#but it was TOUGH to do… i really had to push whereas these past few months i’ve been HAPPY to do stuff

[starbuck]

you know, i was trying to figure out why my brain is going so haywire all of a sudden and i realized it’s prooooooobably because it’s about a year since All That went down which like. Yes, perhaps that WAS a tiny bit traumatizing, come to think of it!!

[cuteskunkz]

╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ Mike is a very touch starved man. He spends all his nights at work and the daytime caring for Abby if not sleeping. He hadn't been with a girl since his junior year, making him feel like a total loser. The amount of times where Mike went back and forth with his inner thoughts, convincing himself that he was the problem was getting pretty intense and it was clear that he just needed a night out to clear his mind and prove those thoughts wrong.

You've been a "dancer" for the past few months at the downtown strip club, just trying to make ends meet. There was a tough competition working against you. You were new to this line of work whereas the other girls had been in the game for a while now, but you kept pushing on desperately. How else were you going to make rent or keep the lights on? The nights were slow and building a consistent flow of clientele proved itself to be a challenge, that is until one night when you meet a new guy outside of the nightclub.

Tags~ Stripper reader, Mike is a SIMP!!!, lowkey enemies to lovers but not really, no smut (YET...)

Note~ This took me much longer than I thought since I've been super burnt out of writing lately, but I hope you guys enjoy! As always if there's anything in particular you would like to see in chapter 2, please lemme know

⊱✿⊰

Mike felt confused with the lack of responsibilities and errands to run on this warm summer night. Abby was off at a sleepover and Steve finally hired a second night shift worker, leaving him all alone with his reoccurring self doubt introspections. Dude gets one night for himself and simply cannot think of a single thing to do to pass the time. He laid there in his bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. He jolts up feeling frustrated with himself, "Ughh... just fall asleep already bro..." He shifts around in his bed and grunts, "I can't do this-". He sits up and sulks his way into the living room, plopping down on the couch. Mike pulls out his phone and begins to scroll.

He isn't really the social media type but had made an anonymous instagram account a while ago for mindlessly scrolling. After what seemed like hours, Mike stumbles across a video of you. You were practicing a routine for the club, twirling and moving seductively. Mike felt himself grow larger in his pants and put the phone down in shock. He stares up at the ceiling in disbelief, damn you really got him feeling this type of way this quickly? He looks down at his lap and feels helpless. He wrestles with his feelings for a while and ultimately picks his phone back up to look more into you.

He clicks on your account and "researches" a bit. There's multiple videos of you practicing, photos of your skimpy outfits, and the most captivating selfies he's ever seen. One of your posts has a location tagged in the top corner, "Deja Vu Showgirls". He looks further into the club, finding that it's not too far from the pizzeria. "Fuck it. Why not..." he whispers to himself. Mike ensures he's well groomed for the occasion. if you're there he wants make a good impression. He showers, dresses in the best outfit he can come up with, and slaps some product in his hair. He finally felt content with his appearance and hopped in the car.

You weren't surprised to see another night play out typically. Maybe 2 or 3 cheap lap dances and a couple short sets up on the stage for less than 50 bucks. This clearly isn't working for you, at this point you've spent more on outfits and shoes than you've made while working here. An older gentleman walks up to you reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne, you couldn't help but gulp at the thought of providing your services for him. Yeah you were a stripper but you still had standards that made doing your job successfully hard at times.

"Well aren't you something?" he slurs while damn near tipping over from intoxication. You sigh and snap into your persona. "I'd hope so, this outfit ain't cheap y'know!" you reply in a flirtatious tone. You grab him by the hand and lead him to a booth, preparing for the worst. He starts groping on your sides which makes you shudder. Maybe this place isn't for you after all. "H-hands off baby.... Use your eyes and focus on me" you redirect with confidence. Times like these made you wish someone could just scoop you off your feet and save you.

He drives to the location with his heart pounding out of his chest. He'd never been to strip club before so Mike felt nervous even making his way closer to where you have the slightest chance of being at. He pulled into the parking lot and shut his car off abruptly, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. "What if she isn't here? I don't even know the girl why am I acting so fuckin' weird about this.... I really need to get out of the house more" he thinks to himself while gripping onto the steering wheel. After a few mental pep talks to himself, he finally musters up the courage to get out and make his way in.

Just as he goes to push the door to the club open, you storm out with eyes welling with tears. Mike stumbles back a bit not wanting to startle you. You're holding your pricey Pleaser heels in hand, walking barefoot and trying your best to keep it together. All you want is to curl up into a ball and quit at life. You thought that creepy dude would cheap out on a dance, not grope and hurl insulting names at you for rejecting his advances! You look up from the ground and lock eyes with a man you've never seen before. He's cute... too cute to be wasting his time at some dingy place like this.

"Can I help you?" you snap at him with a shaky voice. It was hard not to notice the concerned look on his face. "No I'm-" he stutters before you promptly cut him off. "Leave me the fuck alone then." His face goes pale hearing you say this, he didn't even get a chance to meet you yet and he feels as if he already blew it. You pace towards your car and pop the trunk, filling it with the all the contents of your locker. You pick a T-shirt out of your duffle bag and drape it over your revealing outfit. His presence is burning a hole into your back so you swiftly turn around to meet his gaze.

He walks over slow and bashfully. There's a pink tint to his cheeks and he can't keep his hands still out of anxiousness. "Dude are you good?" you ask. He looks as if he's going to break a sweat, "Yeah... I'm good. Are you though? You looked pretty shaken up back there." You assumed he was just another guy looking to get lucky with a dancer after a shift change. "Look, if you want to get some action, walk your ass into the club. I'm not who you're looking for" you reply. His stomach drops hearing your voice. It was one thing to see you for the first time, but to hear your voice even if it be out of anger made Mikes head spin. He didn't want to sound like a complete creep stalking you out to your job for a closer look but you were exactly who he wanted.

"That's not why I'm here. Fuck- look... To be totally honest, I'm not a strip club type of dude. I just- I saw a video of you on instagram and I was- y'know... impressed by your talent and beauty." Typical response coming from a man trying to bring a stripper home for the night you think to yourself. "I'm not shocked by your reaction. You realize that's what I hear like- 10 times a night, right?" you say with a sarcastic tone. He seemed a bit more genuine with his words than the others but men will do and say anything when they're in need of a quick fuck. "Not that type of girl sir. Try one of those cheap hookers down the road" you point down the street and close the trunk.

"Please... I know how this sounds, believe me I know how dudes are but-" He sighs and continues, "But I don't have a lot of experience with girls so- I thought coming here... to meet someone new would help" he says looking very serious, almost to the point of desperation. If he weren't so damn handsome you'd turn him down in a heartbeat but something in you is screaming to give him a chance. He seems to be telling the truth and damn is he starting to fluster you with the whole innocent act. "Fine. I'll give you my number but don't you dare think about blowing my phone up." You scribble your phone number into his palm with a pen from your bag and blow him a kiss while getting in your car to drive away.

Mike smirks and waves at you, watching you drive off into the distance. "That was easier than I expected...huh..." he whispers. He gets back into his car and texts you, already so eager to see you again. The message reads:

Hey it's Mike, the guy from earlier. You doing anything tonight? I could take us out to a bar or something? :)

His cheeks start to blush again from imagining you two hanging out. He desperately craves a deeper connection with you but doesn't want to come off as too interested off the bat, it could scare you off for all he knows! His phone dings and he reads it:

Shitttt I'm free as long as you're gonna be on your very best behavior!!

⊱✿⊰

*Read part 2 and part 3 here!*

It might take me a bit to get part two posted, but I'll try to give you guys as many updates as possible!!! Keep in mind I am a new writer. This is my third fic put out so far :))

[p-taryn-dactyl]

when fire meets fate

a/n: ok guys this isn't the best but i started writing at the library and this just came so easily so im just proud i wrote it word count: 2.1k warning(s): mentions of graphic injury/death - EXPOSITION SO MUCH OF IT - dialogue heavy - wrote this in a day im sorry for any mistakes - cheesy title and bad picture sorry :( prompt: agatha stumbles across someone unexpected in an ancient abandoned library on her search to learn more about the scarlet witch

Agatha simply wanted to investigate the magical trail she had been following for the past few weeks and now there was a knife being held to her throat. In her defense, she thought this library was long abandoned and had wanted to do some research. 

“Who are you?” Your voice shook with the effort to sound tough but Agatha could see the fear evident in you. Guess you didn’t have much experience holding people at knifepoint.

“What?” Your confused voice sounded, the knife pointed at Agatha’s throat slightly raising as your brow furrowed. Oops, she had said that out loud. Agatha simply laughed, raising a hand to lightly push the knife away, letting her magic swirl around her hands and in her eyes. You stumbled backwards, hand tightening around your knife, bringing it to more of a defensive pose. 

“You,” swallowing, you steadied yourself to appear composed in front of the witch, “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you? What do you want? How did you find this place?” Agatha chuckled again, pointing at you with a finger ignited with magic as she slowly approached you. 

“Now, I believe you only asked one of those previously, darling.” 

You felt your face grow warm at the name, internally scolding yourself. You wanted your questions answered, no matter how deflective this beautiful woma-witch became. Agatha passed you, her shoulder lightly brushing yours as she took in the state of the once great magical library. The giant bookshelves had been eaten away with termites, the wood sagging with the weight of the books. The books which were now covered in layers upon layer of dust and webs. But it wasn’t the state of the actual library that caught her eye. No, it was the makeshift bed made of the slightly sagging reading chairs and blankets eaten away by moths, pillows that looked older than Agatha. Bags of groceries, new and fresh, sat on a splintered reading table, a box of oatmeal cream pies open. You turned to where you now faced her back, your eyes trained on the purple magic still wrapping itself around Agatha’s arms and torso. If you squinted, you could’ve sworn you saw the witch’s palms and fingertips turning black. 

“You…live here?” Her voice echoed in the silence between the two of you. She turned to face you, one eyebrow raised. But the answer to her question was obvious, whereas yours still hung in the air unanswered. In a huff, you sheathed your knife on your hip and crossed your arms, glaring at the witch. 

“Seriously, who are you? And why do you,” you gestured to the magic surrounding her, “glow?” 

Agatha let out an actual laugh that bounced off the walls of your home, raising her arms in a surrendering position. 

“Okay, okay.” 

Making her way to where your makeshift bed laid in the middle of the library, Agatha took a seat in one of the unoccupied seats, wincing at how it sagged in the middle and the old fabric staples dug into her arms and legs. 

“The name is Agatha Harkness, lovely to meet you dear. And for the glowing,” she finger quotes, “I’m sure in this day and age you can recognize magic.” 

You glared at the slight taunt, cautiously coming to sit in the chair opposite Agatha. But she was right, your question was a bit stupid considering how much people saw of Doctor Strange and the other superpowered Avengers. Superpowers, something in your mind clicked and you leaned forward, stabilizing yourself on your elbows as you stared at the witch. Agatha blinked at the sudden intensity. 

“Wow, you really want me to answer your questions. Fine, but only if you answer a few of mine.” 

You nodded, you had an idea of what she would ask you and it was a perfect way for you to get answers of your own. Agatha adjusted in her seat, her discomfort visible on her face. 

“I can’t quite say what I want per say, however I’m here to simply do some reading. It’s a library after all. Now, as to how I found this place…” She trailed off, her blue eyes boring into you, matching your intensity. You wanted to look away, the eye contact intense and intimate in a way it shouldn’t be with a woman you just met, but you didn’t. Apparently this was the right choice as Agatha smirked slightly and continued talking. 

“I’m almost positive I’ve known about this place longer than you’ve been alive, sweetheart.” Damn this woman and her pet names, your heart was too vulnerable and you already felt a crush beginning to form. Agatha leaned back in the chair like it was a throne she had rightfully claimed, all traces of discomfort gone. 

“Now, I believe it’s my turn to ask questions.” Her eyes never left yours and you felt pinned in place as you gave a slight nod. 

“Why are you here? A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so hidden from the world.” 

Damn, damn, damn, you couldn’t handle another compliment, you couldn’t stop the heat from rising in your cheeks. You finally broke eye contact to fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. It was one your dad had made from a kit he had bought online. You still remember the kid-like joy in his eyes as he gave it to you, proud of the slightly hideous creation. Tears built up in your eyes and you willed them away. You wouldn’t cry in front of Agatha, not as your first impression. 

“I have nowhere to go, I stumbled across this place and decided it was better than nothing.” 

Agatha just stared at you before she spoke, her words a monotone disbelief. 

“You just stumbled across an ancient underground library hidden in a labyrinth-like cave?” 

Agatha caught the slight flinch before you laughed, nodding as you leaned to grab an oatmeal cream pie, opening the wrapper just to hold the sweet in your hands as you stared at it. 

“Come on now, there’s more to this story and I’m curious. Spill!” She clapped her hands together, a mug of steaming tea appearing in her hands and a soft blanket surrounded your shoulders. The chairs you sat on weren’t as uncomfortable anymore and Agatha brought her legs up like a little girl listening to a great story. You almost wanted to laugh at the imagery, this woman growing on you in the short time you’ve known each other. 

“Can’t you like,” you wiggled your fingers at your temple, “find out yourself?” 

Agatha gasped, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding the tea to practically grasp her pearls. 

“I’m aghast you would think I would invade your privacy. Now spill your guts to me, stranger.” 

It was at that moment you realized you hadn’t shared your name. 

“I’m Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“Not anymore,” you muttered under your breath, “No, no last name.” 

Agatha merely conceded, gesturing for you to continue. You took a breath, silently wondering how holding a knife to an intruder led to an impromptu therapy session. 

“I was left by the entrance of the tunnels,” you started strong, enjoying Agatha’s reaction. Her body tensed and she leaned forward slightly, close to spilling her tea. “It was after a doctor's appointment, I was so confused because they called my parents. My parents! I’m an adult for crying out loud, that had to break a law or something. Anyways, I had some blood drawn and after the tests were finished,” you paused, looking at the skin on your arm where the needle had pierced it, “The doctors and nurses started to look at me weird. I was brought to a secluded room, where my parents were waiting. My mom looked angry but my dad, my dad looked devastated.” You had started to choke up so you paused, looking anywhere but Agatha. You supposed it felt nice to let all this out, afterall, you still didn’t understand what was really happening to you or why it was happening. 

“Apparently, they found something in my blood, something rare and dangerous. To add insult to injury, the only place in the world which could help me learn about it shut down decades ago and then, ha, ironically caught on fire.” 

Agatha looked at you skeptically, swirling the now cold tea in its mug. 

“Why is that ironic?” 

Instead of answering, you looked at her tea and stood up. 

“Is that cold?” 

She nodded slowly, confused as to why the temperature of her tea mattered. You held out a hand and she gave you the mug, her face perplexed. For a moment, you just looked at the dark liquid, rocking the cup slightly in your hands, feeling the tea barely touch the rim, almost spilling. Then, you concentrated, willed the tea to do what you wished. 

“Um, what are you-?” 

Steam started rising from the mug and you handed it back to Agatha, who winced when her palms touched the ceramic. You went back to your seat and held your palm out towards the ceiling. Agatha just watched, passing the mug in between her hands. A small flame ignited in the center of your palm, slowly growing larger until you brought up your other hand to morph the flame into a sphere. 

“Of course, when they found the mutated gene in my DNA they didn’t know what it really would change. Not until it manifested.” 

“How did it manifest?” 

You knew the question was coming, you knew you had led the story to this yet you didn’t want to relive that moment again. But you had started telling Agatha and for some reason you didn’t want to stop. 

