#third id need to actually set up a post and get it out to people somehoe

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 19 thoughts

was thinking about doing other stuff tn but truly i can’t resist scully and mulder time. it calls to me. i crave it. (<- wrote that last night in order to post the recap today)

i had to think it over for a bit, but overall i thought this was a good episode! it wasn’t very character driven, we didn’t have a lot of scully and mulder moments, but i found the plot SUPER interesting. and obviously some msr content would have made it delectable to me, a fan who enjoys fan service, but the concept was well-executed, very spooky, and really interesting commentary on how vulnerable populations are preyed upon by those who claw power into their own hands just to wield it over other’s heads.

so let us dive in, to an episode set in california!

lion dance!!! so cool. a guy is sneaking into an alley. we hear popping like guns, but it is just fireworks thankfully. 

this dude sees paint on a door and he goes in. someone with a flashlight approached him. they’re talking in cantonese which i sadly cannot speak. yet. who knows what the future may bring…

oh! a stabbing. and then people with masks…?

scene change. teeny tiny little blackjack game!!!!! i need it sooo bad. this game is being played by a security guard at a funeral home. he hears a noise that was not the gentle beeping of blackjack and pulls out a flashlight. 

music is creepy as hell. GASP! more people in masks are here and they have lit something on fire!!! it appears to be… a guy? is it the guy from before? that did the stabbing!??

now what in the hell is going on here.

dana scully……. i’m cheering just seeing her ID during the intro 

OH! and now she’s here <3 investigating the body with mulder. this dude was cremated alive! the detective says it’s the third time this year, but mulder is like um no it’s ACTUALLY number 11. all chinese men between the ages of 20 and 40. good to know he keeps up with the stats on these things.

the prop body is soooo gnarly again... as usual, big shoutout to the props department!

GAG! she’s cutting into the eye and tap taps it! oh it's glass! well. the cutting motion was still gross.

they ask a detective if there are any leads on the crime. apparently there’s a bunch of immigrants trying to get out of hong kong before 1997 which raises the question: did this season take place in 1996? or is he saying that they HAD a big influx and are still dealing with it? no seriously, when does s3 take place?

(sometimes i think about how these two don’t even know about 9/11 because it hasn’t happened yet. quite often tbh)

((author's note: this episode aired in 1996! man, they sure were making these seasons fast... given how long it takes to make a season of TV these days, i thought for sure we would be in the 2000's by now... guess some things really were better in the past))

they call over detective chao to try and read some writing and i’ll say it. he’s hot. maybe you could read chinese if you studied, mulder. 

okay so the writing says ghost! well, gui, but translation. is this related to the qingming festival…?

mulder finds a little scrap of something and it’s called “hell money” used in the chinese festival of hungry ghosts. ah, the hungry ghost festival! which is NOT qingming. the tale of the monk feeding his mother who was trapped in hell. yes yes i recall.

scully and mulder are rolling up to the scene of the crime. she says the guy who was killed was a recent immigrant. they’re with detective chao, who sees some writing he can’t read, and says maybe it’s a code of some kind. yayyy nonsense phrases! mulder asks him to copy it down.

oh, they are sleuthing, and scully says that the scene has been cleaned up. and they find new carpet! in an otherwise dilapidated apartment. VERY suspicious!

NASTY! they lift up the carpet and blood is there. 

cut to the camera of a guy from the carpeting company, who we later learn to be named mr. hsin. bringing someone some tea and dinner. IS THAT LUCY LIU??????

IT IS!!!!! three cheers!

lucy liu is sick and the person who brought her tea (i presume her father? yes, her father, mr. hsin) says he needs to earn money so they can go to the doctor. noooo, she says the operation would cost too much money :( this is so sad... he tells her not to talk like that :(

so he goes to a big crowded event, until some people in suits holding pots come out and everyone quiets down. oh, a very big suitcase of cash is shown. ah, so this must be the prize that has brought them here. a raffle of sorts...?

mr. hsin drops a tile with some writing on it into the vessel, as do many other people. 

a name is drawn and called and this seems to be a good thing for this guy who has a glass eye. he wins the pot of money!

NO. i was very very wrong. he does not win the money. he draws a tile. and then they lead the guy out. i’m a little confused, but i think it was not good for him.

(yeah. past me, it was seriously NOT good for him... i may have been a little slow to catch what was going on but believe me i caught it eventually)

at a traditional medicine shop. detective chao explains that these are mostly roots they are looking at. yum yum.

turns out the victim johnny was taking painkillers. then, he asks the vendor what those characters from the door meant, and she says it was labeled a haunted house. is there a code word for haunted house?

oh! hungry ghost festival explanation, for us, the audience! they leave gifts to prevent angry spirits from coming by. and we see the dude who pulled the tile earlier getting his heart ripped out by a ghost. hard to say if that was euphemistic or not.

(it was not euphemistic, past me)

this chao guy fits in well with our agents. add him to the group.

(filed under statements that aged poorly)

a random guy is pulling up to a graveyard and sees the three people in masks there... doing WHAT?

“i still don’t understand what anyone would want with an empty grave”, scully says, as mulder hops right in. the officer asks what the hell he is doing LMAOOOOO yeah he is just like that :/

and he starts digging down there with his hands and!!! he finds a body!!!!!

scully doing an autopsy :D with her hair pulled back n the white coat... okay, i see you doctor!!!

gasp! this body is covered in surgical incisions INCLUDING OVER HIS HEART!!! but she says nothing seems wrong with him!! she thinks he was selling his organs and makes a stupid joke and i love her so bad and i love mulder for giggling at it

BLECK she’s cutting him open. and it’s PULSATING GAG GAG GAG but it’s just a FROG that comes out?

well. i think that was the best possible ending to that situation. 

back at the gambling event. more jars are being brought in by men in suits. they pull a name and it’s the guy who is trying to save lucy liu, mr. hsin! so now he must pick from the jar. and i gather that now it means he will either lose an organ or win a fortune? pulling for you to win, king...

it is unclear what his result is…..

scully brings detective chao the frog in a jar from inside the dude who was autopsied. a new pet has been unlocked. he is like, ummm idk, maybe it’s a symbol or something?

scully is LOCKED in. she senses duplicity. asking about organ removal. the autopsied man had his kidney and cornea removed BEFORE his heart was removed after death. detective chao seems very confused. mulder is watching him intently whilst munching upon his seeds.

oh! she found stuff in the body that is used for preserving organs for transplants!!! well this is starting to add up...

they think he resents their presence... ohhh interesting. or that he’s trying to protect the chinese american community. and he is pissed off by this because the chinese community sees HIM as an outsider for being american born chinese. he is very mad, and tbh i don’t blame him. and he storms off after shoving a paper with the name of the carpet company from earlier into mulder’s shoulders. i thought his anger was deserved at this moment... but little did i know the detective chao lore

they go to the house of mr. hsin, who has lost an eye!!!!!! he says it was a work accident. and he introduces his daughter. lucy liu.

he’s denying knowing about the carpeting for johnny's crime scene apartment, and mulder finds the tile he pulled earlier on the shelf. gasp!!!! a clue!!!

mulder says they’re done and he pocketed the tile for investigation. chao and hsin were talking and the agents are suspicious, but he says he was warning him about a fire trap. anyway, mulder shows chao the tile. and it says “wood”. this is not very helpful.

lucy liu asks about her father’s accident and notices that his eye was fine when he came from work. he explains that he is worried about her and he is afraid the ancestors are mad for them leaving home, and maybe that is why she is sick, and he blames himself. it’s so so so so so sad :( it isn't your fault mr. hsin

chao is walking home but finds something written in BLOOD on his door? he looks around. no, don’t let anything happen, i like him!!!

NO THE MASKED MEN ARE IN THERE!

mulder is pissed because people are throwing firecrackers near the car. he’s very jumpy and with scully, watching mr hsin’s house, but gasp! scully breaks the news that chao was attacked at his house. off they go to explore. while a man in a suit comes and knocks at the door of mr. hsin. and his eyeball socket is bleeding!!!

suit man is let inside and asks for payment. mr. hsin says he wants to quit the game. but the pit is almost 2 million dollars if he stays in…. still, he says he wants out. but he cannot get out…

BUT LUCY LIU IS LISTENING TO ALL OF THIS GO DOWN!!

the rules “cannot be broken, or it’s said that the Preta and the fires of Ti Yu will consume you” says suit man <- OHHHHHH so it’s serious. but also who says this? how old is this game. it can't be that old.

mr. hsin begs to be released from the game but suit man STILL says nope.

NO! detective chao is GONE from the hospital! not gone as in dead, gone as in missing!! allegedly he went to go to the bathroom and dipped. where to, though...?

mulder checks chao's blood type and it matches the blood type on the floor of the victim’s carpet. well, i mean, there are a lot of people with the same blood type so… idk they might be jumping to conclusions here?

but they are brainstorming. they go to find mr. hsin and ask more questions, and lucy liu answers the door. only now do we learn her name is kim but i’ve called her lucy liu for so long i don’t see a reason to change it.

oh! she has leukemia. it’s a treatable kind, scully points out, but they have no money to afford it :(

mulder is sitting next to her and asks if she knows what the tile is. scully is pondering. realllly pondering.

OH! the tile that means wood also corresponds to the eye!! so that makes sense….. 

and scully notices paperwork that says mr. hsin had just had his kidneys and liver measured…. oh no...

mulder realizes they are playing a game where they gamble their organs. and mr. hsin returns to the game….

they go to the organ procurement organization. and the lady there says that a lot of asian men come in to learn about their organ types, but when they find a compatible recipient, they are told by their doctor that the men have left the area or disappeared. do they have a phone number for the doctor???

back at the game, they call mr. hsin’s name again!!!!!!! the suspense is very very very high!

the agents roll up to the outside of the place where the game is being played, because that is where they found the doctor’s phone registered. and who is walking in but chao! is he doing a sting???

mulder gets up to follow him as mr. hsin is drawing a tile. the drawing was clearly not what he had planned because he’s trying to run away. chao is watching all of this….

oooo, the agents break the lock and get inside the restaurant to investigate. so far it is looking like a normal restaurant. but gasp! they find something that could be the sterile ice used in organ transplants!

open da fridge to find many many many organs. many eyeballs!! very gross. other organs too but a LOT of eyeballs.

back to mr. hsin, who is getting his remaining eyeball inspected. NOOOO :(

OH! chao is telling the men in suits who run the game to stop, but he says that he was “warned once before”. he asks for mr. hsin to be let go, and the suit man refuses, saying that chao is just as responsible because he protects the game from the foreigners. GASP! so he WAS involved with all of this….

BUT HE KNOCKS THE TABLE OVER!!!!! and he realizes that ALL THE TILES SAY “EYE”!!!! it was rigged. 

the agents hear the stampeding crowd above going wild at this revelation, while there is surgery happening to mr. hsin. he is covered in something. 

mulder comes into the game room as the people start to riot. and mr. hsin sees his daughter as a ghost figure, and begs for forgiveness. but it’s really just the surgeon about to make the cut. 

chao bursts in and SHOOTS the surgeon! as scully and mulder come in to take care of the other surgeon! partial chao redemption arc.

when the shot surgeon says that chao should have killed him, he translates this for mulder as “the game is not over” so again idk why we are trusting this man after so much lying... he had ME fooled!

scully is talking to a ringleader of this game. she says he cheated these men out of life, but he says he committed no crime, because death is merely transition, but life with no hope is living he <- OHHH WOW. banger line. terrible thing to say but banger line.

scully is GLARING AT HIM LIKE WILD... WOW... when mulder comes in and asks to chat. apparently mr. hsin is doing okay and his daughter has been put on the organ recipient list. this is good news! but also something is wrong.

OH! everyone who was at the game that night claims it was a social club, and chao is missing. so they have NO CASE AGAINST THIS MAN!!

WHY WOULD THEY GO ALONG WITH THAT IF THEY SAW THE GAME WAS RIGGED?!?

cutscene to chao, who opens his eyes while being placed in an OVEN!!!! ANOTHER ALIVE CREMATION!

woah. this episode was spooky. i’m spooked. and the ending implies that the cycle will just keep going on and on. 

WHEW! it’s the terrifying nature of humanity that is far scarier than ghouls and demons and fat-sucking vampires. in terms of spookiness, this is definitely up there in my ranking. i think only the s2 cannibals and the fetishist compare. this one had a pacing that had me at the edge of my seat. how you wanted mr. hsin to pull through so badly, how evil the leaders of this game were for preying on people with no hope.

yet again, WHEW!

i was really hoping chao wasn’t going to be an inside man because i thought it would be a bit cliche. and yet, he had me fooled. despicable! that being said, i did not expect a barbecued ending for him.

i was so invested in how other people saw this episode that i started googling it and reading the wikipedia (which taught me it aired in 1996!) and it seems to have gotten mixed reviews, one critic saying that if mulder and scully were removed, it would have had nothing to do with the x files at all. which- i guess? i mean, yeah. if you remove them from any of these one off episodes, yeah, it would be a different thing. but with these monster or the week episodes, i find myself disagreeing that it makes it an inherently bad episode. obviously not every episode is going to dive deep into the overarching lore- most of them don’t. most of them propose the question, “wouldn’t it be fucked up if (insert thing here)” and then dive into that. and we do learn about our characters along the way, sometimes more than others.

we didn’t learn a TON about mulder and scully here, so i suppose i agree with that observation- i would have preferred to learn more about them. but the premise was really interesting and i was at the edge of my seat. i guess you CAN have both, but in many cases just one or the other will please me.

