#rough day. just kind of hits me sometimes out of nowhere and this is one of those times

[ari-kari]

.

i am not going to attempt to detail the numerous obstacles that stand between poor people and their own self-actualization on this post - mainly because I’d be preaching to the choir, and because they are numerous enough that attempting to summarize them would probably retraumatize me. but I am experiencing a deep sense of sorrow for my friends and loved ones today. and I’m not sure I’ll ever truly be able to rest until I’ve done something of note to help the people I left behind - even if I’m not sure what that looks like yet.

[honeylief]

Hey, sharing my first one shot of Raph x Emmy! They're also on my A03 I recently got an account for! Feel free to leave any thoughts on them and my writing, thank you <33

For a Slice of Cake by Honey_Lief - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) https://archiveofourown.org/works/60323023 via @ao3org

For a Slice of Cake

The day had been long in the tooth and the two finally aligned in time together with a whole weekend to look forward to. Superhero movie marathon. Pantry full of snacks. Chinese takeout leftovers for dinnertime. Nighttime reading for lightweight and heavyweight divisions. It felt good to have an apartment space meant for couples only fun. Very vanilla. Very routine.

Nothing ever stayed truly routine with these two however.

"Raph, you know I can't handle it when you use the tickle jitsu! Get away from me!"

Emmy tried to make a break for the next room over, only to be yoinked off her feet by her bigger turtle partner. She had her favorite camisole on and sports shorts for maximum flexibility. They weren't much help in escaping her current situation.

Raph playfully pulled her into a one armed grip, his free arm ready to 'attack' her weak points. He had his usual fit on except the ninja wraps. Didn't need them for this slippery target. "How dare you inhale that cake slice like a savage, you miscreant."

Emmy struggled and squirmed like a cat. "Not my fault you're being extra soft and slow on my account. I love when you wait on me like a gentleman, but it makes for fun getting away with anything around you."

At that remark, Raph lifted Emmy over his shoulder in one quick swoop. No amount of hitting and kicking by her fazed him, he'd have a cut on his lip by now if she really wanted to hurt him. With girlfriend secured, he moved her and himself over to their massive couch. This was a heavy investment piece, with enough space and support made for mutant alligator snappers who could pass out anytime of the day.

Raph plopped her on his lap, arms secured around her torso for further grilling. "Well we're not going anywhere until I know for sure it’s all gone. What’re you gonna do about that?"

Emmy fluttered her eyes up at him. "Maybe I still got cake frosting on me if you're lucky. You got the better angle tho to check if I'm really clean."

Big red turtle man keened down on her, his exaggerated fake scowl slowly forming into a cheeky grin. "Raph's gonna mess you up for that talk."

Emmy shuddered as he started cuddling her up. Raph made good on his word and also started playfully poking her to get her giggling. Nothing and nowhere risque, he just really enjoyed her bubbly laughter. How she buried into his chest when she tried to muffle her occasional cackling outbursts. It did help that she gave him a whole cheat sheet, and as they did this more frequently, Emmy was constantly thinking up new strategies so he wasn't having too easy a time figuring her out.

Raph’s usual mode of 'friendly soft giant' was always nice, but she's head over heels for him when he’s a little less restrained in all that he does for her. He had of course voiced wanting to sometimes act on raw muscle, to which Emmy assured him in kind she's a tough cookie who can handle it and like it a little rough.

She can be affectionately rough like him right now.

Would this be an intrusive thought though? She had to know he'd feel it.

**CHOMP**

Raph's eyes flew open to see Emmy really sinking her teeth in on his snout. This feeling wasn't new, but damn she really had been full of little surprises since they started being together. And positively crazier now that they have their own crib.

She didn’t seem to pick up he'd caught onto her literally smitten on him.

"You're biting me?"

Emmy's eyes opened at his question. She regarded him in a state of confusion before the slow realization hit and she let him go slowly. "Haha, oops, when did that happen?"

Raph let her go entirely as he patted a hand over his snout. "You really bit me!"

Emmy put a hand to her mouth. "I didn't draw blood, did I?"

Raph didn’t feel broken skin or anything like it under his fingers. The initial tingle was already gone, but something about that sneak attack still seemed to stick.

"Don't think so. But mind telling me what that was about?"

Emmy averted her eyes as she fidgeted her mask tails. "I don't know. Maybe I read this as a thing turtle partners do with each other."

She continued to fidget as she flustered for the right words. "I thought since we do these clockwork couch cuddles, maybe you would like something with more teeth to it. I really wanna match how much you already give me every time. Adding more to that face value."

Raph's done his share of quick turtle courtship reading and his eyes lit up piecing it together. "Y'mean like the face tapping?"

"Uhm yeah, that." Emmy trailed off before half-heartedly laughing. "Sorry, is the biting… too weird for you?"

Raph seemed to ponder on it, and Emmy felt herself wilting on the spot. Was that stare he was giving her a good or a bad one?

"Now you got me thinking how I wanna try it on you."

Emmy stopped fidgeting. She had half expected this answer, but she hadn’t expected how straightforward he was about wanting to try. "Wait, really?"

Raph shrugged. "I mean, between the four of us knucklehead brothers, I lost count how many times we bit each other over anything. Dad had to carry a newspaper or swatter so we'd let go. Just never thought to try it on someone who ain't family, and not that way."

That way. Emmy's face rapidly turned red at the scenarios in her head, and Raph hastily amended extra assurance with shaking arm motions.

"If you're okay with it first of course!"

"Oh. Ohhhh," Emmy struggled on followup. "U-Um, Raph, know that I do trust you with my life, you have a winning smile 24/7, you're the best at kissing me head to toe. I would be lying tho if I wasn't a little nervous about bites from you. And uh…"

Raph didn’t look away as he intently hung to her every word. "I’m listening."

"I really am sorry I sprung that on you," Emmy blushed as she tucked in on herself. "I wanted to be grand about giving back as much as you give me. I still sometimes feel I'm all take and no give with you, even with all the tricks I pull. I can't swing you around the way you’re always doing it with me. I'm never enough in my head."

It was all Raph could do to hug her on the spot, but maybe Emmy needed to be held differently here. She was so so much more than her size, physical or other.

He reached for her hands. "You’re enough for me. Maybe it would be nice for Raph to be held or carried in bigger arms, sure." He proceeded to lean over so their heads touched. "But then I know I’d have to give up how we butt heads like this, the eyes and small hands that see/take care of little scratches on my back, a shell size just right for my head to rest on. I wouldn’t trade those away for anything."

He gave her hands a firm squeeze. "You being in Raph's life like this? All the biggest experience he could ever want. All you gotta know. You’ll always be enough, bonita."

His girlfriend snickered at the left field pet name. "You've secretly been word training!"

Raph smirked. "That’s what you get loving a ninja turtle who's stupid dedicated to any training."

