#anyway this is too long and hardly anyone really reads this much but hey! finally my babies have faces so i don't feel so bad!!!

[can-of-slorgs]

The other researchers are also here! (magical edition!)

[24hlevi]

For the event can I have denji and sharing a bed? It’s the 10th prompt of the fluff

of course! thank you so much for requesting 🫶

— closer

denji (chainsaw man) x gn!reader

genre: fluff

summary: fluff prompt 10(sharing a bed) from my 1,700 follower event

warnings: language

denji had never felt this way before. well, that might be a lie. he had felt this way before, dumbstruck in love that he turns to stone and just freezes like some idiot. but nothing like this. well, that might be a lie too. denji had just never shared a bed with someone other than power, but with you there, he was bound to lose it.

yet here he was, stiff as a board sitting straight on the bed with you laying beside him. well, this got awkward fast. denji was used to sleeping beside power, but it felt different with you. like how makima said to him, the closer you are to a person, the better it feels. and he was feeling pretty damn good right now. he knew you were still awake obviously with you reading some sort of book next to him, he couldn't tell whatever it was. the boy kept glancing over at you, trying to be discreet but failing horribly when you finally looked at him just as he was looking at you.

"can't get to sleep?" you asked him, putting a bookmark in the book and setting it down beside you. "we have work tomorrow, you know. you should probably sleep."

"can't get to sleep?" you asked him, putting a bookmark in the book and setting it down beside you. "we have work tomorrow, you know. you should probably sleep."

"i don't wanna," denji responded in a grumble, pulling the blanket up higher to him more. "i'm not tired."

you raised an eyebrow at him, "but you told aki you were tired which is why we're here right now," you said. "is something wrong?"

"huh?" denji let out, his face contorting into confusion. "why would something be wrong?"

"i don't know, that's why i was asking," you answered with a light shrug. you rolled over onto your side finally, looking at denji who hadn't moved an inch from his original position and sighing shortly. "denji."

denji looked at you, "what?" he asked.

"you haven't shared a bed with anyone other than power, have you?" you questioned, shuffling down so your head was now resting on the pillows.

denji stared at you for a few seconds, both confused and lost in his thoughts that he was hardly able to respond, "i haven't, no," he grumbled out. "why does that matter?"

"because," you started, slowly moving closer to him and pushing some of his hair out of his face, "you seem anxious or something. you've been stuck in this position for an hour."

"has it been that long?" he couldn't help but ask. looking at the clock on the wall, you were right. it was hardly midnight and when he last looked it was around 10:45, meaning he really was just stuck in that position the whole time while you were reading. "sorry." he mumbled after.

quickly shaking your head, you replied with, "no, don't apologize, it's alright. i just don't want you to be uncomfortable or anything."

denji didn't know how to respond to that. no one else cared whether he was uncomfortable with certain things or not, surely not when it came to matters like this. everyone just told him what to do and how to do it, and he would listen reluctantly with no questions asked. to be told that someone wanted to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable was new. he had never been told that before. not by anyone.

"i'm not uncomfortable," he eventually responded, shaking his head. "just not used to it, i guess. no one cares if i'm uncomfortable or don't want to do something, i do it anyways. like a dog." his voice got quieter the more words he spoke.

"hey," you poked his cheek gently to make him look at you again. "you're not a dog. you are a human being. you have feelings, you have emotions, and you have a heart," you then poked your finger on his chest. "it doesn't matter what others tell you to do, you have a right to say no. unless it's for work, then obviously no, but still! even if no one else cares, i care. okay?"

denji nodded slowly, looking down at where your finger was pointing and carefully, hesitantly grabbing your hand and immediately interlocking his fingers with yours. "okay," he said quietly. finally rolling over onto his side as well, he faced you, barely able to see you through the dim lamp you had on still next to you. "i love you, y/n." he mumbled.

a small smile grew on your face at the words you hardly heard, and your free hand cupped the side of his face, "i love you too, denji. i always will." you told him, leaning in and pecking his lips. "now can we please go to sleep? we have work tomorrow."

"yeah, work," he said with disgust evident in his voice. "i hate working sometimes." he added shortly after, closing his eyes.

"me too, but we have to or else we will be homeless or worse," you replied with a sigh, closing your eyes too.

denji just hummed out a "yes" as a response, his hand still holding onto yours as you two faced each other, going to sleep after what felt like hours of just sitting there.

"i don't want anything bad to happen to us."

"me either. but nothing will happen, i promise."

promise was a strong word for denji. he had been promised many things that ended up not working out. but for some reason, he knew you were telling the truth. nothing bad would happen to you two. at least, not now anyways.

[videogamelover99]

[Gravity Falls] Waking Days Ch. 5: Riddle Bot

Summary: Bill Cipher is reborn, but not in the way he would have wanted. Stuck as a mortal and relying on those who brought his downfall, he realizes that maybe he didn't lie as hard as he should have. [AO3 Link] Characters: Bill Cipher, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Stanford Pines, Stanley Pines, Jheselbraum the Unswerving, The Axolotl Pairings: past BillFord Rating: T

A/N: TW for child violence and child death in the first scene. Thank you to @megxolotl and @nexstage for beta-reading. Comment challenge: solve all the riddles! Enjoy!

---

When the stranger came, the residents of Dimension 52 were weary. It was no surprise. Most had been refugees, their homes destroyed, and anything new, to them, was a worry at best, a threat at worst. 

Baragerth had been born in this dimension. And while his parents were afraid of ever bringing up what had gotten them to flee, he did not share that same primal terror. He knew they were safe. The Oracle had made it so.

And the stranger was just a little girl. Starving and lost, she looked like she could hardly lift a bucket, much less harm anyone. He’d insisted they take her in and care for her until she was well enough to tell them who she was. 

It had been a mistake.

Now, his eyes frantically searched the path up to the mountain as he shoved his way through the crowd of panicked villagers, who were getting their hands on whatever weapon they could find. 

He spotted the Oracle soon enough, her gait steady, her hands hidden in the sleeves of her robe. Freed momentarily from their frightened stupor, the people parted to let her through, watching as she made her way to the center of the crowd, in front of the barricaded door to Baragerth’s cottage.

Baragerth quickly made his way toward her. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Her seven eyes met his own, and her gaze was kind. “You couldn’t have. You were doing what you believed was right.”

“If it’s really him-”

“It is.”

“Then-”

“It will be alright,” she said, this time loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. “Open the door, please.”

They took down the barricade. A woman next to Baragerth started trembling as Jheselbraum reached for the knob. 

He entered after her. Whatever dim light that came through the blinds was hardly enough to illuminate the shadowy figure across the room.

The girl was sitting in a chair, her feet propped up on the table in front of her. The chair would tilt back ever-so-slightly, almost enough to topple over, just on the brink. She looked bored. Her head snapped up unnaturally when she saw them enter. 

A wide, chilling grin spread across her face.

“Well well well well well, finally!” She tsked, playfully tilting the chair even further back. “Was thinking I’d have to start killing ‘em off after all. You sure take your time, lady.”

The girl’s voice was shrill and nasally, too loud for the small room they were in. She hardly blinked, and the stretched, maniacal grin never left her face. Baragerth felt nauseous just looking at it.

There was no fear in Jheselbraum’s voice when she spoke. It was calm and measured, a lake without ripples. “Why are you here, Bill?”

The girl blinked, seemingly surprised. The legs of the chair cracked against the floor as she settled them back down on the ground. He could see it now, the unnatural yellow glow of her eyes. “Dunno. Figured I’d stop by, see what you’ve done with the place,” the girl- no, the demon, shrugged. “Not often I find someplace I can’t take a peek at. Neat trick. Anyway, I don’t exactly do well with not knowing.”

“Well, you’ve seen plenty,” Jheselbraum said. “Or maybe you’d like a tour?”

The grin slipped from the girl’s face. “You don’t get it, do ya?”

“I get that you’re wasting my time.”

Baragerth flinched. The girl looked shocked for a moment, before she laughed, long and loud. “Hey, I like your guts, not gonna lie. Or maybe it’s stupidity.” She snapped to her feet, and someone at the door shrieked in fright. “You think that big frilly thing you call a god can save you? Well, sorry to disappoint, but he’s not exactly the proactive type. You’re banking on a mistake.”

“I’m not banking on anything.” There was an edge to Jheselbraum’s voice, but it wasn’t anger. Nor was it the calm she’d been with just a few moments ago. The edge was steel. “You just don’t frighten me.”

Bill Cipher scowled, all traces of humor gone from the body he was puppeteering. “You don’t know who you’re messing with, lady.”

“Do you?”

There was a flash of recognition in the demon’s eyes, but it was gone quickly, dismissed. Taking a step back, the thing in the poor child’s body eyed the cups and bowls piled high in the kitchen, not cleaned since Baragerth discovered who his new ward really was. “You remind me of someone, Seven-Eyes. Unlike you, she knew when things had to change. Which is why whatever you think is keeping you safe,” Cipher’s eyes darted to them. “It’ll fail.”

Things happened too fast for Baragerth to follow. Cipher reached for a kitchen knife. Jheselbraum freed a hand from her sleeve, holding a handful of shimmering powder Baragerth had seen her use for exorcisms. Baragerth stumbled back as the demon snatched the knife and plunged it into the girl’s stomach.

Then Bill Cipher was gone, leaving behind nothing but a streak of mad laughter. Jheselbraum darted to the girl, Baragerth close behind. The child looked at them with wild, frightened eyes. She collapsed. She mouthed something, her lips sputtering blood, before the spark of life in her gaze faded away into nothing.

Jheselbraum sat next to her for a long time. No one said a word, not Baragerth, nor the few villagers at the door.

The Oracle gently closed the girl’s eyes. 

“This is my fault,” said Baragerth.

“No. This would’ve happened no matter what we’d done. Bill Cipher’s actions are predictable when you know what message he wants to send.”

She tried to stop it, though. Inevitable or not, she tried to save the girl’s life.

“I must tell them what happened,” Baragerth said, and Jheselbraum nodded. 

“Go. I will join you.”

He looked back once, halfway out the door. Jheselbraum had not moved, her hand on the girl’s head. With a look of painful regret, her seven eyes fell shut. 

—

Hanging out in an alternate dimension with questionable places of origin was not Dipper's dream scenario, simply because he didn't even conceive it to be possible. Now though, it was close to something like heaven.

"Hey, what's this one do?" Dipper carefully pulled out a mesh of wires and gears that was wedged between the wall and a large, cardboard box. It appeared that cardboard was a multi-universal invention.

Jheselbraum the Unswerving, now known to the Pines family as "Nora", turned from the bottles she'd been rearranging to look. "That's a thermometer.”

"Oh," Dipper said, trying to figure out how this thing could possibly resemble a thermometer. Nora took it and tossed it in a box they'd been using for trash.

"You know," Dipper began again, turning back to the giant pile of stuff he'd been looking through. "When you said you needed help with Spring Cleaning, I didn't think you meant a trillion years' worth of it.”

“Does this dimension even have a Spring?" Mabel asked, sticking her head out from the other room. 

"Every dimension has a Spring."

“Really?” said Dipper.

“Really.”

“Excuse me.”

An old, steady voice cut through their conversation.

The creature standing at the entrance of the temple looked ancient, his tentacle-framed face lined with wrinkles. He seemed to be dressed in some kind of robe, similar to the one Nora had worn when they first met her. His fishy eyes were patiently trained on Nora, who, when Dipper looked back, was smiling fondly.

“Baragerth,” she greeted. “What brings you here at this early hour? You’re still due for your morning stroll on the lake.”

“Heh, you snoop through everyone’s morning routine?”

“Just yours.”

“That is a way to make an old man feel special,” his smile briefly fell. “It’s for the meeting.”

Nora blinked. “That’s today?”

“It sure is.” The tentacle man took off what Dipper realized was a hat, and wrung it politely in his hands. “I figured you’d be busy; I might as well remind you.” His eyes fell on the twins. “Alien children?”

“Some interdimensional friends. They were kind enough to help me.”

“That’s right!” Mabel said. “We’re on Spring Cleaning duty! The little vial in the corner melted my sweater!” She showed off her sleeve, half of it eaten away by the substance.

“I…see…” Baragerth cast a questioning look at Nora, who shrugged.

“They’re fine.”

“If your little friends can handle it, I think it’s best we head over now, or else…”

Nora made a face. “Karen.”

Baragerth nodded. “Karen.”

“Does every dimension have a Karen?” Dipper asked.

“Unfortunately.” Nora cast a look at Dipper and Mabel. Mabel grinned. “Maybe-”

“We can handle this,” Dipper interrupted, looking a little red. “Don’t worry. You must have…an important meeting to get to! The fate of the universe… important…maybe?”

Baragerth laughed, “Well, it’s certainly the fate of someone’s universe. Or Jompu’s shop. And let's not forget that land dispute that’s been brewing between the Dondon siblings.”

“Heaven forbid one has a tree more than the other,” Nora muttered.

“That…”

“Sounds boring,” said Mabel.

“B-but you can still count on us! We got this,” Dipper leaned on the edge of an open crate. The vials inside rattled a little. 

Nora frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yup! Nothing to worry about! We’ve dealt with more complicated things than Spring Cleaning.”

“Well, I suppose I could leave you for a few hours,” Nora tilted her head slightly, as if in thought. “And I don’t see a future when this goes horribly wrong.”

The other three people in the room winced. 

“Literally,” said Nora. “I can see the future.”

—

“Wow, what was all that about?”

“What was what about?” Dipper nervously turned to the box he was sorting through.

“‘Y-you can count on us!’” Mabel mimicked Dipper’s high-pitched stutter from two minutes ago. “Your voice cracked like, five times in that one sentence. What are you so nervous about?”

“Nothing! I just want to help!” He put down a glass goblet with a little more force than necessary. “I mean, she helped us defeat Bill! Indirectly, but still. We owe it to her, don’t we?”

“Hm,” Mabel eyed him suspiciously.

“And it’s an opportunity to snoop around! Like- hey, what’s this?” Dipper grabbed a strange-looking metal contraption. “Crazy alien stuff! Don’t you wanna mess with crazy alien stuff?”