[nosongunsung11]

!!

congrats teds, the random number generator has awarded you Jonah from Darkling Deeps!

[Image ID: a picrew by @horatiosroom which I hastily assembled for this post; it features a brown-skinned man with short curly black hair, lidded green eyes, a shitty mustache and slight beard, and a disgusted expression. He is holding a silver coin in one hand, and wearing a yellow coat.]

Name: Jonah (no last name; the naming convention for this group of characters was biblical names, specifically because I wanted to use relatively familiar names while avoiding a sense of specific time or place (the setting is vaguely futuristic sci-fi but because the story is largely confined to one (1) boat it's a bit distant from the actual events))

Pronouns: he/him

Origin: Darkling Deeps, a Novel TM I was working on during the quarantine about six sailors who hunt sea monsters in the waters of an abandoned planet. It's a full-on tragedy; three of them die and only one of them will ever leave the planet again. Currently it is very unfinished but I think I'm going to come back to it one day; if I ever finish a proper novel I'd want it to be this one first.

I figure the best way to introduce Jonah is to talk about what I had in mind while creating him, cause with this set of characters I did very much have a couple guidelines I answered while working on their arcs. I wanted them to be very archetypal; Jonah falls into the Pissed-Off Loner who doesn't enjoy being here category of Guy, he's from a more populated section of the galaxy, he hates the sea, and he views pretty much the rest of the cast as hicks who aren't worth his time. The Reason He's Out Here Risking His Life To Kill Things From the Deep is because he pissed off some very dangerous people and is currently deep in debt to the mob; he needs to make money and he needs to make it FAST and UNTRACEABLY. Finally, I made a really strong naming choice with this guy, and I'm Ready and Willing to Commit To That :)

[Darkling Deeps spoilers if anyone wants to avoid spoiling a book that you can't read and is largely unwritten anyway] His storyline for approximately the first third of the book is the typical loner gets coaxed out of his shell by friendly coworker who thinks he's interesting storyline; then he promptly Fucks This Up by putting everyone in danger for the possibility of a better haul and getting his one (1) defender killed in the process! great work bud! He spends the rest of his time alive sitting in a makeshift cell belowdecks realizing that he is terribly lonely and has always been for his entire life :D

[He will resign himself to dying alone as he takes the ship into the maw of a thing too large to contemplate; and Captain Caleb will go down with him, arms locked together as they go up in flames.]

[sharonaparadox]

I can’t believe this needs to be said, but it keeps happening, so: if you reblog a post from me and delete the image description, I will block you. I have zero problem if you reblog it from the original poster or literally anyone else just so you don’t have an ID— I don’t understand Why you’d do that, but I don’t actually give a shit what you do with your own blog— but actively making a post less accessible than you found it is super fucked up. If you have any issue whatsoever with my IDs, just reach out to me via ask or messages.

Anyway, important pinned post info: If you haven’t already done so, go to your blog settings (at tumblr.com/blog/[username]/settings), scroll down to the “Visibility” section, and make sure to click the button to opt in to “Prevent third-party sharing”; make sure to do this with each sideblog you have, because this setting is by individual blog and not account-wide. Fuck AI art, and fuck Tumblr for scraping artists’ hard work to use for that shit.

Also, go here to donate to Palestine with just a click of the button.

Below are details about the person behind this blog, since who knows how many people have read my about page (or even have access to it, since apparently a lot of people use the Tumblr app which I’ve heard doesn’t allow you to view custom pages?).

You can call me Sharona (which isn’t my “real” name I use offline, but I’ve been using it since 2011, back when I was 18 going on 19). I’m a white cis woman living on occupied land in southern California. I have a family history of mental illness, though I’m not professionally diagnosed myself. I’m aromantic bisexual (possibly acespec, but I’m not personally interested in looking for microlabels that perfectly fit me).

Pretty much all I do here is reblog things from other people and add image descriptions. I don’t make any of the art you see on this blog and claim no ownership over any of the images. Also, since I’ve been asked in the past: you can just straight up copy and paste my IDs and edit them as you see fit in a reblog of your own if you’d rather have it attached in a separate reblog chain (or add it to the original post if you’re the artist). You can credit me if you want, but I’m literally just describing things others have made, haha.

I don’t have any real “Do Not Interact” list, because, let’s be honest, most people who actually fit the typical DNI criteria just ignore those anyway. I do block people I come across in the wild being bigoted (or just annoying, tbh), and, as stated above, I also block people who reblog anything from me and remove the ID. All that said, if I’ve blocked you and you think I was being a little overzealous with that block button, you can always send an ask or message me (or I guess have a friend do it?) and maybe I’ll see about unblocking you.

I Do Not block people who mass like or reblog my posts! I love waking up and seeing my activity feed filled with one person who’s clearly excited to go through my tags! Also, if you want to add comments to posts you reblog from me or strike a conversation in my inbox or messages, you’re perfectly welcome to! That being said, do not expect me to “follow for follow,” because I get overwhelmed easily if I follow too many people or if someone I am following posts a lot. I have, unfortunately, had too many instances where I’ve needed to unfollow people who were really nice but whose blogs were very emotionally draining for me.

Anyway, if you’ve read all that, here’s my Linktree with other accounts I have. Unfortunately, as much as Tumblr sucks, it’s still the only social media I can even halfway tolerate, so don’t bother trying to reach me on those other accounts.

[whennnow]

Sewing a Regency Gown Part 4 - The Sleeves

September 23, 2020

[Image ID: a photo of Alex from neck to hips wearing a white drawstring-front Regency dress.]

Going into this, I want you to understand that everything I know about sleeves is only known in theory, not practice. I'm as likely as not to set a sleeve inside out or backward. But here we go.

I actually ran into my first snag before I really started in on the sleeves. I was taking photos for the skirt post when I noticed some gaping where the shoulder strap met the back panel. I had taken the time to adjust my pattern to make sure that part fit correctly! So what happened?

My very final adjustment happened. I had tilted the shoulder strap out slightly to reduce gaping in the front-armpit-ish-area of the armscye. I did not re-adjust the back angle of the strap to match.

While I was griping about having to fix that, @frauleinninka came to the rescue again, saying that other people have had the same problem, and suggested it might be best to leave it in for movement. I tried to pin it closed anyway to see just how bad it was, and it was less than half an inch on both shoulders.

Which is to say that I proceeded without making any adjustments to the bodice.

I drew out the original sleeve pattern from Regency Women's Dress onto my gridded wrapping paper and measured the top and bottom edges. Then I measured the armscye seam line on the bodice and the widest part of my upper arm.

One thing I know about sleeves is that the armscye seam lines have to match up, kind of. The shoulder of the sleeve is usually a bit wider (longer?) to account for wiggly fabric and allow for easing or gathering at the sleeve head.

The first two mockups weren't full length, I just wanted to figure out that sleeve head, since the shoulder sits so far in on the back of the bodice. Also, the pattern didn't say how the sleeve seam should match up with the bodice, so I had to figure that out.

That first mockup used the sleeve pattern without any adjustments and it was way too wide, but I was expecting that from my measurements. I removed 2" from the width of the whole sleeve and tried again.

The second mockup was better, but I decided the gathered/eased part of the sleeve needed to be at the top of the shoulder, not towards the back.

I didn't make any further adjustments to the pattern for the third mockup. I did the full length of the sleeve, though, and moved the excess easing/gathering to the top of the shoulder. It went unexpectedly well! I needed to shorten the sleeve a bit to get the length I wanted, I decided to take in the underarm seam by a half inch on either side, and I decided to tilt the sleeve a bit.

I had been lining up the sleeve's seam with the line of prick stitches I had done where the waist drawstring began. Doing that made the sleeve go perfectly up and down, whereas my arms tend to tilt forward I bit (or, rather, I tend to held my arms in front of me, rather than letting them hang at my sides). Basically, I just decided to rotate the sleeve to move the sleeve seam forward and up by about an inch.

Mockup three and a half, with just those little adjustments, went even better than that third mockup and I declared it Good Enough. I transferred the shape of the last mockup onto gridded paper, made markings and notes about setting the sleeve, and cut my sleeves out of both my lining and outer fabrics.

The seam lines were marked on the lining fabric with a Frixion pen, then I layered the outer layer over it (making sure I had a left and right sleeve) and basted both layers together along the line. The sleeves were then ironed to remove the marks.

The underarm seams were done with a backstitch, ironed again, and felled. I then ran two lines of gathering stitches along the easing area - one on either side of the seam line.

The non-gathered part of each sleeve was pinned into the armscye first, then I eased and pinned the top in. I sewed the sleeves in with back stitches - which I'm getting faster at - and ironed the seam allowances toward the neckline of the bodice for a nice, crisp seam.

I consulted The American Duchess Guide to 18th Century Dressmaking again about finishing the armscye seams. It confirmed what I remembered - armscye seams were often left unfinished or just whipstitched. I decided to do one better and turn the seam allowances in toward each other before whipstitching, which gave me what was basically a french seam, just done after construction instead of during. This worked around most of the seam, but not so much on the gathered parts.

Then the only thing left to do was the sleeve hems (cuffs?)! I put the dress on to confirm the length and pin the hem/cuff (and to ooh and aah over my work because self-validation is important). The hem was then ironed, repinned, and felled.

And... that's it! My classic white Regency dress is done!

I'll be back in two weeks with final photos of my dress, along with some of my original inspiration, since I never talked about that.

In the meantime...

Stay warm. Stay safe. Stay healthy.

[Image ID: a photo of two elbow-length sleeve patterns. The one on the left is marked with green marker and was taken from a book. The one on the left is marked faintly with pen and is the same pattern after alterations.]

[starwolf53]

Been thinking about opening commissions but idk how I'll go about it . but i might

[theminecraftbee]

inspired by @/betweenlands’s post here... may i present: is x in stuffed bird the asshole, as of about chapter 10-ish? (the query is above the cut, the answers i found best below the cut)

[image ID: “AITA for...

Am I the asshole for kidnapping a guy to help me kill my brother?

Let me explain myself. I recently got away from the company that created me after they screwed up and caused the apocalypse. Yeah, the company's THAT kind of place. My brother was the favorite there, and sucked up to them all the time, and always acted like he was better than me, so I wanted him dead. If I killed him, I would be totally free from the people who always hurt me, you know? And he's so perfect at everything, and I hate him for that.

The problem is, since it's the apocalypse, it was pretty dangerous to go places, and besides, I'm also a monster, and it causes problems sometimes. Luckily, I heard about this guy who works for the company that made me that's immune to the apocalypse making him a monster. I figured I'd go find him, make him help me get to my brother, and then kill him to somehow make a cure (haven't really thought out how that would work yet but obviously there has to be some way, right?) I don't know how to drive, anyway, and having another guy with me makes fighting monsters easier.

 I didn't think I'd have to feel bad about it. After all, the guy I'm kidnapping helped cause the apocalypse, and also worked for the people who made my life a living hell. However, as we've been traveling, I'm realizing he actually seems to have really bad anxiety, and he keeps on helping save me from monsters too? He deserves to cry, but also I sort of feel bad about it, so. AITA?” /end ID]

all of the answers come in three sets: one that will always rate NTA, one that will always rate YTA, and one that is trained on both options. they are listed in that order.

[image ID: the first set of answers.

NTA: “NTA. You aren’t a mind reader and it’s possible you’re over thinking this. It’s also possible that he isn’t as immune as you think he is. Just keep an eye out for any strange behavior and if it continues, leave him behind.”

YTA: “YTA. Get a car, find your brother on your own time.”

Split: “YTA - you aren’t a killer, you just want to be one.

Don’t go after this guy, don’t take him to your brother, just walk away. I can’t imagine the guilt you would feel if you not only killed someone, but helped cause the apocalypse in the process.” /end ID]

[image ID: the second set of answers.

NTA: “NTA - you are a human being and as such you have the right to do as you wish, even if what you wish is to kill your brother. You were put in a bad situation but that does not make you a bad person.”

YTA: “YTA. A lot of factors are going to have to align for you to be succesul in this attempt, I don’t care how much you want him dead and it doesn’t matter if he is a “perfection” compared to you. You’re also an asshole for taking advantage of his anciety”

Split: “NTA. He’s a human being with feelings and flaws like everyone else. You’re not fucking him, he’s just helping you out. You’re doing the same thing to him. The fact that he’s immune to the virus doesn’t change the fact that you’re a horrible, horrible person for doing this. But, then, probably, you already knew that.” /end ID]

[image ID: the third set of answers.