Emmy visibly relaxed at his word play and found her smile again. "Yeah, okay. I’m down for it now. But can we start small?"

"Absolutely," Raph guided her hands so they cupped his face. "Wanna give me a dental once over first?"

Emmy giggled as she did a quick glance over of him, Raph’s head completely rested in her hands. She idly rubbed her thumbs on him as he slowly bared his teeth. He really did take immaculate care of his pearly whites since he was finally off the corrective braces. Emmy and him both were so glad he got to keep his signature snaggletooth look. Up close, it was hard to believe his set of intimidating chompers was capable of saying the sweetest things and mostly free of meanness.

"Looking and smelling like minty fresh breeze to me, big fella."

Raph shut his lid. He looked quite pleased with himself. "Thank you, I try."

Emmy squished his cheeks together. "I bet you a dollar you're more excited about this than I am."

His smile only got wider and toothier at her assumption. "How would you like to be treated, my queen?"

Raph’s eyes didn’t leave her, and he also didn’t move as Emmy had him wait. Her hands eventually pulled away from his loosened grip. She laid down on the sofa, with only her head propped up against an arm rest. Her thighs and arms folded towards herself. She looked back up at him before making both a face and a noise that can only be described as impish–and inviting.

"Come here and mess me up, 'good boy'."

At 'good boy', Raph felt electric. He silently shifted to loom over Emmy topside, right where he wanted her. She looked beyond cute at this angle under him.

"This is entirely your fault for being so dang sweet and saucy, by the way. Close your pretty eyes for Raph."

Emmy did just that, breathing in deep and sinking into the sofa as though she was in a bathtub. His breath felt warm, but also cooling from the lingering menthol. She could feel his scraggly chin dig into the crook of her neck as he sniffed her down. His usual musk of ‘happy’ took hold of her senses. It was a strong earthy smell every time he leaned in this close.

With this new angle to his maw, Emmy could take in the hesitant, cool tongue licks against her skin. She could feel the edge of his snaggletooth glide over her face, a mix of delicate strokes and gentle pressure. It never ceased to amaze her how much deliberate self control he had, his size never a hindrance to his movements. In and out with precision. Ebb and flow that kept her guessing. Completely valid application of master ninja techniques.

Emmy wasn't completely lost at the moment though. She opened one eye to see how much he was enjoying this. Raph once again made off with an idea she got them both into and doing all the work. His scent made it hard to think straight.

"Nnngh, Raphael."

Raph gradually intensified the earlier motions. Hungry. Famished. Emmy quietly grasping for his proper name only goaded him on to keep on giving. Make sure every inch of her face was lovingly caressed the best way his chops could appreciate. She was her own tier of plush softness unlike anything else. Silky smooth cheeks, a ticklish chin, familiar lips that tasted so jazzy fresh without fail.

Maybe he'll save that for last? It was too much fun riling Emmy up now.

Emmy was stiff as a board while Raph nuzzled and nipped. Every time she tried to bite her lower lip, she could feel Raph tug back at it, stopping short of kissing her outright. The nerve. His licks were brief, but eager like a puppy's. And that tongue, he did not disappoint flexing it physically as much as he did with words only meant for her ears. Oh gods. Emmy won't hear the end of it if Raph starts calling her his squeaky toy after this play biting experiment was over.

She wanted so badly to give back as he was giving now. Her hands wanted to cradle his head again. Or arms to loop around his neck. She had to give back now. Reach out. But she was stopped in her tracks when she felt one wrist restrained. Raph also paused his ministrations.

Emmy dared a peek to see her turtle man so focused on her. He looked very determined. She felt her cheeks heating up at his stupidly steely gaze.

"Safe word?"

"No, but–"

"Then let Raph finish."

"Raphael–"

His mouth fell on hers to shut her up and immediately Emmy saw stars with the sudden tongue-to-tongue contact. Both of them sunk completely into the couch. Both her hands were also now pinned under Raph's. Their fingers intertwined in short order. She could really take in the minty mouthwash he was on when he's in this deep. He pressed forward and maintained his pace, his bigger tongue doing all the swirling and savoring movements. Her whole body trembled from all the sensations, and it took a bit of time to compose the big thoughts.

He was her everything right here and now. Or she was everything to him? It made her heart race and belly flutter in butterflies at both thoughts.

If he wasn't gonna let her touch, she's gonna make this kiss something he won't soon forget in other ways. She had to. But how to without her hands?

Raph eventually pulled away without warning and it sent Emmy reeling on the exit. His mouth didn’t really leave her for long however, as she soon realized.

He went back in with renewed determination, alternating between the teeth grazing, small kisses and nibbles all over her pretty face. Her exposed neck and shoulders were lovingly attended to in the same manner. He felt Emmy go a little limp at his hurried onslaught. She'd completely given up on form, reduced to making small tickled noises or slurred, churring words on how good he was doing. How he was too good to her. How he was always, always a good boy.

One last affectionate nibble to her cute snoot, and Raph returned Em's earlier gesture in full. And a parting gift of a smooch on the same spot for good measure. He let her wrists go, slowly withdrew back to give her breathing space and looked down on her.

She looked like a deer in headlights, blinking dazed and mouth a little hung open.

Despite his work and all the positive affirmation earlier, he needed to hear her feedback loud and clear. "So, how'd I do?"

Emmy was still dazzled in place taking in the last five minutes of everything. "I am never taking your smiles for me for granted ever again."

Raph beamed, even as Emmy got her senses back, crossed her arms and gave him a puffed up pout. "But you didn’t let me bite back either, you monster."

"Cake theft."

Emmy had completely forgotten about her earlier transgression. "Okay, fair."

Raph eventually helped her up so they were both sitting facing each other. "Were you scared at all through it?"

Emmy replayed the moments in her head. "A little, but some fear made it fun. You wanna go back for seconds and take a bigger bite of me right now?"

Raph's face immediately scrunched funny. Conflicted, nervous and redder all at once. "I–"

"Just teasing!" Emmy cheekily stuck her tongue out and pressed a finger to his lips. "We'll train up to that level like always. I promise neither of us are gonna hurt bad with practice. And I know you’re all about serious training, my king."

Raph’s earlier doubts instantly vanished at her assured words. Emmy quickly scooted up and planted a kiss to his cheek. "To my amazing and wonderfully talented boyfriend. I’ll be better about the intimate warnings." He churred at her show of affection. "Mmm. Sounds good to me."

It felt bizarre to be grounded again after what just happened. It took a bit, sorting out all the thoughts, but Raph finally remembered what started it all.

"Thank you for being you, Em. Forget the bet, but I really am hungry for sweets."

[amidnightmoon]

6. 11. and 51.?

Lakdjfjskss omg hii 💜

6. do you have any kind of consistent writing schedule or just hoping for the best?

