#if anyone has advice or words of encouragement I’d love to hear them

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

I really want to get back into the gym and I know that’s a slow process just cause I don’t take care of myself and have wrecked my body but sometimes I just get so frustrated with the limits I have 😅

[icycoldninja]

Hello darling 🖤 I’d love a Vergil x Fem! Reader who deals with depression and anxiety, cause I do and in times I have an episode I would LOVE for some Vergil snuggles and sweet motivational words. 🥹

Aww I'm so sorry to hear that. Hopefully this makes you feel better. Enjoy. 💜

Sparda boys + V x Reader with depression and anxiety headcannnons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante is experienced with depression, having had several episodes in the past.

-His go-to comfort is a big bottle of whiskey, pizza, and tons of strawberry ice cream, which is what he offers to you when you're feeling down.

-He'll offer assuring words and makes sure to tell you how much he loves you every time you feel sad, usually following up with a long cuddle session.

-Panic attacks are new to him so he's not entirely sure how to respond. However, Dante knows that in times of crisis, what everyone needs is a big, loving hug, which is what he gives you.

-He later does some research and after reading a few articles, decides their advice is shit because nowhere in the reading material is "smothering your loved one with hugs and kisses" present as advice, therefore he will ignore it and stick to his original methods.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil has had his encounters with sadness many times before, but instead of wallowing in self pity like other mortals, he MOTIVATED himself to push through it.

-This is what he does for you, sitting you down on the couch when you're at your lowest and giving you the most stern, serious, yet uplifting lecture you've ever heard in your life.

Instead of encouraging you to feel better, he inspires you to face your fears, confront your sadness head on, and find a reason to be happy; a goal to strive for. If nothing comes to mind, then he will launch into a long list of things you could aim for, all of them pretty valid.

-Your anxiety is different, though, as no amount of confidence-building words will get you through a panic attack.

-Instead, he will awkwardly sit next to you as you shiver, shake and hyperventilate, his arm draped around you and rubbing your back comfortingly until your hysteria passes. He might not know what to say or do, but he's devoted, and he'll stay by your side no matter what.

□ Nero □

-Nero isn't good at comforting anyone for any reason. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just, he's awkward and unable to.

-Seeing you cry or generally being sad hurts his heart and drives (or should we say, MOTIVATES) him to figure out how to console you.

-He ends up just pulling you into his chest and running his hands through your hair, patting your shoulder and kissing your forehead until you calm down.

-When you have your panic attacks (which he tries very hard to keep to a minimum) Nero employs the same strategy. If it works for your sad spirals, then it should work for your panic spirals too.

-Regardless of what specifically is plaguing you, Nero will be at your side in an instant, arms out and ready to embrace you. He's your rock; your eternal shoulder to cry on.

● V ●

-When V sees you crying, he honestly feels like crying with you. This is not an exaggeration; seeing you depressed or distressed in any way makes him feel downcast too.

-He wants to know exactly what's troubling you and what he can do to help you. If you don't want to talk about it or are in no condition to, he won't pressure you, but will stay with you and snuggle you till you calm down.

-He likes to tug you into his lap and run his hands up and down your sides, muttering sweet nothings into your ear, assuring you of how much he loves you.

-Shadow helps too, by climbing into your lap and nuzzling your arms and legs, purring loud enough to produce vibrations.

-When it comes to panic attacks, V is the most prepared. He busts out the William Blake and reads to you, his voice doing wonders to soothe you.

[ddarker-dreams]

HWR Reader’s Thoughts on The Phantom Troupe.

Note: since writing what the phantom troupe think of HWR reader, i felt this would be a natural progression of things .

Chrollo

He is... hm. A fascination of mine, if I were to put it into words. Usually, people of his temperament are quick to earn my ire, but I could never bring myself to dislike him. He’s authentic and inauthentic. A strange mixture of knowing where he’s going without caring for the actual destination. I wonder, is it the burden of those who intimately understand others to never understand themselves? He occupies my thoughts more than I care to admit. Oh, but please, don’t tell him this. I wouldn’t hear the end of it for days, and his ego is sizable enough as is...

Phinks

Phinks was the first member to ask for my phone number — he is affable like that. Quite the gentleman too, if you can believe that. He’s held doors open for me more times than I can count. I notice him staring at me quite often. I appreciate his habit of watching my back in this way, the line of work we’re in requires extra vigilance. I’ll have to express my gratitude some way. 

Feitan

The most we interact is when work necessitates that he stores his “tools” using my Hatsu, to avoid metal detectors and the like. I noticed that rather than keeping his torture devices sterilized and free of rust, he allows the elements to do with them what they will. While it’s a laudable idea, I must admit, his lack of glove usage does have me hoping he’s up to date on his shots. He could always borrow spare gloves from me. I know better than to offer unsolicited advice, though. 

Machi

From what I could gauge, she was indifferent toward me until Paku connected us in a more casual setting. I appreciate her total disregard for propriety. If she has something to say, she’ll say it. It’s a welcome change from what I grew up with. 

Shalnark

The boundaries of his knowledge know no limits. Technology is such a marvel, his proficiency in the field has earned my respect. That being said, I do hope he is aware I can tell when he tries to sneak photos of Chrollo and I together at Troupe gatherings. 

Pakunoda

Pakunoda— ahem, Paku, as she’s encouraged me to call her, is a dear friend. There is... regrettably, a great deal I’m ignorant to when it comes to the real world. The finer details, such as meal preparation and laundry, were taken care of by servants back at home. Her guidance for integrating into regular society has been invaluable. I’d still be using my blades to cut vegetables if not for her, I fear...

Shizuku

I take it as a good sign that Shizuku is now able to recall my name with relative ease. Beyond that, if she doesn’t mind my saying so, I think she’s rather charming. I always look forward to working together.

Uvogin

The embodiment of pure, physical strength. He has a certain bravado about him. I don’t mean to turn my nose up toward the preferences of others, but I have never been able to understand his love of beer; it has a most repugnant flavor. He drinks it as if it were ambrosia. Regardless, I suppose there are worse vices to have. 

Nobunaga

Anyone who dedicates themselves to the art of the sword has earned my respect. I’m curious to know what school he trained under, if any. One day, I’ll see to it that we spar, if he is willing. Iron sharpens iron, as the proverb goes. 

Franklin

While we rarely speak outside of work, we have an unspoken tradition of playing chess together when the Spider is gathered. I believe our current score is 5-1. It’s rare anyone is able to best me in a game of chess, even once... I must keep my wits about me so it does not happen again. 

Hisoka

No comment, for professionality’s sake. 

Bonolenov

Using sound as a viable weapon, what a stroke of genius. He has commendable character too. For a time, Shalnark was offering a sizable reward if anyone were to see his face free of bandages. He took it in good humor and didn’t seem perturbed by it. 

Kortopi

I once offered to give him a haircut. He seemed amiable until I conjured my sword... then his mind changed. I hope I did not leave a negative impression. My precision is unmatched — he would’ve been in no danger... 

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 3; Need To Know

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Chapter 3!! Yay! I will not lie I got kind of lazy and burnt out when I finally got to the smut scene, and for that I am sorry. I’ll make it up to you guys with a future chapter.

Summary; Reader can’t get her mind off of Spencer, which causes distractions at work. Until one day when he catches on.

Category; Smut (Minors DNI!!!)

Content Warnings; Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of masturbation, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), Drinking, Mentions of being shot, Kinda Sub!Spencer, Virgin!Spencer (but not by the end of it)

Word Count; 7.2k

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‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

Spencer Reid. The object of my attraction, the man I fell harder for with every stolen glance I could manage to throw his way. I was obsessed, and that infatuation only grew stronger every day that I saw him at work.

When we went out to bars after cases we ended up in an inevitable game of Never Have I Ever like a bunch of high school kids. With Emily and Derek in the group it almost always turned sexual. It started with innocent things such as; Never have I ever kicked down a door -- to which Derek drinks. There were some targeted jabs, I got Spencer a few times when I brought up an activity I was certain he had done -- just to keep him involved.

However he never drank past that. He never took a sip when Emily made a sexual innuendo, or when she brought up one night stands, number of partners, most bizarre location to engage in intercourse. Nothing of the sort got him to break. I figured he was a private guy, never one to boast about his sexual experiences.

It was frustrating, to say the least. It got to the point where I couldn’t think about anyone but him. I couldn’t engage in any sexual activity without my mind shifting to him, the way he might slip his fingers in and out of me, or how skilled he was with his mouth instead of the person I dragged home. No other person could even begin to compare to the remedy I concocted in my mind. I didn’t have any information to base my fantasies on, either.

I had it bad. So bad, that at one point I spilled hot coffee all over myself in the breakroom over the littlest interaction.

Spencer came in just after me, mumbling a small hello before reaching to grab a mug for himself. In the process of doing so his shirt rode up, exposing a small expanse of his lower stomach that had me sputtering as I clumsily missed my cup and instead poured the coffee all over the counter. It ran down and soaked through my pants; yet it wasn’t nearly as hot as the way I felt on the inside.

I couldn’t help but wonder the noises he’d make if I were to suck dark purple marks across that plain of skin...or if anyone ever had before.

The small burn was a fine price to pay for my inappropriate thoughts.

Him being the sweet guy that he is, offered to help me clean up. This proposal ended up with him taking paper towels and patting down my thighs -- not realizing just how suggestive the action looked to me.

“Sorry,” He whispered, looking up at my face from his position below me. He was kneeling on one knee, with a hand planted firmly on the outside of my thigh. His voice was soft yet raspy, and oh how I let my mind wander.

“Not your fault,” I said quickly, and borderline ran out the door before he could protest or add anything on.

I headed straight to the bathroom to wash my face, try and stop the effect he had on me from becoming too physical.

If I got that worked up over a small piece of skin showing, nothing could have prepared me for the first night we shared a hotel room.

I was in shambles all night, ever since the moment Hotch handed me a room card and explained we needed to double up.

Emily usually roomed with JJ, Hotch and Rossi got their own, and Derek refuses to bunk with Spencer -- if he could avoid it. Much to my luck, this time he did because Garcia was needed for this case, meaning she and Derek would be sharing.

Leaving me with Spencer.

I stood there helpless, eyes burning a hole into the place that Hotch was previously standing. I was panicking on the inside, my body going into fight or flight mode as I went through scenarios in my head.

I was 99% sure I would be embarrassing myself tonight.

“Hey,” Spencer said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped and shrieked a little bit, and slapped a hand over my heart. “Oh my god, Reid. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Sorry I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

He nodded, eventually realizing that he was still indeed touching my shoulder. He dropped his arm, only to bring his hand back up to rub over his chin.

My eyes darted down to it, watching at the way his veins stood out. It wasn’t the first time I admired them, there were moments when he was going over maps with two fingers where I wondered what they would feel like on my-

“____?”

“What?” I asked, a little too loud for the setting.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry.”

“I said we should go inside,” he laughed softly, trying to sooth the tension.

I agreed, stepping past him to start walking to our room. I opened the door with trembling hands, wondering just how hard the following nights at the hotel would be.

“I’m gonna go see Emily and JJ. Ask if they wanna go to the bar,” I said quickly, throwing my bag down just inside the door.

“Oh. Okay. Have fun! Don’t stay out too late. You should get a full night’s sleep.”

“I won’t be long. Don’t wait up!” I called, not looking back to see him before half jogging out of the room.

-----

“I cannot go back in there.”

“Oh, because of your little crush,” Emily laughed, much too loud for the early hours of the morning.

Clearly Spencer’s advice about coming back early didn’t plant itself in my head.

“Yes, because of that,” I confirmed. I was staring down at my drink, wallowing in self pity. It was too awkward to even step foot in there, I’m sure just by the sight of him I’d explode.

“What is it about him that gets you hot and heavy?” JJ teased. “No shame, just curious.”

I fake laughed, ignoring her question.

Everything he did was so intoxicating. Even the most mundane things got my blood pumping hard. Each time he let a small gasp through his lips or when he would whisper to himself, a shockwave went through me, igniting a fire deep inside that was near impossible to put out.

But he was so oblivious. He hadn’t a single idea of the effect he had on me. And that was the most frustrating part.

The first time I noticed my extreme attraction to him was shortly after I joined the team, it was only the third or fourth case I’d had with them. Spencer and I walked to a coffee shop to grab some for everyone, and on the way back he was infodumping.

About what, I can’t remember, for I was too fixated on the way his hands wrapped around his cup as he talked. He’d wave it around, and in doing so his fingers would trace little patterns onto the outside of it. I didn't mean to stare, I just got distracted.

I started noticing more little things after that.

Like the way he licked his lips while deep in thought, his mind consuming him to the point where he looked so concentrated and determined. It was hot, to put it simply. I wanted nothing more for him to be licking my lips, to feel him take such care with my body.

He had always been attractive in my eyes, the young boy was nothing but pretty. Even when his hair was shorter and he gelled it back, pairing the look with his glasses -- that he unfortunately wore less often nowadays.

It was nearly painful to be around him all day every day. My head would constantly be spinning with anxiety, only causing more and more headaches to present themselves. It was like a punishment, one I certainly deserved for the tasteful thoughts I had during work hours.

My crush went from an innocent little thing, to full fledged fascination.

‘I just been fantasizin' (size)

And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

Avoiding him as much as I could seemed like a decent plan at the time. If I kept my interactions low, I could distract myself with other things, and not focus on the way his lips pursed as I conversed with him. I raced up more time staring at his mouth rather than completing actual work by my six month stay at the BAU.

“I’m so fucked,” I nodded, coming to a bit of peace with my downfall.

“Well, you could be. If you told him how you feel,” JJ encouraged.

“No way in hell,” I protested, shooting my head up to make eye contact with her.

“____, there is a very, very high chance he feels the same. And if he doesn’t -- which he does -- he’s too sweet to let that impact your friendship.”

“We hardly even have a friendship. Whenever he tries to talk to me I end up running away. He probably thinks I hate him or something. He probably wants nothing to do with me.”

No objection from Emily or JJ there.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Emily asked, changing the pace of the conversation.

“He never speaks to me again. I die of embarrassment.”

“You’re both adults, ____.”

“We are 27!” I shook my head, exasperated. “I hardly even feel like one sometimes.”

“27, exactly. I’m sure by now Reid has gained some experience with talking to women. You’ll be fine.”

“I have absolutely no way of knowing how things will go.”

“Just give him little tests,” JJ suggested. “Like touch him. On the shoulders, compliment him more, really go up to him and make a move. That way if he doesn’t feel the same you can play it off as being platonic.”

I groaned and rested my head on the table dramatically. “You both kinda suck at advice. What am I supposed to do? Waltz into our shared room and confess my love for him? Ask him desperately to dick me down?”

Even though I definitely wanted to.

They laughed at that, saying they were going to bed and wished me luck. Emily advised I should try and ‘get some’ from somebody else, and maybe that would take my mind off of things.

After stalling some more I eventually made my way back to the hotel room, hoping that Spencer was already asleep so I wouldn’t have to face him. But once again, luck wasn’t in my favour.

“Hi,” he spoke softly from his bed.

“Why are you still awake?” I asked, trying my best to stifle a yawn. I threw my sweater down on my bed, before grabbing my go-bag and retrieving my pyjamas from it. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

“I told you not to wait up. Naughty boy,” I joked, finally turning my attention fully over to him.

Which could've been a mistake, based on the way you saw it.

He was dressed in flannel pants and a black t-shirt, along with his hair tied up that I’d failed to notice earlier. I froze at the sight, seeing the way his cheeks were dusted a slight red, and lips pink as ever.

His hair was tied up, and I almost dropped dead at the sight. I’d never seen it before. Sure, he sometimes wore an elastic band on his wrist during the work days but never have I seen him actually use one.

“I’m gonna shower and then head to bed,” I said in an effort to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t respond, only turning his head back to the book that was in his hand.

Thankfully when I returned he was asleep, meaning I didn’t have to see him before bed.

The next day was torturous. I couldn’t get the image of him out of my head. The view of him so relaxed on his bed was ethereal, the soft glow of the lamp hand illuminated his skin in all the right places. Did he pull his hair back often? Did he casually sit at home with it up? How did he look in different angles or positions? Are there other things he wears or does that I haven’t seen?

The image was just so domestic that I couldn't stop thinking about it even if I wanted to.

I was afraid to fall asleep, in fear that my dream may turn adventurous. Quitting my job and moving to a new city seems more preferable than having a sex dream about your coworker while they were in the room.

I was hyper aware of every move he made, always keeping tabs on him in the back of my mind so we wouldn’t accidentally run into each other.

Apparently when I was paying attention on how not to see him, I failed to notice how he had filled out recently. He wore looser pants in the past, ones that didn’t allow much shape to show through.

The next day at the precinct I was in for a surprise though, one that was sure to make me fall to my knees.

And I would have, if it wasn’t for the fact I was already seated in a chair.

Spencer walked in clad in pants that were far too tight to be appropriate for work. Or maybe I was overreacting.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, soaking in his appearance of the day.

It was hot outside, so he decided not to wear his usual vest and tie combo, choosing instead just a white pattern button up and grey tie.

I heard Emily snicker beside me, which earned her a light kick in the calf to shut her up. She got up then, winking at me dramatically before leaving the room to presumably go check in with Derek.

“Hey ____, can you come here for a sec?”

I got up without a word, and walked over to the other side of the room where he was standing at the map hung up.

He went off about the unsub’s possible comfort zone -- things that I’d need him to repeat later because I wasn’t fully listening,

I stayed leaning against the table, just two feet behind him which gave me a perfect view of just how tight those pants really were. They hugged his hips deliciously, I wanted nothing more than to rip them off in that moment. I nodded along dumbly, changing my sight from his ass to his back, to his toned arms that were shown off from him rolling up his sleeves.

It was a fair sight, I don’t really think I could be blamed for staring.

A few weeks after that he got a haircut. His longer curls were gone -- yet not forgotten -- and were replaced with a mop of messy waves that framed his face perfectly.

It was like a new blow to my stomach every time I got used to the change.

“New haircut?” I asked the obvious on the first day back from a long weekend.

“Yeah...thought I should change it up,” Spencer replied, picking up his coffee mug to make himself a cup.

I nodded, the room settling in a short silence.

“Do you not like it?”

“No!” I exclaimed, Spencer furrowing his brows in response. “I mean, yes. I do like it. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You could pull off any hairstyle, trust me,” I said, before walking back to my desk.

People that we met seemed to feel the same, because he got stopped more often at bars and at shops that were needed to visit. People would give him their numbers, leaving him a blushing mess. It got obnoxious, to the point where I was at my breaking point. My shoulders were always slumped, and my forehead creased with jealousy.

I stayed closer to him when the team went out, in an effort to get other girls to stop making moves on him.

They hadn’t noticed his beauty before, why should they get the privilege to advance on him now?

It was selfish, really. It may have been good for his self-confidence, but not so good for my own feelings.

I made sure to compliment him more often, telling him I liked his sweater vests, and ‘oh my Doctor Reid, is that a new tie?’ It was a win-win really, for both of us. I was building up my comfort level with him, and he knew that I did not, in fact, despise him.

When Spencer got shot on a case a few weeks later, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to show him that I care about him.

It was an easy job, since the bullet only semi-grazed his shoulder blade. Only needed deep cleaning once a night, for a few weeks so it wouldn’t get infected.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a groan, one that sent shivers throughout my veins.

“Sorry,” I answered quickly, keeping my gaze on the task at hand and not on his face that was just so close to mine.

Here I was in Spencer’s apartment, in his bathroom, helping him clean off his wound.

“I’m sorry but you need to stop moving, it’s just making things worse,” I explained.

“It hurts!”

“I’m sure it does! But I can’t do an effective job in cleaning it if you keep thrashing around like that.”

I saw him pout, and lower his head. The gears in his brain were turning, trying to come up with a possible solution.

“You’re going to need to hold me down.”

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna be able to stop moving,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where I was sitting behind him on the floor. “Come on.”

He stood up and left the room, gesturing for me to follow. And I did, collecting the supplies I’d need as he led me over to his living room.

Before I could protest he removed his shirt fully -- not like how it was bunched up by his neck previously.

I stopped in my tracks, eyes taking in every inch of skin that he freed. He was lean, as I predicted, but still toned in areas.

Spencer laid on his stomach down on the couch, motioning for me to come beside him.

“Get on my back.”

“Are you insane?”

“____,” he pleaded, looking up at me. His arms were crossed by his head, he was using them as a makeshift pillow. “I just want this to be over as fast as it can be.”

Right.

“Okay,” I agreed, and began to place my materials down on the coffee table to my right. I then swung a leg over his lower back, straddling him just how I’d imagine doing so before -- only the other way around. “Is this okay?”

He hummed, digging his face as far into the fabric of the couch as he could.

‘I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby

Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will)’

I took that as a yes, and poured some of the disinfectant onto a swab. Bracing myself with a hand on his other shoulder to pin him down firmly he shivered, breath shaking ever so slightly. I tried to catch him off guard with the swab, choosing a random time to press it into his wound.

He was definitely surprised, because he whined loudly into his hands and clenched all of the muscles in his back.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he made similar noises during other activities…

“Just a minute more,” I soothed him, running my free hand over the smooth skin of his back, doing my best to calm him down.

His breathing only became heavier, and was nearly shaking from the burn. I felt bad, having to see him go through this but I’d be lying if it wasn’t doing things to me. I couldn’t help but get a little bit excited when I got the chance to be near him, to be closer than we had ever been before.

It was intense, I was almost sure he could feel my arousal through the fabric of my pants and underwear.

I was an awful person.

Going home that night to sleep was a struggle. I felt guilty, for using his pain for my perverse temptations. Yet as soon as my fingers were buried inside myself I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him above me. The way he might sound, spewing out similar noises that I’d experienced earlier that were still fresh in my brain.

I wasn’t proud of it, and I thought every one of our interactions after that would be even harder.

Going back to work seemed fully impossible, I didn’t have any hope in myself to stay useful while he was parading around, completely oblivious to the effect he had on me. I became more sexually frustrated every day. It was nearly infuriating to see a look of innocence plastered on his face, meanwhile he would do things that made me go crazy.

‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

“Penelope, I think I might die soon if I don’t get laid,” I said, rapidly opening the door to her cave.

“____-”

“No, I’m serious. I can’t get my mind off of-”

I stopped in my tracks, finally noticing the presence I hadn’t already accounted for.

Spencer sat in a chair to my left, just out of view that you couldn’t see him if you didn’t turn your head. He was in the middle of bringing a chip up to his mouth, but was stopped mid-air with his mouth hanging open.

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling up fast, bumping into things as he collected his satchel with shaky hands. “Sorry I’ll go.”

The door shut with a slam, and left Penelope and I in silence.

“Well, fuck,” I whispered, earning a booming laugh from her. “It’s not funny.”

“It is funny. It’s hilarious,” she giggled, doing a little spin on her chair.

I groaned, and sat down beside her on the edge of her desk.

“Maybe now he’ll make a move on you.”

“Oh shut up,” I slapped her arm, beginning to laugh along with her. “If he was avoiding me before, I’m sure he’ll never speak to me again.”

Ever since I helped Spencer with his injury the first time he’d been semi ignoring me, not trying to actively partake in conversation. We only talked when necessary, but didn’t exchange any extra words when I came over for an hour to help him with his wound.

I was almost happy about that, it meant I didn’t have to embarrassingly throw myself at him all day long.

I was perfectly fine admiring him from a distance, just how I’d done so for years.

However, there was a part of me that was rightfully sad. Did I cross a line, or make him feel uncomfortable? Maybe from spending so much time together recently he gathered I really wasn’t that interesting.

“Don’t say that,” Penelope frowned.

“Why not? It’s the truth,” I shrugged.

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

“How I feel?”

“Don’t even try and wedge your way out of it. Emily told me, don’t be mad,” she said, with the sweetest look on her face that I couldn’t be upset.

“Bitch,” I playfully mumbled.

“Besides you literally were about to say that you can’t get your mind off of him.”

“Uh, no, I was not. I was going to say someone. A general someone. Not Reid.”

She hummed, turning back to her screen to finish up some work Hotch had sent her to do.

“Okay fine. Pen, I’m gonna die. It’s insufferable. I can’t handle it anymore.”

“That’s exactly why you should tell him!” She encouraged excitedly, always a swooner for young love.

“I would scare him. He’s probably scared of me, actually.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure his little virgin heart can take it.”

“What?” I asked, suddenly giving her all my attention. “Virgin? Is he seriously a virgin?”

“I don’t know, truly. I just kinda figured. He doesn’t talk about anyone or anything to do with sex.”

I nodded. That makes sense. With him radiating pure sex appeal in my eyes, the thought never even crossed my mind that he might be a virgin.

But that just made it all the more exciting.

“But hey, if he’s really a 27 year old virgin I’m sure he’s extremely horny,” she laughed.

“We are at work. Let’s calm it down before I actually combust,” I shook my head.

My palms were sweating at the very thought of him doing anything remotely sexual -- which I thought about a lot. Surely he’s had to at least...taken care of himself. I’m sure it was a gorgeous sight, his hand wrapped firmly around his dick and face contorted in nothing but pleasure.

My thoughts were interrupted by none other than the man himself, who barged into the room to say we were taking off for a case in 30.

The flight there was quiet and boring, we left at night so there wasn’t so much we could do when we got there besides head up to our hotel.

“We’re sharing a room,” Spencer said, walking over to me from where he was previously with Derek.

I was standing in front of the vending machine, doing my very best to not eavesdrop on the mens’ conversation, which was only taking place about 20 feet away. Spencer was speaking in a hushed yet agitated tone, and Derek was matching his energy. It seemed they were bickering, but about what I didn’t know.

“Says who?” I panicked.

“Uhh...Hotch did.”

Great.

“Oh. Alright,” I followed him down the hallway, our room was the last one at the end.

I waited for him to open the door, and when he stepped out of the way to let me inside I brushed past him.

When I turned around Spencer was standing there blocking my path, causing me to bump into his chest.

“Hello...” I said confused, taking a step back.

“I…”

“What?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. “Spencer what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead reaching up to push a piece of hair out of my face. My breath hitched at the contact, sending me into a short frenzy on the inside. He was inching closer, now his body was getting just close enough so that I could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was glancing back and forth between my eyes, searching my face for an expression of discomfort.

He didn’t find any.

“I was talking with Derek. About you,” he whispered. “He said you’ve been coming on to me.”

My heart nearly missed a beat at his words.

“I've noticed your odd behaviour, you don’t act the way you do with anyone else on the team. You run away from me, and at first I thought you just didn’t like me, but now...I think it’s the opposite. I see the way you look at me, you know.”

“And how do I look at you?” I questioned nervously.

“Like you want me. Tell me. Who were you talking about earlier today? Who exactly can’t get your mind off of?”

I paused, eyes almost bulging out of my head at the implication.

“If I'm reading this wrong, let me know. We can pretend this never happened.”

“Get on the bed and take your clothes off.”

He did just that, moving beside me to shove his pants down his legs, followed by ripping off his shirt, as I did the same. We couldn’t take our eyes off of each other, too busy drinking in our appearances to think straight. He sat down on the edge of the bed in just his underwear, and spread his legs just wide enough to give me space to stand between them.

“Tell me what you want.” he breathed, watching me as I walked towards him.

“You,” I answered simply, climbing into his lap and connecting my mouth was his. “All of you.”

He didn’t protest, only doing quite the opposite. He moaned greedily into my mouth, sucking every last bit of life out of me. He was hungry in his movements, not allowing for a single beat of fresh air for either of us. I was more than happy to return the energy, for I’ve dreamt for too long about what he might taste like. And it wasn’t disappointing, the sensation was far better than I could have ever cooked up in my head.

After a minute he became impatient, and started bucking his hips up to meet mine. I did the same, grinding down on his hardening dick that felt...impressive to say the least.

“I’ve thought about you for so long,” I spoke against his lips, taking a break between kisses.

He groaned back at me, moving his hands from my cheeks down to my hips to hold me flush against himself. He whimpered when I was fully against him, he had to break away to keep his breathing somewhat managed.

“Please, I need you so bad. I’ve thought about you too.”

“What exactly did you think about?” I asked quietly, trailing kisses all across his face, and then started heading down his jaw and neck.

“L-lots of stuff.”

“Tell me,” I demanded, looking up at him from my new position kneeling on the floor. “Please, tell me.”

I brought a hand up to his boxers, ghosting just over his bulge while remaining eye contact.

“Everything. All of you. ____, Please.”

‘You're exciting, boy, come find me

Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me"’

“Let me do something first,” I said, pushing against his stomach to encourage him to lie back on the bed. He did so, propping himself up on his forearms to look down at me.

He watched my every move, not a second was missed by his eyes that stayed locked onto my form. I dropped my head down to kiss across his left thigh, and toyed with the waistband of his underwear with my right hand.

He was so vocal, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I knew we had all night, but I’d waited too long for this to take my time.

‘And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

I pulled his underwear down just enough to reveal his dick hard and red as it stood up against his stomach.

“You don’t...have to,” Spencer stopped me before I could carry on.

“Do you not want me to?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just…” He stopped, and bit his lip while staring off to one of the walls.

“Has anyone ever done this with you before?” I asked, almost unsure of whether or not I wanted the answer.

“Done what...exactly?” he asked, refusing to look back at me. His cheeks were red in embarrassment, and he was too focused on the distance to see the wave of excitement that flashed over my face.

“Spencer,” I said sharply, prompting him to turn his attention back to me. “Are you a virgin?”

His lack of answer told me enough. He blushed impossibly deeper, and started squirming in place. Just as he was about to speak up for himself I stopped him with, “That’s so fucking hot.”

“What?”

I climbed back up his body, just far enough so that I could grab his jaw in my hand and pull him down to meet my lips. It was even more hungry and passionate than the previous ones we shared, full of such fire I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to kiss anyone else ever again.

“You’re so sexy,” I moaned, hot and needy into his mouth.

He was good, which wasn’t unexpected from my end. His lips were always so plump and pink, they just had to be semi skilled.

“Thank you,” he replied, in a typical Spencer Reid fashion.

“Do you want to stop? Or keep going? Take a minute and think about it. I don’t want to pressure you,” I reassured him, but on the inside I was begging for him to want to continue.

He pulled back for a second, running a hand over the back of my head to keep me from going too far. His eyes were closed, focusing only on his breathing as he thought about his answer.

“I want to keep going. Please,” he decided on, nodding his head. “I just, I dunno, didn’t expect to get this far tonight.”

“Believe me, neither did I,” I smirked, smashing my lips back against his and returning to my spot kneeling between his legs. I pushed him back harder than before, sending a small oof sound from his chest as his back hit the mattress.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” I asked, finally wrapping my hand around his dick,

It only made sense that a pretty boy like him would have a pretty cock, too.

“O-only once,” he breathed, with his head thrown back. He was staring at the ceiling, staring at the dots to distract himself from the feeling and to not come too soon. “Long time ago.”

“If you need me to stop, tell me,” I said, before licking a broad strip up the underside of his dick.

I paused at the head, swirling my tongue around before continuing my mission back down around the other side. I kissed his base, leaving more near his hips. He whined positively -- probably feeling a little ticklish -- and I took that as a good sign to suck a deep purple mark there.

Just like I’d thought about doing months ago.

I left a few more just up to his belly button, marking him up with the intent to claim him as my own. He’d see those marks for the next few days, and every time he would think of me on my knees for him. I kept pumping him in my hand as I did so, and every time I groaned into his skin his dick twitched with appreciation.

“Oh god,” Spencer moaned as I took him into my mouth unexpectedly, bunching up the sheets in his hands beside his hips.

I looked up to see him now staring down at me, jaw slacked and panting heavily. The sight was enough to elicit a moan from my own mouth, which led to him fluttering his eyes shut at the vibrations that shot through his body.

“Stop, stop!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly, immediately pulling up.

“Nothing, I just really want to feel you and I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Understandable.

I wasn’t expecting him to last long anyways, I just simply wanted him inside me.

“Do you happen to have a condom?” He shook his head. “I’m clean and on the pill. We should be fine. Is that okay?”

He mumbled an ‘uh huh’ as he watched me stand up, as I pushed my underwear down my legs. He immediately reached out to me, bringing me back in and starting placing kisses across my stomach and hips, mirroring what I was doing to him earlier.

“Good, because if you don’t fuck me right now I think I might die.”

‘Yeah-yeah, oh-whoa-whoa (oh, ooh, mmm)

Baby, I need to know, mmm (yeah, need to know)’

He laughed lightheartedly, fixing himself to be sitting up near the headboard. In the process he kicked off his boxers fully, along with his socks.

I followed after him, not letting him stray too far from my reach.

“I heard that women take longer to, erm, get ready,” he muttered into my skin, hiding his face in my neck. “Let me help you?”

“Please,” I whimpered, though I knew I was far from unprepared. I reached behind myself to unclasp my bra, and as soon as it fell down my shoulders Spencer attached his mouth to my left nipple. “Please touch me.”

He moaned into me, bringing his hand down to my core to run his fingers through my folds. He let his middle breach me, moving so agonizingly slow before curling his finger up. I moaned loudly, letting my eyes shut and body fall slack against him. His free arm wrapped around my waist, giving me the support I needed to stay upright.

“So that’s your g-spot?” He grinned against my skin, and I’d be damned to admit it affected me way more than it should have. He sounded so innocent, so eager to learn.

“Uh-huh.”

He explored my skin greedily, brushing over every inch of my chest he could reach. His thrusts became faster every time he re-entered me, encouraged by the grunt that fell from my lips with each one.

“Have you ever done this with a girl before?”

“No,” he replied, moving from my breasts to my collarbone, leaving a dark purple mark in his path.

“Could've fooled me,” I felt him smile against my neck at the praise -- duly noted.

He flipped us over swiftly -- much to my surprise -- and continued with his actions on both my clit and entrance. I did my best to stay quiet, biting down on his shoulder to prevent any noises from leaking out to stop him from getting too cocky.

“Spencer,” I moaned, raking my fingernails up and down his back. “Stop. Please fuck me now, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure you want to? We can stop,” he reassured me in a voice that seemed far too innocent for the activities taking place.

“Spencer, I’m sure. I’m so fucking sure you have no idea.”

I was so turned on I could cry, the pure want running through my veins was starting to send panic signals throughout my whole body. Before I could beg him any further he replaced his fingers with his dick, catching me off guard. He ran the tip over me for a few seconds before gliding in easily, with little to no restriction at all.

“Ah!” I called, gripping onto his shoulder for dear life.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god did I hurt you?” Spencer asked frantically, removing his weight from me and tried sitting up.

“No. God please move, I need you so bad,” I pleaded, pulling him back down before he could get too far away.

He nodded. He started slow. So slowly that I wanted to scream and beg at the top of my lungs for more. However I was above giving him the satisfaction of that -- at least for now.

“You feel so good,” Spencer panted, hips shaking as he slid in and out at a torturous pace.

I pulled his lips back to mine for another kiss, drinking in everything he was willing to offer. I whined every time his body rubbed against my clit in a way that had my toes curling and eyes rolling back.

“This is so much better than I’ve imagined,” I moaned, breaking free from his mouth to lay back against the pillows. I wrapped my legs around his waist, aiding him with the speed of his thrusts. “Please, Spence, oh my god go harder.”

He moaned loudly, and lowered his head to my collarbone in an effort to muffle some of the noises he was letting out.

He followed my directions well -- and I took notes for the future.

The sounds of him bouncing off the walls was amplifying my pleasure to a new degree, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. His hips snapped forward impossibly faster, leaving him a whimpering mess above me. Our chests were pressed together, the sound of skin slapping and gliding over each other filled the dimly lit room.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I whispered into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses here and there.

He moaned freely at all of the praise, and every time I urged him on he’d pick up his speed a little bit. He was now moving faster than I thought I could handle, slamming into me at the perfect angle.

I felt him everywhere. In my stomach, insides of my thighs, chest -- where he was now palming at one of my breasts -- and the crook of my neck. I hugged my arms around his middle to keep him locked against me, preventing his hips from heavily backing out.

“I’m really close,” He groaned, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “S-should I pull out now?”

“No,” I demanded, tightening my legs to keep him trapped. “Come inside me.”

He nodded with a particularly loud moan, and snaked one hand down my body to meet my clit. When I gave a sound of approval he quickened his wrist, rubbing me with just the right amount of pressure to send me closer to the edge.

He came with a final shout in my name, resting his full body weight against me as I rocked my him against him to help him through it. I finished soon after, at the feeling of him releasing himself in me. It was so warm, like a comforting blanket that overtook all of my senses.

It was possibly the best orgasm I’d ever had, it was so profound that I couldn’t see, or focus on anything else.

We laid there for a few minutes, my hand running through his hair and his ghosting up the side of my hip. It took a while for us both to catch our breaths, we were too immersed in the moment to break apart from one another.

“That was literally the best sex I’ve had in my life,” I breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Same, but I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Spencer replied, and we both laughed weakly.

“That was okay for you? Your first time? Not really the traditional approach.”

“It was perfect. I wouldn’t have asked for anything different,” he pulled himself up with a smile, before pulling out and flopping down beside me.

“But seriously,” I sat up, resting my head on my palm to get a better view of him. “I’ve never been so attracted to someone as I am with you.”

“____,” he blushed. “I-”

“No! No, let me finish. Please.”

He nodded for me to go ahead.

“Not only are you just insanely sweet and so charming, you’re so handsome. Like I can hardly even look at you half the time. You drive me insane, Spencer you have no idea. Holy fuck I’ve never wanted someone so bad before I met you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough. I’ll cringe about this later but I just need you to know.”

“This may not be the most common way...but do you want to go out with me? L-like on a date?” Spencer asked. He was blushing so heavily, his chest was painted pink and ears were turned red.

“You just came inside of me and you’re nervous about asking me on a date.”

“____!” Spencer exclaimed, facepalming himself.

“Yes,” I grinned. “I’d love to go out with you.”

-----

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[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.

[thanxxskz]

I know it's long sorry and thanks in advance for even taking the request 😁

Can you please do a scenario where the boys are wolves and you are chans mate but he likes another girl and starts dating her but they keep you around because he still needs you since you are his mate and he is an alpha so that makes the reader upset because she has to see him with her all the time then she becomes good friends with changbin since he is always there to comfort her and Chan starts getting jealous and it causes issues between him and changbin but at the end chan realizes he likes the reader and they end up together

issues in the wolf gang - b.c

i hope it’s up to your expectatives *cries* it’s my first time writing something like this! i really hope everyone likes it asdnaksjdn

words: 2,250 (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written i think

warnings: eh, angst? but fluff the last paragraphs.

being the alpha’s mate has been something that your parents desired for you to be since you had memory. your parents, especially your father, always told you that being at the top had to be your priority and for them, mating with the alpha was it. this had never been important for you- you never really had a good relationship with your parents, so whatever they said went in one ear and out the other. you could feel the disappointment from your parents, making them stop talking to you for a long time, and you leaving their home.

after a time, you came back home to your parents. even after purposely stopping talking to you because you didn’t fulfil their initial wishes, they welcomed you with happiness and a hug, proud of having you back. you personally were happy to be back in your old gang after a few months of being alone.

in the meantime that you were gone a new alpha had been chosen. the name was christopher bang, but you have heard that the people close to him called him chan, for whatever reason. he saw you from afar and smiled. he came up close to you and waved his hand.

“hey, i’m christopher, you are?”

“i’m y/n” you said

“are you new around?” you shook your head “no? i don’t think i’ve seen you before”

“i left a few months ago, i just came back”

---

this conversation happened two years ago now, and you were now, to your parents’ surprise, chan’s mate. the relationship with him had grown only stronger since your first meeting. you felt a strong connection the moment he smiled at you, and had been close since then.

along the way, you had developed feelings for him, and by the way he acted around you, you and many people in the gang believed that you were meant for each other. you really believed it, to the point that you were going to confess to him.

the day you were about to do it, chan confessed to you that he had been liking a girl for a while, but he didn’t know how to approach her. by what he told you, they had been alone plenty of times and he seemed to believed that the feelings were mutual, so he decided to give it a go.

the problem is that he being an alpha and you his mate, you would have to see them together most of the time, since you couldn’t be separated.

you weren’t a horrible person so you encouraged him to ask her on a date. you couldn’t let your feelings meddle in his future relationship when it was clear that he had his eyes set on one person and clearly that person wasn’t you. due to this, he asked you how could he ask her out, and you gave him advice on what most girls around would like to be asked out. he ended up having dinner with her, a dinner himself cooked.

they began dating officially after four or five dates and, honestly, it wasn’t something that bothered you at first. she hated you for being his alpha, but that wasn’t something that you had control over and since she and chan started dating, you could hear more harsh words directed your way. chan didn’t really care about it, something that upset the shit out of you, because okay, he didn’t love you and didn’t want to date you at all, but you were still his mate and he could at least defend you. one tiny bit at least.

changbin, one of the wolves in the gang caught you crying alone one night. he could hear you sobbing and trying to regain your breathing slowly. he didn’t know how to approach you. he was the closest wolf to you in the gang, someone you told all your secrets too and who knew you better than anyone, better than yourself. this friendship started because he saw how crystal started treating you and how chan was letting her do it, leaving everyone surprised at said action.

he came and hugged you and you immediately hugged him back, crying in his chest.

“i have a lot on my shoulders, bin. i don’t think i can do it anymore. he doesn’t care about me at all, i can see it. i know he must hate being my mate when he likes crystal, but that doesn’t me he can let her bully me all the time. i can’t even answer back because i know he’ll not be on my side even if he knows that he has to be because what she’s doing it’s just wrong”

changbin didn’t know what to say “sh, don’t say that. you’re really strong, i know that, i know you enough to know that you’re the strongest wolf in our gang, and if you could survive last time in that awful situation, you can overcome this, yeah?”

you nodded, trying to believe his words, even if it was impossible at the moment.

---

changbin and you were only growing closer together, something that for some reason that chan didn’t quite understand, bothered chan so much, to the point that when he was with crystal it was the only thing that he could think about, zoning out every single time, making crystal annoyed.

“what are you thinking about, love?” crystal asked him.

“nothing, crys” it was the answer he always gave her.

fast forward a couple of months, you and changbin were the best of friends. he was there to cheer you up every time you were upset because of crystal and chan, but you didn’t know what was happening behind your back.

chan and changbin had a late night meeting, due chan’s request. changbin came to his house, knowing what the conversation was going to be about, so he was relaxed, but he also new that a fight was going to happen most probably.

“can you tell me what the fuck are you doing with y/n the whole time?” chan asked.

“she’s my best friend, i’m her best friend, we’re spending time together” he simply said.

“you’re practically glued to the hip lately” chan said mad.

“and? what about it? are you jealous or something that she spends time with me” changbin bluntly asked. truth is that changbin was fucking tired of the situation. not because of you, but because of chan “for what i know, you were fucking glued to the hip too, but you dropped her the moment crystal came into your life”

chan gulped “jealous? me? of what?” he said “do i need to remind you that i’m in a relationship?”

“didn’t crystal break up with you just this morning because she was tired of you not paying attention to her lately? apparently since y/n and i became close friends, you have been neglecting her so much, too. and crystal ain’t stupid and is seeing what you don’t want to see”

“oh and can i know what does she see that i supposedly don’t want to see?”

“that you’re in love with y/n”

with that said, changbin left his room and went to his, thinking if he had done the right thing.

chan just stayed still in the room, the only hear that could be heard being his breathing. was he catching feelings for you? he maybe knew the answer a long time ago, but he didn’t want to admit since he was dating crystal. for him, you had always been hard to read, so if you ever had had feelings for him, he didn’t knew that.

