Limsa Lominsa, taken to another city and unloaded onto another… She isn’t sure how she feels about it. The topic of Louisoix is already difficult to broach, and a part of Thancred still idolizes him. They may never be ready to discuss him honestly. “Do you… want to see him?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Of course! Whyever would I not?”

“I don’t know, you’ve never spoken of him. I was imagining someone like Matoya.”

“Seven hells, no. No one is like Matoya save Matoya herself—though I imagine Y’shtola may give her a run for her gil when she reaches the appropriate age. No, my master… He’s reclusive. Never been one to express himself well in person, especially when it comes to heartfelt sentiments. No doubt he knows I am here, but should I wish to see him I will have to solve a manner of riddles or some other nonsense to uncover a letter before he vanishes into the night. Though you should know he’s been known to disguise himself as everything from a gleaner to a painter to mysterious maidens. Any person we pass could be him and we would never know it.”

She sighs heavily. “…why am I not surprised?”

They press on, wandering higher and higher. The crowds fade the further they walk, the paths emptying until they are well and truly alone. It seems at this time of evening the city finds itself either down by the harbour, in their homes, or at the Studium.

“I did a pass through the city while you were occupied,” Thancred says, his tone turning grim. “Strange to see it abuzz with news that is not what newfound artefacts of interest the gleaners have brought back or what research is being pioneered or what debates are fresh in the Rostra. I suppose it’s human nature for curiosity to be piqued by idle gossip, but there is far too much focus on the twins’ disownment for my liking.”

“You knew people would talk.”

“That is not what concerns me. It is the focus on this and only this. It shines too bright of a light on the twins, and with the twins in our company it will make our movements all the more challenging…” He lets out an irritated sigh. “Do not ask me to understand the mind of a man like Fourchenault—gods know I never have and I never will—but Twelve damn him for this. Damn the Forum and damn their absurdity.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I appreciate your optimism. One of us needs it.”

“And if we don’t, I’m sure I can come up with a few alternatives. How good are you at hiding bodies?”

He gives her a look. “Though I am inclined to agree with you, I certainly hope you are joking. You… are joking, yes?”

She pats his arm. “Don’t worry. I’m not contemplating murder. The assassination of a high-ranking member of a neutral nation is firmly off the table. Though I wouldn’t say no to punching that man in the face.”

“I assure you he deserves it. I’ve been itching to do the same since I was eight years old. Had a beautiful chance once but did not take it on account of not wanting to explain to Louisoix why the scrappy former street urchin was brawling with his delicate son.” He pauses, his lower lip curling. “What Ameliance sees in him I will never understand.”

Ameliance… The twins’ mother. She should have remembered that. Fourchenault mentioned her by name during their meeting in Gridania, but to Alphinaud and Alisaie she is simply called “Mother”. Admittedly, she is curious about her. The affection with which the twins discuss her rubs oddly against the way their father has treated them.

“What is she like?” she asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “Ameliance? A delight, if I’m quite honest. Bright and witty and fearlessly clever. I would caution getting on the wrong side of her.”

“Seems you admire her quite a bit.”

“I did. And I still do, I suppose.”

She chews her lower lip, admonishing herself for reading too much into the implications of that statement. Her mind is going places she would rather not think about. “I’ll look forward to an introduction—so long as Fourchenault doesn’t get in the way.”

“I doubt he will. Ameliance always was one to march to the beat of her own drum. If she wants to meet you, then meet you shall.”

They round a long walkway and cross a bridge, pausing at the apex. The river rushes below, its waters babbling in earnest as they flow out to sea.

“I forgot how long you’ve known him,” Aureia says after a moment. “Fourchenault, I mean.”

He chuckles. “Aye, most of my life, I suppose. I have never met a man so unlike his father. Then again, I am not the best candidate to judge, on account of never knowing mine.” His brow furrows, lost in thought. “Sharlayan will regard us in good favour while Krile’s ruse holds, but it may not last forever. Perhaps it is paranoid on my behalf, but until matters with the Forum are resolved, we are in enemy territory. Not everyone here is a friend, no matter how pleasant they are. And Sharlayan makes for a dangerous foe to have, even to its own kind.”

“I know.” She recalls Leveva Byrde and her grandfather, Mace, all too well—and how the latter was thrown in prison for departing the nation illegally.

“If this goes poorly… Y’shtola, Urianger, G’raha and I may be afforded some protection by virtue of our standing as Archons, but it will not extend to you and Estinien. Even if I declare you as my wife, you are not native here.”

“I can look after myself. And I would hardly worry about Estinien, do you really think Sharlayan can keep him grounded for more than a minute? The man can leap backwards out a window and land on his feet.”

“I am aware of that.” He exhales a sharp breath, disgruntled at her attempt at a joke. “Please understand I have cause for concern. G’raha and Y’shtola may be blinded by their invitations to browse the Noumenon once again, and Alphinaud and Alisaie are happy to be home despite the familial issues, but I am not so easily distracted. This may be home, but we cannot let down our guard. Do not underestimate how vicious the Sharlayans can be when given the chance. Stopping the Telophoroi is all that matters. We cannot allow politics and policy and godsdamned pride to interfere with that.”

He meets her eyes. There’s something boiling there—frustration borne from the fatiguing voyage, irritation with Sharlayan politics, his overprotective concern for her that has become second nature since she almost died of light-poisoning on the First. He has been so grounded since their marriage, casting off the shadow of the man he was before, that it has been a long time since she has sense the fury and bitterness that once encompassed him. But she sees it now—a flicker of it, simmering beneath the surface. His need to act now at odds with his orders to stay put and wait.

No wonder he wandered off to do reconnaissance in the city he knows inside and out. For the others, this is a homecoming. For him, this is just another job.

Aureia rests a hand against his cheek, refusing to look away. His frustration doesn’t intimidate her, she’s well-accustomed to it by now. And he is right, of course. She spent two moons preparing mentally for their arrival, only to have everything deflate the moment they stepped ashore and her first day here became a giddy sightseeing trip.

It wasn’t so long ago that the dark towers sprang up and they were fighting Lunar primals. To sit and wait, only to sit and wait some more is agonizing.

There is nothing she can say to soothe him, no words of wisdom she can offer. And so she kisses him, running her hands through his hair and hooking them around his neck as she pulls him into her. At the very least it can be a nice distraction, a way of diverting this anxious, pent-up energy from the voyage neither of them have been able to excise.

A hand presses against the small of her back. His lips part, hot and hungry, his kiss far fiercer than she would normally allow in public. Her breath hitches as his teeth scrape her lower lip, his tongue slipping into her mouth—he tastes of black tea, strong and bitter—and his hand moves further down her back, urgent and eager, as if he hasn’t kissed her in moons and he is desperate for relief. Which is true, in a way. The shared quarters on the ship meant they set aside certain activities for later.

Not a concern for her. If anything, she hardly gave it any thought, absorbed as she was in Alphinaud’s books and studying arcane theories. Some would consider their trip a dry spell, but such things have never bothered her. Sex is nice, but not a necessity. She could theoretically go through the rest of her life without it and be content.

But for him…  

The longing, the yearning, the frustration of certain needs not being met. For too long it has had nowhere to go. And now it needs to go somewhere.

She draws back, breathless and overwhelmed, and he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the hollow of her throat. “Thancred…”

He kisses her in answer, sucking roughly at her skin. She winces, a blush blooming on her cheeks, the kiss pleasantly hard—the kind that may leave a mark if he’s not careful.

She’ll find out in the morning.

A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat. “Gods, Aur,” he murmurs. “I…”

His hand brushes her ass and her eyes fly open. She blinks, taking stock of where they are standing—here, out in the open, on this empty bridge, just out of the haze of the lamplight—and moves his hand away.

“Save this for later, yes?” she murmurs. “When we’re not so public…”

He holds her close, gently kissing her forehead. “Aye. My apologies, I forgot myself for a moment.”

She catches his eye and clears her throat. “You know,” she begins, slipping her hand into his. “I’m more than open to the idea of you forgetting yourself from time to time.”

“Is that so?”

“Two moons aboard a ship have done no one any favours. I for one am glad to no longer be sharing a cabin with Y’shtola and Urianger.”

“Aureia—”

“There’s time before we reconvene. I suppose we could even be late, if we wanted to. Y’shtola and G’raha certainly will be, though I suspect a date with dusty tomes is not as satisfying as a date with—”

He gives her a flat look, cutting her off. “You’re incorrigible when you want to be, you do know that, yes?”

She smirks. “I know.”

Thancred presses a hand to her face, his fingers trailing gently along her jaw to cup her chin. He tilts her head up, his gaze trained on hers, any irritation or frustration melted away at the promise of these new prospects.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice low. “You wanted to see our old haunts? Let me show you mine.”

A/N: Thancred’s ruminations on his Sharlayan mentor are inspired by an interesting little side quest you can pick up in Old Sharlayan. Following the right clues and figuring out the puzzle earns you a letter from his mentor and a couple other rewards. I didn’t know that messing with a random box on a bench was going to lead me to Thancred lore at the time, but I find it very funny that it did.

[femmeterypolka]

9, 15, 32, 6 for the asks

6. i have been told that i’m oblivious by outside sources. part of that i think is just part of my personality, but it’s also definitely because i barely know how it works and don’t have a lot of experience. i want to flirt and pick up on when i’m being flirted with but i don’t know how yet, and when you don’t know how, it feels like such an ordeal. like i want to throw myself into the ocean. not in an entirely bad way but. i don’t know. it’s a skill like everything else i think

9. butchez <3 no but for real being femme4butch isn’t just a part of my lesbianism, it feels, at least right now, like it IS my lesbianism. i just find masculinity in people who aren’t men to be really attractive. if you’re a butch and you’re larger than me in any capacity (height build weight muscle any of it tbh) i’m going to go insane

15. not really, two of my cousins are straight but my sibling and my other cousin are pan and bi respectively. i am the only lesbian though

32. disappointing, but i don’t know i’ve done enough gay shit to do anything funny. or. well. before i came out when i was like 12 i made this pastel pride drawing because scratch.mit.edu taught me what lesbians were and put it on my bedroom wall. my late gay uncle stayed over at our house and slept in my room and tipped my parents off to it. not in an outing way but in a “this isn’t very heterosexual behavior, keep an eye out” way. and well. he was right god rest his soul

[rphelperblog]

Empirium Series Quote Rp Meme

Furyborn, Kingsbane, and Lightbringer by Claire Legrand- feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp purposes

“We all have darkness inside us, that is what it means to be human.”

“The mind is fragile, and time is pitiless.”

“Past the grief, there is light still, even if only in memory. Tell me about that light.” 

“You've surpassed us, that's true, and some people are afraid and will continue to be. Some will hate you. That's true too. But most will love you, even those who sometimes fear you.” 

“Even monsters were not always without mercy.” 

“Someone who hates me as he does deserves no piece of my heart.” 

“Love is the one constant force that no violence or despair can diminish. We must hold onto the light of this truth, even when the world grows dark. Especially then.” 

“Some say the Queen was frightened in her last moments. But I like to think that she was angry.” 

“Now that I’ve known a life with you by my side, i’m not sure I could bear that loneliness again.”

“We fight until we can’t find anymore, and then we die, and none of it will matter anyway.” 

“You have the face of a liar. I can see all the machinations of the world in your eyes.” 

“Three cakes are, generally speaking, much more effective than one, my lady.” 

“I am a force unconquerable.” 

“I don’t know how to both love you and be the person who sends you to war.” 

“We are more than what's been done to us. We are more then our anger.” 

“If there is a wickedness inside of you,then I shall treasure it as I do every other part of you.”

“There is too much hate in the world already. Why direct more of it at yourself?” 

“You are the light of the world, and you will guide us home.” 

“We are the light against the darkness, and we must continue to burn brightly, so others may find their way out.” 

“Revolutions mean nothing if their soldiers forget to care for the people they’re fighting to save,” 

“We are all monsters, full of perversities and violence. At least you and I accept this and have the power and intelligence to do something.” 

“You were everything that night. You were the entire world, and I was safe inside you. For once, I felt safe.” 

“The mind is fragile, and time is pitiless.” 

“It is a great responsibility, to be trusted with another’s heart.” 

“Perhaps if nothing else, what’s happened has taught you that there is more to life - and even to war - than simply staying alive.” 

“Have you always been this unspeakably irritating?”

 “Has your face always looked so temptingly carvable?” 

“ Dread is only a feeling, easily squashed. But wolves, my dear, have teeth.” 

“People like us don’t fight for our own hope. We fight for everyone else’s.”

“I am myself. My mind is my own. And I am not afraid.” 

“kissing involves not just one person, but two. If there is blame to be placed, it isn’t only for you to bear.” 

“Like the sun and the moon. Like day and night. I am the shore and you are the sea, my darling. The wild, wild sea - ever-changing and mighty. I need your passion, and you need something steady to come home to. An anchor, warm and sunlit.” 

“Now that I’ve known a life with you by my side, I’m not sure I could bear that kind of loneliness again.” 

“I’ve looked at you so many times that I see you when I close my eyes. I can’t shake you.” 

“Here, my lady. I’ll help you back to bed and send for some tea. And a cinnamon cake, perhaps?” 

“We are all of us dark creatures, but if we linger in those shadows, we’ll be lost. Instead we must seek the light when we can.” 

“You touch me and I burn” 

“We live in a world where good kings die and those foolish enough to hope for something better are killed where they stand.” 

“Steady so I stand and never will I flee.” 

"Never have I seen them struck so speechless. You know how to make a man feel good, I must say.” 

“You are the Lightbringer, and our world is growing dark.” 

“These men, they are made of a violence I could never have imagined." 

“She considered it… to be loved instead of hated.” 

“Do you even remember how many people you've killed?”

“I refuse to love you.”

"How long can you stand to watch her like this? Hours? Days? Weeks? I am ageless. I am infinite. I can burn her until the world falls apart around us!” 

“My belief is my hope, and hope is the light that shines even on the darkest night.” 

“It’s unfair that you should have to bear so much.” 

“I fear no darkness.I fear no night .I ask the shadows to aid my fight” 

“She was night itself reborn on earth, a queen swathed in shadows.” 

“I am your doom.”

“If you live, then I live. If you die, then I am no longer.” 

"I fascinate you, darling." 

“Just as I cannot pry my grief from me, discard it, and move on without it, I also cannot let go of my hope.” 

“A monster who kissed her one moment and crafted abominations the next. And she herself, the most monstrous of them all.” 

He was the steady voice in her mind that spoke to her when she didn't feel steady at all.” 

“She felt, simply, like a girl lucky enough to know what it was to be loved, and she clung to that feeling as fiercely as she could.”

“He sensed her praying, which she wasn’t good at, because she hated God.” 

“Forcing her to choose between good or bad, light or blood, is folly, he said. It will be our undoing.” 

“It would not have been fear that took me from you, if I had decided to leave. It would have been my own self, my own will. And you denied me that choice.” 

“You will show the people who would have caged you forever how mistaken they were to think they ever could.” 

“He touched her as if she were pristine, as if her hair were silk.” 

“Papa one told me that, when I lay dying - because someday I will, we will we all - I must not think of the things that frighten me, and I must not think of my pain. I must think of everyone and everything I have ever loved, for if I do that, those thoughts will follow me into death, and that far black place will turn bright and golden, as the world long ago used to be.” 

“With every slam of his boots against the floor, his mind chanted one furious word—a curse, a plea, a prayer.”

“It would be easier, he knew, if he had never loved her. And yet, given the choice, he would do it again, even knowing what was to come. He would lose her a thousand times over if it meant he would first have the chance to love her.” 

“How utterly strange to see pieces of her own face on this stranger. To know that this person she had never seen before had given her life. Trying to wrap her mind around the concept felt like trying to circle her arms around the entire world.” 

“Bring me composers who write their helpless mortality into every melody, singers with storms of grief in their lungs. Bring me people who wish they could stop listening to the music boiling in their blood but cannot, so they tear it from their bodies the only way they know how - through air and strings and drum and pen.” 

“I know what it feels like to know you live because others have died, how the grief sits in you like a stone you cannot dislodge. I have to believe that if they could see us now, they would be proud of our fight and would not regret their part in it.” 

“I have loved you. I have trusted you. Part of me will always belong to you. But not all of me. You saw that I was afraid and worked to keep me that way. You saw that I was lonely and reminded me of it every time I thought of leaving you.” 

“I know you grieve what you have lost. I grieve as well. I think we will grieve for the rest of our lives. With every step we take away from our home, grief braids itself more tightly into the fabric of our deepest selves. And just as I cannot pry my grief from me, discard it, and move on without it, I also cannot let go of my hope.” 

“...the thin straight line of her nose, the painful sharpness of her jaw, how she held herself with such stillness. Was it because she was afraid of breaking? Or because she had been broken so many times that the idea no longer frightened her?” 

“I know you grieve. I know your mind has turned against you, and I understand why. But many of us are grieving, and there's more sorrow on the horizon, so I need you-we need you-to pick up the pieces of yourself and fight.” 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Lao Nie and Nie Mingjue have a good day together and bond. What was their relationship like before the qi deviation?

Boys - ao3

“Two paths, hmm?” Lao Nie said, squinting at the road markers in front of him. “Well, I don’t see why we can’t go down this one to the right –”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because little uncle asked me not to let you meet any new dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue said, looking as serious as ever – only his little hands, swinging to the side, revealed that he was just a ten-year-old. Still a child, no matter how mature he tried to act. “And a place called the Springtime Ghost Valley sounds like it probably has dangerous women.”

“Hey,” Lao Nie protested mildly. “Who’s the father here, me or you?”

“If a-die wants a new wife, little uncle will find one that isn’t inclined to kill him.”

That sounded like a recitation.

“Then what’s even the point,” Lao Nie grumbled, and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair, enjoying how Nie Mingjue yelped when he did, glaring up at him with offended dignity.

In all honesty, Lao Nie had no idea how he’d ended up with a son as serious and sincere and earnest as Nie Mingjue – he himself hadn’t taken anything seriously in years. Probably it was his mother’s influence.

Now that was a woman.

Not that his foxy second wife hadn’t been woman enough to blow him away either…

Hmm.

Perhaps they had a point about his taste in women.

“How about men?” Lao Nie suggested. “If it really means so much to you, I could swear off of women entirely –”

“A-die.”

“Mm?”

“Leave Sect Leader Wen alone.”

Lao Nie cracked up.

-

Because Lao Nie was the father, however easy-going he might sometimes be, they ended up heading down the right-hand path regardless. They were supposed to be night-hunting, after all – it was the perfect bonding experience according to Jiwei, though Lao Nie suspected his saber of having selfish intentions there – and deliberately avoiding a place with ‘Ghost’ in the name was hardly appropriate for scions of a Great Sect like theirs.

Although the reference to springtime was admittedly a little worrisome.

If it turned out to be a brothel, with the ghost thing being just a clever if somewhat tonedeaf marketing ploy, Lao Nie was turning around and taking them both home at once. He wasn’t going to risk little Nie Mingjue turning out anything like that awful Jin Guangshan – or, nearly as bad, having to explain anything more about the joys of sex to those earnest little button eyes and dimpled cheeks with no time to prepare first. He still hadn’t recovered emotionally from the last few times Nie Mingjue had asked him a question like that.

When they finally reached the end of the path, turning a corner to behold a clearing that was probably completely ordinary during the daytime, Lao Nie found that he’d been both right and wrong.

“It’s a ghost brothel,” he marveled. He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Dangerous women,” Nie Mingjue reminded him.

“A-Jue! Let your father live a little!”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes.

Lao Nie virtuously ignored his slightly judgmental brat of a son. It wouldn’t do him that much harm to go visit for a while, with the risk of Jin Guangshan-ness being relatively minimal; they were ghosts, after all. It was the duty of every cultivator to fight against evil, wherever it lived, no matter its form –

“Fighting? Is that what it’s called?”

“Who taught you sarcasm?” Lao Nie asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was himself. “I ought to smack them.”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms over his chest and pouted at him. “Fine, it’s fighting, we’ll go fight them. Do you want me to start drawing ghost-repelling talismans?”

“Liberate first!” Lao Nie sang out. “Come on, let’s go see what they’re like – er, that is, I mean, see what grievances they have that are keeping them here, of course. There’s no harm in dangerous women. Just don’t let them eat your yang energy!”

“It’s not my yang energy that I’m worried about, a-die…”

-

The ghostly madame was an extraordinarily charming person and Lao Nie liked her at once.

Not liked her liked her – he’d fallen head over heels with both of his wives from the first word, and that hadn’t happened here – but still, conversing with her was an extraordinarily enjoyable way to spend time.

She was witty and clever, with a broad range of knowledge and a gift for keeping a conversation lively and exciting; she could meet every verbal riposte with ease, and looked utterly gorgeous and composed the entire time. Sure, she kept trying to lure Lao Nie into an orgy in which all of his yang energy would be slowly sucked out before his body was ripped to pieces and his bones cracked open so that the ghosts could consume the marrow within, but what a way to go, right?

Nie Mingjue spent his time making friends with the ghost prostitutes.

Lao Nie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Well, he supposed he’d been expected a range of things – anything from Nie Mingjue getting suckered in by one of the ghosts and needing to be rescued by his father to Nie Mingjue just pulling out his Baxia and trying to stab them because he felt offended by their existence. He wasn’texpecting his ghostly conversational partner to suddenly frown mid-sentence and say, “What is he talking to them about?”

Lao Nie turned his head slightly and started listening.

“– just because you’re a ghost doesn’t mean you have to work allthe time, surely,” Nie Mingjue was saying, completely serious and earnest in the way he so often was. Lao Nie’s son had in fact inherited his sense of humor, only it tended to be buried fairly deep down and make its way up to the surface in an understated way in the most unexpected times; the rest of the time, he was straightforward to a fault, treating everything sincerely. “The birds in the trees, the animals in the fields – even among prostitutes, even the street-walking ladies know they need to take time to rest! I can’t believe you really have to work every single night. How long has it been since you had a night off?”

The ghost prostitutes around him had contemplative looks on their faces.

“Isn’t the whole point of becoming a vengeful man-eating ghost that you have more power than regular humans? I don’t know, it kind of seems like a bad deal if you have even worse conditions after all that –”

“I’m sorry,” the ghostly madame said, looking irritated underneath all her carefully painted smiles. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment…”

Lao Nie had to bite his hand to keep from laughing out loud.

-

“I think we’ve all learned a valuable life lesson today,” Lao Nie announced.

Nie Mingjue was pouting again.

“I don’t think we did,” he said, sounding profoundly skeptical. A filial child like Nie Mingjue shouldn’t sound so skeptical of his beloved father’s words of wisdom, really; if Lao Nie wasn’t so heartless, he might be offended. Of course, the skepticism might have originated from the heartlessness, so it was all six of one, half a dozen of the other in the end. “Those poor ghost ladies! They were still fighting each other by the time we left!”

“I’ve never seen a ghost pull another ghost’s hair before,” Lao Nie conceded. It had been brilliant. “One day, someone’s going to figure out a more reliable way to use ghosts to fight ghosts, mark my words.”

“Isn’t that demonic cultivation?”

“Oh, sure,” Lao Nie said, still cheerful. “If whoever it is does too much of it, eventually it’ll build up into a backlash that’ll kill them in some grossly horrific manner. Probably ripped into pieces by the backlash. And that’s not even counting how they’d be ostracized and hunted by the cultivation world first! But still, imagine how exciting it’d be in the meantime!”

“A-die…”

Lao Nie patted Nie Mingjue on the head again, earning another glare. “Immortality is a lie, A-Jue. We’re all here for a short time, each and every one of us, and only the length determined by fate and man. All that matters is what we do with the time that we have, and whether we’ve used it well.”

“To fight against evil wherever it lives, no matter its form?”

“To leave the world a better place than when we entered it, and to let our memories linger in the hearts of those that love us,” Lao Nie said. “Fighting evil is the best way to accomplish the former, and living a good life the latter. And you might as well have a good time doing it, if you can! Everything else is just extra.”

Nie Mingjue thought about that for a moment. “And a-die likes to have second helpings of extras?”

That was true. Lao Nie was a man of prodigious appetites of all sorts.

Despite that, he protested, “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was being serious for once.” Seeing Nie Mingjue’s skeptical look, he made a face. “I can be serious, sometimes!”

“Can you?”

“It’s been known to happen! A date written on a wall will be right once a year.”

“Not if the wall gets painted over.”

“Ouch,” Lao Nie said. “I don’t even understand the metaphor you’re making, and I’m still going ouch.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Mingjue said, utterly unimpressed. “You know, if you wanted one of the ghost ladies to be Third Mother, you would’ve been better off with the one playing the qin, not the ghost madame. She was much more powerful.”

Lao Nie arched his eyebrows. “Was she?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “She had claws like a lizard.”

Lao Nie tried to remember which one of them had been the ghost girl playing the qin. He couldn’t quite remember at first – the women there were all surpassingly lovely, almost to the point of over-saturation – and then suddenly an image came into view, a beauty with a veil and sharp sword-like eyebrows, leaning over the qin with the shining pearl hanging in the center of her forehead dipping down.

And, yes, claws like a lizard.

“Hmm,” Lao Nie said. “That might have been a dragon, actually. You should be careful of those, they’re tricky.”

They’ll rip you and three dozen other cultivators besides into more pieces than can be picked up without blinking an eye, he meant, and you won’t even know what hit you. Avoid at all costs.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, blinking. “Oops.”

“…what do you mean, oops?”

“Nothing bad! If I’m not supposed to interact with her, does that mean I should go and give back the gift she gave me?”

“She gave you a – give me that,” Lao Nie said. “This instant.”

“But a-die, you said there’s no harm in dangerous women –”

“For me, you foolish child!”

-

“I suppose it’s fine,” Lao Nie finally concluded, having inspected the dragon pearl from all angles several times over. “I don’t know how you do this, A-Jue.”

“Do what?”

Lao Nie thought about how his foxy second wife had cooed over his eldest son with a (slightly disturbing) fervor that she otherwise reserved only for eating snacks, and how viciously she’d dealt with anyone who’d even thought of interfering with Nie Mingjue in any way. He was fairly sure he himself had only survived his second marriage on account of having such a charming son.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how to explain – or if he even entirely understood. “Anyway, it’s nothing dangerous. Rather the contrary! Dragon pearls like this are given to baby dragons to protect them.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “What feeds on baby dragons?”