“I went to my parents house after the appointment. My mom was screaming about how she couldn’t raise a freak, how the x-gene better not be noticeable once it emerged. My dad stayed quiet, silently collecting everything he deemed his from the living room. I don’t know when my mom noticed what he was doing, I was just frozen on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. Then they both were screaming and I had noticed the temperature in the room was heating up,” You hated this next part, hated how it haunted your sleep but you had to keep going, “It got too hot. Things were melting, bubbling, and boiling everywhere, including my parents. When the screaming stopped, I got up from the couch, and they were behind me on the floor, unrecognizable. I think that’s when the actual fire started. I don’t remember much, just the smell of the smoke as it surrounded me and the sound of the police and firefighters. There were other men at the scene who took me, they were wearing suits and earpieces, very out of place for a house fire. Figured out pretty quickly that they worked for the government, S.H.I.E.L.D, or something because they kept talking to each other about mutants, inhumans, Skrulls, whatever they are. I guess they thought I was too in shock to understand. But then they tied up my hands and feet and left me at the front of the tunnels. Obviously I got out of the restraints but I knew what leaving me behind meant. I’m dead to the world.” 

Agatha stayed silent for a few moments, blinking at you in shock. You laughed nervously, putting out the ball of fire that was dancing between your hands as you talked. 

“Sorry, that was too much too soon.” 

Agatha shook her head. 

“No I asked, all you did was answer. How long have you been here?” 

“A few months. I couldn’t risk using mine or my parents bank account so I kinda took a credit card from a lady who definitely won’t miss it or see the charges. I know this because nothing has happened yet.” 

Agatha shook her head again, this time almost in a scolding way. You didn’t like her being disappointed in you but you weren’t ready to accept why yet.  

“No that just won’t do,” she exclaimed as she stood up, setting her tea down and clapping her hands together, “You’re obviously in need of a teacher and, quite frankly, any company at all. You’ll come with me!” 

You laughed in disbelief, also standing. 

“Oh am I? You’ve just decided?” 

Agatha nodded, coming to stand close to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. She started walking towards the entrance-slash-exit of the library, her grip tight. 

“Plus, I like you,” your heart fluttered a bit at her words, letting Agatha walk you through the tunnels. You didn’t notice her magic behind you gathering your things in a seemingly endless suitcase, “This’ll be fun!”

“Wait, didn’t you need to do some reading?” You ask, concerned. Agatha chuckled and patted your arm. 

“Oh don’t worry dear, I got what I needed. Now, how do you feel about New Jersey?”

[snootlestheangel]

The brain rot is attacking me so I’m sharing the love

GazRoach but with Asexual Roach

Yay, more brainrot!!

I'm going with the idea that Roach is a burn victim and so he sometimes he has issues feeling comfortable in his skin (cause I just cannot unsee him as such because of all the beautiful art and writings I've seen depicting him as such). This has nothing to do with his asexuality, he was ace before the accident!

(also somehow fucked up the formatting and deleted two whole questions and the answers so like sorry if the first few questions are kinda rushed. I was mad at myself cause I had already written the answers just to immediately delete them)

Who was the one to propose? Gaz. It was the cutest, sweetest, most beautiful thing and Roach refused to stop hugging him.

Who stressed more over wedding planning? Roach probably. He wants Gaz to have the best wedding ever, but Gaz couldn't care less about the circumstances, just the fact he gets to marry his best friend :)

Who decorated the house? Gaz has style and it definitely started out as him, but Roach keeps bringing in little knick-knacks so eventually, there are rooms where guests can tell Roach had a hand in it's decor

Who does the cooking? Both can cook pretty decently, so typically they take turns. However, Roach often cooks more than Gaz. I don't know why, I just feel like Roach, even though he's a menace, can really whip up some gourmet shit.

Who is more organized? Roach, actually. Gaz is plenty organized, as a result of years being in the military and needing to keep his shit tidy, but Roach is the actual organized one. Yeah, he's bug boy, bugs have very complex systems and maintain those with diligence. -Roach's motto

Who suggested kids first? Gaz, probably. They don't think they ever will have kids, but Gaz is the one to ask about it first.

Who's the big cuddler? Gaz, but sometimes he gets banished to the floor when Roach feels constricted.

Who's the big spoon/little spoon? Gaz is little spoon. Whatever you do, don't imagine Roach burying his face in between Gaz's shoulders after a really tough day and just holding onto Gaz like he's his very lifeline (he is), and don't picture Gaz humming a little bit cause he knows the vibrations calm Roach down. Don't imagine them falling asleep like this, don't imagine Gaz staying in bed well past the time he should all because Roach is sleeping so peacefully, still wrapped around him.

Favorite non-sexual activity? Everything. They're such adrenaline junkies, despite their traumas, and like to push each other. They're actually working on Gaz's absolute terror of heights, bit by bit. Gaz wants to be able to ride a roller-coaster again without having flashbacks :')

Who comes home drunk at 3am? I don't see either of them being really heavy drinkers like this, if I'm being honest. Unless Soap is there and offers to drive both back to their place, neither really gets drunk.

Who kills the spiders? Gaz wants to kill them but Roach refuses to let him. Bugs are friends :) *Roach is very much committed to the bit*

Who falls asleep first? Gaz. I feel like he's so normal about things like that. Like he can just easily fall asleep, whereas Roach is laying there thinking about that ant he stepped on earlier.

A head-canon? Roach, being a burn victim, has a pretty tough time every now and then feeling like he fits in his skin. It doesn't help he's definitely got some Sensory Processing Issues, and so sometimes he really wants to claw off his skin. His burns do cover a good portion of his torso and upper legs. Sometimes when people give him a hard time about being ace, cause we all know there's those assholes, he just uses the excuse of his burns to make them uncomfortable. He came out ace well before the incident, but we all know he's not been taken seriously until he started blaming it on the incident. The two are still pretty intimate with each other; Roach loves when Gaz applies the creams/meds to his scarring, mostly cause the whole time Gaz is whispering praise in his ear, saying how proud he is, how pretty Roach is, etc. Not to mention, some of the places are hard for him to reach, and there's scarring up near his crotch (which is incredibly uncomfortable on Roach's bad days when he's reminded a lot of his skin isn't technically his own and he's overtly aware of the sensation of Gaz's hands on him), and so sometimes there's a lot of reassurance on both sides, from Roach saying he's good to keep going, and from Gaz to say "just a bit more, Bug, okay? You're doing good" Roach adores Gaz's physique, and is constantly photographing him; there's so many photos of Gaz in all sorts of different circumstances. The fall/cozy sweater pictures that are scattered around the flat, the ones of Gaz in the snow, or shirtless in the bright summer sun just looking like he's thriving. There's a secret stash of all of the nudes Roach has taken of Gaz. They're all so artistic and beautiful and non-sexualized photos of Gaz just simply ~Existing~ and those photos are Roach's most prized possessions. Roach just loves when Gaz isn't wearing clothes in general, and he's definitely stealing all his shirts so Gaz has 'no choice' but to walk around shirtless. Roach's favorite time of year is gray sweatpant season cause he gets the perfect view of Gaz's hips, the lines leading down and disappearing underneath his pants, the way Roach can still see the very minute dimples on Gaz's lower back, just visible above his pants.

Do they have any "rituals"? Only the process of applying creams/meds to Roach's burn areas. Gaz puts on a whole theatric basically to help put Roach into a good mood, and Gaz has to have the right playlist, the right stuff to cover the rather unpleasant scent of the medication cream, etc. (this is kind of a stressful thing for Roach, he's still pretty sensitive in certain areas/easy to trigger cause the trauma is still relatively fresh)

Who has the most patience? Gaz, most definitely. He's still glaring at you if you're annoying him, but it'll take a while before he ever loses his cool. Roach is just feral :D

Gif that sums up the relationship?

The silliest of sillies :)

[keijoikawa]

one kiss & wings for the ask game with lexicchino and jingexi pretty please? 💗

kaikaikaikai !!! squeezes chu i feel so blessed whenever chu r in mi inbox >///< seein dis after da lexipaz comfort makes mi feel like 2day is women day ueueueue pwetty wife wiv her even pwettier wives !!! thank chu 4 askin noms ur cheek gently :3

describe you and your f/o’s first kiss.

waaah okies… so for jingliu, it was actually very heat of the moment… she pushes me away a lot because of her mara and it results in arguments fairly often. they’re usually not bad !! because she knows that arguments are very tough for me so they usually end up dissolving into angry spicy time… but the day we had our first kiss, we’d been arguing >~< in fact it was one of our first arguments !! and i was being my usual (stubborn) and kept arguing back… so she shut me up by kissing me o///o needless to say this technique is very effective in silencing alexi… !!

whereas for arlecchino it was a moment of weakness for her me thinks. sometimes the kids of the house would tell me i must remind arle of somebody and one night she admitted that i do !! a really sweet sounding girl called clervie… but she was very gentle that night :(( n’ i always try to reassure her whenever i can !! i know the past is in the past but it must still bother her, right? but she didn’t respond and just… put her hand on my cheek @-@ n’ it was silent for a little bit because i was expecting her to tell me to shush but she just kissed me !! that’s our favourite spot on the beach now :3

tell me about a time when your f/o was really proud of you.

ueueueue because i’m a short-life species n’ small, i’m kinda often bullied by other cloud knights when our superiors aren’t around :(( they can be mean but at least i won’t ever get marastruck !! n’ so one day i told them that while i was accompanying jingliu !! n’ she didn’t say anything but she was smiling a little… for someone who doesn’t like confrontation n’ doesn’t defend herself often, i thinks i made her proud that day <3

oh oh oh! i’m not much of a fighter, i’m very much more of a medic - which is why my father keeps me tucked away in the palais (*huffs*) but sometimes i do spar with the children of the house… specifically the very young ones who aren’t great yet >~< because otherwise i’ll come out battered n’ bruised !! one day i was sparring with a few kids in the sunshine outside of the court of fontaine n’ caught arlecchino stood under a tree in the shade watching… even though i’d fell on my butt and was clambered by kiddies, she looked a lil proud of me >///<

[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.

[formula-what]

Brocedes time line for a very patient anon

Lewis quotes in orange, Nico quotes in pink, everyone else is blue.

okay first some background knowledge:

Nico is rich as fuck. only child, born in Germany, brought up in Monaco. son of world champion Keke Rosberg

Lewis was born on a council estate in Stevenage and his dad had to work multiple jobs for him to start karting

Honestly I think the difference in their backgrounds is one of the things that pushed them together, they were both isolated from the rest of the kids, but I’m keeping this purely facts rather than speculation.

2000

They’re both 15 years old and are karting teammates for MBB (Mercedes Benz McLaren) in Formula A

Robert Kubica: “there was always competition. But they didn’t fight. It was friendly competition. There was always laughing afterwards.” // “they would even have races to eat pizza”

They often shared hotel rooms at the races which was a “scene of many wrestling matches between them”

Dino Chiesa (their karting boss) – “many times I was called by reception about some problem in the room. It might be noise, or they might have broken something. They would never sleep so they were always tired the next morning”

“they both liked ice cream so much, particularly vanilla. During the night they wanted to eat ice cream always, so I had to go out everywhere to find some and keep them happy”

Lewis would often persuade Nico to buy him sweets

They would have competitions over LITERALLY EVERYTHING

Lewis: “we always had great competition whether on the racetrack or computer games or playing football”

“probably the first bit of competition we had was when Nico used to ride a unicycle everywhere so I thought, ‘I’ve got to learn how to ride this unicycle. Ive got to be better than him.’ I spent all my time outside the go-kart learning to ride this unicycle”

Apparently it only took Lewis 2 hours to teach himself how to do it

In maybe 2013 ish (when they were still friends) Lewis reflected with– “I have never laughed so much than when we were racing together. Nico was kicking everyone’s butt at that time. We had so great races together and built a great relationship”

“we were just arriving and enjoying go-karts and eating pizzas every weekend, fighting all the time and just having fun, whereas now it’s all business.”

many times they would talk about what they would do when they got to f1, made plans hoping to be teammates and become world champions together.

“Nico would say ‘when I’m in formula one’ and for me it was always ‘if I ever get to formula one’. Because obviously Nico’s dad was a formula 1 driver- he knew he was going to make it.”

F1

Nico joined f1 in 2006 with williams, Lewis 2007 with McLaren. And man I WISH I knew what went down with this two when Lewis nearly one his rookie season (missing out by one point to mr fernando alonso) and then WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP in his SECOND SEASON (again by one point thank you mr alonso)

2008 Australia

Nicos gets his first podium, and ofc Lewis is there (he won it) and they are jumping around in the cool down room. Just, two kids who are literally living the one thing they have spent their whole lives dreaming about together. Lewis won the championship that year and oh wow I can only imagine their celebrations together.

2013

They’re teammates in Mercedes!!!

Nico: “every other day there are moments or things that pop up and I can smirk and thing, ‘that’s exactly the same as it was 15 years ago’”

2013 Malaysian Grand Prix gets an honourable mention. This is the race with red bulls good old multi 21 but merc also had their own team orders, stopping nico from fighting for his first merc podium, but Lewis disagreed with it so it didn’t really spark that much tension between them- more the team.

2014

the start of the turbo-hybrid era so y’all know this was good in terms of performance.

2014 Bahrain Grand Prix

They were both fighting for the win and had a collision which prompted a “mock fight” in parc ferme after the race (which I really hope there’s a video of).

Turns out, Nico won because he had used engine modes banned by Mercedes to get a power advantage in the closing laps. which kinda pissed Lewis off

2014 Spanish Grand Prix

Lewis’ fourth win in a row and took lead in the championship. They were fighting till literally the last second and Lewis crossed the line 0.6 seconds ahead of Nico, who says he could have passed him with one more lap.

Lewis defended using the same banned engine modes that Nico had used in Bahrain. Yeah.

2014 Monaco Grand Prix

This is IT. This is peak petty bitch. This is the one people still cry about.

It’s the end of Q3, both of them are out on a lap, Nico ahead of lewis. Nico’s already on provisional pole but Lewis is pretty close.

And then,, Nico just,, parks his car?? He says he made a mistake but the guy doesn’t even crash he straight up just,, rolls to a stop into a slip road. So the yellow flags come out forcing Lewis to abort a lap that was in the makings of pole.

The stewards say it was a-okay but Lewis was convinced it was intentional (and let’s be honest, yeah it probably was) and he even claimed that merc’s data proved it. (low key surprised he didn’t just tweet out the telemetry but I guess he got a stern telling off from mclaren last time)

But *this* is when Lewis tells the world that they aren’t friends anymore. An iconic interview.

Nico then wins the race too, ending Lewis’s four win streak and putting Nico in the lead of the championship.

2014 Hungarian Grand Prix

Lewis has an engine failure in quali meaning he starts from the pit lane, but he does good to make his way up the pack but THEN there’s a safety car which puts him ahead of Nico but on a different strategy.

Nico asks if Lewis can let him past as he needs to pit again before the end of the race, which will give him the place back anyways. Lewis straight up refuses, he’s on a role here. He started from last, and Nico started from pole, why should he slow down to let his title rival through.

Mercedes strongly suggest that his blocking fucked up Nicos race but Niki Lauda is on Lewis’ side so he doesn’t get punished (We stan a supportive father figure) even though he did blatantly refuse to be a team player.

And guys, this is the last race before the summer break so you know Nico was left seething for four weeks.

2014 Belgian Grand Prix

Second lap, Nico attempts a clumsy move and there’s contact, giving Hamilton a puncture and knocking him out of the race.

There’s a lot of controversy but basically it turns out he crashed with him intentionally, not backing out of the corner to “prove a point”. Nico ended up finishing second but was punished by the team, forced to apologise, and even booed on the podium.

2014 Abu Dhabi

For some reason it ran for double points?? The first time in History??? But idk???