---

since that day, his and changbin’s friendship was hanging by a thread. you questioned changbin about the downfall of his and chan’s friendship, but the only thing that you got from him was that it wasn’t important and not to give it much thought because sometimes friendships have downfalls and it doesn’t have to have a reason. you nodded, not believing a single word.

chan, on his side, was giving it a lot of thought. one thing that he realised was that changbin was right: he was in love with you. he probably had been since the first time he saw you but blocked his feelings. he had another problem: his friendship with changbin. apart from minho, he was his longest friend, and didn’t want to lose such a precious friendship.

he called him again to come up to his room. to his surprised, changbin appeared there.

“do you need anything?” changbin asked, harshly.

“yes. i- i want to say i’m sorry. i acted like an ass towards you when i shouldn’t have. you being friends with y/n has nothing to do with me and i understand why she and i stopped talking and it was because i was an absolute ass to her too. that’s the only thing that i’ve been lately, i don’t think i even deserve to be your alpha anymore” he said “to answer your question; yes, i’m in love with y/n and seeing her so close to you when it used to be like that with me hurt me. of course, it’s only my fault and the other night you gave me a wake up call. so again, sorry. i’d understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, but i appreciate our friendship more than anything and i don’t want to give up without a fight.”

changbin was in silent, and chan thought that this meant that it was over, so he sighed in defeat.

“i forgive you. but there’s another person that you should ask forgiveness too, and that’s y/n. when i said you were an ass to her i meant it. since you and crystal started dating, you let crystal said the worst things to her, acting as if nothing was happening when it all was happening right in front of your eyes.”

chan nodded, and said that he would talk to you the next night. he had lots of thoughts to gather, to be able to have a real conversation with you involving what it was happening and how he would make it up to you. he was debating whether to confess to you or not, knowing that you would reject him and knowing that he should be happy if you even decided to stay in the gang.

---

chan had sent you a message, asking you to go up to his room to talk. at first you didn’t want to, but something in your heart was just telling you to go.

“hey, i’m here. did you want something?”

chan looked up, surprised “yes, yes i did. please, take a sit”

you did as he said, and waited for him to start talking. truth is you were as nervous as him, and you didn’t know if it was for the same reasons. you were still mates, and you also knew he wasn’t dating crystal anymore (though the reasons were unknown to you). you felt awful, but knowing he wasn’t dating her anymore give you a bit of happiness but that didn’t mean that you were going back to what you both once were.

“so… i- i don’t-“ he gulped and breathed “i’m sorry” he felt as if he was repeating last night “like really sorry. i treated you so bad and let crystal treat you like complete shit. i was blinded and only saw her as the good person. obviously it’s not her fault that i’m a fucking asshole. you’re my mate and not only that, but one of my closest friends, and i let everything go to waste because i was in love and that was the only thing i cared about”

he stopped to look at you, but you knew more was coming so you just nodded, letting him keep going “i had a big fight with changbin that made me open my eyes and almost lose him at the same time. the reason i broke up with crystal was because i realised what changbin told me was true, she treated you so bad and i just didn’t see it. or didn’t want to see it, i would say. i love that you’re my mate, believe that. i never meant to hurt you, that’s the last thing i had ever wanted to do”

“but you did”

“i know, and i’m so fucking sorry” he wanted to say he liked you, loved you even, but should he? “i like you. i really do. you’re the one who always stood by me during the past two years and even now, that you were in this situation, you always made everyone listen to me when you only probably wanted to cut my head off” he lightly laughed “i’d understand if you don’t want to, but i’d really want to start over and maybe you can give me a chance and go on a date with me?”

“chan… i’m gonna give you one more chance. only one. and not because i am not mad at you anymore, but because changbin went here, fought you, something i didn’t know by the way, and make you open your eyes, but if you do this shit once more, i’m gonna kill you myself”

“you can do that” he said, coming up to you and hugging you, giving you a kiss in the cheek. he knew he was doing things right now, and you knew this was only the beginning of something amazing.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Black Ice (one-shot)

Synopsis: Black ice is considered one of the most dangerous winter weather phenomenon. It appears after it’s rained or snow has melted and then the rapidly cooling air freezes it, leaving it as a shiny black mirror on the ground.  A deadly shiny black mirror. 

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Warnings: swearing, mentions of hospitals and injuries

Word count: 8852

“God, Harry, it’s just one night!” Y/N exasperated, throwing her hands in the air. “One fucking night I wanna go out with my friends and have some fun. Is that really too much to ask?”

        “I haven’t seen you in two months!” he snapped back. “So, please fucking forgive me that I wanna spend a night in with my girlfriend and have her say ‘no’ one time, and make me a priority. Is it so hard to reschedule?”

        “Yes, Harry it is!” Y/N stood her ground. “Adam and I have been talking about this for three weeks before we could set a date and meet up. He fucking flew out here! To London! And it’s not my fault you haven’t been home in two months, so don’t put that on me.”

        “No,” he shook his head pointing a finger at her. “Don’t pull that shit on me. You knew about my job, you know how it can be, how much I have to travel.”

        “I get that, and I’d get your anger if I was fucking off with my friends on our anniversary without any notice or some shit, but I’m not! I made these plans ages ago. I told you about them! How could I have known you’d decide to ‘surprise’ me a week early?”

        But the thing for Harry was – he did think there was an anniversary to celebrate. It wasn’t an official one, and he hadn’t told Y/N how much the date meant, but that day was the day they’d met a year prior.

***

        He was in the middle of filming ‘Darling Don’t Worry’. This time they'd flown out of California to shoot a scene in the middle of the woods, in the cold of November, which as exciting as it was to have his acting career flourish, Harry wasn't too happy about freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere.

Y/N, however, lived right next to those woods, her family house having been there for generations, while the location scouts of the movie had chosen the location because the aesthetic could double as the location of the woods behind the mansion.

        Y/N’d been out on her daily run (well, daily complaining because Y/N, with all her being, hated running, and thought it was a sign you were a masochist. But her best friend Adam loved running and hated going alone, so he bribed her with the promise of pizza afterwards), when they’d run into pitched white tents, filming equipment and barriers encasing a part of the path they were on.

        Adam’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowed his pace, and Y/N thanked god for that because she felt like she was about to pass out.

        “What’s going on here?”

        “Dunno,” Y/N huffed. “But we should probably leave.”

        But instead, Adam grabbed her by the bicep, dragging her forward to the set. “Nope. Come on.”

        “Adam!” she hissed. “What the fuck are you – “

        “Hi!” He flashed a woman standing by the railing a smile. “Could you-uh-tell us what’s going on? Why’s the path blocked?”

        “A movie’s being filmed. Sorry for the disturbance.”

        “Mhm, and when do you think you’ll be leaving?”

        That she hadn’t expected, given how typically when people saw a movie set, they’d be more than intrigued in getting into a shot or finding out about who were the stars, not when they’d be going away.

        “Oh, uh,” she stammered. “I’m not too sure. Depends if the snow starts falling and how much we manage to shoot. Sorry. But uh, would you be so kind and find a path around?”

        Y/N jumped in, flashing her a kind smile. “Yes, thank you. So sorry to have disturb –“

        “You do realise this is a public place?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “We have a right to be here.”

        “Adam, shut up,” Y/N groaned. “We can run around them, it’s not a big deal.”

        “But this is our route!”

        “Adam for fuck’s sake! It’s the woods, you don’t own them!”

        “Exactly!” he said. “And neither do they! They have no rights to infringe on our ability to get to the sea.”

        That’s when Harry had noticed her, and to this day Y/N had no clue as to why he’d fallen for her. He was conversing with Florence about the upcoming scene when his ears caught the very end of the conversation, green eyes snapping to where two people in running tracksuits stood.

        One of them was a tall burly man, muscles practically ripping apart his clothes at the seams, the other was a shorter woman, hands-on-hips, hair kept away by a headband which also covered her ears, and the most done expression on her face as she glared at her companion.

        They were talking with a nervous assistant; Harry could see by her stature and how her head kept snapping to the side in hopes of finding someone above her to deal with the two strangers.

        “Adam, I swear to god, I’ll punch you." Harry heard the woman exclaim. "Leave the girl alone! We can run around.”

        “But I –“

        “Adam!”

        “Fine,” he grumbled as he threw the assistant and apologetic look. “Sorry.”

        “ ‘S okay. Have my preferred cycling route as well, so yeah… Sorry.”

        Harry watched as the woman next to the person, Adam, shook her head and gestured to where the barriers curved around, starting up on a slow jog, and when they passed where he was standing by the trailers, he could hear them still arguing. 

        “Oh my god,” Harry heard her whisper while looking at the ground. “I’m friends with a fucking Karen.”

        “I am NOT a – you’re Harry Fucking Styles!” Adam shouted so hard, it startled Y/N, and when she looked over, it was like a deer in headlights before relaxing and both of them slowed their pace.

        “Sorry,” she gave him an awkward glance. “He’s a fan, but we’ll be going and stop bothering you...”

        “No, no,” Harry shook his head, putting his hands in his coat’s pockets and smiling. “ ‘S alright, you’re no bother. I’m always happy to talk to a fan.”

        “Yes, well, don’t encourage him. Soon enough, you’ll be besties, and Adam here’ll be turning your life into absolute chaos.”

        He scoffed looking down at his friend. “I’d like to think I’m taking you out of your boring routine, Y/N, and giving it some spice.”

        “Anyway,” she gritted out. “It was lovely to meet you, but uh, we should probably be on our way. You have to be somewhere.”

        Y/N’s eyes glanced over Harry’s shoulder, where a nervous AD stood, bouncing on her feet, a weary smile on her face as she caught the singer’s eyes and motioned with her head he was needed back on set.

        Harry nodded and wanted to turn back to tell the two to come by whenever they wanted (well mainly Y/N), but when he turned around, the two were already quite a few feet away. Just as he was about to leave, he heard Y/N shout, “Congratulations on the three Grammy nominations, by the way. ‘Fine Line’ was amazing.”

        “And that’s a compliment!” Adam hollered jogging backwards. “She only listens to shit from the early 2000s.”

        “Adam, shut up!”

        With that, Harry was left to watch the two disappear behind the trees, a feeling he was quite familiar with settling in his chest.

        It was three days later, when he saw Y/N approaching the set barriers, hands in her pockets, as she rolled her neck. Their eyes met, and even, from the distance, he could see her smile split apart her face, but when she just waved without the intention of coming any closer to the lot, Harry rushed to the side calling out to her. “Hey!” 

        “Hey!” Y/N responded chuckling and ducking her head down. “You alright?”

        “ ‘M alive. How ‘bout you? You doin’ fine?’”

        “The bar’s so low?”

        “I guess. Won’t be able to get you to nurse me back to health though, which is why I’m in the cold again.”

        She wiggled her eyebrows at Harry. “If you wanted to see me, there's no need to lose limbs or bits of yourself.”

        Harry hadn’t expected her to be so upfront, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t like it. Made it easier for him to understand if his advances were welcome or if he should back off. “So uh, no Adam today?”

        “No, he has a late shift at work. Which means I’m spared from the running.”

        “Not a fan?” he looked at her with a quirked brow, seemingly saying ‘you’re sure dressed like you are’.

        “Do I look like someone who likes stabbing pain in her side and having her heart ripped out of her chest?

        “You’re just not breathing properly.”

        Y/N sighed. “If one of you gives me any more advice about how to properly run when I don’t even want to run, I swear I’ll stab you.”

        “Okay!” he threw his hands up in surrender, laughing. “No more talk about running if I wanna keep my head on my shoulders. Where are you uh going? You don’t have to answer, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

        Y/N squealed on the inside, but bit her lip to keep the grin away. She’d been dying to talk to Harry since they’d briefly met but had no real reason. Not that she had one now, but she’d had a horrible day at work and needed to clear her head, and what was better than the forest air (also she could scream there without anyone really caring). “You’re not, so don’t worry. I’m uh I’m going to the sea.”

        Harry’s eyebrows rose. “There’s sea nearby?”

        “You’re like a fifteen-minute walk away from it,” she chuckled, stuffing her hands in her coat’s pockets. “Should really be more aware of your surroundings.”

        “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

        Y/N tilted her head. “Yeah, you’re kind of right. But it’s places like these where you can find the best spots.”

        “Will you show me then?”

        She looked at him with an unreadable expression, and he could only hope his nervousness wasn’t as apparent, because Harry was more than convinced his erratically beating heart could be heard miles away. But then she nodded, giving him a wide grin, making one of his own bloom on his face. 

“You sure you won’t freeze on your way there?” she said in a sarcastic tone eyeing him up and down, and Harry shoved her a bit.   

        He donned one of the standard down-jackets issued for the movie with winter boots, but given the costume underneath, he was chilled to the bone. “It’s bloody cold, and my toes are freezing off. How are you still standing?”

        “Insulated shoes and thermal clothes. Kinda boiling actually.”

        “I should steal ‘em.” He smiled at her. “Probably have frostbite by now.”

        “Wow, you people from the South UK really are weak.”

        Harry’s gasp made her smile as wide as a Cheshire cat. “How dare you!” He dramatically placed a hand on his chest, Y/N’s laughter erupting through the air. It cut through the yells and shouts from the filming crew, and made a warmth spread in his chest. “How do you know about the South versus North? You don’t sound like you’re from the UK.”

        “Studied there for three years; had loads of flatmates from all around, let alone course mates.” Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “And to say that I thrived on the chaos  was when you said North was better than the South would be an understatement.”

        “Well, I guess I know where your loyalties lie.”

        “Did you expect me to immediately swoon over you?” Y/N batted her eyelashes at him. “Oh, Mr Harry Styles. Your voice in ‘Kiwi’ was so good it fucked me to cloud nine. Will you please do that to me with your dick instead? Which you should take as a compliment again, considering kiwi is the only thing I’m allergic to.”

        “Wait,” he looked at her, eyebrows up to the middle of his forehead. “So you have heard my stuff?”

        “Well, I don’t live completely under a rock. I did say 'Fine Line' was amazing.”

        “But you don’t really like it?”

        Y/N shook her head. “ ‘S not that I don’t like yours or other pop stuff, ‘s just that I have a preference, and I guess it’s, as Adam said, ‘early 2000s shit’.”

        A sly smile appeared on Harry’s face. “But could that include by any chance 'One Direction'?”

        “Afraid not,” Y/N sighed giving him a pout. “When you came onto the scene, my heart was already taken by a boyband. And I can be a lot of things, but I most definitely a loyal bitch.”

        “One band at a time kind of gal?”

        “Exactly.” She beamed. God Harry had never wanted to kiss a person that bad. 

        “Duly noted, but I will need to know who they are, and how many graves do I have to dig? You know, for research purposes.”

        “Going method now?”

        “What’dya mean?”

        Y/N shrugged sniffling a bit from the frosty weather. “Looked up a little bit about the movie. Need to know what kind of people might be around in the area. Psychological thriller. Wife. Rich husband. A dark secret. My guess – someone’s dead and buried. Also, the huge pit we walked past was kind of a give-away.”

        He paused for a second before nodding. “Fair enough.”

        A comfortable silence fell between the two as Y/N motioned with her head to where they needed to turn and made their way onto a new path when she spoke. “ ‘S not that I wasn’t a fan,” Y/N shrugged glancing at Harry from the side. “The songs were really catchy, but I guess I got tired of them? Like they were on the radio so much, it was a relief I didn’t have to hear the five of you singing about how I don’t know I’m beautiful.”

        Harry threw his head back in a laugh. “Don’t worry. Sometimes we’d get sick of it ourselves. But umm, ‘Fine Line’… You said you liked it… Do ya’ have a favourite song?”

        Y/N cringed. “Is it cliché if I say ‘Golden’? Because it’s ‘Golden’. I’m a sucker for a slow and then a ‘bam!’ kind of an opening.”

        Harry shook his head. Now he was the one biting back a grin. “ ‘S not cliché. Was one of my favourites to write, so I’m glad you appreciate it.”

        “Also, it makes me feel sunny? If that makes sense? Like – like when I listen to it, I feel warm and safe and just happy...”

        He’d be lying if he said his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest at her words. Warm. Safe. Sunny. “Well,” Harry cleared his throat to keep the words ‘One day I’ll marry you’ at bay. Fuck, he'd only known her for like twenty minutes! “I’m glad you like it more than my previous stuff.”

        “You just love putting me in uncomfortable situations, don’t you?”

        He smiled, nudging her shoulder with his, and was just about gearing up to take a breath and ask Y/N out (before he could ask to marry her), when quick steps from behind him drew their attention. 

        Dressed in a typical 50s housewife dress with a black coat on top, Florence Pugh came to stand beside them, and Harry swore he saw mischief twinkle in her eyes as she raked them over both people and then settled on Harry’s companion.

        “Hi!” she said giving Y/N a bright smile, and a wink to Harry, which passed the other girl’s head, given how she was absolutely fangirling right now. “I’m Florence.”

        “I – yeah – I – you – I love you,” Y/N finally breathed out. “Fuck, I just, you know, 'Midsommar' was a fever dream, but I absolutely loved it, and I can’t wait for 'Black Widow' to come out. Oh my god, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

        “Please don’t.” She laughed grabbing onto Y/N’s shoulder. “Feels like I already know you, but I’ve been dying to meet you actually. Created quite the commotion yesterday.”

        You know how they say men can think of absolutely nothing, like have a completely blank page in their head? Yeah, Y/N was having that exact moment. 

        Florence tutted crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Harry with mock disappointment. “But Harry here just kept talking about you, without any intention of inviting you to the trailers, so I had to take things into my own hands.”

        “You’ve been wanting to meet me?” Y/N breathed out, hands going into her hair, looking at Harry. “Oh my god, what is happening? Am I hallucinating?”

        “No, you’re not,” Harry grumbled glaring at Florence. “Unfortunately. But we were on our way to the sea, so I’ll see you back on se-“

        “Hello there,” Chris Pine’s smooth voice interrupted them, as he extended a hand for Y/N to shake as he jogged up to the trio. “I’m Chris.”

        “Wow, your eyes are even bluer in real life.” Her own Y/E/C ones widened. “Did I just say that out loud?”

        “You did,” Chris chuckled, “but I most certainly take it as a compliment. You said you were going to the sea?”

        “Uh, yeah,” Y/N breathed out still gazing into Pine’s eyes. “Wanna join?”

        Harry wanted to scream, but he couldn’t really. As much he wanted to tell both Florence and Chris to go away, he didn't. Seeing Y/N’s eyes light up as the two other actors conversed with her, laughed and joked around, made his heart expand.

        It was insane to him, that a woman he’d seen twice in his life could have such a huge impact. It was like she’d been his missing part. Well, no. Harry didn’t like that notion – that the ‘right’ person would complete someone. People were complete on their own, but it was true to him that there was someone out there that’d make each and every moment special, someone who would help the other become better, but also hold them accountable when needed. 

        They wandered around the seashore, which like Y/N had said, was a fifteen-minute walk, for about half an hour before turning back to the woods.

        By that point, she’d somewhat calmed down, and could actually comprehend what Chris and Florence were saying to her, and it was rather enjoyable to ask all the questions about Hollywood and the industry most people wouldn’t say on the record. 

        At around four PM when all of them got back to set and Olivia came to tell them they were wrapping up for the day, Florence, and Chris split from Y/N, telling her to come by whenever she wanted, while Harry said he’d walk her to the end of the trail.

        “You know I’ll be fine. I grew up here, know these paths like the back of my hand.”

        “ ‘S alright,” he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure they won’t mind much if I come back ten minutes later.”

        “You know, you’re not how I thought you’d be.”

        “What’dya mean?”

        “I – I don’t even really know… just not how I imagined you.”

        Harry didn’t know what to really do with that information, but the look on Y/N’s face most definitely didn’t seem like she meant it in a bad way. In fact, her shy smile and fleeting glances told him otherwise. At least he hoped he read her features right.

        They said goodbye with soft ‘see you laters' and he watched her throw one last glance at him over her shoulder before he himself retreated and ventured to the trailers to start de-shedding the character of Jack for the night.

        Harry plopped down in his seat with a groan, fishing out his phone from the pocket while the hair and make-up team did their work, taking the products off his face before applying moisturiser to the stressed skin.

        Florence poked him in the cheek, and he swatted away at her hand, looking up from Instagram (or his attempts to find Y/N with just knowing her first name). “What’s wrong?” she asked, poking his pouting face again.

        “She literally fangirled about everyone but me.” He huffed sliding down even further in his seat. 

        Florence raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, Styles?”

        “No,” he scoffed crossing his arms. “Why would I be jealous?”

        “Because literally both mornings that we've got here, you’ve been fidgety, keeping a watch of the path, and didn't calm down until Y/N appeared just now. So I’d say you’re absolutely smitten with the girl and are jealous because she’s more of a fan of us than you.”

        “I know she likes me.” His eyebrows furrowed. “I think. She hasn’t told me to fuck off.”

        “She’s a stranger you met in the middle of the woods. You should hope she likes you. But not too much. Otherwise, it could so easily become a scene out of a horror movie.”

        Chris bit his lip looking at Olivia, who’d come in the trailer after having seen the group come back with an almost heartbroken gaze – it was clear as a summer’s day Harry was struck by the girl, but they had to face the music. “Harry,” he started. “You – you do realise we end filming here in two weeks, right? And she’s a local.”

        “And?” his eyebrows furrowed at Chris’ words.

        “You’ll be leaving in two weeks for another three months of filming, while she stays here. I don’t – I don’t want to see you hurt, but you have to realise that most likely nothing will happen.”

        “And what makes you say that? Maybe she could come with.”

        “Y/N is her own person with her own life, job and friends, which, as it seems is all set here.”

        “Besides you don't really even know her,” Olivia said as well. “It's been two days."

        “Sometimes a day is enough.”

        A silence settled over them, as Harry tapped his phone against his nails.

        “You guys, come on!” Florence came to his defence. “He likes her. Why not give it a shot?”

He'd flashed her a thankful smile and mouthed a 'thank you' to which she just gave him an encouraging nod. She was on his side. She believed he could do it. And he did. Using Florence's faith in him as a catalyst, a day later when Y/N had gone on her run with Adam, Harry had excused himself and joined the two. 