“…I think it’s mostly to protect them from themselves,” Lao Nie said, feeling a little uncertain about it himself. “And if it’s not, I don’t think I want to know, to be perfectly honest. There’s fighting evil, which is only right, and then there’s suicide, which is a waste – a wise man should know how to judge the difference between them. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t, and you aren’t allowed to start worrying about the fate of theoretical baby dragons – I forbid it.” Nie Mingjue scowled. He’d probably started worrying already. “My point was actually that a pearl like this is a remarkably powerful protective tool for cultivators – one of those things that can only be found by chance and not made. Keep this on you, and you’ll never have to fear your opponent in battle.”

Nie Mingjue looked thoughtful.

-

“What do you want to do with that pearl, anyway?” Lao Nie asked after they’d gotten home and split up just long enough to take a nice long relaxing bath and gobble down dinner. “Do you want to put it in the treasury?”

Nie Mingjue blinked twice, which for him was practically the same as looking terribly shifty-eyed.

“You already did something with it,” Lao Nie deduced. “Something that isn’t using it as intended.”

“Oh, no,” Nie Mingjue said, looking shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’m definitely using it as intended.”

Lao Nie looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t use it. Protection from your opponents in proper battle – that seems like cheating!”

Lao Nie felt a slight headache coming on. People who said they wanted a good boy for a son had no idea what they were getting themselves into, he reflected. Why couldn’t he have birthed a complete rascal instead?

“All right,” he said, instead of saying any of that because at the end of the day, bewildering as he might be, Nie Mingjue was his son and he loved him more than anything. “So what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to Huaisang.”

Lao Nie blinked. He supposed that really was using it for its intended purpose – protecting babies from themselves – although he suspected the dragon lady had been thinking of Nie Mingjue as the baby.

“Although…”

Lao Nie raised his eyebrows.

“…I think he may have swallowed it.”

My boys, Lao Nie thought, and had to sit down and hold his ribs because he otherwise feared he might split his sides from laughing so hard. Only my boys.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

NFWMB (boxer!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, alcohol, violence

Pairing: boxer!Harry x reader

Word Count: 30k (I got carried away)

A/N: So this got a little out of hand!! I will admit!! I did not mean to make this so long!! but it’s about the yearning people!!! the yearning!!! anyways I really hope you guys like this!! just a few disclaimers: my medical knowledge comes from google and my first-aid badge I got in girl guides so please do not take any of the medical advice in here as doctor recommended. also this is very long and if you’re reading on mobile it may make it crash? so try opening it on a web browser under the read more if you need to!! I really honestly can’t believe I managed to write 30k, but I love boxer!harry so much, and yes he does have long hair in this fic because I make the rules!! thank you to @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ for proof reading this for me and putting up with my messages about it. also, the title is from NFWMB by hozier and i’d recommend listening to it as you read!! as always, feedback is appreciated!! and if you like it, please reblog it!! reblogging is the best way to show content creators support and encourage them to write more!!

{masterlist}

If money wasn’t so tight, there’s no way Y/N would be doing this.

She’s thought it over a thousand times, running every possible scenario and outcome in her head. More often than not, those scenarios end badly.  Yet here she is, standing at the edge of stairs that lead to a gym below the streets of New York City.  Men push past her to get below, muttering quick apologies as they bump into her. None of them are sincere, she notices, but why would they be?  They don’t care about her.  Y/N, on the other hand…she’s being paid to care about them.  They’re why she’s here.

The offer had been posted on a bulletin board in the nursing student’s lounge on campus.  It was a crumpled piece of paper, with a handwritten message scribbled across it.  Y/N had spotted it when she was looking at the board for a summer job, and the uniqueness of it caught her eye.  She had pulled it down from the board, reading it over.

WANTED:

Looking for an individual with medical background/first aid training.

Complete medical degree not required.

For all inquiries, contact Patrick Lawson.

Y/N remembers running her fingers over the phone number listed.  It was a peculiar request, to say the least.  Patrick Lawson, whoever he was, seemed to be searching for someone with medical training, but didn’t require a full medical professional. Still…a job was a job.  And it had looked like it was the most promising thing on the board.

Later that day, Y/N had found herself calling the number, and within three minutes of dialing, she had set up a meeting with Patrick Lawson at a Starbucks a few blocks away from campus.  When she walked in, her eyes scanning the café for someone who would’ve posted the ad, she had instantly known who he was.  The burly man by the window with a long scar across his weathered face and the smell of cigarette smoke wafting from him stuck out from the crowd of students studying, and he had seemed to be the only patron who would hire unlicensed medical personnel.

“Hi.” Y/N had walked over slowly. “Are you Patrick Lawson?”

“That depends.” He looked her up and down, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N. We spoke on the phone?” She took the advertisement out of her bag and handed it to him.

“Right.” Patrick nodded, motioning to the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

“Alright.” Y/N had taken a seat slowly, her eyes on the door behind him.  She hadn’t quite decided not to run. “So…you didn’t say what kind of job—”

“What are your medical credentials?” Patrick cut across her, sipping his coffee.

Y/N remembered thinking that that was rude, and completely unprofessional for an interview.  Of course, now that she actually knew Patrick, the action was completely in character.

“I’m a third-year nursing student at NYU Meyer.” She had answered, reaching into her bag to pull out her student ID. “And I’m trained in first aid.”

“You ever stitched somebody up before?”

Y/N frowned at the bluntness of the question. “Um, yes, but—”

“What about set broken bones?  Noses?”

With an incredulous look on her face, Y/N had glanced around the coffee shop.  Could anyone else hear this?  When the answer to that question appeared to be no, she had leaned forward, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mr. Lawson, what exactly is this a job interview for?”

 What it was for, it had turned out, was an underground boxing ring in the heart of New York. Patrick explained between sips of black coffee that he owns the gym that everyone fought in, and the business is growing.  The only downside (the use of the word “only” had made the corners of Y/N’s mouth twitch—there was only one downside to an illegal boxing ring?) is that with no regulations, men get injured.  A lot. And because the boxing is illegal, they can’t exactly keep going to the hospital…which was where Y/N comes in.

After seeing her student ID, her first-aid certifications, and testing her on the spot by having her look at a bandaged cut on his leg to see if it was infected (“It is.” Y/N had told him immediately), Patrick had hired Y/N on the spot.  For three hundred dollars a night, she would be watching illegal boxing matches with a first-aid kit by her side.  If anyone got injured too badly, they would bring them back to the locker rooms, where she would be waiting.  There, she would bandage cuts, check for concussions, set broken bones, stitch people up with no anesthetic…

Y/N shudders as she looks at the gym door again, finally pulling herself from her thoughts.  It’s definitely not an ideal situation—or even a moderately ideal situation— and she’s not looking forward to it in the least. But being a student in New York isn’t exactly cheap, and the money is good, even if it’s dirty.  Really dirty.  Probably bloody, from the fighters that she would be expected to stitch up from awful injuries—

“Don’t.” Y/N mutters to herself, taking a deep breath. “Everything is going to be okay.  It’s fine.  This is fine.”

“Hey, lady.” A man approaches her from behind, giving her a strange look—which is to be expected, Y/N thinks, seeing as how she’s talking to herself in the doorway of an underground gym. “Are you going to stare at the door all night, or are you going to open it?”

“Sorry.” She says sheepishly, stepping out of his way and allowing him to step around her down the stairs.  

Knowing that there’s nowhere else to go but inside—and knowing that she can’t block the doorway forever—Y/N quickly makes her own way down the stairs and through the heavy doors.

Y/N isn’t exactly sure what she had expected an underground boxing gym to look like, but the room in front of her eyes pretty much meets her expectations.  The gym is dark, with one bright light in the center hanging over the beaten-up ring.  There are a few dark-coloured mats scattered around the ring, along with people getting ready to watch that night’s match.  Everyone she sees, with their black clothing and leather boots and tough demeanors, looks like they belong at an illegal gym, whereas Y/N…she glances down at herself for a moment.  Next time, she thinks, she’ll remember not to wear lavender.

Still, no matter how out of place she feels, she’s here now, and if university and nursing school had taught her anything, it was to act like she belonged until she did.  With that in mind, Y/N holds her head up high, ignoring the stares of the gym patrons as she makes her way to the back hallway.  Although she’s not exactly sure where Patrick’s office lies within the dark and claustrophobic gym, she feels that the more cigarette smoke she can smell in the air, the closer she’s getting.

Despite passing many identical doors with the same chipped and peeling paint, Y/N continues until she reaches the door at the end of the hallway.  The black paint is scuffed, but in far better condition than any of the other doors around her, and Y/N can smell the cigarette smoke wafting out from the cracks beneath it.

“Patrick?” She knocks on the door softly, just in case she’s guessed wrong.

A rough but recognizable voice answers from the other side. “Yeah.  Come in.”

With permission, Y/N opens the door, coughing a bit when a wall of cigarette smoke hits her. “Hi…?”

“Hey, Doc.” Patrick has a cigarette tucked between his lips as he speaks, and he hardly glances up at her from the papers in his hands. “How you doing?”

“I’m—I’m good.” Y/N says, her voice tinged with nerves. “I just wanted to check in before the match.”

“Good.  Here.” Patrick stands up and walks to a cupboard in his office, pulling out a weathered leather case from within. “This has everything you should need in it.”

He hands the case to Y/N, and she opens it slowly, not entirely sure what Patrick is handing to her. Inside, she finds, is an assortment of medical supplies, all placed haphazardly inside the makeshift medical kit. Y/N roots around a bit with one hand, quickly taking stock of the contents.  Bandages, antiseptics, not-yet-frozen cold compresses, painkillers, a stitch kit… “I’ll need all of this?” She asks, looking up at Patrick with a surprised look in her eyes.

“Look around you, Doc. This isn’t a daycare.” Patrick snorts, puffing on his cigarette. “We bare knuckle box.  We don’t have personal physicians checking up on us, rules, regulations…this is about making money.  And sometimes…it gets messy.”

“But if you needed a medical professional, then why didn’t you get someone who’s finished school?” Y/N asks as she shuts the case and clasps it closed. “They’d be a lot more experienced than a student.”

“Because medical professionals have a duty to report abuse to the cops.” Patrick shrugs as if the reasons are of little consequence to him.  Which, Y/N thinks, they are. “You don’t.  And students need the money more.”

Y/N purses her lips as she clutches the handle of the case tightly in her hand. “What happened to your last student?”

Patrick sighs with a flip of his hand, waving off the question. “He pissed off the wrong guy and went from being the doctor to being the patient.  That’s why I hired a pretty lady this time.”

Y/N scoffs, the ease she had been beginning to feel around Patrick fading within a moment as she remembers where she is.  She meets Patrick’s gaze with a harsh look. “Don’t patronize me, Patrick, or I’ll walk out that door right now.”

Patrick raises his hands defensively, an indifferent look on his face, and Y/N understands that it’s not an apology.

“Look, Doc, the last guy had a mouth on him.  By all accounts, he deserved it.” Patrick walks back around to his desk, tapping his cigarette ash off into the glass ashtray that sits there, already half full. When he looks back up at Y/N, his gaze is softer than before, and Y/N can’t quite decipher the flicker she sees in his eyes. “I don’t mean to be patronizing.  But if any guy in here says shit to you…lemme know.  Got it?”

Y/N has a feeling that that’s as close to an apology as she’ll get from Patrick, so she nods tersely. “Got it.” Her attention turns back to the case in her hands. “So I just…wait by the ring?”

Patrick nods, tucking his cigarette back in his mouth as he sits back down at his desk, his thoughts moving back to the paperwork in front of him. “You got it.  Watch the match.  Have some fun, have a drink…if anything goes too wrong, I’ll pull you up to the ring.  If everything is fine, you’ll come back to the locker room after the match to make sure my guys don’t have a concussion.”

“Sounds…good.” Y/N shifts the case around in her hands as she speaks, unsure of what else there is to say. “I’ll go to the audience, then.”

Patrick nods, but offers no other advice as she leaves.  Not that Y/N expected it.

By the time Y/N makes it to her designated spot at the edge of the crowd, the gym is already filling with people who are buzzing about the fight.  The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sweat is thick in the air, and after her third time of getting shoved by a man she doesn’t know, Y/N is wondering if sewing some medical patches onto her jean jacket will stop her from getting shoved at the next match.  Of course, she’s not quite certain she’ll be attending the next match, but she makes the plans to do it nonetheless.  

The area around the ring continues to pack itself full with people, and as Y/N stares at the spectators around her, she wonders just how much Patrick is making off this one fight. She’s not sure how much people have to pay to get in, but with at least two hundred people here, not including the money the spectators have put down on bets…Y/N’s certain Patrick will be coming away with a tidy sum.

As the crowd starts to scream, her attention shifts from the people around her to the one bare aisle leading to the ring, where the first fighter has begun walking out.  He has a heavy build with broad shoulders, and Y/N knows he has to be over six feet.  Top heavy, she thinks, as he climbs onto the edge of the ring and ducks his shaved head under the ropes.  He raises his arms as the crowd cheers, apparently loving the attention, and spits to the side before his coach slides his mouth guard in for him.

Y/N wrinkles her nose as she watches the fighter display his muscles to the crowd, and at how much the crowd seems to love it.

There’s a crackle of static over the speakers as the announcer begins to speak. “As last year’s reigning champion, Adam Bowers is aiming to maintain his title this season.” The crowd cheers again as the fighter, Bowers, rolls out his shoulders.

“Those who watched him box last season know that getting this giant off his feet is a gargantuan task. Will his opponent be able to do it?”

The crowd jeers as the announcer mentions the opponent, and Y/N gets the feeling that they don’t think the other guy has a chance.  When the other fighter begins to walk towards the ring, Y/N can’t help but agree.

This fighter’s build is much slimmer, despite the apparent muscle mass on his arms and legs.  He’s more evenly built than Bowers, and while Y/N knows that will be helpful, she can’t make herself feel anything other than worry as she watches the fighter climb under the rings.  He reaches up and fixes the neat bun keeping his brown hair away from his face, and although the crowd roars, Y/N can make out a look of focus and determination in his green eyes.

“Facing our champion is rookie Harry Styles.  Despite beginning training just three months ago…”

Three months?  Y/N bites her lip in concern, watching as Styles’ coach pulls him down to look him in the eye, giving him his mouth guard as he does.  Y/N leans over to a man next to her, unable to stop herself from asking a question that’s at the forefront of her mind. “Don’t they use weight classes to match fighters?” She half yells the question over the cheers. “Bowers seems so much bigger than him!”

“This is illegal fighting, sweetheart.” The man laughs at her question as he takes a sip of his beer. The hair on the back of Y/N’s neck bristles at the pet name, and she once again reminds herself to keep her guard up as the man continues to speak.

“They don’t care about weight classes.” He says easily, nodding towards the ring. “They care about putting on a good show, so they can make money.”

Y/N turns her attention back to the ring, making sure to keep her distance from the other spectators. Styles is surveying the crowd now, and for just a moment, he locks eyes with her.

As his gaze meets hers, Y/N gets the impression that he’s sizing her up just as much as she’s sized him up.  His eyes flick down her body and back up, but not in the way most men in the gym have been doing it.  When the boxer’s eyes flick back to hers, Y/N doesn’t see a look of lust or desire reflected in his irises.  Instead, she sees concern.  

He’s about to fight a behemoth, she thinks, and he’s concerned because I’m in the crowd of the fight?  The idea would make Y/N laugh, if she didn’t have a sneaking suspicion that she’d be setting his bones before the end of the night.

Styles’ finally looks away from her after a moment, centering himself again to be ready to fight. Y/N watches as he makes his way to the center of the ring, his gaze having to turn up to meet the eyes of Bowers. The bell rings, signalling the beginning of the match, and the loud ring makes Y/N flinch as she watches the two boxers begin to fight.

She had been right when she initially sized them up.  Bowers is the first to throw a punch, all of his weight behind it, but Styles’ smaller stature allows him to duck easily, weaving out of the way from the first few strikes.  As he ducks from a punch, Styles manages to land the first hit of the match, his fist connecting directly with Bowers’ jaw.  

Y/N’s face lights up with surprise as the crowd cheers.  However, the surprise quickly turns to worry as Bowers uses his anger to move faster, finally landing a blow on Styles.  Not letting one hit deter him, the smaller boxer is quick to recuperate and keep himself in the moment.  Already, Y/N can tell that he plays the long game, while Bowers seems to favour a more offensive stance.  

As the match continues, Y/N’s concern turns to curiosity as she examines the fighting style of both boxers. Bowers is always the quickest to throw out punches, but Styles manages to dodge more punches than he receives, only standing still long enough to land his own hits on Bowers.  The audience, while shocked by the proficiency of the rookie at first, begins to cheer loudly as their champion fights for a victory. The cheering only gets louder when blood splatters from Bowers’ nose to the floor of the ring.

Y/N winces, searching the crowd for Patrick’s familiar face.  She finds him in the back, watching with his arms crossed, and raises an eyebrow in question as she catches his eye.  He gives a quick shake of his head.  This isn’t anything to worry about, the action says.  Worse is coming.

The worse comes quickly, Y/N finds, as the groan of the crowd draws her attention back to the ring. Styles is doubled over now, presumably from a punch to the gut.  Y/N watches in horrified silence as Bowers lands another punch on Styles’ jaw, knocking the smaller boxer onto his knees.  However, the groan of the crowd quickly turns to a cheer as Styles pushes himself to stand once again, a grunt escaping his lips as he straights.  Spitting the blood out of his mouth, he attacks Bowers again with a new energy, one wilder and more uncalculated than before.

The crowd roars louder as Styles pummels his opponent, and Y/N watches in shock as he knocks Bowers back in a daze.  Styles hits him once, then again, and again, until Bowers goes down with a dull thud that echoes through the gym.  He stays there, lying limp, as the referee begins to count, and doesn’t rise when Styles is declared the winner.

“Harry Styles has managed to begin his journey with a win!” The announcer yells, barely audible above the cheering crowd.  Styles wipes his bleeding mouth with a shaky hand, a grin just beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth as the referee raises his hand in the air in victory.

The crowd continues to yell and cheer as people turn to those next to them, rehashing the match’s highlights.  Y/N sees money change hands a few times, and while she wants to get out of the crowd that’s becoming rowdier by the minute, she’s not exactly sure where to go.

A hand on her elbow brings her from her thoughts, and Y/N whips around, cuss words hanging off the ends of her lips, ready to throw at whoever grabbed her.  When she sees Patrick’s face, however, the words fade away, and she grabs the case that she’s all but forgotten is beside her as he begins to guide her back to the locker rooms.

“Time to get to work, Doc.” Patrick calls over the crowd, glancing over his shoulder at her to make sure she’s following.

Y/N nods silently, taking deep breaths to center herself for the task at hand.  She can’t let herself be uncomfortable now; it’s time for her to work.

Patrick leads her through the crowd and down the hallway, taking a left turn towards the locker rooms. The echoes of someone groaning get louder and louder the closer they get, and as they walk inside the locker room, Y/N is certain she’ll find Styles sitting in front of her.  Instead, her eyes settle on Bowers with a hand to his nose and his head tilted back.

“You need to lean forward.” Y/N says immediately, instinct taking over as she sits down next to Bowers while opening her case.

Bowers grunts, his eyes flicking to Y/N as he does. “I’m bleeding, sweetheart—”

“And leaning back is causing the blood to run down your throat.  It’s harmful to your health, sweetheart.” Y/N counters in an icy tone, shooting him a glare before slipping on plastic gloves.

Patrick crosses his arms as he watches the exchange, a smirk making its way onto his face. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Bowers.  Don’t piss off the person about to set your nose.”

Y/N glances at Patrick for a moment before turning back to Bowers.  Although she’s still weary of him, Patrick seems to be the only one looking out for her in the gym, and she makes a note to bring it up with him after she finishes her work.

Upon examination, Y/N finds that Styles has broken Bowers’ nose, and gives him some pain medication and a cold compress before making a splint, setting it as best as she can in a gym locker room.

“There.” Y/N sits back and pulls off her bloody gloves. “That should be okay.  Keep taking ibuprofen to help with the pain and swelling, and if it doesn’t seem to heal, try going to a real doctor.  Alright?”

Bowers nods jerkily.  Although she can see the doubt in his eyes, he doesn’t contradict her again. “Yeah. Alright.”

“What do you say to the Doc, Bowers?” Patrick prompts him, an expectant look on his face.

The boxer glares at her, but still manages to mutter a quick “thanks.”

Although it doesn’t seem sincere, Y/N doesn’t challenge it. “You’re welcome.” She replies curtly, closing her case before standing up again and turning to Patrick. “Where’s Styles?”

 After washing her hands, Patrick leads Y/N down a corridor to another section of the locker room.  Styles is sitting on the bench between the lockers, unwrapping the tape from his hands as his coach leans against the lockers while speaking to him.  From the towel around his neck, wet curls hanging around his face, and damp chest, Y/N gathers that he showered after his victory.  While her observations begin as professional, Y/N’s mind soon drifts to notice how the water droplets cling to his tattooed chest and arms, and how his fingers flex as he unwraps his tape.  The clearing of his throat pulls her from her thoughts, and her eyes snap back up to his face as he speaks.

“Patrick.” The boxer’s voice is accented and low, and she sees recognition from earlier flicker across his phase. “Who’s this?”

“This is Doc Y/N.” Patrick lights a cigarette as he speaks, despite the disapproving look that Y/N gives him. “She’s the one who’s going to be saving your injured ass.”

“You can just call me Y/N.” Y/N rolls her eyes slightly as she refutes the nickname that, to her displeasure, Patrick’s already grown fond of before turning her attention back to Styles. “I’m just going to make sure you’re alright, Mr. Styles.”

When she addresses him, his coach laughs lightly, crossing his arms against his chest.  Y/N looks at him with a raised eyebrow, her mouth open to ask about the laughter, when a voice cuts her off.

“No one’s ever called me Mr. Styles.  Jeff seems to think it’s humorous.” A light chuckle escapes from the boxer, although his is more controlled than that of his coach. “You can call me Harry.  Just Harry.”

Y/N nods as she sits next to him on the bench, opening up her medical kit and slipping on gloves.  She has to focus at the task at hand. “Alright.  How are you feeling?”

“’M fine.” Harry replies easily, running a hand through his wet curls. “Healthy as a horse.”

A snort leaves Jeff’s mouth at that comment. “A horse that got the shit beat out of him.” He turns his attention to Y/N with his next sentence. “He got hit pretty hard in the—”

“The ribs, yeah.” Y/N finishes the sentence for him, her eyes already examining the bruises developing on Harry’s abdomen with a keen eye. “I saw.  Thought you were a goner.”

Harry shrugs a bit in response, seemingly unconcerned with the punches he sustained during the match. “I’ve had worse.”

“May I?” Y/N asks, extending a gloved hand.  At Harry’s nod, she begins to press around his abdomen. “Can’t imagine much worse. You must’ve really pissed someone off, then.”

A laugh rumbles out from Harry’s chest at the comment, but a wince quickly replaces the expression of mirth on his face as his muscles contract.  Although he quickly covers it, Y/N doesn’t miss it.

“Does that hurt?” She asks, pressing on his muscles again while gauging his reactions. “Where? Here?”

Harry clears his throat quietly, carefully controlling his expression as Jeff steps closer. “Uh, yeah. A bit.  Just a bit sore.”

“Patrick,” Y/N glances over her shoulder at him before rummaging in her kit for the stethoscope she saw earlier. “Could you grab me a cold compress?”

Patrick leaves the locker room as Y/N presses the stethoscope to Harry’s chest and back, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. “Do you have any abdominal pain?  Any shortness in breath, or dizziness?”

Harry shakes his head slightly. “No.  None at all. I’m just sore.”

Y/N pulls the stethoscope from her ears and touches his jaw lightly, frowning at the purple bruise that’s blossomed under his pink skin. “You got hit pretty hard here.”

Harry’s jaw flexes under her touch as he chuckles. “I know.  I was there.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Harry.” Jeff chastises him from his position against the lockers.  

“I’m not!  I’m just saying—”

“She’s trying to help you—”

Y/N tunes out the argument between coach and boxer as she sets the stethoscope back down in the kit, making a note to bring her own next week.  In fact, she can think of a few things that would be useful to add to the makeshift medical bag Patrick gave her—a manual blood pressure cuff, better suturing supplies, maybe some more bandages—

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” Jeff’s voice pulls Y/N from her thoughts just as Patrick enters the locker room again, the cold compress in hand.  She accepts it from him before turning her attention back to the coach.

“Sorry, what was that?” She asks again, closing the medical kit.

“I asked if you thought Harry was being a smart ass.” Jeff gives a pointed look to his boxer. “And if he should apologize.”

Y/N shrugs as she hands the cold compress to Harry. “It’s fine.  It’s definitely not the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She turns her attention back to Harry, who’s frowning at her again, like he did when they first locked eyes in the ring.  That look is back, too, she notices.  The concern.  Like the comment she made worries him.

Y/N clears her throat, pushing the thought out of her head. “You have some bruising and swelling, but nothing is broken.  No internal bleeding, either.  At least, nothing detectable.” She says with a sigh, pulling off her gloves. “I think you’re good to go, but if you start experiencing nausea, dizziness, or bleeding from any orifices, then you need to go to the doctor.  A real one.”

Harry presses the compress against his swollen jaw, wincing as the cold makes contact with his flushed skin. “Are you not a real doctor?”

A laugh bubbles out from Y/N’s lips as she shakes her head. “I’d say I’m a half doctor at best.”

“The best half doctor this gym can buy.” Patrick chimes in, pausing after a moment. “Which, honestly, isn’t saying much, but…”

“Right.” Y/N tosses her gloves in the garbage can sitting against a locker. “So, again, if you start feeling strange, see a real doctor.  One that’s actually licensed.”

Harry nods, standing up and extending a hand. “Thanks, Doc.  I appreciate it.”

It takes Y/N a moment to realize he wants to shake her hand.  Once the realization hits her, she extends her hand cautiously, locking it with his in an awkward fashion.  She prays it goes unnoticed by Harry, but judging from the laughter in his eyes, it hasn’t.  Her own cheeks flush as she pulls her hand away.

“Of course.  I’ll see you at your next match.” She says quickly, and escapes the locker room behind Patrick before she can say anything else.