NTA: “NTA. He was a willing participant in his own destruction. Kill him and be done with it.”

YTA: “YTA

In an effort to get revenge on your brother you kidnapped and brainwashed a person. The end goal is to kill him which will then free you from the influence of those above named “people who always hurt me”. You are a child and need help very badly or else I fear for your mental stability in the future.”

Split: “YTA

WFT. You’re planning on killing someone, yourself, and you don’t even know how to drive? How are you planning on getting to your brother if you don’t even know how to drive? How are you planning on dealing with your anxiety if you don’t even know how to drive? WTF.

Note to self: if I ever get the urge to kill someone, I’m not going to do it. I’m going to kidnap someone and force them to kill my brother for me.” /end ID]

[image ID: the fourth set of answers.

NTA: “NTA.

But dude. You’re seriously considering letting that guy into your truck, setting out across the country, and then promptly killing him so you can make a cure? You have no fucking plan whatsoever, and each new encounter with a zombie or other monster just makes your determination to off him that much stronger.

Just... Stop. Right Now. This is a bad, bad idea.”

YTA: “YTA. So you decided to take a guy that’s been through worse off than you, who has anxiety and probably PTSD from what sounds like a nightmare of a job. And then you want me to congratulate you for having the audacity to think this would make things better? YTA big time.

You’re not helping him at all by bringing him along with you, besides the fact he’d likely be dead either way in your eyes are focused on your revenge.”

Split: “NTA

You kidnapped a man, intent on making him help you to kill your brother.

You are a living nightmare.” /end ID]

so in conclusion... it appears that the people of fake reddit indeed think that x is the asshole! also that he should learn to drive,

[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.

[haikyuucute]

I commented on your kyoutani post about his omega chilling him the fuck out, and would be SO happy if you considered writing about it 🥺🥺🥺 Essa, u r so amazinnnngggg

You’re so sweet, ily😭😭 thank you for requesting this, I had so much fun writing it💝💝

Warnings: None

-

Soothe (Alpha!Kyoutani Kentarou x Omega!Reader)

Alphas such as Kyoutani Kentarou were a .... curious breed.

The kind of alpha that is easily set off just by someone’s scent not being to his liking.

He was a ticking time bomb and everyone was holding their breath until the next time he went feral.

A feral alpha was a scary being to witness and unfortunately for Kyoutani, he was prone to this, but everything just made him so angry. He wished he could stop it, but he was never good at learning self control.

It was why he liked volleyball.

It was the one thing he found he was good at and a way for him to channel his aggression.

But ever since high school had started, it changed.

Now he had to put up with other alphas telling him what to do, and as much as he respected Iwaizumi and would do as he said, when the others told him what to do, he was close to punching a hole in the wall.

And today, just felt like the world was out to get him more than usual.

Everything he did on court was sloppy, and to make up for this off day he ended up putting more and more force behind each and every spike.

The others were annoyed with him, yelling at him to calm down or sit out if he had to, anything to make him stop playing so unnecessarily aggressive.

Between getting yelled at and his own frustrations with himself, he stormed out of the gym. To where? He had no idea. He just needed to leave before he ended up hurting someone.

His mind was a tornado of rage and he could barely think or see straight, hands curled into tight fists and eyes narrowed fiercely, ready to tear apart the next person that decided to approach him.

He hadn’t noticed the group of omegas he passed until it was too late.

Not until he was completely frozen in his spot, eyes widened impossibly large.

Peach.

He could practically taste it. Sweet and juicy making his tastebuds stir as he could almost feel the juice of a peach run down his throat, making him swallow pointlessly.

But the feeling the scent brought was indescribable. It was warm and welcoming— peaceful.

Kyoutani forgot what it felt like to be at peace, it was an emotion that had abandoned him ever since he had presented as an alpha.

The veil of anger had suddenly lifted in those few short moments, and when he was able to grab ahold of himself he suddenly remembered the omegas.

It had to be one of them.

And whoever you were, you were his.

He spun around on his heel, but had been met with an empty hallway.

You and your friends were already gone.

The only sign that you had been there was the peachy flavor that still lingered on his tongue.

—

It was not in Kyoutani’s blood to give up easily, so thus began the search for you.

He had never been aware as to just how many omegas attended Aobajohsai until he decided to look for one and it was exhausting to say the least.

Days had gone by which eventually turned to weeks.

Weeks of Kyoutani searching for that sweet peachy scent. Not a day had passed that he wasn’t actively searching for you.

But all the omegas he saw, were all wrong. It was almost as if he had conjured up the scent in his head.

He refused to believe that was the case and continued his search.

...Until he didn’t have to any more.

He thought he was imagining it, that he was simply remembering the soothing scent of the sweet omega he never even saw, as a response to how he was currently feeling.

He was told to sit down during practice— it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the coach to tell him to sit when he noticed he was getting too riled up.

So there he sat, head down with a towel over his head, attempting to calm himself down when the same scent from a few weeks ago washed over him like it did that day.

His whole body went stiff, head jerking upwards as his eyes searched the gym frantically.

And there you were, speaking with the coach.

He couldn’t move as he stared at you— you were pretty, much prettier than he ever imagined. You smiled as you spoke to the coach and it made his heart flutter.

He then watched as the coach called Oikawa off the court.

His eyes widened in confusion at the exchange that followed. Oikawa exclaiming something or other as he tugged you into a hug, clearly happy to see you. You had giggled in response, complaining about how sweaty he was and trying to pull away from his grasp.

This... this wasn’t right.

Was Oikawa your mate? No... you couldn’t have been. There was no mark on your neck and you didn’t smell like him either.

So then why was he touching you.

Kyoutani felt a growl rumble in the back of his throat, eyes glued to where Oikawa had his hand on your shoulder now— Kyoutani had never even spoken to you and yet he was acting like this.

”She’s pretty isn’t she?”

Kyoutani blinked, looking over at Yahaba who was suddenly standing beside him, staring at your and Oikawa’s exchange.

”What’s her name?” He demanded of his teammate before looking back at you.

”(L/N) (F/N). She’s a third year and good friends with the third years on the team. She’s really cool.”

”Does she have a mate?”

Yahaba looked at him in surprise, “Do you have a thing for (L/N)?”

”Does she have a mate?” He reiterated, more annoyed now.

”No she doesn’t. But good luck trying to get an omega like (L/N). She turns down alphas almost every day, even some betas from time to time— actually, I’m pretty sure she even rejected an omega once or twice.”

Kyoutani tuned him out as he continued to ramble.

You were leaving now, about to pass him and Yahaba to get to the exit, when you noticed his piercing gaze.

You recognized him immediately as the alpha that you were sure was about to go feral one afternoon when he passed by you and your friends— it was why you all left so quickly.

But his gaze had you pinned, almost suffocating you, forcing you to freeze.

He held something possessive in his eyes as he looked up at you from his seat and it filled your stomach with butterflies.

You were used to getting stared at by alphas, but this was different— you were finding yourself wanting to submit to the alpha before you, even in front of a gym full of people.

”Omega,” his voice came out as a growl, and where many other omegas would’ve run for the hills in fear of how aggressive he was coming off right now, your lips quirked up in a grin.

”Alpha,” you nodded, a mutual understanding that this would be far from over before you continued walking.

You quickly glanced at your friends on the court, all the third years gazing at you peculiarly after the exchange they had just witnessed between you and their uncontrollable teammate. But you simply grinned and shrugged at them before leaving the gym.

Little did they know, you’d become their greatest weapon during games to get the alpha to calm down.

-

Requests are open!

-

Taglist:

@shiguraaa @tycrackculture @kynyta @cuddlesslut @baeshijima @yams046 @cutepet09 @kkimoka @elegant-gypsophilia @mrkoala4prsdnt @sapphy-taffy6969 @yougivemebutterfliess @melanieacademy @yeet-these-hoez @nekomasmeow @thirsthourdemon @nekoma-hoe @curiouslilbeast @badboysdoitbetter2 @nervousenergyy @coupsieddori @mizuchan24-blog @ly-nia @mer92 @voids-universe @savemesteeb @bokurotrash @basicallyberry @cherryonigiri @k-eijiakaashi @ethylalcoholforfandoms @sanemisthiccbih @a-book-lover-things @rue-was-here @prod983 @reject-tinkerbell @emotionalfangirl2002 @kawaiipotatochan @alienatia @mortifiedmoon @amirahroronoa @wholeasswhore @asahi-is-jesus-periodt @fake-id-69 @kkoalaworld @hithisismina @lilidrawz @royalmuffinsworld @amberisnotcrazy @atsunakaashi @srhlsx

[justmiha97]

TS3, boderderless, new machines and FPS limit!!!

UPDATE 2.0 Except borderless gaming app and initial explanations, this guide is now OUTDATED!!! Read new guide HERE: https://justmiha97.tumblr.com/post/633811982604222464/another-way-to-limit-ts3-fps IMPOTANT!!! UPDATE FOR 1.69 GAME VERSION INSTALLATION!!!

Check down in step 4.a. for changes on how to do this properly. For people who renamed their files to:

Rename them back to: TS3.exe  to  3booter.exe TS3W.exe  to  TS3.exe TS3W.exe.backup  to  TS3W.exe

Original post:

I never knew I would be making this post till few hours back, but until now it wasn’t really much known that sims 3 in windowed mode could be run with FPS limit, which forced a lot of people to run the game in full screen. Recently a friend (find him here) and I discovered how to limit FPS for both 1.67 and 1.69 game versions in windowed mode.

Why is this important?

Well, on newer PC’s, ones with a GPU processing power that can easily render recent games, Sims 3 is expected to run exceedingly well... but because Sims 3 is so poorly designed/optimized on a technical level, there is a problem with that. Sims 3 has no FPS limitation, so on newer cards, FPS can get up to even 1k FPS which is INSANE. Personally I had from 500-700 FPS on loading screens myself. This means that: 1. Your card is being overworked and overheated and will be damaged 2. The in-game micro stutter that happens frequently is because the game constantly has short but extreme peaks in frame rate (from 60 - 600 FPS) This is why it’s desired to FPS limit TS3.exe or TS3W.exe!!!

What does windowed mode have to do with all of this?

It’s possible to limit your game FPS in full screen mode trough your graphic control panel application. Though for me it did not work, a lot of people report it working for them. Until now it wasn’t known that the same could be done for windowed mode, meaning users with high end PC running the game windowed were doomed to experience GPU crashes or even worse component death. Now however, a fix has been discovered.

But why would I want to run windowed then?

In full screen mode, game is rendered way darker, which is why EA just lazily slapped on a brightness filter, which makes the whole game brighter than it actually should be. This also means that screenshots of the game taken in full screen (unless they are taken with in-game screenshot feature, which is lower quality) are practically unusable since they are too dark.

When in full screen, the game goes out of memory faster, especially if you are alt tabbing (switching windows) a lot.

Ok, ok but how do I get rid of borders now?

That’s why this guide is here. For that you will need a third party borderless games application. You can find it here, but this will be detailed later in this step by step guide.

THE GUIDE

Before we start, if you want to have your games set up to run well, read trough and apply fixes from these guides:

-https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=1131162350

-https://answers.ea.com/t5/Technical-Issues-PC/The-Sims-3-How-to-Minimize-Lag-and-Stabilize-the-Game/m-p/9647783

-https://twitter.com/crosimmer/status/1291882081191170048?s=21

They are all similar in nature but have their own additions to making the game run better. They are extremely helpful and effective. They even include guides on how to FPS limit the game in full screen if you want to keep playing the game that way. Also, be sure to read the last ( 7.) point in this guide as it is important and will determine if you even want to do this or not.

Now that that’s out of the way...

1. First thing to do is run the game and make sure that full screen is off. This is luckily easy to do. If it’s not off, turn it off in options:

2. Next, if you’ve applied FPS limit trough your graphic control application as advised by guides, make sure it’s disabled because it will interfere with this fix. 3. Once you are sure that it is disabled, get 3booter and FPSlimiter from this page: http://www.moreawesomethanyou.com/smf/index.php?topic=15585.0 (files in first two posts) 4. Open both .zip archives and extract all their contents to: - C:/Program Files (x86)/Electronic Arts/The Sims 3/Game/Bin or -C:/Program Files x(86)/Origin Games/The Sims 3/Game/Bin or whatever your install location of the game is.