        Adam was thrilled to the bone, but he was also competitive, so after ten minutes of trying to persuade the woman to run faster so he could beat his previous time, he took off on his own, with a promise of meeting up by the shore. That’s when Harry grabbed Y/N by her bicep and stalled them both, confusion written all over her features.

        “I uh,” he started. “I wanted to ask you something.”

        “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

        “I – “ he stuttered taking in a deep breath. “I – uh – and you have zero obligations to respond, but uh – I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me sometime?”

        That made Y/N do a double-take. “You want to go out? On a date? With me?”

        “Ye – yeah.” It was uncertain how the word came out, but it felt so good to say it. “Yes, I really do.”

        “Sorry.” She shook her head looking at the ground with furrowed brows. “Sorry’s just, kinda hard to believe it.”

        “ ‘Nd why’s that?”

        “Well because the first time we met, I looked like a sweaty mess, the second, I could barely function around your friends and co-workers, and now, well now I look like a sweaty mess again.”

        “So?”

        “I just –” Y/N laughed but waved him off. “Never mind.”

         Fear instantly took hold of his core at her statement, so he rushed to salvage what could be salvaged. “No, I mean if you don’t want, you - you don’t have to say ‘yes’. I’m not gonna be upset or any –“

        “Harry!” This time Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder to stop his ramblings. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

        “You – you would?”

        “Yes.” Her smile blinded him like the golden rays of sun which broke through the overcast sky. “I’d like to very much so.”

        But it was Y/N’s tearful huff, a storm cloud compared to the warm light from his memories, which brought him out of the fond thoughts and into the icy right now.

        “Because unless it revolves around Harry Styles, it doesn’t matter, right?” she let out a pained laugh. “Because unless he’s there to have all the spotlight on him, it’s not important. Unless it’s not something he wants to take part in, it immediately needs to be cancelled or rescheduled because god forbid someone made plans without him.”

        He grunted in disagreement. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

        “No,” she snapped, snatching her purse and coat. “I get it. Very clearly. I’ll show myself out.”

        “Don’t be so dramatic!”

        She scoffed, glaring at him. “Call me when you get your head out of your ass.”

        The door slammed shut, and Harry sat down onto the sofa to scream into a pillow.

***

        Y/N’s sight was blurry as she drove down the street. A light snow had started to fall over London, so she was twice as careful, knowing Londoners had zero clue how to function when snow hit, and no one had winter tires.

        “Fuck,” she choked out, wiping away at her cheeks.

        She’d had fights with Harry before, it wasn’t like they were perfect. From the outside they looked like nothing could ever be wrong, but they were human. They had flaws and tempers and ideas and beliefs, and sometimes they clashed, but it’d never been as bad as it was that night. 

        She loved Harry, Y/N truly did. She’d even had dreams of the two of them in some far-off cottage in the Italian mountains living a domestic life, but she also just wanted one night to herself. To let loose and think about her own needs and wants, while Harry was away doing the same. It wasn’t selfish, not in her mind. 

        It’d been her who’d uprooted her whole life to be closer to Harry, not the other way around. She was always the one cancelling and making new plans with her family or friends just so she could spend a spare second with Harry. She was there for his sleepless nights and there for his knock-out concerts. Why couldn't he let her have this one thing?

        She was sitting by the wheel at a red light taking in deep breaths to calm herself down. 

        The light turned green, and her hand was slightly shaking as she changed gears.

        Y/N released the clutch and pressed down on the gas.

        Two lights came rushing from the side.

        She gasped.

        A sharp pain went through her side.

        And then it was all black.

***

Anne was going to rip Harry a new one, as she rang him for the fifteenth time, but he still didn't pick up. After the accident and the nurses being unable to contact Harry, they obviously called Y/N’s parents which were next on the emergency contact's list, but given how they lived outside of the UK and the next flight was only in four days, they immediately reached out to Anne, begging for her to go be with their daughter while they got there.

“And please tell Harry to fly over as well!” Y/N’s mum had cried. “I – I know he has work, but please.”

Anne had been shocked to hear Y/M/N ask that, having assumed he was already there, but she wasn’t going to let them get to Harry before she set him straight herself. 

In the beginning, she’d been kind of sceptical, but after spending an evening together where Y/N, her and Gemma all did wine baking, and it had ended up in a disaster in the kitchen with the three of them crying from laughter while Harry stood at the entrance completely baffled and just so done with them, Anne knew Y/N only had good intentions with her son.

        Anne’s love for her only grew from that point on, when she also realised just how much Y/N’s love language was giving. It wasn’t the kind of ‘hey, look, I bought you some fancy thing, now love me’, it was ‘hey, I saw how much you wanted this, I noticed how much it’d mean to you, and I love how happy it makes you. And if it reminds you of me, that’s just a bonus’, and Anne couldn’t help but become as protective of Y/N as her own kids. 

        But at that moment, as finally, after her twenty-seventh attempt, Harry picked up with a gruff ‘ ‘ello?’, Anne was about to burst with rage.

“You get to the hospital right now!” she hissed into the phone.

“What are you talking about?” There was a tremble in his voice. 

The thing was, for two days since Y/N had stormed out, Harry’d been feeling sick. He thought it was due to the stress from the fight and from the pressure his label was putting on him, but now he understood it wasn’t that. It was his instinct telling him something bad had happened, and at Anne’s words, the bad feeling that’d settled in his stomach made his blood run cold. “Mum, what’s wrong?”

“Y/N was in a car accident, and you didn’t bother to pick up your phone.”

“I –” He stammered unable to process her words. “What? Mum? No…”

“You’re her emergency contact,” Anne spoke. “The hospital tried to call you a billion times, and you didn’t pick up.” 

And that’s when he remembered all of those calls from unknown numbers. He thought they’d been some crazed fans who’d gotten his personal number, so he’d just blocked them. “Mum, no.” Harry choked out. “I didn’t mean to – we fought – mum…”

“She’s at St. Helen’s. Please get here.”

He immediately ended the call, and in the span of twenty minutes was at the hospital, which Anne was sure to scold him for because there was no way in hell anyone who didn’t speed would be able to get to St. Helen’s in less than forty minutes. The second she saw her son burst through the door, tear tracks down his face, all the anger and disappointment vanished. 

“Where is she? Is she alive? Y/N!” he yelled across the hallway. “Where is she? Mum! Where’s Y/N?”

“Gem.” She patted her daughter’s knee as both of them stood up from where they’d been sitting at the chairs outside the recovery room assigned to Y/N. “Get a nurse, please.”

Gemma didn’t need an explanation or reasoning seeing Harry’s wild eyes, erratic breathing and shaky hands. 

“Mum!” He practically sprinted after seeing the woman, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Calm down, Harry,” she shushed him, pulling him in for a hug and feeling his whole body tremble. “Calm down, it’s alright. Gem’ll get you some help, but you need to breathe.”

“I – I’m not the one who needs help!” Harry pretty much screamed. “I need to know if my girlfriend is alive.”

Anne spoke in a calm voice as to not agitate him even more, and her heart broke at the sight of her son so utterly broken. “Harry, you’re about to have a panic attack, and you’re no use to Y/N in that kind of state.”

“So.” He took in a chocked back breath. “So she’s alive?” He didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was anything else but a resounding ‘yes’. There was no version in his brain of where his life could possibly lead but down if he had to go on without Y/N.

“Yes,” Anne nodded, smoothing his hair away from his face, and watching as he took in a deep breath of relief. “She was just wheeled in for her second surgery. Should be out in about four hours. ”

All over again his insides froze. “Second? Mum, tell me the truth – how bad is it?”

“Harry, this is routine,” Gemma put a reassuring hand on his shoulder having returned with a nurse behind her, the man keeping a close eye on Harry and his behaviour. “They did as much as they could the first time, but their priority was on the worst injuries. This one is just to set things properly.”

“Set everything right like – “

“Like bones and stuff…” Gemma shuddered, trailing off. “Y/N broke her hip, dislocated her kneecap, her ankle was shattered and she fractured her collarbone. They took her in so that the bones could be properly placed together and there’s a lesser chance of complications not only while healing but later on in life. But can you please sit down? So they can help you as well?”

“I – alright,” he conceded, taking a place on one of the stiff plastic benches, as the nurse came to him, took his pulse, gave him an inhalator just in case and some herbal tablets to help him relax a bit.

“You said they focused on the worst injuries.” Harry looked at his mother. “What were those?”

Anne sighed, leaning to sit back on the chair next to him and ran a hand through his hair. “A piece of debris punctured one of her kidneys. The bleeding was pretty intense, but they say it was salvageable, so she’ll still have both of them. Gem donated some blood.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, looking over at his sister who wiped a stray tear away from his cheek.

She shook her head. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Y/N is family. If she’d lost the kidney, I’d give her mine in a second.”

“The worst they’re worried about is the head injuries,” Anne said. “Luckily, she got away without anything major, but she definitely has a concussion and minor whiplash to her neck, so they want to keep an eye out for any side effects that could arise. They have another surgery scheduled for her in a week if recovery goes as planned. To take the stitches that won’t dissolve out and put in the ones that will.”

        Harry sagged against his mother’s side, her palms soothingly running up and down his back. “She’s gonna be alright, love,” Anne muttered in his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. “She’s strong. She’ll be okay.”

        It was comforting for both of them – for Anne to have her youngest in her arms, to know he was safe and sound, and for Harry to be held by his mother, the person who always knew how to comfort him when times were rough, and at that moment, they were the roughest they’d ever been.

        “You’ve got some nerve to be here.” Adam’s seething voice pulled Harry away from his mother’s embrace and watched as he rounded the corner with a coffee cup. He was quite sure he was keeping his temper well in check from how hard he was gripping the Styrofoam cup. “Fucking ignore her for two days while she’s laying in the hospital, and appear when it’s convenient for you? Is she some fucking toy for you to use when you want?”

        Anne’s tone was consoling and pleading. “He didn’t know.”

        “The hell he didn’t, he just didn’t want to know! They called you!” Adam pointed at the nurse’s desk. “And you let them go to voicemail. And then, better yet, you fucking blocked the number.”

        “I didn’t know it was the hospital,” he weakly defended himself.

        “Because you didn’t bother to find out.”

        He didn’t have anything to say to that. And not that he really could think of anything when the surgery ward’s doors swung open and they watched as a nurse wheeled Y/N’s gurney back inside the room, while another wheeled her saline bag along with. 

It was a terrifying sight to see. Her face was basically nothing but a swollen piece of flesh, bruises and scratches littering her cheeks, a neck brace to keep her head from moving while one leg was wrapped in a full-on cast, the other in one up until her knee and her left arm was in a sling.

        He’d had nightmares about her before. Most of the times it was about Y/N leaving him because she could no longer do it, could no longer commit to the hectic lifestyle that came with Harry, and as he screamed, banging on the invisible window that separated them, she just walked away, his sobs carried by the wind in the other direction.

        “You should go inside,” Anne whispered motioning with her head to where the nurses checked the monitors and how stable Y/N was. “I know you had a fight, but she’ll want you to be there when she wakes up.”

        “How,” Harry gulped back the lump that’d risen in his throat. “How do you know? How do you know she doesn’t want me to just disappear? I wasn’t there when she needed me, I was – “

        Anne put her hand on his cheek. “Because when she woke up yesterday morning for the first time, you were the first person she asked for. You. She wants you there. And it’s the least you can do for her.”

        He nodded, then took a deep breath and entered Y/N’s room. Watching her lay in the bed, unmoving, without her usual grumpy features as she slept, made Harry sick to the stomach so much so, he thought he’d have to call back the nurse.

        It was some twisted version of Sleeping Beauty, yet he knew a true loves kiss wouldn’t awaken her. Y/N just laid there, small breaths making her chest rise and fall, not even a flutter of her eyelids.

        Harry had spent countless night watching her sleep, looking at how her lashes fluttered as she dreamed of something; how her forehead creased and small, incoherent noises passed her lips as she talked to someone in her mind.

        Now, he was surrounded by none of that, only artificial reminders that she was still alive and fighting to get better.

        With uneven steps, Harry made his way to the chair which’d been stationed next to her bed (he was convinced beyond belief that Gemma, his mum and Adam had all taken shifts to sit there, to be there for Y/N), and much like a king who knew he was unfit for the throne, Harry had to swallow a lump as he took the seat.

        “I – I don’t know if you can hear me…” Harry took hold of Y/N’s palm and let out a sob of relief when he felt it was warm, not cold like he’d feared. “But I’m here for you. I’m not leaving. Not unless you want me to, so until you wake up…” there were so many words, so many apologies he wanted to say, but kept them at bay. Y/N deserved to hear them when she was conscious, so instead, he said, “I’m here, lovie. Get some rest, I’ll be here…”

        With that he put his head on the side of her bed, twisting his face so he could look up at her, watch her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and fell asleep to the sound the beeps of Y/N’s beating heart.

        While he slept he dreamt again, the same terrifying dream of Y/N leaving, only this time she did look back at him, but her face was all wrong, her neck bent in a way it shouldn’t be, and eyes covered in a milky white. 

        “You weren’t there, Harry,” she said in a voice void of emotions. “So why should I be there for you?”

        Harry was 100% sure if he’d been hooked up to a heart rate monitor while he slept, people would think he was going into cardiac arrest, but it sure would’ve shown it flatlining as his green eyes swept over his lover’s frame to check his nightmare hadn’t become a reality, only to be met with two Y/E/C sparkling orbs looking back at him, giving him the softest gaze in the universe.

“Hey,” Harry’s tone was quiet, afraid to bring even the littlest of discomfort to Y/N given her state, and he had to physically restrain himself from sweeping down to bring her in a hug. 

What he saw on her face made his heart leap to his throat, as she smiled, genuinely happy to see him, lifting up her right hand, the only limb without a bandage on to cup his cheek. “Hey, love.” Her voice was scratchy like nails on a chalkboard, but to Harry, it was an absolute symphony. “Are you alright? Your eyes are puffy. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

        “Fuck,” Harry choked on his tears looking up at the white ceiling before back at her, complete disbelief in his blood-shot eyes. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed, with casts and bandages all over you, scheduled for a third surgery, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

        If Y/N could, she would’ve shrugged as if that wasn’t the most self-explanatory thing in the world. “I’ll always want to know if you’re alright. ‘S not exclusively you that can care for people, you know.”

        And there she was – his sarcastic, allergic-to-kiwi-but-‘Kiwi’-loving girl that never ceased to amaze him, as she made sure everyone else was alright before herself. And that made Harry break down. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N. So fucking sorry. I – god – I – there are not enough words in any language to say how fucking sorry I am. I should’ve been here, should’ve never let you leave. This is all my fault.”

Through all that, through his choked back sobs and crying, Y/N’s hand had steadily remained on his cheek, wiping away the tears from underneath one eye before switching to the other side and making the little pearls of hurt disappear with just her touch. 

“Harry, are you the weatherman?”

That was not what he thought she would say. “I – what?”

“Do you control temperatures and have not told me?”

“N – no?”

“Were you the guy who ran the red light?”

“No.”

        “Then how is this your fault?”

        “I – “ he stammered. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I should’ve gone after you, found a way to make you stay or – or should’ve fucking stopped being so selfish and driven you to see Adam yourself.”

        “Harry, had you tried to make me stay nothing would’ve changed.” Y/N sighed letting him lean into her touch, as she bit her lip, thinking over her words. “I was just so pissed, that I think anything you would’ve tried to do, would’ve only made it worse. And I’d rather be here with you than alone in my apartment crying in a tub of Hagen Dazs because of a broken heart.”

        “You-you've got your priorities completely backwards.” He wasn’t laughing when he said that, but Y/N was.

        “Maybe.” She raised her eyebrow. “But I don’t think so. The bones will heal, but the amount of love I have for you… I’m afraid you’ve ruined the thought of a future without you in it. We’ll talk,” Y/N swallowed hard. “We need to talk, but when I get better. Right now, I just wanna hold your hand and have you hold mine as I try not to kick the nurses trying to take my blood for tests.”

        It felt inappropriate for Harry to smile, to feel happy about how Y/N hadn’t told him to go screw himself, even though he felt like he deserved it, but fuck was it impossible not to when his body felt so light, and her love chose to invade the dark corners of his mind to fill it with golden warmth.

        She fell asleep not long after their small conversation, body too tired and in need of recovery, but like he’d promised, he was there for her when she awoke again, this time to a more familiar Y/N as she glared at the coffee cup in his hand, while he sipped, a ring clad palm gently pushing away strands of Y/H/C hair from her face.

        “I hate that you can drink coffee.”

        “Yeah, and why’s that?”

        “Because I can’t.”

        “I’ll happily buy you as many coffees as you like. Once you get better and are allowed to, of course.”

        Y/N snorted and then winced as the action caused pain to shoot through her body. “Knowing you, it won’t be a cup of coffee or a coffee machine, but a fucking coffee chain restaurant.”

        “Would it be that bad to own one?”

        Her eyebrow rose at him in an incredulous look. “You know I can’t bake. Coffee shops include pastries, and I’m not the one who worked in a bakery. I can cook, I can clean, but make me make muffins from scratch, and I’ll set your house on fire.”

        “You already did.” Harry laughed. “Gem and mum helped.”

        “They supplied the wine, so I’m putting 60% of the blame on them.”

        “You do realise that equates to 30% of the blame on each of them, and most of it is still on you?”

        “Shut up,” Y/N smiled, weakly pushing against Harry’s arm, but the motion made him happy to know she was trying. “I was just in a car crash, so forgive me for not being that great at division.”

        A knock at the door made Harry look up, Y/N not even attempting to turn her head to see who’d interrupted them, given how the first time she’d tried it with the neck-brace, it’d hurt so bad she’d passed out.

        Her doctor was a man in his mid to late fifties with greying hair, Y/N’s medical record file slapped underneath his arm.

        “How are we doing today?”

        “Better than yesterday, I guess,” she responded. 

        “Well, you were out for most of it, so I’d say so.”

        Y/N and the doctor chuckled, but Harry didn’t, as he thought of how bad, how absolutely tired a person has to be to sleep for a whole day. He’d had those days himself, and that was from being exhausted from work. He couldn't imagine what being in a bloody accident would feel like. 

        The doctor stepped forward a bit and extended a hand to Harry, introducing himself as Dr Tate, while Harry rose in his seat to accept it, but not wanting to move away an inch from Y/N.

        “You must be the boyfriend.”

        “I – uh – I can only hope I still am,” he let out a nervous giggle, which made his girlfriend slap his arm, a furrow on her face.

        Dr Tate looked Harry over from head to toe, eyebrow raised at that, but all he said was, “We tried to contact you, seeing as you’re Miss Y/L/N emergency contact, but the nurses said it couldn’t go through.”

        “He was filming overseas.” Y/N butted in, clearly having rehearsed what to say beforehand. “Flew over as fast as he could. I’m the luckiest person in the world.” Her tone was soft as a feather, but Harry’s stomach felt like it was filled with rocks. 

        “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked hoping to be given some sort of a task to do, to allow him to redeem himself some way.

        “Well, actually yes. One of the injuries Ms Y/L/N sustained was a concussion,” the doctor said, “which could lead to some complications like headaches, migraines, spotty vision or amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Harry wanted to vomit. It had crossed his mind, but having a professional say it made it all so much worse. 

        “Yes, and we’d need someone to be with her as much as possible, 24/7 would be desirable, to keep an eye on.”

        Harry honestly hadn’t heard anything past the amnesia part, mind spinning in a circle that just screamed ‘she’ll forget all about you’.

“It’s nothing to worry about too much.” Dr Tate was quick on his feet, seeing Harry’s blank stare, and tried to diffuse any possible spiralling. “With Y/N’s cognitive abilities and having repeatedly excelled at the test without a single stutter, it’s very unlikely she’ll have those side effects. 

“But it’s still a possibility, right?”

The doctor nodded, giving Harry a kind smile. “Which is why I’m informing you of it. To keep an eye out to see if anything changes so you could come in if necessary. But as I said – Y/N’s memory has proven to be intact so far. And I always say to trust the facts.”

“Harry,” Y/N placed her hand on his. “You know I won’t forget you.”

“I’ll uh, give you two a second.” The doctor exited leaving them alone, an almost sad silence over both of them. 

“God I almost lost you to some idiot running a red light with no winter tires, and now you won’t remember me. And – and even with everything you’re going through, you’re still trying to protect me? Why did you lie? I – I wouldn’t have cared if you said the truth that I was an asshole.” Harry dragged both hands over his face, trying to keep the cry’s at bay as Y/N ran her hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’d prefer to think,” Y/N shrugged trying to tease him and make him crack a smile, “me being dead would be the worst-case scenario, not me forgetting you. And of course, I’ll protect you. Your reputation matters to me. Just because we had a fight doesn’t mean I’ll immediately run to everyone I can and say how shitty of a person you were in those specific ten minutes.”

But Harry’s lips didn’t quirk up, the tears didn’t disappear as the painful grimace on his face wasn’t replaced by the crow lines next to his eyes from smiling so much. “What if you – what if you forget you love me? What do I do then? I know I sound selfish and like the biggest fucking dick, but as pathetic as it is – I can’t go on without you. I don’t know how I could.”

Y/N’s heart broke at his words because if the roles were reversed if Harry forgot about her and fell out of love, she didn't know how she'd survive. She’d had those fears before, when he was away filming and she couldn’t follow; she’d been terrified because what they’d had was so new, he could easily move on, find someone better, someone who was familiar with his lifestyle. But any time those thoughts came to her mind, Y/N reminded herself of what she’d do. And that’s what she told Harry.

        “Then you make me fall in love with you again. You’re great at that. Make me love you more with every passing moment.”

        “And – and if you don’t fall in love with me again?”

        Y/N shook her head. “Impossible, Harry. You made me fall in love with you after barely two hours spent together. And well, if you put your mind to it… who knows how much deeper I’ll fall.”

        For the first time in two days, Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against Y/N’s. The kiss was soft and sweet, a barely-there touch, but it meant everything. It was a promise to one another to love unconditionally, to remind the other of it at every passing moment; it sealed their future to be spent together, and neither wanted it any other way.