 Patrick brings Y/N back to his office, shutting the door behind them before going behind his desk and removing a cheap picture of a city off his wall, exposing the door of a safe. He opens it quickly and counts out three hundred dollars in cash before slipping it into an envelope for Y/N. “Here, Doc.  You did good tonight.”

Y/N had almost forgotten that she’s doing this for cash. “Thanks.” She takes the money from him, tucking it inside her jacket. “I’m just glad I didn’t need to stitch anyone up.”

Patrick laughs as he lights a fresh cigarette, sitting down at his desk chair as he puffs on it. “This time.”

“Yeah.  This time.” Y/N eyes the cigarette with distaste. “Smoking kills, you know.”

Patrick glances at her with an incredulous look on his face, unfazed. “I run an illegal boxing ring. Do you think I care?” He exhales smoke slowly. “I got more to worry about killing me than smoking.”

Y/N shifts her weight from one foot to another as a band of anxiety twists its way through her stomach. “Do I have to worry about that, too?”

“Nah.” Patrick waves his hand indifferently, clearly unconcerned. “No one cares about a nursing student with a few bandages and some ice packs.”

“Right.” Y/N says slowly. Her previous hesitancy about her security at the gym returns, and although she tries to hide it, she knows it’s written all over her face.

Patrick’s keen eyes notice right away. “That’s a good thing, Y/N.” For the first time that night, he uses her name to address her. “Trust me, you want to go unnoticed here.”

“Do I?” Y/N pauses in front of the door, her hand resting on the handle.

“Yeah.  You do.” Patrick taps the ash off his cigarette as he gives her a long look. “I know you noticed how…different you are from our regular visitors.”

“You mean how I’m not a gigantic man dressed in all leather who enjoys making sexist comments towards women?” Y/N’s voice drips with sarcasm as she rolls her eyes. “Believe me. I noticed.”

“You want to go unnoticed here.” Patrick says again, firmer this time. “Dress in darker clothes. Blend in more.  No good men spend their time here.  Not one.  Understood?”

The serious tone in Patrick’s voice causes a chill to run down Y/N’s back, and her hand tightens on the handle of the door.  She doesn’t doubt what he’s saying; she already had her suspicions that she’d need to do more to blend into the crowd next week.  But being directly warned about the danger she’s putting herself in gives her pause.

“You seem like a good kid, and I’ll do my best to make sure no one fucks with you.  But you have to be watching your own back, too.” Patrick takes a long puff of his cigarette. “I got enough shit on my plate without keeping tabs on you.”

“Got it.” Y/N nods sharply, her fingernails digging into her palm as she steadies herself. “Blend in. Watch my own back.  Go unnoticed.  Understood.”

…

“So how’s the new job?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up at her friend’s question as her grip on her beer bottle tightens just the slightest bit.  The bar around them is loud, filled with the sound of obnoxious, half-drunk laughter and bad music, and Y/N hopes that the ambient noise is enough cover for her to pretend that she didn’t hear the question.

“What, Sadie?” She leans closer as her mind searches for a plausible answer. “What did you say?”

Sadie leans across the table, perfectly unaware of how her question has increased her friend’s heart rate. “I asked you how your new job is.”

“Oh.” Y/N brings the lip of her bottle to her mouth, taking a sip to prolong her pause. “It’s good, yeah. Pretty good.”

“Where is it again?” Sadie asks, settling back down in her seat comfortable. “Some gym?”

“Yeah, I just—I’m doing some first-aid lessons there.  For their trainers.” Y/N says quickly, attempting to keep her voice even.  Lying has never been her strong suit, especially to her friends. “You know, basic stuff, but it pays well.”

“That’s good!” Sadie replies in an encouraging voice. “That’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah, it’s good so far.” Y/N nods, her fingers tapping anxiously against her beer bottle. “So…” Her mind searches for another topic of discussion. “Tell me more about that guy you’ve been seeing.  Peter?”

As Sadie begins to rehash the events of her last date with a man from Tinder, Y/N’s mind begins to wander to the real answer to her friend’s question.  How was her new job going?

It’s certainly…going, she thinks, nodding absentmindedly at something Sadie says.  It didn’t ever seem to stop going.  Every Saturday brings a new crisis for her to handle. Within her first month of working at Patrick’s gym, she’s reset multiple noses, splinted fingers, bandaged knuckles, stitched lips and foreheads, and—Y/N suppresses a shudder—popped a dislocated shoulder back into a boxer’s shoulder socket.  

When Patrick told her that the job would be messy, Y/N had assumed that he was overexaggerating, but she’s found herself repairing every single boxer at the gym in some way, shape, or form over the last month.

Every boxer except Harry, that is.

Y/N’s not sure if there’s some sort of guardian angel looking out for him, or if he’s really just that lucky, but so far, the worst injury she’s had to help him with is a bloody nose.  Despite being the busiest boxer at the gym, with fights every week, Harry’s managed to evade any broken or dislocated bones.  He hasn’t even so much as pulled a muscle.

Although Y/N’s happy that she has one less patient to deal with every week, his winning streak is starting to make her nervous.  Whenever Harry steps into the ring, he’s cool, calm, and collected, but Y/N’s seen too much in life to ignore the rule that what goes up must come down.  She has a bad feeling that the higher Harry’s luck pushes him, the harder he’ll fall.  And when he does, it’ll be her job to put him together again.

“…And I just don’t know what it means.” Sadie pushes her phone in front of Y/N, pulling her from her thoughts. “I mean, who sends the wheat emoji?  Is he a farmer?  How do I respond to that?”

“Tell him he can plow your crops.” Y/N replies easily, shifting her attention back to her friend. “But only if he wears overalls.”

Sadie rolls her eyes as she pulls her phone back. “Haha.  Maybe it’s a weird vegan thing.  Do vegans have codes?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Y/N snorts before taking a swig from her beer bottle. “And I thought he was keto?”

“He was, until two weeks ago.”

“Well, even if vegans do have codes, I doubt two weeks is long enough to learn them.” Y/N stands from her seat. “I’m going to grab another beer; do you want a refill?”

Sadie shakes her head, her attention already turned back to her text messages with Peter.  

Y/N pushes her way through the crowd until she reaches the bar, carefully working her way in between the bodies of intoxicated New Yorkers.  She waits patiently next to a group of a few men until the bartender acknowledges her while her mind drifts to the assignment she has due next week that, really, she should be at home working on.

The bartender stops in front of her, wiping his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have another Budweiser.” Y/N says, reaching for her back pocket for her phone. “It’ll be on debit—”

“Actually—” The body next to her turns at the sound of her voice. “You can put it on my tab.  And add another scotch and soda to the order, as well.”

The bartender nods, but Y/N huffs under her breath, pushing her hair out of her face as she prepares the speech that she always hopes she won’t have to use. “That’s very kind of you, but—Harry?”

The green eyed boxer peers down at her, a charming grin playing on his red lips.  His long hair is down and flowing, curling around his defined shoulders and collarbones that peak out of his loose, half unbuttoned shirt. One arm hangs loosely at his side as the other clutches an empty glass, rings clicking as he taps his fingers against it.  His tongue swipes his lips once before he speaks, making them impossibly redder.

“’M surprised to see you here.” Harry’s voice is as low as it ever is, even in the noise of the club. “I didn’t think dive bars would be your scene.”

Y/N scoffs as she straightens her back, trying to make herself a better match for Harry’s height. “As opposed to what, sleazy underground gyms?”

“Hm.  That’s true.” An amused look paints its way onto Harry’s features as he sets his empty glass down on the bar. “Are you here alone?  Or did a date bring you here?”

“A friend, actually.” Y/N motions over her shoulder to Sadie, who’s still wrapped up in her messages with Peter. “I’ve never been here before, but she really likes it.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin slowly grows as he leans against the edge of the bar. “How are you liking it so far?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders slightly in a small shrug. “It’s alright.  Not much different than any other bar in New York.  A beer is a beer anywhere, right?”

“That’s your mistake, though.” Harry sighs a bit as his eyes train on something over Y/N’s shoulder. He reaches past her, his warm, tanned arm brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder.  It brushes against her again when he moves his arm back, this time with an open beer bottle and scotch and soda in hand, and Y/N’s not sure what’s worse: how good Harry’s skin feels against hers, or the fact that his hands are so large that he can easily carry two drinks in them without spilling a drop.

“My mistake?” Y/N’s successful in keeping her voice steady—just barely—as she takes the bottle from him. “What mistake?”

“Ordering a bottle of beer wherever you go.” Harry’s ringed hand wraps around the cold glass of scotch. “Let me pick the next drink I buy you, yeah?  Then you’ll be able to see if you really like this bar or not.”

“Um—” It takes Y/N a moment to process what he says, and when it finally hits her, she feels heat rush to her cheeks faster than it ever has before.  Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, and it takes the charming smile on Harry’s face changing to a grin of satisfaction at her reaction for her to snap out of her stupor.

“I don’t need you to buy me drinks.” Y/N says firmly, setting her beer bottle down on the counter. “I can buy my own.  Thank you, though.”

“Wait—” Harry’s arm touches her wrist lightly as she turns around, pulling her attention back to him. His satisfied grin has slipped into a look of apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in—that sounded worse than I meant it to.  I know you can buy your own drinks, I just—I meant it as a thank you.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow as she looks him up and down.  The difference in his demeanor compared to a moment ago is noticeable—his shoulders have curled in slightly, making his body appear smaller, and his brows are knit together in a look of worry.  His teeth are tugging on his lower lip as he waits for her response, and it’s not until noticing his lips that Y/N realizes she hasn’t responded.

“A thank you for what?” Y/N asks, surprise evident in her voice.  Although Harry’s let go of her wrist, she still feels a stinging in the skin there, and wraps her own hand around the area he touched.

Harry’s free hand grazes his abdomen, just over his ribs, where Y/N knows there’s a bruise from a fight the previous week. “For cleaning me up all the time.”

Y/N waves off his comment with a flip of her hand. “You don’t need to thank me for that.  It’s my job.  Literally.”

“I know, but—” A man pushes his way to the bar, breaking into the space between Y/N and Harry. Harry grabs the beer bottle off the bar counter before the man can spill it, a darkening look in his eyes as he steps around the (clearly intoxicated) man to stand before Y/N again. “I can’t imagine it’s easy.  I’ve seen how the men there treat you.”

Y/N straightens her spine even more, her mouth pressing into a tight line.  The last thing she needs is Harry’s pity. “I made the choice to take the job.  I knew what the environment would be like.  I don’t need you feeling like you have to be the good guy and buy me drinks to make up for the assholes at the gym.”

“No, that’s not—” Harry shakes his head quickly. “That’s not what I meant, Y/N—” She hates the flutter she feels in her core when she hears her name in his accent. “I’m just concerned—”

“I didn’t ask for you to be concerned!” Y/N replies hotly, her arms crossing tightly over her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sadie begin to notice the interaction between herself and Harry, and she knows she’s going to be interrogated the moment she gets back to the table.

“I know that!” Harry defends himself, his face growing more agitated as their conversation continues. “I can’t help it—”

“Why?  Because I’m a girl surrounded by big tough guys?  Because I obviously need protecting?  Because I can’t protect myself?” Although she’s aware that her frustration is only partly aimed at Harry, and is mostly the product of the emotions she’s kept locked inside her over the last month, Y/N can’t make herself stop.

“No.” Harry’s eyes drop down from her sharp gaze. “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

Y/N feels a twinge of guilt when she sees the brightness fade from Harry’s eyes, but she doesn’t shift her position. “I appreciate the thanks, and the drink.  But I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your protection.”

“Alright.” Harry nods once as his eyes snap up to meet hers again.  He has the same calm and collected look that Y/N usually sees reflected in his jade irises before a match. “I understand.”

“Good.” Y/N’s fingers twist around each other as she considers what else to say. Nothing else really seems worth saying, so instead she focuses on a goodbye. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods again, and Y/N moves to step away, but Harry’s hand catches her one more time. Y/N’s eyes find his face in confusion, and her whole body jumps as she feels the cool glass of the beer bottle press into her palm.

“Take that with you.” Harry’s voice is rough, unreadable. “It’s not safe to leave your drinks unattended.”

…

Now that she’s spent the last five Saturdays working at Patrick’s gym, Y/N’s fallen into a comfortable routine—or at least, as comfortable as she can be in an environment filled exclusively by men with anger issues and no morals.  Every Saturday morning, she gets up around nine A.M. and lounges around for a while, just reading her phone in bed.  Once she actually makes it out of bed, she showers, taking the time she doesn’t normally have on university mornings to wash her hair, shave anything that she thinks needs shaving, and just enjoy the hot water on her skin. After her shower, Y/N gets dressed in whatever the day’s activity calls for.  Sometimes she stays in all day, just studying and catching up on readings, while other times she has errands to run, or friends to meet for brunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that charges seventeen dollars for avocado toast. Whatever the day brings, however, her evening routine is always the same.  

Y/N sets her dinner plate in the kitchen sink before grabbing her jean jacket from the back of her kitchen chair.  She slips it over her black t-shirt, which is tucked into her dark jeans, before grabbing her heavy black boots from the closet.  After her first week, Y/N realized the key to being comfortable at her new job was dark clothing and protective footwear, as drunk men placing bets on illegal fights seemed to have a habit of stepping on her toes—literally.  Y/N found that it was best to take protective measures against the shoving of the crowds, as stitching paramedic patches onto the sleeves of her jean jacket hadn’t done any good.

With one final check to make sure her good stethoscope and manual blood pressure pump is in her bag, Y/N sets out for the gym, arriving at 9 P.M. on the dot.  Although the match doesn’t start until 10, she likes to get there early and check in with Patrick.  They’ve begun to develop a rapport over the last few weeks, and Y/N finds herself looking forward to her talks with the surly gym owner.

Y/N doesn’t blink when she enters the dark gym now, and instead keeps her gaze aimed straight ahead as she makes her way to Patrick’s office, knocking on the door thrice in quick succession.

“Yeah?” His voice calls out roughly from behind the door.  Y/N opens and shuts it behind her, managing to take one last gasp of clean air before being confronted with the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

“Evening, Doc.” Patrick leans back in his desk chair, the usual cigarette between his lips. “How are things looking out there?”

“The gym is already half full, and the fight isn’t for another hour.” Y/N takes a seat across from the desk as Patrick reaches under it, opening the minifridge he has stashed away and pulling out a beer for each of them.  Y/N accepts the bottle, opening it on the edge of his desk before continuing. “You’re getting famous.”

“I’m not getting famous; Styles is.” Patrick stubs out his cigarette before opening his own bottle. “He’s going on five weeks undefeated in his first season.  That’s never been done before.”

Y/N scratches at the label of her beer with her fingernail while her teeth tug on her bottom lip. “What’s his story, anyways?” She asks after a moment, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. “How did he end up here?”

Patrick takes a swig of beer, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t know how he ended up here, but I assume it’s for the same reason anyone ever does, including you. The money.” Patrick shrugs a bit. “As for his story at the gym…he knocked on my office door seven months ago, saying he wanted to get into boxing.  He had a bit of muscle, yeah, but nothing like he has now.  He just sounded like some posh boarding school kid, so I sent him packing.  But he was adamant.  Wouldn’t give up.  Kept coming back, over and over.” Patrick snorts, shaking his head at the memory. “Finally, I told him to start training and bulking up just to get him off my back. And then he came back the next day with his coach, Jeff, and spent hours working every drill imaginable.  I have to admit, it impressed me.  So I gave him a trial match, the first night you worked. You remember how that went, don’t you?”

Y/N thinks back to the blood spurting from Bowers’ nose after Harry broke it. “Yeah.  I do.”

“He’s a strange guy. Pretty different from any other boxer here.  But he’s bringing in cash, and lots of it, so I don’t give a shit.” Patrick takes another sip of beer, his eyes focusing on Y/N’s untouched bottle. “You better drink that, Doc.  I don’t like wasting beer.”

Y/N lifts the bottle to her mouth automatically, but doesn’t register the taste of the liquid as it passes her lips. “I’m pretty sure rule number one of nursing is not drinking before a shift.”

“That’s some bullshit hospital rule, not mine.” Patrick gives an unconcerned wave of his hand. “Besides, I think the alcohol steadies your hands a bit.  Liquid courage and all that.”

Y/N raises the bottle in her hand, tilting it towards Patrick with a wry grin. “To liquid courage.”

…

“You should consider telling Harry to reign it in, Patrick.” Y/N carefully slips off her bloodied gloves, tossing them in the locker room garbage. “That’s the third nose he’s broken in the last month!”

“Why would he need to reign it in?” Patrick raises an eyebrow, leaning against the lockers as Y/N washes her hands. “Do you know how much money he’s making me?  The crowd goes crazy for blood!”

Y/N shakes off her wet hands, quickly drying them on a paper towel before taking her medical kit back from Patrick.  The bag feels heavier in her hand than it did earlier. “At this rate, you’re going to be out of boxers before the month is over.”

“I can always get new fighters, Doc.” Patrick sniffs, rubbing his nose while leading Y/N to the other locker room.  He still comes with her to check on the boxers, despite her knowing the drill by now. Deep down, Y/N appreciates it. “A new champion, on the other hand…those are rare.”

“Are they?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as Patrick steps back, letting her step into the room first. “I’m surprised this champion hasn’t worn himself out yet.”

Harry’s eyes snap up at the sound of her voice.  He’s in his usual spot on the bench, his hands already unwrapped and his body already clean from his shower.  Y/N wishes she could say that the sight of Harry’s damp and tattooed chest doesn’t have an affect on her anymore, but as she takes in the sight of him, her eyes are only half scanning his body for injuries.  The other half of her, to her displeasure, is focused on how his muscles flex under the harsh artificial light as he takes a drink from his water bottle.

Patrick laughs once as Y/N takes a seat next to Harry, opening her medical kit. “Jeff, you’ll never guess what Doc Y/N thinks.” Patrick approaches the coach with a smirk on his face. “She wants Harry to reign it in.  Says he’s too harsh in the ring.”

Jeff’s laughter matches Patrick’s, and Y/N feels a flush come over her face as she searches for clean gloves.  She does her best to keep her gaze down and keep her focus on her work, but when she looks up, the look on Harry’s face makes her mind go completely blank.

Although Jeff and Patrick are snickering at her comment, Harry’s face is as unreadable as ever. There’s no amusement in his deep green eyes, nor is there a grin on his pink lips.  Instead, there’s just a small crease between his brows as he meets her gaze, and Y/N can hardly fight back the urge to lean forward and press her lips to the worried spot.

She had been afraid that seeing Harry for the first time since their bar dispute would throw her, and it only takes one look in his eyes to know her anxiety has a solid foundation of reason underneath it.

“You think I’m too harsh?” The corners of his lips turn down the slightest bit as he speaks, and Y/N has to tell herself that she has no right to notice such a slight difference as quickly as she does.

With a slight shake of her head, Y/N begins to press around Harry’s side, where she had watched him sustain most of his opponent’s hits in the match. “I’m the one who cleans up your messes, remember?” She keeps her voice quiet, so she can hear any noises he makes as she presses on his muscles. “Is this sore?”

“Not more than usual.” Harry replies in the same quiet tone, his eyes glued to her movements.  Y/N can feel his irises burning into her skin, and tries her best to ignore how the attention makes her feel.  She almost forgets that they’re not alone in the locker room until Patrick speaks.

“Jeff and I have to discuss some things for next week’s match.” He says, speaking more to Y/N than Harry. “Are you alright here, Doc?”

Y/N understands the tone underneath his question.  Patrick wants to know if she’s alright being left alone with a boxer who just proved himself capable, once again, of breaking bones.  If it was anyone else, Y/N would shake her head and say she needs him to stay.  With Harry, however, Y/N’s not afraid of what he can do to her.  If anything, she’s concerned about what she may do to him.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Y/N gives a slight nod to Patrick as she pulls out her stethoscope. “I won’t be much longer.”

“Alright.” Patrick gives one hardened look to Harry before following Jeff out of the locker rooms, leaving behind only the smell of his cigarette to mix with the locker room air.

Silence sits between the two of them for a moment, until Y/N fixes the stethoscope in her ears. “This may be a bit cold.” She warns, setting the device on his chest.  She listens for a moment before moving it to his back. “Breathe in for me?”

Harry’s ribs expand underneath her fingers as he inhales deeply, exhaling just as slow.

“Again.” Y/N says, moving her stethoscope.  Even through her gloves, she can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and briefly wonders if she should take his temperature before deciding that there’s no need.  Harry is just…warm.

Y/N pulls her stethoscope out of her ears and sets it down in her bag, reaching instead for some wipes. “There’s a bit of blood under your nose still.” She pulls out a wipe and gently rubs it over the affected skin. “But your nose isn’t broken.”

Harry’s hands fiddle in his lap as she cleans him up, shifting and wincing every once in a while. “I don’t mean to break noses, you know.” He says after a moment. “I mean, I do, kind of, but it’s just—I’m fighting to win.”

“I know.” Y/N tosses the used wipe in the trash, her fingers still moving gently over his cheek.  A black eye is beginning to develop under his left eye, so she reaches in her kit for her penlight.  She flicks it on and holds up a finger with her other hand. “Follow my finger with your eyes, will you?”

Harry does as she asks, passing the simple test with ease. “We’re all fighting to win.  I just happen to be better at it than the others.”

The corner of Y/N’s lip twitches as she turns off the penlight, swapping it in favour of a cold compress she can press to Harry’s bruised eye. “I suppose you are.” Harry winces as the compress makes contact with his eye, and Y/N sighs. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Harry says immediately, voice low.

Once again, the conversation dies out in favour of silence.  As Y/N holds the compress to Harry’s eye, she wonders if he’s been thinking of their conversation in the bar as much as she has.  She wonders if he’s been thinking of their conversation in the bar at all.  As much as she dislikes how much Harry’s been occupying her thoughts, she dislikes the idea of her occupying none of his even more.

“So…” Y/N clears her throat quietly. “Patrick told me this is your first season, right?”

Harry jerks his head in a slight nod. “It is.”

When he offers no more information, Y/N asks another question. “What made you want to start?”

Harry’s uncovered eye meets hers, just for a moment, before looking down at his calloused hands. “I needed some extra cash, and I’m a good fighter.  Figured I’d put it to use.”

Y/N can sense more of a story behind his words, but she can also tell by his demeanor that he’s not in the sharing mood.  Instead of prying more, she just nods and takes his hand, pressing it over her hand and the cold compress.  She gives herself a split second to enjoy his hand on hers before pulling her own hand away.

She stands up slowly as she snaps off her gloves, tossing them in the garbage. “Take some Ibuprofen if you have any pain, and again, if you start to feel weird—”

“See an actual doctor.” Harry finishes the sentence for her with a small smile. “Because you’re not one.”

“Exactly.” Y/N clicks the medical kit closed. “Now you get it.”

“So what are you then, if not an actual doctor?” Harry asks, leaning back on the bench to look up at her better. “What made you start here?”

Y/N pauses by the lockers, surprised he’s inquiring about her life. “I’m a nursing student at NYU. I’m here because I was the only one dumb enough to answer Patrick’s ad, apparently.”

A chuckle rolls out of Harry’s body, and Y/N watches as she tries to hide the wince caused by his abdomen contracting. “Are you—?” She begins to step closer, but Harry waves off her concern.

“I’m fine.” He insists. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Right.” Y/N gives him a confused look. “What was the subject, again?”

“You.  Your life.” Harry shifts the cold compress to his other hand, flexing his cold fingers to get blood circulating.  Y/N watches the movement for a moment before forcing herself to meet his eyes again.

“What about my life?” She asks, just a hint of breathlessness detectable in her voice.

Harry shrugs with one shoulder as he stands, making his way to the locker next to Y/N.  He opens it quickly, grabbing a t-shirt from within and smoothly pulls it on with one hand.  The fabric settles over his muscles nicely. “I don’t know.  I’m just curious.”

Y/N’s brow furrows as she takes in his words. “Okay, but…no offence, Harry, I just—I don’t think it’s very wise of me to tell you too much about my life.”

Harry’s mouth twitches down into a frown as he grabs his leather jacket from the locker, shutting it with a bang that echoes around the empty locker room. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe?” Y/N knows her words are true, but her infliction makes it sound like a question, and Harry proves himself eager to answer it.

“It’s not?” Harry glances around the locker room slowly, gesturing to the empty space. “Who else is here?”

“Just you, but I—that’s part of the reason.” Y/N speaks steadily and carefully, as if to make Harry understand, but the words are as much a reminder for herself as they are for him. “You shouldn’t know about my life.  About me.  At least, not any more than you need to.”

That unreadable look crosses over Harry’s face again, clouding his green irises in mystery. His free hand combs through his long hair, still damp from his shower, as his teeth worry his bottom lip. “Who decides what I need to know?”

Y/N tightens her grip on the medical kit, the feel of the rough leather acting as a reminder for where she is and who she’s with. “I do.” She murmurs. “I decide.”

Harry nods roughly once, jerking his chin up as he takes the cold compress off his eye.  The bruise is darker now, staining his pale skin, but he hands the compress back to her. “Alright, then.  Thanks for clearing that up.”

From the tone of his voice, Y/N gets the sense that he’s bothered by what she said, but she doesn’t let herself focus on it.  Harry’s is a grown man, and if he has an issue with what she’s saying, he can tell her. It’s not her job to coddle him and drag his feelings out.

Y/N matches his tone of voice, looking him straight in the eye as she replies. “You’re welcome.”

…

When Y/N’s phone rings three weeks later with an unknown number flashing on the screen just past midnight on a Thursday, she almost doesn’t answer it. After a day of consecutive classes and working through tutorials and labs until her mind went numb, she can’t handle dealing with a telemarketer in a different time zone. However, the New York area code catches her eye, and her curiosity gets the best of her as she picks up her phone and taps the screen.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” Harry’s familiar accent crackles through her speaker, half drowned out from the sound of yelling and New York traffic.

“Harry?” Y/N sits up on her couch so fast that she almost spills her tea. “What—how did you get my number?”

“Texted Patrick for it.” Harry’s voice drifts further away, and Y/N can’t make out what he’s saying.

“What?” She presses the phone closer to her ear in an attempt to hear him. “I can’t understand, Harry—”

“What’s your address?” Harry repeats again, his voice finally audible. “It’s in Tribeca, right?”