“That’s a whisk,” said Mabel.

“Huh? Oh.” Dipper rotated the handle, and the blades spun with it.

“Come on, you can tell me! Wait, it’s not a crush, is it? Cause this time she’s not just three years older than you, but like, a bajillion.”��

“No! No, definitely not,” Dipper sighed, and put down the whisk, leaning against the crate. “She’s just Grunkle Ford’s friend. I wanna make a good impression.”

“Oh, I get it,” Mabel grinned and rolled her eyes. “She’s into the same nerd stuff you and Grunkle Ford are into, so you wanna show you can handle it.”

“Kinda, yeah,” said Dipper. “She’s cool, okay?”

“Dunno if you’re using ‘cool’ right,” said Mabel. “Though I love the vibes,” she pointed at a large tapestry of a pink amphibian creature. “This guy looks like he knows how to party. Don’t you, buddy?” The tapestry, of course, stayed silent.

“Laugh all you want, but there’s stuff she knows no one on our planet has even a brief understanding of,” Dipper pulled out his new journal. “And I’m gonna be the first to discover it! I’m gonna ask the right questions! After I prove I’m a trustworthy recipient. I just can’t do it sorting boxes, there must be another way.” He took a pen from his pocket and chewed on it.

“Heh, well, good luck with that. I’m gonna go see what’s up with those glittery jars!” Mabel disappeared back into the room she’d been sorting through. 

Dipper tried to think of a way to impress Nora, but nothing came to mind. She’d seen all their adventures, hadn’t she? What else could he do? Build some new contraption? Figure out some puzzle? Find a lost civilization?

When none of his ideas felt sound enough, Dipper closed the journal and stared at the stain behind the helix-shaped lamp. It looked alive. Just as he got enough courage to move the lamp out of the way and check, Mabel burst through the bead curtain that led to the other room, saving Dipper from his fate. "Hey bro, look what I found! Come look!"

Dipper followed Mabel to the corner she'd been sorting through.

Whatever it was, it was covered by a plain white tarp. Mabel pulled it away with a flourish, sending a cloud of alien dust into the air. "Ta-da!"

It was a robot. A very chunky, primitive looking one, from what Dipper could tell. Its eyes consisted of four camera lenses worked into a grey metal hull, dulled with age. It didn't have a "mouth", so to speak, but instead a set of strip lights on the lower part of its head that kind of looked like one. The head was way too big for its small, cone-like metal body. It had two arms with claw-like pinchers on the ends that were set stiffly at its sides.

“Huh,” said Dipper. “It’s some kind of…robot?”

“Well, duh,” said Mabel. “What do you think it does?”

Dipper circled the robot slowly. There was a switch on the robot’s back. After a moment of hesitation, he flipped it. 

The robot made a startled dial-up noise. Its eyes glowed faintly. The light strip that served as its mouth lit up all at once, before dimming, the entire body emitting a quiet hum.

"HELLO DESIGNATION1_MABEL, DESIGNATION2_DIPPER. PROPHECY_BOT SYSTEMS ONLINE. WHAT IS YOUR QUERY?"

"Woah," Mabel said. "It knows our names?"

"'Prophecy bot'?" Dipper asked. “What’s a prophecy bot?”

"Maybe like, a fortune-telling robot?" Mabel asked. "Hey Prophecy Bot, what's my fortune gonna be today?"

The robot beeped for a moment, its lights flickering. "PROPHECY #176-14 FOR PINES, MABEL, CONTENT: THE TREES OF THE COW PASTURE ARE GREEN. TREES BEYOND IT YELLOW WITH AGE."

"Wow," said Mabel. "A riddle."

Dipper frowned. "It sounds like a fortune cookie. That had a stroke."

“Hm,” Mabel tilted her head, looking at the robot up and down. “Do you think Nora built it?”

“That, or she got it from someone,” Dipper said. “Prophecy Bot, what number am I thinking of?”

“PROPHECY #176-15 FOR PINES, DIPPER, CONTENT: DIPPER PINES ISN’T SLY. THE NUMBER HE’S THINKING OF IS CLOSE TO PI.”

Mabel laughed. “That one rhymed.”

“I was thinking of pi,” Dipper muttered, a little embarrassed. “The first ten digits of it, anyway.”

“Prophecy Bot, what’s your deal?” Mabel asked. “Why are you stuck in our friend’s crummy old closet?”

“PROPHECY #176-16 FOR PINES, MABEL, CONTENT: DEFECTIVE IS A DESIGNATION WE MUST GIVE TO ALL CREATION.”

“Huh,” said Dipper. “So it’s defective.”

“That’s mean,” Mabel said. “It’s not defective, it’s special!”

“How are you defective?”

“PROPHECY #176-17 FOR PINES, DIPPER, CONTENT: CIRCLES AND CIRCLES I GO.”

“What?” said Mabel.

“Okay, that one’s just nonsense,” Dipper frowned. Something was slowly clicking into place.

“Prophecy Bot, who’s the prettiest girl you know?” Mabel batted her eyelashes.

“PROPHECY #176-18 FOR PINES, MABEL, CONTENT: JULIANE.”

Mabel frowned. “Who’s Juliane?”

Dipper’s mind was already busy concocting a plan. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“Don’t you see? This robot is defective. It gives you these riddles that you have to solve, and most of them don’t make any sense out of context. If I figure out a way to fix the base programming that causes it to spout nonsense then-”

“You’ll figure out what Nora couldn’t?”

“Yeah!” 

“And then you’ll be just as big of a nerd as Grunkle Ford?”

“Yeah! Wait-”

“Ha! Gotcha.”

Dipper walked over to the robot and tilted his head this way and that, hard in thought. “It’s gonna take a lot of debugging though. Are you gonna help me?”

“Heck yeah! I’m great at catching bugs!” Mabel punched her open palm.

“Not those kinds of bugs.” Dipper turned to face the Riddle Bot. “Let’s do it.”

—

As they descended from the mountain, the heavy forestry and weeds gradually gave way to stone structures, shops, houses, and basic facilities that made up the small village in the valley. Dimension 52 was minuscule compared to others, consisting of only a few cluttered star systems, and aside from some passersby looking for the Oracle’s guidance (or trouble), it did not see a lot of action. 

Baragerth was used to the sleepy nature of the town. It had been there for thousands of years, as long as he remembered it, and with it, the Oracle, always in the same place, never truly changing except for the different forms she took on. 

This one was much smaller than the others. Humans themselves seemed fragile and minuscule compared to the residents of most dimensions, so it was strange, why Jheselbraum the Unswerving would ever want to take on the appearance of one.

“How goes the task?” Baragerth asked lightly.

Beside him, his companion was unreadable. This, too, he was used to. “Progressing,” she answered, matter-of-fact and to the point. “How are things here? How are your people?”

“Your people are doing quite well. Save for a few tree disputes and the like.”

“I am hardly fulfilling a leadership position.”

“No. You’re the strange immortal we invite over for tea once in a while, in the hopes you’ll bless us with good harvests.” She gave him a look that was not hard to read. It was not amused. “Only joking! No sacrifices or prayers in your honor. Still, we would not be half as prosperous if it weren’t for your guidance.”

“The least I could do,” Jheselbraum said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Half of them could figure it out on their own if there wasn’t an easier option.”

“Half of them would still have a real home if it weren’t for Bill Cipher.”

The mention of the name chilled him in a way that Baragerth had a hard time shaking off. She was right, of course, but it was always a painful reminder.

He had never seen his home dimension. His mother had fled it millennia before she gave birth to him. Still, seeing some of the haunted looks in the eyes of his people could only have him guessing at the horrors they had seen. 

“I think we take your kindness for granted,” he said quietly.

Jheselbraum laughed, not very warmly. “Kindness is one thing. Paying off a debt is another.”

“You know I won’t pry into what happened-”

“And I wish it stayed that way.”

“But whatever you think you’re holding yourself accountable for is irrelevant now. He is gone.” Baragerth closed his eyes. “And good riddance to that.”

“Yes,” the oracle said, her face once again a calm mask. “He is gone.”

A young boy came running. It was Miko, the son of a scribe who came from the 43rd Dimension. He was out of breath when he stopped in front of them, his little rock-like legs trembling from the strain of running uphill.

“What is it?” Baragerth asked.

It took the boy a moment to recover. “Meeting’s been moved,” the boy gasped out. “You’ve gotta see this.”

—

“Riddle Bot, what's in my hand right now?”

“THE TRUTH SHALL BE REVEALED WHEN IT IS NOT CONCEALED.”

…

“Riddle Bot, what’s for dinner?”

“FOOD FOR THOUGHT IS THOUGHT OF AS A THOUGHT.”

…

“Riddle Bot, why are you so useless?”

“INSULTS MAY GET YOU POWER BUT NOT MONEY.”

…

Dipper didn't have the strength to raise his head from the floor and properly look at it. It felt nice, laying there, not thinking about his failure.

Next to him, Mabel was sitting propped against the robot, looking bored out of her mind. 

But he couldn't quit now.

“Riddle Bot-”

“Oh, give it up, Dipper!” Mabel gave him a half-hearted kick. “It was fun at first but all it's been giving us is a bunch of boring nonsense!”

“But if I can decode the answers-”

“Ughhhh.” 

Dipper glanced at his open journal lying next to him, and the dozens of “prophecies” he recorded there. He had plenty of data, so why wasn't this working?

“Maybe I just need to look at it from a different angle.”

He flipped the journal upside down.

And now he was acting like his sister. Maybe he had given up, if he was resorting to her methods of silliness. 

“Hey Riddle Bot!” Mabel asked. “What’s the meaning of life?”

The robot’s circuits whirred. They both held their breath.

“42.”

“That one makes the least sense!” Dipper ripped out the page of prophecies and threw the crumpled-up ball at the robot. It bounced off, the robot remaining completely unfazed. 

His eyes landed on the page underneath.

No way it was going to work. Dipper had spent weeks on the answer and came up with nothing. The clue Bill had given him had been utter nonsense. 

Still, maybe the way to fight nonsense was with more nonsense. Maybe-

“Riddle Bot, what’s 16°C to 18°C, and no higher than 24°C?”

The robot beeped as it processed the query. The motors inside it hummed, as if before takeoff. It swerved its head.

Mabel and Dipper backed away. 

Then, all at once, the robot’s body slumped, and the lights in its eyes went out. 

“Aw, you broke it,” said Mabel.

“Oh no,” Dipper walked over to it, tapped it on the head, and tried to lift one of its arms. “No no no, I really messed up.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not that big of a deal-”

“Not that big a deal?! Mabel, I broke one of the Oracle’s creations! What are we gonna tell her when she comes back?”

“One: she probably totally forgot she even had this. It was gathering dust in the corner! Two-”

Behind him, the robot suddenly roared to life. Dipper jumped away, then watched with a mix of horror and fascination as it turned its head this way and that in frantic, jittery moments, the lights in its eyes blinking on and off in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

Then it froze, staring straight at Dipper. “PROPHECY #199-3333333… FOR PINES, DIPPER, CONTENT: SHE IS WATCHING.”

It jerked itself from the spot it had been in, and with uncoordinated movements made its way to the nearest wall. 

“Wait-!” Dipper cried.

The robot raised its metal arms and, with a force Dipper didn’t think it capable of, smashed a hole in the wall. 

Chunks of bricks rained around it as it leaped through the hole. Two rocket thrusters appeared out of its hands in midair, and it flew, down the mountain and toward the town.

---

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[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1093: Visiting Mom Again (Epithet Erased)

1:09 p.m. at Sweet Jazz City's Sidewalk.........

Cashier: Thank you! Come again!~

Giovanni: (Looks Down at the Bonquet of Flowers He Just Brought From the Outdoors Flower Shop a Few Seconds Ago) Sheesh....I know it's Spring, but do they really have to charge us over thirty bucks for a bunch of these flowers?

Molly: (Walking Next to her Boss) Considering how gorgeous each of them look together, I can't really say their prices surprises me all that much.

Giovanni: ('Sigh') Well, I guess I won't really matter so long as your mom will like them.....(Starts Getting Nervous) She'll.....like the flowers we're going to give her, right?

Molly: (Giggles Softly) Boss, she'll love them and you as well. Don't worry.

Giovanni: ('Psh') Me? Worry? Honestly, Beartrap, do you have any idea who you're talking to right now? I go by Vincent Murder now and I shouldn't get feared by anyone!

Molly: (Starts Smirking a Bit Teasingly) Except for my mom apparently~

Giovanni: (Pouts at his Beartrap) Hey, I am NOT scared of your mother! (Starts Looking Away While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) I just.....wanted to make a good impression is all.

Molly: (Gives her Boss a Reassuring Smile) I know you do, Boss. But again, you really have nothing to worry about here. She won't bite, not physically anyways.

Giovanni: Yeah, but she can possess me against my own will....(Starts Doing the Mini Thriller Dance) Make me dance around like a puppet on strings if she wants to.

Molly: (Starts Snickering a Bit) Okay, first off, you really gotta stop watching these Scooby Doo Movies till midnight, it's clearly messing with your psyche a bit. And second, my mom is way too professional to go around possessing every person she sees.

Giovanni: (Grabs his Chin in a Curious Manner) Ahh....a professionist, you say? Do tell.

Molly: Really don't think "professionist" is a real word, but if you must know, my mom was a pretty busy lady over the years. She always worked so hard to make sure the toy business is in best shape possible, as well as making sure that our family doesn't fall apart in the process.

Giovanni: So the actual breadwinner of the family?

Molly: Pretty much, yeah. She was even able to keep dad in check a whole lot better than Lori and I ever could. (Smiles Fondly at the Thought of her Mother) But even then, she still did everything she could to give us the love, support and care none of us hardly knew we needed at the time..... (Starts Frowning Sadly) Regardless of how short lived her time here was.......

Giovanni: (Frowns at Her Sadden Minion as He Gently Place his Hand onto Her Shoulder) I'm really sorry for your loss, Molly.....