4.a. If your game version is 1.69 there is one more step here. Once the files are extracted, you will need to rename launcher like this: Sims3Launcher.exe  to  Launcher.exe And then download and extract this new launcher exe in the bin:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/18lMmkXBF_5sknVo0UvxbNp6h_JZu9z7E/view?usp=sharing

Rename it to Sims3Launcher.exe 5. Now that you have the fixes set up properly, you can run the game: - Trough 3booter.exe if you are on version 1.67 (feel free to make a shortcut) or - Trough new launcher, Sims3Launcher.exe, if you are on 1.69. Note that your shortcuts to game launcher will now point to this new launcher due to filename. If you want to use the old launcher, make a shortcut for Launcher.exe

6. BUT WAIT!!! What about that borderless thingy m’ bob? Well here comes that part of setting up windowed mode to look like it’s full screen. First you want to go to the link of the program, I’ll post it again for convenience: https://github.com/Codeusa/Borderless-Gaming/releases Then scroll down a bit and download this:

Once that’s downloaded, install it and run it, after you’ve ran the game in windowed mode. You will be greeted with this:

To have your game in borderless mode, add it to the list on the left by selecting your game name from the list. It will be the name of the last expansion you are running, with [TS3W] next to it ([TS3] if you haven’t installed FPS limiter on 1.69). After the game is selected, click the arrow

And your game will automatically turn into a full screen-like application. IMPORTANT!: DO NOT CLOSE borderless gaming app, only minimize it. It has to run at all times while your game is running or the game will stop being borderless. Make sure to set borderless gaming app to run on windows launch if you don’t want to bother reopening it every time you start your PC.

7. Final notes. (Still IMPORTANT) If you’ve gotten this far, congratulations, you are one patient simmer willing to put in effort to perfect your sims 3 game experience. Not everything can be perfect however, and there are some additional notes to take care of. - First, the FPS limiter program only limits the game to 30FPS. People who have had the game run at 60FPS might be disappointed by this. However the game already runs it’s animations at only 30FPS so there is no need for additional frames. However it’s still you choice. If you do see a difference with 60FPS and don’t want to change it, you can still run the game full screen with 60FPS graphics control limiter. -Second, if you are NOT experiencing FPS higher than 60 in any part of the game (even load screens and main menu), there is no need to install this fix. However be vary that whenever you change hardware, especially GPU, you might need to take care of this. -Third and final, as a side note, there is a program that lets you unpark your CPU cores for that final addition of sims 3 smooth experience. This is completely OPTIONAL. Here is the program’s page (scroll all the way down for download): https://coderbag.com/product/quickcpu To set it up to unpark all cores you just have to do this

And click Apply.

FINALLY DONE?

Yes, yes. Finally done. That’s it Folks. Have fun with your games and good luck simming! And thanks to crosims for helping me out get this working on 1.69.

[charlieiscoping]

bakugou x reader smut // how you two began

you go to your local bar to wind down for a bit one evening. you did not realize that bakugou katsuki, known as ground zero, would also be there. after having a couple drinks you get the courage to go up and talk to him. you did not realize that would you to where you two are today.

content warning: post-UA, NSFW!!, daddy kink, degration

it’s a friday night after a long week of work. you decide you want to wind down and possibly find someone to bring back to the apartment for a bit. slipping on your skin tight black dress, you remember how good it feels to dress sexy once in a while. the dress rests right under your butt with a v line front that exposes your inner side boob. after throwing on some boots and basic eye makeup with lipstick, you are headed out the door.

the bar is full of people, all have drinks in hands. the dim light is contrasted with neon signs of different alcohol brands. the atmosphere is social and fun. your task for the night should not be hard. you instantly head straight to the bar to order a drink. pushing past groups of university students, you find a stool left empty. you plop down, and within seconds the bartender greets you.

“hello there young lady, what can i get you tonight?” 

with your id in hand, you reply, “i’ll just take a beer please.”

“of course.” and with that, he walks away to go fill a glass and help another customer. you sit there tapping your fingers on the bar ledge. scanning the room, you notice a lot of students. i must avoid them, you think. gathered around different tables are groups of adults all cheering to the end of a work week. you smile as you understand their joy. you finally make your gaze to the bar and that is where you meet a pair of red eyes. it takes a second to register who you are looking at, and once you do, your heart skips a beat. 

bakugou katsuki.

bakugou katsuki is looking at you right now. you stop breathing and momentarily forget where you are. it is the sound of glass against wood that brings you back to reality. you turn as the bartender is sliding your beer across the counter. 

“there you go miss!” he says. you smile and thank him, gratefully excepting a reason to look away from those red eyes beading down on you. without waiting, you start on emptying the cup. 

about an hour goes by and you are a couple of drinks in. every couple of minutes you glance his way and sometimes he’s looking back at you. each time he is, your heart flutters. now that you’re a little tipsy, you are starting to gain more and more confidence. first you start by turning your stool to face him a little more and expose your chest. you can notice him shift in his stool as he chats to whoever approaches him thanking him for his work. of course he’s popular, he’s a famous pro hero. 

you’ve always found him attractive, mainly because you just know that he would be rough in the sheets. some of his angry outbursts have been caught on camera and each time you couldn’t help but think about being there once he got home. the things he could do to you.

with these thoughts floating through your head, you can’t help but want to go talk to him. maybe do more than just talk.

once more you stare in his direction and those red eyes are staring back. this is your chance, you think. you get off your stool, adjust your dress, then grab your drink and start to walk towards him. you know that he sees you because he starts to casually turn his stool to face away from the bar. 

“hi ground zero-”

“please, just call me bakugou.” he scoffs.

you clear your throat then start again,”okay then, hi bakugou. i know you probably have heard this all night but i wanted to thank you for all of the work you do to keep us safe.” you take a step closer, the smell of bourbon fills your nose.

“thanks.” he replies shifting in his stool as you step closer. 

“yknow, i bet all of that hero work starts to get really tiring.” you place yourself in between his legs and he does not protest. 

“yeah it does get tiring. that’s why i’m at a bar. to yknow, relax.” he says in a serious tone. he never quite came off as the flirty type or subtle type. but you like that. blunt and straight to the point.

you lean forward to whisper in his ear, “i could help you,” you bite his ear lobe, “to do more than just relax.” he noticeably shifts in his stool and clears his throat.

“i don’t even know your name.” he says as you. you place your free hand on his thigh, his muscular thigh. 

“your little slut.” you whisper. within a couple of seconds you feel your drink get taken out of your hand and your wrist being pulled by a something hot. then you’re getting dragged towards the back of the bar and in a blur you enter a room that you could have sworn said “employee only restroom”. once you stop moving, you get a better look at what’s around you. off white tile walls surround you in a single bathroom as bakugou starts to push you against the wall.

“what did you say your name was?” he said in a deep voice. both arms are pressed against the wall on either side of you. he’s only a couple of inches away from your face, and you fight the urge to just kiss him.

“i said, my name is [y/n].” you smile. while this isn’t the exact setting you thought you would in, you’re okay with it. in fact, this isn’t the exact person you ever thought would be pressing his bulge against your torso either. this night is just filled with surprises.

“i saw you looking at me across from the bar. is there something you want?” he demands. you start to rub your thighs together to feel some friction.

“i was looking at you just as much as you were looking at me, bakugou. so maybe i should be asking you the same thing,” you place both of your hands on his chest, “is there something you want?”

he groans as he grinds up against your torso. moments later he pulls back and starts to unbuckle his pants. your heart is beating fast but you can’t help but notice how wet you are standing in front of him. 

“i want you to show me just how much of daddy’s little slut you really are.” you catch your breath. you’ve never heard someone use that term outside of joking with friends. it takes you a second to process it but once you do, you start to like the term. daddy.

you smile as he let’s his pants fall down to his ankles. now he is standing in front of you in gray boxer briefs and without really thinking you find yourself already on your knees. that almost villain like smirk spreads across his face as he steps towards you. his bulge is now in your face, and it is big.

you raise your arms and slowly start to pull off his boxer briefs. as they star to uncover his penis, it bounces up. he is big.

before anything else happens, his hand reaches down and grabs your chin, lifting it, your eyes meet. 

“now, i have some things to say before we begin. one, i will not listen to you if you say things like ‘no’ or ‘stop’. i will only stop if you say a safe work. why? because like you said, you’re my little slut,” you whimper at the sound of that, “if at any point you need to me stop, and i mean you actually need me to stop, you say ‘orange’ instead. get that?” he says in a stern voice. you nod. this is exactly how you thought he would be and it’s hot.

“i said,” he pulls your face up to be only inches away from his, “do you get that?”

your breath staggers, “y-yes daddy.”

“good.” and he lets your face go. “now suck me off.”

you take no time to wait. you open your mouth and use your hands to aid as you take him in your mouth. you start at your own pace, slowly taking more with each head bob. you can hear an almost animalistic groan leave his lips as you open your throat to take him in. after only a couple of strokes, you feel his hand firmly grip your hair. you stop moving, letting him take control. he starts to thrust into you and the only thing you can focus on is opening your throat enough to take him all.

his thrusting starts to pick up in pace and soon he’s reaching the back of your throat with every thrust causing you to start gagging. you can feel tears start to form as he uses your mouth. almost as soon as you feel like you’ve taken all you can take, he pulls out to let you catch your breath. 

“up against the wall. let me see that pretty little ass of yours.” he demands. once again, you take no time to listen and soon you are bent over, using your hands to prop you up against the wall. you know that you will need all of the support you can take with whatever he is about to do next. the tile walls are cold against your hands and you start to wonder how often these walls get cleaned. and how often he’s in here doing this exact same thing.

“good girl.” he says. you let out a breath as you feel his warm hands grab the bottom of your dress and pull it up over your butt. the only thing between you and him is your thong. 

you feel his finger grab the thin fabric and pull it towards himself, “now tell me, is this one of your favorite thongs?”

you answer with slight confusion, “uh- i mean it’s not my favorite but i do really like-” and with that you feel him rip the thong.

“honestly i don’t even know why i ask. it’s not like i would have listened. it’s in the way of your precious holes and needed to go.” you are taken back by just how powerful he thinks he is. however, before you have time to feel upset, you feel two of his fingers enter your walls. you let out a small moan as the heat of his fingers make you melt around him. soon he is finger fucking you slowly. 

“you’re so wet for me, just how i like it.” he says, slipping a third finger in there. you let out yet another moan but you can’t help but want more. 

“p-please, more” you manage to spit out as you feel his thumb start to stimulate your clit. 

“what’s that, slut?” his fingers stop moving, but stay inside of you. the thumb rests right on your clit making any small movement send shivers through your body.

“i- ple- more. i- i need more.” you stutter out.

“and what exactly makes you think that i will listen to you?” he growls. damn, he is so controlling.

you can’t move, but you can’t take it anymore. you feel his free hand grab your hair and yank your head back. 

“what do you want you little whore?” you let out a small whine. 

“i-i want your cock inside of me.” you manage to say. without answering, you feel his fingers leave you empty but something much bigger soon fills you up. you let out an involuntary moan. you bite your lip in hopes to try to silence yourself. 

“i didn’t tell you to be quiet.” he says as he starts to pound into you. you feel two fingers at the entrance of your mouth. they smell of you. you open your mouth and allow them to enter your mouth. “taste yourself.” and you do.

bakugou’s pace is fast and hard. you stop trying to be too quiet and start moaning out. he groans in approval, which makes your knees even weaker. he is really good at hitting you in just the right spot with each thrust. 

“louder. don’t worry about everyone else hearing you. i want to hear you.” he demands as he grips your hips, digging in his nails, he uses them to pull you onto him with each thrust. you know that defying him isn’t an option so you start to moan louder. soon you feel as if you have left the bathroom and are entering a new reality. the only thing holding your body up right now is bakugou’s death grip on your hips. you can hear him grunting with each thrust and you feel great.

with one deep thrust, you feel him stop. his cock is still inside of you but you are soon snapped back into reality. 

“move over to the sink. not only do you have more things to support you on, but then you can watch yourself as i fuck you some more.” you can hear desire in his voice. you know that he is having just as much fun as you are right now. 

“o-oka-okay.” you say as the two of you start to head over to the sink. as you rest your body onto the sink, he instantly starts to thrust into you once more. your moans begin as you grip the sink rim for more support. 

“look up.” he growls. you do. you’re met with the red eyes staring directly at you in the mirror. his smile makes you melt more and you start to smile as well.

“you feel so fucking good daddy.” you say, spreading your legs slightly more open for him. he growls in approval and quickens the speed. with the amount of times he hits your spot, you start to feel that build up in your abdomen.

“oh f-fuck. i’m getting close.” you say. with that, you feel a hand reach around and start to stimulate your clit once more. you start to let out more moans now and you are completely limp on top of the sink.

“i want you to cum on my cock baby. i want to feel how good you feel as i finish you.” that doesn’t take long. as a couple more thrusts hit your spot, his finger rubs you just out and you start to collapse on him.

“f-f-fuck daddy!” you pant out. as you finish, he does not stop thrusting.

“oh shit. you’re so warm on my cock. now tell me, do you want me to finish inside of you?” he’s looking at you once more through the mirror. his blonde hair is beginning to look damp with sweat. all you can do is nod. you feel completely paralyzed under him.

his pace suddenly slows down, now he is inching in and out of you. it feels so good, he’s so good, you think. 