Y/N sets down her tea with a thud. “I—yeah, but—”

“Just text it to me, please.” Harry asks, his voice low and strained. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“But—”

The line clicks dead.

Y/N stares down in her phone in shock for a moment before adding Harry’s number to her contacts and texting him her address.  She’s not sure why she does it without question—she should be concerned that he’s coming for a negative reason, she thinks, but something in his voice over the phone…there was something there that she’d never heard before.

A knock comes to her door eight minutes later, after Y/N’s bustled around her tiny studio apartment to tidy it up.  She’s normally a clean person, but had to toss some clothes in her hamper, put her mug in the sink, and, three seconds before the knock came, tossed her old teddy bear under her bed.

When Y/N opens the door, she’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting, but she knows for sure it isn’t this.

Harry is slumped against your door frame, his right hand cradled to his chest by his left arm. There’s a dark liquid splattered on his navy blue shirt, and it takes Y/N a second to register that it’s blood, not alcohol, despite his body reeking of liquor.  His curls, which are normally so soft and carefully tied back, are falling into his eyes as he struggles to keep himself upright.  Bruises are already blossoming along his jaw, there’s a split in the skin next to his eyebrow, and a frightening amount of blood trailing down his cheek like tears.  A sheen of sweat covers his face and neck, and when he looks at Y/N, she can see the moment it takes him to register that it’s her he’s looking at.

“Oh my God—” Y/N grabs his shoulders quickly, leading him into the apartment.  She can tell he’s trying his best to walk independently, but half his body weight is being pressed into her while she struggles to lead him to the couch.

A groan escapes Harry’s lips as he flops onto the couch, low and weak and a complete knife in Y/N’s chest. Normally, when she sees someone this injured, she goes straight into nurse mode, examining them without emotion, but there’s something about the way Harry’s chest is rapidly rising and falling that’s preventing her from doing that.

“Harry—I—” She pushes his curls back from his face, and is horrified to find blood on her hand when she pulls it back. “What happened?”

“I—” The words struggle to make it past his pale lips as he takes a shuddering breath. “I got into a fight. At the bar.”

The answer is so simple, so common, and yet it shocks Y/N that she pauses mid-step on her way to get her medical kit. “A bar fight?  This is from a bar fight?”

Harry nods once as he winces. “Had a few—few too many.  Got into an argument.” He grits his teeth as he does his best to take his jacket off. “Christ—”

“Stop.” Y/N sets her medical kit down on the coffee table, reaching over and carefully helping him remove his jacket.  Her curiosity is raging inside her—what could have irritated Harry so much that he would fight in a bar?  And, even more pressing, what could have irritated him so much that he would lose? “So you can only box while sober, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harry mutters the word, a tinge of shame echoing in the back of his voice. “Apparently.”

Y/N tosses his jacket to the ground once it’s off, her eyes canvassing over Harry’s body.  There’s so much that seems wrong that she doesn’t even know where to start. “Okay, just—what hurts?  What happened?”

“The bastard got a few good shots in at my head.  Split my eyebrow, but that’s about it.” Harry sucks in a sharp breath as he hears you snap on your disposable gloves. “But I—shit—I fucked up my hand, Y/N.  I threw a bad punch and—fuck—”

Y/N carefully takes Harry’s injured hand in her own, examining it closely.  A few of his knuckles are split and dripping blood down his pale skin.  His calloused fingers are bruised, swelling over the rings he’s wearing, and Y/N knows that those have to be the first things to go.  She takes one of her decorative pillows and sets it on Harry’s lap, setting his injured hand on top of it before quickly moving to her fridge. She grabs an ice pack from the freezer and wraps it in a tea towel, tucking it under her arm as her eyes scan her apartment for something to help her get his rings off.  Only one thing comes to her mind, and Y/N tries to control the blood rushing to her cheeks as she opens her bedside drawer and grabs the lube she keeps stashed there.

When Harry sees it in her hand, he raises an eyebrow for a split second until the pain of the cut catches him off guard.

“What—” He takes a deep breath as she settles next to him, carefully setting the ice pack underneath his hand. “What’s the KY for?”

Y/N attempts to keep her voice steady as she answers. “You’re wearing two rings.  We have to get them off before your fingers swell any more.” She pops the seal of the lube open and pours a liberal amount over Harry’s fingers. “This—this is going to hurt, so just—I’m sorry.”

Harry nods once, his eyes closed as his head jerks in response. “Just do it.”

Although she does her best to be gentle, Y/N can feel Harry’s body tensing as she pulls the rings over his bruised fingers.  No words leave his lips, but she can tell that he’s gritting his teeth to keep quiet as she works the two rings off.

“Good.  Good job.” She sets the lube-covered rings on her coffee table with a clink. “That was the worst of it, I think.  Or I hope, at least.”

A huff of liquor scented air passes through Harry’s lips. “Is it broken?”

Y/N gingerly picks up Harry’s hand, moving his fingers as much as she can, feeling for anything out of place. “I don’t think so, no.” She murmurs in a quiet voice. “Just sprained, I think.  Your index and middle finger got it the worst, but I’m fairly certain they’re not fractured.”

“Fairly certain?” Harry asks, jaw tense. “How could we be 100% certain?”

“If we went to an actual hospital and got an X-ray.” Y/N shoots back, giving him a harsh look. “But seeing as how you’re here, I assume that’s something you don’t want to do.”

Harry exhales hard as she cleans his hand with a wipe. “No.  It’s not.”

Once his hand is clean, Y/N wraps it in a bandage carefully, setting it back down on the ice pack once the bandage is secure.  With his hand taken care of, she turns her attention to Harry’s face.  The cut in his brow has stopped bleeding now, enough for Y/N to see that it’s not horribly deep. “I don’t need to stitch it.” She tells him as she grabs a cotton pad and rubbing alcohol. “I just need to clean it and then bandage it.”

Harry winces when she presses the alcohol soaked pad to the cut.

“Sorry.” Y/N mumbles, her eyes trained on the split skin next to his eyebrow.

“S’alright, I’ll manage.” Harry matches her mumble, his voice barely audible in the quiet living room. She can feel the heat of his skin pressed against her hand, and just when she’s thinking that there’s no way that her icy skin can feel pleasant, Harry sighs.

“Your hands are cold.” He murmurs, his uninjured hand touching the hand that’s cupping his jaw to keep him steady. “It’s nice.  Feels like a million degrees in here.”

Y/N resists the urge to pull her hand away from his, keeping all her focus on applying the bandage to his eyebrow like it’s a monumentally difficult task.  She waits until she’s smoothed the beige cover over his skin to respond. “Probably because you’re so sweaty.” She presses her other hand to his forehead, doing her best to ignore how another sigh slips past Harry’s lips. “I hope you don’t have a fever…”

“’M just warm, that’s all.” His words are less slurred than they had been when he first arrived, and his green eyes are just starting to open again. “The bar was hot.”

Y/N pulls her hand away from his forehead. “Right.” She walks the three steps it takes her to get to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “Here.” She hands it to Harry, along with two ibuprofen pills from her medical kit. “Swallow these, and then drink that entire glass of water.”

“You got it, Doc.” Harry murmurs, following her instructions immediately.  Y/N rolls her eyes as she takes a seat next to him again, carefully readjusting the ice pack on his injured hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She asks in a tired voice.  Harry’s hair is falling into his eyes, she notices, and she doesn’t even think before she slips her hair tie off her wrist to carefully pull his curls into a bun on top of his head.

Harry doesn’t complain. “Patrick calls you Doc,” is the only thing he says.

“That’s because Patrick is…Patrick.” Y/N settles back into the couch as she watches Harry drink the water. “Why didn’t you call him for my address instead of my number?  You could’ve been here quicker.”

“I did.” Harry swallows down another gulp of water, his good hand wiping his mouth gingerly. “He told me to ask you myself.  Said he wouldn’t give your address out to creeps.”

A rush of affection flows through Y/N’s heart for the tough gym owner. “That’s good to know.”

“It is.” Harry agrees after another drink of water.  Once he’s drained it, Y/N takes the glass from him and sets it on the coffee table.

“Thank you.” Harry murmurs gratefully. “For…everything tonight.  I really—I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s my—”

“No, Y/N.  This isn’t your job.” Harry looks at her intensely, a sincerity on his face that she’s never seen before, or at the very least, never noticed before. “Bandaging my hand and head at one A.M. in your apartment isn’t your job.  I know you—you said you didn’t want me to know things about you, and now—”

“Not quite.” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to cut him off. “I said I would decide what you could know, and I decided that you could know my address.  Just don’t tell anyone else at the gym, alright?”

Despite the bruising-induced tenderness on his face, Harry frowns immediately. “I would never do that. They’re all awful, and I would never…betray you like that.”

Y/N’s heart rate picks up as she listens to Harry speak.  There’s something about him throwing around the word “betray” in the same sentence as “I” and “you” that makes a rush flow through her veins. “Thanks.”

“I know it’s not easy for you there.” Harry carefully gauges her reaction as he speaks. “I’ve heard how they speak to you.  It’s—they have no respect.”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.” Y/N sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears (her hair tie is in Harry’s hair, and she’s too tired to get another one from the bathroom). “I’m used to it.”

Harry’s frown deepens, his lips finally pinkening back up (which Y/N notices for medical reasons. Purely medical reasons). “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

Y/N barks out a laugh, harsh and short. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.” Harry’s face is indignant, and in any other circumstances, Y/N might find it endearing.  But not now.

“Harry.” She clears the laughter out of her voice. “Do you know what I deal with every day?”

“With the boxers? Yeah—”

“No.  Just in general.” Y/N tucks her legs underneath her as she settles herself into the couch, careful not to bump Harry’s hand. “I’m a female in the medical field.  The amount of shit I get from people, from men…” She shakes her head. “I’ve had male professors tell me it’s a good thing that I’m going to nursing school, and not medical school, because I’m too emotional to handle being a doctor.  I’ve heard male medical students tell female medical students that they don’t belong in the program, because girls can’t make quick and rational decisions with patients.  I’ve watched my male classmates be belittled for choosing to be a nurse over being a doctor.  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Y/N bites her lip, but only for a moment. Now that she’s started, she can’t stop the flood of words pouring out of her. “Every day, I get my decisions and my calls second guessed by my superiors, while my male classmates’ decisions are accepted right away.  I get called ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’ and ‘darling’ by professors and patients alike, while my male classmates are ‘mister’ and ‘nurse’.  It’s nothing new.”

Harry watches her as she speaks with eyes full of awareness.  She can tell he’s hanging on every word, his gaze trained on her and her only.  He doesn’t speak as she pauses for a breath, so she continues, a rushed urgency weaving its way through her words.

“Do you want to know why I told you that I didn’t need your concern or your protection at the gym?” Y/N leans the side of her head against the back of the couch, not breaking Harry’s stare. “Because I deal with that shit every day, and I’ve learned to either ignore it or handle it myself.  Unless some asshole puts his hands on me, and I physically need your help, then I’m fine.  Can you understand that?”

Harry clears his throat once, but his voice is still thick when he replies. “Yeah, I can.  I’m sorry that I—it was never my intention to push the topic, or make you uncomfortable, but I did.  I’m sorry.”

The sincere apology brings a warm feeling to Y/N’s stomach, and it radiates further throughout her body with every breath Harry takes. “I accept your apology.  Thank you.”

Harry smiles at her just the slightest bit, the corners of his mouth tugging up, and the warmth increases when Y/N notices the dimples that appear in his cheeks.  Something about them makes Harry look so much younger, so much more innocent…and Y/N’s not certain why, but something about that observation makes her feel electric.  As a distraction, she reaches for a wipe from her kit, catching Harry’s eye before touching his face with it. “May I?” She asks, waiting for his nod.

When he gives it, she begins to wipe the sweat and dried blood from his face, careful not to aggravate his bruises.  It only takes her a few moments, but she spends extra time running the wipe over his cheeks, feeling the dip of his dimples beneath the cloth.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice rumbles deep in his chest as his good hand catches hers.  The wipe falls from her fingers as he keeps her hand pressed to his cheek. “You’re a wonderful nurse.” He says, his deep green irises burning holes into her own.

The burning of Harry’s skin is so much more apparent when he nuzzles his cheek into her hand, and Y/N feels as if she’s the one who’s been drinking with how badly her head is spinning at the contact. “I think…” She does her best to make sense of her words, while Harry busies himself with moving her hand over his cheek, guiding her to stroke the stubbled skin. “I think you may have a fever.”

Harry gives a short shake of his head, and he maneuvers Y/N’s hand over his lips before responding. “’S just how you make me feel.  Feverish.” A small laugh falls out of his mouth, and he presses a chaste kiss to the tips of her cold fingers. “Sorry.  I shouldn’t say that.”

An involuntary sound echoes from the back of Y/N’s throat at his words, and she’s not sure if it’s a gasp, a whimper, or both, but it brings heat to her cheeks nonetheless. “N-no. You shouldn’t say that.”

“Sorry.” Harry repeats again, his lips gently brushing against her fingertips over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re drunk.” Y/N briefly thinks that she should pull her hand away, but she doesn’t, and while she may later blame that on her thinking she wouldn’t be able to, the truth is that she doesn’t want to. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Harry moves her hand to cup his cheek again, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles in a gentle but constant motion. “I know what I’m doing.”

Y/N’s breath hitches as Harry turns his head to plant a kiss in the middle of her open palm.  His lips are just as warm as the rest of him, and she’s starting to wonder if there’s a fire burning inside him, deep in his chest.

It would explain the burning she feels whenever she’s near him.

“You have the hands of a healer, y’know that?” Harry’s voice echoes from deep in his chest, filling her senses with the cadence of his accent. “Calloused for all the right reasons. The complete opposite of mine.”

With a shaking breath, Y/N carefully threads her fingers through Harry’s, the metal of his rings cooling down the fire she feels. “I…I love your hands.” She says truthfully, because apparently they’re being truthful tonight. “They’re so strong when you fight, but…when you’re like this…” Y/N lets go of his hand, but keeps their fingers locked together, so both of their palms are open.  It’s like each of them is an extension of the other, and delight flushes through her when she realizes it. “You’re gentle with me.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry breathes, shifting a bit on the couch.  A flicker of pain darkens his face, and Y/N’s free hand moves to his chest, rubbing circles over his shirt to soothe him.  A relaxed sigh falls from his lips. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, her hands pausing their movements.  A whine of protest leaves Harry’s pink lips, but she ignores it as she gives him a confused look. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I-I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” As Harry’s eyes drop to their intertwined fingers, Y/N begins to realize that this—his body close, his eyes downcast, his voice quiet—this is Harry opening up.  This is Harry being vulnerable, honest, and himself.  The fear in his voice is as much himself as the calm look on his face before a fight.

His fingers fiddle with hers as he searches for his next words, and Y/N can see the effort he’s making to choose the right thing to say. “I…” He pauses, the struggle clear on his face before he tries again. “Every week, you see what I do, right?  You know—better than anyone, you know what I’m capable of.  So if you were afraid of me, I…I wouldn’t blame you, Y/N.  I’d understand.”

If someone asked Y/N in this moment how she got here, she wouldn’t be able to explain it.  The journey from Point A has never been more muddled, but Point B is so clearly within her sight that she doesn’t care. How did she get here? she asks herself, when she already knows the answer like she knows the back of her hand, the bones and muscles of Harry’s body, and the precariousness of their situation.  How did she get here?  Y/N has no fucking clue.  But here is the vulnerable look in Harry’s deep green eyes, the steady beat of his heart under her hand, the raw emotion in his voice, and Y/N wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

When Y/N realizes that, how badly she wants Harry, after weeks of denying it, the wind gets knocked out of her chest.  She struggles to form words, to take anything more than a shallow breath, to do anything but watch as Harry’s composure starts to slip more and more.  His teeth tug on his bottom lip more and more frequently, and his breathing increases as he sits anxiously, waiting for her response.

“I…” Y/N begins to rub his chest again, the circles careful and tight, and the anxiety that she heard in Harry’s words is now laced through her own. “I could never be…afraid of you, Harry.  I told you, you’re…you’re gentle with me.”

He exhales a quick breath of relief as she speaks, the tightness visibly relaxing out of his expression, and Y/N moves her hand from his chest to his neck, cupping over his pulse point, her fingers tangling in the few strands of Hair she couldn’t tie back.

“You’re not—you don’t—” She struggles to find the right words, the perfect way to express herself. “I don’t know how to say it…”

“’S’alright.” Harry assures her right away as he presses their palms together again. “You don’t need to say it, Y/N, I—fuck—!”

Harry cries out with pain, his injured hand falling back onto the ice pack covered pillow after he tried to move it.  Y/N immediately tends to it, securing the ice pack back around it quickly and carefully as Harry closes his eyes and lets his head fall back on the couch.

“Did you forget it’s sprained?” She asks him incredulously, cupping his cheek so he’ll look her in the eyes. “What were you trying to do?”

“I wanted to—your hair—” Harry grits his teeth, sucking in a quick breath as he struggles to control the pain. “I wanted to touch it, but I forgot…”

Y/N sighs, smoothing her thumb over his jaw. “You should go to bed.  It’s late.”

Harry nods slightly, his eyes glued to the ground as he lets go of your hand and carefully stands. “Thank you for your help.  I’ll get out of your hair—”

“What are you doing?” Y/N stands quickly, her arms automatically moving to support Harry. “You’re not leaving.  You can’t go home like this.”

Harry meets her eyes with a look of confusion before glancing around her small studio apartment. “You don’t have a guest room, Y/N.  Don’t worry about me, I’ve gone home looking worse.  It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.  You’re not going anywhere.” Y/N tugs carefully on the sleeve covering his good arm. “C’mon.  I have some clothes you can borrow.”

“I can’t stay—”

“Yes, you can.” She says stubbornly, her soft look transforming into a firm stare, as if she’s challenging him to challenge her. “It’s not a big deal, Harry.  Not unless you make it one.”

The corners of his lips twitch, and Y/N wants to plant kiss after kiss on the edge of his mouth until he gives her a true smile. “Fine, Doc.” Harry murmurs. “If you say so.”

Y/N helps him to her bathroom, setting him down on the edge of her tub before grabbing him clothes from her dresser.  Harry examines them after she hands them to him, a clear look of displeasure written on his face.

“These are men’s clothes.” He says quietly, holding up the sweatpants and t-shirt.

Y/N chews on her bottom lip. “Yeah.  They are.”

Harry stares at her for a beat, waiting for an elaboration.  When one doesn’t come, he decides to prompt it. “Whose clothes are these?”

“An ex.” Y/N says simply, her usual guard is back as she turns to open her bathroom cabinet. “There’s, um, a spare toothbrush in here.  Use anything you need.  I’ll…give you a moment to change.”

 As Harry changes (which takes longer than Y/N would’ve thought, but then again, it may be hard to do with one sprained hand), Y/N busies herself with cleaning up.  She tosses out the wipes and cotton pads stained with blood, and packs up her medical kit before setting it in her closet. As she pulls back the covers of her bed, a seed of regret begins to grow in her stomach.  Would she be able to handle sleeping next to Harry?  The idea of being encompassed by the smell of his cologne and musk for an extended period of time makes her woozy, and she’s beginning to consider sleeping on the couch when he emerges from the bathroom.

His build is bigger than that of her ex, so the t-shirt strains across his shoulders and arms. The pants fit nicely, but almost too nicely, if the way that Y/N can’t stop the thoughts that are racing through her head are any clue.

“They fit.” She says lamely as Harry approaches the bed, the ice pack still wrapped against his sprained hand. “That’s…that’s good.”

“Yeah.  Your ex and I are pretty close in size.” Harry sits on the edge of the bed, his every movement careful and calculated.  Now that the alcohol has completely left his system, Y/N can see how he’s assessing the situation with every passing moment.

Her instinct tells her that that’s good, and it’s what she should be doing too, but the memory of him touching her on the couch is too sweet to let her be cautious.  They’ve passed that point, she thinks, and so she pushes back the covers, giving Harry a long look.

“Come here.” Y/N says quietly, beckoning him towards her. “Please.”

It’s the small plea that gets to Harry, and he can’t stop himself from carefully moving underneath the blanket.  His warmth is immediately apparent, and Y/N thinks that the blankets are probably unnecessary if she’s going to be sleeping next to Harry’s fire all night.

Once he’s situated comfortably (or as comfortable as he can be with a sprained hand), Y/N flicks off her lamp, and darkness envelopes them.  It takes a minute of blinking in the darkness for her eyes to adjust, but she quickly finds Harry’s green irises in the darkness.  They give off their own light, she thinks, but that’s not surprising.

They lay there for a moment, each of them on their side, until Y/N decides to break the silence. “Hi.” She whispers into the space between them.

“Hi.” Harry’s low voice echoes back.  His minty breath rolls over her, and Y/N lets out a soft sigh after inhaling the scent. She likes it more than she should.

Quiet falls between them again as each of them takes in the other.  Y/N feels like she’s trying to memorize every plane of Harry’s face, like there’s going to be a quiz later and she needs to ace it.  Where are the creases between his eyebrows?  Where is his stubble the darkest?  Where is the tiny, crescent shaped scar?  Y/N commits every detail to memory, if only for her own pleasure.  Being this close to him reminds her that he’s real, and she can’t help but wonder if Harry is doing the same.

There’s a tenseness between them, and Y/N’s not quite sure how to fix it.  She’s certain she’ll never be able to relax around Harry, until his good hand reaches out and begins to stroke her hair.

The action is so tender and so gentle that her breath hitches in her chest.  Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense and unrelenting as his fingers deftly work their way through her hair.  Y/N watches his chest rise and fall in time with his movements, and there’s something about the synchronized actions that calms her racing heart.

A flicker of emotion in Harry’s eyes is the last thing she registers before her own eyes drift shut.

…

The note is scribbled messily on a scrap of paper from her kitchen note pad, left on the pillow for Y/N to find the next morning.

Thanks again for the help. -H

…

“Patrick, you can’t be fucking serious.”

The gym owner gives her a sharp look as he taps ash off his cigarette. “Do I look like I’m one for jokes, Doc?”

Y/N’s mouth gapes open for a moment, her grip tightening on the back of the office chair. “Harry can’t fight tonight!  He hurt his hand!  Haven’t you listened to anything I told you?”

“Honestly, Doc, the only thing I listened to was Styles himself telling me he was fine.” Patrick gives Y/N a pointed look. “He wants to fight, so he’s going to fight.”

“It’s your gym!” Y/N yells, the anger inside her outweighing the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “Tell him no!”

Puffing on his cigarette, Patrick shakes his head once. “I’m not doing that.  Those people out there paid to see Styles fight, and that’s what they’re going to get.”

“They’re not going to see Harry fight.” Y/N spits out through gritted teeth. “They’re going to see Harry lose!”

“That’s his business.” Patrick shrugs nonchalantly, as if they’re not discussing how Harry’s blood is about to be splattered against the off-white vinyl of the ring. “I make my money either way, Doc.”

“And that’s your business, isn’t it?” Y/N says scathingly, pushing away from the chair.  She lets her nails dig into her palms instead. “You don’t care who gets hurt, as long as you get your money!”

Patrick stands up now, his agitation beginning to show. “I’m not the bad guy here, Y/N.  Harry says he’s good to fight, so he’s fighting.  I’m not his babysitter, and I’m not his mother.  He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

Y/N opens her mouth again, but no sound comes out.  Instead, she gives Patrick one last look of fury before storming out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

She should’ve known.  She should’ve known that Harry would still try to fight tonight, despite his sprained hand that’s had less than two days to heal.  In all honesty, the thought that he would try to fight never even occurred to her until she walked into the gym tonight and overheard multiple men talking in excitement about the match.  When she first heard the name Styles, she had been sure she that was mishearing the conversations.  But then it happened again.  And again. And when she realized that Harry planned on fighting, she had been certain, so foolishly certain, that Patrick would cancel the match when she explained the situation.  

It’s her own fault, she thinks, making her way into the crowd to watch the match.  It’s her own fault for getting too comfortable, for believing that anyone would listen to what she says.  The way Harry had looked at her made her believe that her words mattered, but tonight…this is a harsh reminder of what the world is really like.

If she thought there would be any chance of convincing Harry to call off the match, Y/N would storm the locker room in an instant, yelling and screaming and pleading until Harry saw sense.  It was a double-edged sword, really.  She knows him now, which makes her care for him more than ever before.  And knowing him means knowing that he won’t back down from this match.

Y/N knows it’s going to be bad when Harry walks out with his sprained hand held awkwardly at his side, his face void of its usual calm and collected expression.  But she knows it’s going to be a blood bath when Adam Bowers immediately follows him.

While Harry is doing his best to not show the pain and weakness on his face, Bowers is snarling at him from across the ring, rage and fury written into every one of his movements.  It’s clear that Bowers wants his revenge for the humiliation Harry caused him in his very first match, and Y/N knows that he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

While most of the short match is watched from behind her hands, Y/N doesn’t miss the important moments.  Harry on all fours, spitting blood out onto the vinyl matt.  Harry barely dodging a punch, only to take a fist to his chest and having the wind knocked out of him.  Harry gritting his teeth as his fist connects with Bowers’ jaw, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make him angry.  Harry facedown on the floor of the ring, breath barely moving in and out of his body as blood streams from a gash on his head, mixing with the blood already flowing from his nose.  

As the fear and panic seizes Y/N’s body, everything around her begins to move in slow motion.  She sees the crowd roar, but does not hear it.  She sees the referee drag Bowers away from Harry’s limp body, but does not hear the words he’s yelling.  She sees Jeff run into the ring, but does not hear him calling for help.  She sees Patrick run towards her, but does not hear him screaming her name until the fourth or fifth time.

“Y/N!” He yells again, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind him as he tears through the crowd. “Come on!”

Y/N lets herself be pulled back to the locker room, which is being transformed into a makeshift E.R.  Men that she’s never met before are opening a folding table over the bench, tossing training mats on top of it to make a poor man’s gurney.  Patrick takes the medical kit from her hands, opening it roughly and throwing a pair of clean gloves at her.  If she were in a clearer state of mind, Y/N would scream at him, demand to know why he allowed this to happen, but the sound of Jeff’s yelling signals Harry’s arrival, and all thoughts rush out of her head.