It is SO funny to me that you’re the one asking me this since you know what kind of writing disaster I am. I am fully winging it. I start out with some rough idea and hope for the best. Usually I start out quite consistent, at least a few hours a day if i really need the story out, but with my last project…. Oh boi. It’s been almost a year, did you know? 85k and we’re nowhere jdjdksks

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

Uh, truthfully? I don’t really know - i’m not one to do a ton of research for a project. I like to stick to things i kind of know about, and my fics are mainly character driven. But when a location is important then yeah i like to dig into it. That’s how i learned what kind of ferries left from Spain to Morocco, and I had a whole list of gay clubs in Mallorca, though I’ve never been, and I’ve taken a virtual tour through the MET museum.

51. share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

I’m posting this one because i’m so excited about it, and because at this point it’s 85k and i NEED to finish it someday.

It’s been ten months since Marc and Steven saved the world. (It’s been nine months since Jake closed that case for good when he pumped two bullets into Harrow’s chest.)

When Steven receives a job offer he can't refuse, he, Marc and Layla decide to leave London behind and relocate to the Big Apple. It doesn't take long for them to run into Peter Parker, a young photographer for the Daily Bugle. A friendship blossoms between them, and especially Steven and Peter hit it off spectecularly.

But sometimes phantoms of the past start to haunt us, sarcophaguses previously ignored demand to be opened, and people who are supposed to be dead refuse to stay that way. Moon Knight, Spider-Man and the Scarlet Scarab will have to work closely together to make sure the ghosts of the past remain of the past.

Or; Steven falls in love, Jake emerges from the shadows into the light and Marc returns as Moon Knight yet again.

Thank you babe! 💜💜💜

Ask game for fanfic writers

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

my first marriage

there is a place in my life I often don't touch with my thoughts

surviving it was enough and I was very lucky that I did

but the stagnant energy and the selves I left behind

are causing me to stumble on my way to thinking

about my future and how to get there with my talent

I think today I can just introduce it because my heart

starts pounding and my breath forgets to move my lungs

when I go back to the time where I lived as a teenager

who got married to an alcoholic opera singer

who was also an evangelical pastor's son

there's a lot of possible delusion in those professions

so the patterns of dysfunction were deep and multilayered

and I was not prepared for that kind of responsibility as a teen

my mother was physically abusive until I was seventeen

she'd have gone longer but I got to the point where

no matter how much she hit me I didn't react

so I guess it must have gotten boring

when he fractured my thumb by slamming it into a drawer

she was the first one to convince me

that he was sorry and how important it was to forgive him

I was a child who didn't know any better

my mother was rarely sorry unless she went too far

and left marks where others could see them

that happened before he even proposed to me

when he was sober he was sensitive and romantic

he had a lovely singing voice but he always hated mine

he scoffed one time when I suggested singing for the

church choir run by his mother which was odd

because it was a small church with small voices

and mine would have mixed in just as well as theirs

he hated it when I sang and I always wondered why

so I'd sing in secret just to avoid hearing his derision

he drank when he was disappointed with something

and he was disappointed quite often

and loved to blame that disappointment on me

the physical violence always came out of nowhere

I slept so many nights in tennessee in my car

with the doors locked so he couldn't get to me

when he was out of his mind with the alcohol

I was in art school at the time and it was so hard

to focus on my creativity and projects because it felt

like I was always under threat and the hypervigilance

drained me of any ability to do anything but escape

by pretending to be someone else on world of warcraft

I'd have to secretly drink in order to be intimate with him

because I couldn't relax my body around him

he always grabbed too hard and it always hurt

sometimes it was like he liked it more when I cried

I had reoccurring kidney infections and I was afraid

of everyone and everything and barely passed my classes

when I failed my second portfolio review I gave up

and I think that's why it's impossible to feel fully

that I'm truly some kind of artist because of it

instead I worked at dillards and began to sell shoes

while planning a way to escape and divorce him

but I didn't think his alcoholism and violence was reason enough

because that's something I'd always had in my life

when we went to a preacher for marriage counseling

he had said something about praying to god about it

nothing about it being wrong that he got drunk and violent

I was too young and I hadn't even wanted to marry him

our mothers arranged everything and just wanted grandkids

my wedding was beautiful but nothing of my choosing

most of the people invited were strangers to me

my honeymoon in italy was worse because there

everyone could drink and we shared a room with others

one night he was so rough that I ran into the room

of the girls next door sobbing and repeating over and over

how worthless I was and begging them to keep me safe

the next day he bought me flowers while they looked

for a doctor for my hemorrhaging kidney infection

my body has never been the same since that time

five different doctors and even physical therapy

couldn't put me back together again in a way

where penetration doesn't hurt me

when he started cheating on me I could finally

convince my family to come and get me

and I went through the process of divorce

and luckily he lived somewhere else at the time

so the whole process went fairy painless and quick

I can't remember so much of that time

maybe this will finally get some of that energy moving

it's been like sludge deep my heart all this time

I spent so much time helpless and trapped and scared

telling everyone what was happening and having everyone

tell me it was just the first rough years of marriage

it doesn't surprise me that with my second serious relationship

I considered it healthy because he didn't hit me

and in that way it was an upgrade to be sure

I see now why love and marriage feels like a bad taste

I get in my mouth when I think of the concepts

especially looking into the barrel of a second divorce

tomorrow I will dive deeper and see if I can find

all the places where I'm stuck and scared inside me

when it comes to my art and moving forward with it

I owe to myself to getting this far in my life

I am far away from what I grew up with and was used to

and I did not become like those people I escaped

and that is enough to move forward

and releasing all those parts of me still stuck in fear

within my mind and body is worth the pain of this

remembering and showing it again to the light

I never saw or heard of him again after that everything was signed

I suppose I thought that meant I was done with the experience

I suppose now I know better now that it's not

but it can be after I release it

[horanghoe]

Spring is safer than Summer ♡

(a hybrid!svt, tiger!hoshi, fluff drabble)

Please note: this is an edited version of this right here.

members/group: Hoshi / SVT

pairing: Hoshi/Reader

genre: fluff, one swear !!

T/W’s : none; other than being way too cute for my shit-show of a hell-blog

Pls dm me if you would like a trigger warning added <3

shoutout to my fellow furry loving idiots

<3 @raibebe & @flowerboykun & @kthpurplesyou <3

main masterlist

svt masterlist

A sunny afternoon.

That midsummer feeling.

Where time melts, and fullness comes from walking in a busy brush, your nearest park, around the block.

It’s too hot to hold hands, but being in your partner’s presence is enough.

Soonyoung smiled. At you. Until his gums appeared and his blush hit the inside top-tips of his folded triangle ears.

You smiled back. Love often didn’t come with words.

Some languages got close, but - it’s a *feeling* - not a bunch of random words assembled together in an archaic code.