Lewis had a perfect start and went on to win it and take the title, Nico had a problem and was told to retire the car but he kept going anyway and finished 14th. Nico went into the cool down room to congratulate Lewis on the championship win, which. cute.

Lewis claimed his second championship. Which not only was huge because of the inter team rivalry, but also because of the large gap between his first win. This guy had lost out on winning the championship in his ROOKIE season by ONE POINT, and then WON it in his SECOND season, and then there was like a FIVE YEAR gap before he won it again.

2015

Damnnn this car was fiiiinneeeeeee.

They do more laps in testing than any other car AND do it on a single power unit. And then. Australia. They take a one-two THIRTY FOUR seconds ahead of the third place Ferrari.

2015 Chinese Grand Prix

Nico is second in a one-two but claims that Lewis kept backing him up into Seb, trying to compromise his race (and help out his boyfriend).

Lewis gave zero shits: "It's not my job to look after Nico's race, it's my job to manage the car and bring the car home as healthy and as fast as possible. That's what I did."

2015 U.S. Grand Prix

If Lewis wins here he could also claim the title with three races to spare (you have to remember back then the title fight often went up to the last race so this was pretty cool)

Lewis very aggressively forced Rosberg wide at Turn 1 to claim the lead, and then there was some sexy fighting between the Mercs and Redbull all race. Nico led in the closing stages but made a mistake, running deep into a corner and letting Lewis past with only a handful of laps to go.

Nico finished P2 and had not only lost the race but the championship title. Nico was fuming, saying Lewis’ move at the start was “one step too far”.

This is the infamous cap throw in the cool down room. Lewis throws Nico his P2 hat, Nico straight up yeets it back at him. I tear up just thinking about it. They grow up so fast.

2016

Nico had came so close to winning and I guess this was just, the last straw. All or nothing. This year he literally gave it everything he had. Lewis and him stopped speaking, Nico gave up literally the rest of his life and even stopped sleeping in the same bed as his wife and taking care of his kids, instead spending every moment trying to get into Lewis’ head. Honestly, I think he might be the only one that could beat Lewis. Just because he knew him *so well*. He literally threw away like 16 years of friendship. But also it’s like, he had to be world champion. He *had to*. His dad was champion and his whole life he’s been preparing to win it too. Tough luck that he raced in the same era as Mr. Best Driver The Sport Has Ever Seen.

Nico won the last few races of 2015, and the first four races of 2016. Lewis had a couple car problems and Nico had a good lead on him in the championship.

2016 Spanish Grand Prix

Gentlemen. A short view back to the past. Nico had made a switch error on the formation lap causing the car to go into the wrong engine mode. So he was running a lot slower than Lewis, who was fighting to claim back the lead.

Nico closed the door to keep him back, and Lewis lost control on the grass, and spins into Nico and taking them both out of the race in the first lap. This is probably one of the most iconic crashes. I’m pretty sure there’s a clip of this somewhere in black and white with the titanic music over the top.

Niki Lauda blamed this one on Lewis (I guess even a supportive dad has to be critical sometimes) "Lewis is too aggressive. It is stupid, we could've won this race".

2016 Austrian Grand Prix

Nico had been struggling with a brake issue all race but was still on the way to win it. But in the last lap Lewis had caught him up and gone in for the overtake.

Typical Nico not taking any shit, refusing to be the guy that backs out and they collide. Lewis took the win and a damaged Nico dropped to fourth. From first. In the last lap.

Both of them blamed each other and tired dad team boss Toto Wolff threatened team orders in future races.

The stewards blamed Nico for the incident, issuing him two penalty points for failing to allow "racing room" and causing a collision.

2016 Abu Dhabi

In the final laps of the race, Lewis ignored team-orders from his race engineer and the technical director.

He deliberately slowed and backed Nico into the pack hoping they overtake him, and there would be enough of a points difference to win the title.

Nico finished second and won the title by five points.

And then,,, Nico announced a surprise retirement during the FIA prize giving ceremony.

Lewis’ response:

"This is the first time he's won in 18 years, hence why it was not a surprise that he decided to stop.” (We stan a petty king)

“But he's also got a family to focus on and probably wants to have more children. Formula One takes up so much of your time."

“In terms of missing the rivalry, of course because we started karting when we were 13 and we would always talk about being champions. When I joined this team, Nico was there, which was something we spoke about when we were kids. So it's going to be very, very strange, and, for sure, it will be sad to not have him in the team next year."

And now they are kind of on speaking terms but not really, they are both pretty private but I think they are at the ‘awkward small talk when we run into each other at the supermarket’ stage of the break up.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Replying to the commenters of this post [heads up for angst]:

To @kine-iende, who said:​

hot damn. if "our" justin was a mom-friend in their home-universe, here people would start questioning if justin was in secret a very motherly scrull or something (and be fine with it ^^). but yeah, love the trope too. was it "for the want of a nail" or "through a mirrorm darkly"? well, contrast and a what could have been would be lovely. feel enabled, whenever you want to write this :)

.

I am not very familiar with the concept of Skrulls [...iirc, that’s something introduced in Captain Marvel, which I have yet to get around to], but yeah, that tracks. Assuming it’s a thing they know to look for, though, because here Justin’s being themself is the biggest and most obvious way to establish that they are not canon!Justin.

Sure, they’re identical physically, but the moment either Justin opens his mouth, the jig’s up. 

As is, not five minutes into this strange hellscape where their oldest rival looked at them with no small amount of disdain in his eyes at first, Justin had already managed to charm their way out of holding and into a very relaxed “we’ll keep an eye on him” Avengers custody. 

Well, on paper at least— in reality, most of the team doesn’t really give a damn one way or another, whereas Tony starts out morbidly curious as to just how different NHDD!Justin is to the one he’s used to dealing with, and ends up getting a concentrated dose of All The Feels™ because the moment NHDD!Justin realized this Tony had a metric buttload of undiagnosed-and-constantly-belittled mental health issues and a support system that was equal parts duct tape and caffeine, he went “oh, so this universe is the Hell Timeline, okay, makes sense :) :) :) dammit Ivan you’d better fix this stat”. 

In retrospect, Justin’s not sure when exactly the horror show started; if it was the absolute lack of concern or care the Avengers had for their Tony, or the minute they noticed the gauntness in his face. Maybe the tension between Iron Man and Captain America, or the obvious bravado this Tony used– and the fact that none of the others so much as noticed.

All Justin knows is, a version of someone they care about is hurting, hurting badly and has been for a long time now, and that’s more than enough for them to go “oh, okay, mine now”.

.

For his part, Tony has no idea what the hell’s going on. The non-annoying Justin Hammer who crash-landed an Avengers debrief is...something else, and he’s torn between shock, pleasant surprise, and no small amount of existential angst and jealousy because in the span of a few hours, Tony’s had a brief taste of what some other version of him had for a lifetime, and...

Tony’s not sure how he feels about it. He’s a genius, he can wrap his head around string theory and all that good stuff, but numbers are one thing, having to live with the fact that somewhere out there, a version of him grew up with someone so unfailingly kind and supportive and—Tony can’t think of a better word for it than nurturing— and, in the span of seconds, had been able to call him out on his bullshit and seemed to instinctively push him to be better but not in the demanding way his father or the rest of the world had—

If he thinks about it too long, it makes him want to cry, just a little. Somewhere out there was a Tony who’d been enough for someone, who had never been asked to change himself, who’d been pushed up instead of repeatedly torn down and he didn’t know how to deal. 

He’d thought having a non-annoying Justin around would be funny.

This was not, it was goddamn distressing is what it was, because Tony hadn’t even known it was a possibility but now he is acutely aware of the fact that he got stuck with his Justin— the human embodiment of one of those yappy dogs who nipped at people’s heels thinking they were so tough, despite not being able to back it up.

This Justin was, uh, not that. Tony wasn’t sure if he was always like this, or if it was only with him because he shared a face with someone Justin cared about, but... was he always this much of a mom friend? And where’d that granola bar even come from, anyway? Not that he minded, it was a nice change of pace, but really?

...Tony was really going to miss him, once they figured out a way to send him back home.

.

To the commenter who said:

Stephanie isn’t a canon character, is she? Because if not, NHDD!Justin might be able to pull off a “the birth of my little sister awakened my previously deeply buried parental instincts” to explain his whole… [gestures uselessly].

.

Technically, she could be, in that Justin Hammer has a sister and nephew in canon [according to the wiki and a deleted scene, apparently]. I chose to make her a younger sibling in NHDD, to really emphasize the ‘reincarnated with shitty memory’ aspect of this AU. Specifically, while it’s never specified, Justin’s past life was...not great, and part of it was the fact that their younger sibling was sick. 

With what, they don’t remember anymore, but sick enough that they know health isn’t something to take for granted; sick enough that towards the end, they remember their parents had to choose between paying hospital bills and electricity, remember going to bed hungry because meds were expensive and their next paycheck wasn’t until Friday.

...suffice it is to say, there’s a reason Justin’s so protective of those he cares about, even if his memories faded a bit on the specifics as time went by.

To be fair, canon!Justin also cares for his sister and nephew; it’s just that NHDD!Justin acted more like a third parent than a sibling, once Stephanie was born. 

Bear in mind that canon!Justin’s situation is very different than NHDD!Justin’s, because canon!Justin was basically set up to fail from the start as a normal kid who was constantly compared to a child prodigy two years younger than him and terrible parents. While NHDD!Justin’s situation is similar on the surface, the difference is they’re literally a reincarnated OC, with all the baggage that entails.

Maybe, if their second life hadn’t been surrounded by adults with A+ Parenting Skills, 0/10 Do Not Recommend, their issues and traumas from last time wouldn’t have been exacerbated. If they’d been born to a regular family, Justin would’ve been a good kid but nothing special, and their memories of a past life would’ve faded away by the time they hit puberty.

But instead, they were born to the Hammer family, and proceeded to be put through the wringer. 

Which is bad enough, and meant they immediately started leaning hard on everything from their past life because these people wouldn’t know good parenting if it bit them on the nose, but...then Justin’s little sister was born, which immediately kick-started every older sibling instinct they’d ever had because last time they’d been responsible for their younger sibling’s health and safety and you can probably see where this is going. 

aka yes, some of Justin’s behaviors could arguably be called trauma responses and/or coping mechanisms and it’s something I only realized as I was writing this, and no, this AU was not supposed to be this messed up

Justin’s responsibility, their willingness to deal with shitty parents and do tremendous amounts of emotional labor if it helped anyone they took under their wing? That’s no accident, that’s what happens when a soul has to be the adult, has to step up because nobody else is going to. There’s a reason Justin has so much disdain for Hank Pym and Howard Stark’s immaturity, why they have so little patience for their parents as time goes on; their mental age means the older they get, the more they’re looking at the adults around them and judging them hard.

...ahem. Sorry for getting a bit off-topic, but hey, at least now you know a bit more about what’s going on inside Justin’s head!

And yeah, if he had to bs an explanation for why he’s such a mom friend, Justin’d be more than happy to point to his little sister as an excuse. So long as they know she exists, anyway; if not, he’ll just laugh it off and try to chalk it up to one of the differences between their universes.

.

edit to remove the stuff that got through my nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter because I was averaging a not-optimal amount of sleep as I got used to my new job

[bluesfortheredj]

A little extra to love.

Smut ahead.

A/N: Here we are; the last ever request. What an odd thing to type! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The towel you’d wrapped around yourself in the bathroom gapes open at your stomach and you can feel the cool air on your skin before you quickly grab both sides of it and hold it together to preserve some sort of dignity as you rush across the landing to your bedroom. Ben was downstairs watching the telly while you were getting ready after a long day at work, and the thought of him catching a glimpse of you in this sorry state was stomach churning. You sit down on your bed and the towel opens up completely with absolutely no hope of bringing the two ends together across your protruding belly and a for a moment you sit there with tears stinging the back of your eyes at how disgusting you felt. It had been a tough year thanks to the pandemic, but what was even tougher for you was the weight you’d gained throughout your time at home; you were already big enough at the beginning of the year but now that you were two stone heavier you felt completely defeated. All you wore these days were men’s XXL t-shirts with jogging bottoms or leggings, and most of your wardrobe had been chucked out as soon as a charity bag had been posted through your door due to half of it not even fitting any more.

“You alright up there?” Ben calls out after a few minutes of you wallowing.

“Yeah… um, I don’t think I can go tonight though… I’m not feeling very well.”

“Oh love, is there anything I can do?” he asks as you hear him ascending the stairs.

“Uh, no, no, it’s okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“How about I make you a cup of tea?” he offers.

“That would be perfect.”

His footsteps retreat back down the few steps he’d climbed and you breathe a long sigh of relief as you look down at your excess paunch that had grown significantly the last few months. You’d been both jubilant and hesitant at reuniting with Ben after such a long time apart, especially as you could hide your extra chins on a video call, but he’d been as sweet as he was the day he asked if you wanted to be with him, and he somehow didn’t flinch at the sight of you. You quickly get dressed into your oversized pyjamas and head downstairs to find Ben already settled into the sofa with a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the coffee table.

“How are you feeling?”

You hold your hand out flat and shake it from side to side to indicate you were feeling a little dodgy, then he reaches out a hand to your face and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

“You do look a little pale,” he worries.

“Think it might be a migraine coming on,” you shrug, “I don’t know.”

“Well then I guess we’ll just be staying here and cuddling on the sofa,” he smiles, “and after months of not being able to do that with you, I’m certainly not complaining.”

A hesitant smile from you greets his excited grin, and he frowns a little at your underwhelmed reaction to the fact you’d be snuggled up with your boyfriend all evening but he lets it go and puts it down to you not feeling your best. You lean forward to the table to pick up your mug and adjust your top by pulling it away from your body as you sit back up again, making sure that none of the fabric got caught in your folds. The steam from your tea wafts up into your face when you lightly blow on the liquid and you keep your eyes focused on the television in front of you as Ben shuffles a little closer so he can drape his arm around your shoulders. He was a naturally tactile person whereas you were quite the opposite, but it still didn’t excuse the times you’d rejected his intimate advances purely for the reason that you didn’t want him to see what was lurking beneath your clothes.

“Relax babe,” he says quietly before kissing the side of your head, “I can feel how tense you are, it can’t be helping your head.”

You put your now empty mug back on the coaster on the table and lean back against his arm then purposely drop your shoulders to try and relax into the side of his body, and he brings his other arm over so his hand can rest on your thigh. His touch is soft, as if a blanket had just been placed across your lap, and it’s just as comforting too after being deprived of it for so very long. His fingers begin to tap a little before he gives your leg a purposely slow squeeze then he moves up just an inch and repeats the action but adds a kiss to your temple this time, and your eyes close at the feel of his hand moving higher while his kisses move lower until his lips press against yours while his fingers squeeze down between your thighs and rub along the outside of your pyjamas.

“Ben,” you moan involuntarily against his mouth.

“Mhmm,” he hums.

Your eyes fly open as you finally recognise the situation and you gasp as you pull away from him, “sorry, I can’t… sorry.”

You rise from the couch to take your mug into the kitchen as Ben looks on with a baffled frown; this wasn’t the first time you’d rejected his advances and after such a long time apart the only conclusion that made sense to him was that you must have completely gone off the idea of being with him during lockdown. He quietly follows you out to find you standing at the sink staring out of the window listlessly, and he clears his throat to gain your attention.

“If, uh, if you’re feelings have changed then you just need to say,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact and choosing to look around the room instead, “I can leave if you want me-”

“Ben, I’m fat,” you interrupt him.

“What?” he scoffs.

“I don’t like you touching me because I’m… overweight, fat, obese, whatever you wanna call it. I’m that. And I don’t want you to feel all… this. Not before lockdown, and especially not now.”