        Harry’s phone rang, eliciting a whine from Y/N as he pulled away to answer it. “It’s Florence.” He pecked her lips one more time. “I’ll just tell her to call back.”

        He turned to the side for a second muttering a soft ‘hey, can you –‘ before whatever Florence told him made him pull away and extend the deivice towards Y/N.

        “It’s for you.”

        “For – for me? Florence is calling me?”

        Had the two women become friends? Yes. But didn’t mean Y/N had an easier time not fangirling about her. 

        “Hi, Flo,” she breathed out, looking at Harry with wide, happy eyes. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

        Harry sat there watching as his love talked to someone she looked up to, and someone he cared about. He hadn’t told Florence, but her encouragement meant the world to him, as she was partially the reason he’d gotten together with Y/N. After all, she’d been the one on his side from the very beginning.

        Y/N giggled like a crazy person after the call ended and she handed Harry back his phone. “Florence Pugh just called to give me well wishes.” She gasped looking at Harry. “Do you think Chris Pine will too?”

        “God, I love you,” Harry laughed with her, pressing their foreheads together.

        They’d be alright, they’d make sure of it. No matter if a disagreement arose, egos needed to be put in check or black ice covered the roads. They’d get through anything. 

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog​ @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: Listen, Linda, those pictures of Harry on set does things!!!

Also the being allergic to kiwi - that’s me. Like legit it’s the only thing I’m allergic to. I always hated how they tasted like pain, like it made my mouth sting and feel like pins and needles before going numb, and according to professionals, that’s a sign of being allergic. But I love ‘Kiwi’ the song. 

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry :(

[mondothebombo]

The Ninja’s Love Languages

For anyone who doesn’t know, the five love languages are...

Words of Affirmation

Physical Touch

Quality Time

Gifts

Acts of Service

I had this idea last night at 4 am and i’m gonna try and make sense of it so here we go...

Jay

Physical Touch

-this one’s super easy

-hands down this is 100% jay

-when isn’t this boy clinging onto someone (esp. nya and cole)

-i mean just look (there’s so many more but i got lazy, feel free to add on)

-his first response to comfort/fear is a hug, a hand on shoulder, etc.

-and when you think abt it it makes sense

-cuz first of all just look at his parents, ed and edna

-the most affectionate and loving ppl on this goddam planet

-they showered him w/ undying love and support his whole life, ofc this kid’s gonna turn out the same

-but then if you also tie in his abandonment issues and fear of being alone and it makes even more sense

-we find out abt those mainly in s12 when he talks abt his birth parents to unagami, but looking at what happened to him in s6 when he was alone for so long on the misfortunes keep and nya dying to top it off...

-he lost all his friends not once, but twice (and that’s not including all the separate times the ninja have died) plus he feels like his birth parents abandoned him, w/o him even rlly knowing for sure what happened

-so it makes sense he’d be more comfortable showing his love by clinging onto someone, giving a hug, high-fiveing, etc.

- i hope this made sense i’m so sorry

Nya

Acts of Service

-this also makes sense

-we all know nya is a very independent person, and she doesn’t usually like all the touchy feely stuff

-this is especially shown w her and jay’s relationship

-( i didn’t want to make this all abt jaya i’m sorry)

-we know they both are two very different ppl.

-nya’s strong and independent, while jay is a lot more sensitive

-you’ll notice in the earlier seasons nya almost never initiated the affection w jay, he always the first to mention it, also coupled w the fact that she’s never told jay “i love you” (at least not yet) and we can pin this on her childhood

-she and kai didn’t have it great as kids, they basically raised e/o and the only times nya ever heard “i love you” was from kai

-so if she wasn’t used to saying it growing up, why would she immediately jump to it now that she’s a teenager/young adult? even w someone she does love

-she expresses her love in what she does and says.

-the main example i can think of atm is this

-jay’s freaking out abt catching her for the dance move and with 100% confidence she just says “i trust you” and then fucking yeets herself at him

-there’s other examples of this w the others too

-she builds their mechs and vehicles, back in the earlier seasons she always made sure the boys were taken care of when they got back from missions, she was always the cavalry, she sacrificed herself for jay back in s6 when they were at the lighthouse, and kai mentions she’s always taken care of him

-not to mention how she adopted lloyd back when he first came in

-i could go on

-does this make sense?? i hope it does

Cole

Words of Affirmation

-i had a little more trouble thinking abt cole but now that i’ve decided i’m pretty sure WoA suits him best

-cole didn’t have the best childhood either

-we now know his mom, Lilly, died when he was fairly young, judging by the flashback, i’d estimate around 10-13 y/o

-we know it wasn’t too long before wu found him

-and she showered him in love much like jay was

-just in the flashback she tells him how proud she is of him and how much she loves him

-(also look how quick he was to try and justify why he got in a fight to avoid getting yelled at when his mom mentioned him getting in trouble bc he didn’t want to disappoint her)

-now we don’t know what Lou was like before his wife died, but we know he was definitely not as loving towards cole afterwards

-Lou ignored Cole due to his grief most of the time, coupled w him wanting Cole to follow in his footsteps, and their relationship overall sucks until after the royal blacksmiths ep

-so it all falls the same that Cole would want to keep seeking out the words he got from his mother in his relationships w others (especially authority figures)

-just look at all the times he absolutely lights up when getting praised by wu or even the others

-plus thx to day of the departed, we know he’s afraid of being forgotten

-hearing the others say they love him and want him around would appease that

-staying on this train, we have...

Lloyd

Words of Affirmation

-i was tied between this one and acts of service, but then i decided

-lloyd’s life, esp his childhood, has absolutely sucked

-he was abandoned at a very young age at darklys which we know the other boys there weren’t kind, and then when he finally gets a home and a family, the weight of the world is now on his shoulders bc he’s a prophesied savior

-morro’s possession says enough on its own

-the list goes on

-then we get s8-s10

-harumi goes and absolutely destroys his trust in everyone and everything

-(after she told him she loved him)

-but also...

- then boom. yeeted through a wall

-he’s been abandoned, rejected, and used his whole life

-why wouldn’t this kid need words of affirmation??

-the other ninja have been the one staple in his entire life, and after everything he’s gone through, he definitely needs to hear that they love him and want him around every now and then

-this kid’s also emotional (who can blame him)

-he always puts all his cards on the table, more so in s11 and onward

-and we’ve seen how he always gives encouraging words to the others, mainly while they’re fighting

Zane

Quality Time

-i had trouble w zane’s too lol

-but i think this fits

-this nindroid is the purest being ever

-don’t get me wrong, zane can definitely be a smart ass and sassy when he wants to, he’s not all innocent, but u catch my drift

-let’s look at his past too

-he was all alone and by himself, he didn’t even know who he was until he found his true potential

-and he gets a family, ppl who live and care abt him

-then he sacrifices himself and dies

-when he was imprisoned on chen’s island, he was alone

-then decoded happens and we find out he’s got intense trauma from that

-he thought he was alone in his internal battle

-then boom

-he’s the fucking ice emperor. alone for decades, committing genocide

-and when he finally snapped out of it, that had to of destroyed him

-he’s spent so much time being alone and facing so much trauma, that he always gravitates towards being in groups

-we’ve seen him and pixal spend time working together in the workshop, he enjoys family meals and cooking for everyone, he’s been shown to not like it when the others occasionally fight, and an overall loving guy

-he prbly doesn’t realize it, but he’s the glue that holds everyone together

-this one was so jumbled

and last but not least...

Kai

Gifts

-now not only does this fit his personality, it also makes sense with his bad childhood

-we all know kai is a very cocky and prideful person. he’s always showing off, flaunting his good looks, and can be sometimes arrogant

-ofc under all that is a very kind and loving big brother and friend

-but bc of this he’d not only love getting gifts from fans and the others, but giving them as well

-kai, like nya, didn’t have a good childhood

-he’s not an emotional person and he was never used to saying “i love you,” instead he had to take care of his sister while trying to run a business

-his way of showing love is giving things for his family

-there’re aren’t many instances of this in the show, but the gift giving doesn’t necessarily have to be smthg physical

-he’s sacrificed himself for the others on several accounts, he offers advice when needed, giving pep talks, helping raise lloyd, he even helped jay propose to nya, those things can be considered as gifts too

(again i’m sorry if any of this isn’t coherent i just had some thoughts. pls feel free to add on if i missed smthg)

The point of this is that these kids love each other and have different ways of showing it💙💜🧡💚🤍❤️

[calpops]

losing love | c.h.

two: hollowed hearts

series masterlist | my masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

✦ ✦ ✦

Morning comes with the shadows of dreams lingering in Calum’s mind. A demure silhouette slinks through his waning memory of the night. Sunlight pools in from the open curtains and cuts across the wooden floor in turrets of gold. He’s bleary. Mind working in overtime to put all of the scattered pieces of the previous night back together. There’s only one thing that invades him and that he’s certain of. Everest.

He remembers it in rewind, all of the flashes of her playing backwards in hazy pictures. He remembers her doorstep, the ivy that climbed the stones and the halos of light that pooled in her dark eyes. Headlights blur past his vision, the beams cutting from his car as they sat on the hood and ate fast food, drank milkshakes and she wore his jacket over her shoulders. The party comes back to him, only in the sense of leaving with her. The downcast and forlorn gazes she gave him across the room, the broken syllables she uttered and the pain she tried to hide.

Calum groans, turns himself to his side and wards off the want to bury his head under his pillow and let himself succumb to the feeling crawling across his chest. If he had the heart to do so, he would’ve cursed her, himself, the situation, the fact that he couldn’t forget. The fact that she was his best friend’s date and somehow they had ended the night with each other.

He only pulls himself from the warm comfort of his bed when a knock on the front door jars him. He’s padding down the hallway when he hears the unceremonious squeak of the hinges and feels his heart pick up. Only one person has a key.

Ashton’s taken up a home in the kitchen, hands placed on the marble countertop and eyes patient as they find Calum breaking around the corner. Calum stops suddenly, just the sight of his best friend bringing to stir too many thoughts through his tired mind.

“I saw you leaving with Everest last night,” Ashton says, the words a whip that crack through the air and bring a pain behind Calum’s eyes. He stays quiet save for the painful thud of his racing heart. “She made it home okay?”

Calum nods, wary of where the situation is headed. Nothing happened, he reminds himself. He kept her warm, got her food, brought her home and made sure she made it inside okay. Nothing happened.

The only problem is, he wished something had.

“Yeah, walked her to the door and made sure she got in okay,” Calum says in a rush and finally finishes his way into the kitchen to drop himself onto a barstool.

“Thanks, mate,” Ashton says, the sincerity a little too much to take in at such an early morning hour. “I was hoping you’d swoop in and save me somehow.”

Calum furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side, unaware that Ashton would have wanted him to be the hero.

“I just… did what I could.”

Calum feels a burn in the back of his throat and bites the tip of his tongue.

Ashton lets out a small breath and shakes his head, curls bouncing and dropping into his eyes with the motion.

“I thought I wanted you to get me away but I’m glad you took care of Everest. I think I really needed the closure, and so did she. Horrible timing, but a good outcome?” The hope in Ashton’s voice is palpable, his gaze skirts to the countertop where he drums his fingers in a nervous habit coming to life. “Did Everest seem upset? I tried calling this morning but she hasn’t answered.”

Calum feels a coil of tension wrap through him. He shakes his head uncertainly, trying hard to remember her demeanor about Ashton when they first left. It’s all replaced with moonlit eyes and the smell of honey coming off her hair.

“Maybe a little,” he offers with a small shrug.

Calum’s arms cross over his chest where heat pools on his skin, simmers under the surface and aches with a burning echo from his chest to the pit of his stomach. Ashton nods and blows out a bigger, deeper breath.

“I know it didn’t look good,” Ashton begins and runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have let it go on so long. But it made me realize how ready I am to move on, with Everest. I think she’s good for me.”

Calum swallows past a lump in his throat and lets Ashton continue on his spiel of self discovery, of all the things he’s learned about himself since his breakup and meeting Everest. He goes deep and pulls back, dives further and relents. He ends it with the hope that she’ll give him a second chance to prove himself.

“She’s pretty fond of chances,” Calum mumbles and brushes off the confused look Ashton gives him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. She seems nice, understanding.”

“She is,” Ashton says enthusiastically, heart on his sleeve and hope in his eyes. He rambles about her and the possibilities of what a second chance might mean.

“Maybe you should take it slow,” Calum warns before he can think through the foreboding words. He flinches at his own stupidity, face scrunching up as he wishes he could take it back. “It’s just—you’re just coming out of a relationship, she’s just gotten into the city. You’ve only been on what, four dates?”

“Three,” Ashton says around a growing frown. “Slow and steady is better for the long term, right?”

“Sure.” Calum gives a noncommittal shrug.

He’s the last person to be giving Ashton love advice. All of his relationships ended in flames and destruction. And now there is a heat that lives under his skin for the woman he speaks of.

“I think I’ll text her, see if she’s okay, see where she stands with me. No pressure.”

Calum nods. Curls his hands into fists and bids Ashton goodbye as he darts for the door with renewed hope but realistic expectations. Calum follows him to the door and runs his hands over the oak as it closes. He sucks in a deep breath and wills his hands to stop shaking and heart to stop racing. Guilt coils so thoroughly through him he has to remind himself he’s done nothing wrong. It’s only fleeting feelings encouraged by a lurid night that meant nothing to her, and should mean nothing to him.

He’s not sure how long he stands there processing it all; sifting through the moments and trying to forget them, trying to convince himself that all he needs is a little distance from her. All she needs is a little time with Ashton. Then everything will fall back into place. He pushes away from the door and barely makes it to the kitchen counter before he’s called back.

A slight tap sounds from the other side of the door, Calum nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden noise. It’s soft and rhythmic; taptaptap, taptaptap. He spins himself around on his heel, braces himself for just a moment with his hand on the cool doorknob. He’s not expecting anyone but Ashton’s already made an appearance and disturbed his morning. He slowly opens the door and feels as if he’s taken away with the breeze that sweeps across his skin, feels that the fire comes back to life and wavers in the wind.

Everest stands on his porch, his leather jacket folded across her arms with her gaze cut down to the wooden beams of the floor. She’s poised, stood with grace and her toes turned into each other. She looks up as Calum lets out a breath and grabs a hold of the doorframe to keep himself steady against the wind and the fire warring within him.

“I forgot to give this back last night,” she says with a tiny smile.

She offers over the jacket and Calum is sad to see it leave her grip as he takes it back. But the scent of honey comes in a collision to his senses, spins his world off kilter and ripples guilt all over him. For a moment he realizes that Ashton’s not too far gone; he could be here for her in only a few minutes. He contemplates telling her that he already stopped by and asked about her, worried over the prospect of her getting home safe, confided in him about getting closure and finding happiness and something good with her.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asks instead, the words hot and narrow, closing off the possibility that he might find some distance from her. “I was just about to make some coffee.”

“I don’t like coffee,” she says, scrunches up her nose and then smiles. “But I’d still like to come in.”

Calum laughs, just a little, at the fake out and moves aside to let her in. She sweeps past him in a lurid and quick movement. She’s sure and confident as she enters his world. It’s all too easy to imagine what might have been, what could be, if there wasn’t a ten ton weight of guilt and pressure crushing his chest.

Calum darts his gaze up the hallway, pictures of Everest moving down the narrow space and towards his bedroom infiltrating his thoughts. He clears his throat, hangs his jacket up and takes a big breath in, thankful for the sweetness in his lungs.

“Can I get you anything else?” he questions as he turns and lists off a few of the things he thinks might be within his means. Water. Juice. Hot chocolate. Stale bread, expired muffins. She laughs and tosses her soft hair behind her shoulder.

“I’m alright,” she answers, gaze following him as he rounds the island and comes to make a perch on the side towards the kitchen.

He gestures for her to sit on the stool opposite him then plants his elbows on the marble countertop. She bids his offer and takes a seat, midnight eyes glimmering with curiosity as she peers at him. It’s silent for a beat. Cheeks warm and thoughts waver. Calum purses his lips and taps his fingers on the counter.

“I also wanted to say something to you.” She shifts on the stool, brings her hands up and folds her fingers together. Her gaze doesn’t waver and Calum finds that he doesn’t mind the way she keeps him with her, and finds that he quite likes the feeling of being kept by her so fully. “Thank you.”

Calum tilts his head to the side, unable to understand the gratitude. “For?” he asks, shakes his head and furrows his eyebrows.

“Last night. Bringing me home,” she says and shrugs then shakes her head and back peddles, “for cheering me up and then bringing me home.” She stresses cheering me up with such sincerity in her voice and eyes it nearly knocks Calum off balance. She has a sway in her voice, a way of intoning anything and everything that’s important to her.

“It was nothing.”

Yet, it meant more than it should have to him.

“No, it meant a lot to me.”

Calum’s heart races wildly at the admission. He feels a little faint, cuts his gaze down to the swirling marble and sees that it’s moving through his vision. He’s trying to swim and keep afloat in her honesty but he feels more as if he’s sinking. Sinking and drowning as he looks back up and gets lost in the dark.

“I just did what I could,” Calum says for the second time that morning. He remembers Ashton’s gratitude and the explanation for why it was even needed in the first place. Heat cuts through him. He sighs. “I knew Ashton wouldn’t want you to be upset. He’d want you home safe, too.”

Everest nods, even and unflinching at the mention of Ashton. She doesn’t say anything for a moment. No emotion crosses her face. She’s stoic and calm, eyes as clear as a midnight summer sky.

“He’s a good guy.” She abandons her stool and stands, leans a bit over the counter and puts a hand on top of Calum’s. “But I don’t want to be his rebound.”

Calum’s breath catches in the back of his throat. He chokes it down and fights the urge to envelop her hand in his. He stays still, scared that the moment is so fragile it might shatter if he dares to move. Scared that it might become something even more.

“He said he got closure last night. It made him realize he wants you.”

He doesn’t know where the unbridled honesty is coming from, not when all of the thoughts in his mind are shouting into the emptiness of reckless abandon. He wants to leave Ashton’s name to the wind. To take her hand and close the distance between them. To find out if she tastes like honey too.

Everest pulls her hand away and shakes her head just a bit. “I didn’t know he was so unsure all this time. I didn’t know I was just an option until last night.”

Cold kisses Calum’s skin where her touch abandoned him.

“You’re the one he chose,” Calum reminds and wants to hit himself, bite his tongue, somehow stop the words from pouring out of him.

His loyalty runs deep, his need to defend his best friend heightens with each passing moment but he feels as if all of the stone walls he’s put up at the battlements are starting to crumble. Everest is able to strike through them, to create gaps in the stones and peer through to the other side. She sees the things that Calum would rather keep hidden.

“I don’t want to be a choice. I just want to be… the one, with the right one. I don’t know if that’s Ashton,” she says, voice cracking and gaze finally dropping from his. For all of the cool and calm she once possessed she begins to break, hand trembling and lip jutting out in thought. “I’m sorry, we probably shouldn’t even be talking about this. You’re his best friend. I can’t put this on you.”

“It’s okay,” Calum quickly reassures and wants to reach out to her but keeps his hands strictly to himself. He lets out a breath that makes his chest ache. “You deserve to be the one. But maybe Ashton also deserves a second chance to prove that you are. You’ll never know unless you give him another chance..”

Pain strikes hot and white through Calum, like a crack of lightning lashing against his darkened being. He shuts his eyes for a split second, feeling the sway of the world rocking around him. He brings his hands to his chest without thinking, rubs at his ribs and tries to convince himself the ache he feels is nothing.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Everest mumbles. She nods to herself for a moment, quiet and thoughtful, Calum eternally grateful that he has a moment to recollect himself. “He called me this morning. I should probably call him back. Hear him out.”

“If you want to,” Calum says and realizes how scattered he is with her.

He defends Ashton, pushes her towards forgiving him, then relents and reels her back just a bit. He can’t shake it, he can’t ward off the words that roll from his tongue before his mind can process them. He needs air, he needs that distance he decided on this morning. He needs honey to drift away in the wind and midnight eyes to vanish into the day.

He gets his wish as she leaves him, takes all of the sweetness from his lungs and the darkness from his gaze. Bids him goodbye with another chaste and aching kiss to his cheek. She leaves only the lingering curiosity of what the phone call might entail and the ache he still rubs at in his chest.  He tries to catch his breath as he shuts the door and glides to the window to watch her walk away. His hand grips the leather jacket she gave back to him as she dips down into her car. All he can see is her in the passenger seat with the leather draped over her shoulders. All he can feel is the brush of her lips igniting sparks against his cheek. Guilt swallowing him whole. Emotions stifled. Two hallowed hearts ignored.

✦ ✦ ✦

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[blu-joons]

He Comes Home Excited After Your First Date ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

He threw himself down on the sofa, unable to wipe the smile off his face as all the boys looked across at him.

“Someone looks like he’d had a good night,” Hobi chuckled, noticing just how wide his smile was, “go on, tell us all about?”

“She’s just so funny and kind, we talked all night long about absolutely anything,” he replied, giggling as he remembered all the conversations the two of you had shared.

Jimin jabbed into his side, “so do you think you’ll ask her out on another date if it went well?”

Jin’s head nodded instantly, “if I could see her tomorrow, I would, but I don’t want to come across too keen, so I’ll give it a couple of days and then send her a message.”

“If you like her as much as your face suggests then maybe you should just text her now,” Taehyung suggested, “you don’t want another guy getting her first.”

“Why would you say that?” Jin cried out, staring as the rest of the boys sniggered. “Just because I had a good night whilst the rest of you sat around here doesn’t mean you can tease me.”

“We’ve just never seen you so happy after a date,” Namjoon pointed out, slapping against his leg.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

Yoongi:

He was subtle in walking back to the dorm, all eyes were on him, but he remained tight-lipped, waiting for one of them.

“Did the date not go well?” Jungkook questioned firstly, watching him sit down in one of the bean bags, “I’m sorry hyung.”

“Don’t be sorry, it was the best date ever,” he smiled, watching as they all let go of sighs of relief, “I cannot begin to tell you how incredible that date was.”