“cum in me daddy.” you say with more confidence. you feel him twitch to that and with one final thrust, you feel him unload in you.

“shit, oh yeah baby you’re so good.” bakugou starts to loosen up. without pulling out, he presses his body against yours and starts kissing your back.

“round two?” he asks after a few moments of silence. you look up and meet his gaze.

“round two?!” you can’t exactly move with his cock still inside of you, but he notices your movements and grabs your hips, flipping you around, he raises you to sit on the sink. once you’re sitting, he pulls out. before you can say anything, you leans down and shoves a tongue into your tender pussy. you can’t help but let out more moans. wrapping your legs around his shoulder, you tangle your fingers into his blonde hair.

after a couple seconds of ecstasy, he pulls away. 

“i take it back. get off of the sink and try to make yourself look presentable.” you’re taken back by this sudden urgency to leave. you watch as he pulls up his underwear and pants and begins to buckle. you don’t move right away.

“what you mean you ‘take it back’?” you ask, “do i suddenly disgust you?”

bakugou turns to look at you. there’s still desire in his eyes, but now it is more burning. “no. i just retract my question. i’m not asking if you want round two, you are getting round two. now get off of the fucking sink and make yourself presentable so we can leave and i can fuck you again as many times as i want.” you shutter at this comment. without replying, you get off of the sink, almost falling over due to how weak your legs are, and straighten your dress and hair. 

“don’t try to whip yourself up,” he says as he sees you reaching for toilet paper, “i want to be able to smell just how much of a whore you are.” then bakugou starts to walk towards you and wraps his arms around you. he leans in and gives you a deep kiss. you taste yourself still on his tongue as he shoves it in your mouth. you almost fall again, but since his strong arms are wrapped around you, he holds you tight.

you do not return home until 4 am that morning. when he is standing in your apartment doorway after dropping you off, he hands you a slip of paper with his number on it.

“i will be in touch. this won’t be the last time. now go rest your poor little pussy.” and with that, he left.

you take no time to listen to him and within minutes you are laying on your bed asleep. you might have to take multiple showers to feel clean, but that’s okay. bakugou makes you feel like you are the world.

=========================================================

a couple of months go by and you lay on his bed, naked. you see bakugou almost every other day now. most of the days he fucks you until you can’t speak; but some days he will take you out for dinner. you start to not only love having sex with him, but to just be around him. you begin to think that he feels the same way as the amount of sex starts to decrease and the amount of times doing other things increases.

one night you two are out for dinner at a fancy restaurant. you are ordered to wear that same black dress. you don’t think much of it, i mean he orders you around a lot (and you listen with no hesitation). 

when you arrive at the restaurant, he is standing at the door in a slick black suit. you can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach. you’ve been good about accepting that you two will only be friends with benefits, you can’t help but think about being more some nights.

you step out of the car, paying the taxi man. once you reach the front steps, bakugou is there to take your hand. the cool air contrasts with the warmth of his hands.

“you look stunning.” he says. you blush.

“it’s not like you told me to wear this, idiot.” you chuckle, “but thank you.” you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips. while those kisses are usually momentarily, or filled with desire to fuck, this one is different. it’s gentle, long, and passionate. as you pull away, you meet those famous red eyes. 

“are you okay?” you ask as he smiles. 

“yeah. let’s go sit down for dinner.” he takes your hand and leads you inside.

once you two are settled, a waiter comes and gets you your drinks and orders your food. you two start your regular chatter about work, hero wok, and whatever his old classmates have been up to. 

the night goes on, stomachs are full, and you two are happy. right as you expect him to get to lead you to his bed, he stops and starts to stutter.

“so- uh- well- fuck why am i sounding like an idoit?” he sighs, looks at you, and continues, “the reason i asked you to wear that dress tonight is because that it the one you were wearing when we first met.”

you nod, “yes i remember.”

“well, i’m not going to lie and say that you were the first person i led into that employee only restroom.” your heart sinks a little when you hear that even though you expecting nothing less. he continues, “well, i haven’t taken anyone since and i was wondering..” he takes a deep breath. he has never been good about opening up, “i was wondering if you would like to be my last.”

you’re taken back for a second as you try to process what exactly he is asking you. while he has never been the most romantic, he sure does a good job at throwing curve balls at you. 

“are you asking if i want to be your girlfriend?” you ask.

bakugou almost gets frustrated, but controls himself enough to answer, “yes. that is what i am asking you. [y/n], do you want to make this exclusive and be mine?” your heart almost leaps from your chest. a smile spreads across your face. 

“y-yes!” you answer. within a matter of seconds, you are wrapping your arms around him and kissing him. you two leave the restaurant hand in hand.

the sex that night was different. he was more passionate, more gentle. you reached a new level of ecstasy. 

=========================================================

it has been a year since that night at the restaurant. you are now laying on your guys’s couch, reading. there are some nights when bakugou comes home late due to hero work. you are always there waiting for him. while most nights end in some form of sex, more and more nights end in your new favorite way. 

bakugou opens the door and exhales. within seconds he is laying on top of you on the couch. you begin to rub his back and he nuzzles into your neck. you know that talking will be reserved for a little later. for now, he starts to doze off as you hold him tight in your arms.

this is your new favorite ending.

==========================================================

yes i ended it with bakugou fluff cause why not! i love soft bakugou.

now this is my first smut on here. not sure if i will do a lot of smut cause i mainly love fluff but sometimes bakugou makes me want to act up.

anywaysss, thanks for reading :)

-charlie

[jaggedwolf]

air support, we need you (or: tscosi 2x09)

some bomb dropping, ofc, spoilers below duh

same game, top three things i had feelings ‘bout in reverse order

3. time skip time! Everyone could use a bit of a breather, even if it can’t live up to Arkady’s goat farm dreams

I thought all the planet assignments made sense, even if the completionist in me wanted it to differ more from the split that had already happened this season

ok ok the shipper in me was 50-50 but we’ll address that later

2. my man park!! is back!!! 

Showing up with an anti-aircraft missile launcher as a wedding gift. I kept joking that Park would keep up his finale trend of showing up as a surprise being cool (as cool as Park can be anw), and thought it wouldn’t happen till it did!

and him also quietly saying the defector wasn’t Shelly....Park...are you going to talk about this...

narrowly avoided extended crew singing for the third time, will he keep up this success rate?

I would take a mini-episode that just followed Park in the second half of the season (Park: I am an independent man who needs no crew)

1. Arkady attacking Krejjh because she thinks they’re an enemy, AND then McCabe pulling a gun on her to make sure she didn’t run away. Bro. Bro, that shit was a direct hit to the id. Do I even have words for how good that was

Knowing what was about to happen as soon as Arkady said “You” in that tone of voice, ugh

Krejjh saying Arkady instead of First Mate Patel in desperation, and then brushing it off with a :D after

But god, McCabe. They’ve been so compelling this season, and yeah, maybe they’re approaching everything like a nail with the hammer they’ve got that shoots bullets, but the point is, it fuckin works 

Arkady buys the threat (the promise of her crew’s safety?) more than she buys Krejjh’s reassurances 

(though reading the transcript, Krejjh specifically telling Arkady “Science Officer Liu will never forgive you”, not “forgive us”, is excellent too)

“the only authority figures yet to disappoint me” / “I’m not an authority figure” / “you don’t get to decide that” is just like. embedded in my mind. just McCabe going no, you don’t get to run verbally either.

Do you ever think about how Arkady and McCabe had like, different kinds of fucked up childhoods compared to the rest of the crew. Like obviously McCabe ending up an agent so young and the stuff about their family suggests a pretty secure background, but it feels like the IGR and Dwarnian war starting when they were 12 gives them a kind of cynicism that meshes well with Arkady’s, in a way that’s distinct from how Arkady and Violet’s morbidness mesh, or Arkady and Sana’s pragmatism

ok more character feels under the cut

don’t scandalize the grandparents

A married man! 

Impressed he made it through the season with no baddies wrecking his oxygen

Always ready to point out that Arkady is actually as much of a nerd as he is

AKA I didn’t realize it was a Mozart reference till he said so. Arkady defies the jock-nerd chart

okay who of Arkady or Krejjh is gonna tell him about MMA fight outside, or did they do a whole team debrief. For Arkady’s sake I’m hoping not the latter, though I guess everyone else would like an explanation for McCabe’s gun-pointing??

likes solving problems without guns, would prefer solving them by FLYING SPACESHIPS 

Krejjh watches McCabe’s gun strategy work on Arkady and goes “do you folks really live like this?? why???”

I do love that their first thought on what to do next is to run a bunch of supplies around, probably between human populations that are going to be a wary at seeing a dwarnian show up. (Eat it, Eejjhgreb)

Kinda wonder if their feelings about getting choked out by their buddy are in fact more complicated than “it’s chill dude, please don’t do something stupid”

The cutest vow

who needs to calm down your crewmates with annoying words when you can just point a gun at them

Seriously where is the human-dwarnian war AU where it lasts longer or happens later where McCabe is the baby sniper posted to Arkady’s unit and they squabble a bunch (and perhaps kiss? When I wrote my third ever ficlet for this fandom never did I anticipate actually being interested in that)

what % of their Mirzakhani choice was thinking “what if Arkady tries to run from the goat farm and no one’s around to point a gun at her” jk jk

Their exclusion of Park from authority figures that didn’t disappoint them is fascinating. Is it that he left hoping for Shelly when it probably wasn’t her, or that he isn’t an authority figure anymore, a combination there of?

Or worst of all, is it that when he didn’t kill Krejjh back in 1x10, that really was a disappointment, no matter how much it might’ve been mixed with relief, and you can’t undo that moment?

What if they and Park talked. But I don’t think Park is going to goat planet, so that seems unlikely.

Their apology to Sana for heightened Martineau security! And Sana reiterating the profound gratefulness bit, gah

mostly read other people’s words and yet sparked consideration of two different OT3s, her power.

you know what, everyone deciding Sana is the best person to read words makes complete sense

There was one specific moment this episode that sent my mind into a tizzy about V/A/S, and it was Arkady going FINE GO ASK THE CAPTAIN THEN at how firm Violet was that Tripathi would be the one driving her, not Arkady.

I need you to understand that my V/A/S OT3 opinions are such that my shipping feels were more set off by that than Sana and Violet telling Arkady they were proud of her for choosing goat planet or whatever, like I don’t even know what dynamic was so captured by that argument, rip at Arkady having to be systems apart from them again

Though ofc my heart was buoyed by Sana’s earnest “Kady, you do more than that”, I want these two to go do a job together again, I miss that

To shift gears, I cannot believe “Lenny” started out as Sana being absolutely furious at the people threatening her crew and has ended up a teasing in-joke between her and Park, my Sana/Park shipping feels were very content. (When does Sana learn that Park didn’t get to hear the long list of fake crimes the Rumor crew specifically confessed to Lenny? This must be fixed. Tell him about the diamonds!)

Campbell said “Park, let me show you where we’ve been sleeping.” and my brain went. Wait. This is actually a good OT3?? Park is already unnerved by Sana’s earnest captaining, he should get unnerved by Campbell’s default magnanimity, please consider this

this is also where I point out that all these major characters have very convenient names for indicating ships solely via letters. V/A! B/K! S/P/C! This may solve my ot3 tagging problem...

get off that cotton candy boat, vi

Haha I loved that line from Doc Robinson she’s so no-nonsense, love Violet agreeing to work with her

Doc also said menders and I thought about this post again and also the team split and ahhh

But no, I very much liked Violet gently crushing Arkady’s goat farm dreams, and the two of them awkwardly discussing the very awkward stage things are at while still getting a feel for how the other operates

These nerds are trying and I’m still fond of them

at some point I was gonna make fun of Vi for not being able to drive before realising 1. she probably didn’t want to deprive the others of a vehicle 2. that would be incredibly hypocritical of me

wait does the igr have excellent public transport when they aren’t bombing it i take back every bad thing i’ve said abou-

*ahem* same question about the MMA fight debrief I had for Brian, it would be so funny if the situation was so rushed that like, Arkady+McCabe explain to Brian on the farm and Krejjh has to tackle everyone else

tick, tock, walking bomb, when it stops, nobody knows

arkady is so whumpable, and this show knows it

Redundant, but love how terrified of herself she is after hurting Krejjh and how strangely reassured she is by McCabe’s gun antics. And how she doesn’t like thinking of herself as an authority figure on the ship even though she literally is as First Mate

is ready to monologue about all major life events and the crew frickin knows it

is trying to help herself and stuff, still grumbling about it. in worse shape this season than last - probably all the constant discussion of the inevitable war just kept building stuff up and she kept ignoring it because haha who wants to deal with this prickly mess of a person haha

did i mention she’s the best

hope she gets her full goat farm dream one day, even if it’s not on actual goat farm

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color. 

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased. 

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him. 