“Do you really want to go out to Laura’s party later? It’s like, all the way down the coast. Pretty long way to go for such an unreliable friend?”

Hoshi stopped abruptly, arm brushing yours as he turned to crouch next to a group of beautiful, and rather large-for-the-occasion daisies. His tail curled up against his leg then back down against the asphalt. Unfurling as his head tipped forward.

With a lack of response, you continued.

“I don’t know, it just feels like a waste of an evening?”

He poked and prodded at the floors in front of him, like a house cat toying with loose string ends.

“Kwon Soonyoung! I am trying to have a conversation -” 

Your puff of annoyance was soon discarded.

As a daisy slipped behind your ear, and Soonyoung’s body returned to the space next to yours. He chuffed softly, tucking his hands into his pockets. Pushing you gently with his shoulder. Nuzzling your cheek, barely. Before walking slowly forward, continuing the pace set before.

Your insides felt like wobbly jelly for a moment. Stalling - before dashing to catch up a few strides ahead.

Soonyoung shrugged lazily, watching you affectionately as you tipped forward, adjusting your speed like a giddy kid. That you weren’t anymore, thankfully, but your mannerisms were much the same. Clumsy, loud. Skittish, kind.

Sometimes he thought about you like this - in the early spring, the two of you kids again - but that time had passed, and you were in the newest phase of your lives. Adulthood appeared hard and fast. But love made it a little easier on the spirit.

His ears tipped forward when you linked a loose arm, hanging from his taller one. Mostly holding his sleeve.

“I don’t mind. But you’re right - it does seem like a waste of such a nice evening.”

You peered up at him as he spoke, smiling with a weak nod. 

Your mind wandered as you kept walking. Journeying to nowhere in particular beyond neighbourhood roads and the cement ruins near your local schools. There’s nowhere quite like home. Especially on such a hazy summer day. 

Soonyoung emitted something close to a purr - or at least the closest he could represent. Tongue pressed to the palette of his mouth to soften the rough chuffs, pulling you closer only to lightly push you away. 

“Let’s go home?” He decided, for the both of you.

You nodded, stifling a yawn, resting your head against his arm.

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Soonyoung’s ears flickered as a cool gust of wind rounded the corner of the library building, breaking the dead warm air. His tail swished to wrap loosely around your ankle, before slipping back away. Huffing deeply, eyes creased and body tensing before sneezing off to the side with a full body shiver.

“You’re gross~” You giggled, pushing him away from you before you thudded back together like swings of gravity.

“Nerd.” He chuckled, offering his hand.

And despite the heat, you accepted the offer.

~~~••••~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~••••~~~

Upon entering your flat, trailing up the stairs with heavy and lethargic passion; Soonyoung collapsed onto the cool tan sofa in front of the window. Spreading his limbs out in a way that truly showed his tiger characteristics.

He settles, before jumping up, moving far too quickly to move into the bedroom and change into softer clothes. His choice was some grey cotton shorts and a matching white t-shirt.

“Ah, comfy clothes, is it?” You shouted from the kitchen.

Distracted by your shuffling in the fridge, Soonyoung chose his moment perfectly.

The lack of response to your question made you frown, turning to see where he had gone, two ice lollies in hand. 

Turning towards the open room, you frowned deeper.

But before you could shout for him, two arms wrapped firmly around your waist to haul you up and into circles.

Soonyoung laughed pretty hard at your noises of surprise - overwhelming his instincts with love and guilt, folding his ears back to pull you into a solid hug. He dabbed at his eyes and coughed slightly, stomach aching in simultaneous pride.

“You shit! You scared the hell out of me!” Your protests and whine fizzled out into laughter as he nuzzled your face with flushed cheeks.

“Whatever, you totally got me… Nerd.” You laughed, pulling away to brandish the two ice lollies with a roll to your eyes.

“Thanks, cutie. And sorry - I couldn’t help it. Instincts and all.” Soonyoung shrugged with a canine-pierced smile.

Rolling your eyes with a smile pressing to your cheeks, you passed them to his awaiting hands, skipping past.

“Pick a film babe! And don’t fall asleep by the time I’ve finished this call! Laura will have questions, and I have hella excuses to make ~!”

Soonyoung giggled. You still ran so awkwardly, it was adorable. All wobbly like a baby giraffe.

~~~••••~~~~~☆☆☆~~~~~••••~~~

By the time you had finished the call, wandering back into the lounge.

Hoshi had fallen fast asleep.

His frame was highlighted by the gradually setting sun, warm orange hues melding his bright tail fur to the creme sofa and throw - black ears flicking as you neared the sofa on tiptoes.

Gently placing the lollies in his lap into the bin, you returned to awe over the tired sun-flushed boy. What a handsome soul to live and grow beside. To learn from each other.

“I knew you’d fall asleep, Soonie ~” You whispered with a loving sigh, carefully climbing into the blanket to press against his side.

Soonyoung stirred in his sleep, ears folded and eyes if only a little crossed. 

“hmm?” He grunted, brows pulled into a frown.

“Nothing, go back to sleep.” Placing a kiss against his cheek you allowed him to flop sideways into you, curling against you like a huge feline.

Well, that's exactly what he was. His face nuzzled into your neck before settling. The heat must have gotten to him.

Ah - he must have left the tv on for you.

You sneakily snatched the remote from his deadweight hands, moving to sit against the edge of the sofa (the arm).

Soonyoung frowned, ears flat and tail flicking out of sight as he fully awoke to your movements.

In his semi-conscious state, he let out a yawn backfired by the crackle of a feline vocalisation, before turning to you.

To your surprise, he tackles you head on. And with a disgusting amount of ease.

Patiently pushing and prodding your back against the arm of the sofa, legs stretched wide.

Only this time, his head was very much on your chest and his cheeks were very much squished against your collarbone.

“Stop moving. You’re comfy.” He chuffed weakly against your skin.

 grew weaker the more he slept back into sleep.

his tail lazily lapped against the blanket until it broke free - to rest on, and curl over, your calf.

“You’re not exactly *light* Soon.”

Laughing to yourself softly, and finally freeing a leg to get comfortable, you reached to calm him - His persistent nuzzling letting you know he couldn’t sleep yet.

As he hugged your ribs beneath him, your fingers massaged the day's strain away from the base of his ears was like heaven.

And he showed his appreciation by a deep shiver, something close to a mewl, followed by deeper and more consistent chuffs.

But still, he couldn’t fall asleep.

"Safe?” He muttered softly.

You almost didn’t catch it. but nodded. instead, running your fingers through his short hair and over his scalp.

“I’m safe with you, always, Soonyoung. You can sleep.”

He smiled against your skin; turning his face to hide his ears; only it always crept up to the tip of his ears.

He caught your hand, bringing it down to nuzzle against and scent for comfort, before holding it to his lips for a delicate kiss.