They all sat forwards, “can you finally tell us a bit about her in that case Yoongi?”

He nodded shyly, “she’s just super chill, very funny and really interested in me, she asked a lot of questions and made me feel like I really was the only person on the planet.”

“You’ve got a look in your eye that gives it all away,” Namjoon teased, “you look like you’ve just came straight back from cloud nine, was it really that good?”

“No other date compares,” he simply stated, “we’ve already made plans to go out again when we’re both not busy with work, there was no way I wasn’t going to make arrangements to see her again.”

“So, is it too early to start hiring out a church and buying suits?” Jin joked.

“I think we’ve got a little way to go just yet.”

Hoseok:

Of course, Hobi couldn’t hide his excitement the second he walked into the dorm, letting go of a huge scream.

“What’s happened?” Jungkook called out, racing to the front door, only to realise it was Hobi, with the biggest smile on his face.

“Gather everyone, I have so much to say,” he chuckled, closing Jungkook’s surprised jaw for him, huddling with the rest of the boys in the living room.

Taehyung sat beside him, “we thought something serious had happened with that scream.”

Hobi giggled, “something serious has happened, I honestly think I might be in love after tonight. That date just took my breath away, Y/N’s so cool, you guys would love her.”

“How long must you have been holding that scream in?” Jimin teased him, “is it worth asking you if you’re going to be seeing her again, or do we know the answer?”

“I’ve held that scream in from about five minutes into the date,” he answered firstly, “but I’ll definitely be seeing her again, I’ve got her number, so now I just need to play it cool.”

“If you want to be cool, I highly suggest not screaming like that in front of her,” Yoongi spoke.

“I’ll save things like that for when she’s not around.”

Namjoon:

The boys were stood in front of the door as soon as Namjoon walked in, desperate to hear all about his evening.

“How was it?” Jungkook questioned before Namjoon even had two feet through the door. “What exactly was she like?”

“Yeah it was alright, I think I’m just going to go to bed,” he glumly spoke, hanging up his jacket and scarf. “I don’t know why you’re all so excited, it was just a date.”

Jin sighed, “that’s the point. It was a date, you never go on dates, we want to know how it went?”

Namjoon tried hard not to share, barely able to contain himself, “if I tell you that it went well, will you leave me alone? Because once I start talking about her, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“No, we want to hear every last detail,” Hobi spoke, ushering him in to sitting down, “we’ve been on tenterhooks all night wanting to know how it was.”

“Fine, but I have warned you,” Namjoon replied, sitting down between the two youngest members, “it was just amazing, I don’t have a bad word to say about it, I had such a good time with her.”

“Yes Namjoon!” They all cheered, smiling widely as his own smile grew, giggling as he began to think all about you once again.

“We want all the details, we’ll sit here all night long if we have to,” Jimin informed him.

“I don’t even know where to start…”

Jimin:

He tried his hardest to keep himself calm the whole ride home in the back of the taxi, yet as soon as he got home, all that was forgotten.

“I’m home!” He yelled at the top of his voice, hearing footsteps emerging from all of the rooms, “that was the best time ever.”

“You certainly look like you enjoyed yourself,” Jungkook grinned, wrapping an arm around him. “This might be the smuggest I’ve ever seen you look in seven years.”

The rest of the boys soon joined them, “why do you look like you’ve just been told the best news.”

He crashed down on the sofa, leaning back with the biggest grin, “I honestly think I’ve found the one, I cannot begin to tell you all just how incredible that was.”

“Steady on Chim, it was only a first date,” Namjoon reminded him, but Jimin’s head shook. “Why don’t you tell us just how incredible it was to make you this happy?”

“Everything was just so relaxed, it felt like I’d known her for years, I’ve never been this comfortable so quickly around anyone,” he smiled, “no one’s ever made me feel so good at the end of a date before.”

“It definitely looks like you had a good time with her,” Taehyung smiled beside him.

“Just the best, it really was incredible.”

Taehyung:

The slam of the door made everyone jump, none of them had expected to still be up waiting for him to arrive.

“About time!” Hobi shouted, staring as he walked into the room, “you’ve been out on your date for hours Tae.”

“What can I say? Time just ran away with us,” he giggled, “I know it sounds cliché, but it’s true, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

Namjoon beckoned him over to sit, “I hope you walked her to her door like we told you to do.”

Tae’s head nodded, “of course, I was a proper gentleman, and she was the perfect date, I can’t even find the words to properly describe to you how that was.”

“Judging by the fact you’ve got such a big smile on your face I don’t think you need to tell us,” Jin teased, “you haven’t looked this happy in a very long time.”

“I haven’t felt it either,” he chuckled, “I don’t quite know what it was to put my finger on, but something in that date just triggered so much emotion and happiness.”

“Well we’re just happy you enjoyed yourself,” Yoongi smiled back at him.

“I can’t wait to do it all over again.”

Jungkook:

From the moment he told the boys he had a date they’d trained him into how to become the perfect first date.

“Did you give her flowers?” Jin asked as soon as he sat down in the dorm, “and please tell me you didn’t wear that shirt?”

“Funnily enough, I didn’t listen to any of your advice, and she seemed to really like me,” Jungkook pointed out, “so perhaps you’re not as good at the dating game as you think.”

Hobi chuckled, tapping his shoulder, “this is why he’s been single for so long.”

Jin gasped, “I’ll have you know I’ve been on many first dates, it’s just that the ladies aren’t my type, I’ve never been the problem on a first date.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jungkook sniggered, “because unlike you, I’ve got myself a second date, and I seriously can’t wait to see her again.”

“I’m so glad it went so well for you,” Namjoon encouraged, “although I’m not sure how I feel about the youngest member getting a girlfriend, you’re not a baby anymore Kook.”

“I can’t wait to see what happens, and maybe you guys will get to meet her soon too.”

“We’d love for that Kook.”

---

Masterlist

[anotheranimestan]

Heyooo I legit just found u bc of the bakugo series, and then I went on a spree reading your account- ugh I’m in love!!! Do you think you could tag me when part 3 comes out?

Ahhh! Thank you so much! ❤️ You guys have no idea how much a few words of encouragement means to writers 😭.

No need to tag tho because here it is!!!!! 😃

Sorry it took so long. I wanted to write it as best as I could! I don’t want disappoint anyone who’s been enjoying so far. ☺️

~~

All Bark No Bite (pt. 3)

(Final part)

Bakugo angst + ~sexual tensionnn~

Please, children avert your eyes. Things get a LITTLE inappropriate here 😳

Read part 1 and part 2

wc: 2.4k

He’s an asshole...but he’s a HOT asshole 🤤

You’d never seen his room before. It was much different than you’d imagined. You’d expected burn marks all over the walls or blown up debris of things scattered about. Maybe a bunch of mirrors so he could look at his self-confident, conceited ass all night. But actually it was kinda of nice. Pretty neat. He had some posters hung up and some books laying around. Black sheets and blankets. And it smelled oddly sweet in here, sort of pleasant believe it or not.

You’re so used to him yelling and exploding so it was weird seeing him so relaxed, in his natural habitat. Doing normal things. Like eating a snack, tapping his pencil in concentration, fidgeting with his hair. He even spun around in his rolling chair a few times mindlessly. He was acting sort of...cute? It was unnerving being attracted to him like this.

But as soon as he noticed you watching him it was all over. You were making him self conscious. He didn’t even realize he’d let his guard down like that.

“That makes absolutely no sense, dumbass.” His voice was bored and over it.

“What are you talking about!? I’ve explained it three times!” You retorted indignantly.

“Exactly. I thought you were smarter than this...” He jabbed before turning around and flipping his notebook shut.

You’d spent twenty minutes attempting to teach him what he’d missed in class earlier today but he was insufferable. Easily the worst student on the planet. Every time you explained something he’d tell you how to teach it better. Who does that!?

“Whatever moron. I didn’t come up here to try and teach your pea brain. I—“ The words were harder to say than you’d expected. Painful actually. They really didn’t want to come out. “I just wanted to say sorry for getting you—“

He whipped a pencil and it hit you directly in the forehead.

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You hissed, rubbing the sore spot. How’d he get so much damn power behind that thing?

“Don’t apologize. It’s weird.”

“What!?” You threw the pencil back but only managed to hit his shoulder.

“Anyways...” He ignored you, completely unfazed by your assault.

“You’re easily the most—“

“Anyways...” You swore if he cut you off one more time you were going to smack the shit out of him. “Aizawa thinks you’ve lost your mind.”

The unexpected information took you aback.

“He saw you try and get yourself blown up in class yesterday... No sane person is stupid enough to pull a move like you did.”

Ah yes... he meant the time you wrapped the man’s hand around your neck, tauntingly, in front of like 20 classmates and two teachers. You’d been trying to avoid asking yourself the question of why you did that. You claimed it was the best way to shut him up....but there were other ways to do that. More reasonable ones. You wouldn’t admit you’d daydreamed of doing it before and subconsciously took the opportunity. Red embarrassment flashed through your body again. God knows what they were all thinking when they witnessed that. You desperately wished people would stop reminding you.

Suddenly the need to defend yourself bubbled up. “I—I only did that because I knew you wouldn’t do anything.”

He scoffed. But didn’t deny it. “If you’re going to try something stupid. At least do it right.” He chastised.

Your body froze as he stood up and walked over, crouching down directly in front of you.

“If I wanted to choke you. I’d do it like this.”

He wrapped his hand around your neck. Demonstrating the best way to actually cut off someone’s air flow. But he did it so gently you barely even heard his explanation. You were just flashing back to last night. Instantly your entire body lit on fire. Replaying this scene in your head was strong enough. But reenacting had you completely out of sorts. Kissing him again but this time going full out. You wanted to bite him, just to hear him make that deep moan into your mouth again. Just imagining it was making you flutter. Aching to have him pressed up against you like that, relieving some of this pressure that was building up in your body. You felt yourself unraveling. About to pounce.

But he interjected with something that stunned you once again. “The way you did it would be better for...other forms of choking.”

Dear god. Surely he knew what he was doing to you. If he kept this up any longer your heart or your lungs were definitely going to give out.

But you mustered up your last two brain cells that weren’t absolutely losing their shit over him and carried on with your normal banter.

“Yea yea, I get it. You can stop now.”

He didn’t budge. His hand still snug around your throat. You obviously didn’t mind it there but it was incapacitating your brain function.

You gently pushed it away and he didn’t resist. But where he put it next was no better.

He traced the side of your cheek and along the outline of your lips. Just staring at them, eyes lost like he was thinking deeply about something. He wasn’t giving you a moment of a break. No room to breathe.

Your nerves were through the roof, your heart was beating so loud you could hear it in your ears. Desperately you tried to change the topic. “So is this your attempt at being nice? Advice on how to murder someone?” It’s amazing how your mouth just spewed shit out even though your brain was actually dead.

“Sure.” Now he was tugging at your bottom lip. Completely unbothered by you baiting him.

“Ah. A nice Bakugo? I must be having a dream. I guess now that you’ve lost to me your whole tough guy persona has been killed.”

That snapped him out of it. But now he was looking just as intensely, directly into your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“Or what?” Faking composure was coming so easily much to your relief.

“Do you want to find out?” He growled.

“You’re not scary.” You said rolling your eyes as hard as possible.

Something snapped in him. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Within a moment he had you on your back. Your body didn’t even have time to process. Even if it did, would you have stopped him? He trapped both your wrists on either side of your head and your feet under his ankles. His arms looked glorious as he held up is body weight.

“How about now?” His voice was deep and savory.

There he went. Invading your mind again. His scent. That lust-filled look in his eyes. The way he was thoroughly enjoying being on top of you. The adrenaline was coiling through your body. He had you right where he wanted you. He could do anything he wanted to you. But that “annoying little mouth of yours” wasn’t done quite yet.

“Whatever. You always do this. But you won’t actually try anything.”

“You think I wouldn’t hurt you at all? I literally want to kill you sometimes.” He had a smug little grin on his face. But his eyes couldn’t pull themselves from your lips. After experiencing them once he could barely stop thinking about them.

“You’re telling me? I fucking hate you.” You lied.

It made his smirk form into that wicked, shit-eating grin he always wore. The one that gets deep under your skin and makes you want to punch him in the throat and yank him onto you at the same time.

“Kissing someone is a weird way to tell them you hate them.” He was really cutting into you now.

You hissed. “Hey. You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.” He raised an annoying little eyebrow.

Your brain wanted to choke him (the murder kind) but your body was screaming something completely different. The emotions swirling around in your chest was so overwhelming. Finally you burst.

You trapped one of his arms and corresponding leg and threw your weight to roll on top of him. One of your favorite moves from self-defense class that you knew would come in handy. Now you straddled him and using every ounce of your weight tried to pin his wrists down.

You expected him to fight you like the vicious little monster he is. But instead when you looked down he was just staring back at you. You were stunned at how good he looked at this angle. Did he have any bad angles?

“Finally. You made a move.” He said pretending to sound impressed. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Yea well...” You scoffed proudly. “you think you’re so fucking tough. Now looo—“

The words flew out of your mouth and you were tumbling again. This time he just grabbed your waist and tugged you with brute force. No technique needed. He easily overpowered you.

“Yea, that wasn’t going to work out. It was a cute try though, Little Bite.”

He laid directly on top of you now. Your legs spread as he rested his hips between them. His full weight pressed into you making it flutter. Your arms had somehow wrapped themselves around his neck and rested on his back.

The tension in the air made it difficult to breathe. But you were fully unconcerned with getting oxygen right now.

Nose to nose now he said “We’ll just count this as my rematch. Clearly I won.”

“You suck at flirting.”

Flirting? Where’d that come from?

“Seems like it’s working pretty good to me.”

That smug fucking face again.

“You’re such an ass.”

He bit his lip.

“Fuck...I love when you insult me like that.”

A beat passed and that was all it took. You smashed his lips onto yours. Wrapping your legs around him and squeezing. Too close wasn’t close enough.

He kissed you like he wanted you bad. Like you were his favorite meal and he was absolutely famished. It was so intense and passionate that neither of you could catch any air. Every insult, all the bickering, every jab had built up to this moment and was fueling it like gas to a forest fire.

His warmth was overtaking you. His body was so heavy, crushing you just liked you’d been daydreaming about all this time.

Your mind shut down all functions except desperately trying to use all five senses to their max capacity and commit every bit of him to memory.

He felt you pawing at the edge of his shirt and sat up. He peeled it off slowly. Letting your eyes adjust to every inch of him.

Your hands were instantly stroking every one of his muscles starting at his shoulders and trailing down his soft skin slowly...slowly to the edge of his jeans. Your index finger sat teasingly on the front button as you admired his perfectly toned body.

But before you even had time to think about what you wanted to do next he took your wrist and secured it down above your head again.

He dipped down and went straight for your neck.

Greeting it with a warm wet kiss from his tongue, his lips wrapped around your skin and sucked gently. You felt the blood pooled with pleasure rushing to the area. His other hand started exploring your body. Finally he was getting to put his hands on you the way he really wanted all along.

After you started tugging on his hair, desperately trying to avoid any scandalous hickeys he rolled you around again.

Letting you on top to straddle his hips. Giving you only a little bit of freedom though, as he locked one arm around your waist and the other started caressing your thighs slowly working his way north.

After squeezing your ass until his heart was content he clamped down both hands on your hips. You couldn’t bare it anymore. Your hips started gently grinding against him and you bit down on his neck all at once. You felt the angle of his pelvis rubbing into you creating little rumbles of pleasure.

“Fuck y/n..” he muttered under his breath.

You both were getting more and more bothered and aroused. His hands never stopped grabbing and tugging at you. His moans growing more fervent as he whispered into your ear.

He was just toying with the idea of peeling off your shirt when...

“THIS IS THE POLICE! COME OUT!”

Your soul practically rose out of your body as a loud bang almost broke the door down. Bakugo’s hand slapped over your mouth. You’d screamed without realizing it.

Kaminari’s laugh sounded through the door. “Oh my god Bakugo! You scream like a girl!”

Mina shrieked. “No, stupid! Y/n are you in there!?”

Your life was ending.

“Get the fuck out of here before I come out there and break your skulls!” Bakugo barked at them.

They didn’t say anything but you heard their quick footsteps as they ran down the hall still shrieking like banshees.

“Oh god..” you groaned as you tried to roll away from him, using his bare chest to push off.

But he wouldn’t let you go. “Where are you going?”

“Aren’t you going to go hunt them down and threaten them or something.” Typical Bakugo behavior.

“No, I’m busy.”

You had to stop your mouth from falling open.

“They’re probably going to tell everyone.” You prodded. Expecting his temper any second now. Like he was a bomb about to go off. You pulled away again in preparation, sitting fully upright now.

“I’ll deal with them tomorrow. I’m dealing with you tonight. Now get back over here before I get mad.”

You shrieked as he muscled you back into his arms. He bent you back around him as snugly as he could. Moving your chin to the side, he kissed your neck, sweeter this time. Instinctively your hands ran through his hair. Fuck the rest of them. You could get lost in this hot head all night. And you were as he started gently sucking on your soft spots again.

But he pulled away abruptly. Like he’d just realized something. “How are you gonna become a pro hero if a moron like Denki can scare you like that?”

You smacked the back of your idiot’s head lightly. “Don’t fucking ruin it.” You groaned.

“Fine.” He grinned as he went in for the kiss that started the rest your next piping hot and sticky couple of hours together.

~💥💥

TADAAA! What did you guys think?? What was your favorite part overall?

I’d love hearing your thoughts and opinions 😃 makes me a better writer

Also special shout-out to @jennammaee ! Pt. 2 of this series has been my most successful post yet, so thanks for encouraging me to write it!!

Tags: @sweetsailor000 @yumxmii @fullsundear @frosted-flakes @marloalmore @aprilbouz01 @deneuves @softestparker @davidbowiehotashell-blog @mocha-focha @piii-chan @v0dkadaddy @xxjosiexx

[sequinsmile-x]

Day-to-Day

Part of the Whatever Tomorrow Brings series.

Chapter 2: Theo 

This chapter is all about Theo coming out to his family, which I know can be a sensitive subject for people. So I just wanted to give fair warning before anyone reads it. 

Word count: 4.7k

Read here on ao3, or below the cut.

Let me know what you think! 

January 2010

Emily was nervous as soon as the school called, Theo’s teacher, a kind woman called Ms Gorman, wanted to speak to her as soon as possible. Aaron couldn’t make it, a meeting with his superiors running over, so she had a cranky Amelia in her lap as she sat in a slightly too small chair in Theo’s classroom.

“Mrs Hotchher, I understand that the circumstances around Theo’s recent absence from class was...unusual to say the least.” Ms Gorman says kindly. “But I do have a couple of concerns.”

Emily frowns, her heart constricting in her chest, fears about her son being held back a year taking root. She shushes Amelia as she cries out, holding the small toy she had brought to entertain her infront of her.

“I did try my best with homeschooling, I know it wasn’t ideal but we did ok.”

“That’s not what I mean, Mrs Hotchner. Theo is a very bright boy, and he is doing very well academically.” Ms Gorman reassures, and Emily feels a brief moment of relief. “My concern is more around the social side of things.”

“Oh.” Emily says. “He hasn’t said anything. What about Ollie, and his other friends? You couldn’t get them to spend 10 minutes away from each other before.”

The truth rolled around Emily’s head. ‘Before’ was back prior to their world being torn apart and a serial killer almost murdering Aaron in their old home. Before she had spent 6 months in a cramped apartment with her kids, allowed no contact with her husband or anyone else in their lives.

“6 months is a long time when you are their age. They’ve all moved on.”

It felt like a gut punch to Emily, guilt spreading through her body quickly. She swallows against the lump of emotion in her throat. “Does he talk to anyone?”

Ms Gorman smiles sadly at her before shaking her head. “He tried at first, but he just sits alone now at lunch and at recess. I’ve tried to encourage him to play with the others, but all he wants to do is see you or his older brother.”

Emily closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath before she looks back at Ms Gorman.

“Thank you for letting me know.” __________

Theo doesn’t want to talk about it at all on the way home from school, despite her attempts to bribe him with ice cream. Jack isn’t even able to pull him out of it with promises of a few rounds of MarioKart. Theo solemnly eats his dinner before going to his room early, asking if he can just go upstairs to play alone.

Emily sighs as she gets Amelia out of her high chair, kissing the sleepy baby’s head as she pulls her into her arms. “Bed time for you I think, sweet girl.”

Aaron walks over to them and smiles, kissing his wife on the lips and his daughter on her head.

“Why don’t I put her down and you go speak to Theo?” He says, a tightness in his voice that had been there since she told him what the teacher had explained to her. He was already lifting the 11 month old from her arms as Emily started to protest. “We both know you’re the only one he’ll talk to.”

Emily opens her mouth to argue, but Amelia interrupts her, mumbling into her fathers shirt as she sleepily lays her head against him.

“Dada.”

Emily rolls her eyes as she relents. “I fed her almost exclusively with my body for 10 months and you’re the favourite.” She says, eyebrow raised but no malice in her voice. They both knew she didn’t really mind, that she was delighted that the once strong bond between father and daughter had been repaired after their long separation.

She kisses her daughter’s head again, whispering goodnight and words of love against her skin before she heads upstairs to her son’s room. She knocks lightly on the door.

“Theo? Can I come in?”

There’s a sniff through the door that makes her heart twist in her chest. “No.”

“Theo, baby. I want to make sure you’re ok.” There’s a pause. “Please?”

“Ok.”

Emily walks into the room to find Theo sat on his bed, tears streaming down his face and Archie held tightly in his arms. “Oh my sweet boy.”

She walks over to the bed and sits next to him at the head of it. She wraps her arm around him and he immediately curls into her embrace, his wet face pressed against her shirt.

“I have no friends.” He cries, and she shushes him, pulling him fully into her lap so she can hug him properly.

“Your teacher said you have been having some problems with Ollie and the others.”

“They don’t want to talk to me anymore.” He sniffs. “They said I’m weird.”