“I… wait… are you serious?”

“Yes of course I am.”

“So… wait a minute… why do you think I asked you out in the first place then?”

“I really have no idea,” you sigh.

“Oh my god, (Y/N), come on! I fancy the pants off you! That’s why.”

You shake your head and scoff at his comment then attempt to walk past him but he blocks your path quite defiantly and wraps his arms around your body no matter how much you fight against the comforting embrace.

“Hey, would you please stop trying to wriggle away?!” he says, his muscular arms tightening a little more around you.

A defeated sigh is breathed into his t-shirt as you finally give up on trying to escape his cuddle, but you keep your arms by your sides in one last attempt at trying to show him you weren’t completely giving in yet, and he laughs a little as he rocks you from side to side.

“So this is why you keep pushing me away, huh?” he mutters into your hair, “well I’m relieved that it’s not because you’ve gone off me, and I’m also pretty glad that you didn’t succeed in trying to get rid of me.”

He leans back and holds you at arms length before moving the hair back from your face so he could see you properly, and you avert your eyes from his intense gaze in embarrassment. His hands leave your body and you look up at him just as he lifts his top up and pulls it over his head to then throw it onto a kitchen chair behind you, then your eyes move leisurely over his torso from his stomach until they reach his plump lips.

“Everyone seems to think I have a constant six pack,” he sighs, turning sideways and placing a hand on his small tummy, “as you can see, that is very much not true. I just really love food,” he shrugs with a wobble of his stomach.

“But that’s cute… mine is bleurgh.”

“Bleurgh?” he questions with a single raised eyebrow, “can I at least judge for myself?”

“I really don’t want you seeing my stretch marks Ben.”

“Then blindfold me.”

“What?!” you half laugh.

“If you don’t want me to see them then cover my eyes, but please let me touch you.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again as you try to get your head around what he’s suggesting, and he gently takes your hands before leading you upstairs to your bedroom.

“Ah!” he exclaims excitedly when he sees a silk scarf hanging from the door of your wardrobe, “perfect. Here; blindfold me,” he winks, handing you the scarf.

“Uh… right...”

He sits down on the bed and you kneel behind him before holding the piece of soft fabric between your hands and lowering it over his face to cover his eyes then eventually secure it at the back of his head.

“I’m gonna say this now before it actually happens; if I get an erection during this then please feel free to ignore it,” he forewarns.

“Do you think you will?”

“My hands on your body… yeah, I’m pretty sure I will.”

“Oh,” you giggle, startling yourself at the fact that a girlish laugh just escaped your lips.

Your weight shifts on the bed as you move to stand up again, then you quickly switch the light off and take your position in front of Ben who now has his legs wide open for you to stand in between, and your heart rate quickens as he tentatively lifts his arms for you to take his hands. There’s a few seconds as you hesitate, but you guide his hands to the waist band of your pyjama trousers and he hooks his finger tips inside the elastic so he can pull them down slowly. They drop to the floor then you step out of them as Ben’s feather light touch glides over your legs; up and down your calves the around your thighs where he massages your skin, and he leans forward to press gentle kisses along the dimpled surface. His hands blindly feel their way up over your underwear and swiftly pull that down out of the way, then continue their journey under the cover of your top while his lips caress the skin you were so ashamed of as it hangs down above your thighs with nothing covering it for once.

“Can I take off my blindfold?” Ben whispers; his lips tickling your tummy.

You look around the room and how much light from the landing is coming through the gap in the door, then carefully pull one end of the neat little bow you’d made with the scarf so that it slips from his face, and he’s left blinking into the dim light as his eyes adjust.

“Wow,” he exhales as his hands run up and down your sides to lift your top and give him just a glimpse of your flabby pouch; this was not the reaction you were expecting.

He lets go of you briefly to wriggle out of his jeans without moving you away too much, then he pushes himself up the bed so that he’s leaning his back on the headboard with only his boxers covering his growing bulge.

“Do you want to come and sit?” he asks, patting the thigh that was nearest to you.

You nod in response and pull your top down to cover the bottom of your stomach then get on the bed and crawl up to where Ben sits with a knee either side of his leg.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs as one hand slides up your thigh and the other caresses your face, “you don’t even realise how beautiful you are do you?”

“I’m not,” you reply shyly as you lean into his touch.

“But you are,” he insists, “I love these,” he pauses to look down at your thigh as he squeezes it, “and this,” he strokes the part of your stomach that hangs lower than the rest, “and everything about this,” he smiles as he looks up at your face; his thumb sweeping across your cheek gently, “and I’ve been dreaming about the day I can show you just how much when mere words are not enough.”

“Ben,” you chuckle self consciously.

“It’s true! Now come closer,” he invites, dropping his hand from your face to your hip and guiding you forwards as far as you can go, “do you want to keep that on?” he asks, tugging at the hem of your top.

He’s met with a nod and gives you a warm smile in return, then he weaves his fingers through your hair and pulls you in for a kiss as he bends his knee slightly to press his thigh against your exposed lips. You hum with pleasure at the feel of some pressure against you, then he allows one hand to travel down your back and come to a rest on your cheeks so he can encourage you to move back and forth along his leg; your slit naturally opening up wider and allowing your sweet spot to rub against the skin. Your hands are resting on his shoulders for stability but you take one away and drag it down his torso until your fingers are able to pull the waistband of his boxers away from his body and release his erection; your hand immediately wrapping around his length once it’s free and working its way up and down the shaft with your thumb circling his tip at every opportunity it gets.

“Mhmm,” Ben purrs into your mouth as his hips twitch.

Everything feels so natural with him and even though this was your first time being intimate with one another it felt as if you knew each other’s bodies already, and when Ben diverts his kisses down along your jaw and onto your neck where he gently nibbles at your skin you can’t help but allow a moan to erupt from your throat. You can feel his finger tips digging into the soft flesh of your backside as he motivates you to move a little faster and your body responds to his touch almost instantaneously with your hand sliding along his member to match the pace that you’ve set. Pants, moans and whines fill the room along with a warm, damp atmosphere thanks to the heat your bodies were creating, and you’re soon both completely lost in the moment without a thought for anything else until Ben rests his head on your shoulder and stills as his excitement drips over your hand. You carry on stroking him slowly while your own climax builds inside but soon you have rest your hand on his stomach as your core tightens like a spring, then releases with a series of pulsations that cause a short moan to escape with each one.

“Wow,” he repeats once more.

“Yeah,” you agree breathlessly.

The two of you clean up before sinking down onto the bed in a sleepy, tangled mess and the glow of the bliss you’d just both experienced seems to add more light to the room as Ben kisses your head between strokes of your hair. His other hand slips underneath your top and rests on your stomach where his thumb runs small, comforting circles right over one of your stretch marks, and a smile spreads across your lips at the meaningful gesture.

could you do a fic where Ben and the reader have been dating but she is very insecure about being overweight and they haven't been physical yet because of it. But Ben won't give up on her and finally convinces her that he really loves her and it ends in smut when they finally sleep together and its super fluffy, passionate and romantic?

@lv7867 @aynsleywalker @pink-lemo @itisjustmethistime @mamaskillerqueen @queenslandlover-93

[smashedagainstashuttle]

Hmmmm some headcanons for kay & alisa? (Or even woke canonkade + alisa if you want)

& maybeeee a few Wilenko ones? (Either canon or renekade—honestly I could see Ash with both lmao)

@virmireisms/@furyisms

Kay & Alisa

Where it is safe to say that reuniting with each other changed both of their lives it was less about change than it was reclaiming something both of them had lost. To Alisa it was her memories, experiences that have as sort of ghosts influenced her life that have now become more clear. For Kay, he reclaimed a part of himself that he had pretty much abandoned and replaced with a more pretentious shell. It wasn't a part of him he had for Alisa exclusively but it was a part that Alisa and Rahna had brought to life to begin with.

On missions (once Kay stops being a defensive big brother) the two are like wild biotics in a damn playground ready to wreak havoc. Although the lack the dream team combination since they have no team member watching their back or capable of long distance fire they do make it out by in a way combining defensive and offensive. Also they hold their ground very well. (I keep seeing them a little like Legolas and Gimli competing on who gets how many targets, Kay is definitely Gimli in this case.)

Thanks to Alisa Kay develops a kink for being teased (and to an extent a kink for being denied). And unsurprisingly Alisa really likes to tease Kay.

Alisa steals Kay's sweaters, Kay teases her about how small her clothes are >.>

Having a new family through Kay is a tough process for Alisa due to her having lost her own. Kay doesn't necessarily grasp the entire concept of it all clearly however his mother does which allows them to create a social environment where Alisa can set the pace. Alisa however understands almost too well the emotional process Kay goes through once his father's remains are found and successfully keeps Kay from withdrawing into darkness or his old pretentious shell.

Wilenko

In the beginning Kaidan found Ashley in a way too aggressive because she was extremely formal yet he respected her because of her background and experiences within the Alliance. It was also one of the reasons he hesitated approaching her more casually and later on he doesn't understand how come he didn't see past her shell earlier. And upside down, Ashley found Kaidan being a little too comfortable and casual when it came to social interactions with fellow soldiers (and commanding officers). Whenever Ashley subtly pointed it out Kaidan felt embarrassed but at the same time he didn't mind (one could say he might have even liked it but not in a humiliation kink way... I think).

A part of Kaidan (an irrational part) felt abandoned and betrayed when Ashley joins Shepard during the ME2 timeline to work sort of undercover for Alliance. This irrationality stems from 🎶abandonment issues🎶 after Rahna left him due to his actions in BAaT, his irrationality also left him vulnerable to being emotionally manipulated by rumours and propaganda pushed by some in the Alliance (especially Udina). Ashley however understands what is going on inside of Kaidan's head and doesn't judge him for it even if she might be somewhat offended by his thinking.

Neither of them were actually fully prepared to shoot the other during the Cerberus coup.

Their relationship is about balancing each other out. Ashley has the stronger soldier side of them, serious business, dedication and formality, whereas Kaidan has the more civilian and casual side, being more emotional and taking time for themselves. They both make sure one doesn't get lost in their own strength nor get lost into what the other provides. Their strengths are very apparent in their lives and becoming the opposite of their own strength can be corrosive. Kaidan becomes more cold and aggressive during the M2 timeline as he assumes more of a soldier attitude after Ashley leaves which led to him doubting and questioning Ash and Shepard almost irrationally during Mars and in the Citadel coup, he clearly abandoned some of his strengths thinking it'd protect his feelings and character (but the result being opposite).

In the beginning both dodge about being interested in each other for a while and once they build more of a connection it develops slowly, they test the waters before jumping in. It's called proper safety protocol... or something xD

[nutty1005]

Marvelous City – Chongqing Special

Video Link: https://v.youku.com/v_show/id_XNTA2NzMzODYxNg==.html

Translator’s Note: This is translated off the Marvelous City - Chongqing Special Episode. I wrote it in an article form because of video copyrights issues. This documentary was filmed early 2020, but only aired recently. Xiao Zhan’s episode aired on 12 Jan, this special episode aired on 17 Jan.

Q: What difference do you feel returning to Chongqing this time round?

A: Actually for all my years, I’ve never seriously experienced Chongqing like this. Because when you’re living within it, you will not jump to an outsider’s point of view and deliberately observe places, scenery and food. I grew up with Chongqing and it’s melded within me, hence this time I came back, including the air raid shelters, the local delicacies, or the Xiao Mian, I have a new understanding and knowledge of them. The feeling in my heart is different as well.

Q: What are your biggest takeaway from this visit?

A: As a Chongqinger who has grown up and lived twenty odd years in Chongqing, I realized my understanding of the air raids shelters, I originally thought they were just shelters. But after my discussion with Mr. Xiang, I discovered that there were many stories regarding them. Yesterday, he spoke of an example, an elder he interviewed, and that elder told him that during those years, once there was an alarm, he was actually secretly happy. He would watch for the shelter the lady he liked ran into, and he would follow that lady to that shelter. So you see, it’s that sort of finding joy in their chaotic lives. I feel that that is, very accurately, the description of Chongqingers’ optimism. But actually, it’s easy to say that we would feel like that – since we have to live every day, living a day happily versus living a day miserably, why should we not live happily. But few are able to do that, moreover in such a chaotic environment. So when he told me those stories yesterday, I felt especially touched. I was quite moved, actually.

Q: How was the experience when you previously rode the light rail?

A: The line for Niujiaotuo was especially interesting. To walk from Rail Line 3 to Rail Line 2, it took 15 minutes. If the person in front of you walked especially slowly, plus everyone was going to work in the morning, it’s just shoulder to shoulder crowded. Basically, even if you wanted to run, you couldn’t, you could only push your way through and then run forward. That period was especially weird. I was thinking, why weren’t these ladies and gentlemen in a hurry, then I’d be “excuse me excuse me”, push through them and run forward, then start queuing.

Rail Line 2 would come, because it was suspended between bridges, when the glass door opens you’d have to squeeze your way in, and there would be some situations, like some people with their bags stuck outside, their slipper stuck outside, and then all kinds of stuff, sometimes even their breakfast would be stuck outside. Then there’s like burst soy bean drinks, there’s a lot of situations like this, and actually below Rail Line 2, there was a huge safety net. The net was there because they were afraid of falling objects from great heights, and these might fall and hit someone below. So sometimes, well sometimes in the summer, I would see that there’s some ridiculous things piling on the net, someone’s slipper, belt, bag or umbrella, etc. I don’t know if it’s still there, I guess they would clean it regularly. But I felt that this was especially funny, funny and sad at the same time. I mean who would want to squeeze with people early in the morning, you’d be squeezed half dead, everyone would be angry, and you’d argue in the morning.

But you couldn’t help it, it’s for livelihood, hence that time when I saw that there were many reports saying “it’s so tough, this year is so tough on me”, but then I also felt that actually everyone had it tough. I feel that everyone is moving forward while trying to live, actually we’re like a battalion, and we are all being pushed forward by our lives. We’re already at 2020 and every single day before was tough, it’s all tough, so I feel that we just have to manage and adjust. I feel that our attitudes need to be managed well.

I remember that time, I was squeezed so badly that I was plastered onto the glass door. That glass door, I was literally stuck onto it, and then when I looked down at the Jialing River, because the Rail Line 2 was suspended over it, I just looked at the Jialing River below and thought, actually that scenery was rather pretty. So, I’d just watch the scenery, and when you start to carefully observe, you would feel that it’s actually quite beautiful. In the mornings, there would be elders swimming in the winter, and then there’d be some reefs, because I recall that it’d be dry season during the winter, the water levels would go down and hence the waters would also become somewhat clearer. Jialing River, with those oddly shaped reefs, and then there was all kinds of people fishing, jogging alongside. What also attracted me was the windows, they looked like film, frame by frame, and the windows on the light rail were also frame by frame. And then after night falls, because the light rail was built along the river, the night view by the river, those lights and those skyscrapers would be varicolored, just like a movie.

Q: What do you like about Chongqing?

A: I like its summer and I also like its winter. There’s two sensations, the summer’s passionate like fire, whereas the winter, and you’d feel that the chill seeps into your bones, just you’d feel hurt magically. Hotpot, Xiao Mian, spicy diced chicken, peppercorn chicken, there’s too many of them, I love them all. Double-cooked pork… I feel that these food are something engraved in your bones since childhood. When you mention those food, your mouth instinctively salivates. I already have the taste of peppercorn chicken in my mouth, it’s strange, but I haven’t had peppercorn chicken for a very long time, but now I am just… *swallows saliva*

Q: What is the Chongqing delicacy of your heart?