Molly: Thank you. It's still a lot to take in completely, but I won't let it get me down forever. (Looks Up and Gives her Boss a Determined Look on her FaceL Not when I still have a whole life ahead of me going forward.

Giovanni: (Smiles a Little But Proudly at Molly) Atta girl. (Playfully Ruffles the Top of Molly's Hair) And don't think for a second you're on your own on this, you hear?

Molly: (Giggles Ticklishly by the Haor Ruffles) I know, I know!~ We're a team. We stick together, am I right?

Giovanni: (Smiles Brightly) Exactly!

The (not so) villainous duo begins to stop walking as they see a sign on top of a horse shoe shaped entrance that reads "Sweet Jazz's Cemetery".

Giovanni: Hm. (Looks Back to Molly) Is this the place?

Molly: (Simply Nodded) Yep. We're here alright. (Turns to her Boss) You ready to finally meet Momma Beartrap in person?

Giovanni: ('Sigh') As I'll ever be. (Watches Molly Makes her Way To the Cemetery) But uh....Molly?

Molly: (Stops Walking as She Looks Back.at Giovanni) Hm?

Giovanni: (Takes a Deep Breath Before Speaking) Listen, i....know I can never live up to be as good as a parental figure as she was. But I'm still gonna do my damndest to be there for you every step of the way!

Molly: (Stares at Giovanni for a Few Seconds Before Smiling Softly) Boss, you don't have to be exactly like my mom to look after me. Because you're already doing a amazing job at it just by being yourself. (Smile Turns into a Sincere, Bright One) And that's all it really matters me right now.

Giovanni: (Stares at Molly For a Brief Second Before His Heart Begins to Melt in Genuine Happiness) Thank you, Beartrap.

Happy Late Mother's Day

@aprilbrowines

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

Always to New Horizons (StH/KH AU)

ao3 | tumblr

Chapter Two: Three Kids Fail at Planning to Sail

“Shadow?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you really not remember where you came from?”

A beat. “Nope.” 

The two boys sat on the edge of the tree. This palm tree grew in a strange way, different from the others they’d seen or read of, its trunk almost completely sideways. Adding to this, it was the only tree at this edge of the beach, the rest several feet behind, making it a perfect spot to sit like they were on a natural bench, surrounded by the calm, relaxing beach, under the orange-and-pink setting sky, watching the waves dance and reflect the beautiful lights above. It was the main hangout spot of Sonic, Shadow and Sally, the three kids who preferred to hang out here than the more populous, crowded island. That larger island, just a few minutes’ rowboating away, held several simple houses, a community building, a one-room schoolhouse, a few farms, and the old café that the three teenagers had called home ever since they’d washed up. People often said that everything washed up to the Destiny Islands at some point or another, no matter what world it came from. 

“Tell me what you remember again.”

“Why?” 

“You remember more than the rest of us do. And if we’re going out there, we should know a little bit, yeah?” 

Sonic had been a baby when he arrived, only a few weeks old, maybe not even a month. How he’d survived was anyone’s guess. Sally arrived when she was six or seven, and had swiftly befriended Sonic after they tried to beat each other up. Then Shadow came when he was about eight, with a blank stare and little memory of his past. Sally said she didn’t remember much, either. Sonic wasn’t sure either of them was being fully honest, but he didn’t want to push it. 

“How many times have I told you guys the same stuff?” 

“Maybe this time we’ll figure out the secret importance of something or other.” 

“Then wait for Sally to get back, she’s the smart one.” 

“Hey, I can be smart when I want.” 

Shadow hmmed, then turned to look at Sonic, who was now hanging upside-down from the tree-bench. 

“Pleeeease?” 

Shadow sighed and stretched his arms, leaning against the little bit of the tree trunk that stood upright from the ground. 

“My world had a lot of stars. Even more than this one.” 

“Wow.” Sonic breathed. He could hardly imagine it; he’d spent so long looking up at the night sky, every night of his life, and he still hadn’t been able to count the stars above. The idea of even more was… intriguing. 

“I remember always looking out a window. The rooms I was in were always white or gray, but the sky had so many colors. I remember racing down the halls, excited for when the night  outside would change.” 

That was how they had become friends. Sonic and Sally kept breaking into Shadow’s room, too curious about the newcomer for their own good, and though he didn’t talk to them for a while, he finally reacted to their prodding when Sonic had asked if he wanted to race. He said that it was pointless, because he was the fastest one here, and Sonic had taken mock offense to that, and they’d run across the island together. 

“And I remember my sister. Maria.” a faint smile came to Shadow’s face. “She shone brighter than any star.” 

“Like, literally–?”

“No, not literally, idiot!”

They both burst into laughter, then. Sonic had asked that the first time Shadow talked about Maria, and Shadow had slapped him upside the head. The two had then begun wrestling until Sally yanked them off of each other, pinning them down until they chilled out. From then on, they had to say the same things when Shadow told the story. It was tradition, after all. 

When they calmed, Shadow sat back up, smiling at the sky. He’d always go quiet here for a little bit, remembering the little things about his sister. Then, like always, he looked to Sonic’s excited green eyes, and said, “She’d race me up and down the halls. I always won, but she kept running anyway. We’d pull pranks on the other people there, setting up buckets of water or confetti-releasers. She’d cheat at cards, every time, to the point where I thought that was just how you played. And at night we’d sit at the sky and look at the stars, and she’d tell me about each one. About the worlds they held that we would see together one day.” His face fell slightly. “I don’t remember any of them. But I remember her smile as she talked, the way she’d spread her arms for emphasis, flap her hands with excitement at the future in store for us. Then she’d pick me up and carry me to our room, and as we fell asleep she’d sing… something.” 

Sonic tilted his head. “You still haven’t got the song?” 

“Sometimes I think I do.” Shadow whispered. “Then I wake up.” 

Sonic never understood that. 

He sat up and stretched, eyeing Shadow as he gripped onto the tree bark, staring at nothing. Then he turned back to Sonic as well, smiling a little. “But it’s alright. We’re gonna go see those worlds on our own.” 

“Hell yeah, we are!” 

There was a shift in the wind, and then suddenly Sally was on the other side of Sonic. Her sloppily-cut red hair fell over her eyes as she leaned over, gripping the tree bark and carefully managing to push herself over the trunk. 

“Okay, losers,” she said, “I think I finally got the clove-hitch-knot down. So we got half the raft tied. If you can help me with the second half, we can get the base done and start gathering supplies.” 

“Awful bold of you to assume we can get Sonic so much as an inch into the water.” 

“Hey!” Sonic shouted, as his friends both burst into laughter. “I can go in low water, it’s fine!”

Sally covered her mouth, trying to look serious. “Sonic, if you go overboard, you really need to be able to swim.” 

“Not if we tie me to the boat.” 

“You’ll just flip the boat.” 

“Which will wake you up and you’ll fix it. Easy.” 

Sally smirked a little. “I can’t fix everything for you forever.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

Shadow smiled ruefully at the two of them, and then muttered, “Wanna get the base raft completed or not?” 

“Yeah.” Sonic nodded, sliding off the tree. “Race you there!” 

“Do not–” Sally groaned, as Sonic and Shadow both took off as fast as they could. “Boys!” 

Sonic didn’t know then, as he raced off, kicking sand into the air, that he and his best friends would not get to sit on that tree again for a long time. 

 ~

They tied the raft, and Shadow grabbed their woven baskets and said he would go get their food. He was better than them at gathering stuff from the village without looking suspicious– Sonic could never do anything normally, and Sally would end up trying to diplomatically bargain which would hold up the line, and then she would feel bad about doing so and start crying, and Shadow would start punching people for upsetting her, and it would be a whole thing. He left Sonic and Sally behind to tie up their sail, which they got done faster than they thought, so Sonic suggested decorating the raft a bit. She found some pretty vines to tie around the mast, and he began tying flowers in between the wood. 

“You know what Shadow will say when he sees those.” Sally suddenly said, as she finished wrapping her vine. 

“Yeah.” Sonic rolled his eyes. “They’re gonna die in twelve seconds, Sonic, why do you like flowers so much if they’re… what’s that thing he says?” 

“Destined to wither.” Sally laughed. “You sure you wanna hear his dumb voice for however long we’ll be out to sea?” 

“He’s gonna have to hear mine, so it’s a fair tradeoff.” 

Sally laughed again and then walked over, sitting beside Sonic and kicking her legs into the waves. She splashed him slightly, and he gasped, then did an overdramatic fall onto the raft. 

“Oh! You’ve killed me! You’ve killed your best friend!” 

“Water. Sonic the Foundling’s one weakness.”

“That, and undercooked chili dogs.” He flipped over onto his stomach, kicking his legs in the air. 

As he gazed at Sally, though, he paused for a moment, his heart skipping a beat. She was turning to look at him, reaching down to grip onto the logs to maintain her balance. But the grip was so tight, more tight than necessary, her knuckles straining. And her smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. And that wasn’t right. When she smiled, really smiled, you could see an entire sky in her eyes. It was too clouded now. 

“Do you think Shadow’s changed?” 

“Huh?” 

She blinked, and then, her tone dropping, her voice suddenly much quicker, she said, “Sonic, let’s just take the raft and go right now. Just the two of us.”

“Wh-what?” 

At the sight of his surprise, she turned away, so her face was hidden, and laughed. “Just kidding.” 

“What’s gotten into you?” Sonic managed to pull himself up, sliding to sit beside her. 

“Nothing, really.” 

Sonic bit his lip, and then slid a hand over hers. “You know, Shads told me something the other night. He said he used to not want to leave. But then he thought, well, we could always come back here. Right?” 

“When’d he say that?” 

“Few months ago? I dunno. Time isn’t real.” 

“A while ago, that tracks.” she said, her eyes drifting to the waves. 

“Sal?” 

“It’s like, the more we talk about going, the more he acts like we’ll never come back and he’s… cool with that.” 

“And what about you?” 

She took a deep breath. “I think there’s someplace I was meant to be. I don’t know if it’s here. But I’m sure we’ll find out.” 

“Together?” 

“Yeah. All three of us.” She looked to him, and then said, “Don’t ever change, Sonic.” 

“Seriously, Sal, are you okay?” 

She nodded, and let go of his hand. “Just… excited to set sail. You know how it is.” 

 ~

There were always a couple of orphans on Destiny Islands. People came adrift of all ages, at all times. Some stayed for only a few days before vanishing once more. Some never left. But the population was never bigger than a small village’s worth, so they weren’t sure if it was smart to build an entire orphanage when they could, you know, build an addition to the food preserves. So the children were meant to sleep in a little apartment atop the makeshift café. It wasn’t bad at all, really. The place always smelled of coffee, and you could always hear laughter downstairs. Any orphans staying would take great joy in running down the stairs to help with orders, or practice on the instruments laying about, or ask the patrons how their day had been. Sonic was mainly keen to talk to the gatherers, while Sally found the farmers fascinating and Shadow was always somewhere with the sailors. No matter who was working in the café or who was visiting, there was someone there to watch after the kids. The whole village would raise all the children, they liked to say. 

The café was closing for the night, the lanterns dimming as people began to blow their fires out. Sonic, Sally and Shadow were sitting on the stair steps, watching people begin to clean up and leave. Usually the owners would stay the night in the breakroom, but this week they were visiting family on the other side of the island and the orphans were old enough to survive a few hours on their own, so nobody would stay the night with them. They were alright with that. After all, nothing dangerous ever happened on these islands. Or, as Shadow liked to say, nothing at all ever happened on these islands. 

“Hey, boys?” Sally spoke up. 

Sonic and Shadow turned to look at her, green and red eyes meeting blue. 

“Here.” she said quietly, and then reached out a clenched first. Curiously, Shadow and Sonic reached out their own, and Sally dropped something into each of their palms.

Both held the same necklace, though the colors varied between each shell. Sally had picked five shells for each and tied them into a star-symbol, though not as well as she would have liked, as they were a bit loose. 

“They’re–” Sonic began.

“Yeah.” Shadow said.

Thalassa shells were a type of shell that, the sailors said, only appeared on the Destiny Islands. The sailors would often tell Shadow, who would tell his friends, that they would always make sure to pick one up before leaving, as there was a myth the shell would grant them a safe voyage. The shells themselves weren’t all that the gift seemed to represent, though; obviously, the shells were tied together to look like a papao fruit. 

Now, the papao they’d all learned about in school. It was a fruit that was also native to their islands, and shaped like a child’s drawing of a star. Old legend said that two people who shared a fruit would have their destinies intertwined forever. As such, it was a popular fruit for lovers, wedding receptions, and the occasional author. 

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “You’ve never been one to believe in urban legends, Sally.” 

“Yeah, and I still think it’s bullshit.” Sally said. “But… I dunno. I think these’ll at least remind us of home, even if they don’t work.” She then pulled on a string on her neck, pulling her own thalassa necklace out from beneath her shirt. “I made one for each of us, so we’ll never forget each other.” 

“How could we? We’re gonna be traveling alone together.” Sonic said. 

“Just in case.” 

“Just in case of what?” 

“You never know what could happen out there.”

“But–” 

Shadow put a hand over Sonic’s mouth to shut him up, and then put his own necklace on. He watched the bright colors fall against his dark clothes, and he let out another smile. 

“Thank you.” 

Sonic hesitated, and then put his own necklace on as well. He was never a jewelry person, but once it was on, it felt, well, right.

“Yeah, thanks, Sal. It’s really cool.” 

“Don’t patronize me, I know they look awful.” 

“No, seriously!” Sonic scooted inbetween Sally and Shadow, and threw his arms around them. “We’re gonna be the coolest people in these other worlds. And they’re gonna be like, ‘yo, where’d you get that cool necklace?’” 

“No one will say that!” 

“And I’ll be like, ‘oh, it’s a super cool best friend charm necklace my bestie made us!’”

“Stop it! Shadow, make him stop!”

“Absolutely not, I’m gonna say the same thing.” 

“Do you want me to take them back? I can take them back!” 

“I dare you to try!” Sonic shouted, and then leapt to his feet. “Come and get me!” With that, he turned and raced up the stairs.

“Sonic!” 

 ~

That night, Sonic awoke to the sound of thunder.