Emily immediately stiffens, anger spiking in her veins. She hears a voice in the back of her head, that sounded suspiciously like her husband, that was telling her she couldn’t tell off a bunch of 7 year olds for upsetting her son.

“That’s not very nice of them.” She says, kissing the top of his head, surprised at how even her voice sounded. “Have you tried talking to anyone else?”

Theo sniffs again. “There’s a girl called Lucy that seems ok.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to her?”

Theo pulls back from her enough to look at her, an indigent look on his face that she just knew was all her. “Because she’s a girl, Mommy.” He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, I’m a girl.” She replies, fake indignation in her voice as she pokes his nose. “You speak to me all the time.”

“You don’t count.”

“Oh I don’t, huh?” She says, tickling him until he relents. He is laying against her again and she runs her hand through his hair. “Just try talking to her, baby. You never know she could end up being fun. Even if she is a girl.”

Emily stays with him until he falls asleep, slipping out from under him with years of practice at not disturbing him. She goes in search of her husband and finds him in their room, laying on their bed, one hand under his head, still fully dressed from his day at work.

“Is he ok?” Aaron asks as soon as she enters the room, his voice tight and his eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

She sighs, joining him on the bed. “I think he will be.” She looks at him, biting her lip when she sees the barely suppressed emotion on his face. “Are you ok?”

“It’s my fault.”

“Aaron, it’s no-”

“Don’t say it’s not my fault.” He says, his voice too close to begging for her liking. “I goaded a serial killer and he came after me, after us. And now our kids are traumatised, and our son doesn’t have any friends left.” Emily grabs his hand and tugs him towards her. He doesn’t resist, rolling onto his side until he is pressed up against her, his head on her chest. She wraps her arms around him, scratching her nails through his hair.

“Honey.” She punctuates the pet name with a kiss to his forehead. “I’m not going to let you blame yourself for any of this. It’s all George Foyet’s fault. All of it.” She almost feels her own resolve slip when she feels his tears through her shirt, opposite to the side that Theo had cried on only an hour earlier. “Ok?”

“Ok.” He says, his hand moving to her hip to squeeze it. “Ok.” He repeats, sounding more sure.

They lay there for a while, taking comfort in each other that two months after their reunion still felt precious.

“What would we all do without you?” Aaron asks into her shirt, his voice sounding lighter than it had done all evening.

Emily laughs. “I don’t know. I think our kids would all have less of an attitude though.”

“You’ve got that right.” He replies, and she can feel his smug grin against her chest.

“Jerk.” She says, unable to stop herself from laughing. He looks up at her and they kiss, his hand on her hip tightening. They pull back and she leans her forehead against his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” __________

November 2020

Theo wants to get it off his chest, he wants to tell his family before he leaves for college. He decides to tell Penelope first. Aside from his parents she had always been his biggest supporter, his confidant. Her friendship with his mom and dad had served him well before, a rare teenage tantrum about them being over protective turned around in moments as she reminded them how much they had been through to have him, and to keep their family safe. She had driven him home, his head lowered as he apologised to his mother for their crossed words. Now he needed her advice.

He had sent her a text the day before asking if he could come round after school for a chat, saying he needed some help with something, his insistence that it would be kept a secret from his mom and dad clear. Penelope replied, almost immediately like she always did, with the affirmative and Theo found himself unable to concentrate throughout this classes. His mind focused elsewhere.

Penelope answered her front door in a flurry of bright colours and barely concealed anxiety. She ushers him into her home, a hug and a greeting in quick succession as she guides him into her living room.

“Now, you have got to tell me what this is all about.” She says, already passing him his favourite soda before he can ask for it. “I know you said you wanted to keep whatever it is between us, but if you’ve done drugs or killed someone or something else illegal, I don’t think I can keep it from them.”

“Aunt Pen-”

“Your dad has this way of looking directly into my soul or something. And your mom is terrifying when it comes to you guys. I’d have to go into hiding-”

“Aunt Pen.” Theo says more firmly, finally getting her attention. She stops ranting and stares at him, an expectant look on her face. “It’s nothing illegal. I promise.”

She seems to notice how serious he is and she instantly calms, the concerned look on her face melting away into comfort. “Theo, you know you can tell me anything.”

He takes a deep breath, and he says the words he had never said out loud, but had known were true for as long as he remembered. “I’m gay.”

Penelope doesn’t react for a second, no emotion passes over her face, and Theo very briefly wonders if he had somehow made a mistake. Then all of a sudden he’s in a bone crushing hug, and he can almost feel the relief pouring out of him.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?” She asks, still holding him tightly.

Theo swallows against the lump in his throat, tears of relief on his face. “Yeah.”

“And you want my advice on how to tell your mom and dad?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Oh.” Penelope suddenly exclaims, pulling back from Theo, making him jump slightly. “I have an idea. You could get one of those confetti gun things, fill it with rainbow confetti and just let it off at dinner.”

Theo stares at his aunt for a second, the enthusiasm rolling off of her in waves. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

“A cake?”

“Aunt Pen.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to do something over the top. I just want to tell them.”

“Teddy Bear.” Penelope says, using the nickname she had used when he was small. She was, without a doubt, the only person he would let get away with calling him that now. “Your mom and dad love you. Nothing will ever change that. You should just tell them, whenever you feel ready.”

He nods, a smile on his face. “Ok.”

She sends him home with enough baked goods to feed a small town, and a fierce hug at the door. “I am so proud of you, Theo.”

It’s the only secret Penelope Garcia ever keeps. __________

The next day Theo comes home from school to a package, Penelope’s recognisable handwriting on the label. He takes it to his room and opens it, something like a mix of a laugh and a sigh coming out when he pulls out a handheld confetti cannon.

There’s a small note attached to it that simply says ‘in case you change your mind.’

He hides it under his bed. ___________

Emily is surprised when she looks up from her never ending stream of paperwork to a knock on her office door to see her son standing there, nerves rolling off of him. There were times when it was hard for her to accept that so many years had passed. That her once tiny baby who refused to be separated from her in the first few weeks of his life, although her husband would argue it was years, was now this 18 year old standing in front of her.

Her nerves were immediately on edge. He would only have finished school just less than an hour ago, meaning he had come directly from school to Quantico. The kids used to visit her at work more when they were younger, Aaron bringing them in on evenings when she was still Unit Chief and they were fresh back from a case, paperwork too behind for her to go straight home. He would walk into her office, Theo and Jack by his side and Amelia resting on his hip with a bag full of food prepared for them all. This was rare, just one of them showing up unannounced, and a number of worse case scenarios were already tumbling around her head.

“Theo, hi.” She immediately abandons her work, pen forgotten on her desk as she approaches her son. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.” He chokes out, sounding anything but ok. “I just wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

“Of course. Give me one second.” She walks past him, a hand briefly on his shoulder before she pokes her head out of her office and tells her assistant to give them some time. She then closes the door and pulls the blinds shut giving them total privacy, already completely prepared to hunt down whoever had Theo this upset. She sits on the couch she keeps in her office and pats the seat next to her, encouraging him to join her.

At first Emily just sits there, watching Theo intently as he avoids looking at her, worry all over his face. She lets five minutes of tortuous silence pass. She sees how he is picking at his cuticles, a habit he had inherited from her, how his left knee was bouncing constantly, anxiety rolling off of him.

“Theo, honey.” She places a hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing. It makes him look at her and she gives him an encouraging smile. “You can take as long as you need to tell me whatever it is you want to. I just need to know if you’re ok, because I’m worried.”

“Sorry.” He says, trying to smile at her.

“Oh sweetheart, no.” She cups the back of his head. “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Theo suddenly closes the gap between them and hugs her tightly. He’d always been the most affectionate out of her children, even throughout his teenage years he had still consistently sought her out. A bond between the two of them that Aaron often said even teenage hormones couldn’t fracture.

Emily hugs him back, frowning at what almost felt like desperation in his embrace. “You’re ok, Theo. You’re ok.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?”

He pulls back from her, and she instinctively wipes the tear away from his cheek. Something she had done countless times in his life. Something she would do as long as he needed her to.

Theo takes a deep breath. “I’m gay.” He says, his voice shaky but his words certain.

Emily had known this was coming, she always had. She had seen how anxious Theo had been lately but waited for him to come to her, for him to be ready. She smiles at him and wipes another tear away from his cheek. “Thank you for telling me. I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Theo furrows his brow, looking so much like Aaron it makes her smile wider. “That’s it?”

“Were you expecting something else?”

“No.” He says, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Lucy came out to her parents lately and it didn’t go well. I guess I was worried.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Do you think Dad will be ok? What about grandma?”

Emily smiles at him again and pulls him back into a hug and kisses the side of his head.

“Sweetheart.” She soothes, her hand running up and down his back. “Your dad loves you, no matter what. It’s kind of part of the whole being a parent thing. I can be with you when you tell him if you want.” Emily smiles when she feels him nod against her. “Just take it one step at a time. And as far as your grandmother goes, if she says anything even slightly awful you leave her to me. I’m long overdue for a fight with her anyway.”

Theo laughs at that and pulls away, and wipes the few remaining tears from his face. “Thanks, Mom. I don’t think I could go head to head with her.”

“Lucky for you I have 50 years of practice.” She smiles. “Do you want to go home? Talk to Dad?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“You’re more important than any of that.” Emily says gesturing to her desk. “It’s completely up to you though.”

“Let's do it.” __________

Theo is grateful for his mother as she sits next to him on the couch, close enough for him to reach out for if he needs her. She’d always been his favourite person for as long as he could remember. His memories of the time they had been separated from his father were slightly fuzzy, and at this stage when he dreamt about it he wasn’t always sure what was real and what his brain had made up to torture him. What Theo did remember, however, was his mother. How she had held it together, the way she had still let them all know how much they were loved.

It was only as he got older, and he realised how disgustingly in love his parents were, it occurred to him how difficult it must have been for her. He had seen how miserable either of them were if they were separated for a few days at a time, and every time they hugged a little too long in the foyer of their home, only breaking apart at Amelia’s protests, he wondered how they had managed it for 6 months.

When he tells his dad his most closely guarded secret he feels instant relief at his supportive reaction. It was almost, word for word, the same as his mother’s, and a small part of Theo wondered if they had practised it.

__________

He tells his brother over the phone a week later, Jack’s working schedule as a resident at the local was difficult and made getting together tricky at times.

Theo takes a deep breath as he walks into the living room, a small smile on his face as he finds his younger sister sitting on the couch, her head buried in her phone.

“Mills.”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t look up from her phone.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Yeah.”

Theo pauses when she still doesn’t look up at him. “Amelia.” He says, the use of her full name finally drawing her gaze from her phone. “It’s important.”

She holds her hands up and makes a show of locking her phone and putting it down in her lap. “You have my undivided attention.”

Theo takes a seat next to her on the couch. “I’ve already told Mom and Dad, and Jack, so I thought it was important to tell you too. I’m gay.”

Amelia looks at him for a second, expression blank before she picks her phone back. “Are you free right now, or are you doing this with everyone tonight?”

Theo furrows his brows at her. “Sure...I’m free.”

“Cool.” She stands up, furiously texting someone. “Jack thought you wouldn’t come out until after Christmas, and now he owes me $20. Can you drive me to his place?”

Theo stares at her for a second, his car keys already in his hand. “You guys bet on that?”

“Yeah.” Amelia replies, smiling at a text he assumes is from Jack. “Can we go to Taco Bell after?”

“Why?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “To spend my $20. Obviously.” __________

Amelia sits next to him, her feet on the dash of his new car, eating what appeared to be her third taco in as many minutes. She reaches into the paper bag in the passenger seat footwell and passes him one. Theo takes it with a smile on his face.

Amelia nudges him with her elbow. “I’m very lucky to have you as an older brother.” She briefly rests her head on his shoulder, and Theo is taken aback by the out of character sentiment from his sister.

Then as quickly as it happened, she removes her head from his shoulder and takes a sip of her Baja Blast. “So, what’s your type? Big and muscly like Uncle Derek, or nerdy like Uncle Spence?”

“Mills.”

“What? I’ve got to be on the lookout for you.” She takes another sip of her drink. “You’re terrible at flirting.”

“You’re not even 12. You shouldn’t even know what flirting is.” He deadpans.

“Oh come on.” Amelia says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known what flirting is since I could talk. Mom and Dad do it constantly. It’s disgusting.” __________

“It’s rare we get the house to ourselves.” Aaron says as he wraps his arms around Emily’s waist from behind, kissing the side of her head. She was standing at the kitchen counter, cutting up some vegetables for dinner. It was the closest thing Aaron would let her do to cooking, his claim that she could burn water always quickly following his protests that he could prepare meals by himself.

Emily smiles as she briefly leans back into him. “Careful, or it will be your fault when I cut myself.” To make a point she purposely pushes the knife down a little harder than necessary. “And we both know you can’t cope if I’m hurt.”

“That’s unfair.” He says squeezing her a little tighter.

“Do I need to bring up the time my appendix nearly exploded, again? Or do you remember that differently to how I do?”

He takes the knife from her hand and turns her round so she’s facing him. Her arms automatically wrap around him, her hands trailing up his back to rest at the edge of his shoulder blades. Aaron leans down to kiss her, determined to wipe the smug look off her face, when they hear the scrape of a key in the front door. He groans and rests his forehead against hers.

Emily laughs and briefly presses her lips against his. “We’ll carry on this conversation later, Mr Hotchner.”

“That better be a promise.” He says, pulling her slightly closer, hearing Theo and Amelia’s voices drift into the house.

“Always, my love.” She kisses him again before extracting herself from his grip. She walks towards where she can hear the kids talking, and she arrives to find Amelia going upstairs.

“Does she not want dinner?” Emily asks Theo, watching her daughters retreating figure up the stairs.

“I think Mills just ate more tacos than anyone ever has in one sitting.” Theo says, smiling at the look of bewilderment on his mother’s face. “She bet Jack $20 that I would come out before Christmas, she made me take her to Taco Bell to spend her winnings.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. She knew Ameila had very little tact, and a part of her was concerned at what she could have said to her brother. “Do you need me to have a word with her?”

“No it’s ok.” Theo shakes his head. “Mom, did you and Dad already know?”

Emily flushes slightly, averting her eyes from her son before she looks back at him. “Yes. We did. We were just waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to tell us.” She laughs at the look of confusion on his face. “Honey, I think you sometimes forget what your dad and I both used to do for a living. Plus, your first ever crush was Joe Jonas from Camp Rock.”

Theo laughed at that, the relief blooming in his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t our place, honey. This is your story to tell.” She opens her arms up for a hug which he gladly accepts. “We’re both so proud of you.” ______

After dinner Aaron goes to the home office to mark some papers for the class he taught at Quantico. Full retirement had never quite suited him, so he taught one class a semester. Theo finds himself standing outside the office just before he went to bed, after watching a movie with his mother, knocking to say goodnight to his father.

“Come in.”

Theo opens the door and walks in, hovering in the doorway. “I’m off to bed. Mom says she’ll meet you in your bedroom to finish the conversation you started.” Theo says. Aaron tries to hide the smile on his face, but obviously fails when his son makes a noise of disgust. “I should have known that was something gross.”

“Sorry, you know she thinks it’s funny to freak you out.” Aaron laughs, his amusement at his wife's antics still as strong as they were when they first met. “If you need me as backup the first time you bring a boyfriend home let me know. We both know what your mother is like.” Aaron says, smirking as Theo’s face pales, images of Jack’s first attempts at bringing a girl home flicking through his brain.

“Oh God, she’ll find a way to bring up the you vs Foyet thing won’t she.”

Aaron smiles as he takes a sip of his drink. “Without a doubt.” __________

Aaron sneaks into his bedroom a couple of hours later, well aware that his wife was likely fast asleep by now. He smiles when he sees her curled up in the middle of the bed, mouth slightly open as she snored lightly, her hand under his pillow.

He quickly gets ready for bed before joining her. The movement of the bed wakes her enough for her to make a disgruntled noise before she moves closer to him, her thigh pressed over his waist.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” He soothes, securing her to him with a hand on her back.

“I think I promised to do something dirty when you came to bed.” She mumbles, face pressed into him.

Aaron chuckles, his hand drifting under her sleep shirt to press against her skin. “Another time, baby. You’re tired.”

She hums into him. “I’m glad Theo is ok, he seemed happier at dinner.”

“I think he’s just relieved it's out there.”

They lay in silence, and he thinks she may have fallen asleep until she speaks again. “He told me that Penelope sent him an explosive prop to come out to us with.”

“She did what?” __________

[watermelonlipstick]

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8​. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself. 

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

           Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

           “The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

           “Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

           “If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

           “Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

           He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

           “Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

           “Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

           Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

           “Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

           It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours,  the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

           Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

           “I’m not going in.”

           Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

           “Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

           His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

           You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

           Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

           “You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

           “It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

           You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

           Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

           “You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

           Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

           “You don’t kno—”

           He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels. 

           The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

           “That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

           “3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

           You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

           Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

           You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

           If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

           “Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

           “Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

           “What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

           “That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

           “A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

           “You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

           Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

           “Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

           As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

           The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

           Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

           You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

           You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

           “Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

           “Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

           “I feel like we’re camping.”

           “What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

           “You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

           “I really don’t want to tal—”

           “I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

           You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

           “You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

-

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[idvlover]

Hello sorry if your asks are closed I didn't see anything but if you could write kroto x inference enemies to lovers headcanons that would be great!

You guys are causing me to find new ships with Naib. If you ever want to talk more about this ship I'd be more than happy to!!

Inference X Kroto enemies to lovers:

With how everything started at the theater with Lady Bella's death. Its clear Inference isn't there to try and get along with everyone, the only friend he has there is Ronald

With how he's interviewing everyone. He's nitpicking everything and won't let up on certain clues and it just makes everyone upset, but they know he's just doing his job. That is what makes him a pretty popular detective after all

When time came for Kroto's turn, she became extremely nervous simply because of his approach. She did suddenly becomes popular after Lady Bella's death and that is a little strange after all

So of course she gets mad when he points that out

"I would NEVER kill anyone over fame!"

"Then why are you getting so defensive about the situation?"

"Because- I mean who wouldn't?! You're pointing the finger at me!"

"I am only trying to piece together evidence."

Yeah, that didn't pan out nicely. Inference ended up becoming more suspicious and Kroto is desperately trying to keep her name clean

Someone gave her the advice to just stay calm. But how can you stay calm when someone thinks you're a killer?

Inference does move onto Scrooge much to her relief. But Ronald warns he doesn't just keep his focus on someone just once

This made her grumble. She just wanted to achieve her dream! Is that so much to ask for? Yes, it was a terrible thing to do by taking Lady Bella's spotlight right after her death, but how can she control what the audience wants?

They were always arguing about evidence or who it really was. It was even starting to annoy Inference because he's just doing his job

When Inference does come back to her. She remains calm this time. Answers all of his questions, don't get defensive and tries to be accurate with her whereabouts

But he points out that some of them don't match up, she was about to panic until he said: "Everyone here seems to have a solid alibi though. Someone even vouched for you."

The day he left is the same day she quickly changed Theater. She just could face the Gold Rose Theater because of what happened. It was upsetting and scary

After some time goes by, Inference does go back to the theater to check on everyone. When he hears about Kroto. He feels a small sense of guilt, he knows he might be one of the reasons she left and that's not what he meant to cause

He also wonders if she is okay because seeing someone die in front of you can do a lot to someone's mental health

Truth encouraged him to go to the other theater to check on her if he's that worried

And he does. He goes and watches one of her performances and he found it neat!

But when Kroto is taking a break she notices him

He walks about to her and her only response is: "are you here to try and see if it was me who killed Bella? Because if so then leave, you said it yourself I'm innocent"

He sighed knowing that a response like that was coming

"I just wanted to check on you"

"Why?"

"Because you were one of the witnesses. Seeing someone die is awful"

She stood there shocked. He was right, seeing Bella die was awful, but she doesn't want his comfort. So she walks away

After that Inference sometimes just steps in to watch her performance to see if she's alright then leave

Kroto notices this... And it felt nice... No one at the theater did that for her when Bella died

She's tried many times to catch him before he leaves, but he was already driving down the road by the time she gets a chance

But she did see his friend Truth walking down the sidewalk. So she asks her if she can give him the invitation to one of her performances. One that he could actually stay for from start to end

Inference got the invitation. After everything that had happened, why does she want him to watch her performance

Truth told him she'll take over the office and he can go have a break for once in his life (he literally went from fighting a war to solving murders- like take a break from that mess my guy)

It felt weird staying for the play. But it was nice

Yes, he sat very far in the back because rarely anybody sits there, But Kroto is glad he did because she was worried he didn't show up and he was easy to find

After the performance, Inference was smiling. He now sees why she became popular so quickly she's great at what she does!

He does try to leave at the end, nearly had a heart attack when someone grabs his wrist only to see it was Kroto. She looked relieved to see him and he got worried

But she reassured him that she was just glad he came. After that, it was an awkward silence. Inference was going to leave, but Kroto quickly asked if he wanted to have dinner with her and tried not to sound eager. He accepts it

They don't go anywhere too fancy. Just a nice little local restaurant

"I'm sorry." Said Inference.

"For... For what??"

"For driving you away from the Gold Rose theater. That wasn't my intention."

It's been a long time since the incident. Kroto later down the road realized he was simply doing his job and of course people are going the be intimidated by a detective

"Don't apologize for doing your job. I was scared because who wouldn't be? I mainly left because I couldn't look at the stage the same due to Bella's death."

After that, Kroto invites him more often and started to gain feelings for him

She would even drop by his office and drop off a packed lunch for him. Sometimes even tell him to take a short break

"Take a break."

"No."

"There's a new café down the road."

".... Fine."

She wants to tell him how she feels, but at the same time she doesn't think he'll return the feeling because of how busy he is

Fortunately for her, he does feel the same. He wants to tell her but doesn't know how to

So he invites her on a late-night walk. He's trying to think of the words to use

"So... I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"If you and I are.... Together maybe. Would you be okay with that?"

She thinks she knows what he's saying, but she wants to make sure that her heart doesn't get ahead of her head

"Together as in... Like a couple?"

"Yes. Like a couple."