“Mhmm. safe.”

He quickly fell asleep.

With a loose grasp to your fingers. pressed underneath his chin for security.

Ears twitching against your chin, body resting above your own.

You would spend time wondering what it was he was dreaming about.

But the poor beast had very little going on in that magnificent brain of his.

A lot like his best friends -

Retriever hybrid Dokyeom, and bear hybrid Seungkwan.

But god did you love him -

Such a beautiful idiot.

- love liv

pic

well would you look at that: updated 03/MAY/2022

A completely selfish drabble :)

[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.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

; good enough

© @pedropcl

lee bodecker x fem!reader.

summary. your father invited you to his birthday party and things ended badly.

words. about 2.3k.

warnings, tags. nsfw, +18!!! drunk state, language, unprotected sex, daddy!kink, very brief degradation, mention of bodily fluids, very brief mention of violence. and i think that's all.

a / n. first time writing for this man that has me obsessed, so i hope y'all like it! none of my writings contains reader's body descriptions to be inclusive. if you find something out of place, please send me a message and i'll change it.

You didn't want to be there, but it was your father's birthday and you couldn't miss it. More than thirty minutes had passed since the last time you saw your husband standing in a corner of the large living room, sipping from his glass of whisky and judging every guest around in silence. Lee hated your parents, your family, their friends. And you didn't blame him. Your family never accepted him, always repeating that he wasn't good enough for you, nor your interests. Except for your mom. She wasn't the only one who didn't treat him like dirt.

Once that you escaped from your father's arms, showing you as a trophy and trying to set you up on a date with one of his best friend's sons, you stepped out of the house to the back garden. It was cold outside, having to close your jacket around your chest as you closed both arms over it. Following the footprints on the grass, you reached the improvised parking where different cars were stationed. The smoke coming from nowhere called your attention, glimpsing Lee sitting on the hood of his black Ford. Cigarette in his left hand and bottle of whisky in his right.

You doubted for a second to interrupt his moment of peace for the first time in two weeks. Two long weeks where you barely had spent time together. He started holding over his shifts because, apparently, there was too much paperwork to attend. You couldn't help but think that he was raving mad about you, or about something you did unconsciously. But the real problem was that your husband never used to talk about his feelings or what was going in his mind.

“I think you've drunk enough”. You uttered watching him raise the bottle to his lips.

Lee chuckled ironically, shaking his head. “Lucky me I don' care”.

Frowning and with your mouth pressed closed, you walked towards his position to face him. He had never talked to you like that, but he was being honest, shrugging his shoulders to point it out a little more.

“I do. I do care”.

“Don' worry, darlin'. I ain't gonna shame you in front of your family”. He scoffed bitterly, finally sipping from his drink. “Watya' doin' here anyway? Party's indoors”.

“You're here tho”.

“And who fuckin' cares, uh? You were having so much fun inside with that… pretty boy who works in Wall Street”. Your husband mocked taking a drag from his cigarette. “We should divorce, don' you think? So you coulda go with him to the big city, and don' be stuck in… How d'your father call it? Knockemshit. Stuck with a… fat sheriff of a shitty town”.

Lee didn't notice the tears blurring your gaze till he raised his face. The bitter smile curving his lips suddenly disappeared, putting his pale blue eyes away from you because it was too painful for him to watch you cry. Your husband gulped hardly, kissing his teeth as he threw the cigar somewhere on the ground. You couldn't believe he really wanted to divorce you, wrapping your heart with a suffocating sorrow that barely let you breathe. He was your life and, after three years together, he seemed to not give a shit about it sometimes.

“I ain' like them”. You whispered sniffing.

“Tha' doesn' change the fact that you don' deserve a man like me. Your father is right. 'M a fucking loser compared to anyone inside his damn house”.

You loved Lee with all your heart, soul, mind, body. He was everything you want in your existence —your life. So damn obsessed with his touch, his kisses, his smell of wind and leather, his smile, that beautiful pair of pale blue eyes. You refused to believe he was talking seriously.

“You should be there. I— Imma go home, tell your mo—”.

Before your husband could finish his goodbye, you interrupted him by slapping his face. He didn't see that coming and you'd never imagine yourself hitting him. But you needed it, seeming the only way to stop him from abandoning you there. He kept his face away from you, trying to comprehend what had just happened. His drunkenness suddenly disappeared, pressing his inner cheek with the tip of his tongue whilst rubbing his hand over the reddened skin. You were so mad right now that you could set on fire the whole world.

And you were about to do it a second time when Lee caught your wrist in the air, painfully gripping his fingers around it to push you closer —chest against chest. Then, he raised his index finger. “Don' you fuckin' dare to try it again, y'hear me?”

You were furiously breathing, but not filling your lungs with air in reality, keeping your eyes on the blue ones that used to steal your heart every single day. It was like a contest of dominance you knew he always won. Any time.

Your husband didn't give you the chance to say sorry, slamming his lips on yours. A moan died in his tongue when it invaded your cavity while releasing your arm to fly his rough big hands to your ass, almost grabbing it all with his long fingers. Your digits went to the lapels of his leather jacket, not lasting too much there till finishing on the back of his head.

Lee was hungry for you, just like you were for him after two long weeks barely touching each other. Your husband devoured, sucked, and bit your lips, urging you to turn around enough to push you on top of the hood of his car. His hands pulled up the skirt of your dress, wanting to reach the waistband of your panties, receiving the great surprise that you weren't wearing any.

“You little dirty girl… Don' wantin' your Sheriff to lose time, uh?” He grunted with such an animal and eager tone, as he took care of the belt and the zip of his pants.

“I need you”. You sobbed against his lips, feeling his hands maneuvering between your legs.

At least, you were fast enough to cover your mouth with a hand when Lee rammed his rock dick into your soaked cunt, drowning in your palm a loud cry of pure satisfaction for being filled by your husband. Back and forth, he hit your body once and once, impaling you against the Ford still being furious by the way your father and friends treated him as if it was your fault. Lee was mad, really mad, digging his fingers in your hips to pin you on place and don't move, continuing fucking you harder and harder —challenging you to not be able to be quiet and make everybody heard how good he used to made you feel.

“Goddammit… you're so damn ti— tight, baby doll… So tight fo— for your daddy, ain' ya?”

“Yes… Yes, daddy”. You cried hiding your face into the crook of his neck.

His strong scent filling your lungs caused you to roll your eyes white, letting your soul leave your body while his cock attacked fiercely your pussy with no mercy. Your vocals were in sync with the screeching noise the car produced in every thrust straight to your guts. The pace was insane, intense than never before, and more pleasurable than you could imagine in your life.