He’d never been scared of thunder, even as a little kid. Mostly he just found it fascinating, especially the sharp, quick lightning. They told him once that lightning could lead to fire, but it had never happened on their island as far as anyone could remember, so he didn’t see the problem.

Still, the loud noise jostled him out of his sleep. He yawned, and sat up, kicking the covers off of his bed. 

“We should stop trying to make alarm clocks,” Sonic quipped, stretching his arms, “We’ll never be better than Mother Nature, huh?”

He opened his eyes, then, and after blinking to adjust to the light, realized he was alone. 

There was a second of panic as his heart skipped, and Sonic’s eyes darted around the room. Sally’s bed was empty, and so was Shadow’s. They weren’t at the table in the corner, nor on the rug… maybe they just went downstairs to get a midnight snack? No, they wouldn’t. Sally and Shadow never liked to make other people wash the dishes they’d used, and they wouldn’t want to dirty any dishes when they planned to leave that morning–

Sonic’s eyes widened. 

“Oh no, the raft!” 

If they lost the raft, they’d have to start all over. 

Sonic leapt out of bed, and raced from the room he would never see again.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

9.

How the fuck could it be half five already? Keeley glared her screen in silent reproach, but it stubbornly refused to change to a more reasonable hour. She’d be late for drinks with Rebecca now, although Rebecca could hardly be mad at Keeley for being so hard at work that she lost track of time.

Yawning a little, she closed her laptop and shook the tension out of her shoulders. She was proud of Sam for taking a stance, she really was, but it had created something of a professional tangle for her, and she’d spent the past five weeks trying to deal with the fallout of that and find them a new shirt sponsorship deal. She was so close to finalizing something with Bantr, and wouldn’t that be something? Show everyone that Rebecca’s trust in Keeley was completely justified.

“Hi Keeley.”

She looked up, and there was Jamie, standing in the doorway with a new Gucci jacket and a small smile.

Keeley returned the latter easily. “Hey Jamie! What are you still doing here? I thought training ended early because you have a game tomorrow.”

“It did, yeah, but I’m here to pick up Dani. He had a late session with the physios and his car is at the garage.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, yeah? That’s nice of you.”

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, but looking pleased too. “It’s nothing. Gotta be a good team mate, right?”

“Yeah.” And she smiled again, a little wider and a little softer this time.

It made her glad, that he seemed to be doing so well. They hadn’t talked much since she dropped him off in Dr. Fieldstone’s office – she’d been to busy with work to talk very much with anyone – but from what she’d seen, he’d been making a lot of progress with the team, and maybe with himself too. The swagger was still there, of course, and some of the careless arrogance, but it seemed tempered – at least sometimes – with glimmers of the other, softer Jamie, the one that she used to be the only one allowed to see.

She’d loved him for those glimmers (as well as for the sex and the pure fun that Jamie could be, when he wasn’t busy being an arsehole). She was glad others were getting the chance to witness them as well.

“You working late, then?” he asked, stepping inside and absentmindedly picking up at the pink peonies on her low cupboard. “Or are you planning Christmas presents? Bet you’re getting Roy something really cool, eh?”

Keeley frowned at the abrupt question and the unexpected – and unexpectedly friendly – mention of Roy. Jamie sounded perfectly casual, but since when had he ever been casual about Roy? Back when him and her were dating, he’d said the older player’s name with just as much venom as Roy tended to say Jamie’s now, when he deigned to mention Jamie at all. (These days, Roy made a point of pretending to be completely unaware of his existence. Sometimes Keeley got the sense that he was dying to ask her about Jamie, how he was doing, but held himself back for vague and no doubt very reasonable and not at all stupidly macho reasons.)

“I hadn’t really thought about that yet, to be honest,” she said carefully. “I’ve been really busy with work. But maybe an experience rather than a thing, you know? Not like he needs more stuff.” Maybe he needed a little bit of colour in his wardrobe, but she’d yet to convince him of that. Not that she’d tried very hard; what Roy wore was Roy’s business, and he looked fucking fit in black anyway.

Jamie nodded along as she spoke. “All right, yeah, yeah, sounds good. Maybe some concert tickets, eh? Do you know if he’s still into Sade?”

What? “I didn’t know he was into Sade.”

Jamie’s eyes widened in what she could only describe as alarm. “Oh, no, no, not me either. Well, I mean, maybe I read it somewhere. But, uh, I don’t know, it was probably someone else, anyway. Steven Gerrard, maybe. Yeah, that’s it, it was Gerrard.”

“Okay.” For a long moment, Keeley just looked at him. “Why are you asking me about Roy’s Christmas presents?” she eventually asked. Was Jamie jealous that she’d been buying Roy and not him gifts this year?

“Uh, no reason. Just making conversation, innit? And I just thought, he must be hard to shop for, ’cause he’s a grumpy old twat who hates everything.”

“Roy doesn’t hate everything! He likes loads of stuff!”

Improbably, Jamie brightened at that. ”Yeah? Like what?”

He was watching her intently, like he really, truly wanted to hear the answer.  

This was fucking odd. Keeley cocked her head to the side. “What’s going on, Jamie?” she demanded, pulling out her serious voice to let him know she wasn’t fucking around.

His hands flew up, as if in apology or submission. “Nothing! Nothing’s going on, I was just— I mean— Hey, is that Dani over there? I, uh, need to go talk to him about… about football. Yeah. And I’m taking home too, so I have to go. Give my best to Roy, yeah?” He paused, scrunching his face up as he considered what he’d just said. “No, I mean, don’t give my best to Roy. I mean, don’t give him anything. Better not mention me at all, really.“ And he flashed her a quick smile, the fluster not completely hiding the shy affection there. “Bye, Keeley.”

“Bye Jamie,” she replied uncertainly, staring after him as he scampered off. What the fuck had that been all about?

Then her eyes fell to her phone and the time on the display, and she cursed loudly. Now she was really going to be late.

[cajunfoxnight]

Where to go from here?

OH HEY ITS BEEN A REAL HOT MINUTE SINCE I TALKED ON HERE. And oh boy do I have... thoughts. :T Mostly regarding my blog, Ask October Fox. There is a lot to read here..

Wow ok so.. this is a post that I have been putting off pretty much all year long. It was one of those “I will cross that bridge when I get there” and oh boy, wouldnt you know it.. there��s the bridge. I had wanted to make this sooner but for some reason my brain just wouldnt let me. Im posting this here first since I think about 90% of people who follow October, follow me here too, so this seems like where I might reach the most people but I will also reblog this on her blog as well. I have just been trying to gather my thoughts, but it feels like every time I do, I just end up with a scattered mess trying to explain myself. Id like to keep this short but.. well thats not going to happen, i’ll try tho So... to be upfront with a somewhat TLDR, I dont know how much more I will be running my ask blog. This doesnt mean October herself is going anywhere, she’ll still be around, I just dont know if it will be here. Its a bit of a complicated matter, and one that I have been struggling with since the beginning of the year. My main problem is that I dont know if I can physically keep doing it. I know I had mentioned last year about the amount of pain I was in with my old tablet and how hard it was getting to draw. But on the plus side, since getting a monitor tablet, a new desk and set up, those problems have gotten significantly better. Every so often they might flare up, but with regular breaks, slightly more structured schedule, and daily exercising, its few and far between. So on that front im good! I still dont want to risk getting hurt again, which is why im just unsure if I can put that kind of strain on myself again.. and it doesnt help that I feel like im drawing slower than I used to, tho that could just be me. Secondly, is.. is there anyone here anymore? I used to check Tumblr every day, multiple times a day, and then I just... left for like 3 months bc it felt like hardly anyone was here anymore (another reason why I didnt make this post sooner. I have avoidance issues.). I feel like I might have joined Tumblr around its peak, just before The Ban™️ came down and most people- rightfully- left. October’s story is finally starting to come to light and while it was something I have been planning for a while now, the big story isnt something that I want to do to an empty audience, if that makes any sense. And thats on me, really. I waited too long. Thirdly, there were/are certain things that needed to happen before I could tell that story- and sadly I feel as tho I am missing a big key factor that is needed to link the story to the next part. But without that key factor...I feel like Id to have to retcon the entire story. Not that that in itself is a terrible thing, the story has been ever changing for a while now, but this had been one of the main things I had planned for a long time now. Not to mention I still want to tell stories of some of the other characters. There are a few more personal reasons, but these are just the main ones. Im just.. not sure what to do anymore. I would still like October to continue to interact with people, that is something that I have greatly enjoyed in the past couple of years with the quick replies, and thats what she was meant to be all about for the most part. Im planning on having October doing stuff outside of this blog this year- lots of ideas planned, like streaming art and maybe some games- but as far as the nightly comics.. eehh... So I guess my question is this.. would people rather I just tell them the rest of the story, or would people rather I still try and draw it out, tho more like a graphic novel style and not in a full comic form? Tho again going back to the the third section, I still have to figure out how that would play out anyway. I hate to say how much this has been stressing me out, and how much I am upset with myself over how things have played out. Many things I probably should have done differently but now im just going to have to roll with it. As mentioned the story, October, and the characters arent going anywhere. There are still stories and characters to be talked about, I just dont know how or where that will be.  There is a lot more than I could go on about but for now I think its best to end this rambling here. Once I get some input or answers then I will move onto the next step. I apologize for the massive wall of text here, and for anyone who read all of it, I cant thank you enough for that. For now I will continue to work on the planned projects, as I still have a little time to finish those things up, but wow.. September is sure moving a lot faster than I would like :T

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[whiteqnn]

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Fem! Reader

Summary: Sean invites one of his good friends - Y/N - to play with him and the group. She has a lot of fun with them, but at the same time is too oblivious, too nice, and too pure to notice that one particular Among Us player has taken a liking to her the moment he heard her voice...

Notes: Hello everyone! This is the very first time I’m publishing something bigger in here, I’m honestly still figuring out how Tumblr works, even though I’ve had this account for quite some time now 😅. That being said, please don’t expect anything super impressive. I tried my best though just so you know. 🥺

A/N- It didn’t turn out as I expected, but I really hope at least some of you find it enjoyable :(

Y/C/N - your channel name

part 2

part 3 

part 4 

part 5 

PURE [1]

“Did you guys find anybody?” Felix asked, as the number of players still showed just 7 of them. They could just start now, but the game would be way more fun with a full lobby. 

“Yeah, Lily’s joining. I just texted her the code, so she should be here at any moment.” Sykkuno replied after receiving a text message from the said girl. “Oh, and Corpse also said he’d be joining soon.” 

“Great. Anyone else?”

 “I think Jack was also bringing someone, right?” Dave asked.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I have one coming, she’ll join us in a few” the asked man replied at the same moment Lily’s character appeared in the lobby. 

“Who you’re bringing Jack?” 

“Y/N” he said, causing Felix to gasp in shock and yell into his mic:

“How the fuck did you manage to convince her? I’ve been bugging her about this game for the past week and she always had some excuse!” 

“What can I say, my charm is irresistible” Jack replied nonchalantly, causing everyone in the lobby to laugh at his fake deep voice.

The number of participants changed to 9, as a little black astronaut with horns on his helmet appeared in the lobby. 

“Corpse, you’re here!” Rae’s character ran up to the man, circling him excitedly. 

“Hey man!”

���What’s up, Corpse?”

“Hello everyone” his deep voice sounded out “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“All good man, we’re still waiting for one person.” Felix reassured him “Sean, why is she not here yet? Are you sure you’ve sent her the right code?”

“Of course I am!” he all but shouted at Felix “And about that, she just texted me to give her a few more minutes and that we should start without her.”

“We can just wait, right?” Lily offered, earning a few hums of approval from the others.

“I think it might take a little longer than a few minutes, she has some problems with her microphone.”

“Who are you guys talking about?” Corpse asked, completely unaware of who Jack was referring to.

“Wait, Jack, you mean Y/N from Y/C/N?” Sykkuno asked suddenly, only then realizing why this name sounded familiar

“Yeah, the one and only” Jack replied, a smile evident in his voice.

“Oh my god, I love her videos!” Rae exclaimed at that “She’s so funny and sweet!”

“Yeah! Her new video is so freaking cute, I wish she’d upload more often.” Poki agreed. 

“Right?” Jack said, clearly very proud of his friend. “But don’t let that sweet demeanor fool you guys cause she’s one of the best players I’ve encountered in this game.”

“That’s true, she’s a secret big brain genius” Toast confirmed, making Pewdiepie gasp once again. 

“wHAT??YOU TWO PLAYED WITH HER?!” Felix’s offended voice boomed through everyone’s headphones “HOW DARE YOU. HOW COULD YOU NOT INVITE ME?!” 

“That’s for not inviting me to your latest Cringe episode!” Jack was quick to respond, making others in the lobby laugh at their mini fight. 

“Oh, so that’s where I recognized her from!” Sykkuno nearly shouted when he finally put two and two together. “I can’t wait to meet her, she seems like a really nice person.”

“She is! When she got impostor for the first time she refused to kill me” Toast explained, earning himself a couple of Aww’s from his friends. “So we just ran around the emergency button until I called the meeting and voted her off.”

“Yeah, only to be her first victim in the next game.” Jack all but giggled, clearly very amused at the memory of Y/N going into a full berserk mode. No one except for him and Toast knew how good she really was at this game... 

“She’s basically the wolf in sheep’s skin” Felix concluded with a chuckle “Very soft wolf, however.”

“She’s like the complete opposite of Corpse, both in voice and personality” Jack suddenly said, making Felix laugh wholeheartedly at something only two of them understood at the moment. 

“I don’t know how should I take that” Corpse admitted with a chuckle. He remained silent for most of the conversation since he didn’t really know who the guys were talking about. But he would lie if he said he wasn’t intrigued by this girl at least in the slightest. Although he heard about her channel, he hasn’t seen any of her videos, so he didn’t really know what to expect. But hearing what gamers like Sean and Felix said about her, he knew he’s not gonna be disappointed once the girl joins them in the game. 

“Imagine Corpse and Y/N talking.” Felix said suddenly with a seemingly very amused voice.