Kroto had to keep herself from jumping on him for a hug. So she settles for taking his hand into hers: "Yes. I would very much like that."

Inference can see the excitement in her face, so he gives her a sweet kiss

Kroto likes initiating affection and Inference is fine with that so long as it is in private

On days when she's done performing, Inference would pick her up and take her home

Sometimes it's the other way around if she's on her day off and she'll take him home

Inference becomes very protective of her when it comes to fans. He knows there are some weird ones out there, so he teaches her different ways of self-defense

Their dates are usually at home dates where it's just the two of them relaxing

Kroto messing with him by laying her foot on his shoulder playfully asking him to massage them

"Would you?"

"What is with you and putting your foot on my shoulder-"

They love winter activities. Especially ice skating. Kroto will be twirling around and pulling Inference along

[makeste]

Do you have a Bakudeku (or not only if you have other things in mind) wishlist for the aftermath of the arc? and do you think their relationship will be completely resolved or Hori will stretch it out some more? (bc removing the tension completely (not halfway like DvK2) out of the most prominent relationship before the very end of the series is kind of a bold move, even though DekuvShigaraki could kinda (not literally) "replace" it)

ah but that’s the great thing about rival-type relationships, anon -- there is always going to be a certain amount of tension there on some level. not necessarily in a bad way, but just enough to keep things from ever getting boring. the key thing here is that “rival” isn’t just another word for “person I don’t get along with”; a true rival is supposed to be someone who challenges and pushes you. the thing I love so much about Deku and Kacchan’s relationship is that it has evolved from unhealthy rivalry -- jealous, insecure, and antagonistic -- into true, healthy rivalry, in which is supportive and encouraging. true rivalry is about neither of them allowing the other to rest on their laurels. it’s about both of them pushing themselves to get stronger because they don’t want to let the other down. it’s about that blend of seamless cooperation and having each other’s back while still bantering back and forth like an old married couple. I don’t know about anyone else, but for me that’s hands down my favorite type of relationship in fiction, and I don’t think I could ever get tired of it.

my “wishlist” is already coming together pretty nicely (and I’m happy to say Horikoshi finally checked off a major item as of chapter 285, though I’m still holding out for Bakugou to quote that iconic “you looked like you needed saving” line back at Deku at some point; hey, one can always hope) and has been pretty much since chapter 120 to tell the truth, which is when he really started to resolve the relationship (and it absolutely was a bold move). but here are a few more things I’m keeping my fingers crossed for. I know you specifically said the aftermath of this arc, but I sort of ended up doing a “things I want from now up until the end of the series” thing instead, lol my bad.

anyway, so BakuDekuish Things I Would Like To See:

the reveal that Bakugou’s hero name is tied to Deku.

the two of them having Mutual Angst about whatever the fuck is going to happen with All Might. :/

Bakugou returning the favor Deku paid him way back in chapter 62, once Deku finally has whatever crisis of faith the series seems to be building him up to. if you recall, 62 was the chapter where Bakugou threw a temper tantrum about having to work together with Deku and was all “I’d rather lose,” and Deku LOST HIS SHIT COMPLETELY and clocked him clean in the jaw and was all “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SAY THAT YOU’D RATHER LOSE,” and got him to see sense that sometimes you can’t win all on your own and you have to work together in order to accomplish that. to make a long story short, I think the series is building up to a similar moment, except with the roles reversed Because Parallels, and Kacchan helping Deku get his head on straight when it comes to trying to save everyone all by himself.

a threequel fight at Ground Beta. possibly in connection to the above angst, if they are feeling so inclined. or else maybe building up to...

Bakugou apologizing to Deku (and yes he does need to, and yes it is coming; 284 was pretty much confirmation of that. if All Might says they will have their chance to talk then they’ll have their chance to talk, dammit).

Horikoshi revealing what The Deal Is with that Bakuvestige (which I debated including on this list because I know it’s still controversial af lol, but screw it. I want to see a Kacchan vestige giving Deku some Cranky Vestige Advice, and also teaming up with spirit!Deku and the All Might!vestige and the rest to battle AFO at the end of the series. this post goes more in depth as to how I think it might play out).

and last but not least, hand-holding is all well and good, and I know everyone’s kind of (justifiably) obsessed with it right now thanks to volume 29. but I’m gonna go ahead and take it one step further than that, and put it out there into the universe that as far as heartfelt gestures of affection and long-overdue reconciliation go, what I am really craving more than anything else is A HUG. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. DON’T BE BABIES ABOUT THIS, YOU TWO. HUGS ARE MANLY AF, SO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND DO IT ALREADY. no Kacchan, I don’t want to hear about “eww Deku cooties.” yes, Deku will cry. you probably will cry too you big emo, just suck it up and do it already goddammit.

anyway, so there you have it. honestly though, no matter how many of these Horikoshi ultimately decides to indulge me on, I’m pretty sure this will continue to be my favorite relationship in the series. and honestly, I think a large part of that for me is because they started to sort their shit out so early. speaking as someone who was a big Naruto fan back in the day and never got over how poorly Naruto and Sasuke’s relationship was handled, for me Deku and Kacchan’s relationship is sort of an ongoing therapy for that lol. three cheers for rivals who actually talk their shit out with each other, and listen. goddamn.

[bearly-writing]

This was originally requested by a very lovely prompter who wanted faux-affectionate villain with Lotor and either Shiro or Keith. I really struggled with the fic for some reason so wrote a different one for them instead. When I decided I was getting back into bthb I wrote this fic and wondered why I struggled so much the first time. Then I checked the original request and realised I’d totally forgotten they asked for Lotor 🤦‍♀️ If the original prompter does read this, I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted!

Also, just to note that I generally don’t write Voltron fics anymore. That isn’t to say I never will again, but at the moment I’m only writing Voltron for bhtb, just to warn anyone who might be expecting me to write more Voltron after this!

Forget Me Not

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Faux-Affectionate Villain

Characters: Shiro, Keith, Lance, Pidge, Hunk

Warnings: Implied past rape

Summary: “We had an arrangement, the Champion and I, back then. An exchange of favours. Blankets and water and such in return for what I wanted. And I always followed through, didn’t I? Not like some of the others.”

There‘s a throbbing pulse somewhere in the back of Shiro’s head. His face feels too hot, his throat tight. The scar across his nose tingles oddly. It feels a little like the flashback he’d had in Voltron, when they’d first laid eyes on the robeast that had once been Myzax, but slower. More insidious.

Read it on AO3 here!

Shiro doesn’t like this. Normally during intelligence gathering missions like this, they try to avoid any of the higher-level Galra. They’re usually stealth missions, only resorting to fire fights if something goes wrong, but this time, there hadn’t been an easy way to access the terminal. The Galra commander in charge of the ship had still been in the control room when Shiro and Pidge had made it through the blast doors. They’d taken him down quickly, but now Lance and Keith are standing over the Galra kneeling on the floor, hastily tied up, and glaring as Shiro presses his glowing Galra hand to the terminal whilst Pidge downloads the necessary information to the castle.

It's nothing they haven’t done before. Sometimes situations require them to have to confront the Galra. If they don’t have to, they try not to kill anyone. Sometimes they even manage to get some useful information out of the Galra - if they’re particularly cowardly.

For some reason, though, Shiro has a bad feeling about this. Worse than the normal low-level anxiety he feels whenever any of the paladins are having to deal with actual Galra face-to-face. Worse than even some of the more dangerous intelligence gathering missions. It’s stupid, because this particular Galra is hardly a big player and the ship itself would barely even be a blip on Voltron’s radar if they hadn’t gotten a tip-off that it might have been involved in the Kerberus mission’s capture.

Maybe that’s all it is - this reminder of what had happened to Shiro. Maybe this ship really had been involved in the worst year of his life, and something in the back of Shiro’s brain recognises that. But he doesn’t like it. And he doesn’t want to be here a second longer than he has to be.

“You won’t find anything useful there.”

The voice startles Shiro. It’s the Galra. A strange sensation prickles across the back of Shiro’s neck. There’s a weird sense of deja vu, like he’s heard this Galra’s voice before.

He ignores it. It’s never a good idea to listen to unsolicited advice from the Galra. If they’re trying to offer it up on their own, it’s unlikely to be reliable.

“Shut up,” Keith growls. His bayard is held low in front of the Galra’s face, an implicit threat.

The Galra eyes him cooly. “I was speaking to the Champion,” he says.

“Well don’t,” Shiro snaps. “I don’t need to hear anything you have to say.”

The Galra makes an odd noise. “But I can help you. We can help each other.”

Something spasms at the back of Shiro’s head. There’s a flicker of something, like a shadow of a memory. Shiro flinches away from it automatically.

“We don’t need anything from you,” Keith says.

“Perhaps,” the Galra allows, sounding far too calm and in control for someone with a glowing sword shoved in his face, tied up and on his knees. “But perhaps not. I have information, and I’m not asking for much.”

Shiro doubts that’s true. It’s highly unlikely this Galra knows any more than they’ll be able to gather from the ship itself. And even if he did, it’s not worth risking a debt to their enemy.

“I’m downloading data right from your ship,” Pidge says, dismissively, like she read Shiro’s mind. “I doubt you can tell us more than that.”

The Galra shrugs. “If I can’t, then you won’t need to follow through on your end of the deal.”

“And what is our end of the deal?” Lance asks. His own bayard is pointed at the Galra too, perfectly steady in Lance’s hands.

“All I’m asking for is safety. If the empire finds out you took data from my ship…well, victory or death, as it were.” He gives a low, bitter laugh. “Just get me out of this system and I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

“Right,” Keith scoffs. “Because we could trust you not to fuck us over the moment you get on our ship.”

The Galra ignores him. “The Champion will vouch for me.”

Shiro cuts him a sharp look. There’s something strange about this. The Galra says it with such confidence - as if he knows Shiro - and there is a certain familiarity in his voice.

“Why would I do that?” he asks, icily, although he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be encouraging this. All they need to do is download the information and get out of here. Who cares what happens to the Galra after they’re done here?

“I never went back on my word, then, did I?” the Galra asks. “I always honoured our little agreements.”

A trickle of ice slides down Shiro’s spine. Keith looks up sharply, narrowed eyes finding Shiro, but Shiro ignores him. His focus is on the Galra. Does he know him? Does he recognise him from the blank inside his head that’s almost all that’s left of that terrible year?

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, slowly.

“Guys,” Hunk says from where he’s guarding the door, sounding nervous. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking to the enemy.”

“You don’t remember?” the Galra asks, completely ignoring Hunk. A slow smile slides across his face. He cocks his head and his eyes run up and down the length of Shiro’s body. Despite his armour, Shiro feels strangely vulnerable beneath that gaze.

“Remember what?” Keith asks, as sharp as his eyes had been.

The Galra twitches, like he’s shaking Keith off, but he answers. “We had an arrangement, the Champion and I, back then. An exchange of favours. Blankets and water and such in return for what I wanted. And I always followed through, didn’t I? Not like some of the others.”

There‘s a throbbing pulse somewhere in the back of Shiro’s head. His face feels too hot, his throat tight. The scar across his nose tingles oddly. It feels a little like the flashback he’d had in Voltron, when they’d first laid eyes on the robeast that had once been Myzax, but slower. More insidious.

Shiro shakes his head. He doesn’t - he doesn’t remember, not properly, but he suddenly wants to be very far away from here. For the other paladins to be very far away from here - back on Earth, maybe, where none of this could touch them.

“We don’t exchange favours with Galra,” he says, coldly.

The Galra makes an affronted noise. “What? You’re going to let me die, after everything I did for you?”

“You didn’t do anything for me.”

There’s a wild look on the Galra’s face. Shiro wonders if it’s true - if the Galra really will be killed just for being overpowered. It doesn’t sound unbelievable, considering the Galra. But Voltron have been responsible for plenty of Galra deaths. Shiro can acknowledge that. One more is just another blip on the radar.

“I helped keep you alive,” the Galra snarls, low and vicious. “I could have just taken what I wanted. I could have just raped you like the others.”

An electric shock jolts right through Shiro. Suddenly he isn’t in the command room anymore - he’s on another ship, in another time. There are claws digging into his shoulder, his throat, his hips. Bruises on his knees that didn’t come from a fight. An ache in his jaw. A searing, throbbing pain deep in the core of him - a filthy, violating agony that hurts more than any of his arena wounds.

He gasps.

“Get on your knees,” the Galra growls in his ear, thick with lust. Shiro’s throat is so dry, aching from the lack of water. The bottle the Galra is holding - the promise of more, when Shiro has been starved of it for so long - is like a siren call. Burning with hate and embarrassment, Shiro sinks to his knees.

Someone slams him into the bars of his cell. There’s no water this time - no promise of anything, just rough hands on his hips, a burly thigh pressing his legs apart. Teeth on his neck and pain and pain.

There’s sand in his mouth. Someone at his back. Shiro tries to roll away from them, but his mangled arm screams in furious agony and - it’s not even so bad, really, compared to the nauseating pain in his arm. If he just lies still it will be over soon. God, let it be over soon.

“Shiro?” someone says, soft and scared.

Shiro blinks and the command room slowly materialises around him. It had felt like a long time - trapped in that flashback - but it can’t have been more than a few seconds. The Galra is still on his knees in front of him. The paladins are still standing in their positions, although all of their eyes are on him.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Keith asks, in a voice that lashes like a whip.

Fuck. Fuck.

Bile rises up the back of Shiro’s throat. His body feels stiff as a board, but he’s trembling, he notices, in a distant sort of way. He doesn’t feel entirely in his body. There’s a part of him that’s still on that prisoner ship, sharp claws buried in his skin, a monstrous alien panting over him.

He can’t tell them, the part of him that’s the Black Paladin, their commanding officer, Keith’s mentor, hisses. They can’t know what Shiro had just witnessed in painful technicolour.

They already do, another part of him argues. One of the Galra who’d raped him had just announced it to the whole room. Shiro hadn’t even known…

What else doesn’t he remember? What else had he done in the year he’d blocked out of his mind? If he’d been willing to whore himself out to the Galra for a bottle of water, what else had they managed to make him do?

He feels sick. How can he trust himself? How can anyone else ever trust him again?

“Shiro,” Keith says, the name tinged with desperation. “What does he mean?”

Keith’s eyes are wide and pleading. The other paladins are staring at him too, faces pale and shocked. Shiro shouldn’t - he should find a way to reassure them. He should tell them that the Galra is lying, that nothing like that had happened, but the words stick in his throat and choke him.

“Ignore him,” he manages, finally. His throat feels like it’s glass coming up from his chest rather than words. He sounds like it too, strained and broken.

“Ignore him?” Keith asks, incredulously. “He - Shiro…”

Keith’s voice shatters over his name. Shiro flinches. He has to turn away. To stare at where his hand - his Galra hand - is pressed into the console, glowing a sickly purple.

“Shiro,” Keith says, again, like it’s all he knows how to say. “What -? Raped?”

Shiro shivers at the word - at the strangled, devastated way Keith says it.

“Not now,” Shiro grunts. Not ever, if he has his way - although not a single one of the paladins is likely to ever let this go - but especially not here, with one of the Galra who raped him kneeling on the floor and grinning at them.

“Sorry,” the Galra says - Shiro had slept with him and he doesn’t even know his name - not sounding sorry at all, “did you not want them to know that? There’s no shame in taking what help you can. And we can help each other.” A moment of tense, awful silence. “I won’t expect a fuck this time.”

Keith snarls, a low, animal sound. There’s a loud crack, and Shiro glances up in time to see Lance’s bayard bouncing off the back of the Galra’s skull.

“Shut up,” he growls, in a voice that Shiro has never heard from the blue paladin. “Stop talking.”

The Galra keeps his head down for a long moment, submitting to Lance’s anger. Shiro stares at the back of his neck. At the soft purple fur there. Shiro’s own neck is marred with scars. Most of them from the arena, Shiro assumes, but some of them must have been from this Galra - from other Galra - bite marks and claw marks, scarring Shiro with the evidence of what they had done to him.

And Shiro wouldn’t have even known. If it weren’t for this encounter, would he ever have remembered? Would he have recognised the scars for what they are? Or would they forever have been lost amongst the ruined topography of his flesh?

He shivers again. His throat aches with the sting of bile. It reminds him, hatefully, of a different ache. Of flesh rubbed raw. Of another bitter, ugly taste on his tongue.

No. Shiro needs to stop this. He isn’t there anymore. He can’t let himself sink into the past. His team need him here - need him present. He can freak out about this later, when he’s sure he’s alone and no one else can get hurt.

A hand touches his shoulder. It’s a feather-light touch, but Shiro still flinches, not expecting it, the sense-memory of large, claw-tipped hands pressing him cruelly to his knees too fresh and raw.

“Sorry,” Pidge murmurs, retracting her hand like Shiro had burnt her. “The download has finished. We can - we can get out of here.”

Shiro tugs his arm free from the console, but doesn’t power it down. He doesn’t think he can, not while he’s so full of restless energy - something close to panic.

“We‘ve got what we came for,” he says to the rest of the paladins, because no one has made any move. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” the Galra says, desperately. “You can’t leave me here. Not after everything I did for you! You might as well just kill me and -“

He’s cut off by Keith practically leaping at him, snarling, knocking the Galra heavily to the ground and pinning him there with a sword at his furred throat.

“I should kill you right now,” he growls, barely sounding human. His hands are trembling where he’s gripping the sword, his face red with fury. Lance steps back, but his own bayard is still pointed unerringly at the Galra’s head.

“Keith,” Shiro snaps. In two quick steps, he reaches the red paladin, looping his arm around Keith’s chest and dragging him upright, away from the Galra. Leaving him here might be a death sentence, but that doesn’t mean Shiro is willing to sit back and watch Keith murder a living creature in cold blood.

Shiro knows better than anyone, the toll that can take. Knowing your actions might lead to the death of another, and actually taking that life with your own hands, feeling the heat of their blood, watching the light leave their eyes, are two entirely different things.

Maybe they shouldn’t be, but Shiro can’t deny that they are.

“Leave him, Keith. He isn’t worth it.”

For a moment, Keith strains against his hold. If he truly wanted to, the red paladin could probably break it - Shiro is holding him in an awkward, one-armed hold that Keith could easily twist out of. He doesn’t. Instead, Shiro feels the fight leave his body. Slowly, he eases his grip, stepping away when he’s sure Keith isn’t about to attack again.

“Let’s go,” Keith says, in a rough voice, not looking at Shiro, before turning to leave.

They leave the Galra lying on the ground where Keith had dropped him. He calls after them again, one final time, but no one turns. If he is telling the truth, and the other Galra will kill him for this, Shiro doesn’t care. He’d deserve it.

The trip back to the green lion is tense and silent. Shiro can sense the other paladins’ worry. He can see them stealing less-than-subtle glances at him. He ignores it, keeping his own gaze fixed ahead of him, pretending he can’t feel the tension humming in the air around him.

The silence lasts as long as it takes the green lion’s hatch to close.

“Shiro,” Lance says, sounding as devastated as Keith had.

“Don’t,” Shiro says without even really meaning to, feeling weak and pathetic, “please don’t.”

There’s another tense silence. Then: “Raped,” Keith says, short and sharp. “He said you’d been raped Shiro.”

Shiro’s throat hurts. His chest feels too tight. What is he supposed to say? How can he justify this?

“He didn’t mean…” but he trails off. He can’t say the Galra didn’t mean it. No one will believe that, and the lie tastes sour and salty on his tongue.

Two broad arms wrap around him, carefully, slowly, to give Shiro time to pull away. He hates it - hates the casual affection and the obvious pandering to his potential triggers - but he doesn’t pull away. Hunk doesn’t deserve his aggression. He’s only trying to help.

“I’m sorry,” Hunk murmurs, sounding choked, his face pressed into Shiro’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Shiro does jerk away, then. He doesn’t want this. He hates the fact that this has happened - that he’d been fucking abducted by aliens, tortured, forced to kill, experimented on, and now this. That there’s no part of him that the Galra haven’t touched. Nothing that hasn’t been tainted and violated.

And that it’s not just him who’s been confronted with this awful reality. If he’d just had a nightmare or a flashback he could have handled it himself - an awful, disturbing realisation, but something that could be hidden. If he’d been alone, he could have pretended it didn’t happen, as best as he could.

Instead, every single member of his team had listened to the Galra reveal this brutal secret. They’re so young, still children. They don’t need to be burdened by this.

“Did you know?” Keith asks. He’s still shaking, anger and heartbreak clear on his face. “Did you…why didn’t you tell us?”

Shiro’s chest aches. His face is hot with shame and his own anger. Even if he had remembered, there’s no way in hell he would have ever told the other paladins of his own volition.

“No,” he says, shortly. “I didn’t know.”

“Do you -“ Lance starts, but Shiro cuts him off. He doesn’t want to discuss this with the paladins. He doesn’t want to reveal any more of himself to them.

“I’m not going to discuss it,” he says, more sharply than he means to. “It’s not something any of you need to worry about.”

“Shiro,” Pidge starts, at the same time as Hunk says, “But we are worried.”

“I’m not going to discuss it,” Shiro says, again, this time a clear command. He moves stiffly to the other end of the green lion hangar, putting distance between himself and the rest of the paladins. “Get us back to the castle, Pidge. Now.”

There’s a tense silence. Shiro can sense the other paladins exchanging glances, unhappy and upset. But Shiro can’t deal with this now. His head is too much of a mess, hateful memories crowding, clamouring for attention. He needs a moment to be able to sort through the emotions swirling in his gut. He needs…

He needs to not be here. But he is.

Thankfully, the other paladins give him space, but Shiro knows that won’t last long. He’s dreading the inevitable interrogation he’s sure he’ll be subjected to. He’s dreading the conversation he’ll have to have with Keith.

He needs to get himself together, as quickly as possible. Compartmentalise. Repress. The ghosts of claws at his skin and teeth at his neck are not helpful. Shiro needs to push through this. Nothing has technically changed between this moment and just a few hours ago. He’d been as violated then as he is now. He just hadn’t known.

He does now, but it doesn't change anything.

It can’t.