Lee was aware how much you loved him, that you felt devotion for him. But sometimes —sometimes like those— he couldn't help but think he could lose you as soon as you realized who he was in reality. You didn't care. You weren't blind. You knew about his dirty laundry, his past, his sister (...). And you still wanted him with all your heart and body.

“Fu— Fuck, gonna put a… baby inside you”. He growled, wrapping his right around your throat to urge you to face him. “Y'want it, uh? D'you want dad— daddy to put a baby in that… beautiful belly?”

“Yes… please, Lee”. You whined with teary eyes, being too much pleasure for your body to handle. “Please, daddy… I wa— want you to… get me pre— pregnant with your child”.

Your husband's lips curved up in a petty smirk, pulling out from your dripping cunt, causing you to sob in disappointment. Lee managed to put you down on your shaky feet to turn you and force you to bend over the hood of his car. Ass upped, legs spread. He only took a second to stare at your glistening and abused folds in your arousal, prior to impaling you again. With a hand on your lower back and the other tangled in your head, your husband obligated you to arch your back as he continued banging your anatomy once and again.

At this point, you had forgotten your name, where you are, and if someone could hear how you cried pleased any time he crashed against your g-spot. It was a mix of pleasure and pain as Lee wasn't having any kind of compassion with your cunt, clenching unconsciously around his hard length. He knew then how close you were to cumming for him —because of him—, increasing the pace while you tried to find a place to put your hands on and find some balance to stay in place. As soon as the hand tangled in your hair landed back to your throat, you gripped five fingers around his wrist, enjoying the brief lack of air because of it.

“C'mon, my swe— sweet whore… Y'wanna cum for daddy, don't ya?”

His raspy and wrecked voice fell into your ear like an angelic melody, not being able to hold your moans anymore within your mouth. The knot inside your lower belly was bigger and bigger and suffocating, feeling how it could explode at any time. Lee shoved his cock non-stopping producing a sloppy obscene sound when his pelvis crashed against your ass, along the chink of his belt against the back of your thigh.

“Daddy… Daddy…” You called him while the tears started to fall again through your cheeks, this time, of absolute satisfaction.

You couldn't help but bite your lip strongly till the metallic taste of blood covered your tongue, letting yourself go as the knot bursted within your belly. The orgasm threw you above the edge with your husband's palm covering your mouth to not be heard or it would be really awkward to be caught by all the guests, even if he didn't care. He wouldn't mind showing that pretty boy from New York that nobody could fuck his little dirty girl better than himself. Oh, how funny it would be to see his face while your husband was ramming his cock into your abused pussy, cumming inside your tight walls, digging his teeth in your neck to mark his territory.

Lee came with a sensual and passionate hoarse gasp causing you goosebumps bristling your skin, burying himself balls deep to hold it inside the mix of your juices filling up your center. It felt like being in Heaven, although you weren't sure if you could walk after such an intense quickly, feeling your walls burning as his dick still twitching and stretching your cunt.

Your husband wasn't a man of kisses after sex, that's why he surprised you when tilted your face to his and pressed his lips on yours, panting, not caring about the lack of breath. It wasn't a lustful kiss either, more than a tender and fondly one, tasting your mouth, playing with your tongue.

Pulling out his semi-erection, Lee helped you to clean yourself with a tissue before using it to clean your arousal on him and toss it to the ground. As he put on his pants, you fixed your dress and your hair, turning around.

“You meant it?” You dared to ask, still having sorrow covering your voice. “Gettin' divorced… You mean it?”

“What?” He inquired, squinting confusedly until he realized what you were talking about. He chuckled holding your chin with two fingers. “You married me, darlin'. There's no other way you're gonna spend your life but with me. Willingly or not, you hear me?”

Lee raised both eyebrows very sure of his word before you nodded your head with a fleeting smile crossing your lips.

“Can we go home now…?”

“'S that what you want?”

You nodded your head a second time, while your husband placed his arms around you with hidden possessiveness to guide you back to your childhood's house. And of course, your father was enraged when you told him that you were leaving with your husband. He yelled at you and nobody tried to stop him till the moment he had the brilliant idea of pretending to lay a hand on you.

Lee punched him. Lee broke his nose. Lee made your father fall to the floor between the pretty boy's arms. And Lee never felt better in his whole damn life.

“Don't you ever come back to this house, if you leave now with this… bastard”.

“She doesn' need you”. Your husband cooed wrapping your neck with an arm, leaning slightly to borrow your purse. “Ma'am, my pleasure a see ya' again. The beef was delicious. G'night”.

You were yet processing what just happened, ashamed of the desire for your husband himself awakened inside you after watching him hitting your father. Lee could be a total asshole sometimes but one thing was undeniable: he loved you with all his heart and soul, he was obsessed with you since the very first time his oceanic eyes contemplated you walking down the street, smelling a bucket of roses you bought for yourself.

Never again you knew anything about your family. Not even when your son, called after your husband, was born. But you weren't sad. As Lee said, you didn't need them. You had your own family to take care of.

feedback is appreciated. if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment so i can know your opinion. reblogs are needed.

permanent tag list. @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame124 @regalbanshee @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell

[arrowflier]

Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

[skiller0dani]

NSFW Alphabet | JJ Maybank

M A S T E R L I S T Outer Banks Masterlist

smut requests info

hope you enjoy, love you all. 

AFTERCARE (what he’s like after sex)

so JJ is used to random hook ups and aftercare wasn’t always something he did

he did if he was in the mood 

most of the time hook ups were a way to release pent up frustration 

and when he’s mad he doesn’t do aftercare

until he started dating you

now he goes a little over the top with aftercare

he massages you with lotion afterwards

gets you water and snacks if you want them

hot water bottle if you’re sore

sometimes draws you a bath

boy really loves you & wants to take care of you 

BODY PART (his favorite body part of his & yours)

JJ loves every single inch of your body

but deep down he’s an ass man

loves to see the round curve of your ass in those tight jeans you wear

and your bikini? 

lets just say JJ has a lot of unwanted boners whenever you’re in a swimsuit

which is often during the summer

you can always count on JJ to pin you against the wall and grab a handful of that perfect ass of yours at least once a day

CUM (anything to do with cum, basically)

JJ thinks your cum tastes good

which is kind of embarrassing when he talks about it too much

sometimes he talks about your cum just to see you get all bashful about it with rosy cheeks

funnily enough JJ thinks his cum is kinda gross though

“ew it got on me!” 