“Imagine Corpse and Y/N both being Impostors” Toast said, which resulted in many of them shouting over each other at how crazy that would be. 

“Alright, now that you mention this I start fearing the moment two of them meet” Jack confessed with loud laughter following the sentence. Corpse chuckled deeply under his breath, at the same time glancing at the questions his audience was asking him in his stream. He could hardly read any, as there were quite a lot of people asking, so all he saw was just a bunch of comments moving at the speed of light in his chat. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was slightly nervous, seeing the growing number of people watching his stream. It was still a rather new thing to him, and he feared he'd say something inappropriate, or just make a complete idiot out of himself. 

"At least no one can see me..." he mumbled under his breath after muting his microphone. 

"Oh! Y/N just texted me! She's joining the call right now!" 

"Fuck yeah!" Felix shouted excitedly "Just so you know Jack, I won't forget that you two played without me."

"Uh-oh. Is that a threat? Are you threatening me now?" 

"It's a warning" Felix replied, receiving a series of gasps from other players. "If I get impostor, you're the first one on my list."

"Okay, everyone heard that! You know who to vote off when I'm dead!" 

"It's so cool to play with someone new, I wonder if she's as good as you guys depict her" Sykkuno spoke up, but before anyone could answer his question, a new character popped up in the lobby.

*** 

"Hi everyone! I’m sorry I left you just like that, but this stream would be completely useless without me being able to answer your questions. Fortunately it wasn’t anything serious, I just had to readjust my mic and go through the settings to find what was wrong. Took some time, but here I am now!” Y/N chirped into her microphone, smiling apologetically at her webcam. At the moments like this, she really appreciated how supportive her audience was. No one was hating on her when she had to get off the stream for a couple of minutes, and everyone was just so understanding that it made her heart melt. Perhaps her audience wasn’t very big, but it felt almost like a second family to her. 

“Anyway, as you already know from my twitter, today I’ll be playing Among Us with my friends and their friends! I can’t wait if I’m being honest, last time I played this game was so much fun, and there was only a few of us.” she admitted with a genuine smile on her face. “Let’s just text Sean now so we can get into the lobby...”

Y/N: Ready to play with you guys ^^

Jackaboy: Great! You got that mic fixed already? 

Y/N: Yes, everything is fine. I’m sorry you had to wait so long.

Jackaboy: It’s all good kiddo, no worries. I’ll call you and send you the code in a sec. 

Y/N: Perfect, thank you Sean :)

Jackaboy: Btw, everyone can’t wait to meet you ;-)Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, only now, seconds before joining the group, realizing how nervous she felt. From Sean’s tweets she saw earlier, she figured that the lobby was right now full of many famous streamers, those she wouldn’t even compare herself to. It’s not that she thought of herself very low, but... being among such youtube celebrities like them made her panic a little bit. She didn’t want to look like a complete fool amongst them. 

Playing or recording with Sean and Felix was something else because she knew those guys for years (and yet still sometimes found herself thinking how lucky she got to be able to call them her friends). She felt good in their company, not worrying about choosing the right words. But amongst the rest of the players, she knew only Toast and talked with Rae maybe once in her life... 

What if the rest won’t like her? 

Y/N cleared her throat, realizing that she was still staring at her phone like hypnotized and her audience was already asking her what’s going on. She quickly typed in the code Sean had texted her and readjusted her headphones, before joining the discord chat.

“THERE SHE IS” screamed Sean, making her grin from ear to ear, hearing how excited he was “Little wonderchild!”

“I think you meant little TRAITOR” Felix corrected him with a scoff. A silence settled in the lobby as everyone was waiting for Y/N to speak up.

“Um... hello everyone..” she said softly, almost inaudibly, a sudden wave of shyness taking over her. “I’m Y/N” 

“Oh, you were right about that Corpse thing!” replied another, also very soft and very sweet voice, and Y/N saw the image of someone named Lily pop up. “It’s like the exact opposite!” 

“See? Told ya. Everyone, meet Y/N/N, the little angel from Y/C/N.” 

“Hey Y/N!”

“Hi there!”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“H-Hi, so great to meet you, Y/N!” a very friendly sounding voice said, and a little lime astronaut with the name Sykkuno above it started running around her. “Can’t wait to play with you!”

“That’s so nice, thank you” she replied with a wide smile on her face, moving around his character as well. “I can’t wait to play with you too, actually with all you guys. It’s so great to be here with you.”

“Jack I swear she’s the cutest little thing I’ve ever heard. Where the hell did you find her?!” Poki all but yelled at the man, making Y/N giggle to herself and in-process loosen up a little bit. They all seemed like someone she’d happily be friends with. 

“Or rather, where do you get one?” someone else commented, making them all burst into laughter, Y/N included. 

“Guys, what did I say about that sweet demeanor...” Jack said after calming down from his fit “Don’t put your guard down just because she sounds like that!”

“Wait- what did you tell them about me?” Y/N asked confused, the tone of her voice making him laugh even more “Jack!”

“Don’t worry, only the good stuff” a very deep, low voice spoke up, leaving her taken aback for a moment. Her eyes widened slightly and she glanced at the name of that person, reading out CORPSE. Now that’s something she didn’t expect... 

“Corpse, mind your manners! You didn’t even introduce yourself!” 

“Oh, shit- yeah, sorry. Um, I’m Corpse, it’s very nice to meet you Y/N” he replied right after, making her lip corners curl up into a smile. 

“Nice to meet you too Corpse, you have a really pleasant voice.” she spoke sweetly, completely unaware of the chaos that was taking place in her stream chat. She didn’t even think of it the way her audience did, she just simply spoke up her mind, and being an incredibly nice person - turned it into a compliment.

“Oh- wow. I mean, thank you so much. I love your voice too, it’s really sweet” he replied, nervously chuckling at the end, before muting his mic. It was, however, enough for Felix and Sean to start teasing him, as the two immediately screamed:

“SIIIMP!!!”

“It’s the voice Felix, I told you he’d fall into her trap!” 

“Wait- he was just being nice, guys! Stop making fun of him” Y/N immediately defended the man, trying to speak up over the hysterical laughter of the other players. 

“Oh my god, but what if they both get impostors and they both pull the voice cards on us?!” Rae managed to yell through all the noise, making Y/N even more confused.

“Wait, what? What do you mean? I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t worry Y/N, that’s how I feel all the time around them.” Sykkuno seemed to be the only one who heard her question, as the rest continued their gabbing without giving her as much as a glance. 

“Alright, let’s start the game maybe. I might have a few old scores to settle” Toast cleared his throat theatrically, his astronaut coming face to face with Y/N’s. 

“Oh, you mean me? I thought I already apologized!” she replied frantically. “You gave me no choice Toast, I didn’t even want to kill you in the first place...”

“BUT YOU DID. IN THE VERY FIRST ROUND” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“Alright, enough! Toast, just don’t kill her right away, okay? Let her run around the map, fearing for her life for a moment.” Y/N gasped upon hearing Jack’s words, clearly sensing the smirk behind his voice. 

“Wha- Jack?! Since when are you against me?!” 

“Don’t worry Y/N, I won’t let them hurt you. You haven’t played with us yet, I’ll protect you.” 

“Oh, thank you so much Sykkuno! I’ll protect you too!” 

“Great. Another one simping...” was Felix’s last words, before the game began. 

Y/N sighed in relief upon seeing the word crewmate forming on her screen, but at the same time feared Toast’s inevitable revenge. She thought they'd already buried the hatchet, but it seemed that he was desperate to make her pay for the last time they played together. 

“Aw, Sykkuno was serious” she mumbled with a smile, when his lime astronaut started circling her white one, so she would follow him. “Okay, let’s do some tasks.”

They both made their way towards the medbay, Sykkuno patiently waiting nearby as she did the scan, then Y/N waiting for him to do the same. The moment his little character stepped towards her, a meeting was called by none other than Felix.

“What happened?” Rae asked.

“I called the meeting because I’m afraid of Jack” he responded, causing everyone to laugh. “Seriously though! Dude’s been following me around the whole time.”

“I was just making sure nobody kills you.”

“Yeah don’t go all Sykkuno on me!” Felix screamed, making the call erupt into even more laughter. 

“Alright, are we skipping?” 

“Yeah.”

“Guys, my life is in danger!” Felix wouldn’t give up. “Come on, show some support! Y/N? You played with him, you know his techniques!” 

“Sorry Felix” Y/N giggled, clicking the skip button. 

When the next round began, Sykkuno was quick to join Y/N on her way towards admin, where they both found Poki doing the upload. They did the card swipe and left her there, when the lights suddenly went off.

“Uh-oh. Let’s head the opposite direction, Sykkuno” the girl murmured, dancing around his character and heading towards Comms instead of going to Electrical. It was the easiest way to die, after all. 

Once they entered the room and waited for someone to fix the lights, Y/N could see another figure appear in the same location. She couldn’t recognize whose character it was, but upon seeing the horns on the helmet she smiled to herself.

“Hey there, Corpse” she said, walking up to the black astronaut, who was standing still in the same place as if he was just watching her and Sykkuno run around Comms instead of doing their tasks. 

They stood like that for a couple of seconds until Corpse turned around and ran away, and that’s when the first body was reported. 

“Oh no, Jack!” 

“Poor guy. He’s gonna haunt us now.”

“Where’s the body?” 

“Navigation” replied Rae, who was the one to find Sean’s green astronauts’ body “Didn’t see anyone around, but I’m pretty sure someone just vented right in front of my eyes...”

“Any suspicions?” Toast asked.

“Um, not really sure, it was the exact same moment the lights went off. I was doing tasks with Jack and then he just died. I only saw the vent close, nothing or no one else.”

“Okay, where are you guys right now?” 

“I’m in admin with Dave, we only passed Poki when we got there.” Lily’s voice sounded out, quickly being joined by Poki’s explanation.

“Yeah, I was finishing the upload when you guys came in, Y/N and Sykkuno saw it”

“Did you see her?” Toast asked, addressing his question towards the white and lime astronauts. 

“Yes, we were doing the card swipe before going to Comms. Corpse joined us for a moment and then left.”

“Yeah, I was on my way to fix the lights when I stumbled upon them in Comms, the body was reported the exact moment I left.”

“Can someone confirm this? I mean, did someone see you besides the two of them?” Toast continued his questioning. 

“I think I only saw Felix in Medbay.”

“Hmm, so no one really knows where you were this whole time. You could easily lure Jack into Navigation and kill him there. Is that what you did, Corpse?”

“Woah, that’s some serious accusation” Corpse replied in his usual, low and calm voice. “Where were you Toast? You seem the only one who still doesn’t have an alibi”

“Neither does Felix.” Y/N spoke innocently, and the mentioned man quickly started his explanation.

“Okay, I was with Jack at the beginning but he clearly can’t confirm this since someone snapped his fucking neck. We’ve split up in O2 after doing our tasks and then he must’ve gone with Rae. I just wandered around the map, escaping from the death.”

“Hmm, so not only were you one of the last people to see him alive, but you also admit to not doing your tasks” Y/N said, trying her best to keep her voice steady and stop herself from laughing. She was sure Sykkuno was doing the same thing, they both refused to do any tasks after the lights went off, after all.

“Yeah, but does that already makes me an Imposter? I’m just scared for my life, that’s all.”

“Y/N has some good logic, but I’m not really sure it’s Pewds. I mean, I saw him in Medbay and he really seemed to be just jogging around.” Corpse said, his voice almost immediately doing its magic, as people more or less willingly agreed to skip this round as well. 

“I think it’s Felix. I mean, I haven’t played with him yet, but I have this feeling that he’s just acting.” Y/N said to her chat after muting herself. She went towards Weapons to do another task, seeing Sykkuno’s little character follow her once again, but the doors were suddenly locked and his lime astronaut remained in Cafeteria. “Oh no, Sykkuno” she sighed with a pout on her face, deciding against waiting for him and risking getting her neck snapped. She finished her task in Weapons and moved towards another location, when suddenly Corpse appeared in front of her, coming right out of nowhere. 

“Oh- Corpse, you scared me to death” Y/N breathed a laugh, watching as his character stood still for a couple of seconds, before circling around her white astronaut. Y/N nodded her head with a smile, even though he couldn’t see her, and followed him in Shields, where they found Poki’s dead body. 

“The body is in Shields” Y/N replied right after reporting the body, only to gasp in shock when she realized more than one person was killed. Red crosses decorated not only Poki’s name but were also visible next to Dave and Lily. 

“What the hell?!” Felix all but yelled into his mic, obviously shocked just like everyone else who was still alive. 

“Now that’s... a lot of bodies” Sykkuno mumbled under his breath. 

“Alright, who’s in Shields? Y/N, you said you found the body there, which one?”

“Poki’s, Corpse was there with me” her reply was followed by his short and low hum. 

“Sykkuno, where are you? I didn’t see you anywhere since the last round.” Felix asked, clearly accusing the lime astronaut of being a murderer. 

“I was... doing the wires in electrical, Toast was there for a moment as well.”

“Yeah but I was only searching for the body, so I saw you maybe for a second” Toast replied, building even more suspicions around Sykkuno.

“But- guys, you know I wouldn’t kill two people in one round, let alone four of them.”

“No one says you did that, I only mentioned that you were nowhere to be seen. You could’ve been sabotaging the map for the other Impostor” Felix said nonchalantly.

“Guys, I-”

“It’s him! It must be him!” Rae shouted through her mic. 

“Sykkuno is 100% innocent, I can vouch for him” Y/N’s voice sounded out in everyone’s headphones “We were together since the start of the game and he didn’t kill me, even though he had quite a number of chances to do so.”

“Weren’t you with Corpse this time?” Felix asked suspiciously.

“I was! But at the beginning, I was with Sykkuno, until someone locked him in Cafeteria. That’s when we split up.”

“And you haven’t seen him ever since?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then I can assure you it was only a matter of time before he’d stab you in the back” Toast concluded, making Sykkuno gasp in confusion.

“Wha- No, I would never do that! Y/N is our guest, I was just making sure she was okay!”