Jeff and another man carry Harry into the locker room, and while Y/N can tell they’re trying to be careful, groans are leaving Harry’s mouth as they lay him face up on the folding table, displaying the full extent of his injuries.

And here it is.  The fall of Harry Styles.

Bruises are blossoming over every inch of skin that she can see, new tattoos that she hates the meaning behind, but those are the least of her worries. There’s swelling and agitation in his sprained hand (which she suspects is now broken), along with blood spilling from his split knuckles.  His nose is swollen and bleeding, his lip is cut open, and there’s a black eye forming on his face at an alarming rate.  His cut from a few nights ago has split open again, three times as wide, two times as deep, and the blood pouring down his face is getting into his half shut eyes.

That’s where Y/N decides to start.

She takes a deep breath to center herself, pushing all of her emotions out of her as best as she can.  Harry needs her right now.  He needs her to take care of him in the way that only she can.

Y/N ties her hair out of her face quickly before snapping on the gloves. She pushes Jeff and Patrick out of the way, grabbing her penlight from her kit and stepping towards Harry.

“Harry.” She speaks in a calm but firm voice. “Open your eyes for me, Harry. Can you do that?”

His eyelids flutter at her voice, the green that she’s come to know barely peaking through.  Y/N flicks on the penlight, carefully raising one of his eyelids and then the other while shining the light in his eyes.  The dilation of his pupils is slightly uneven, but Y/N ignores the sick feeling that it causes in her stomach so that she can continue to work.

“Jeff.” She calls over her shoulder. “Put on gloves and apply pressure to the gash on his forehead.  Keep talking to him while you do it.”

Jeff steps forward and follows her instructions exactly.  She hears him muttering to Harry, but can’t make out the words as her focus shifts to Harry’s abdomen.  His breathing is still shallow, much too shallow for her liking, and she’s worried that something is affecting his lungs.

“Patrick, I need my stetho—” Before Y/N finishes the sentence, Patrick is already holding out the item for her, swapping it for her penlight.  She mutters a quick “thank you” as she slips the ends in her ears. “Harry, I need you to take a deep breath for me, alright?” She places the stethoscope on his chest. “As deep as you can.”

Harry sucks in a breath, but quickly moans in pain.

Y/N curses under her breath. “Again, Harry.  As deep as you can.”

Again, the only breath he can take is shallow and constricted.  Y/N loops the stethoscope around her neck as she begins to examine his chest, her fingers prodding around the bruises.  When she gets to his ribs, Harry lets out another cry, jerking forward on the table.

“Keep him still.” Y/N commands Jeff and the other man, who she finally recognizes as a gym trainer named Nick.  She pushes on the same spot, her face grim as she receives the same reaction.

“I think he has a fractured rib.” She glances at Jeff before continuing her examination. “Just one, I think, but there’s definitely something wrong.  It doesn’t feel completely broken, or like there’s any splinters, but that last hit to his chest—” Y/N’s demeanor begins to slip as she remembers the sight of Harry lying on the floor of the ring, and she shakes her head to clear the image from her mind.  She needs to focus. “Yeah.  Fractured rib.”

Y/N moves through the checklist in her mind, turning her attention to Harry’s injured hand.  It’s still wrapped from his fight, so she grabs her bandage scissors from her bag to get a better look at the damage.  She tries to be careful as she cuts, but she knows Harry’s in pain, and she wishes she had stronger medicine to offer than an extra strength ibuprofen.

It doesn’t take her long to guess that his hand is fractured.  Of course, she can’t be entirely sure without an X-ray, but the closest thing to an X-ray machine that she has at her disposal is the vending machine down the hall.  Y/N does her best to clean the cuts on his knuckles, carefully bandaging them before looking up at Patrick.

“Go to the pharmacy and buy a hand brace.” She tells him as she wraps a cold compress around Harry’s hand. “Something sturdy.  And get more painkillers.”

Patrick disappears with a nod, leaving Y/N with just Jeff and Nick to help her.  She sets another cold compress over his abdomen before working her way up to the injuries that look the worst.

Harry’s nose, she’s surprised to find, isn’t broken.  She can touch it without hearing any cracking sounds, and, to her relief, the majority of the blood beneath his nose is from the initial hit. She instructs Jeff to hold another cold compress lightly to the area before she moves to the gash on his forehead.

From the first look, Y/N knows it’s bad.  Despite the pressure Jeff’s been applying, the gash hasn’t stopped bleeding, and seems to be tearing more every time Harry’s forehead contracts in pain. She wipes more blood from the area as the dread in her stomach grows.

“I think…” Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth. “I’m going to have to stitch it.”

Jeff and Nick exchange a look with each other as Y/N pushes back Harry’s sweat and blood slicked curls from his forehead.

“Nick, grab me two ibuprofen and some water.  And Jeff, pass me my suturing kit, will you?  It’s probably towards the bottom of my bag.” Y/N waits until the two men are preoccupied with their tasks to address Harry.  His eyes are still closed, but he’s vocal enough to voice when he’s in pain. “Harry.” She murmurs, smoothing his hair again. “Harry, do you know where you are?”

Harry sucks in another shallow breath as his eyelids crack open. “I-I’m—the locker room.  In the locker room.”

Y/N nods quickly. “You are.  Do you remember what happened?”

“Had a…” Harry’s brow furrows, causing a fresh stream of blood to drip from the gash.  Y/N applies more pressure as he speaks. “Had a match.  Got hurt.”

“You did.” Y/N nods again, glancing at the medicine in Nick’s hand. Harry’s responses ease her worries of a serious concussion, so she motions Nick over. “You have a bad cut on your forehead, Harry, so I need you to take this medicine before I fix it, alright?”

Harry makes a noise of understanding in the back of his throat, and Y/N swaps out her gloves and prepares her sutures while Nick helps Harry swallow the pills.  She prays that she hasn’t underestimated the severity of his head injury, and that the medicine won’t do more damage than good.  She knows it’s risky, but she just wants to give him something to ease his pain, even if it’s only a fraction of the painkillers he actually needs.

Jeff sets up a folding chair for Y/N, so she can sit and be more comfortable as she stitches the gash closed.  Y/N steadies herself against the cold metal chair before turning her attention back to Harry.

“I’m going to stitch you now, Harry, alright?” She says in a clear voice. “It—it’s going to hurt, but I have to do it.  If the pain gets really bad—” she nods at Jeff, who takes Harry’s uninjured hand in his own. “Squeeze Jeff’s hand, but only with your left hand. Do you understand?”

Harry manages to mutter a weak “yeah,” before his eyes clamp shut again.

Stitching somebody up in a locker room is about as awful as Y/N imagined it would be.

She knows that each tug of the needle through Harry’s skin hurts him badly, and with no anesthetic, the pain only increases with each stitch.  Harry, to his credit, does his best to stay still, gritting his teeth and squeezing Jeff’s hand until it turns blue, but small moans and whimpers still escape him every few minutes.  When Y/N finally finishes, cleaning and bandaging the now-closed wound, the entire room breathes a sigh of relief.

Patrick returns a few minutes later with more medicine and a brace, which Y/N carefully straps onto Harry’s fractured hand.  After that, all that’s left for her to do is to wipe more blood from his face and say a prayer.

The pain medication now finally starting to kick in, Harry begins to doze off, his breathing shallow yet even.  It’s not until his eyes completely close that the exhaustion and emotions catch up with Y/N, and she leans against the lockers, her back sliding down them until she’s seated on the ground with her knees pulled to her chest.

Patrick crouches down next to her, taking off her plastic gloves and handing her a water bottle. “You did good, Doc.” He mutters, rubbing her shoulder. “Really good.”

Y/N takes the water from him, but offers no other response.  It’ll take her a bit of time to forgive Patrick for this, she thinks, although she knows most of the blame is on Harry’s shoulders.  

Jeff sits down in the metal hair he brought for Y/N and lets out a long sigh. “Thank you, Y/N.  If it weren’t for you, I don’t know…”

“He shouldn’t have been fighting tonight, Jeff.” Y/N says in a thick voice, her fingers picking at the label on the bottle. “He was injured, and—”

“I tried to stop him.” Jeff glances at Harry’s sleeping form. “He’s so fucking stubborn.  He insisted on fighting.”

“No more.” Y/N shakes her head. “No more fights.  Not until he’s completely recovered.”

No one contradicts her.

Nick reappears in the doorway, despite Y/N not even realizing he had left the room, with a pair of keys in his hand. “I got the car ready, Jeff.  We can move him whenever.”

“Where are you taking him?” Y/N asks, and while she hopes the answer is “a hospital,” she knows it won’t be.

“Back to his apartment.” Jeff stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his pants. “I’ll stay with him for a bit, make sure he’s alright.” He glances at Y/N. “Can I call you if—?”

Y/N nods before he even finishes the sentence, her eyes trained on the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.  It had soothed her less two nights before, and its continuation still soothed her now. “Yeah.  Call me if he needs anything.  I’ll come right over.”

…

It takes five days for Harry’s name to pop up on Y/N’s phone screen.  

While she normally keeps her phone on do not disturb during class, she programmed his number to come through, just in case there was any sort of emergency.  The sound of her phone vibrating on her desk makes her jump, and she sends an apologetic look to her professor, reaching to turn it off.  When she sees Harry’s name, however, her heart begins to pound.

She ducks outside the classroom quickly before she answers.  Y/N had been dying to hear from Jeff on Harry’s recovery, but now that the call was actually coming, she worries that the call isn’t just for an update.

“Jeff?” She asks, assuming the coach is on the other line. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh—” It takes just one syllable for Y/N’s heart to stop. “It’s Harry, not Jeff.”

Y/N walks further away from her classroom, glancing around to see if she’s alone. “It’s good to hear your voice.” Y/N murmurs. “How—how are you feeling?”

A dry chuckle echoes through the phone. “Like shit, but that’s to be expected. Jeff told me I have a fractured rib?”

“And a fractured hand, and a mild concussion.” Y/N bites her lip. “Your nose wasn’t broken, though, so…at least there’s that.”

“Yeah.  There’s that.”

Y/N rubs her eyes as she leans against the corridor wall, her gaze trained on the trees outside the window. “I—Jeff said he’d call me if there was anything wrong, so—I would’ve stopped by—”

“No, I’ve been fine.  Just in pain, but that’s to be expected.” Harry assures her.  Y/N can almost picture him running his (not broken) hand through his hair. “You’re busy with school.  I understand.”

“Yeah, but—” Y/N lowers her voice as a group of students walks by. “My class finishes in an hour.  Can I come see you tonight?”

There’s silence on the other end, and for a moment, Y/N begins to worry that she’s overstepped a boundary.  She opens her mouth to apologize when Harry finally answers.

“Yeah.  You can.”

…

Y/N’s medical knowledge tells her that things have to get worse before they can get better.  She’s seen it time and time again, not only in cases she studies, but in her life. For things to heal, they have to hurt.

And yet, when Harry opens the door to his apartment, her breath still freezes in her chest.

More bruises have settled in since she last saw him in the locker room. Dark purple stains down his skin, across his jaw, under his eye, and if Harry wasn’t wearing a black t-shirt, she knows she would see more scattered across his chest.  To Y/N’s relief, however, the swelling in his face has gone down, and it’s obvious that the bandage over his stitched wound has been changed, albeit a bit clumsily.  His fractured hand is held gently at his side, so as not to agitate it, but Y/N can tell that the fractured rib is bothering him as he breathes carefully.

“Hi.” Harry opens the door wider, stepping back to allow her inside. “Come on in.”

Y/N steps over the threshold, her gaze turning from Harry’s injuries to his apartment.  It’s a little bigger than hers, she notices, and estimates that it’s a one bedroom with actual spaces dedicated for separate things.  Although he mostly sticks to a grey colour pallet in his minimalist decorating, Y/N can pick out objects that tell her this is where Harry lives.  A framed photo of him and a woman who looks just like him sits on the table next to the couch.  A pair of red boxing gloves dangle off the edge of the closet door. Harry’s familiar cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of a candle he has lit in the living room. Despite the grey tones, the apartment feels just as warm as Harry does.

“I like your place.” Y/N stands in the hallway awkwardly, not sure of where to go. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Harry shuts the door with his good hand before gesturing for her to sit down. “You can, uh, sit on the couch if you’d like.  Do you want something to drink?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m fine, thank you.  But you should drink some water.”

An unbelieving laugh leaves Harry’s mouth, but he moves to the kitchen nonetheless. “Are you telling me what to do in my own home?”

“Yes.  You have to be hydrated to heal.” Y/N watches as Harry fills two glasses with a water filter from the fridge, her mouth falling open slightly when Harry manages to pick up both filled glasses with his good hand.  Although the sight sets off a familiar flutter in her stomach, she manages to come to her senses enough to snap her mouth shut again by the time he turns around.

Harry sets the glass down on the coffee table in front of her before gingerly sitting down on the other side of the couch.  While he’s trying to mask his discomfort, Y/N can detect it easily.

“Is it your rib?” She asks, worry slipping into her voice. “Is it hurting you?”

Harry manages to give a small shrug. “’S not awful.  I’ve been taking some ibuprofen for pain, like you said.”

Y/N twists her ring around her finger, the fidgeting helping to keep her centered. “I’d get you something stronger if I could, but—”

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Y/N.” Harry cuts over her with a firm look. “Don’t worry about it.”

Y/N can’t look at Harry.  She can’t. If she does, she knows that all she’s going to be able to see is the bruises and bandages and braces, and she’ll start to cry.  And if she starts to cry, she won’t stop, and then she’ll just be upset and crying in Harry’s living room, all because she looked at him, and that’s not what she’s going to do.  She repeats the thought in her head like a mantra.  That’s not what she’s going to do.  That’s not what she’s going to do.

And then she looks at Harry.

Harry is already looking at her.  The longer they’ve spent together, the more she’s noticed cracks in his calm façade, and in this moment, those cracks are wide open.  The problem, however, is that Y/N can never decipher what exactly those cracks show her.  Harry’s face, even while emotional, is unreadable.  She can’t understand the feelings swirling through his green eyes any more than she can understand the flexing and unflexing of his uninjured hand. Is it a nervous tic?  Is he trying to calm himself, like Y/N does when she plays with her ring?  Is he trying to restrain himself from reaching over to touch her, like the night he showed up at her door?  While all those questions flip through her mind, only one passes through her lips.

“Why did you do it, Harry?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder will shatter the space between them.

Harry takes a long sip of water like he’s stalling for an answer, trying to find anything worth saying. “I needed the money, Y/N.  And I couldn’t—getting the shit beat out of me by Bowers was better than forfeiting to him.  I couldn’t do that.  I couldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

“That—” Y/N sucks in a breath, trying to remind her lungs to move the air in and out of her body. “That is…ridiculously idiotic, and prideful, and stupid, and a million other things, but that’s not what I meant.” She steels herself before meeting Harry’s eyes again, willing herself to sound less like a child and more like a woman. “I was asking why you left me that morning, after…after you stayed the night.”

For the first time since she arrived, it’s Harry’s eyes that are unable to meet hers.  He drops his gaze to his injured hand, cradling it in his lap, and Y/N takes his silence as a signal for her to continue.

“You just—I told you it was fine for you to stay.  And then the next morning you were gone, and your note…” Y/N can’t help but scoff. “‘Thanks again for the help’?  Really?  That’s all you had to say to me?”

Harry clears his throat as his good hand begins to tap against his thigh. “It’s not all I had to say, I just—I couldn’t say everything in a note.”

“Why did you even have to leave a note?” Y/N asks incredulously. “That’s the whole point, Harry!  You left, didn’t call me, or tell me that you were alright, and then the next time I saw you, you were getting beat half to death.  That’s not…fair.”

At that word, Harry’s eyes widen, and his face contorts into an expression Y/N can finally read: disbelief. “Fair?” He repeats, accent thick. “It’s not fair?  Nothing in life is fair, Y/N.  I didn’t call you because I’m not yours, and you’re not mine.  I let myself pretend a bit that night, while I was drunk, but I shouldn’t have.  If there’s anything that wasn’t fair, anything I have to apologize for, it’s that.”

The tears come then, pricking her eyes with an irritating heat as she drops her gaze into her lap. “So you—you showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night, bleeding and injured and drunk, and you spend the night so I can make sure you’re safe, and the only thing you think you have to apologize for is—is pretending?” Y/N shakes her head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I shouldn’t even have been there in the first place.  And after I showed up, I should’ve been more careful. More in control.” Harry stares down at his hands again, not to avoid her gaze, but to think about what they did that night. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did.  I shouldn’t have asked questions.  I shouldn’t have touched you.  I shouldn’t have crossed all the lines I set for myself months ago.  But I did, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry.” Y/N wraps her arms around herself tightly, and although the force against her is comforting, she’d prefer it if the arms weren’t hers. “I’d rather you come to me for help than stumble home in the dark, and I…” A chill runs through her, and she rubs her arms a bit to keep warm.  Being away from Harry and his fire takes its toll. “I didn’t mind you asking questions, or touching me.  I liked it.  I thought I made that obvious.”

Harry’s face flicks back to the expression that she’s unable to read. “Nevertheless—”

“Do you honestly think you’re the only one who set lines and boundaries?” Y/N turns her gaze back to Harry, taking in the closed off posture he displays. She hates it almost as much as she hates her own guarded appearance. “I did, too, but the more we talked, the more I started to waver.  The boundaries were out the window the moment you stepped into my apartment, Harry.  And we can go back and forth and debate who crossed what line first, but the truth is, we both knew exactly what we were doing, so don’t—” Y/N gestures at him, how he’s turned his body away from her. “Don’t sit there and act like you’re the only one to blame when I took every step with you.”

Her final words are followed by silence and all the sounds that fill it. The ticking of the clock on the wall, the dripping of the kitchen sink, the laboured sound of Harry’s shallow breathing, the pounding of Y/N’s own heart.  She focuses on each individual sound, each one an ode to whatever it is that’s been hanging between them since the night they met, until Harry finally responds in a low and controlled voice.

“I didn’t think that you…wanted me like that.” He begins slowly, his body finally turning to look at Y/N straight on.  She can see the strain on his face, and how difficult this movement is for him, but he doesn’t stop until he can meet her eyes.

The sight of his green irises takes all the fight out of her.

“How could you not realize that?” Y/N crosses her legs underneath her, placing her palms flat against her thighs.  If she wants to have an open conversation, she thinks, then she needs to be open.

“Because you’re you.  And I’m…” Harry’s head turns just for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. “I told you last week.  You’re a healer, in every sense of the word, and I’m the complete opposite.”

“And I told you,” Y/N says stubbornly. “That I don’t buy that for a minute.  I meant it when I said I wasn’t afraid of you.  And for once, you were being honest, and I thought that we were going to move forward together.”

A sharp laugh falls from Harry’s lips, followed by a wince as his good hand rubs gently over his ribs. “Honest?  Do you have any idea of how much I managed to hold back that night? I was half pissed, sitting on your couch, feeling you touch me, while things I had never said out loud before were coming out of my mouth, and I still didn’t tell you the worst of it.” Harry drags his hand through his hair roughly. “I don’t know, maybe I should’ve. Maybe you would’ve left by now, and saved yourself the trouble.”

“Stop it!” Y/N takes his hand, weaving their fingers together like she did when he was at her apartment. “You keep—it’s like you want to create this narrative where I’m good and you’re bad.  That’s not true!” She presses her other hand over his. “We’re both here.  We both ended up in the same place.”

“But what about after?” Harry’s voice is tight as his gaze settles on their locked hands. “The difference between us is that you have a life outside of that gym that’s waiting for you.  But the gym is my life.  Boxing is my life.  I don’t have any other career to hold out for, Y/N.  There’s nothing for me except boxing, and there’s everything for you.”

“What about me?” Y/N brings Harry’s fingers to her lips, pressing small kisses to the tips like he had done for her. “You could have boxing and me. If you were just honest with me, if you opened up completely, I’d do the same.”

Harry exhales slowly, closing his eyes at the feeling of your lips dancing over his hand. “It doesn’t work like that, Y/N.  I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

“Who decides if it works like that?”

The corner of Harry’s lip twitches, and Y/N knows he’s remembering one of the first conversations they had, when he asked who decided what he needed to know.  Y/N wonders if that was the first line that was crossed.

“I do.” Harry says after a moment. “I decide.”

…

With how little she knows about Harry, Y/N would’ve expected forgetting him to be easier.

She can count on one hand the number of personal facts that she knows about him, with at least three of them involve his boxing, and yet…when she’s home in the evenings, her schoolwork done, her mind free to roam, it’s always Harry’s face that she sees.

Y/N had known that Harry’s first night back would be hard.  After six weeks of being away from the ring, recovering from his injuries, Harry’s return to the ring would be the first time she’s seen him since he got hurt.  Patrick had forewarned her about him coming back two weeks ago, and although he mentioned it like an update, Y/N knows he was saying it to caution her.  She had assured him that Harry’s return had no personal meaning to her, and no affect on her, but as she makes her way to the locker rooms after the match, her nerves are as high strung as they’ve ever been.

The match between Harry and an unexperienced boxer named Jackson ends within minutes, with Harry the unsurprising victor, but the match had only been a small source of her anxiety.  As she set Jackson’s nose (Harry seems to be back to his old patterns), her mind was on one thing and one thing only.

Compared to the last time she saw Harry’s locker room, the place looks like a paradise.  The floors are stained with sweat instead of blood.  The brown stains in the sink are only from rust.  And the blood that’s splattered on Harry’s forehead isn’t his own.

“You’re getting quicker, Doc.” Jeff comments in lieu of a hello. “Harry hasn’t even had time to shower yet.”

Y/N glances at the sweaty boxer sitting on the bench, who is currently preoccupied with the incredibly difficult task of unwrapping his hands. “I’ve had more practice, I suppose.”

Taking her seat next to Harry, she opens her case and slips on a pair of disposable gloves.  Jeff and Patrick stand in the corner, discussing Harry’s return to the ring, as Y/N focuses on the work that she’s here to do.

“You have a bruise on your jaw, but that’s about it.” Y/N touches his chin gently, tilting his head to a different angle. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Harry says shortly, giving a quick nod of his head. “Yeah, I feel fine.  It felt good to be out there again.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker to the new scar on his forehead before turning her attention to his hands. “Did you wrap your right hand tighter tonight?”

“I did.” Harry nods again. “And I’ve been using the brace at home, like you told me to.”

“Good.” After a quick check, Y/N moves to his abdomen, pressing carefully. “Have you been having any difficulties breathing?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s much better.  It only hurts if I stretch a lot, and only for a second.”

“Just some residual bruising, probably.” Y/N bites her lip as her fingers brush over his tattoos. “It’s to be expected.”

Harry’s gaze finally catches her own, as unreadable and cavernous as ever, and Y/N clears her throat as she pulls her hands away. “I think you’re all good. Jackson barely touched you tonight.”

“I wanted to give him someone easy to ease him back into the ring.” Patrick joins the conversation. “I need to build my champion back up.”

Irritation flickers across Harry’s face for a brief moment.  Y/N can tell that he doesn’t like the idea of being eased into something.

“We appreciate it, Patrick.” Jeff claps a hand over the gym owner’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go discuss next week in your office?”

Patrick glances at Y/N, who’s busying herself with rooting around in her medical kit. “Yeah.  Alright.” He says after a moment. “Are you two good here?”

Y/N nods, not lifting her head to watch the two men leave the locker room. She keeps her eyes glued to anything but Harry as she stands, snapping off her gloves and tossing them in the trash.

“Well, you’re good to go.” She says after a moment. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you next week.”

“Wait.” Harry catches her arm when she reaches for the kit. “Y/N, wait, I—just wait.”

The familiar burn of Harry touching her courses through her arm, and Y/N bites her lip to keep the sigh of relief from slipping out of her. “What?”

“Look at me.” Harry murmurs, his voice lower than normal. “Please look at me.”

Y/N finally raises her head, looking Harry in the eyes again.  She can tell he’s searching for something in her stare, but she’s not sure what.  If she knew, she’d give it to him in a heartbeat.  Or maybe she’d withhold it, she muses, so that he’d keep searching, his arm on hers.

“What?” She asks after a moment, Harry still looking up at her. “What? What is it?”

“I…” Harry clears his throat as his hand drops slightly, his grip falling from her forearm to her wrist. “Did you watch the match?”

Y/N nods, hoping her disappointment at the innocence of his question isn’t too apparent on her face. “I did.  I always do.”

“I know, but I wasn’t sure if…” Harry’s gaze flickers to his hand on your wrist. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”

“It’s my job.” Y/N tries to sound professional, tries to reinstate the boundaries that they so carelessly broke, but there’s nothing professional about the way Harry is threading his fingers through hers as he pulls her back down to the bench.

“I missed you.” He says quietly, his thumb moving over the back of her knuckles. “I wanted to call, but I didn’t want to…I wanted you to move on.”

“Is that why you’re holding my hand?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t pull away.

Harry tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Holding your hand is more for myself right now.”

“You can’t do that, Harry.” Y/N’s voice grows tighter as she wills herself to pull her hand away. “You can’t just—you can’t say things like that.  Not after what you said before.”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t.” Y/N finally pulls her hand away, grabbing her medical kit before taking a step back from him.  Harry watches her movements with disappointed eyes. “You don’t know.  You don’t want to give us a chance?  You don’t want to open yourself up to me? Then fine.  Don’t.  But don’t expect me to do anything more than my job.  Is that understood?”

Harry’s mouth presses into a tight line. “Understood.”

…

It’s four A.M. when Harry knocks on Y/N’s door two weeks later.

Y/N, like most people at this time of the very early morning, is in bed when she hears the frantic knocking on her front door.  She’s been asleep for less than two hours, having only made it back home from that night’s match at two A.M. (Harry had dislocated his opponent’s shoulder, as well as split the skin of his forehead, and it took her some time to clean them up), and almost doesn’t get up.  Her neighbours have no problem with making as much noise as they see fit at any time of the day, and she assumes it’s one of their drunk friends trying to find a place to stay overnight.  Thinking she’ll just wait for them to go away, Y/N pulls her comforter up to her chin tightly.

And then the person knocks again.  And again.  And again.

Once it’s clear that she won’t be getting any sleep until she deals with whoever is pounding on her front door, Y/N angrily pulls herself out from under her covers, throwing a hoodie over her tank top to cover herself.  She grumbles to herself as she walks from her bed to her front door, ready to curse out whoever it is that gets so drunk that they can’t remember which apartment their friends live in.