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing. 

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank. 

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist. 

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here. 

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open. 

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual. 

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving. 

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in. 

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead… 

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips. 

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.” 

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?” 

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?” 

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton. 

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted. 

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip. 

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour. 

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar. 

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand. 

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.” 

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something. 

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window. 

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?”  The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before. 

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place. 

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand. 

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried. 

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer. 

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered). 

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards? 

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment.  “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”          

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared. 

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp. 

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand. 

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot. 

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her. 

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch. 

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.” 

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.” 

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere. 

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!” 

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them. 

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location. 

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents. 

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other. 

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue. 

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!” 

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer. 

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire. 

… 

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest. 

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless. 

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle. 

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

 Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright. 

A howl cut through the air. 

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!” 

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman. 

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright. 

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next. 

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer. 

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman- 

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt. 

Then everything went dark. 

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing. 

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So- 

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

[stealingpotatoes]

I am OBSESSED with your Desmond lives AU!! I want Shaun and Rebecca to be able to give Desmond all the hugs, I want Desmond to be able to choose to be an Assassin, to be able to help save the world again. Also, I am very curious about how you would resurrect Desmond, because I’ve had similar thoughts on such an AU, but I currently stick it near the end of Valhalla with the stuff that happens there. If you ever feel like expanding on it, I'd be super excited to see more!!!

first of all, AH THANK YOU!!! Yes those are ALL points that are very important to the Des Lives AU! Second of all, thank you so much for this ask in general!!! I was hoping someone would send an ask like this so I’d get an excuse to talk abt the AU more lmao XD!! I made this AU back in March last year, so there’s no Valhalla stuff in it, and it’s set right after/ during the Odyssey DLCs. 

The long story short for my Desmond Rez (rezmond, if you will) is “shroud of eden, abstergo, and some Isu bullshit”. The long story long, however, is uh- you know what? I’m going to use this opportunity to explain the vague story I worked out last year -- but dw, I WILL get to the full ressurection explanation I thought through. However... I’m gonna have to tell the story in smaller parts because I’m lazy and can’t be bothered to write the whole thing out right now. So rez comes later and not in this post. 

also uh-- before we start: I’m going to apologise for like… everything about the way I wrote this. It’s sort-of half fic, half that-way-your-friends-colloquially-tell-stories-that-you-can’t-keep-up-with. Mainly the latter. If you can make sense of this babbling, well done.

 Anyways, without further ado, welcome to:

POTES TRIES TO EXPLAIN HER DESMOND (SORTA) LIVES AU: PART ONE

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles dies. 

It’s not for nothing -- his sacrifice saves the entire world from a solar flare -- but he is dead. big ripz. The Assassins, his family, do not manage to recover his body. Abstergo gets it first. The Assassins hold a funeral as best they can. They mourn (all in their own ways), they keep fighting (for his memory), and they try to move on (they can’t). 

On the 21st of December 2012, Desmond Miles died -- so when he shows up in a city in October 2018, almost 6 years later, it’s a bit of a shock for everyone. What’s even more of a shock is the fact he’s glowing like an Isu and has some abilities he DEFINITELY didn’t have when he died.

So Desmond wakes up in the middle of some city in he doesn’t know where (yeah ok i just never really worked out where the secret lab would be), with 1. no idea of how he got there and 2. no idea why his arms are glowing like that. He doesn’t get much time to think about it because then there’re a load of Abstergo goons with guns surrounding him. Des may have no idea what’s happening, but he knows one thing: when u see an Abstergo, it’s on sight. So he’s fighting them -- which is admittedly not fun or easy when you’re in the middle of a road and only have your fists as weapons. It’s not going well and then someone definitely manages to shoot Desmond which is very bad -- but then Des feels some very weird (but not unfamiliar) feeling and when he looks up from the bullet wound, every one of the Abstergos are on the floor???? He doesn’t think to check if they’re dead, just legs it out of there lmao. 

//

Elsewhere, in an Assassin safehouse in an undisclosed location (can you tell I just didn’t think about the geography of anything), Mr Shaun Hastings is chilling on a balcony after a mission well done. Good for him. Then Rebecca Crane (queen ilu) yells “Shaun?” from inside. 

“Rebecca?” 

“Come inside. Now.”

Shaun immediately does so because he assumes it’s important or they’re under threat. “What happened? Have we been compromised?”

Rebecca doesn’t answer. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Shaun says, mostly joking and with a little smirk -- though Becs looks spooked. 

“Desmond’s alive.”

Shaun’s not smirking anymore. “What?”

“Desmond’s... he’s alive.”

“What are you talking about? Are you high?” he’s totally about to look at her eyes to see if they’re all dilated and druggy. 

“No Shaun, I mean it!” Becs harshly shoves her tablet into his hands. 

Shaun doesn’t really know what he’s expecting to see when he looks down at the screen. What he’s not really expecting to see is Desmond Miles, who’s been dead for six years, fighting a load of Abstergo people -- while lined in Isu markings (also he’s not wearing a shirt forgot got to mention). ??? But wtf??!?! Desmond’s dead. That’s...

“It’s security camera footage from [the city]... About two hours ago.” Rebecca then swipes through more footage with shaky hands and explains that Des very violently burst out of an Abstergo facility in the city with glowing eyes and light leaking out of him (almost like an Apple of Eden). Then the glowing eyes and shining lights shuts off abruptly and Des is standing in the middle of the road looking very confused at his precursor-ass arms and chest. But Shaun is barely listening to what she’s saying and barely even looking at the screen. 

“Where did you get this?” Shaun asks with a hollow voice, not looking up. 

“The Initiates.” (bc who else)

Shaun looks at it again, then at Rebecca, and he’s mildly aware of the fact he’s slightly tearing up; “That’s fake. That can’t be him. He’s dead, Becs. We both saw the…” They both saw the autopsy footage the ac4 researcher got from Abstergo -- or at least, tried to watch it; they shut it off as soon as Shaun ran to the bathroom to throw up and Rebecca quickly joined him. They spent the rest of that night crying and drinking way too much. 

“He died.” Shaun concludes firmly. 

And so Becs is all like “yeah but what if he didn’t?? We need to find him. We need to investigate this.” There’s a determination in her eyes and Shaun knows he’s not going to be able to convince her to drop this -- not that he would. Desmond might be alive, and there is no way they’re going to leave him again. 

They’re both standing there in pure shock and confusion, not saying anything. 

Rebecca’s comm device lights up and starts buzzing, snapping them out of their general ????-ness. Becs goes to her desk to grab it, glances at the caller id and then shows it to Shaun. It’s William Miles. 

The two of them share a Look. They know what he’s calling about -- what else would it be? There’s a stilted moment of neither of them doing anything before Rebecca finally accepts the call. “William?” 

“How quickly can you and Shaun get to [city]?” William sounds shaken -- probably the same way Rebecca and Shaun are -- which is a very weird way to hear the Mentor of the Brotherhood sound. He’s seen the footage, hasn’t he? 

“In a few hours,” Rebecca replies. 

“Good. You need to get there as soon as possible.” 

Everyone’s silent for a few moments. 

“Is this about Desmond?” Rebecca asks. Dumb question. 

There’s a pause. “You’ll be briefed on the ground.” And then he hangs up before Shaun or Rebecca can yell at him.

This is all moving very fast. Shaun and Rebecca share another look. Guess they’re going to [city].  ???

// 

Fast forward several hours and Rebecca and Shaun are in The City [might just have to make the city london bc it’s the one city i actually know well -- however for plot reasons we’ll see later, a swiss city might be better… moving on!]. They get to an assassin base and meet up with Galina Voronina and 2 local assassins. Idk if you’ve read the comics, but to sum things up quickly, Galina and her team were investigating and then ended Project Phoenix -- so Galina now really wants to find out if the whole Desmond thing has anything to do with that. 

Galina also wants to help Shaun and Rebecca get their friend back. They’re her friends, but equally she just lost one of her teammates to Abstergo (while ending Phoenix like 2 months ago, in the comics) and is uh- idk how to say it but she wants to help Shaun & Becs who have a chance to get their lost teammate back.

What follows is cool gang-gang trying to track down any trace of Desmond. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find a person who literally glows, but Desmond’s had centuries of Assassin training and knows how to hide lol.. which is making the Assassins’ job harder lol. 

What’s making it even harder is the Assassins know they have to be quick because they know Abstergo is gonna be looking for Desmond too -- and they have way more resources and stuff. That being said, they’re also currently dealing with the fact one of their building and a decent amount of their guards just got absolutely mullered by weird-glowing-desmond. 

The third issue with their entire thing is that they have no idea what they’re going to find when they find Desmond -- or if he even is Desmond. Is he going to be the man they knew but with weird powers? an Abstergo isu-clone? evil? they don’t know, and so they know they’ve got to be wary with him. 

The Assassin gang spend some time (a couple of days at the very most) trying to track Desmond down. Rebecca is using all the tech she can get her hacker mitts on to find a trace of him and equally throw Abstergo off Des’ trail. 

Soon enough, they get a solid lead -- don’t ask for the specifics, i don’t know them. But they get a lead, and it winds them up in an abandoned apartment building or also abandoned building site or something (a building in the city where there aren’t any people, basically). 

Galina scans the place with Eagle Vision and she’s like “There is something very strange about this place.” (someone?) But she doesn’t see a person-shape anywhere. The 5 of them are hopeful but somewhat on edge. 

They go about searching for any sign of Desmond. Galina’s pretty sure her Eagle Vision is just… Messing Up A Lot lol. Like something’s trying to heck with it. So she’s not quite sure it’s working correctly when a load of red figures appear somewhere below them. 

She becomes a lot more sure when the red figures come into sight and START SHOOTING AT THEM! IT’S ABSTERGO!! CRAP! they found them!!

The assassins get down and a really cool fight scene w them vs the Abstergos in the building/ building site starts playing out. Woo Shaun and Rebecca electro-hidden-blade moments!! The fight splits the squad up and Shaun and Rebecca are away from Galina & the others -- but they dispatch the Abstergo guards near them.

They’re about to radio in that they’re all okay/ check if Galina & co are also good when they hear a slightly-too-loud footstep. They whip around to see an Abstergo guard aiming right at them, too far for either of them to get him before he shoots them. crap crap crap.

They would have been shot -- if someone hadn’t come up behind the Abstergo guard and snapped his neck (ouch). 

The Abstergo drops to the ground, revealing the person who saved them and… Shaun and Rebecca stare in shock. 

They’re both looking at Desmond Miles. 

Desmond Miles, who is very much alive (and wearing a hoodie that is 100% stolen). And… with a load of glowing yellow lines on his face. But it’s Desmond -- it’s Desmond for sure. Holy shit.  

Desmond doesn’t seem so shocked, only relieved to see them. Then his expression turns into serious confusion; 

“What the fuck is happening?”

///

ok sorry leaving it there for now! hope you enjoyed what is here will continue soon

[takadanobaba]

Prizoom Ticket Buying Walkthrough

Have you ever wanted to experience what a cheering screening is like regardless of location, even overseas? How about soundboard hell?

Well you’re in luck because there’s literally nothing stopping you because prizooms are a thing and they aren’t region locked at all!!! And I love them!!!!

I love them so much that I made a whole post just to make the ticket buying process even more easy!!!! 

If you’re interested in attending a prizoom, please participate and show your support for kinpri!!!

So to preface, “prizooms” are online King of Prism cheering screenings using Zoom and featuring a soundboard powered by Ainotte. Tickets are sold through RakutenTicket.

My first prizoom was Jin’s! 💙  I posted an impressions post here, in case if you wanted a detailed summary of what a prizoom is like! I also posted about Rei’s prizoom and will be using screenshots from buying tickets for that during this!

~

You’ll need a Rakuten Ticket account before trying to make your purchase, so if you haven’t, go to this link (the Rakuten member registration page) and make an account.

(Actually forgot most of the details for making an account when typing this but I do remember it being decently easy so.... if I’m missing anything it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out ^^;)

First part is pretty straightforward, they even have an official English translation of the registration page so you don’t have to put it through google translate! Also it doesn’t matter what language you set during registration, your account will work for buying prizoom tickets even if you don’t use the Japanese page.

For the address, I just looked up “Japanese postal codes” and put in the first result that showed up and picked the prefecture it came from (Tokyo) just to be safe. Pretty sure you can just put whatever you want though. Forgot what info I used (and can’t figure out how to see my account info to check?) but pretty sure I didn’t type in legit info and it went through anyways.

For the phone number, you can use your actual full phone number, including the country code!

(I forgot if they need to verify your phone number, but I’d suggest to use your real phone number just in case)

After that, confirm your information and create your Rakuten Ticket account!

So first you would go to whatever prizoom you’re interested in’s information page (usually found promoted on the kinpri twitter account) and then click the blue link, which will take you to its Rakuten Ticket page!