“Sykkuno, simping won’t save your life right now” 

“Wha- I- Guys!” he tried to stutter out some logical explanation “Y/N, don’t believe them!”

“I don’t, I know you’re innocent! C’mon guys, he wouldn’t do it!” 

“Yeah yeah, let’s kick him out. Corpse, who are you voting?” Toast asked, and Y/N could see the I voted sign next to his character. 

“I kinda feel like Felix tries to shift the blame onto Sykkuno. He didn’t even tell his location, and was already throwing accusations on someone else.” Corpse replied after a moment, making the smile widen on Y/N’s face. Someone was finally on her side! 

“That’s because he can’t even explain himself!” Felix exclaimed, voting as well. 

“Besides, I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for whoever locked that door, Y/N would be dead as well!” 

“No, I told you I-!”

“Guys, we have ten seconds to vote. Rae?” 

“I think it’s him as well. He was acting suspiciously since we started this round. I vote Sykkuno”

“But..!” 

“No, Sykkuno...” Y/N whispered with a pout on her lips, when she saw the number of people who voted for her lime friend. 

Sykkuno was ejected. 

“Alright, I’m pretty sure it’s Felix. I saw Rae multiple times and she didn’t kill me, Toast also doesn’t act very Impostor like, but maybe that’s just one of his strategies... Corpse is with me again, I don’t think that’s him, I mean, he followed me around last round, but still didn’t do anything, and even vouched for me and Sykkuno when we were both clearly chilling in comms. It can’t be him... right?” 

 Dead body reported.

 “I just saw Corpse kill Toast, then vent!” Rae’s voice blared through Y/N’s headphones, as she looked in shock at the red cross next to Toast’s name. If not him, then..?

“What?” the accused man asked calmly “That’s a self-report, she’s trying to frame me. You guys can’t possibly believe her.”

“I believe her. I saw you enter the Electrical with Toast, then he’s suddenly dead” Felix said. 

“That’s because she vented in there and killed him.”

“No! I swear, Y/N/N you have to believe me!” she directed her words towards the girl who remained silent during their discussion, processing her accusations over and over in her head. “I was fixing the wires, Toast was doing another task, and then boom! I see Corpse snapping his neck!”

“How could you see that if the lights were off?” Y/N suddenly asked, making Rae cut her own sentence off “No one went to fix them, they were off the entire round.”

Silence. 

“It’s Rae, it must be her” Corpse couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly at how small was the mistake which completely blew Rae’s cover. “We’re voting Rae, right Y/N?”

“No! Guys, I mean, let me explain, I-!”

Rae was ejected. 

“Now that was something I didn’t expect. I would’ve never thought it was her, I even suspected that Sykkuno might really have been the other Impostor, but now... It’s just me, Corpse, and Felix. I’m clear, clearly, so it must be one of them. And since Corpse protected me for the past few rounds, there’s no other option than...”

Her eyes suddenly widened when the realization hit her, and she quickly turned around to speed towards the emergency button. Fortunately, no one was around to stop her from calling the meeting.

“Felix.” Y/N started, trying to contain her excitement and sound seriously “Where were you when Sean was killed?”

Neither Corpse of Felix said a word, as it was probably the last question they expected her to ask. Felix cleared his throat, however, and finally replied:

“Y/N, that was literally the beginning of a game. How am I supposed to remember what I did then?”

“Well” she said nonchalantly “I, for example, clearly remember the things you said even when we were in the lobby.”

“What are you implying?” 

“Wasn’t it you, who told everyone that Sean was your number one if you get Impostor?” she asked with a wicked smile on her face. Felix was dumbfounded, he obviously didn’t expect her to pull that card on him, hell, he didn’t even know how she knew about it since she wasn’t even in the call at the time. 

“FELIX” Corpse suddenly broke the silence, simultaneously breaking the said man from his train of thoughts. 

“Okay, first of all- YOU WEREN’T EVEN IN THE CALL WHEN I SAID THAT” he yelled through his mic, making both Y/N and Corpse laugh, as it only confirmed their suspicions. 

“See? You only proved my point.” 

“Oh, fuck’s sake- I was just joking okay?!” he tried to defend himself, but hearing how he couldn’t even contain his own laughter anymore, it was clear he already accepted the defeat. “It wasn’t serious, god damn it!” 

“You know what to do, Y/N” Corpse’s voice asked through her headphones, and surely, she knew exactly what to do.

“C’mon Y/N, that’s not fair! At least let me explain myself!” 

“Bye Felix” she said in an overly dramatic tone before Corpse voted as well. 

Soon enough, the sign VICTORY could be seen on her screen, which made her squeak and joy. This game was really fun, even though she was so scared of being killed first. 

“I knew it! I knew you would figure out it’s him! That son of a bitch who murdered me!” Jack basically yelled out, clearly very happy about the result. 

“Y/N, seriously now, how did you know I’ve said that?” Felix asked without even hiding his surprised tone.

“Let’s just say I might’ve stolen some of your viewers, Felix” she admitted, winking at her webcam, a new wave of comments landing on her chat. “Thanks guys!” 

“Okay, that is rude and not fair!” 

“It helped me win, so I’ve got nothing else to say” Y/N grinned from ear to ear, before muting herself for a moment to finally answer some of the questions from her chat, while the rest took a quick break to eat something or go to the bathroom.

She was halfway through telling the story of how she met Sean when she noticed she got a message from a private discord chat. 

CORPSE: That was really impressive :)

Y/N smiled to herself upon seeing his text and quickly typed out the answer. 

Y/N: Thanks!! I wouldn’t have done that without you though, you stood up for me and Sykkuno and all

Y/N: Also, thanks for protecting me from being murdered ^^

CORPSE: No problem, I knew you were innocent right away. 

CORPSE: Anyway, good game, Sean was right saying that you’re one of the best players

She couldn’t help the blush that arose on her cheeks, it was very sweet of him to say that, even though she didn’t actually do much except for exposing Felix. 

Y/N: I wasn’t an Impostor though, so you didn’t really see much :)

She watched the three dots beside his name, that signaled he was still texting. The chat was completely forgotten, but people seemed to quickly notice that small, shy smile on her lips, and the pink tint decoring her cheeks.

CORPSE: Okay, now I’m intrigued... 

Y/N: Maybe we’ll both be Impostors one day ^^

CORPSE: Can’t wait for that to happen.

Soon enough, they returned to the lobby to begin another game. Y/N glanced at her chat for a second, and the moment she returned her eyes to the game, her jaw basically dropped. 

IMPOSTOR was written in bold letters in the middle of the red screen, right above her name.

Corpse’s little character was standing beside her. 

[yaoiwars]

CHAPTER 1: Fox Mulder x Y/N ( with Yandere!Sephiroth)

WATCH VIDEO BEFORE READING TO UNDERSTAND THE FULL LORE.

It’s your first day and you just got your new job at the Gay FBI… you’re nervous.

You’re sitting in the main office, waiting for your trainer. You’re wearing your favorite black oversized sweater. It’s warm and comfy, hiding your hands inside of its long sleeves is helping you fight off the nerves of your first day. You stretch your legs out, showing off your galaxy print leggings and the shiny black Doc Martens at the end of them. You stared at your shoes, trying to keep your mind busy.. “I wonder who I’ll meet here? Are there any cute people? Would anyone even like me-“

Your thoughts are cut off when a tall man in an orange bomber jacket taps you on the shoulder, leaning in very close to get a good look at you, “ Hello? Y/N, is it?”  You look up at him, nodding, feeling a bit embarrassed about him noticing your lack of awareness. “My name is Kim Kitsuragi. I am your trainer for today. Please follow me.” As you get up, you notice him turn around, patting down his jacket trying to look for something. But, when you get up he quickly changes back to his professional demeanor, jotting something down before signaling you to follow him. He starts to lead you into the next room, as you follow behind him you hurry to tidy yourself up. You go to adjust the brown beanie on your head to try and attempt to look professional.

You follow the dark haired man to a room full of people, computers, and a banner that reads “WELCOME Y/N”.  “A small party.. just for me..”, you smile, already beginning to feel welcomed. “This is our main office, this will be where the majority of your work is done-“ Kim is then cut off by a small, sharp-toothed creature, “HEY! You’re Y/N right? Nice to meetcha! Hey, what does the Y and N stand for anyways?” Before you can answer, the small rabbit is pulled up by his ears by a much taller bipedal dog, “Heh, sorry about that, Mr. Kitsuragi!” He leans in towards you,  “That’s just how my little buddy Max is. Oh well. I’m Sam, by the way! Hope to see you around the office!” He shakes your hand firmly, and slings the rabbit over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, bringing him to another corner of the office. Kim nods and waves them off before looking back down at his clipboard, “Yes, well, as you heard, that was Sam and Max. They’re a crucial part of the team here at the Gay FBI. Now let us continue-“ You try to pay attention to what Mr. Kitsuragi has to say, but that’s when you spot him. Across the room, in a small, secluded corner- a tall, broad shouldered man in a white button up shirt with short brown hair catches your attention. He’s leaning back in a chair, reading a book with an eye on it. You can’t help but feel like a magnet drawn to metal. Without thinking, you walk over to him to introduce yourself. He has posters of various aliens and conspiracy theories covering the small area of his section of the office, as well as a framed picture of him, a short ginger woman, but it's missing a piece of the picture in the middle..

“H-Hi.. I’m Y/N.. What’s your name?”

He looks up at you and puts down his book, “Oh, this is the Y/N? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you instead of hear about you. My name is Agent Fox Mulder, but you can just call me Mulder.” He extends his hand out to you, and you blush. There’s a really awkward pause until your brain begins to yell at you, demanding you to do SOMETHING. Your thoughts catch up to you, and you shake his hand too.

“Wow.. Y/N, are your hands always this sweaty? Kind of reminds me of a swamp creature a little bit.. how interesting” This makes you blush even more. “Now.. who let you in wearing that? You do realize that isn’t up to dress code right? You’re lucky you got Kim as your trainer, that guy can hardly see a thing without his glasses. That’s why I hid them away, you see.” He opens his drawer and reveals Kim’s glasses. You go to ask why he has them- “Let’s get you changed out of that outfit shall we? We have plenty of leftover uniforms out in the back.”

TO BE CONTINUED ………

NEXT CHAPTER: Fox Mulder’s Yandere Ex boyfriend.. SEPHIROTH?!

Authors note: Sorry for no Sephy yet!!!! >_< I hope to include him in the next chapter.. I wanted this chapter to kick off everything first...

[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.

[astaroth1357]

Hi can I request the boys reactions to coming back and seeing that MC has snucked into their beds

The Brothers Find the MC Asleep in Their Bed

This is that other bed request. Back to my fluffy content! Huzzah!! I was a fidgeting mess on that last one… If it wasn't in second person I probably would have never gotten through it… 🤦‍♀️😅 Amazing how distancing the pronoun "you" can be when you're writing: "Oh no, this ain't happening to me, it's gonna happen to you. I dunno what to tell ya." 🤷‍♀️ I give my props for this to one to my favorite jazz singers, Nicki Parrot, and her rendition of I Won't Last a Day Without You.

Intro:

If you're missing someone and, presumably, you have a fairly intimate relationship then something you can do is stay in their bed. Sure, your loved one’s body may not be next to yours but the familiarity can help soothe that aching heart… So when the brothers were away from the House for a few days, it wasn't totally unreasonable for the MC to sneak a night or two in their favorite demon's bed.

If only they had known said demon would come home early… 

Lucifer

It was a looong trip for him. Lucifer only goes up to the human world for business reasons and usually he has to bring Mammon to keep an eye on him, which he also swears ages him by a century each time he does… 

When he retired to his room that night he wasn't really looking to talk or interact with anyone, not his brothers and not even the MC. He just wanted to go to sleep…

He wasn't expecting to find his human curled up under his sheets, though. And without him there no less.

Had it been another day, he might have just woken them up and sent them away or slept somewhere else but that night, after the trip he had, he felt so… loved all of sudden...

His brothers never miss him when he leaves. They give him the usual welcoming rigmarole when he gets back, "Good to see you, how was the trip?" that kind of thing, but he can tell they're all disappointed that he's back to discipline them again…

But here was the MC, apparently wanting him back so much that they'd risk breaking into his room just to feel close to him again… It's honestly good he was the only conscious soul in the room because if anyone else had seen the look on his face, he'd have to start erasing some memories again.

He changed clothes quietly before getting into the bed himself, careful not to jostle them too much. Only once he was settled in, did he give them a tender kiss to their forehead and finally got a good night's sleep...

Mammon

Look, he never asks to be dragged along with Lucifer on his business trips! It's a pain in the ass for everyone involved so he was more than happy to be home...

So happy in fact, that he didn't think to check his bed before he went sailing into it face first…

When he didn't feel the cushion of his mattress below him, but what felt like muscle and bone, he screamed. Which caused the MC to shoot up from under his covers and scream right back at him.

The two dummies screamed at each other for about five seconds straight before it clicked that neither even knew what they were screaming about… 🙄

"MC?!? The hell are ya doin'?! This is my bed, ya know??"

Oh was he tickled pink when they told him they came there just 'cause they missed him so much… Of course they'd miss the Great Mammon! Anybody who got to spend that much time in his presence would eventually! And he had been missing them so much he could hardly see straight anyway...

"Geez, is that all? Well fine! You can stay the night, but only for tonight! … I mean, unless ya want to stay longer or somethin' crazy like that….. You want to, doncha?"

And that's how the MC ended up spending the next week in the arms of their first man… and getting a pretty good bruise on their shoulder too from Mammon's thick skull slamming into it.

Leviathan 

He was coming back from a three-day convention and boy was he tired… There's only so much excitement an introvert can withstand for that long without shutting down completely...

His first clue that something was a little off was his door. It was unlocked. Since he was positive he locked it before he left, he was already on edge... Mammon was in there stealing his stuff again, wasn’t he??

He had his demon form already out when he threw the door open, expecting to have to chase out a thief, but instead he found the MC's arm sticking out of his bathtub-bed.

Cue an incredibly flustered Levi. Did the MC really want to sleep with him? A yucky otaku?? Did they miss him that much?? For a brief moment, he hit cloud nine and beyond.