And then she sees Harry.

He looks more or less the same as he did when Y/N left him at the gym two hours ago, save for the black eye that’s darkened in her absence.  His curls are wild, falling carelessly over his shoulders to dust the top of his long jacket.  He’s dressed in casual street clothes, covering up the tattoos that Y/N’s gotten so used to seeing every week.  His expression, like always, is unreadable, but when Y/N meets Harry’s eyes after he looks her up and down, she can define one thing: longing.

Then again, she may just be imagining that as a symptom of sleep deprivation.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Y/N demands, opening her door a little wider once she realizes that he’s not a stranger. “It’s four in the morning!”

“I know.  I’m sorry.” Harry glances over her shoulder, as if he’s checking to make sure she’s alone. “Can I come in?”

Y/N’s mouth drops open in confusion, but she still takes a step back from the door.  Where else is he supposed to go at this time of night? “I—yeah.  Alright.”

Harry walks into her apartment slowly, his eyes scanning her living space like he’s seeing it for the first time.  Y/N thinks that maybe he doesn’t remember much about it from when he was last here, seeing he had been drunk and in pain at the time.  Still, she doesn’t appreciate how he seems to be evaluating how she lives, especially when he smirks as he spots the teddy bear on her bed that she had hidden when he was last there.

“Did I wake you?” Harry asks slowly, as if the idea that Y/N had been sleeping had just occurred to him.

“It’s four in the morning.” Y/N repeats in a deadpan voice. “Yes.  You woke me, and you better have a damn good reason for it.” Her eyes scan over his body again, in case there’s an injury from the fight that she didn’t notice before.  Or a stab wound.  Honestly, with Harry, she feels like there are any number of things that he could show up at her door to ask for help with.

And she knows that she’d help him.  No matter what.

Harry rakes a hand through his loose hair, and Y/N wonders how his rings don’t get caught as he does it.  Then she tells herself to stop looking at his rings, because if she looks at his rings, she’ll look at his hands, and if she looks at his hands—

“My dad left when I was a kid.”

Harry’s voice snaps Y/N out of her thoughts.  She refocuses on him, watching as the cracks in his façade slowly open up again to reveal the nervousness behind his words.

“What?” She asks, brow furrowing in confusion.  Y/N thinks that she should tell him to sit, but by the energy radiating off of Harry, she doesn’t think he’ll listen.

“My dad left when I was a kid.” Harry repeats, his voice wavering for just a second.  He clears his throat before continuing. “I was around seven when he ran off, and then it was just my mum, my sister, and I.  My mum did her best to take care of us herself, but it—it was hard.  We never really had much, and what we did have, she spent on my sister and I, to make sure that we were alright.”

“Harry, I don’t understand.” Y/N reaches for him hesitantly, but pauses before her fingers actually make contact with his jacket. “Why are you telling me this?”

Harry licks his lips once, and Y/N watches as he flexes and unflexes his right hand. “I’m trying to…to be open.  To be honest.”

A beat passes between them before Y/N comprehends his words. “You—what?”

“You said I had to be honest with you.” Harry’s teeth worry his bottom lip, chewing it for a moment before he continues. “And I-I want to try it.  I want to make this work—make us work. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, but tonight, when you were helping me after the match, I just—” The words are spilling out of him faster than they ever have before, like a dam has burst, and Harry is getting washed away in the flood.  And taking Y/N with him. “I wanted to kiss you.  I almost did, but that wouldn’t be right of me, because you told me what you wanted, and what you needed, so I went home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and missing you, and wanting you, because I want you so bad, Y/N—”

“Harry.” Y/N touches his shoulder this time, rubbing her hand against him in soothing circles. “Take a deep breath, yeah?  Slow down.  How about we sit down on the couch, and I’ll get us a drink, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Harry’s eyes soften at the suggestion, and colour rushes to his cheeks, flushing his pale skin to a light pink. “Yeah.” He mumbles, his hands rubbing over the sleeves of his jacket. “I want that.”

The way he says, “I want that,” such a simple phrase, causes Y/N’s heart to thump in her chest.  There’s something so sincere in his tone, but Y/N doesn’t want to let herself hope. She needs to hear everything he has to say before she lets herself be that foolish.

Y/N walks to her tiny kitchen, pulling out two glasses and filling them halfway with whiskey and ice.  The whiskey had been a gift from that year’s secret Santa gift exchange in the nursing program, and Y/N had yet to open it, as she doesn’t have much of a taste for sipping liquors.  However, tonight seems to call for something stronger than regular beer.

When Y/N returns to Harry, he’s stripped off his long jacket, but his patterned shirt doesn’t seem to be warm enough to stop him from shivering.  Y/N hands the drink to him, frowning as she touches his arm.

“Are you cold?” She asks in concern, despite his skin feeling as warm to her touch as it usually is. “I can get you a sweater…”

Harry shakes his head once, taking a long sip of the whiskey. “No, just—nervous, I suppose.”

Y/N nods softly, pulling her feet under her to sit cross-legged on the couch. She wants to watch Harry straight on as he speaks. “Finish what you were saying earlier.” She murmurs. “If…you can.”

“Can’t remember how far into my speech I got.” Harry laughs once, short and anxious, his hand tugging on his hair again. “I was rehearsing it on my walk over, but I blanked the moment you opened the door.”

“There was something about…” Y/N wraps her hands around her full glass. “Needing me?”

Harry’s cheeks pinken again. “Right.  Yeah.  That’s quite…new for me.  I’ve never needed someone before in a—in the way that I need you.  I have my mum and sister, and Jeff, but you…you’re different.” He busies himself with another sip of his drink. “It’s like…it’s so confusing, Y/N.  I know I shouldn’t.  I’ve had that talk with myself countless times, and with you, and I’ve told myself that you’re so much better off without me, but I just can’t make myself let you go.”

Y/N purses her lips, her eyes dropping to her lap as she answers in a careful and controlled voice. “I feel the same.  I haven’t stopped thinking about you in weeks.  I don’t think I’m capable of it, really.  You’re—you’re under my skin.  And it’s new, and strange, and uncomfortable, but only when I’m away from you.  When I’m with you, it feels as easy as breathing.”

Harry rubs his lips, and Y /N can tell that he’s still processing what she said, which she doesn’t blame him for.  When he continues with his story, instead of commenting on her response, she feels a sense of relief.  He’s not retreating back into the familiarity of being guarded.  Not yet. “So…so my dad left.  And Mum tried, but we weren’t in a super good place.  Gemma wanted to go to college, so she took out loans, and my mum remortgaged the house, and…all the bills piled up at once.  And I didn’t even know until we were about to lose the house.  I found her crying one day, my mum…” Harry’s eyes get a far away look in them. “She said she…felt like she failed us, which is ridiculous, because she’s—she’s just the best,” A smile flickers on Harry’s face for a brief moment. “You’d like her.” He takes another sip of whiskey before continuing. “Well, I had just graduated high school, and I didn’t really have any…plans.  College didn’t seem that important at the moment, so I went to work. I had to take care of her, you know?” Harry fiddles with a ring on his finger. “I was the man of the house.  I had to take care of her.  So I went to work, and I boxed a bit in my free time, nothing serious, but it still wasn’t quite enough.  And I had some friends who had come to America to work, and I knew that there were…easier ways to make money here.  And I could make a lot of money fast, and send it back home, and make sure that everything was okay.  So…that’s what I did.”

“I remember.  Patrick told me.” Y/N bites her lip, tapping her fingers against her glass. “He said that he sent you away at first.”

“He did.  It pissed me off.” Irritation flickers through Harry’s eyes. “I’d come so far, only to be turned down because I didn’t have as much muscle as the other fighters, when I knew I could fight three times as good.  But I couldn’t just go home, so I trained.  I fought at some other gyms while training, but none of them paid as much as Patrick’s.  Boxing there…I have enough money to send home to Mum while living here.  It’s high risk, but it’s high reward.”

Y/N finally takes a sip of her whiskey, trying her best to hide the grimace that crawls onto her features. “Do you really think you’re going to box for the rest of your life?”

“I do.” Harry answers immediately. “I’m no good at anything else. I’ll box until my body gives out, and after that I’ll train others, if I can.  Either way…this is my life.  This is as far as I go, really.  And you…”

“I still have more school ahead of me.” Y/N runs her finger over the rim of her glass as she replies. “But I’m not—I said it before.  You want to paint me as good, when we both ended up at that gym. I needed the money too.”

Harry shifts on the couch, repositioning himself to look at her better. “I was open with you.  I…shared. Will you share with me, now?”

Y/N hesitates, but knows she can’t say no. “Share what?”

It takes Harry a moment to settle on a question. “You had clothes from an ex.” He says finally. “What happened with them?”

Y/N sighs, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “His name was Parker.  We met in high school.  We started dating in our junior year, and continued dating until last year.  He goes to school back east, at Stanford. We…I was in love with him.  Very in love with him.” Y/N glances at Harry, watching how his jaw tenses as she says that. “And, um, it didn’t work out. Well, at first, actually, it did. Kind of.  He proposed to me about eighteen months ago, and I said yes.” Y/N looks down at her left ring finger, the only finger on her hands that has no ring tan line. “And then he started talking about me transferring to Stanford, leaving NYU, so I could be with him, and then that conversation changed to me dropping out altogether, so I could plan the wedding, get married, have kids, and just—just be what he wanted.” Her voice cracks in a mixture of hurt and anger, and she knows both emotions are apparent in her eyes when she meets Harry’s gaze. “He wanted a wife.  He didn’t want me.  So I sent back the ring about six months before I met you, and I haven’t heard from him since.  The clothes are just…they’re left over from when he came to visit me.  I know I should get rid of them, but it’s…hard, you know?  To let go of someone…”

“I know.” Harry twists one of his rings around his finger, the same one that he always fidgets with, a plain silver band. “This is my dad’s wedding ring. I found it in my mum’s room before I moved to New York.  I didn’t know she still had it, or why she still had it, and I don’t know why I took it, but I just looked at it and…felt like I needed it.”

Y/N sets down her drink before taking Harry’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over the band. “He’s your dad.  It’s alright.”

Harry stares at their intertwined hands, and his voice is thick when he replies. “I’ve never told anyone that.  About the ring, or my dad leaving.  I never really talk about it.”

“I’m glad you told me.” Y/N keeps her voice soft as she moves closer to him. “I meant it when I said I wanted to know you.  That means the bad as well as the good.”

“I know you say that now, but—but no one stays forever, Y/N.” Harry’s voice drops impossibly low. “Everyone leaves eventually.  You will, too, once you see what I’m like.”

“I don’t care.  I really don’t.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely. “I’ve seen what you’re like. I’ve seen you happy and angry and irritated and guarded, and I want it all.  Do you know how long I’ve waited to feel this way about someone?” She plays with his fingers as she speaks, adoring the familiar warmth that she feels in his skin. “It was never like this with Parker.”

“You said you didn’t want a protector.  And all I want to do is protect you.” Harry brings Y/N’s hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist gently. “I don’t want to force something that you don’t want—”

“It’s different if we’re—if you and I—” Y/N flushes as she watches him kiss along her wrist and hand. “I’ll be your protector as much as you’ll be mine. We’ll protect each other.  We’ll be equal.”

“Y/N, you’re so much—we’ll never be—”

“We’ll be equal.” Y/N repeats firmly, unfolding her legs from beneath her. She sits up on her knees right next to Harry, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Can you give that to me?”

A soft breath leaves Harry’s lips, and it washes over her in the sweetest way. “Yes.” He says sincerely.

“Good.” Y/N swallows hard as a fire starts to burn in her core. “Will you give that to me?”

“Yes.” Harry’s hands shift to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him until she’s straddling his lap.

Y/N rubs her thumbs along Harry’s stubbled jaw. “Do you need me?”

Harry’s green irises flicker to Y/N’s pink lips and back again.  She’s starting to get better at reading his eyes, she thinks, although she’s still not as good as she’d like to be.  She still can’t see exactly what’s swirling inside them, but in this moment, she thinks she has an idea of it.

“Yes.” Harry says again, his hands moving up her back. “I need you.”

Y/N presses a chaste kiss over Harry’s forehead scar, down his temple, his cheek, his jaw, delighting in every soft breath and sigh that escapes him. “Do you want me?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, and Harry matches her tone perfectly as his fingers press into her back. “More than anything.” He breathes, tilting his head back as she kisses his neck. “I want you more than anything.”

Y/N kisses across his neck, down to his collarbones, before traveling up the other side of his face.  She kisses across Harry’s jaw again, his cheek, back to the scar-free side of his forehead, planting one last kiss in the center of it before pressing her own forehead to his. “Then kiss me.” She whispers, half panting the words.

Harry’s breath is just as ragged as hers as one of his hands tangles in her sleep-mussed hair, pulling them together until their lips meet.  The contrast between the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble delights her, and Y/N finds herself pressing closer and closer to him just to feel it more.  Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she tries to get as close to him as possible.  After spending so long waiting, she wants to feel him close to her.  She wants to be his, in every sense of the word.

A wrecked moan falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s teeth graze her lips, his tongue immediately soothing the spot after he nips at her.  He repeats the action over and over, anything to hear her moan again, and Y/N has to pull away to collect herself.  She’s not sure if it’s the whiskey or Harry, but her head is spinning in the best way.

Undeterred, Harry’s lips move to her neck, kissing and nipping just as much as they did before. “Is this alright?” He mutters between kisses, his hands pushing up her hoodie to get a grip on her bare skin. “I-I’ll stop if it’s—”

“Don’t you dare.” Y/N moans, throwing her head back to allow him better access. “If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Noted.” Harry mumbles the word against her jugular, letting his teeth scrape her skin before sucking over the spot.  A guttural moan slips from Y/N’s mouth as a shock runs through her, and she can feel the smirk on Harry’s lips as he licks over the mark he’s made.

The fabric of Harry’s shirt is soft to the touch when Y/N gathers it in her fists, tugging on it enough to get Harry’s attention. “Take it off.” She says in a low voice, her eyes locking with Harry’s as he pulls away from her neck. “Doctor’s orders.”

A groan rolls out from the back of Harry’s throat. “God, that’s so fucking hot.” He mutters, kissing her once more. “In a totally respectful and non-objectifying way.”

Y/N laughs into the kiss, tugging on the hem of his shirt again. “Mhmm. Just take it off, will you?”

Harry’s hands replace her own as he tugs his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor before attempting to kiss Y/N again.  Y/N, however, has other plans, and begins to run her hands down Harry’s chest.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” She murmurs, tracing her fingers over his tattoos. “So handsome…” She scratches her nail over Harry’s butterfly tattoo, adoring how his eyelids flutter at the feeling.

“That feels so…” Harry closes his eyes completely, letting his head rest on the back of the couch to fully lose himself in Y/N’s touches. “Keep going.”

Y/N leans in and kisses his neck again, spreading the pecks all along his collar bones and shoulders while her fingers continue to trace the contours of Harry’s body.  She works them over his chest, grazing over his nipples just enough to make his body jump beneath her.

“Is that…?” She begins, trailing off as she touches them again.  Harry doesn’t jump as much this time, but there’s an undeniable hitch in his breath.

“Feels good.” He says thickly, his fingers digging into her back in the best way possible. “Yeah.  Really good.”

Y/N nods, tweaking them one last time before she continues her exploration down his abdomen.  She runs one finger lightly around his belly button, and feels the shiver that runs through Harry as she continues down the light trail of hair situated between his two vine tattoos.

“I love these.” She whispers, her fingers taking their time as they touch them. “They’re some of my favourite tattoos of yours.”

Harry’s eyes open, and the tenderness in his green eyes is unmistakable. “You have favourites?”

Y/N flushes as she nods. “I-I do.  I like your cross tattoo.  And your mermaid.  And these…” Y/N raises one hand to touch over his collar bones again. “What does this year mean?”

“It’s my mum’s birth year.” Harry admits as one of his hands begins to play with Y/N’s hair. “I got it last year.”

Y/N knows that her eyes match the tenderness in Harry’s, and she kisses him once more before continuing to move her hand lower.  She traces her finger over the buckle of his belt as her teeth tug on Harry’s lip lightly.

“Can I?” She asks gently, her breath blowing across his lips. “Please?”

Harry strokes her cheek, letting the back of his knuckles drag across her skin. Y/N leans into his touch wholeheartedly, wanting Harry to know that she’s never once been afraid of his hands and what they can do.

“Is it the Doctor’s orders?” Harry asks, his teasing tone disguising the need in his voice.

Y/N lets out a light laugh, and it’s then that she knows that she and Harry are meant to be.  When two people can be so intimate together while still laughing and giggling and teasing each other…Y/N knows that’s something good, despite never having it before.  

“Yes.” She works her hand over his belt, and the only sounds in the room are their laboured breathing and the gentle clinking of the metal buckle.  When it’s finally free, Y/N busies herself with the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Wait.” Harry grasps her wrist carefully, stopping her before she can attempt to pull his jeans down. “I didn’t—I came here to take care of you.” He murmurs as he pushes her hands away.  His own hands move to Y/N’s thighs, grasping them tightly before picking her up with ease. Y/N gasps, her hands flying to his shoulders as Harry carries her to her bed, laying her down gently on the mussed sheets.

“Let me take care of you.” He repeats the sentiment as his hands move to the hem of her hoodie, slowly and carefully removing the article of clothing, along with the tank top underneath.  Y/N knows that his pace is intentional, giving her plenty of time to refuse, but stopping Harry is the last thing she wants to do.

When her top is off, the first thing Harry does is kiss her.  He moves her carefully as he does, so her head is supported by her pillows.  Y/N doesn’t notice his hands moving from her waist until—

“Why don’t we just move this guy until we’re done, hm?” There’s a trace of laughter in Harry’s voice as he holds up the teddy bear. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eye after if he watches.”

Y/N clears her throat as an embarrassed flush quickly works its way up her neck. “Alright, just—here—” She takes the teddy bear from Harry, dropping it to the side of the bed. “And he has a name, you know.  It’s Paddington.”

“Paddington?” Harry’s laughter is obvious now, and he buries his head in her neck as he attempts to stifle it. “That is so fucking adorable—”

“Can you not laugh at my teddy bear when you’re about to fuck me?” Y/N asks, voice exasperated and strained.

Harry’s laughter dies off as he pulls his face back up, his eyes darker than they were a minute ago. “I’m about to fuck you, am I?”

Y/N clears her throat, and as Harry’s gaze finally sweeps down her body, she gets the overwhelming urge to cross her arms and cover her exposed self. “You are.  At least, you were, until you got distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” Harry traces a single finger down Y/N’s sternum, and Y/N can’t hold back the choked gasp in her throat.

“I’m completely focused.” Harry adds on, and before Y/N can gather herself enough to give a retort, his mouth is on her breast.

With her hands immediately tangling in Harry’s long curls, Y/N lets out another whine in sync with her tugging. “Harry—!”

Although Y/N doesn’t have her eyes on the boxer, she can feel the smirk that’s on his face, and just knows that he’s adoring the way that she’s reacting to him.  While there’s a small part of Y/N that’s irritated at his smugness, there’s a bigger part of her telling her to react more.  Moan more.  Pull his hair more.  Anything to make him happy.

Y/N wants to make him happy.

While his mouth works over one breast, his hand works over the other.  Harry’s ring covered fingers tweak her nipple, tugging and twisting just enough to work more whimpers out of her.  When his teeth graze one nipple at the same time that he tugs on the other, Y/N drags the nails of one hand down Harry’s warm back, and it quickly becomes her turn to delight in the whine that leaves his mouth.

It almost becomes a competition then, with both of them working to see who can make the other moan more.  Harry switches his mouth to Y/N’s other breast while Y/N alternates between tugging on his hair and pushing her hand down the waistband of his jeans, her fingers rubbing over his defined hip bones.  The competition, however, yields no winners, and is quickly forgotten in the pursuit of pulling the other closer, touching them harder, dragging them deeper into the safe space they’ve created on Y/N’s bed.

When Harry lets Y/N’s nipple fall out of his mouth, his lips are bright red, shining with saliva almost as much as his eyes are shining with lust.  Y/N quickly pulls him up to kiss her, and fingers one of his curls as she takes a shaking breath.

“I’ve never felt so good from just…” Her voice wavers for a moment, and a new wave of blush heats her cheeks.  “Just…you know.”

Harry brushes a thumb over her cheekbone, delighting in the heat he feels beneath his fingers. “Yeah?” His accent is thick. “Then you’re going to love what I’m going to do next.”

Y/N knows exactly what Harry means, but a surprised gasp still leaves her as he quickly pulls himself down her body, situating himself easily between her legs.  Within a moment, her pajama shorts are tossed to the side, and Harry is directing her movements.

“Bend your knees for me, love, just—yeah.  Just like that.  And spread them wider.” He coaxes her gently, helping to guide her body into the position he wants.  The pleasure on his face at the sight of Y/N’s uncovered cunt is evident as he inhales deeply, laying his stubbled cheek onto one of her thighs as he just stares at her.

Y/N’s chest heaves as she glances down at the sight.  Harry hasn’t even touched her core, and yet she’s never been more turned on in her entire life.  Something about the look in his eyes as he stares at her bare cunt drives her insane, and Y/N knows that she’ll never experience this with anyone else.  No one else will ever compare to Harry, and she doesn’t want them to.  She just wants him.

Harry’s breath is hot on her wet core when he lets out a sigh, his hands continuously rubbing her thighs, up to her pelvis, and back down again. “Don’t even want to touch you.” He murmurs. “Just want to keep staring…”

“That—that’s sweet, but—” Y/N swallows hard as she shifts on the bed. “I need you to touch me, Harry.  I need it.”

“Yeah?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Good.  I need it, too.”

And then his mouth is on her, and Y/N loses herself completely.

It’s not even that Harry is so wonderfully talented at cunnilingus that drives Y/N insane—although, honestly, that’s definitely a significant factor.  No, the thing that makes Y/N fall apart is how obvious it is that Harry loves doing it.

From the moment Harry’s tongue flicks over her clit, he’s making as many sounds as she is.  Moans and whimpers fall out of his mouth in abundance while his lips and tongue work Y/N over, and while most of it is incoherent sounds of pleasure, Y/N can decipher the occasional phrase.

“Taste so fucking good—”

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“So bloody sweet—”

“Tug on my hair harder—”

Y/N does as he requests, gripping his curls by the roots as she pulls harder in response to his tongue dipping into her entrance.  It briefly occurs to her that Harry may have a pain kink, which explains a lot about him and his career choice, she thinks, but then Harry’s fingers begin to aid his mouth, and Y/N can’t think at all.

While one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of Y/N slowly, and while his mouth is still firmly suctioned over her clit, Harry’s other hand moves up to her pelvis, pressing down on top of it to keep her in place. “You’re a squirmer, aren’t you?” Harry mutters, and the flat of his tongue licks over her clit just to prove the point.

Y/N’s body jumps again as another guttural moan leaves her lips. “Harry, I—fuck—”

Harry hums against her. “I know.  You’re alright, love.  You can let go.”

And when Harry sucks on her clit again, crooking his fingers inside of her, she does as he says.

Incoherent whimpers and whines fall from Y/N’s mouth as she squirms on the bed, held only in place by Harry’s firm hand on her tummy.  Something in the pressure is comforting, and it’s the only thing that keeps her grounded to her bed as waves of pleasure roll over her.

Harry’s mouth moves from her clit to her thigh, pressing gentle kisses along the tender skin, which is red from his stubble scraping against it. Although his fingers have stilled inside her, he doesn’t pull them out just yet.

“I can feel you squeezing me.” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s soaked cunt to her heaving chest. “’S nice.”

Another flood of warmth passes through Y/N’s core when he says that, and she pants out what’s meant to be a laugh, but instead turns into a whimper. “Fuck, H…”

Harry’s eyes brighten from between her thighs as he presses another kiss to her thigh. “You’ve never called me that before.” He comments quietly. “I like it.”

“We’ve never done a lot of this before.” Y/N squirms again, “This is all new.”

“It’ll take some time to get used to it.” Harry presses on her tummy again, a reminder to keep still as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her.  Y/N bites her lip to hold back the whine that threatens to leave her mouth, and watches with heavy eyelids as Harry sucks his own fingers into his mouth.

Despite the trembling from her orgasm, Y/N manages to sit up on her elbows to look at Harry between her legs.  He seems quite content there, his black eye a stark contrast against the red of his cheeks and lips, one hand holding her as the other runs over his own lips.  Y/N snaps a picture in her mind to remember later on, when Harry has someone else’s blood dripping from his fingertips.  A reminder that this man lives within the fighter, underneath every wall and safeguard that he had to build to be able to protect and provide for his family.

Y/N reaches down and cups Harry’s cheek in her hand.  Although there’s a tenderness growing in the pit of her stomach, the need is still there alongside it. “Lay down for me.” She murmurs, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of his black eye.

Harry doesn’t speak as he moves, and the room falls quiet again, a brief break between the symphony of pleasure that they composed only a moment earlier. He takes his place on the pillows next to Y/N, and she kisses him again before moving down the bed.

Y/N sits on her knees by his side, allowing her fingers to run over his vine tattoos and down his pelvic bones.  She loves the way Harry’s breath flutters, how it hitches when she uses her nails, and delights in how a quiet moan leaves his lips when she wraps her hand around his warm cock.

He’s already so hard from eating her out, with precum dripping from his flushed tip.  Y/N pumps him a few times with her hand, adjusting to his size and weight before leaning her head down and licking over his slit.

“Christ—” The word falls out of Harry’s mouth involuntarily, and his cheeks redden more at the outburst.  Y/N rubs his tummy with her free hand, assuring him that it’s alright without actually saying the words.  

While one of Harry’s hands is running through his own curls, he brings the other down to play with Y/N’s hair, helping to guide her mouth as she takes him more and more.  Her tongue runs up and down his length, tracing the veins that throb beneath his skin, and Y/N loves how Harry tugs on her hair harder when she does it.

Y/N pulls up from his cock to give her jaw a break, continuing to pump him as she looks up with him.  His arm is thrown over his eyes now, and his chest is rising and falling in rapid succession.  Y/N can tell he’s close, so she slows down her movements until her hand is just lazily pumping him.