“that’s your cum JJ!” 

he usually cleans it off your right away though

he doesn’t want it to get tacky on your skin

which grosses him out more

DIRTY SECRET (a dirty secret of his)

JJ, for some reason, is embarrassed about the fact that he tends to be a little gentler in bed then people expect

it’s an inside joke among the pogues that JJ is a rough lover

which you discovered is not really true

he can be rough, but normally he isn’t

he’s rough when he gets possessive

like when Rafe and his little group flirt with you to piss JJ off 

you can bet that night JJ will be pounding into you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a few days

JJ can also get rough if he’s angry 

if someone pisses JJ off for any reason you can count on getting thrown around a little

but he doesn’t throw you around too much, he would never hurt you

it’s all consensual though, JJ would never do that if he knew you didn’t want him to

EXPERIENCE (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

JJ, much to your dismay, is very experienced while you were very inexperienced

by the time you two had sex the first time he had already been with 4 girls before you

JJ had to teach you everything about sex

he was very sexually ambiguous for a 17 year old 

JJ has never been ashamed of his sexual past, but when he started dating you he did feel a little guilty when he saw how much it bothered you

it only bothered you so much because you were a virgin before JJ

you’ve never been with anybody before JJ, and he’s had a lot of sexual partners 

and you would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you

because it does

a lot 

that’s why JJ doesn’t really bring it up

FAVORITE POSITION (this goes without saying tbh)

any position he gets to fuck you is his favorite position

JJ always says “there’s way too many to pick just one!”  

a personal favorite of yours is when you get to ride him

JJ is always takes the lead when it comes to sex 

so he’s always watching you come undone

and when you ride him you get to see him come undone

and boy is it a beautiful sight

head tossed back against the bed

eyes squeezed shut

little whimpers escaping his clenched teeth

his hands holding your hips tightly to still control the pace

even when you top, JJ needs to be in control somehow

you can’t help but whine whenever you see his bottom lip pulled between his teeth

it truly is an honor to watch JJ cum

GOOFY (is he more serious in the moment? more humorous? etc)

he is both evenly 

most of the time, JJ is goofy 

he hardly even takes day to day life seriously

so most of the time JJ is cracking jokes and trying to make you laugh

and he spends a decent amount of time trying to make you blush

but when JJ gets upset he’s an entirely different person in the bedroom

his jaw is always locked, and his gaze is dark and lustful 

he doesn’t crack any jokes, and doesn’t goof around

if someone made a move on you then JJ is usually pretty pissed off during sex

sometimes he’s gotta remind you who you belong to

HAIR (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes?)

trimmed a little but honestly JJ isn’t too concerned about it

you don’t care if he upkeeps his pubes or not so neither does he

he does if the bush gets to crazy but other than that he leaves it alone

they’re a shade darker then his hair

so like a dark dark blonde

INTIMACY (how is he during the moment? is he romantic?)

unless he’s angry, JJ is very intimate during sex

before JJ started dating you, he had sex just to get off

he had sex with girls because it felt good

there was no closeness in it, no intimacy

but with you sex is very intimate

it’s never about just getting off

every time he has sex with you 

even when he’s angry and pounding into you 

he’s showing you how much he loves you in the only way he knows best

while it’s true that JJ had a lot of sexual partners before you, none of them really showed JJ what sex could be like

that it could be so fucking good 

because with them it felt good, but nowhere near as good as it feels to have sex with someone you love

JACK OFF (masturbation headcanon)

JJ jacks off a lot more then he used to

because when you’re not in the mood, or if you’re busy then he has to find some way to relieve himself

before you JJ would hit up every one of his booty calls until one of them agreed to come over

but he would never cheat on you so if you turn down sex, JJ waits 

and while he waits he jerks off to satiate him until you’re ready

and he never rushes you because he’s not an asshole

he waits patiently because this sweet boy loves you very much

KINK (one or more of his kinks)

he hasn’t outwardly admitted it but you think JJ has a secret daddy kink

he loves when you do exactly what he says

he loves being in total control

he loves the trust that comes with it, when you physically show him that you trust him enough to do whatever he says without question

it’s comforting to know you trust him not to hurt you

he calls you little girl during sex a lot

which you love

“gonna cum for me little girl?” 

“yes daddy please,” 

it accidentally slipped out. really you didn’t mean to say it

but as soon as you did, JJ groaned softly

and his pace quickened a little

you could tell that he liked that

so you decided to “accidentally” say it more often

LOCATION (favorite places to do the deed)

JJ is a borderline exhibitionist 

he likes the thrill of almost getting caught

but most of the places he chooses to rail you are places that couldn’t be come across accidentally 

JJ can’t bring himself to risk someone else seeing you naked

or worse 

getting fucked

if some other guy saw that beautiful fucked out look on your face when JJ’s driving his cock into you

he’d probably beat the guy to death

so JJ gets his “fucking in public” fix in restrooms or other places with lockable doors

he’d never fuck you out in the open

MOTIVATION (what turns him on?)

e v e r y t h i n g

JJ is horny 92% of the day so anything you do is bound to turn him on

bending over? JJ is popping a boner

your shirt lifts to reveal your midriff? JJ is 100% popping a boner

stripping down to your bikini to get in the water? he’s rock solid before you even get your shorts off

and then he’s looking around to make sure nobody else is watching you strip

there was one time he caught Pope looking when you were getting ready to get in the water and JJ might have punched him

he pulled the punch though, so it didn’t even really leave a bruise

it hurt enough for Pope to never make that mistake again

he literally closes his eyes until he hears you get into the water now, Pope won’t even risk glancing in your direction 

he’s afraid of receiving JJ’s wrath if he’s caught looking again

NO (something he wouldn’t do, his turn offs)

anything that would cause you a lot of pain

he’s comfortable with inflicting you with a little bit of pain like spanking

but anything worse than that and JJ is out

once as a joke you asked JJ if you guys could try ‘blood play’ and JJ freaked out

“I would have to cut you Y/N, no fuckin’ way.” 

“I was just kidding baby.” 

JJ would prefer to make sex exciting in other ways

ways that can’t hurt you

like blindfolding you

using ice or feathers as stimulation

g e n t l e choking 

very gentle

JJ can’t hurt you, he physically won’t feel any joy from it

his dad has hurt him so much that JJ doesn’t like hurting anybody that doesn’t really deserve it

like Rafe, he definitely deserves it

ORAL (preference on giving or receiving, skill, etc)

JJ hates being that stereotypical guy but he really loves when you give him a blow job

you’re just so fucking good at it

when you wrap your lips around him, it literally takes his breath away

when you use your tongue on the underside, JJ feels his insides begin to squirm around

plus he doesn’t mind receiving more than giving too much because he knows how much you love sucking him off

sometimes you beg him to let you suck him off

and of course, JJ always says yes

you’re fucking hungry for his cock, and if you had it your way it would always be in your mouth

but just because JJ likes receiving more than giving doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to go down on you

because JJ is phenomenal at eating you out

some of the most mind blowing orgasms you’ve ever had have been with JJ’s head in between your legs

boy knows what he’s doing in that regard, he just doesn’t do it very often

which doesn’t bother you because he will happily do it if you ask him to

PACE (is he fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc)

depends on his mood, like all things

if he’s in a good mood, his pace is pretty moderate

not too fast but not too slow

if he’s in a really lovey dovey mood then his pace is slow and passionate

long and deep strokes to make sure you feel every inch

if he’s pissed off or jealous then his pace is quick and brutal

harsh snaps of his hips against yours and definite bruises on your hips from him holding you so hard

he always feels bad about the bruises

but you always reassure him and insist you love the bruises

which you do

QUICKIE (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc)

quickies are a pretty normal thing for you two

it’s quickies more often then anything else

a quick fuck in the Chateau’s bathroom before any of the pogues notice you’re gone

quickies in your room when you sneak away from the party because JJ took off his shirt and you decided you desperately needed his cock

it’s rare that you two get to take your time 

but when you can take your time, its some of the best sex you guys have

like it’s so good that it’s worth waiting for

but you’re not complaining too much because any sex you have with JJ is going to be amazing