Levi was frozen in his doorway for a good five minutes, too afraid to walk in and possibly disturb them, before he finally tiptoed to have a look in the tub.

…. He may or may not have snapped a picture when he saw them snuggled against his Ruri-chan body pillow… So what if that's a little creepy??? You're creepy!!

There wasn't really a good way for him to squeeze in with them so he settled for pulling his computer chair over and taking their outstretched hand in his own...

He stayed like that all night until the MC woke up to find him passed out next to them, head rolled back in the chair but still holding their hand with laced fingers...

Satan

He hates going to the human world with Lucifer, even though he acknowledges that he's better behaved than the others for it. That doesn't change the fact that he'd much rather be back in his room with a good book...

He just wasn't expecting the MC to share his sentiments so… identically?

After his trip to Paris with Lucifer, Satan dragged his bags back into his room and expected to at least get another hour of reading in before his mind finally caught up with his body… But to his surprise, his bed was already occupied.

The MC was half-under his covers with their head wedged into the corner of the wall above his pillows, sound asleep… A stray book sat by their hand, one of his favorites too judging by the cover.

He felt the warmth of a chuckle escape his chest… How many times had he woken up in that exact same position? It was almost like they missed him so badly they tried to be him for a while... It was all too cute for words…

He put aside getting some sleep just long enough to take care of his MC, gently moving their body back under the covers and setting the book onto one of the endless stacks that surrounded his bed.

Only once he had them placed into a more comfortable position did he change his clothes and take the spot in the bed next to them…

The MC woke up very much not how they fell asleep… but trading out a good book in their hand for a warm bookworm against their body wasn't a bad deal now, was it?

Asmodeus 

He was on one of those long self-care retreats and though, yes, it was a good time he really needed a good nap after such a long trip… He was even considering shortening his nightly routine for once.

When he came into his room, he was ready to just faceplant into his pillows until he spied MC's head poking out from under his covers…

He squealed, but not out of anger or fright. No, no. He felt nothing but Pure. Joy. His heart was soaring and he could have sang, he was just that happy!

His human missed him so much that they just needed to wrap themselves up under his covers?? Well, of course they would wouldn't they? There's no good substitute for Asmo and he knows it.

His literal shriek made the MC shoot out of his bed and try to apologize but he just tackled them back down, wrapping his arms around them in a vice grip of adoration. He was not letting them back down now. It was cuddle time!

In truth, their sudden appearance shocked Asmo awake for about another hour, which he spent snuggled up to his MC and babbling about his trip. He did eventually lose steam though, falling asleep soundly with his head snuggled into the crook of their neck.

The lovey mood was dampened slightly when he woke up and realized he hadn't done any of his routine the night before, but since the MC was still resting in his arms he decided that, just this once, he didn't need to rush it...

Beelzebub 

Beel's team had just come back from a long tournament trip and, for the first time ever, he could say that he was more tired than he was hungry…

Belphie was really happy to have his twin back, but this time he was kind of ignoring his brother's excitement as his mind zoned in on his bed… He almost didn't notice the MC was even in there until he pulled back the covers to climb in himself. 

His poor sleep-deprived mind had to take a minute to catch up… This was his bed wasn't it...? 😰

"Beel? Is that MC?" "... I think so?" "Why are they in your bed?" "I don't know… Maybe they just wanted to sleep here?" "... Uh-huh. Hey, Beel, I know you're tired. How about you just take my bed instead since it's free? I'll take yours tonight."

Since he was so exhausted, Beel almost considered the offer until he noticed the resentful pout on Belphie's face... Oh. Right. The MC probably wanted to sleep with him. That meant they must have missed him… That thought alone gave Beel a warm, fuzzy feeling like he'd just taken a giant gulp of hot cocoa and he just couldn't help his groggy smile.

"No… This is fine." "But-" "I don't mind, Belphie. Goodnight."

He didn't give his jealous twin any more room to argue before he climbed into bed next to the MC, nestling them close to his chest as if he was welcoming them home instead. And in his last moments of consciousness, Beel promised himself that they'd wake up just like this too…

Belphegor 

Belphie tends to hate trips about as much as Levi, especially ones where Beel or the MC can't come along... Too much hassle and all his brothers make so much noise…

When he finally got back from the trip Lucifer dragged him into, he only had one thing on his mind. Sleep. His bed was calling to him, that's where he needed to be… and the MC too, apparently?

He was honestly a little caught off guard to find the MC in his bed... The attic bed? Sure. That was their cuddle space and it was practically sacred ground at that point. But the bed in the room he shared with Beel...? They didn't stay there very often…

Which meant they weren't in his bed just because they wanted to sleep. They wanted him… Had they been awake he might have had something smug to say, but without any audience to save face to he just felt somewhat honored…

There wasn't a day that went by where Belphie didn't regret the things he'd done to them, even during the quiet moments where they assured him that they'd forgiven him for it... Seeing them there in his actual bed proved something, they chose him. No one else. 

He didn't think twice about crawling under there next to them, he even got into his usual position by their side on instinct. But this time, for a minute or two, he just watched their sleeping form peacefully and counted himself lucky to even be there…

When the MC woke up to Belphegor wrapped around them, an adoring smile nuzzled into their neck, and they just had to wonder if the mere act of sleeping alone was all they’d ever need to summon their demon home...

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 121: Record

"I found some weird box full of muggle stuff," Ron called, carrying said weird box out into the open living room that Hermione and Draco were working in since they had mandatory cleaning on Saturday mornings for everyone who lived in Grimmauld. "I don't even know what these are," he added, holding up flat, black circles with holes in the middle.

"They're records," Hermione replied, glancing up from the cabinet she was working on cleaning out. "They play music," she elaborated.

Ron made a face, "They're probably junk," he replied.

"What are?" Harry asked as he emerged from the creepy closet off of the kitchen, covered in spider webs.

"These records," Ron said, kicking the box with his toe.

"Oh," Harry said, making his way over, "Were they Sirius', do you reckon?"

"It says 'Lily Evans' on the side," Draco pointed out.

"Probably junk either way," Ron said.

Draco Malfoy had spent more than half of his life in love with Harry Potter. He might not have called it love when he was young but the older he got, the more clear it became that he had been a lovesick idiot for most of his life. He'd spent a lifetime memorizing every detail of that face. So he couldn't really be blamed for noticing the split second of hurt that flashed across Harry's face before he nodded, "Yeah. You're probably right. I'll just run them out to the bin."

"Let me," he said before he'd really formed a plan. "I've got all this to take out anyway," he said, gesturing to the box of junk that he'd weeded out this morning. "And we all know that Kreacher has less of a problem with it when I do it."

Harry gave him a little smile that Draco wondered if anyone believed was genuine. "Thanks," he said.

Draco levitated his box and the box of records and headed down toward the kitchen. When he was out of ear shot he murmured, "Kreacher," and the elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Hi," he said, giving him a little nod, "Could you help me with something?"

"Anything!" he replied, nodding hard enough that his ears flapped.

"Could you hold onto this box for me?" he asked, gesturing to the box with the records.

"Of course," he said, immediately taking the box and disappearing.

Draco nodded in satisfaction and started plotting how he'd learn enough about records that he could help Harry use his mother's.

(Read more below the cut)

Two weeks later, on another Saturday morning cleaning day, he still hadn't made much progress. Luna had actually been the most helpful but he hadn't any idea where to find a record player.

But as luck would have it, one turned up in the library, tucked in a cabinet behind some very dusty potion vials and a rusted old cauldron. "Kreacher," he whispered.

When he appeared he held out the record player and asked him to keep it with the records.

He felt quite pleased with himself now that he'd found the record player; he was certain that he'd be able to play records for Harry in no time.

-------------

It took a couple more weeks. Figuring out how to get electricity into the house was no easy feat (but it was easier once he found out that someone, Sirius he suspected, had done it before).

When Harry arrived home that evening, Draco dragged him into the living room, "Draco, what is going on?" he asked, laughing at him as he tried to get him to hurry up.

"I have something for you," he said, nudging him into the room and presenting the record player. "Ta da!"

"Err," Harry said, looking more closely at it, "What is it?"

"It's a record player," he said.

Harry's head whipped around so fast that it made Draco feel dizzy, "What?" he whispered.

"I found it," Draco said, "when I was cleaning in the library. And I thought you might," he shrugged and reached for the box of records, holding it out to Harry, "I thought you might want to listen to them."

The other man looked at him then down at the box in his hands, eyes wide as he reached out a trembling hand to brush his fingers over the spot where 'Lily Evans' was inscribed on the cardboard box. "You," he started before breaking off and covering his mouth with his hand. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

His heart was full to bursting and he was pretty sure he'd never done anything as good as this in his life. "Would you like to listen to one?"

Harry looked up at him and nodded.

Carefully, he took out the record on the top and slipped it out of it's jacket, "Ella Fitzgerald," he said. "I've no idea who that is."

"Me either," Harry replied, coming closer to watch over Draco's shoulder as he set the record on the plate, turned the player on, and set the needle.

Music spilled forth entrancing them both, It's not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me, oh no, it's just the nearness of you.

"Wow," Harry murmured, watching the record spin. He turned to Draco, "I can't tell you what this means to me," he whispered. "Thank you."

He shrugged but couldn't quite keep the pleased smile from his face. "You're welcome."

Harry looked back at the record player before looking over at Draco again, "Do you want to sit and listen with me?"

He nodded, "I'd like that very much."

------------

It became something that the two of them did together fairly regularly after that. Sometimes they'd sit together and read while they listened to records, sometimes they'd talk while they listened, or catch up on work, or just listen together but it quickly became Draco's favorite pastime.

One Friday night while Ron and Hermione were out on a date, Ginny was away for a tournament, and Luna was working late, the two of them put on a record and ate dinner in the living room, continuing to drink wine while they talked and laughed long after their pasta was gone.

As the Bob Marley album, Exodus, came to an end, Draco stood up and made his way over to the box. "Etta James," he read, "At Last." He smiled and showed it to Harry, "look, she drew little hearts next to the song titles."

Harry smiled that melancholy sort of smile that made Draco ache inside. "Let's hear it, then."

Draco put it on for them and plopped back down on the floor in front of the sofa, his side mere inches away from Harry's, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I like this one," Harry sighed thirty seconds in as he leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. "Do you think they used to dance to this one?" he murmured wistfully.

Draco's heart clenched painfully as he was overwhelmed by the sense of loss that Harry must feel constantly. He had to take a slow deep breath before he responded. "Maybe," he whispered back.

The corner of Harry's mouth curled up in a soft smile, "I think they liked to dance," he murmured. "Hagrid gave me a picture of the two of them dancing together when I was at Hogwarts."

"Yeah?" he asked, hoping Harry would say more about that.

Harry nodded, "They looked really happy, you know?" he said. "Like they were the only two people in the world, like they weren't in the middle of a war," he sighed. "I like to imagine both of them dancing with me when I was a baby," he confessed in a whisper, "when I was crying or something. I like to imagine that the love that saved my life was tangible all the time, you know?" he murmured.

"I'm sure it was," Draco said softly.

He leaned over and rested his head on Draco's shoulder and Draco hardly dared to breathe. After a moment Harry said, "Would you dance with me?"

"Yes," he breathed immediately. "Yeah, of course I would."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Draco nodded and stood up, reaching for Harry's hand and tugging him up after him. He kept Harry left hand in his right and wrapped his left arm around Harry's shoulder, leaving space for Harry's right arm around his waist.

The other man hummed softly, drawing Draco in a little closer and closing his eyes as they swayed around the room. Draco couldn't stop staring; at the way Harry's eyelashes were long enough that they brushed his glasses, at the tiny nearly invisible freckles that dusted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, at the barely visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, at his lovely full lips, and the way his stubble looked against his skin.

I love you he couldn't help but think, over and over like it was a personal mantra, like it was the only thing that could keep him alive; he ached with it, with the desire to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him what he really thought of him, to build a life with him, to give him everything that he deserved to have.

Harry's eyes blinked open as the song came to an end, his brows furrowing slightly as he brought his hand up to cup Draco's cheek, "Are you alright?" he asked softly, wiping a tear that had slipped out.

"Merlin, sorry," Draco said, taking a step back to wipe his eyes. "Sorry. It's just your life has been so unfair and when I think about you not really knowing your parents and having to live with your shitty relatives, and-" he choked on the tears.

"Hey," Harry murmured, pulling Draco back into his arms and rubbing his back, "Hey, it's alright."

"It's not alright," he managed.

"Well, no," Harry agreed, "I suppose it isn't. But it's all past now," he said. "Now I have my friends and I live with people who love me and whom I love," he carded his fingers through the hair at the base of Draco's neck. "Ron and Hermione, Luna and Ginny," he swallowed, "you."

"I just wish," he started before breaking off because finishing that sentence would be showing far too much of his hand.

Harry drew back slightly to look at him, "What?"

His eyes were so open, so earnest that Draco couldn't help himself. "I wish you'd let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The other man blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Promise me that nothing changes if you don't like what I have to say," he said, clenching his fingers in Harry's t-shirt.

"I promise. You're one of my best friends, Draco," he assured.

He took a deep breath, "I'm in love with you," he finally managed. "And I just want to love you, all the time. I want to hold your hand, and dance with you, and make you laugh, and surprise you. I want so many things for you-"

"Me too," Harry interrupted. "I'm in love with you, too, I mean."

"Really?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe it, his eyes welling up with tears again.

"Oh, love," Harry said with a little smile, wiping Draco's eyes with his thumbs, "Yes, really. Come here," he said, pulling him in closer and swaying to the music, letting Draco cling to him as they moved together.

As they continued to dance, Harry started to tell him all of the things that he dreamed about for the future together. Painting a picture of the beautiful life they could have and after a few minutes, Draco joined in, adding bits of his hopes as well.

They stayed up late into the night, talking and dreaming of the life they wanted to give each other. And every time they fought after that, one of them would get out the record player and they'd dance together and remind each other of the lives they wanted to build.

----------------

Day 120: Tough | Day 122: Moon

[gallifrey1sburning]

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.” 