A: There’s no need to say. I used to go to this noodle stall in the past. It didn’t have a name, it’s just an aunty, and that aunty is especially nice. Because every time I went there I would tell her, aunty, for example I wanted to eat wontons, we call them Chao Shou, I’d say, “Aunty I want less wontons more vegetables”, and then the aunty would put in a lot of vegetables, but she didn’t really remove that many wontons. Every time I went there I don’t have to give her my order, I’d say “the same old”, and she’d know exactly what to make, just put more vegetables inside. So sometimes, I’d just watch her cook, and while watching her busy around, you’d feel especially warm in your heart. It’s just a stall, but every neighbor would be eating there, and they’d be eating there for decades, their children and even grand children would be eating there as well. Slowly, the stall would became a part of their emotional support, like maybe I won’t eat this noodles today, or perhaps she didn’t open today, it would became a kind of concern for that person. Eventually, it’s no longer a matter of a bowl of Xiao Mian, but a habit of life, an emotional interaction. I feel that this is the power of Chongqing delicacies in my heart.

Q: How was your childhood like?

Actually when you talk about my childhood, I really liked the environment I lived in when I was really young. Sometimes I would dream and I often dreamed of that period. When I was young, the early 90s era, multimedia wasn’t as advanced, there were no mobile phones or computers. There were probably arcade centers during that period of time, those that you needed to slot in coins, but children weren’t allowed to go, we had to sneak in. But mostly, it was our neighbors.

As a child, once we finish our homework, we could go downstairs and yell out “So-and-so, come down quickly”, and with a whoosh, all the children in the district would come down. Everyone would play hide-and-seek and then beanbag toss (TN: similar to cornhole), just all kinds of board games, any sort will do. All of these games are interactive. I still remember the shop on the first floor downstairs from my home, he modified the shop to become a snack stop, and all of the kids would buy snacks from him. I remember that real fresh milk was delivered on a bicycle, everyday freshly squeezed, and we would collect from him using our own bags or buckets. It’s just especially down-to-earth. I remember that time at around 5pm or 6pm,you’d hear yelling, as in that sort “selling milk” (TN: in Chongqing accent) and those fat sausages. Over there, fat sausages (TN: in Chongqing accent), all these kinds of finger food, you know? Wow, I miss those days.

And during that period, the smells of cooking would fill up the entire district, whether by mothers or grandmothers, they’d be cooking and the whole district would permeate with delicious smells. It was just especially wonderful, I feel that that period was really down-to-earth, everyone was especially vivid. Actually, I feel that our lives now are a bit cold, just a bit cold. Then, we would know all of our neighbors, but now, I doubt that we understand our neighbors well.

Q: What do you think of the phrase “pa erduo”? (TN: henpecked, literally means to be pulled by the ear)

Pa erduo (TN: In Chongqing accent), it means that the person’s ear is especially soft. It used to mean that the man is some kind of a loser, but I feel that now, this phrase is adorable. I feel that it’s a compliment, it means that Chongqing men treat their wives well, it’s a display of love for their wives, so I feel that it’s adorable. When I’m out, I am upright and indomitable, I can be your pillar of support, but when I’m back home, I will dote on you fully. I feel that it’s especially good, my father is like this. My father is especially cute sometimes, oh dear, I’m going to betray my father. He is especially cute, he would often tell my mother to let him maintain some dignity when they’re out, just especially cute. I feel that as a couple, they are quite good, just very standard, in my eyes, they are the standard Chongqing couple. Because actually my mother doesn’t talk a lot outside, she listens to whatever my father says, but once we are back home, my dad will give in to my mother most of the time.

Q: What is your relationship with your hometown?

To me, I feel that I am just very proud of her, she’s my pride. Maybe there are some youths, actually I was the same when I was a teenager, I thought about whether I should leave Chongqing to a bigger city. At that time, everyone was talking about Bei-Shang-Guang (TN: Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou), and I thought about whether I wanted to take a look there, for example design, obviously Bei-Shang-Guang is the forefront of China, spearheading. I thought about it as well, whether I should go and take a look, but when I was studying in the university, and then after I graduated, to me, I was slowly adjusting to the life in Chongqing, so I feel this differs from person to person. Hence at that time I felt that it was also quite fine remaining in Chongqing. If I can’t attain a top leader position outside, or become a highflier, then why shouldn’t I just stay grounded and do well in my own hometown? Actually those were my thoughts at that time, but as fate has it, I still left Chongqing. So I feel this is really just fate, just something mysterious. Now that there’s so much skyscrapers in Chongqing, so many office buildings, so many of them graded 5A, there are so many youths working in there, fighting for their dreams. There may be some people who doesn’t like it, some may be forced to work by their families, or the job was found for them by a relative, but I believe that most youths have an ambitious heart, and they want to fulfill the dreams they had when they were studying, their endeavors, and they are just fighting for their ideals. I feel that every city has its own charm, and Chongqing charm lies in the fact that it’s vivid. It’s very lively, it’s a young city, and everyone is fighting, for their lives, for their ambitions. She is a very lively city.

Q: Do you think you have the tenacity of a Chongqinger?

A: Very tenacious. I feel that I am a very tenacious person. Just when I encounter things, like I’ve lived in Chongqing for 23 years, well-adjusted to the living and working environment of Chongqing, and then suddenly I went to Beijing, to the entertainment business. It’s just worlds apart, two entirely different living environments. And truth be told, that period of time was quite tough. Whether it was singing, dancing or acting, to me those were all brand new things, but at that time I felt, since I’m already here, then I must do it well with all of my efforts. No matter how tough or how difficult, those were my choices, even if I had to crawl I had to finish the journey, that’s how I felt.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: Wings

Intro: They say that once you’ve been inked, it kinda becomes an addiction…

Warnings: Bad language.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR STARK SPANGLED BANNER

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

 “Jamie, ”Katie sighed exasperatedly as her 9 year old looked up from where he was sprawled on the rug of the den, piecing his newest lego kit that Sam and Bucky had bought him for his birthday “You need to get your stuff for school.” “Don’t wanna.” he pouted.

“Tough.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Oh no, really?” Katie bent down, feeling his head. “Hmmmm. You do feel warm. What’s wrong?” “Sort throat.” “Oh, well… that means no soccer practice tomorrow then…and you should go straight back to bed until I can take you to the doctors later today…”

Jamie paused and looked up at her and she raised an eyebrow “Nice try Pal.”  

“Mommmm”

“Don’t make me shout your father.” she used her ace card.

Jamie gave an exaggerated sigh and stood up, rolling his eyes. Katie bit her lip to stop herself laughing at the utter indignation on his face.

“It’s Friday dude.” she smiled at him. “You got all weekend to play legos if that’s what you wanna do.”

“Does that mean I can stay up late tonight to work on it?” he asked hopefully.

“Define late.” Katie looked at him.

“11?”

“Hmmmm, I dunno.” she said playfully.

“Please?”

“I’ll speak to your dad.” she said and he smiled at her, the pair of them both knowing full well that Steve was a soft touch when it came to stuff like that. He’d probably be there helping him out with it anyway.

“Ok Mom. Can you make sure Harry doesn’t touch it whilst I’m at school?”

“I’ll keep this door shut, I promise.”  Katie assured him.

He left the room and true to her word Katie shut the door to the den and watched him head up the stairs, passing Aurora who was on her way down with her rucksack, Steve right behind her with their youngest placed on his hip.

“Hi mammamama!” Harry babbled at her and she grinned, taking him off Steve and planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Hi baby!” she grinned as his hand instantly went to grab the chain of her necklace.

“Jamie not planning on going to school today?” Steve asked her with a grin as Rori headed off to find her shoes.

“Tried telling me he was sick so he could stay home and play legos.” she snorted “Soon decided he was ok when I told him that meant no soccer practice tomorrow morning.” Steve shook his head, smiling to himself.

“Daddy?” Rori tugged on his trouser leg and he turned his attention to her.

“What’s up Princess?”

“I can’t find my sneakers.”

“Where did you leave them?” he asked, his hand gently dropping to the back of her head.

“Erm…” she pondered for a moment, before she looked up at her mom bashfully.

“Somebody left them in the middle of the lounge…” Katie looked at her. “So the Fairies put them away.”

“Sorry…” Rori wrinkled her nose and blinked up at her mom.

“It’s ok. They’re on the shoe rack sweetie.” Katie nodded to the kitchen in the direction of the utility room located at the back of the house.  

“Thanks momma.” she said, running off to retrieve them.

“What time does Emmy’s train get in?” Steve looked at Katie.

“Just after twelve.” Katie said, blowing a raspberry on Harry’s cheek. “I’ll meet her and then take her straight to get inked…” Steve let out a breath from his nose. All Emmy had talked about since turning 21st was a tattoo. Steve wasn’t particularly sure he approved but then what could he do? She was an adult now. Katie hadn’t been bothered, but then as she’d pointed out, she had a big enough one on her thigh so it would be fairly hypocritical if she had. Emmy had won Steve over though when she’d asked him to draw it for her. She’d described what she wanted, a small Phoenix type bird that would sit just above her ankle. So after a few designs and sketches she’d finally settled on something she wanted and after a consultation she was having it done this afternoon.  

“You staying with her?” Steve looked at Katie, concern etched across his face. Katie gave a soft laugh.

“She’s a big girl now Steve but yeah, I’m gonna stay.” she said, tugging on his beard playfully.

“Good.” he nodded, jerking his head out of reach. “Do you need me to pick the kids up later or…”

“No, by the time their afterschool clubs are done we’ll have finished so I’ll do it.” she smiled as Rori came back, sneakers in her hand. She sat on the bottom step and proceeded to push her feet into the pink converse, Steve crouching down on one knee to tie her shoelaces for her.

“Thanks daddy.”

“You’re welcome sweetheart.” he said, dropping a kiss to her head before he turned to look up the stairs “Jamie! Come on!”

“I’m coming…” came the surly reply, and no sooner had they heard it he appeared at the top of the steps, rucksack in hand.

“Drop the attitude.” Steve said sternly as Jamie trudged down the stairs, scowling. Steve looked at Katie, raising his eyebrow as their eldest son stalked past them, heading to the door, Rori running behind him.

“Wait for me Jay…” she called, her small feet slapping on the tiles of the hallway as she went.

“Told you…” Katie said, smirking “He’s a mini you…”

“That filthy look he had on his face? That is a Stark expression.” Steve said, looking back at her as he picked Rori’s rucksack up.

“Is not.” Katie laughed “That’s the face you make whenever someone’s pissing you off.”

Steve gave a snort before he dropped a soft kiss to her lips, making Harry shriek.

“Kissy!” he laughed.

“See you later.” Steve smiled against her mouth “Love you.” “You too” she said, and with a last peck and a ruffle of Harry’s hair he headed after Jamie and Rori, barking out an instruction for them to quit their squabble over who was sitting in the front seat.

“Easy solution…” Katie heard Steve say loudly “You can both get in the back. End of discussion.”

Their protest’s died as the door snapped shut.

Katie chuckled to herself and looked at Harry “Shall we get you ready to go too baby boy?”

“Go!” he nodded, grinning. 

*******

Katie’s morning was reasonably easy. A meeting and a manuscript to review which she’d managed to do by half 11. Changing out of her office clothes into a loose pair of sweats, trainers and a hoody she headed out and made her way to Grand Central.

She spotted Emmy emerging into the main terminal and swept her daughter up into a hug.

“Hey mom.” Emmy said, squeezing her back.

“Ready to go get inked?” Katie asked, Emmy grinned and slung her satchel over one shoulder, linking her arm through her mom’s.

“You eaten?” Katie asked as they walked out into the early April sun.

“Yeah, followed the instructions.” Emmy nodded.

“Good.” Katie said. “Nervous?”

“A little.” Emmy shrugged “It’s gonna hurt right?”

“It’s not so bad.” Katie shrugged, “Some places hurt more apparently but…most important thing to remember is if you need a break just ask.”

“Ok.”

The two women walked a few blocks, catching up. It had been a couple of weeks since Emmy was home, fast approaching the last few weeks of the semester at Harvard before her exams started. All of her marks so far had been sky high, leaving her parents immensely proud, although both had taken great pains to tell her that they didn’t care what the outcome was, as long as she tried her best.

Eventually they reached the place and Emmy opened the door, stepping in. David, the man that had done the consultation a few weeks back beckoned them both through.

“Ok, so…” he said, tilting the screen to show Emmy the picture of her design he’d scanned “I gotta say I’m excited about this one, it’s pretty unique.”

“My dad drew it.” Emmy beamed.

“It’s phenomenal.” David smiled “I had to sharpen some of the lines up but there’s no major changes. Are you happy with it?”

Emmy nodded.

“Ok, and yours Mrs Rogers…” David clicked and the imaged changed. “The touches we’re adding to your thigh are fairly straight forward but this one…this is what I think it is right?”

Katie nodded.

“Awesome…” David smiled, and hit print and stood up to collect both the prints.

“Have you told Dad?” Emmy looked at her. Katie smirked and shook her head.

“Nope.” she popped the p on the word “Thought it would be a nice surprise when he gets to see it later.” “I’m not sure if I should be grossed out by that thought or not.” Emmy mumbled and Katie simply laughed.

Just over 2 and a half hours later they were done, leaving the parlour with strict after care instructions. Emmy had hardly flinched through hers, whereas Katie’s new one had been slightly uncomfortable due to the placing.

“Think that earned us a beer…” Katie said checking her watch. “Come on, we got time before we need to collect the heathens.”

***** “Show me! Show me!”  Rori demanded.

“You can’t see it yet short stuff.” Emmy said fondly “It’s still wrapped up.”

“When can you unwrap it?” Jamie asked.

“Another hour or so yet.” Katie answered “So quit bugging your sister and go put your school bags away.”

“Emmy do you wanna watch Sponge Bob with me?” Rori asked. 

“Only if we can sing the special song…” Emmy grinned, holding her hand out for a hi-five. Rori giggled, and slapped her smaller palm against her sister’s.

“What special song?” Katie looked at her.

“Oh just a variation on the theme tune we made up.” Emmy said, grinning mischievously 

“I dread to think.” Katie muttered, watching Jamie and Rori head up stairs to deposit their rucksacks in their room.

Katie bustled around making dinner, simple spaghetti and meatballs as requested by all 4 kids…well, the elder 3…Harry merely clapped his hands and yelled “getty” in agreement. She was stood stirring the sauce when she heard Steve walk through the door an toss his keys onto the table in the hall little under an hour later. 

“Daddy’s home!” she heard Rori shriek and a moment later Steve chuckled.

“Hey…” he said, sweeping her up and placing a kiss on her cheek. He carried her through to the kitchen where he greeted Harry with a ruffle of the hair as he sat by the table doodling on a pad with Emmy.

“Hi sweetie.” Steve said, as Emmy stood up to give him a hug. “How was the tattooing?”

“Good.” she nodded, “Oh, actually, mom….should I unwrap it now?”

“Errr, yeah.” Katie said, turning the heat down on the stove and accepting the kiss Steve offered. “Can you watch these 2. I’ll go help Emmy out…”

“Sure.” Steve said, “Where’s Jamie?”

“2 guesses” Katie grinned at him and Steve shook his head, smiling, knowing full well that meant he was nose deep in lego.

Katie and Emmy bounded up the stairs and returned about 15 minutes later, Emmy proudly showing off the design on her right ankle. Steve had to admit, it did look pretty good, but then he would say that, he drew it after all.

They dragged Jamie out of the den for dinner, where the boy managed 2 helpings before he ran off again, almost having a meltdown when Katie told him he had to share the den as Rori wanted to watch Cartoons. One stern look from Steve nipped the tantrum in the bud and the 4 kids departed once dishes had been deposited in the sink, Katie waving away Emmy’s offer to help, telling her to go spend some time with her siblings. It didn’t take her and Steve long to clear down and they were heading towards the living room to collapse onto the sofa together, but the shriek and cheers coming from the den made them both stop in their tracks.