Sensing the change in momentum (and his orgasm slipping away), Harry removes his arm, looking down at Y/N with lustful eyes. “Why’d you stop?” He asks, his voice cracking in the middle of the question that he knows the answer to.

“Because I want you.” Y/N presses one last kiss to the top of his cock before letting go.  She crawls up the bed again and reaches over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom.  Her fingers pause over the lube, remembering the last time that she had used it with Harry, and she can’t help the smile that flickers over her face as she holds up the bottle. “Remember this?”

Harry laughs breathlessly as he rubs his eyes. “Bloody hell, don’t remind me. I was a fucking mess that night.”

“A bit, but I didn’t mind.” Y/N sets the lube back in the drawer before shutting it. “That was the night that I knew I wanted you.”

“Was it?” Harry raises an eyebrow, the teasing grin back on his face as pushes his sweaty curls out of his face. “Took you that long, hm?”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she rips the condom packaging with her teeth, retrieving the latex disc from inside.  She pumps Harry once more before sliding the condom on, making sure that it’s positioned correctly. “Shut up.”

“Are you really telling me to shut up while you’ve got your hand on my cock?” Harry laugh again, and while Y/N’s heart flutters at the sound, she does her best to keep her face from showing it.

“I am.” Y/N throws her leg over him, straddling his lower stomach as she leans down to kiss him.  The teasing tone between them fades into one of lust and affection and need as Harry’s lips move against hers, and they’re both panting when Y/N pulls away to press her forehead against his.

“Are you comfortable like this?” She asks, worry seeping into her tone. “I know your ribs are still bothering you a bit, so I figured that this would be—”

Harry cuts her off with another kiss, this one wilder and more passionate than the last. “I’m fine, love.  You don’t need to worry about me.” He says, despite the flutter in his stomach at the idea of Y/N worrying about him.

“I always worry, H.” Y/N reaches underneath to grip his cock, rubbing the tip of it over her slit as she balances herself with one hand on his pelvis. Harry’s hands grip her hips to give her more stability. “You’re so—fuck—reckless that it drives me—” Y/N gasps loudly as she begins to sink down on Harry’s cock. “Insane.”

Harry’s first instinct at the feeling of Y/N’s warm walls hugging his cock is to throw his head back, close his eyes, and let the pleasure take over. However, he uses every ounce of willpower he has to do the opposite, and thanks God that he does, because he gets to see Y/N take his cock for the first time.

Y/N’s entire body is flushed, and she knows that the heat practically rolling off of her is because of Harry.  Everything that she’s feeling, from the fullness in her core that extends to her stomach, to the fluttering of her body, to the overwhelming sense of something just being right, is all because of Harry.  

After giving herself a moment to adjust to his size, Y/N begins to move. Harry helps guide her hips up and down slowly, and she decides from the first moment that she’s going to take her time building up her speed.  She wants this to last.

Y/N knows that Harry has the capacity to fuck her.  She knows that, if she asked, he’d flip her over and bend her over the edge of the bed and fuck her as fast as he possibly could until she screamed his name.  But, as much as the thought intrigues her, that’s not what she wants right now.  There will be time for fucking later, she thinks. There will be time for loud moans and teeth clicking together and bruises in the shape of a lover’s hand left on thighs and necks.  Right now, all she wants is to feel every inch of Harry inside of her, and to listen to his quiet yet desperate moans as she gradually increases her pace.  

With one of his hands still guiding her hips, Harry gently grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her chest down to press against his.  Their lips find each other quickly, kissing and nipping as Y/N feels herself beginning to fall apart.

“H.” She breathes against his lips. “I’m so close…” A choked moan stumbles out of her mouth as Harry’s hand shifts from her neck to her clit, rubbing small circles with two nimble fingers.

“I can feel it.” Harry’s breath is hot on her ear as he presses open mouthed kisses to her neck. “Can feel you squeezing me, love…being so good for me…”

Y/N bites her lip hard, almost enough to draw blood as the movement of her hips begins to stutter. “I-I want you to—Harry—” she digs her nails into his shoulder when Harry’s fingers speed up, and within a moment, another orgasm is sending shockwaves through her body.

Harry can tell the moment it happens, and a grunt leaves his throat as he begins to lift his hips to meet her movements. “That’s a good girl, love—breathe through it, that’s it…” Harry buries his face into Y/N’s neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and sweat that’s more intoxicating than anything else he’s ever smelled. “Fuck, Y/N—” His words cut off in a strangled moan as her walls squeeze his sensitive member.

Although she’s barely come down from her high, Y/N takes it upon herself to guide Harry through his orgasm like he’s done for her.  One of her hands moves from his marked shoulder to his hair, pushing the sweaty curls back from his eyes in a repeated motion as she murmurs in his ear. “Let go, H…feels so good…” She can feel the jerking of his hips as he finishes inside the condom, and for a split second, she wishes that there wasn’t a barrier of latex between the two of them, despite knowing that protection is mandatory.

Y/N waits until Harry’s managed to catch his breath before she carefully climbs down from him, missing the feeling of him inside her the moment she’s empty.  She lays down on her rumpled sheets next to his exhausted body, and hopes that she looks just as pretty in her post-sex haze as Harry.  

Now that she’s begun to touch him, she can’t stop.  Y/N’s hands continue to rub tenderly over his sweat-soaked chest, feeling the thumping beat of his heart beneath her as Harry carefully removes and ties off the used condom.  Although a small grumble leaves her when he gets up to throw it away, she can’t help but smile when he returns with two glasses of water in his hands.

“Here.” Harry hands her a glass before getting back on the bed, situating his naked form back into the position he was in a moment ago. “You need to hydrate. Doctor’s orders.”

Y/N lets out a breathless laugh before taking a sip of the cool liquid. “So you’re the doctor now, huh?”

“God, no.  I’m not nearly as smart as you.  I’m just smart enough to remember what you tell me.” Harry gulps down his own glass, setting it on the bedside table once it’s empty.  His arms then move to encircle Y/N’s body, pulling their chests together so her weight lies on top of him.

Y/N doesn’t miss the small wince that the movement causes, and she sets her own glass down before moving back to her position next to him. “You need to be more careful.” She murmurs, resuming her motion of rubbing over his chest.  She’s not sure why the motion is so soothing, but she doesn’t fight it, loving the feeling of Harry’s warm skin beneath her hand. “Patrick won’t forgive me if I put his best fighter out of commission.”

“No, he probably won’t.” Harry muses, settling for wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body. “He might fire you.”

“And then who will clean up your messes?” She cocks an eyebrow teasingly. “Or clean you up, when you’re a mess?”

“I’d just have to stumble my way to your apartment in the middle of the night again.” A laugh rumbles deep in Harry’s chest. “And then after you bandage me up, we can have a quick shag.  It’ll be a nice routine.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Mhmm.  Nice try.”

Harry’s laughter trails off after a moment as his fingers begin to trace shapes on Y/N’s back. “Seriously, though…” His eyes grow sober. “How do you want to…handle this?”

Y/N bites her lip. “How do you want to handle this?”

A sigh leaves Harry’s lips. “I want…you.  I want you to be mine.  And I don’t want to hide it, but if you feel like that’s best, then…”

“It’s just—I don’t know.  It’s complicated.” Y/N’s eyes focus on the G tattoo on Harry’s shoulder.  She wonders if it’s for Harry’s sister, and then wonders if Harry would ever tattoo her initial on his body. “Yeah.  Complicated.”

“You’re nervous about Patrick knowing.” Harry states simply.

Y/N nods. “He specifically told me not to get involved with any boxers. He said that…no good men come there.”

Harry’s hand moves over his jaw, scratching at his stubble. “Yeah.  He wasn’t wrong.”

His answer bothers Y/N, and she moves to sit up more in bed, making him look her in the eyes. “You’re a good man, Harry.  I know that.”

“I’m not.” Harry shakes his head once, his voice growing rougher. “I have a lot of shit that I’m…trying to work through.  I’m not that good.” When he sees how Y/N’s face shifts at his words, his tone changes. “But I’d never…that has nothing to do with you.  Any of my issues, my pride, my anger, anything like that, it’s all—it’s separate from you.” He cups her cheek gently. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know that, Harry.” Y/N repeats as she places her hand over his, weaving their fingers together. “I trust you.  I just wish you’d trust yourself.”

“I trust myself more when I’m with you.” Harry admits. “I’ve never really felt…regret for what I’ve done.  The ring is an equal playing field, right?  But that night when you said you thought I was too harsh…”

Y/N bites her lip. “Did that bother you?”

“I was worried I scared you off.” His eyes close for a moment as he remembers. “I thought…I don’t know.  I thought you already disliked me just for being a boxer, and now I’m the boxer that breaks bones, and there’s no way you’d ever want to be around me.”

“I probably shouldn’t want it.” Y/N admits. “When you phrase it like that.  But I’ve told you before…you’re different when you’re with me.”

“Only with you.  Only for you.” Harry’s voice grows tender as he holds her close to him. “So if you want to keep it private, I understand.  I just want you to be mine.”

Y/N’s finger brushes over one of Harry’s rings.  It’s a beautifully sculpted silver rose, and there’s something so wonderful to her in how Harry chooses to wear flowers on the hands that have done so much damage.

She twists the ring around his finger before pulling it off.  It’s too big to fit on her ring or middle finger, so after a moment of consideration, she slips it onto her thumb. “Then I’m yours.”

Harry’s eyes darken at the sight of Y/N with his ring on her finger. “Yeah. You’re mine.”

The feeling of Harry’s ring on her finger makes Y/N feel so complete, and she wants to share it with him, so she ignores Harry’s whine of protest as she climbs out of bed to walk to her dresser.  A little ceramic dish with her jewelry in it sits on top, and she sorts through the rings and bracelets before setting on something that he can wear while in the ring.  She cups it in her palms before returning to bed, an excited but shy smile on her face.

“Here.” She places it in Harry’s hand. “You can put this on your chain with your cross.”

The silver caduceus looks small in Harry’s palm, and he brings it closer to his eyes to examine it. “What is it?”

“It’s a caduceus.  It’s the medical symbol, the one I wear on my jacket to the ring.” Y/N explains, her cheeks reddening at her words. “It’s from Greek mythology, but doctors adopted it, and—yeah.  Just something to show that…you’re mine, too.”

A small smile plays on the corner of Harry’s lips. “Will you put it on me?”

Y/N nods, and although her fingers are shaking a bit, she manages to undo the clasp on Harry’s chain, and slips the pendant on before refastening it around his neck.  She settles the caduceus and cross pendants on his chest, just between his two swallow tattoos.

“It looks pretty on you.” She murmurs, her hand brushing down his abdomen. “Really nice.”

“It’ll be my good luck charm in the ring.” Harry brings her hand to his mouth, kissing over the rose ring. “I won’t take it off, as long as you don’t take my ring off.  Deal?”

“Deal.” Y/N lays her head back down on Harry’s chest. “Now get some sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

A playful groan falls out of Harry’s mouth. “Is that going to be a new thing?  Are you going to get me to do everything by saying it’s doctor’s orders?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you took better care of yourself.” Y/N matches his playful tone. “But we both know that you have a tendency to ignore your instincts—”

“My instincts are good!”

“Like your instinct to fight with a sprained hand was good?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches. “Fine.  Let’s go to sleep.”

Sunlight is beginning to spill through the curtains as Harry closes his eyes, bathing his entire face in a golden glow.  His pale skin glows under the light, save for the purplish bruise that rings one of his eyes.  Y/N presses a gentle kiss to the darkened area before settling herself down in Harry’s arms.

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 19

(masterpost)

CW: references to noncon, Col fearing he'll be sexually abused, flashbacks, brief victim blaming, pet whump, dehumanisation

-

Linden’s phone buzzed again, and he knew exactly who it’d be before he even looked.

Sure enough, messages from his brother were crowding his phone screen. Vikram texted in small, frantic messages, that Linden found oddly funny.

lol fine knowing you you’ll never suggest a day

are you free tomorrow? I’ll come over for lunch or something

you know you miss me!!

Linden rolled his eyes, but truth be told, he did miss him. A new message appeared before he had the chance to start typing.

fine FINE I just want to see jaffa. you can die idc

That made him huff out a laugh, but he’d never give Vik the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he typed back:

Tomorrow is fine, don’t worry about bringing food. What are you doing now? Can you ring me? I have something to tell you before you visit.

Vik replied almost immediately.

yeah gimme 2 secs, who have you killed lol!

He checked around for Colton, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably still working his way through the little chores and tasks Linden had given him, which meant he was either changing the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom (great for dexterity) or watering the balcony plants (providing plenty of fresh air and sunlight). Either way, he still positioned himself in the corner of the lounge, the furthest from his Pet’s ears.

He answered on the second ring. “Vik?”

“Hey, big man. You alright?”

“Yeah… yeah… I, um, I need to tell you something before you come over.”

“You sound tense, mate. What is it? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine it’s just- I have a Pet. Uh. Yeah.”

Vik didn’t miss a beat. “Are you serious? You, a Pet owner? Please.”

“I know, but there was this, this ad, in the paper, the council were talking about this random stray and they said if no one claimed him they were gonna put him down. They would have murdered him, Vik! And I don’t know. I just thought, fuck, no one else is gonna do anything are they. So I rang them up and they gave him to me for free.”

“Wow,” Vik said, a placeholder while he digested all of that. “So, how is he?”

“He’s alright, yeah. Only recently learned that he could speak. He’s still really really jumpy.”

“He’s scared of you, then,” Vik translated.

“Yeah. I don’t know how much of him you’ll see tomorrow. I’ll tell him it’s alright if he just stays in his room.”

“I can’t picture you as a Pet owner, even though you’re not a proper one.”

“Not a proper one as in I’m a good person with a soul?” Linden quipped. Vik snorted.

“Basically. Ew, it’s weird! He does whatever you say! But you’re just- you’re Linden. You’re my stupid baby brother. He should be telling you what to do.”

Linden smiled. Vik always put him at ease. Difficult topics seemed to flow off him like water off a duck. “Yeah, yeah it is kind of weird, I’m still getting used to it. But you see why I wanted to let you know beforehand.”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” he laughed. “Or else I might have thought he was burgling your house and I’d have asked to join in.”

“Oh, shut up. See you for lunch.”

“See you, Pet man!”

Linden felt the weight lift from his shoulders, but not entirely. Now he had to tell Col.

. . .

He had finished over ten minutes ago. Shiny drops of water still lingered on some of the wider leaves, not quite ready to drop into the moist soil below. But the balcony was too warm and sunny to resist, so Col was still kneeling there when he heard Master’s voice behind him.

He flinched hard at the sound, getting up quickly and ungraciously, tripping over his own feet as if he hadn’t just been caught lazing around.

Through the doorway, a perfect rectangle of light caught Master’s face, cutting down through one eye and turning his left cheek a tawny brown. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and leant forward slightly.

“Don’t worry about getting up, you’re fine, love. No, I don’t know if you heard, but I was just speaking to my brother Vikram over the phone. He’s going to visit tomorrow.”

Master was having a guest. Col nodded, but his mind went white. He suddenly felt like he wasn’t in control anymore. He was underwater, and Master’s voice barely faded through from above the surface.

“You can stay in your room, okay? You don’t have to come down and see him, if you don’t want to. There’s no pressure. I just wanted to let you know beforehand.”

The words flowed past his head, and whatever barriers had been pulled down over his mind kept them from making a dent. “Thank you, sir,” his body replied.

“Okay?” Master half-smiled. “Okay. Good stuff, Col. It’s a nice day- stay out on the balcony more, I know you like it there. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nodded, but it must have been delayed, because he blinked and Master had left the room, as if he had never been there. Had Col dreamt it?

Turning around, the flowers were wet, so he had completed that task. He knew he had been ordered to stay, so he did, trying to keep the creeping dread from flooding him entirely.

But-

The next day-

It all came crashing down. His eyes snapped open and he was in his room, waiting, and then there was the click of the front door and Master was speaking, speaking with another voice- there was a man in the house-

Master only ever had guests when his Pet had been bad, and he was going to be taught a lesson, and that’s why he was told to wait in his room, that’s why he was prepped, maybe it was a small mercy. But he had been in such a state of denial, barely able to process the news, that he hadn’t done anything to make it hurt less.

All he knew was that he was on the floor in the corner, the furthest one from the bed, and his arms were wrapped around him as if that’d do anything to stop the onslaught. He knew they would just force his limbs apart and restrain them like that until they were done, and it didn’t matter whether he cried and begged. Sometimes they even enjoyed it more when he did. Once he had been lifted up by his throat and told to beg for his life, and it made everyone laugh, because look at it, it wants this, it’s begging for it.

The door handle turned and Col could see Master’s face. His eyes scanned the room briefly before they landed on Col, tucked away in the corner of the room. “Col? What is it?”

. . .

Hey, Col. Vik is here, just so you know, but again, no pressure to come downstairs. He knew what he would say, the tone he’d say it in, so he could hopefully make Col feel secure. But it all fell apart when he laid eyes on the Pet, curled up and trembling on the far side of the room.

“Col?” he said. “What is it?”

“You promised,” Col sobbed, utterly betrayed. Linden’s heart broke. “You promised you wouldn’t- wouldn’t- wouldn’t do that…”

“I won’t,” he said, understanding immediately and wanting more than anything to go over to Col and pull him into a hug. But he couldn’t. He knew that.

“You said you wouldn’t let anyone else,” he whispered, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes.

Then- the moment of vulnerability passed. Not that Col looked any less vulnerable. He was still hunched, small and weak, programmed to do whatever it took to make Linden happy. But he caught his tongue, and the mask slipped back on.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You can do- do what you want to me. Of course. I’m not, I don’t mean to question you, Master, I’m sorry, I know my place, I’m good, I promise I’m good.”

“You are, you’re really good.” He put a hand over his heart and kept it there. “I’m not going to come in, Vik isn’t going to come in. Neither of us are going to hurt you. I promised, and I’m sticking to it.”

Col was still sobbing, but it was more uneven breaths than actual tears. He couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to with the way his lungs were pulling the rug from underneath him.

“For now, I think you might feel safer if I just left you alone, so I’ll go back downstairs, okay? And I won’t disturb you again. You just make sure you feel better, that’s all that matters. Don’t worry, Col. You’re safe.”

-

Vikram didn’t say anything as Linden returned, but he did raise his eyebrows. Linden just nodded, keeping quiet until he was sat back down and, hopefully, out of earshot.

“Poor thing,” said Linden. “He thinks, well- he just sees everything as a threat. I don’t know if he’s ever had a positive experience with another person before. At least not in his memory. Did you…”

He trailed off and Vik simply nodded. All humour was gone from his face; he knew when to leave it out, and when it would help. “Yeah, I heard a bit of it. Heard him crying.”

“I don’t want you to take it personally-“ Linden started, but Vik had already swatted at him.

“Oh, stop it. As if I would. But I am- I am happy I’m here, even though I’m sorry it’s scared him. You need someone too, Linden. Like, shit, this is a full time job.”

“You sound weird, being nice to me” he smiled weakly. Vik grinned back at him, in complete earnest.

“Well then, we can talk about something else, if you want. Something I can confidently mock you for. Where’s Jaffa, too?” he twisted around in his chair, searching for her. His floofed-up hair, hairsprayed to excess, bobbed around on the top of his head as he went. “Where’s my little main attraction?”

Soon Vik had Jaffa on his lap where he was brushing her absent-mindedly, listening to Linden talk about the latest book he had read.

“You are a fuckin’ hermit, dude.”

“And?” Linden pulled his best bored-looking face.

“Well… actually, yeah, stay indoors. Forcing you to come drinking with me would be at the rest of the pub’s expense.”

“You’re a bastard,” Linden laughed. “It’s you they should be worrying about, with that boulder of hair on your head. Look at the state of it, it crunches when you touch it.”

“The ladies love it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause they know if they get locked out they can use it to smash a window.”

. . .

Above them, Col listened. He couldn’t make out the words, but both men seemed happy and upbeat, excited about the night ahead of them, excited about the pliant little bitch waiting upstairs.

Before that, though-

Colton had been openly defiant. He had begged for it to stop before it had even started. He hadn’t taken an ounce of pain, nothing had earned him the right to plead for mercy. He had not only been insubordinate, but he had done it while Master had a guest. That kind of embarrassment would not go unpunished. Master would not have his authority undermined by some common stray.

Col desperately needed to apologise. He knew he shouldn’t just wait for his punishment like usual this time. This time he needed to right the balance. He would prove that he knew his place, and show Master’s guest that his rule here was absolute. So with shaking hands, he slowly creaked open the door, and went downstairs.

The laughter died as he came into view, and even the feeling of their eyes settling over his body made his skin prickle. For a split second, his feet locked in place, but as usual his fear pushed them onwards. He kept his head down, his arms behind his back, his shoulders hunched. As soon as he reached Master’s feet, he knelt. Forehead to the floor. Hands to his sides, ready to be stomped on or grabbed. He was a slave. He was always open for his Master’s use. He did not answer back and he did not question.

“Col, are you, are you sure you want to be here?” Master asked from above. He was very sure. But yes, of course, it was no use Col thinking these kinds of affirmations in his head. He had to make them clear.

“I’m here to apologise, sir, for daring to answer back and embarrassing you. Your Pet knows that he is owned completely and it was c-completely wrong to question you. I had no right to ask for mercy, I don’t deserve any. I’m a mindless Pet with no free will and I exist to serve you. P-Please, accept th-this apology. It won’t- won’t happen again.”

He stammered, towards the end. He could only hope Master wouldn’t get angry about it.

. . .

Ironically, it was now that Linden was embarrassed. He glanced over at Vik, and as the two brothers made eye contact, it was as if they had exchanged a whole conversation.

You see, see what I mean? See how he is?

Yeah, dude. It’s fucked up.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be. You’re doing your best to help him. I’m not embarrassed if you’re not.

He gently reached down to Col and rested a palm on top of his head. He jerked in surprise, a weak gasp escaping his lips, but he otherwise stayed perfectly still.

“Okay, love. Thank you. I’m not angry, okay? My brother is here and he always puts me in a good mood.”

He shot another glance at Vik, mouthing this is how I make him understand. Vik nodded. He was looking at Col curiously. Linden wondered if this was how he had pictured him.

“You didn’t embarrass me. You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you. Vik doesn’t want to hurt you either. Why don’t you go and sit on the balcony, and I’ll sit with you later, and pet your head? You’re not in trouble.”

As he retracted his hand Col’s head tilted upwards, chasing the warmth of the touch. He kept his eyes low, but whispered, “Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you for having mercy. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Okay, you’re okay. Let me help you up.”

It was technically an order, and Col obeyed silently, offering no resistance as Linden slipped a hand over his elbow and pulled him to his feet. He smiled at Col, but his face was blank and resigned. Beyond fear. He had done what he could, and his fate was in Linden’s hands once more. It hurt to know that. Linden could decide to leash Col at any moment, torture him with knives and burning oil and belts, and Col wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Linden steered him to the base of the stairs, and then gently encouraged him upwards, until he had drifted out of sight entirely.

The house was silent. He turned back to Vik, but neither had to say anything. Linden already knew that he understood.

-

first half of the taglist!

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

[kpostedsum]

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart

[suguruverse]

— HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN YOU’RE CRUSHING ON AN ANIME CHARACTER PT.2

includes - miya atsumu, kozume kenma and tsukishima kei

a/n - i had a request for this but i accidently posted it instead of saving it to my drafts so i just made a seperate post! sorry! <3

part one

ੈ✩‧₊˚ MIYA ATSUMU tamaki amajiki from bnha

- what a fucking brat

- he thinks he treats you pretty well and he does!!

- so why the fuck would you fall for some shy guy that doesn’t even exist

- he’s actually so confused because he’s like

- im right here?? love me?? stop looking at him?? when you have a gorgeous bf right here??

- he gets so angry with how much he gets jealous over it but there is no way that he’s gonna let a bunch of pixels beat him

- he also gets pretty insecure because he might start to think that you like the shy introverted guys and he’s quite the opposite

- he’s a combination of whiney baby and smug asshole

- he will whinge, whine, pout, fake-cry, complain, annoy you, just everything in the book for you to pay attention to him

- so competitive and for what?

- will literally do anything to grab your attention while you’re watching bnha

- he has literally started twerking in front of you one time

- spoiler alert, it was bokuto who taught him how to twerk during breaks at volleyball practice

- and if you ever have small little petty arguments, he always brings up the fact that you’ve been ‘neglecting’ him for an imaginary guy

- please just comfort him, he just wants to know that you still love him and that he’s still your favourite person

- because you’re his favourite person, so why isn’t he yours?

things he says when he’s jealous of tamaki:

“he needs ta grow a pair of balls, don’t ya think sweetheart?”

“no? WHADYA MEAN NO? I THINK YA LIKED STRONG, CONFIDENT MEN, LIKE ME??? RIGHT BABY??”

“ugh whatever, he’s not even all that”

“if he was real, he won’t even look at ya”

“nono baby, a wasn’t calling you ugly, a think ya absolutely stunning, it’s just that he’s too shy, don’t ya find it annoying?”

“HUHHH CUTE??? LOOK AT ME BABY, DON’T YA THINK A’M THE MOST ADORABLE THING YA HAVE EVER SEEN”

“baby, tell me, would ya love me more if a was more quiet like him??”

“‘nah baby, a ain’t insecure jus wondering”

“a know ya love me baby, thanks, gimme kiss”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ KOZUME KENMA mori from ohshc

- this man will straight up unplug the tv or turn off any device you’re watching ohshc

- most of time, kenma would be very subtle with his jealously

- but not this time

- he’s almost scowling anytime you watch any anime at this point 

- and you find it hilarious when you’re watching anime in the lounge and you just see him glaring you from the entrance of your shared bedroom

- in reality, he’s trying to communicate to you telepathically that he wants you to come spend time with him instead but to you, it just looks like he’s trying to stare you down

- and if you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll give you a little ‘hmph’ and walk away 

- when you ask him why he’s so upset with you, he’s always like

“if you don’t like it, then go with your little boyfriend from that show you watch”

“well sorry i’m not tall and strong like your other boyfriend”

- and if you try to tell him that you’re jealous, he’ll scoff and deny it with his entire heart

- he might even shut himself in his gaming room, but when he notices that you aren’t trying to console him, he’ll sulk even more and gets super clingy

things he says when he’s jealous of mori:

“okay sure he know martial arts, but i bet he would be a terrible boyfriend”

“nah because his relationship with honey is sus”

“you would definitely third wheel them”

“i don’t care if they’re cousins, don’t you think they’re a little too close”

“dang y/n i didn’t know you were into the tall quiet type”

“shut up, i do not feel threatened, you’re imagining things”

“can we go cuddle now, i can’t watch this”

“no? um, uh. did you just reject cuddles?”