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly. 

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!” 

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

— 

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three. 

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged. 

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.” 

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

— 

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

— 

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse. 

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over. 

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then— 

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

Also on AO3

[folkreid]

first birthday

TYPE: fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.0K

"Spence!" I shout sitting in my bed with my daughter. Her first birthday was approaching and I have no idea what the theme should be.

"Yes love" he calls back. "Come to the room please".

He walks in and smiles at me and our daughter. "Hey Winter" he coos holding her and kissing her cheek. "Are you going to say hello to me now?" I joke. He smiles softly. "Hello my gorgeous wife"

He leans over to kiss me softly. His lips on mine. We stay like that until Winter starts to fuss. "She doesn't like the attention off of her" I laugh. "Just like her mom." he jokes. "Oh come here Winter, it's okay daddy has you" he cradled her. She laughs. "Daddy" she says. Winter can only speak a few words but she walks and she runs, she's very active.

"What should the theme be for her birthday?" I ask Spencer scooting back on the bed. "Hmm how about that show she likes, the one with the talking ponies" he suggest. "My Little Pony?"

"Yes! That!" he shouts. "Mmm maybe..." I say. I know what I want the theme to be but Spencer won't want it. And like Spencer can read my mind he speaks. "What do you want to do, I can tell you're holding back"

"Okay fine" I groan jokingly. "What if we have a pool party" I say fast. "A pool party?" he raised his eyebrows. I nod and put Winter on my lap.

"Cmon Spencer! It'll be cute! It can be summer themed or beach themed." I beg hoping he'll give in. "You do realize we named our child Winter right?"

I giggle looking down at winter.

"It'll be ironic!" I smile. He shakes his head. "I don't want a bunch of people in my pool" he argues.

I roll my lip and give puppy dog eyes. "Please. You don't even go swimming anyways so we might as well put the pool to use"

"Winter can't even swim" he says crossing his arms.

"And the only reason I got a house with a pool is because you begged me too" he goes to hold my hand but I snap it away.

"I know but Winter really wants a pool party" I frown.

I grab her and pick her up. "Please daddy let me have a pool party" I mock her voice. Spencer smiles and grabs Winter from me. "She did not say that" he giggles. "Yes she did you just saw her say it" I lay on my stomach facing Spencer and Winter.

"Okay fine." he finally gives in. I jump up in excitement. I grab my baby. "You hear that Winter? Daddy's letting us have a pool party!"

She laughs softly. "Thank you Spence" I get up and kiss him on the lips.

"You're welcome but no beer at the party. Your friends are drunks and I don't want anyone suing us" he says in a serious tone.

I roll my eyes. "They'll control themselves."

——-

It's the day of Winters birthday and everyone's here! We even got Spencer's mom to come.

JJ walks in with Will and her two boys. "Hey guys thank you so much for coming" I smile. I give JJ and Will a hug before directing the boys to the pool.

"I hope you don't mind, I brought fruit salad" she smiles. "Oh not at all thank you so much"

Just then Winter and Spencer come running out of the room. "Sorry we took long, she did not like the hat." Spencer kisses my temple.

I look over to Winter who was wearing a bathing suit with a duck on it. JJ smiles. "This is for you Winter" she gives her a bag.

"Say thank you" Spencer reminds her. "Thank you" she mumbles. JJ and Will smile before going to check on the boys. Next Penelope comes in with a huge present bag. "Luke is down the hall and Emily is also coming up." she puts down the present and goes to Winter.

"Winter i've missed you" she says grabbing the young girl and kisses her cheeks. Luke then comes up with Emily. "Hey guys" Luke comes in hugs Spencer and I so does Emily.

Finally everyone's here and we all go out back to the pool. I put Winter in her little floaty so she can go in the pool. I keep her away from the deep side. Obviously. Penny and Luke stay with me and we talk. Winter starts fussing. "What's wrong" I pick her up. "You want daddy?" she nods.

I pick her up and tell Penelope that i'll be back. I go into the house where Spencer was talking to JJ. "Spence..." I walk in with Winter. "She really wants you to go in the pool."

I know he can't resist her.

He looks into her eyes and gives in. He follows us to the pool. "Y/n if you splash me I'll never talk to you again" he sits on the step. Winter laughs at her dad and tries to paddle to him in her floaty. I grab her and give her to Spencer. "I love you daddy" she says. "I love you too Winter." he kisses her head. Winter hardly talks sometimes, shes shy but she's been talking a lot today.

Winter reaches her arms out trying to hug Spencer but her floaty prevents her from doing it. He pulls her out of it and holds her. Winter laughs before splashing Spencer.

Spencer has a disgusted look on his face. I sit next to Spencer and splash him. "You're lucky I love you" he kisses my head.

I smile and lie my head on his chest. I look over to Henry and Michael playing. "They get along so well" I say. "Yeah they do" Spencer says.

"What do you think about having another one." I say hesitantly, we haven't discussed having another kid. Also Winters only a year, maybe we should wait but I do want the kids close in age.

"I'd love to have another."

"We should have JJ babysit next week. We need some alone time" I whisper in his ear. He smiles and kisses my softly.

[realcube]

ONCE YOU’RE GONE

rq ♥ hello!! can i please request miya twins, sakusa, suna, akaashi x fem!reader an angst one. like they got into a heated argument each other. reader just had enough, maybe take a stroll and got into a deadly accident that cost her life/ memory loss or something. and the hq char regrets it

tw ♥ angst, hurt/comfort, breakups, disappearances, very vague implications of kidnapping, memory loss & injury 

a/n ♥ sorry i couldn’t think of anything for suna </3 

ATSUMU MIYA

♡ he’s never really been an overly religious guy

♡ yet everyday, he finds himself praying that you’ll come back 

♡ and before now, he considered himself a rather patient person, but every second you were gone was filled with anguish

♡ mostly because he knew it was all his fault

♡ nobody blamed it on him though, which only made him feel more guilty

♡ it was late, so he decided to walk you home from his house. hardly with your safety in mind though, just because he wanted to spend more time with you

♡ that was his first mistake

♡ his second was getting so defensive over his volleyball team

♡ he was talking about their recent loss to karasuno high, and how they were all devastated since they had been training for ages

♡ yet instead of comforting him, you simply replied, “maybe you should do things besides volleyball, if you’re getting so worked up about it.”

♡ but all he heard was you being condescending (though that genuinely wasn’t your intention) and telling him to give up something he is passionate about because of one little defeat

♡ you tried to explain that you honestly meant no harm by your statement but atsumu argued that the damage had already been done, hence your apology meant nothing to him

♡ realising that atsumu was just being pissy and taking his frustration at the game out on you, you distanced yourself; walking a few paces in front of him and plugging in your earbuds to tune him out

♡ after marching behind you for a few more yards, atsumu eventually decided that he was finished 

♡ in one swift motion, he turned on his heels and stomped back his house, leaving you to walk the rest of the distance yourself; that was his third mistake

♡ however, after walking for about half a mile, he got a newsfeed notification on his phone titled, ‘four people reported missing in hyōgo prefecture, in the last week.’

♡ it only took one headline for all atsumu’s previous emotions to be swept away and replaced with one that left him motionless; guilt

♡ he continued walking back to his home, reasoning that you clearing didn’t want him near you — anyone could tell by the way you walked in front of him and ignored him— so he must’ve made the right choice to leave you, since it’s what you wanted, after all

♡ and it’s not like y’all broke up or anything, he still loves you and hopes you are safe and to prove that, he apologised and texted you first 

♡ ‘hey, i’m so sorry i was i bit of a jerk earlier.’

♡ followed by ‘text me once you’re home.’  

♡ no response, simply read at 21:45 

♡ that was a week ago, yet he still wholehearted believed that you were going to come back

♡ though, deep down he knew he was just feeding himself the same line over and over again, just so that he wouldn’t feel guilty, and so that the sight of a volleyball stopped making him feel so sick and distressed

OSAMU MIYA

♡ he’s never felt such a sea of emotions at once before

♡ on one hand, he was just happy to see you alive and well; isn’t that all a lover should want?

♡ however, he didn’t have the honour of calling himself your lover anymore

♡ you didn’t remember anything from before the crash, which initially brought him a small tinge of relief, since you wouldn’t blame him for what happened

♡ however, you didn’t remember him at all

♡ so when he knelt by your bed and started apologising profusely, all you did which raise a brow and turn to the nurse, quietly — yet not discreetly — asking who the guy by your bed was

♡ he felt his hear tear apart at such a simple inquiry 

♡ however, instead of explaining himself, he got up and left, “nobody.”

♡ wanting to get it all off of his chest, he told atsumu about what happened, as if he didn’t know that his brother had the biggest crush on you during your whole relationship with osamu 

♡ and of course, upon hearing the news, atsumu ‘snuck out’ later to go visit you in hospital and presumably try to win your heart 

♡ though, there was nothing ‘sneaky’ about the way he loudly fumbled around with the car keys, or the way he tended to slam the door behind him — atsumu knew exactly what his brother was trying to do and although it pained him to even think of losing you, he let his brother pursue you anyway 

♡ he tried to protect you once and it resulted in you losing your memory, so god knows what would happen if he tried again

♡ plus, you were no longer his to protect, or at least that is what he tried to convince himself

♡ after months of daily visits from atsumu —and none from osamu — you were somewhat starting to gain your memory back 

♡ atsumu just seemed so.. familiar, and that was the single best feeling when you are so isolated 

♡ though, there was something off about him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on, but he reassured you that it was because ‘seeing you hurt changed him as a man’ so of course he’s different from the way you ‘remember’ him

♡ years passed, and you continued dating atsumu in blissful ignorance of the events that happened before the accident

♡ you feel deeper in love with the atsumu you thought you knew and were forced away from osamu (who chose to remain single, he claimed it was to focus on his studies but he truly couldn’t find a second soulmate)

♡ it was only at your own wedding day were you finally able to see osamu once more, though you didn’t really interact with him much..

♡ until he objected during your vows, then, it was pretty hard to ignore him, especially since he appeared sober yet was claiming that you are his one true love, and he regrets ever leaving you 

♡ needless to say, the rest of the wedding definitely did not go as planned

KIYOOMI SAKUSA 

♡ he loved you; and he wished he had showed it more, now that it’s too late

♡ “sakusa,” you cooed, resting your head on his shoulder and offering him a plate of apple slices you cut yourself, while browsing the shows on TV, “what shall we watch tonight?” you inquired, but mostly to yourself since dating sakusa nowadays was similar to dating a literal rock 

♡ no response, as per usual

♡ well, on the bright-side, that just meant you’d get to watch whatever you wanted, unless sakusa spoke up, which he most likely would not 

♡ scanning through all your options, you decided to select some teen romance, coming-of-age movie that you knew sakusa would most definitely not enjoy, hence forcing him to say thing 

♡ however, instead of him reacting in accordance to your plan, he simply got up and left without another word

♡ something about the sight of him with his back turned to you, headed out of your house and back home with even a goodbye cleared your fogged mind and left one fact undoubtedly clear; you didn’t want to be with him anymore 

♡ and although you didn’t want to make assumptions, you surmised that he felt the same way; it was almost a certainty considering how distant he acted 

♡ so of course you cut it off that same night; yet when you proposed the idea of breaking up, sakusa became surprisingly defensive

♡ it was as if all of a sudden he realised how shitty he had been acting this whole time, and how his actions had effected you 

♡ you both yelled over the phone for hours, though it was hardly an ‘argument’, more like sakusa apologising profusely and making — what you believed to be — false promises, while you explained that you had just had enough 

♡ it ended with him almost screaming ‘i love you’, but you hung up on him too soon 

♡ he would never admit it, but he cried himself to sleep that night

♡ there was a part of him saying that he was just being overdramatic and you were nothing more than another lover that will enter and exit his life with the wind, but four years later, he still found himself getting butterflies upon catching a glimpse of you in the stands at one of games 

♡ despite the fact you were cheering for opposite team 

KEIJI AKAASHI 

♡ you two were the perfect couple

♡ study dates, sliding notes to each other during class, midnight strolls, endless support, dancing in the rain; it was like you were both living in your very own slice-of-life romance movie

♡ however, as they say, all good things must come to an end

♡ but for akaashi, that ending came too quickly

♡ “you can do it, i know you can!” that must’ve been the tenth time you’ve said that today, it was like your own inspirational mantra, yet akaashi didn’t seem to be endeared by it 

♡ “no, (y/n).” he repeated with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to guide you to the door, “it’s a silly dream. i probably shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

♡ “it’s not silly!” you argued, throwing on your jacket as he made it increasingly clear that he didn’t want to continue this conversation, “it’s your dream! you can’t just keep complaining about school if you aren’t even going to try to pursue your passion.” 

♡ akaashi silently shook his head, “go.” it was harsh, but he could only deal with speaking about his work life for so long

♡ “you go.” you snapped, though knowing it wasn’t exactly the comeback of the century, but it summarised your feelings well enough, “i’ve honestly had enough of you. i hope--” 

♡ you cut yourself off at that; storming off before saying something you might regret 

♡ though furious, you really didn’t want things to end with him, you just hoped that maybe one day you’ll be able to have a civil conversation with him about what he wants to do in life 

♡ because he hides it well, but the more you got to know him, the more you noticed that he truly wasn’t happy in his studies, and you just wished he would do something about it or at the very least, let you help 

♡ and he knew this too; he knew it all too well yet still couldn’t bring himself to better his life, even once you were gone

♡ you were critically injured after the accident, and during your time in the hospital, you let akaashi see you once

♡ one visit was his chance to redeem himself, to apologise and help you both align your futures together 

♡ but all he could do was sit with you in radio silence

♡ thirty minutes passed and his mind was running on overdrive, yet he couldn’t think of anything to utter after ‘hello.’

♡ so he left 

♡ no apology, no redemption, to attempt, nothing.

♡ all he could say was that he left with a heavy heart, a heart filled with hope that one day he could return to you despite all the wrong he has done; though that seemed more unrealistic than his dream of playing profession volleyball

♡ he had truly lost his soulmate��