“What on Earth are they watching?”  Steve looked at his wife.

“Sponge Bob, apparently…” Katie said. The two looked at one another, before they headed back towards the den and peeked through the door which was open a crack.

Emmy was stood, swaying with Harry held on her hip, the pair of them laughing, whilst Jamie was doing some kind of strange running man dance as Rori bounced up and down on the sofa as the opening credits began to roll. Emmy opened her mouth and started singing along to the opening theme tune in a pirate voice.

Only she wasn’t singing the theme tune. They were completely different words.

“Who lived as a Capsicle under the sea?” Emmy paused to look at Jamie and Rori who both yelled back in chorus, Harry mimicking them as best he could whilst clapping his hands.

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

Steve blinked, looked at Katie, his mouth dropping open as she burst out laughing at the look of utter confusion and perplexment on his face. She pushed the door open further and all the kids turned to see their parents watching them. But instead of stopping, they continued to sing even louder at Steve as he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Saluting a hello and killing Nazis…” Emmy continued

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

“If patriotism be something you wish…”

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

By this point Katie was laughing that hard she couldn’t breathe. She doubled over, tears pouring from her face as the kids continued their relentless serenade to their father.

“Then throw a big shield and punch with your fist…”

“CAPTAIN ROGERS!”

That was it. Steve couldn’t keep his face straight any longer and he too started to laugh, grinning as Rori ran over to him and pulled on his hands dragging him into the room to make him twirl her round.

Eventually the song stopped and the room was simply filled with laughter which died down. Steve wiped his eyes and looked at his kids before he crossed his arms.

“You’re all grounded.” he smirked, and then ran as they started pelting him with throw cushions.

****

Later that night, as always, Steve couldn’t stop his eyes from roving his wife’s body as she walked out of the en-suite and into the bedroom, dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts ready for bed. As he lounged on top of the duvet, back propped up against the headboard, his gaze travelled down the lines of her body and he frowned as he spotted something on her thigh that looked different.

Suddenly it dawned on him what it was.

“Is that…is that a new tattoo?” Steve sat up, looking at her leg then to her face, and back again.

“Technically it’s an addition to an existing one.” Katie grinned as she made her way to the bed and knelt up in front of Steve. His hands gently fell to her hips as he examined the new ink. The area surrounding one of the 4 stars that formed part of the original tattoo had been shaded with red and gold in a water colour effect. He didn’t need her to explain, but she did anyway.

“That’s for Tony.” she said softly, “And these…” she pointed out 4 additional stars she’d had placed within the existing design “One for each of the kids.”

“Not one for me?” he eventually pouted playfully, looking back up at her.

She bit her lip and grinning slightly, pulled his shirt over her head leaving her top half naked, and she turned her torso slightly the left, holding her arm over her breasts so he could see. His eyes widened as he saw the design that was now etched onto her skin just underneath her left breast on her rib cage.

It was his wings. The wings he had worn on his helmet. The wings adopted by the Howlies as their symbol in the war. And above that sat a star that was the same as the others on her thigh.

“That’s for you…” she said softly.

Steve was struggling for words. There was something he was finding outrageously sexy about the fact she’d had that placed somewhere that no one would really see other than him. And something ridiculously sentimental about the design she had chosen.

“Do you like it Soldier?” she asked softly, biting her lip.

He looked up at her, smiling as his hands gripped her bare waist and he pulled her down with him so she was led on top of him. “I love it.”

“I love you…” she grinned, melting into his arms as his hands ran up her bare back, her nose nudging his softly.

“Back at ya pretty girl.” he smirked, before his lips claimed hers in a heated kiss.

 **Original Posting**

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Top Anon

Pogue Parry x Reader

Word Count: 2,288

Summary: You have a loyal follower who comments on every post under your food blog. Just who is your favorite follower and why is the new grocery boy kinda cute too?

It was a new year and the start of a new you. Well, that is, a you who was trying new things.

In the past, you always made resolutions, but that spirit ran out before the month of January was even done. But after the particularly rough time of the past year, you swore that this time would be different, that you would make a serious effort to do something new.

It was that determination that led your current situation—your kitchen countertops were covered with ingredients and cooking utensils, your cell phone resting on a near by tripod for filming purposes.

The goal for this year was to try running a blog, and since you were a bit of a foodie, it made a lot of sense to center the blog around cooking and food. The idea came to you quickly; the hard part was deciding on a name, which took a while.

Eventually, you settled on The Foodiest. Naming was not one of your strong suits, but it was enough to get the point clearly across to potential viewers.

Choosing the layout design was on the same level of easy as deciding and didn’t take more than a day or two to implement on your site. Thank goodness for the existence of pre-made layout templates that saved you the effort of having to code everything yourself.  

With of the work on that end finished, the day had finally come for you to actually cook something to post about. Seeing as how January was a cold, winter month, you chose to make mashed sweet potatoes. Not only was it one of your favorite winter side dishes, it wasn’t hard to make either, giving you the confidence that even if your writing was lackluster, at least the food would look good.

Most of the blogs you were familiar with used a combination of text and photos for readers to follow along with, but you were going to try video in place of images. You sometimes struggled to copy based on what was shown in the photo, especially when you first started cooking, so you hoped video would make it easier on budding chefs who came across your content.

Luckily, the video would be sped up and lapsed for the final post to spare people from having to watch the monotonous parts in full length.

Hands on your hips, you surveyed everything one last time to make sure it was all ready. With a satisfied nod you reached forward to tap the large, red record button on the phone.  

You debated whether or not to talk while filming but decided against it. You were nervous enough posting to the blog without having the added stress of talking.

Everything happened in its regular order: you started by peeling and chopping the potatoes, a basic step, but you took your time doing it, paranoid as ever that you would cut yourself with the knife. Next you boiled the bright orange chunks in a pot of water; then put them in a mixing bowl once they were cooked. And finally used an electric mixer to blend it all nice and smooth, adding in milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon.  

Swiping your pointer finger through the finished product, you hummed with delight at the delicious, sweet taste. You pulled out a presentable bowl from the cupboard and spooned some orange fluff into it for the final reveal. Reaching blindly towards the far end of the counter you grabbed a bag of pecans to top off the mashed sweet potatoes. You scrutinized it and added more pecans for good measure.

Doing something in front of a camera was very different than doing the same thing on a normal day. Tension leeched out of your shoulders and you exhaled loudly with your head leaned back. A sense of pride warmed your chest, especially as you returned your gaze to the picturesque bowl. It looked great and tasted even better.

There was a large portion of leftovers because the recipes you used were collected from family and meant to feed small armies of people. You did your best to eat what you could and made plans sharing the rest with friends and coworkers later.

A few days after you published the post, you decided to check the stats on your account dashboard to see what the public response to it was, if there was any at all. Google analytics was useful for counting the total number of views it received while the blog site itself tracked the likes and… a comment?

Initial shock gave way to a bolt of excitement that had your fingers tingling with energy. You clicked to read it, wondering what it may say. Fingers crossed it was something good, whether it came in the form of a compliment or some constructive criticism.

Anonymous: wow good job

The chair creaked as you sat back slowly. You didn’t know how to read that, there wasn’t a whole lot to go on. Wow good job, said sarcastically? Wow good job, said excitedly? It didn’t help that the commenter didn’t believe in using punctuation either. And since it was submitted anonymously, there was no easy way to track down who sent it.

But maybe you were being too paranoid about it. You decided to take it as a compliment and cracked your fingers before firing off a response.

Foodiest: Thanks anon! I had a lot of fun with this dish. Hope you tune in for the next one :)

Anonymous never followed up with that particular exchange but they commented on every post without fail for the next two months.

Anonymous: nevr had white chili before it was good

Anonymous: the stuffed pepper were good

Anonymous: good call with the shrimp

Of course, all of the messages were sent as anonymous, so there was no 100% guarantee that it was the same person, but your gut feeling told you that it was. Who else had no respect for grammar rules and religiously used ‘good’ as their only descriptor?

You grew to expect, and enjoy, the weekly comment left by anon and made sure to leave a nice response in return. It was hard not to feel a connection to someone who took the time to try your recipes and leave a nice message. If only you could figure out who it was or at least have a name for them besides anonymous.

Foodiest: I’m glad you liked the recipe! My gramma swore by mayo when making grilled cheese. Thanks for always liking my stuff, if you ever want to talk more feel free to message me!

There. Maybe that would make them feel comfortable to give you their name you thought as you powered down your laptop for the night.

You spent the next couple of days leading up to the new post planning on what recipe to cook. Yep. Definitely not hoping for more information about anon.

For this newest post you decided to make some Indian curry, one of your favorites. Even long after you finished cooking, taping, and cleaning, the potent scent of spices was still heavy in the air, like aromatic nirvana that had your mouth watering even with a full stomach.

You tried your best not to refresh the post every few minutes to see if anon commented but it was tough. It turned out that you didn’t have to wait long as they left a comment within twenty minutes.

Anonymous: havent cooked this yet but looks good. Never really had indian before so have to go buy the stufff first – po

Anon finally gave up a name! You let out a happy noise and read it again. Po… short and to the point, just like all of the previous responses had led you to think about them. There was no time to waste, you hurried to write back, initial typos all over the place as the words out-paced your fingers.

Foodiest: Hi Po! It’s nice to have a name to put with your words. I would recommend going to an Asian Market for the spices, they’re more likely to carry them. Let me know how it goes for you :)

Since that conversation, Po and you chatted frequently about the weekly recipe choice, whether or not it looked good and if Po had plans to make it themselves, which they often did. Po seemed to like all types of food; vegetarian, meats, drinks, desserts, even ethnic dishes from places as far off as Bolivia and Morocco.

And the longer you two talked, the more frequent the messaging became. Whereas in the beginning Po would only submit a compliment that you would follow up with a ‘thank you’, it had turned into lengthy back and forths that took up a majority of the comment section for each post. More followers joined as the months went by and you hoped that they weren’t intimidated by your blatant favoritism but it was just so easy to talk with Po. If you were being honest with yourself though, it wasn’t only that it was easy… you genuinely liked talking to them.

Every time you made a new post it was difficult to not refresh the page every few minutes to see if they had left a message. And when they did, it was like a shot of electricity straight into the system where your heart would jolt and your face would flood with heat. You were hesitant to say it was a crush given that you didn’t know what they actually looked like and the computer screen barrier made it so you were content to define it as friendship.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you grabbed your wallet and keys while putting on shoes so you could make a quick run to the store. You had big plans to make some buffalo chicken wings for the blog this week and you needed to stop by the store to pick up some ingredients that you didn’t have, namely Frank’s Original Red for the buffalo sauce and blue cheese for the dip. Being an adult and responsible for your own grocery shopping was a chore at times. 

Luckily, Winter had thawed out into Spring so there was no need for you to warm up or car or scrape your windows. You just hopped in and drove the four blocks it took to get to the store. The plan was to cross the stuff for the wings off of your list first and then browse around for some good snacks to tide you over for the next week or so. Things were going according to plan until you saw him.

A tall boy wearing an employee apron stood in front of the cracker section, his jaw line and soft looking long hair catching your eye. Then he reached up to the tallest shelf to restock some boxes his arms flexing slightly to show off his heavy biceps and his shirt rode up, exposing deep cut ridges in his lower abdomen. To put it simply, you were starstruck.

He finished with the boxes he had in-hand and went to grab more from the cart at his side when you noticed your blatant ogling. Rather than confront you about it he merely smiled and moved out of the way so that you could get to the brand that you wanted. Choking from embarrassment, you kept your head down and threw a box of Goldfish into your shopping cart, speeding to get out of the aisle and his presence.

The store was a small local business and you frequented enough to know most of the workers there but you didn’t recognize this one, meaning that he must be new. What a way to make a first impression on him. Clearly your constitution was no match for his rugged, good looks. Then he was polite enough not to comment on you objectifying him which somehow made you feel even worse about it.

You decided to end the shopping trip almost immediately knowing that you were too spooked to continue shopping lest you run into him again.

You rolled the shopping cart into an open check-out lane and started putting your things on the conveyor for the cashier to scan. It just so happened that you knew the cashier—she was a middle-aged lady who’d been at the store for nearly two years. “Hi, Y/N. Find everything you needed?”

“Hey, Eva. Yes, I did.” You tried to steady yourself. Eva had a notoriously sharp eye and wouldn’t hesitate to question you if you looked off.

She left you alone today, engaging in normal chit chat, until she had trouble scanning the bottle of Frank’s hot sauce. Eva frowned when it didn’t want to scan and tried again but the bottle slipped from her hands and the neck of it shattered. Eva cursed and huffed, hurrying to throw the bottle into the trash before more leaked onto the register.

“I am so sorry, hun! I’ll get you another.”

“It was an accident,” you assured. “I can get it myself—"

“Not a problem,” she assured you with a wink. She pulled a walkie from her hip and spoke into it. “Hey, bring me a bottle of Frank’s Original Red Hot Sauce. Quick.”

You barely had time to don your awkward smile as she talked about how her neighbor’s dog kept pooping in her yard when the guy from the cracker aisle walked up behind Eva and handed a bottle of hot sauce to her. She took it and patted his back to get him to move forward.

“Thanks, hun. Y/N this is the new grocery boy—”

“Pogue,” he interrupted. “My name is Pogue.”

_______________

Another fic where they know each other but don’t know that they do. This time featuring Pogue and his fandom accepted interest in food. I picture him to have bad messaging skills — his fingers struggle with those tiny phone buttons. 

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Sequel to watch the time go. A/B/O AU in which Obi-Wan doesn’t realize Anakin claiming Ahsoka as his kid also means that she’s now his child. 

Obi-Wan was pacing. Anakin didn’t think his mate was even noticing it, marching from one end of the room to the other as he looked over the reports that had been sent in earlier, not even really reading them. He was nervous, agitated, and unfocused. Anakin watched as Obi-Wan rolled his shoulders and let out a low breath and then, as he had periodically the past hour already, he looked to the door before continuing.

He was definitely not aware of his behavior, unlike Anakin and just about every clone in the meeting room.

“Sir.”

Anakin looked away from Obi-Wan to see Rex standing in front of him. “General Kenobi, he is… stressed. It’s agitating the men.”

“I know,” Anakin sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Just, give him a while. He hasn’t noticed yet.”

Rex blinked once, then he looked at Anakin in what could only be described as utter disbelief.

“He hasn’t noticed yet,” he repeated flatly. “Forgive me, General, but what. How hasn’t he noticed?”

Anakin shrugged. “It doesn’t really happen at the temple, at least never to that extent. I know what to look out for though so it’s kind of obvious from the outside perspective but….”

Anakin trailed off and turned to Obi-Wan just in time to see him look, once more, at the door through which Ahsoka had disappeared just one hour ago.

Truth be told, Anakin didn’t want to be here either. He wanted to return to his nest together with his mate and child, but they needed to get this battle plan ready so that when the repairs on the ship were done, they could leave Coruscant behind quickly and rush to the aid of yet another planet in need of Republic support. Anakin could put his own needs aside for a moment because he was quite aware of what he wanted and could calm his nerves by reminding himself that Obi-Wan was right here and Ahsoka safe at the temple. For once in his life, Anakin knew precisely why he was stressed and Obi-Wan did not.

This reversal of their roles was weird and Anakin privately vowed to remember to tease Obi-Wan about it in the future.

“Sir, I don’t think we’re going to get anything productive out of this meeting if he keeps this up,” Rex commented. “Could you please just tell him?”