Then if you scroll down a bit, you’ll see the different tickets available for purchase! The first and most expensive option is for every showing in the event, the ones below it are specific showings.

Also!!! If you want to skip a showing, you’ll have to go through the purchasing process for each single ticket you want to buy. There isn’t a cart function as far as I’m aware, so I had to pay the service fee twice. It’s kind of a pain but I guess that just gives more incentive for people who just want to do 2+ showings to just go all the way.

(Looking back on it, I regret only doing 2 out of 3 and not just buying an all-inclusive ticket for Jin’s showing since I would’ve loved it...)

I want to attend the screening of SSS part 4, so I’ll click the red button for the 3rd option!

Next screen is where you choose which room you want to participate in!  The red option is the cheering room, and the blue is for the chat+soundboard only room. I’ve heard that the cheering rooms are more fun (and a closer experience to an actual cheering screening), but I started out with chat-only rooms and personally REALLY REALLY REALLY enjoyed them! Both rooms use the soundboard, so if you’re interested in cheering through that (seeing as most people using this walkthrough would proooobably not have much experience cheering or be confident enough in Japanese to turn on their mic), it’s okay to attend either room!

I’ll be going to the chat-only room again! So I’ll click that, and then click the dropdown and set it to the only other option so that I can buy one ticket.

After that, a confirmation screen pops up. The orange button on the left is to cancel/go back, and the one on the right is to confirm.

The next section asks how you would like to pay, you’ll probably want to (and most likely can only) pay with a credit/debit card, so just select the first option before scrolling down until you get a bunch of blanks to fill out like below.

Now here’s the fun part! Putting in some really obviously made up information!

The first line asks for your last name, and the line below that asks for your first name. Don’t bother trying to type in your name in English letters/romaji, the system will only allow Japanese letters. As long as it’s in Japanese, you can put any name you want! 

In the section below the first 2 boxes, it asks you to rewrite your name in katakana specifically. If you have trouble with differentiating hiragana/katakana/kanji, you can always just paste something into a katakana converter or go wild with google translate till something works. Though it’d be good for you to learn at least a little bit of Japanese since it makes the whole screening experience more enjoyable.

I just set my name as 高田馬場 (Takadanobaba) ジョージ (Joji) because why not. For the second set of name boxes I put タカダノババ (Takadanobaba in katakana) ジョージ (Joji again, almost every kinpri character’s first name is already written in katakana). If you don’t want to bother with putting in different info then you can just paste that in haha.

For the address, make sure you put in a Japanese zip code! Non-japanese codes won’t work. You can select any prefecture you want, but for the example I put その他 / ”Somewhere else”. For the next few boxes you can type in literally anything you want, it doesn’t matter. It’s just an online event so the only place they send you anything is to your email! (They should just remove the whole address section since it gets tedious to fill out and isn’t used for anything haha...) Your address doesn’t need to be consistent with the info you used to make your account! 

ALSO!!!! If you’re running the page through google translate or something and get stuck, make sure you revert it back to its original before filling in your information and hitting the orange button! If you don’t then it keeps switching your birth month to the default 1/January and you won’t be able to move onto the next page. Your birthday needs to match up with the info you used to make your Rakuten account with!

When you’re done, click the orange confirmation button to go to the next page!

Next page just asks if you want to use your RakutenTicket points to discount your purchase. You can only use them if you have at least 50 points.

After that, put in your payment information! You don’t need a Japanese credit/debit card and can use the information for any card you want......... as long as it’s valid for you to use! Don’t steal someone’s card info or put in fake information for this. This is a transaction with actual money involved here. ^^;

Putting in the numbers on your card is also straightforward, the most confusing part would probably just be the name. Make sure you type the cardholder name in ALL CAPS otherwise it won’t work.

Should be obvious but I only used “TAKADANOBABA JOJI” for example purposes, if you’re copying my info, don’t actually put that unless if your name is actually Takadanobaba Joji and your credit card really says that. I changed it to my legal information after taking this screenshot so my purchase would go through. Use the actual name on your card!

After you put in your payment info and it’s verified, review your purchase, scroll down, and check the box at the end if you want to go through with your order.

The box before that asks if you want to receive email notifications for when events relating to King of Prism and online events have their tickets up for sale.

When your tickets are bought, you’ll get an order code like this! (You don’t really need it, this isn’t used in your prizoom ticket)

To see your ticket information, you can either check your email or go to the RakutenTicket home page and log into your account to view your purchase history.

When you click whatever ticket you want to see information for, scroll down until you find your “入室用ID” / “Entry ID” information.

From here, you’ll see your ticket info, alongside a link to the event’s bonus zoom backgrounds right above it!

You will also get an email with your ticket information!

Your ticket info will consist of numbers separated into three sections by slashes like this! The sections in order would be:

1) The Zoom meeting ID code (882 8702 1252)

2) The password to be let into the Zoom meeting (964689)

3) What you need to set your display name to before entering (6703)

(The numbers won’t be the same, also this is from Jin’s first showing so it’s long over and this information is useless outside of providing an example.)

Only one device is allowed per ticket, so don’t try to distribute the same ticket to multiple people to get out of paying for yourself or anything like that!

(Assuming you don’t need this guide to tell you how to download Zoom or find the option to join a meeting)

Put in the first number into the first box and the third number into the second box. Then you’ll get a popup asking for a passcode, so the second number.

Then it’ll show you when the event is scheduled for in your timezone! This is helpful for if you haven’t already and want to set an alarm for when it starts but don’t want to fumble through time converters. Though it would be good to double check just in case if the popup is off.

On the day of the event and a bit earlier from the first showing, you’ll get an email with a link for the prizoom soundboard! 

The soundboard is the same for all of the event’s showings and both rooms, so please only participate when appropriate so you don’t ruin the experience in showings you’re not attending if you choose to listen in on them!

I’ve annotated the buttons for accessibility  💖 

The gender/voice options can be switched in the top right corner (it’s set to the female option by default). The volume can be controlled with the sliding bar (the default is 5 which is honestly wayyy too low of a number considering how loud it is)

And with that, you’re all set! Once you’ve done all of the above, all you have to do is just wait for the event to start and then experience the prizoom sparkle!  💖

Shortly after the event ends, you get an email asking for feedback like this!

Just click the link and you can also put in any information and comments you want... whether you decide to let the staff know that there’s international interest in kinpri is up to you ^^

If you find that you enjoy prizooms, or just want to help make sure that there’s an opportunity to experience cheering screenings regardless of location, it would be helpful to comment that they should keep holding them in the future!  💖

If there’s any other questions, I’d be happy to answer!

[00gangfriend00]

I was tagged by @jade-marie and @bourbon-ontherocks to list my top 10 books  fics I read in 2020.

and lemme tell you..

i’ve been WAITIN’ for this one!!

This IS a bit tricky because I spent most of 2020 just lurking on AO3, no acccount, no commenting, no kudos. so there are just so so so many fics that I remember pieces of, and have little headcanons that LIVE with me but I have no idea who the author is or what the fic is called.  

so.. that being said, the top 10 is ever changing and could never be fully complete. I just love every author and every fic, you are all so wildly talented. 

❤  a song inside the halls of the dark - ms_scarlet  (@mego42 )

This fic has everything!! a sexy ex-lover rival gang leader, relaxed rio, angry rio, angsty kitchen sex rio. LOFT rio. AND it’s my favourite post-S2 reckoning of all time. There are moments in this fic that I just want to SPAM the gg writing room with. like scrap ur plans. DO. THIS.  Overall, this is such a creative and well-written series.  The characterization is superb, the smut has.... so many feelings, and the angst is AMAZING. There are a couple chapters (I wont give spoilers) that involves Beth in a hotel in Canada that I legit could not stop reading. it’s just all... so damn GOOD. favourite line: You thought I could be something, right? Well, this is that something. The bitch you trained bit back. 

❤  we’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks - BourbonOnTheRocks  (@bourbon-ontherocks)

Whew! this fic has EVERYTHING. safe house brio. KARMA. brio ignoring each other. snippy, cranky brio. baking shows. mick overhearing loud shower sex. zero communication. brio getting high and giggling! all the feelings. I looooove this fic. like I LOVE it.  it's so creative and it feels so real!! I can play it like a movie in my head. There is so much fun smutty build up, so much tension, anxiety and a very, very, good Thaw Of Feelings which is my fav. I will forever have a soft spot for safe house fics, but this one hilariously twists the trope by doubling down on their idiot stubbornness. genius. favourite line:  He's using her and she's using him. Maybe it's the only thing they're truly equal at.

❤  my girl - elizabethmarks (not on tumblr?)

This fic has everything!!!!!!! (but TW that everything is not for everyone, as the plot primarily revoles around a rape scene.) This fic sets up some of the most soft, emotional, protective brio moments. I also adore how this author handles the delicate subject matter. I work from time to time as a crisis advcate for women and ...... this fic is so accurate and well written. All the emotions beth feels, the way rio reacts to her. everything. I have read this SO many times. It also inludes a Mick POV that will TUG at your HEART.  favourite line: *When on route to Rio’s loft* Rio nods, with that gentle look he has. "Alright, mama. Let's get you home." There's a beat, they both catch it, but neither of them make the correction.

❤  working on things - odenkirk (not on tumblr?)

THIS fic, now this fic has everything!!!!!!!!! masturbation! sexting! weed-smokin horny rio! DEAN?!??! in a way that didnt repulse me???? SEX. kinda threesome??? a heck of a lot of things that I didnt think id be into but then read it and was like HUH, guess i AM. and last but not least, deliciously perfect characterization. This is a fic I ask you to take a risk on. It will pay off. Its fun and oooh soooooooo sexy. Yes, dean goes to pound town too, but I promise- odenkirk makes it WORK.  Blush meter: off the charts. I had to put my phone down and reckon with Jesus.  favourite line:   Rio: Don't get precious, sweetheart. It's you cuz it's you.  AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

❤ miles before you sleep - FakePlastikTrees (@nakedmonkey)

THIS AUTHOR has EVERYTHING! FakePlastikTrees is one of those authors where... I read one fic - then buckled my seatbelt and clicked on her account so I could systematically read through every. single. fic. They are often short scenes that feel so true. Her Rio characterization makes me green with (benevolent) envy. and her smut?? oof. top notch.  This fic in particular lives in my heart because it really truly feels like a missing GG scene between Beth and our favourite tattooed babysitter. The atmosphere is tangible and the author slows time down for these two, it stretches out like you are smokin in the suburbs with them. I love a MickFic and this one is top tier. 

favourite line: “Oh come on. He’s a little unhinged.” “Takes one to know one.” 

❤  people can be so cold - s_t_c_s (@sothischickshe)

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh this fic has EVERYTHING. scrabble competitiveness! annie speaking truths! christmas beth! christmas rio?!?! delicious bickering! CABIN isolation!  gift giving perfection! I could go on and on and on.  This fic just pulls you straight in. stcs crafts the timeline so effortlessly, and weaves it with so many endearing and authentic feeling details (beth has her own ‘guys’ now, and we know this bc she gives them sweets and food. OF COURSE) The longing between her and rio is so RICH. if you want your heart to swell a million sizes - this is the fic for you.  favourite line:  They hadn’t – been intimate yet, back when she got him arrested, or the first few times he’d shoved a gun in her face. And the sexual part had been all done and dusted prior to their, god, kidnapping and shooting fiasco. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t present throughout – a hovering spectre, forming a treacherous spine through all their endeavours.

  ❤ listening through the air shaft - ms_scarlet (@mego42)

now this fic. actually for real, has everything. because its every POV you never knew you NEEDED.  and mego42 absolutely nails each and every one. especially Dean. Its a complicated look into his blubbering sexist mind, and misguided fixations that is really well-written. The way in which brio has their own arc throughout the chapters, but told through the eyes of those around them - is amazing. this fic just makes you love every character even MORE.  favourite line: well.. annie, mick and ruby have a group chat and thats all you need to know. anytime that comes up = favourite line.

❤ instigator - nomind (@inyoursheets)

be still my bisexual heart. this fic has everyONE! Yes, this fic dissolves into perfect threesome smut BUT before you get there, you get this awesome set up of a dangerous-feeling connection between Rhea and Beth. They are honest, open and fully acknowledging the fuckedupness of their desire. For how small a part Rhea has in the show - this author NAILS her voice, it’s uncanny. Both of them talking about rio? sign me up. Rio coming home to it? sign me UP.  favourite line: “Jesus,” she hears behind her. “What am I looking at right now?” Rhea smiles down on her, ignoring him, running her fingers through Beth’s hair.

** shout out to another be-still-my-bi-heart fic : @sothischickshe​’s “its a dirty, dirty, game”

❤ do not pass go - linzackles @mrslackles

this. fic. has. every. thing.  I am currently putting every single important thing in my life on hold to PLOUGH through this series. like full speed ahead. UGH. marcus!!! beth and rio at an event! a fancy one! big bad business dudes! betrayal! beth making bad choices! rio unable to fully communicate the weight of his desire for her! angst! just excellent, excellent, excellent plots. i like everything!!!!! favourite line: truly impossible. they are all art. but this one made me cackle.  Shrugging, she responds. In the bathroom, eating nuts.Annie’s reply comes through instantly. Rio’s???????