“fine, be like that, maybe i’ll just play games. all by myself”

“you know it wouldn’t hurt to love me a little bit more right?”

ੈ✩‧₊˚ TSUKISHIMA KEI gojo from jjk

- lol i guess your type are tall cocky assholes

- tsukishima just does not care at all

- at least that’s what he wants you to think

- in reality, he’s panicking and stressing but not really

- like he knows that gojo is not real so he thinks he’s going mental because he cares a little too much for his liking

- you can feel him judging you from the back of your neck

- please he’s going to tease you so much

- he thinks you’re absolutely fucking crazy, because who likes fictional characters???

- he then starts to think that he’s been really mean to you lately and that’s why you’ve been crushing on some anime character

- he always watches anime with you and has never had a crush on an anime character, so wtf is up with you

- he now believes in gojo slander

- he can’t believe how competitive he is with a fucking anime character

- he will scoff and roll his eyes whenever gojo comes onto the screen

- ONE TIME YOU TOLD HIM THAT GOJO REMINDS YOU OF HIM AND HE FULL ON GOT SO OFFENDED AND DIDN’T SPEAK TO YOU FOR A SOLID 3-5 HOURS

- in conclusion, he’s extremely jealous and thinks you’re very childish

- you’re in a relationship with him because you love him right

- SO LOVE HIM MORE GODDAMNIT

- but when you do show affection, he pushes you off

- like what mf??? i thought you wanted this

things he says when he’s jealous of gojo:

“you know you have a wonderful boyfriend right in front of you right?”

“so y/n, what’s it like being fucking stupid”

“he’s so dang annoying, what do you even like about him?”

“his blindfold is tacky”

“can you stop fangirling when i’m right in front of you, you’re being insufferable”

“if i give you more attention this crush wouldn’t have happened huh”

“you really are an idiot...SHUT UP JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT YOU’RE AN IDIOT”

“why don’t you look at me instead, don’t you think i’m more handsome than him?”

“I’M NOT JEALOUS, I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND”

[stanknotstark]

5 Times Loki Held Your Hand and One Time You Held His

Only realizing it when they have to let go

You and Loki had become close friends when he came down with Thor. You were friends with Jane and through her knowing Thor scored a job at Stark Enterprise in R&D. This is where you basically just played with Tony’s new toys to make sure they work correctly and efficiently. Tony had invited you to live at Stark tower so you didn’t have to make an hour commute every day. Thus when Thor came down with Loki you ran into him randomly in the tower. 

You two first met one night when you couldn’t sleep and decided to wander the tower. Your final destination was one of the common areas that held a bar and an open view of the entire city with floor to ceiling windows. 

You had entered the common area and spotted a dark figure sitting in front of the windows. Clearing your throat the figure looks at you and you realize it’s Loki. 

“Mind if I join? I can totally leave if you’d prefer.” You say nervously from in front of the elevator. 

Loki looks you up and down with his eyes then shrugs. You take that as a cue to do whatever you please. So, you make your way over to him and sit far enough you don’t touch but close enough that you share companionship.

It’s silent for awhile but you can tell Loki is thinking so you stay quiet and just look across the lights lighting up the never sleeping city. 

“Are you not scared?” Loki finally breaks the silence and asks. 

You look at him confused. “Of what?” 

Loki looks at you, now confused too. “Of me.”

You really look at Loki. He has bags under his eyes, almost too hidden to see and you can see his face holds line of stress. His features are taught as if trying to hold himself back from something. 

“No.” You say, taking your eyes off him and looking at the city again. 

“Why? I could kill you.” Loki nearly demands but his voice doesn’t raise from the almost whisper you had both adopted. 

“And? Anyone could. Natasha could, a random stranger on the street could, hell I’m sure a really dedicated cat could kill me. I can kill myself. Why are you so special?” You say, your left hand coming up to rest in between your knees where you lay your chin. Your right hand stays on the floor to support yourself. You don’t look at Loki. 

However, you do hear him scoff. After a few seconds when you’re sure he’s not looking at you anymore he chuckles. “I would ask if you’re alright but I don’t particularly care.” 

At this you laugh lightly, “I didn’t ask for you to care.” You look at Loki who turns to look at you, squinting. 

“You’re weird.” He says and you shrug with a smile still on your face. “I like it.” 

You both go silent and look out at the city. Loki breaks the silence again by asking what certain buildings are and their functions. Through your explanations both of you fail to realize Loki let his left hand drift and cover your right hand still on the floor. It’s natural and you both like it subconsciously. 

When you yawn you go to raise both your arms and Loki realizes he had been holding your hand and pulls away like he’s burnt. You don’t say anything about it, you’re not even bothered by it, you simply stretch and stand.

“I’m tired. Good night.” You say, Loki nods, and you make your way to the elevator and to your wonderful bed that sits waiting for you. 

Not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

The next time you hold hands isn’t for another month. 

Your relationship has developed a lot since that night in the tower. You’re practically inseparable and spend hours together daily. Loki appreciates your humor and non judgmental attitude about him. You enjoy his sarcasm, wit, and love for knowledge. Of course there is more you both love about each other but you keep it simple. 

Today, Loki has agreed to attend Stark’s Expo with you. He is curious as to what Earth has to offer with science and technology. He relishes in the fact that you turn and look at him and accept his offered hand to drag him from table to table, without losing each other in the crowd. You explain what everything is and how it works. You were obviously passionate about technology and science and what new things these students had to offer. Loki found he really enjoyed whatever it was that made you so passionate and animated about the new tech.

You keep a tight hold on his hand as you both make your way around the convention room and if he squeezes your hand back with just as much vigor he knows you won’t say anything. 

You both finally make it to the center stage where Tony is supposed to appear for a grandiose speech on the winners of the Stark Fund scholarship. When you both sit down in seats not far from the stage you keep holding Loki’s hand. 

Loki vaguely hears what you’re saying but more so is focused on how well both your hands fit. While his is cold, yours is warm, where his is calloused and rough, yours is delicate and soft, while his is big yours is small. He thinks that there could be no better fit. He could hold your hand forever. Unfortunately you let go of his hand when you make it to the car, after the expo is over, but he vows that you will hold his hand again. 

Grabbing hand to show them something

This time, when Loki grabs your hand, you’re both on the roof of the tower waiting for a meteor shower. He grabs it in between your conversation when he spots the first meteor and points at the sky. 

“Look.” He says watching you watch the meteors flash across the sky like shooting stars, as you had called them. 

He lovingly watches as your mouth opens a little, your face filled with mirth and excitement. From his spot he sees your eyes practically twinkling. 

“It’s beautiful.” He hears you whisper.

“It truly is.” He says, still staring at you adoringly. 

You turn and look at him with a smile. “Thanks.” You say in reference to him bringing you out to experience this.

Loki gives a small smile, closed lip, and a short nod in understanding. “Any time.” 

You both look back at the sky and watch as one more lonely meteor passes and then it’s over all too soon. You sigh, look at the ground in an attempt to look at Loki’s hand holding yours, then look up at the god. 

“I’m sure I’ll never see them up close but this is just as magical.” You say. 

Loki purses his lips in thought. “If that is your wish, I shall make it happen, some day.” He says with determination.

You smile again, something you can’t stop doing around the god, “I’ve no doubt you’ll achieve this, somehow.” You laugh a little. 

Loki smiles down at you, lifts your hand to his lips, and kisses it.

“Shall we go back inside and try some of the Moon berries Thor brought back?” 

You nod excitedly and rush to the door with Loki behind, never releasing each others hands. 

Possessive hand-holding

You’re attending Stark’s gala for some charity you’ve never heard of. Tony had told you to attend so you could make some connections and further your research with funding. Loki had agreed to be your plus one when you asked him a few days before. That’s how you found yourself in a dark, emerald halter dress that flowed to your feet in elegance. Loki wore a three piece suit, the outer suit jacket and pants black, the inner vest the same dark, emerald as your dress, and a white button up underneath. 

What you don’t expect is for all the men to flock to you when Loki excuses himself to grab you both a drink. You’re surrounded by three men asking you questions about your work but you can read the flirt in between their words. You act nice but don’t play into their flirtations. When they start to lean closer to you you start to get a bit uncomfortable. 

Luckily you spot Loki not too far away coming to you with a soft glare on his features. You know he’s downplaying the glare so he doesn’t outright scare everyone in his path. You knew all too well Loki could very likely kill someone with his infamous glare. 

When Loki makes it back you subconsciously hover into his side and take your drink from his hand with a small thanks. When his hand is free Loki’s hand finds its way down your arm and takes your hand into his. He smiles at the three men sharply and you introduce Loki as your date. The three men back off but don’t leave quite yet. 

Once they’ve asked all their questions they leave you with their business cards and stalk off to their next victim. 

You wait till they’re far enough and deflate a little with a small sigh. Looking up at Loki, who looks down at you concerned, you smile reassuringly and take a sip of the champagne in your hand. 

“I need to give Stark more credit and I now understand why he hates these things.” You say after your sip of the dry alcohol, shaking your head, “Everyone in here is like a shark waiting to feed on you if you show an ounce of weakness.” 

Loki chuckles. “They’ll have to get through me before they even look at you.” Loki empathetically says, squeezing your hand.

You look away from Loki, “So, technically, are we dating? Is this what’s going on? Because I’m honestly a little confused.” You say shyly. Squeezing his hand in yours.

Loki doesn’t say anything so you look at him a little anxious that you might have crossed some unseen boundary. When you look into his eyes he finally answers. “Is that what you want?”

“I mean,” You bring your drink to your lips, let the drink coat your mouth, swallowing, and cherish that Loki is leaning into you with anticipation, “Yes. Quite frankly I’ve been wanting this for months now.” You finally say with an opened mouth smirk. 

Loki smirks too. “Then yes, we’re dating, exclusively.” He adds the last part in case that wasn’t explicitly clear. 

You watch as Loki takes a drink of the champagne and his Adams apple bobs, his neck is bared to you and you want to lick a stripe up it. The moment is over too soon and you look at Loki with a glare. 

“What’s a girl got to do to get a kiss around here?” 

Loki smirks, places his drink on the counter you stand next to and looks at you with a raised brow. You smile. Loki then uses his free hand to cup your face, stare at you with amazement that this is actually happening, then close the short distance between you two and finally kiss you.

Only linking the pinkies together, not ready to let go completely

It’s a few weeks after the gala and officially dating Loki that you hold hands again. This time it’s in public. You’re both walking central park, mostly so you could get some fresh air. After the gala you had made a lot of connections and were getting unbelievable funding for your personal projects which in turn had you cooped up inside working constantly. Loki took it upon himself to get you out and about. 

You had both been totally besotted in each other and talking about random exciting things while walking and holding hands, when you make it to Bethesda Fountain. At the sight of it you ramble on about having change to throw and pull Loki towards it with glee. As you near it you both pull your hands away but only enough to still hang on my the pinky. You turn and look at Loki with a loving look, bring the god’s face to down to kiss you, then let go of his hand completely to cup his jaw with both hands. After you pull back Loki opens his eyes to fall in love with the way you look at him. 

“We both make a wish when we throw in our pennies, ok?” You ask, completely pulling from Loki’s hold and searching in your purse for two pennies. Loki watches you with a frown but accepts the penny you give him.

When you both stand at the edge of the fountain you count down from three and as the pennies hit the water you both silently make your wishes. Loki wishes for marriage with you and he’s honestly not quite sure what you wish for. He questions if he’s moving too fast but disregards that thought. Both of you had been very romantic leading up to dating and knew each other inside and out from constantly spending time together. Just because it’s only been official a few weeks means nothing. Loki knows he wants you forever. 

You turn to look at Loki and wag a finger, “Don’t tell me what you wished for or it won’t come true!” 

Loki smiles and grabs your hand again, “Then I shall keep my lips shut, darling.” 

+1 comparing hand sizes, then linking fingers together

It’s you who initiates the hand holding this time. It’s a couple of months into dating when you do it. Loki will never forget it because you had initiated it this time. 

You’re both casually spending time in the common area with Nat, Clint, and Thor when it happens. You’re sitting across from Loki, both of you with crossed legs, playing a game of cards with him on the big couch Stark has. Nat and Clint are making bets as to who is going to win each round and Thor is fascinated as you explain everything going on in the game. 

Loki goes to flip his card when you stop talking to Thor and grab his hand. Loki looks up at you confused but watches with fascination as you flatten his hand out then put yours up to it and compare sizes. His hand looks like it could engulf yours. You hum thoughtfully and intertwine your fingers with his and return to the game as if nothing just happened, setting your hands to the side of the game on the couch.

Loki himself feels a little breathless but takes is a small gasp when Thor claps his shoulder. 

“Brother you’re at 19 are you truly sure you want to get hit again?” Thor asks.

Loki glances back at Thor but disregards him and looks at you instead. You look innocent enough but the spark in your eyes says you know what you’ve just done to Loki. 

Loki clears his throat. “Hit me, the risk is well worth it.” 

He watches as you give him a faced down card next to his jack and nine cards. 

You look up at him with a smirk, “Try your luck, Mischief.” You say. 

Loki raises a brow then turns the card you gave him. 

It’s an ace.

Loki smirks at you when you gasp and look at his cards with wide eyes. Natasha groans and pays Clint, Thor laughs roaringly. 

Both of your hands are still linked on the couch. Loki uses his thumb to caress your thumb and says, “What’s even more satisfying is that I didn’t even have to cheat.” 

You look at Loki with a mix of awe and satisfaction. “And here I thought I was the lucky one in this relationship.” 

Loki chuckles, “You’re severely mistaken.” He says, obviously not talking about the game anymore when he gives you a look full of tenderness and love. 

[myaimistrue]

del myaimistrue’s underrated destiel fic recs! (part 1)

these are all fics i’ve read and realllllllly enjoyed, and they’re all ones that i don't often see people discussing on here. bc of that they all either have less than 10k hits OR were published pre-2015 OR both. i hope you all like them, and if you do, please consider giving the authors some love and leaving a comment saying so. we fic writers live off that kinda stuff :)

list under the cut, organized by word count!

I Know! Straight Out of a Telenovela, Right? by @credentiast

quick 800ish word meta joke about y yo a ti. so sweet and domestic and lovely. i read this right after it was uploaded and have gone back to read it multiple times since then. always makes me smile!

strap the wing to me by a_good_soldier (aka @s11e17)

as i’m sure we all know, basically everything a_good_soldier writes is wonderful. this little 1.9k bit of sweetness is one of my personal favorites of theirs, and is sorely underrated. a bit of conversation between dean and cas about how much cas loves him. nothing like holy devotion to a human man!

The First Thing There Is by bendingsignposts

cas seals off dean's memories as part of the effort to stop michael, and amnesiac dean immediately realizes that cas loves him. 5k of really sweet, in-character moments and a healthy dose of humor.

Eyes Like the Texas Sky by RogueTranslator

do you hate john winchester? do you want to read about dean’s queer awakening and how that relates to his love of cowboys? do you love sweet stories about finding love and acceptance in places you didn’t expect? this 5.6k fic is for you! dean tells cas the story of the first guy he ever had feelings for, and boy is it sweet and heart-wrenching and wonderful.

Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime

7.8k fic in which 15x20 was all part of a djinn dream. perhaps my all-time favorite finale fix-it (which is why it’s on this list despite having like 12k hits shhh) featuring full-powered angelic cas blowing out all the lights in the bunker when he and dean have sex. beautifully written and so sweet. and the sequel is also great--highly recommended as well

Telemetry by scifive

DEAN STUDIES FIC!!! 9k set during the first seven episodes of season 4 that actually addresses and deals with dean’s ptsd and trauma from hell. dean’s voice is absolutely perfectly in-character. also it’s pre-relationship destiel but the moment with them at the very end is so tender and lovely.

the pie isn’t a metaphor (it’s just pie) by noviembre

9.3k post-canon fic in which dean and cas get comfortable with their relationship and bake some pies together. it’s a very soft little story that features dean being head over heels and cas being beautifully sarcastic.

Talk Therapy by shara

9.3k of dean figuring out what he wants from cas and how to be in a relationship with him. sex-focused, but intentional about what details are shared so it feels very natural and sweet. cas is so steadfast as dean tries to unlearn what he’s been taught his whole life.

it’s such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe

another memory loss fic, except it’s cas this time! 10k words about cas getting hit with a temporary memory loss spell and his rediscovery of love and friendship. straight up this one made me cry happy tears. fleeceframe writes beautiful stuff, and this one is no different--the language is just gorgeous.

killing time by orestespdf

11.2k post-canon fic. it’s kind of a day in the life of dean and cas in the lake house they’ve made their home that doubles as a cas character study. very cathartic and romantic.

Kingdom Come by ahurston

17.3k cas comes back from the empty fic featuring a road trip and lots of cas introspection. dean and cas’s interactions are so so so in-character the entire time, and the final moments of the story are absolutely perfect. one of my personal favorite fix-its.

a certain light by flightagain

24.3k au in which cas works at a gas-n-sip and dean’s a customer that comes in a lot, with a supernatural twist! this story is so gorgeous and gentle, and dean and cas’s relationship is portrayed beautifully. if you’re a cas fan, this story is his from pov and nails it in a way that i think is really hard to do in an au. 

Peace And Good Luck to All Men by KismetJeska

31.3k human au in which dean is anna’s boyfriend she brings home for christmas, and he and cas immediately click. i am not a big au person, especially when it comes to angel characters, but this fic is so genuinely in character and still hilarious. also a long time fandom classic.

Everybody Needs the Light by opal_bullets

46.5k words of another banger by opal_bullets of poet dean fic fame! actually i might like this one just a little better which should tell how great this one is. it takes place pre-series. dean stops at an old motel in minnesota that cas is running, and something strange is going on… this fic has one of the most interesting conclusions i’ve read in a spn fic and there is such a cool atmosphere to the whole piece. highly recommended if you’re a fan of mysteries and/or supernatural’s angelic dynamics and/or pre-series dean.

Smells Like Roses by orphan_account :(

53.8k words. an absolute classic. seriously, if you haven’t read this, ESPECIALLY if you’re a dean girl, it’s a must-read. set in season 5, dean has a vivid djinn dream of an entire life he spends married in domestic bliss with cas. when he gets pulled out of it, he struggles to readjust and focus on the coming apocalypse. dean is so in-character and so heart-breaking. def a dean thesis fic with a healthy side of destiel sweetness.

The Hanged Man by ellispark

87.6k words. PARK RANGER CAS. literally need i say more?? if that alone hasn’t sold you, the story is that he finds dean out in the woods after someone has tried to kill him, and the mystery unfolds from there as the two of them grow closer. the plot is really interesting and in-character despite being an au. also, if non-verbal dean is something you like/find interesting, you will really love this fic. absolutely worth the read and frankly deserves more hits!

[thechekhov]

Hi! I saw on a post that you're agender and I'm kinda questioning my gender (again) but what interested me more about that post was that you said you believe that gender is a social construct and I'm not really familiar with that theory. I was wondering if you could explain to me what the whole idea is? (bc I kinda only feel like a have a gender in social situations? In my head, my dreams and how I picture myself in the future, I'm genderless idjskahwksjejensj) Sorry for bothering you if I did.

This is a BIG topic and it opens a LOT of wormholes. 

We’re gonna do this in pie slice statements that will hopefully help explain what I mean. Please keep in mind I’m going to simplify many things for the sake of readability.

1) What is a social construct? 

Social constructs are ideas that are negotiated by social groups. Something being a social construct does not make it ‘not real’. 

For example, money is a social construct. Yes, we have cash - coins, credit cards - but these are physical props that are REPRESENTATIVE of the idea of currency. You have some form of credit to your name - the money is a socially agreed-upon idea of value being represented by bills in your hand, by numbers in your bank account. 

[Description: Two humanoid figures are standing side by side. The right-side figure is holding a rock in its hand. 

Right side figure: Let’s agree that this shiny rock is worth 2 sheep.

Left side figure: Sounds fake but ok.]

Technically, countries are also social constructs. We, as a society, negotiate what a country is, and this can be changed.

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of a dotted line drawn on the ground. The left figure is pointing down at it while the right figure watches, its arms crossed.

Left figure: Let’s pretend that everything on this side of the imaginary line is mine.

Right figure: ...ok but my house is over there.

Left figure: ... for 3 shiny rocks you can come visit.]

Does that mean canada isn’t real? No. (I mean, obviously canada ISN’T real, but we all agree to pretend it is.) The thing that makes it real is that we are in agreement, and all follow the social rules of pretend to make it seem like the Canadian border, the idea of Canadian citizenship, etc... is an objective fact. (It’s not. These are in fact, negotiable limits and parameters. We have laws in place to define it in legal terms, but those laws can be changed, or may change in the minds of communities. That’s why it’s a construct.)

By that same token, I hold the view that gender, as we largely perceive it in modern society, is a construct. Why? Because it is not inherent; we, as a society, negotiate its meaning. 

2) What is gender? 

People will probably fight me on this and that’s fine, but here’s my (simplified) understanding of gender (from someone who personally has none)

Gender is a social category negotiated by cultures based on your assigned or desired role in your community that influences, among many other things, your physical appearance, your role in family units, your expected position in jobs, etc. 

How I think it happened:

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of the panel, both holding children-looking figures. The one on the left is wearing purple. The one on the right is wearing green.

Green figure: Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if we separate the babies into two groups based on physical traits they have no control over?

Purple figure: Wh-- okay...?

Green figure: And then limit the jobs they can do and the community ritual involvement available to them based on that!

Purple figure: ... I feel like this is going to backfire on us someday.

Green figure: Nah, it’ll be fine.

The past panel is a dramatic closeup on the purple figure’s face - which is featureless - betraying a deeply doubtful emotion. It says nothing.]

Important points to remember: what gender looks like, what the limits are, what the expectations are... are not inherent to any human biology. We make up gender roles. This is evident in the fact that across the world, gender roles differ by culture. The positions people of a certain gender are allowed to take up are different. What is perceived to be ‘girly’ or ‘boyish’ is different across cultures. 

Simply speaking - currently the (western) model we have, dumbed down, is:

You are assigned male at birth because of physical characteristics

You are raised being told to ‘toughen up’ and ‘boys don’t cry’ and encouraged not to show emotions

You are taught to wear male-coded clothes and discouraged from female-coded fashion choices

You are given more opportunities to participate in sports, encouraged to engage in physical activity, etc

You are not expected to need time off for child-rearing 

Here’s where gender as it works in society breaks down into being not a real thing but instead something we thought up: 

Nothing about having a penis necessitates wearing pants. Nothing about having XY chromosomes means you need to keep your hair short. Nothing about your genome makes the experience of nail-polish different for any human being. 

All of these are arbitrary traits we decided were allowed or not allowed to a specific group of people based on entirely unrelated physiology. 

Even if we delve deeper, there is MORE variation among individuals of the same ‘sex’ than there are, on average, of members of the ‘opposite sex’ when compared to each other. 

Many people use the excuse ‘women are physically not as strong as men’ to say that this has an evolutionary aspect driving these cultural, historical, socially-constructed gender requirements. 

But if there was a physical reasoning behind the culturally-set gender-limited job expectations, then we actually WOULDN’T need a traditional binary gender system to sort ourselves into categories. It would simply be decided as a meritocracy - stronger individuals, regardless of gender, would be given physically-demanding jobs. (Also we know that many jobs thought to be ‘traditionally male’ are just the result of sexist bullshit, so this reasoning doesn’t fly any further than I can throw it which is, coincidentally, not very far. Politics is one such area. Doctors are another. We can go on but I think you get my drift.)

My own example of this is an anecdote when my grandparents came to visit my partner and I in Japan. While we were driving down to Tokyo, my grandmother - who has a PhD in entomology - began to say that driving is a masculine activity and women shouldn’t be driving as it was ‘un-woman-like’. My partner almost immediately fired back that in Japan, studying insects or having any interest in them whatsoever was considered a heavily masculine-coded activity. In Russia, there is no such assignment, and my grandmother was left silently blinking in confusion, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘well, all cultures are different, I suppose...’

Do either of these things inherently have a gendered aspect? Of course not! But we assign gendered ideals to them anyway.

3) If gender is made up and constructed by society, then does that mean trans people aren’t real?

No.

Even if you agree that gender is a social construct, trans people are still real. TERFs don’t get a pass. Why? 

Because gender - as a social construct - still affects our everyday lives, dictates our social position in our community. Transitioning is still a thing that has to happen. The fact that you are NOT easily able to decide your own gender and are ostracized for wanting to transition, abused for dressing the way you want to be perceived, and bullied for wanting people to refer to you with different pronouns - all those are the effects of a social construct that has very REAL impact on our lives.

This is also why I dislike defining trans-ness by dysphoria. Because transgender people are not only their suffering - the suffering is coming from the outside!! Many trans people remember not being concerned about their gender identity in their childhood, because they did not yet perceive the world as being hostile to their desire to fulfil a specific role in society. The issues and self-hatred and dysphoria begins when they express wanting to be themselves - a life which they are forbidden from pursuing based on physical characteristics they were born with.

Does this mean we should try to remove gender from society? If we constructed it, we can deconstruct it, right?

Realistically, I highly doubt this is possible. Gender is so ingrained in our daily lives that it would be difficult. Nor, I would say, would it be necessary to achieve world peace. 

Having social groups - having gender - isn’t inherently a bad thing. The bad thing is when we limit those social groups to specific basic human rights, like voting, or when we forbid them from transitioning from one to another based on things that are out of their control. 

Also, I’m not saying genitals and secondary sexual characteristics aren’t real. Please don’t bother sending me that angry message, I’ll ignore it, I promise. 

But the concept of gender IS something we thought up and maintain and negotiate with each other to this very day. It’s not granted to us by a higher power, nor is it a constant, unchanging thing. It’s a part of the human experience and like everything, it has the potential to evolve - as a concept in our communal memory, as well as on an individual level, for people who feel they want to be perceived differently. 

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!