Anakin grinned mischievously. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

Rex sent him a deadpan look. The fellow Omega was just a little annoyed with their antics and Anakin couldn’t fault him for it. Watching Obi-Wan was disconcerting, but from his perspective, it was also kind of hilarious. All that talk about our Padawan and Obi-Wan had no idea what exactly had shifted in their dynamics since the last time Anakin had felt the need to build a proper nest. The feeling hadn’t subdued much since then, curse his hormones and curse the Order for caring enough about their members to keep them away from shady suppressants, but it still spiked from time to time.

“Sir, please,” Rex almost begged. Anakin had never actually seen any of his men beg. They were much too proud for that and Anakin liked to think he was good enough of a General that they never felt the need to, but could simply ask him for whatever they needed. “Cody looks just about ready to take the General’s head off and we can’t afford to lose Kote to being court-martialed, so please?”

Cody’s eyes were indeed twitching and Anakin saw two troopers behind him exchanging a few credits, pointing at Obi-Wan. The Beta Commander was definitely a little irked by Obi-Wan’s behavior. Rex was a little more relaxed, but in the past months he had put up with Ahsoka and Anakin being more content than before while Cody had to deal with a jittery Alpha. That definitely wasn’t a fair trade.

“Alright, alright,” Anakin finally gave in and stood up. “I’ll talk to him. It’s almost time for our night rotation anyway. Meeting adjourned and we continue tomorrow after we got our hours? The ship should be ready then too and we’ll likely have our new assignment as well.”

Rex let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sir. It will be done.”

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice it when Anakin approached him as all the officers left the room.

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s turned his head away from the entrance and looked Anakin in confusion.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan slowly returned to reality. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. Has something happened?” He stopped to look around the empty room. “And where is everyone?”

“Lost in thought,” Anakin repeated and snorted. “That’s one thing to call it. We decided to talk more tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms and tilted his head in confusion before his eyes darted to the door, again. Anakin was kind of charmed by it all.

“Why?”

“Because of your inability to concentrate and your Commander’s want to throw you into the brig. Let’s go home.”

Anakin took his mate’s hand and led him out of the room. Normally, Obi-Wan would have protested more, asked more questions, but instead he was silent and, perhaps, a little more affectionate than he usually would be out in the open. He walked a lot closer to Anakin, let him hold his hand. They tried to show at least a bit of professionalism when they weren’t in their quarters, especially Obi-Wan wanted to uphold that image, whereas Anakin couldn’t care less, but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen right now.

The trip back to the temple had never seemed as long as it had now, and Anakin recalled that time he was sixteen and Obi-Wan had gotten so sick on a mission, he had been worried he would lose his Master. When they did finally reach their home, Obi-Wan already looked a little better, though he was still far from the serene and calm Jedi Master. The few Jedi they passed on their walk through the halls gave Obi-Wan a curious look, though not as much as they would have towards the beginning of the war. There were more and more Master and Padawan pairs whose bonds had strengthened. Seeing a Master who slightly more protective than usual and hovered over their charge wasn’t a regular thing yet, but once the war ended, if it ever did-

There would be change.

Soon they were standing in front of the training salles where Ahsoka was sparring viciously. She had grown so much already since her apprenticeship had started, Anakin had to stop himself from purring with pride. Obi-Wan too watched her with pride, but his eyes were tracking the course of her opponent’s blade a little too closely.

“Ahsoka’s safe,” Anakin reassured him, but Obi-Wan only looked at him in confusion. “Of course, she is,” he replied and yet his voice was a little deeper, a little closer to worry and anger than it should be.

“Right.” Anakin watched Ahsoka do another spin over the head of Barriss and victoriously land on her feet. Smiling, he called out to her. “Ahsoka! It’s time to go!”

His Padawan turned around to him, first happy when she spotted the two of them, but then quickly began scowling in disappointment.

“But I only just started training,” she replied, but marched over to them regardless after bowing to Barriss.

She wasn’t stomping her feet, but it certainly felt similar enough to it from a Jedi’s perspective. Obi-Wan, who would usually cite Anakin’s past misbehavior at him at this time, was silent once more, carefully tracking Ahsoka’s every movement, checking her for any visible injuries.

It was hilarious really.

“Where do we have to go? Have we got a new assignment?” Ahsoka asked him.

“Nope, just our rooms,” Anakin only replied.

Ahsoka shot him a look of disbelief, then turned to Obi-Wan to check if this was some dumb joke they were playing on her. However, as soon as Ahsoka stood next to Obi-Wan tough, she too realized there wasn’t something quite right with him. And yet she wasn’t given even a chance to say another word, as Obi-Wan apparently decided that enough was enough and simply grabbed her waist to throw her over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Ahsoka protested. “Obi-Wan! Let me down.”

“You’re too slow, little one,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice definitely more of a growl than his normal speaking voice.

She pulled a face and then, after she contemplated protesting again, came to the conclusion that life would be much easier and kinder on her if she just went along with Obi-Wan’s behavior and let herself be carried.

Thankfully, the walk to their rooms was a quite short one. Anakin opened the door and let Obi-Wan direct them towards the bedroom. He waited until Anakin had made himself comfortable, then he dumped Ahsoka on his lap and marched straight out of the door again.

“Okay, so what’s going on,” Ahsoka asked as soon as he had disappeared.

“I’d say his instincts finally caught up to him, little one,” Anakin laughed.

Gently, he pushed Ahsoka off his lap to fix his nest. Not that there was anything wrong with it per se, it was just not perfect either. It had been a while since he had slept here and not on a ship. He puffed the pillows and rearranged the blankets until they had taken the shape he preferred. He glanced at Ahsoka, waiting for her to add to the nest. He knew the Jedi didn’t usually do this communally, but this was how he had grown up and it brought him peace to stick to this habit. Ahsoka had gotten used to Anakin’s habit and by now made her own corner in his nest. Once they were done, they crawled under the largest blanket and let its weight lie comfortably upon them.

“So, when is he going to be back to normal?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin snorted. “I think you can say normal goodbye for a while, but I think he’ll calm down a little soon.” Anakin quietly counted the days and, oh yeah, his math matched up. “His rut would have been around now normally.”

Ahsoka elbowed him in the side all while complaining. “Eewww, gross, gross, gross, I did not need to know that about my grandmaster, thank you.”

“It’s just biology, Ahsoka, honestly.”

“Gross biology,” she replied in the spirit of a teenager.

Obi-Wan returned soon after, announcing his arrival with the sound of doors opening and closing. When he entered the bedroom, he was carrying a mountain of snacks. To Anakin’s delight, his favorite sweets and fruits had been stacked in there as well. Anakin didn’t know how Obi-Wan had managed to even find all of those in such a short time, never mind during the war when some of the more exotic treats had become harder to import. Their kitchen was definitely empty for sure.

“I brought food,” Obi-Wan said, his voice suddenly tinted with confusion while he gave Anakin a treat.

“Thank you,” Anakin said simply and accepted.

Eagerly, Ahsoka grabbed a chocolate bar out of the pile, opened the wrapping and devoured it like a starved man in the desert. Anakin himself really wasn’t all that hungry, but this was less about being sated and more of giving Obi-Wan some much-needed comfort and calm. It wasn’t like Anakin didn’t appreciate his Alpha taking care of them. They just didn’t often indulge in the comforts that came with their designation, there was no time for it, but Anakin definitely enjoyed the sweet joy that came with Obi-Wan paying attention to him.

“Come here,” Anakin told Obi-Wan and threw back the blanket so he could join them.

Dutifully, his mate left the food on the nearby table, kicked off his shoes, handed Anakin his outer robes to incorporate into the nest, and climbed onto the bed. It really wasn’t a surprise he reached to Ahsoka first. Anakin had been near him the entire day, he knew nothing had happened to him, but Ahsoka had been out of his grasp and not only that, but sparring. Lightly he scented her neck, frowned in disapproval at the places where her tunics smelled like fire, nothing unusual for the aftermath of spars, but Obi-Wan still radiated disapproval. To distract his mate, Anakin gently tugged at Obi-Wans robes to get his attention. When he turned his face to him, a question in his expression, Anakin gave him a soft kiss, trying to emphasize that they were all here and safe and nobody was hurt and that everything was alright.

“I know,” Obi-Wan muttered back against Anakin’s lips and slipped his fingers beneath Anakin’s collar just so he could trace the mark there. “I know, I just-“

He sighed in frustration and dropped his head on Anakin’s shoulder.

“I really am alright, Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka too spoke up, concern coloring her voice. “I promise, nothing’s hurting. I’d tell you.”

Young as she was, and small still too, not yet taller than Anakin or Obi-Wan as Anakin knew she’d be someday. Ahsoka moved until she was curled up in-between the two of them. She had no qualms whatsoever in pushing Anakin down onto the bed until she could lie her head down on Anakin’s chest.

“We’re all good, Master,” Ahsoka said and with a yawn, closed her eyes. All that energy of before seemed to have left her. Anakin wasn’t going to protest. He could use a nap as well. Obi-Wan studied the two of them with keen eyes, before he too submitted to their demands. He laid down and pulled Ahsoka and Anakin so close that he could put his arm around the both of them. Anakin felt like he was breathing in the scent of warmth, home and safety and soon drifted off.

X

When Anakin woke, Obi-Wan was already staring at him. He didn’t look the slightest bit tired or drowsy, he must have been awake for a while then. He still hand moved his hand away from Anakin’s waist either. Glancing towards Ahsoka, Anakin saw that she at least was still sleeping soundly, her chest rising and sinking steadily.

“Why were we sleeping?” Obi-Wan whispered as to not wake Ahsoka. Then, after a pause in which he probably reevaluated all his earlier actions, “Why did I-“

Anakin couldn’t help but grin. “Do you want the long or the short answer?”

“Should I be afraid of the long answer?”

“No, not really, it just involved a lot more teasing than the short answer.”

Obi-Wan let out a long-suffering sigh. “Lay it on me.”

Taking pity on the other, Anakin decided he didn’t have to tease it all out of him. “You do remember that usually not just one half of a mated pair adopts a child?”

“Yes, obviously- oh. Oh, Force.” Obi-Wan pinched his nose. “I have to apologize to Cody. I must have been driving the poor man up the walls these last weeks.”

Anakin laughed quietly, careful not to shake Ahsoka awake. “I think he took it quite well, it’s not like he didn’t realize your paternal instincts were running haywire. I doubt there is a single trooper in your company who didn’t know.”

“So it was really only me, I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.” Obi-Wan used his unoccupied hand to gently run his fingers over Ahsoka’s face markings. “We have a daughter then,” Obi-Wan summarized.

“Congratulations, she’s a Togruta,” Anakin joked, but quickly sobered up again.

This wasn’t what he had expected when he became a Jedi. Family and battles for what was right, yes, but not a war and a child whose survival depended on him.

“I’m terrified.” It was somehow difficult and easy at the same time to admit this. He didn’t want to speak of his fears, he should be better than that, stronger, but he also didn’t want, couldn’t, keep this a secret from Obi-Wan. They were out there fighting the war side by side for months, Ahsoka following their every step, what if his silence was the reason she was injured?

“What if she gets hurt on a mission? What if I lose her? There were so many close calls already.”

“We won’t lose her,” Obi-Wan said. He sounded a little pained. “Even just imagining it is rather counterproductive right now, but- she won’t die in this war. She has us and we’ll keep her safe.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Obi-Wan interrupted.

It occurred to Anakin that it really wasn’t fair that even now, with half his mind occupied with ensuring his mate and his child were safe, Obi-Wan could still think so rationally. It had to be that his head had cleared up a little with awareness trickling in.

“We’ll make it through it and then we’ll take a long vacation somewhere far away where I don’t have to share you two with anybody else and we can just stay like this for hours without any interruptions.”

“Careful, careful, your alpha is showing,” Anakin teased, though he couldn’t claim that the thought didn’t also sound wonderful to him.

They should go somewhere green and warm, untouched by the war and all the bloodshed.

“I am an alpha,” Obi-Wan said. “Yours in fact.”

Anakin let himself disappear in the cadence of Obi-Wan’s voice, that slightly possessive tone he had longed to hear for so long and Obi-Wan usually reigned in.

“Mine indeed,” Anakin repeated, liking the way the words lingered on his tongue as if he were saying them for the first time and there was no mark on their necks proclaiming it to the entire world.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

With his dark past long behind him and revenge long-since attained, Maxi is ready to move on. He's ready for a new beginning. And so, he asks Ash the most important question he ever has.

"You kids can head on home, ya know." Maxi says, waving the two eager siblings away.

"Got it, Lord Maxi!" Nods Leixia, grabbing Xiba's arm and turning in the opposite direction. Faintly, Ash can hear him saying something about being hungry.

She chuckles, "Xiba... We just finished eating..." Ash shakes her head playfully, "But, if you insist, there's some leftovers from last night. Just go ahead and warm 'em up."

That seemed to be enough motivation for Xiba, because he went sprinting in the direction of their home. Leixia followed, screaming after him, but Ash didn't miss her giving a look towards Maxi. As for what that look meant, Ash had no idea.

Ash looks up at the man beside her, but he was just gazing fondly into the distance. She couldn't help but notice how her lover, usually incapable of the ability to (respectfully, of course) shut up, had been oddly silent that night.

A soft smile settled on his lips, sharp features accentuated by nothing but some lanterns on buildings shining on them in the dark night. Ash found herself questioning how he always managed to look so damn handsome regardless of where he was.

His eyes looked faraway. Maybe he was just thinking about the kids? Well, they weren't kids, per se. They were teenagers, well on their way to adulthood, but Maxi regarded them as such anyway. Ash could understand, often doing the same herself.

He had taken them in because, according to the Edge Master, it was the only way to save Kilik, Maxi's closest friend since he lost his crew.

Funny, wasn't it? That Maxi would find salvation at the hands of Kilik's master, and would set off to save Kilik, just like how Kilik and Xianghua had saved him. The roles had been reversed. It wasn't Maxi who was alone this time. He needed to save his best friend's life.

The kids by themselves weren't strong enough, so Maxi made the decision to mentor them and travel with them. After all, Maxi's skill in combat was nothing short of legendary. His journey may have been a tough one, but he'd fought off some pretty crazy things over the years. From random bandits to the wrath of literal gods, Maxi had seen it all.

With Leixia came a third party named Natsu. She didn't seem to be related to any of the others, but Maxi welcomed her on the team with open arms. If she had protected Leixia for so long, she could be a valuable addition.

And Ash had also tagged along. She may not have been as great of a fighter as Maxi (after all, who was?), but she figured that they could use the extra support. Along with, of course, not wanting to leave Maxi all alone again.

As time went on, traveling with the children had led Maxi and Ash to develop quite the emotional bond with them with the trio. They had their more stressful moments, but the couple cared for them nonetheless, and took care of them because they wanted to, not out of a feeling of obligation since they were so closely related to their friends.

Eventually, the kids had begun to look up to Ash as a motherly figure of sorts as well. Although she couldn't quite deny that they gave her a headache more often than not.

Well, perhaps aunt would be the proper term rather than mother. Ash was no idiot, and neither was Maxi. They knew who these Xiba and Leixia were. It was painfully obvious. They were Kilik and Xianghua's children.

Leixia didn't know Xiba at first, so Ash figured that they weren't aware of being related at all. Leixia had mentioned that her father had been a general back in Ming, whereas Xiba never knew his father. How ironic that he'd end up being taught the way of the staff that Kilik was oh-so passionate about, despite not even knowing who he was.

That's... A hell of a sticky situation. Poor kids. Awfully unlike Kilik and Xianghua to abandon their own. I wonder what happened. Ash found herself thinking.