❤  meet me under the mistletoe - sdktrs12 (@sdktrs12)

this fic.... has.... everything. I want to include this not only because I loooOoOOOved it, but also because this author just has a talent for creating holiday themed brio fics that are not in the slightest cheesy, or forced. which is... hard! to! do! I read her halloween series while in quarantine, and it became apart of my little daily routine. each fic containing at least one moment that made me go AHHH these two!!!!!  so in short - thanks for infusing all my holidays with stellar brio. then christmas comes around and she nails it again! beth and rio begrudgingly working late?   YES. they migh each have a date but they dont DARE talk abut their jealously? YES. Bourbon as a third character? haha YES! Beth looking smokin hot? YES.  favourite line: “Is that your move? Meet me under the mistletoe?”  “Oh baby, you know my moves.”  

and PHEW. there ya go! 

Thank you amazing fanfic authors for making my year 10000000% better. 

I TAG @whiskeyjack @purplemagic @sdktrs12 @joeyjoeylee @ama-ssiempre @roxy206

[ptergwen]

truth serum

a/n: ok ok ok i've had to post this four times now because it won’t show up in tags for some reason? i’m so :/ tumblr pls stop setting me up bruh. but moving on here’s a summary of the original request and i hope ya like

warnings: little bit of cursing here and there

-

when tom asked if you‘d be interested in going to a comic con with him, there was only one answer: yes. you‘ll take every chance you get to see him in his element. you’re looking forward to checking out some of the cool exhibits they’ll have — and people. comic con is a safe space for all your nerdiness. so really, both of you will be in your element that day.

the only thing you’re uneasy about is tom’s fans. you have no idea how they’ll react to seeing you by his side for hours on end. paparazzi caught you together once or twice, but you couldn’t tell much from their blurry pictures. that didn’t stop everyone from talking.

you’ve been named his new “mystery girl,” and tom still hasn’t adressed the whole situation. no matter how much he loves his fans, he’s not willing to spill every single detail of his personal life. spending time with his girlfriend doesn’t need some big explanation to please the public.

this is the first time you know for sure that you’ll be seen with him. comic cons are huge, and somebody always has their phone out at these things. you don’t want the fans to end up hating you for being there, or tom for bringing you. the way he sees it, they should just be happy he’s happy. anyone who isn’t never truly cared in the first place.

tom usually arrives early to go over his schedule and any last minute details. this time, he’s sleeping in a few hours extra with you. no one knows better than him that all day events can be draining. he wants you well rested and feeling good for it. since people are already at the venue, you’re using a different entrance to avoid getting mobbed.

“stay close, okay? i’m not sure what it’s like in there yet. might be a few people by the door, or a crowd.” you’re walking hand in hand with tom through the back lot. he feels you tense up next to him at the mention of a crowd. they overwhelm the hell out of you, and you’re suddenly feeling way underprepared for this.

“but we’re going in through the back. how are they gonna know that?” you grip his hand tighter without realizing. tom half smirks at your question and leads you over to the door. “my fans figure everything out... almost everything. you ready?”

shrugging your shoulders, you lean into his side for comfort. “sort of. i’m just getting nervous about being around so many people.” “i know, baby. not gonna lie, it’s pretty scary at first. but i’ll be with you the whole time.” he presses a quick kiss to the side of your head. you do feel better knowing he won’t leave you alone when you get inside.

“just try turning your nerves into excitement. it works for me every time. “i’ll do my best. i guess we can go in for real now.” tom’s thumb brushes over yours reassuringly, looking at you once more for any signs of doubt before he opens the door.

only a couple of fans notice tom is there, so it’s not as hectic as you thought it would be. he waves to them and says hi, a smile lighting up his face. you chew your lip nervously and let him take you to where he needs to be. obviously, you get a few stares. some pointing, some whispering. they’re all things that come with being pressed into tom holland in front of thousands of people.

tom brings you over to the check in area and gives both of your names. a woman with a headset on hands him two ID cards. he thanks her before pulling you aside so you two can have a moment of privacy.

“how is it so far? feeling okay?” his voice is soft unlike the yelling around you, which is nice. tom slips the lanyard with the ID over your head. “i’m getting used to it. i don’t know how you do this almost every day,” you admit, tugging on his own lanyard that he’s holding. he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“i’ll tell you what, it’s a lot easier when you’re with me,” he mumbles into your ear, using that as a way to subtly leave a kiss to the skin. the little things like that are what will keep you together throughout the day.

a man with a headset and planner comes up to tom. why are so many people wearing headsets? he reads off tom’s plans for today, then ushers the two of you over to do meet and greets once tom has everything down. tom already called and explained that you’d be joining him, so he had it arranged for you to sit with the photographer and watch.

that’s definitely going to get people curious. he doesn’t mind too much, as long as it makes the experience more comfortable for you.

“i’ll be right over here. you’ll tell me if you need anything, yeah?” tom gazes out at the long line of fans waiting to see him, meeting your eyes after. “don’t worry about me. go give your fans some hugs.” you squeeze his hand and smile to let him know you’re okay. he smiles back even bigger before going over to greet the first person they send over.

this set up is way better than what you’d expected. you get a front row seat watching tom do silly faces and poses, and he can check in with you from time to time. there’s the occasional “who is that?” or “is it true that you’re dating her?” question from someone nosy.

tom responds with something along the lines of “that’s y/n. she’s a really lovely girl. she’s super awesome,” followed by a wink only for you to see. you find yourself having to hide your blushing face from all of his antics.

after about two hours, tom gets a break from photo ops. he decides to use the time to do whatever you choose, since you’ve been watching him for a while. you just walk around until there’s an announcement that a hypnotist show is about to start, and anyone can attend. you’ve never seen people be hypnotized in person, and it sounds like it could be fun.

tom lets you pick the seats. you end up towards the front for a closer look. his hand rests on your thigh as soon as you’re both seated, missing being able to touch you all day. you lace your fingers with his and watch as the show starts.

you’re both having a good time, laughing along at all the different segments. the guy hosting it is really entertaining. “now, let’s move onto a part of the show i like to call ‘truth serum.’ it’s simple. i’ll choose a member from the audience and get them to spill their guts for all of you, about anything i ask. who shall it be?” he rubs his chin and looks around the room.

he makes eye contact with people around you. you’re regretting getting seats in the third row. you pray he won’t call you up, but that would be too convenient. “ah!” he claps his hands together, gesturing to you. your mouth runs dry. “thanks for volunteering, come on up!”

you look at tom, silently asking if you should. “go on. i kind of wanna see this,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you devilishly. clenching your jaw, you walk past him and onto the stage. the hypnotist taps a chair for you to sit. you just had to be the lucky person he chose. “can we get a round of applause for...” he holds his microphone down to you.

“y/n,” you say into it, your voice coming out shaky. there are at least two hundred people staring up at you right now. “y/n!” he repeats. “everyone put your hands together for this brave soul.” the audience claps, tom cheering the loudest among them all.

“so, y/n. you seem excited to be up here,” the man jokes. tom watches with amusement as you give an unsure smile at the audience. “is it that obvious?” you get a few laughs. maybe this won’t be the train wreck you’re anticipating.

“extremely. y/n, i want you to look at your right hand for me.” he takes a step back, you doing as he says. “focus on your fingers and how they’re curling towards you. keep focusing. notice how you’re feeling more and more relaxed.”

everything he’s saying is actually happening. wanting to remember this, tom takes out his phone and starts recording. “bring your hand over to your forehead. let yourself feel the skin to skin contact. just like that.” you’re starting to feel sleepier. “and close your eyes.” the hypnotist snaps, and there’s silence throughout the auditorium. “you’re in a deep sleep. well done.”

you’re completely passed out with your head hanging low. everyone claps again, gasping and chatting to each other. tom is one of the gaspers. “y/n, you just guzzled a whole can of truth serum. you’re an open book. you love to share. when i snap again, you’ll wake up and answer whatever i ask you. truthfully,” the hypnotist tells you.

he waits a moment, then snaps his fingers. your head immediately snaps up. more gasps. tom puts his hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter at whatever you’re about to say.

“good morning, y/n. how are you doing?” “stiff. my neck hurts a lot for some reason,” you answer honestly, rubbing the back of it. the hypnotist has a smug grin on his face. “very good. we’re going to start off with some basic questions to see where you’re at. they mirror the five senses. y/n, what’s your favorite thing to hear?”

“my boyfriend’s voice. oh my god, and he has the cutest hiccup laugh,” you clasp your hands under your chin. tom is glad his phone is hiding his face so no one can see his cheeks turning pink. “hiccup laugh?” the hypnotist makes a face. “it gets stuck in his throat sometimes. it’s actually so cute.”

“what about your favorite smell?” “oh, that’s an easy one. sandalwood.” you casually reveal to the audience. “tell us why you like sandalwood so much, y/n,” the hypnotist prompts you. “it’s the scent of shampoo my boyfriend uses.” tom practically melts when he catches on. all your favorite things so far are related to him.

“i think we should skip ahead and talk about that boyfriend of yours. you seem to really love him, huh?” “more than anything. if you were planning to ask about anything else that’s my favorite, i’d say him.” there’s a big “awwww” from the whole audience, tom included.

“isn’t that sweet? where is your boyfriend right now, y/n? i’m sure he’d want to hear this.” “he just did, he’s in the audience.” you tell the hypnotist as if he should already know. tom’s lovestruck smile fades away. he hopes the hypnotist realizes it’s too personal to make you keep talking about something like this.

you have no control over what you’re saying, and it’s not going to end well. “why don’t you point him out for us so we can give him a big round of applause?” scanning around for tom with bright eyes, you get out of your seat. you point at him. “he’s right there.”

the whole audience turns to look at who you’re pointing to. tom lowers his phone, his mouth open in shock. everyone starts shouting as soon as they notice it’s tom. you’re confused over what the big deal is, since you’re still not fully yourself. the hypnotist realizes the mess he just caused, quickly sitting you down again to bring you out of it.

“y/n, i’m going to snap again. when you wake up this time, all the truth serum will be out of your system,” he says just to you over the noise, tom sinking down in his seat to avoid questions. the man snaps his fingers. there’s silence like the first time, everyone waiting to see what you’ll say.

you have no memory of anything that happened a few seconds ago. all the eyes on you are freaking you out. “wh- what did i say?” you ask him, biting down hard on your lip. his eyes dart over to tom. he speaks to you without the microphone. “you told the audience about your boyfriend.” it takes a second for you to register what he said. then you see tom down low in his chair, and you’re humiliated.

for yourself, but mostly him. you can’t believe you exposed your relationship in front of all these people. you run off the stage and out of the auditoruim, too embarrassed to say anything else. tom doesn’t hesitate to chase after you.

you’re breathing hard and fast, stopping somewhere there aren’t too many people around. your mind is racing while you try to figure out what’s going to happen next. someone puts a hand on your shoulder. it’s tom. he turns you around to face him.

“fuck, i- i’m so sorry. i don’t know what was going through my head, i shouldn’t have talked about any of that stuff. this is gonna be a nightmare for you,” you spit out all at once. tom only pulls you to his chest. he rubs circles around your back, trying to calm you down.

“it’s not your fault, angel. you didn’t have a choice about saying those things. you know that, right?” huffing, you hide your face in tom’s chest. “but still. i exposed us and i exposed you and now everyone knows something you didn’t want them to. you should hate me right now.” his lips press into a deep frown at what you’re saying. he rests his chin on your head and sighs.

“baby, i’m not mad. the only reason i wanted us to be a secret was for you.” you look up at him hesitantly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “so i didn’t destroy your whole career in two seconds?” “of course not. there have been way worse things i’ve had to deal with than publicly dating my really lovely, super awesome girlfriend. this won’t be easy, but i promise we’ll get through it together.”

you cheer up a bit hearing him repeat his words from earlier, nodding as you let yourself process everything.

“do you think anyone got me on video? or will they just post about what i said and everyone will believe them?” “i personally recorded the whole thing. not sure about the rest of the audience though,” tom proudly admits to you, making you groan into his chest. “great. that means we should probably say something before the twisted versions of the story come out,” you reason.

he considers it for a moment, and you can see when a lightbulb go off in his head. “what if i officially introduce you to some fans at my next round of photo ops? tell them about us, see how it goes. then we can decide what our next move is.”

it’s a huge relief that he’s taking this slow and giving you a say on how to go public. feeling brave, you peck his lips as a thank you. he’s surprised at first, but kisses back. he can finally see why those annoying pda couples exist. his arm takes its place around your shoulders again, yours going around his waist this time.

“let’s go share our not so secret relationship with the world.”