The resemblance was uncanny between them and Maxi's friends, and just housing the Sacred Treasures they protected all those years ago was enough for Ash to raise an eyebrow. Not just in the form of their weapons, but in Leixia's pendant as well. Ash would recognize that familiar green glow anywhere.

Her theory was only proven by how Maxi's body tensed up oh-so slightly when around it. The influence of the evil seed, although mostly repressed, could not be cured.

Maxi hadn't brought up the topic of their parents with the children, only confiding in Ash on occasion. But he knew. He probably figured it out even before Ash did, considering how long he had spent traveling with the couple nearly two decades ago. He didn't have anyone else but them and Ash after the attack on his crew happened.

But the iconic trio of Maxi, Kilik, and Xianghua had long since split, and now it was just them. Ash had no idea as to Kilik's whereabouts, but she had heard that Xianghua had gotten married to some other man back in Ming. It had been years since he had seen either of them.

So, the responsibility to save Kilik, protect the Sacred Treasures, and take the children west while making sure they didn't die along the way fell to Maxi and Ash. How wonderful.

Ash squeezes Maxi's hand, "Hey, everything alright?" Even after all these years, their hands seemed to be made for each other. Maxi's hands were so much larger than hers and were so warm. He was always warm, almost like her own personal campfire. They felt nice in the slight chill of the night, and Ash wanted nothing more than to cling onto him and never let him go.

Some sick part of her found it almost comical that he felt even warmer after having a shard of the cursed sword itself place inside of him. He would agree too, always trying to keep a cheerful outlook on everything that had happened to him in the past. He even often joked about the unusually slow rate his body was aging because of the shard. At the end of the day, Ash was just glad that he had control over himself again.

"Oh? Me?" Maxi questions, snapped out of whatever trance he was in, his eyes snapping towards her. Ash sighs, "Nooo, not at all. I was simply speaking to my other boyfriend." She says sarcastically, "Of course I'm talking to you. Who else is around here?"

She was right. The streets of the town had been long empty, the sky dark. Ash looks up, the sky twinkling with so many bright stars. It wasn't far from where they had first met in India all those years ago. She was glad to be back to her home country.

Maxi chuckles, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead. "Ha ha, very funny." He responds dryly, "But yeah, I'm doing fine. Just thinking."

Ash smirks, but her voice is sincere. "That's a first, so be careful, alright? Don't hurt yourself."

"Hey, I think!"

"Hm... Debatable."

Ash goes silent for a few seconds, but eventually reaches over to grab his other hand. "I hope you know that you can tell me if anything is bothering you. I'm here to listen, and if you want, I'll do my best to help."

"Thank you. I mean that." He whispers.

Ash nods.

"Hey..." Maxi starts, beginning to walk towards the open fields on the outskirts of the town, "I wanna talk to ya."

"Take your time. I'm listening."

Maxi keeps walking further into the field for minutes, until the town is long behind them. He stops, staring up at the star-filled sky. Ash notices that he loses his easy smirk for once, face hardening into a firm expression. This is... Odd.

Maxi is the first to break the silence. "I... I never saw myself having a future after the guys died." He whispers, eyes still glued to the sky.

"I mean," He glances towards her, chuckling in an attempt to lighten up the mood, "You saw me back then. I didn't care about nothin' but my revenge."

… And seeing him hurt you too.. That was the last straw.

Ash remembers it all too clearly. His thirst for revenge against the thing who murdered his crew nearly destroyed him, and for so many years, that was the only thing he cared about. Killing the monster. Regardless of what it took.

Things only got worse with the shard. The bloodlust that was already there only increased, and it never died down. He isolated himself, pushing everybody away. Eventually, his humanity itself began to slip away. The shard always craved more, and it took years with the Edge Master for Maxi to even be able to think straight again.

But he had grown so much since then. He was still Maxi, her Maxi, cocky and confident with a sharp tongue to boot, but he had grown. Ash could see it in how he treated Leixia and Xiba. He wasn't the lost young man he used to be anymore.

"Yeah, that's right..."

"But I've gotten that revenge now, haven't I?"

Ash nods. "Yeah, you killed that freak."

"So I think that it's finally time for me to move on." Maxi says, taking hold of both her hands and staring at her directly.

"Even through everything, you never gave up on me. I pushed you away, but you never thought I was a lost cause. You taught me that I didn't need to walk alone anymore. If it weren't for you..." Maxi gulps, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, “Actually... Nope, not going there. It hurts to think about what could’ve been. Anyways,” He stops, as if pondering the right words.

Her eyes go wide, "Maxi..."

It was unlike him to be this vulnerable with his words, or even at all. Maxi preferred to let his body and actions do the speaking, but Ash didn't mind. He was loving and sweet. As he gathers his thoughts, she gently runs her fingertips along the callouses on his hands, worn down from years of battle.

"... I feel like when I’m with you, maybe I can have that future again." Maxi finishes, cupping her face in his hands. Ash softly smiles at him, leaning into his touch.

"I'm glad. That makes me so happy to hear. It..." She takes a deep breath, blinking back tears, "It really does mean the world to me that I can be that pillar of support for you. All I want is for you to be happy because, hey, you deserve that future."

Ash chuckles softly, and Maxi can feel his heart fluttering at the sight of her smile. She continues.

"But I hope you realize it wasn't all me, though. You made the effort to change, don't forget that. I love you more than I can say, and I am so proud of you. You’re the strongest person I know. Even through everything, you never let it consume you.”

Her voice was nothing more than a warm whisper fanning his lips. But since there were only mere inches separating them, he could hear her just fine.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, the fur lining of his jacket tickling her cheek. Ash can't help but smile at how warm his face is. One of her hands reaches up to gently pat the back of his head.

"I love you too. More than anything. It was the thought of you that stopped me from giving into the curse, ya know." He replies, holding her tight.

Maxi steps away from her, taking a deep breath and staring at the grassy ground, "Man, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be..." He mutters, running his fingers through the swoop of his hair.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I guess I should just say it, huh?" He says, anxiously picking at his fingers, his gaze drifting to the side.

"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" Ash jokes, laughing softly. Maxi smiles, and in that moment, he is convinced that he has never seen a woman more perfect.

He shakes his head. "Not in a million years. In fact, the exact opposite."

Maxi reaches for his back pocket and gets down on one knee.

Ash gasps, her hands flying up to cover her open mouth. "Oh my god... No way."

"Yes way. I want you to marry me, babe." Maxi says, and he's never been more sure of anything in his life. For all these years, Ash had never given up on him. She was the light at the end of the tunnel of rage and blood he had built around himself. He had never loved anyone more.

“Will you marry me?” He asks, voice firm. His heart was pounding in his chest.

In his hands, a ring. It was nothing overly large or extravagant, but the fine gemstone in the center seemed to twinkle in the moonlight. Tears Ash had tried so hard to fight against came rushing back.

There was no hesitation in her answer.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, and Maxi couldn’t contain the pure glee that rushed through him as he slid the ring on her finger. He stood up and laughed in pure delight.

“This is the greatest day ever! She said yes!” He says to himself, picking her up and twirling her around in a circle. He pulls her in for a kiss, and she is more than happy to oblige, her lips moving in unison with his. She had been with him for so long, kissed him so many times, yet the feeling of his lips on hers was so magical even still.

He cups her face in his hands and gently wipes away her tears with his thumbs.

“Hey now, don’t cry.” He whispers.

“They’re tears of happiness, I promise.” Ash responds, and she can’t hide the smile from her face.

Ash giggles as he pulls her in for a hug, “I can't wait for you to be my wife." He murmurs into her hair, and she simply grabs him by the face and kisses him again.

Their lips lock for what feels like an eternity before they finally pull away. Ash rests her forehead on his, and he smiles. His cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much, but how could he not?

Goodness, he’s beautiful… Ash thought as she gazed into his dark eyes.

“I love you so much. So fucking much.” She says.

“I love you too, baby. I love you too.”

Ash smiles, gazing down at the ring in her finger. Beautiful. In that moment, she is convinced that there is no place she would rather be. After all, he was her home, and there was no place she felt safer in than his arms.

[lyranova]

A Fractured Diamond

Episode 4: One Tough Battle

Hi guys~! So here’s chapter 4 I hope it’s a little better than chapter 3 and again I’m trying not to completely rip off the manga or anime so a few things and quotes are different! But the next chapter should end this little arc (i was gonna try and add it to this chapter but i decided to just push it off) Also in this chapter you learn the difference between Neva’s magic and Mars’! But anyway I hope you guys enjoy~!

Word Count: 1,550

Warnings: Violence, Language.

“ Get out of my way.” The stranger commanded as he walked towards the small Golden Dawn squad, Neva looked over at Mimosa and saw she was using one of her recovery spells. ‘Good. At least she’s alright.’ Neva thought in relief as she removed her Diamond Shell and conjured up two twin daggers made out of diamond. She only ever used this spell when she knew she would have to engage in close quarter combat, she watched as Yuno and Klaus also got into their combat positions. The stranger didn’t look phased at all.

“ Yuno, Neva, look.” Klaus motioned towards the man and saw what Klaus was pointing out, the diamond on his grimoire.

“ He’s from the Diamond Kingdom.” Yuno said as his eyes narrowed, Neva nodded, it was just as she suspected. But what really confused her was the crystals on his forehead and the one on his chest.

“ Klaus, are those what I think they are?” She asked as she turned toward him. Klaus nodded before he pushed his glasses up.

“ Yes. I thought the rumors about the Diamond kingdom conducting experiments on people were just that; rumors. Apparently we were wrong.” Klaus said before the man attacked them again, luckily Klaus had good reflexes and was able to block the attack with a steel shield.

“ Quit talking and get out of my way!” The man commanded again before sending more attacks their way. One right after the other. The three Golden Dawn members did their best to dodge and send attacks right back at the man, Neva mostly tried to protect Mimosa the best she could as Yuno and Klaus went for the stranger.

‘Now I know why people assumed I was from the diamond kingdom.’ Neva thought as she used one of her blades to slice through an attack. ‘On the surface you can’t tell the difference, other than they’re different colors, but otherwise they’re nearly identical. Except mine's stronger.’ Neva though with a smirk as she used her ‘Diamond shower’ spell at the stranger, who blocked it with ease. She gritted her teeth, this was a real pain in the ass.

“ We’re being cornered.” Klaus said as he and Yuno moved back toward the girls, he and Neva shared a look between themselves. ‘They would have to send someone ahead without them.’ After Neva nodded in agreement Klaus looked at Yuno. “ You need to go ahead without us. We’ll take care of him.” Klaus commanded, Neva stood up straight.

“ But I-!” Yuno began to argue before she held up a hand to silence him, she knew he’d argue, that was the kind of person he was even if he appeared to not really care about anyone.

“ We’ll be fine. Go and get that treasure. We’ll meet you there once we deal with this guy.” Neva told him, she half turned toward him, a small smirk on her face. “ Trust me. This guy won’t be able to take us down that easy.” She added before she and Klaus shared another look.

They were screwed, and they both knew it. If Yuno was even having a tough time with this guy, then the two of them didn’t really have a chance. But if they were going down, then they’d go down swinging. She heard Yuno sigh, apparently deciding not to argue, she heard him quickly run down the hall. ‘Wait, when did that door open?!’ She thought as she turned to look; yep it was open, huh, interesting. Neva suddenly heard Klaus shout and she turned to look.

‘Dammit! I shouldn’t have gotten distracted!’ Neva thought as she saw a crystal bind Klaus’s foot. It was as if the world began to move in slow motion; she saw the man send another attack towards Klaus, her body began to move on its own, but she knew she wouldn’t make it to him in time. The spell was going to hit him, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

‘Why...why am I so weak?’

Suddenly, a rush of wind swept past her and blocked the attack. Neva quickly turned and saw Yuno standing there, she couldn’t stop the surprise from appearing on her face. He turned back for them?

“ Why did you turn back? We told you to go! The mission is our main priority!” Klaus shouted as Neva quickly broke the crystal that bound his foot, they watched Yuno stand a bit in front of them, as though to shield them from the stranger.

“ Because you’re my friends.” He answered simply, Neva had to admit that statement shocked her a bit and she didn’t really know why. If this weren’t such a serious situation they were in she would probably be laughing right now. He had only known them for a couple of months and was already admitting they were his friends, whereas she had known most of her squad for over a year and she refused to call any of them that. Hell, she didn’t even want to call the people she was currently with her friends! ‘But,’ Neva thought with a shake of her head. ‘If Yuno’s already willing to admit that he considers us his friends, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to admit it too one day.’ That single thought warmed her heart a bit, before she suddenly felt a surge of mana.

“ Neva, look!” Klaus stated, pulling her out of her thoughts. He pointed toward where Yuno was standing, shock clearly on his face. As Neva turned to look she realized that was where all the mana was coming from, a smirk appeared on her face as she watched the wind circle around him.

“ Well aren’t you just full of surprises Mr. Prodigy.” She muttered as she watched him wield two spells at once and throw them at the soldier.

————

“ Yuno!” Neva shouted as she watched him begin to be overpowered by the Diamond Mage, she hadn’t noticed he never pulled out his grimoire, but now that the Diamond Soldier had, the fight was even more unmatched than it already was. Neva quickly conjured a diamond wall in between Yuno and the man, trying to do anything she could to try and help Yuno get the upper hand. But as thanks for her troubles, she was given a crystal doll created by the stranger and it just so happened to be strong enough to keep her busy.

“ Klaus! Snap out of it we need you!” She shouted as she sent another diamond shower at the doll. It was almost a life size version of the ones she had made when she was a child, except hers didn’t move, and they for sure didn’t try to kill anyone! She quickly blocked another attack before looking over at Klaus, who appeared to be stunned for a few moments, finally snapped out of it and began to try to attack the stranger once again. But it failed. The stranger created another doll just like the one she was fighting.

“ Why are you so hard to beat?!” She shouted at the doll as she slashed at it with her blade again, she was able to cut across what would be it’s chest, but it wasn’t enough to take the damn thing down. ‘I don’t understand! My magic is different from there’s! So why isn’t it able to cut through?!’ She thought indignantly as she dodged another one of its spells. Her magic was made out of carbon, theirs was made out of minerals, hers was made from one of the strongest materials on the planet, theirs was not, so why in the hell could she not cut it down?!

“ Just surrender.” Neva turned toward the voice’s and her eyes widened. Yuno was being overwhelmed, and appeared to be frozen just like Klaus was a moment ago. ‘Son of a-!’ Neva quickly conjured a diamond hammer and hit the crystal doll square in the chest, knocking it onto its back. She smirked in satisfaction before rushing to aid Yuno.

But she didn’t get very far.

The crystal doll suddenly appeared in front of her. ‘What the hell? I ended this didn’t I?!’ Neva thought before suddenly she watched as the doll pulled it’s fist back. Crap. There was nothing she could do, she couldn’t block it, she couldn’t move out of the way, she had to take a direct hit. So she did. With a soft ‘oof’ the doll punched her square in the stomach and sent her flying across the room. All the air was knocked out of her lungs as she slammed into the wall next to the dungeons entrance, she slid down onto the floor and watched as Klaus was starting to become overwhelmed by the doll he was facing, and Yuno was about to be dealt a finishing blow by the Diamond Soldier.

‘I’m sorry guys,’ Neva thought weakly as her vision was beginning to darken and she heard the crystal dolls footsteps inch closer and closer towards her. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect all of you…’

The last thing Neva saw before she slipped into unconsciousness was a giant crystal ax about to crash onto Yuno.

———

I’m sorry if this isn’t very good but I hope you guys like it~! I should have episode 5 out in a couple of days than I’ll be able to move on to a couple of other stuff for this series and my fanfics 💕! But I hope you all enjoyed and I hope you all have a good day 🥰!