RISK (is he okay with experimenting? does he take risks?)

yeah he’s okay with moderate risk

if it’s something that could get you in serious trouble then he absolutely won’t do it

if it puts you in a situation 

if it’s something that could hurt you or cause you pain then no he won’t risk it

he cares about your needs and your safety way more than his own

JJ doesn’t care if he gets in trouble and he doesn’t care if he gets hurt

his pain tolerance is really high so he almost never notices if he gets hurt during sex

like if you claw at his back too much and he’s bleeding

actually he loves it when you claw at him, and he loves it even more if you make him bleed

you usually end up looking out for him in the same way he looks out for you

you won’t let him do anything that could end up hurting him

STAMINA (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

JJ can go for 2-3 rounds before his dick physically will not get hard again

if he had it his way he’d fuck you all night, but he can’t 

which annoys him

boy can fuck you at Earth shattering speeds and hardly break a sweat

he’s got the energy of a hyperactive child when it comes to sex

sadistically that’s one of your favorite things about JJ, that he can fuck you for long periods of time without tiring

it makes sex exciting

TOYS (does he own toys? how much does he use them? on you or him?)

JJ definitely doesn’t own any toys but you do

and when he discovered this, he immediately brought it into your sex life

he loves watching you cum on a vibrator

he has a remote control one that he uses a lot so he can sit at the end of the bed and watch you cum without even touching you

he also got a small one that you sometimes use when other people are around

and JJ will randomly turn it on when you’re having dinner at Kiara’s 

and you can’t make any sound or act weird 

you always see that little smirk on JJ’s face from across the table when he sees you’re close

and he never lets you cum

UNFAIR (how much he likes to tease)

big tease energy

there was one night he was so frustrated that he teased you to tears 

he edged you so much that one thrust and you were cumming around his cock

he’s a tease in day to day life and in the bedroom go figures

but when JJ is trying to show you how much he loves you he never teases

he worships your body and will give you orgasm after orgasm until you’re a shuddering mess

VOLUME (how loud is he? what kinds of sounds he makes, etc)

JJ mostly just groans and swears under his breath

he says he doesn’t want to drown out all of your beautiful sounds with his own moaning

but your favorite is when JJ growls softly in your ear, or when he sucks a harsh breath in through his teeth when you clench around him

you’re the noisy one in bed 

and that’s the way JJ likes it

WILD CARD (random headcanon)

when you first started dating, JJ was actually really evasive about how many partners he’s had before you

he would get really quiet whenever you asked him and would never directly answer the question

until you cornered him in the Chateau, demanding to know how many people he’d been with 

“4...” his voice was soft, and he wouldn’t lift his eyes to meet yours

that was more then you were expecting, but you couldn’t be mad at him

he was single then and had completely cut off every girl he’d ever had sex with the second you two started dating

so you immediately forgave him which was a huge relief for him

X-RAY (let’s see what’s going on under the belt)

JJ is packing

a good 8 inches when he’s fully hard 

and he’s decently thick too

his cock reaches places inside you that make your toes curl 

JJ has never really described himself as someone with a big dick, but once he saw your eyes widen when he first had sex with you

he thought maybe he might be bigger than average

which you love

there’s always a delicious stretch when he first enters you

YEARNING (how high is his sex drive?)

JJ is down to have sex whenever 

he loves having sex with you and has a stupidly high sex drive

he needs sex at least twice a week or he’s going to be grumpy 

so it was sort of an adjustment when he first started dating you

because it was at least a month until he took your virginity

so he was pretty grouchy for that month that he wasn’t having sex

he didn’t mind though because he was dating you and that’s way better than sex

ZZZ (how quickly does he fall asleep afterwards?)

JJ doesn’t fall asleep too quickly after sex

but since he does most of the work during sex, he’s usually pretty tired

but when he lays down with you, he will spend a few minutes talking to you before he falls asleep

he can last a good 10-15 minutes before he’s too tired to keep his eyes open

so you curl into his chest and fall asleep in his arms

heaven :)

[wizardimagines]

i really want a very VERY angst draco x reader where like.. basically draco get SO jealous that the reader has been helping ron study and they get into a huge argument with the prompts 2, 6, 15, 21, and 7. if this is a lot i’m very sorry but something along those lines is what i crave lmao. i hope you’re doing good and thank you if you even read this!

pairing: draco malfoy x reader word count: 2,1k summary: you and ron becomes closer as you help him study, draco doesn’t take this new relationship well. a/n: oh my… now this is some angst . writing this made me so sad, however, there will be a part 2 ! it’ll probably be out tomorrow. thank u so much for this amazing request, it was so much fun to write even though it completely broke my heart </3 READ PART 2 HERE warnings: TW !!! mentions cheating, slight physical abuse prompts: 2. i saw you with him 6. don’t lie to me 7. you really made me believe you were mine 15. you’re lying and you know i know 21. i gave you every piece of me

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You always twirled your hair around your index finger as you spoke to Ron. You also laughed a lot more around Ron, you always wore the biggest smile whenever he was around. Draco noticed all of it, and he absolutely despised it. There was nothing he hated more than the Golden Trio and seeing you get along so well with Ron made Draco want to literally snap the red-haired boys head off. It had all started when you agreed to help Ron study in one of the classes you two shared. It wasn’t such a big deal, to begin with. Sure, Draco did truly hate it but he knew you were just being friendly. 

Then it went from you two studying to becoming actual friends. You would give each other a small smile when you passed one another in the halls, even stopping to exchange a few words every now and then; even when Draco was there with you. Draco had expressed his hatred for your friendship multiple times, but nothing really changed. You two were still friends.

Today was no different. You and Ron were leaving potions together, walking down the halls. ‘’So Y/N,’�� Ron said as you walked out the classroom. ‘’Are you coming to Hogsmeade tonight?’’ A hopeful look plastered on his face as he asked. ‘’Let me guess,’’ You said, furrowing your eyebrows as if you were thinking really hard. ‘’You, Harry, and Hermione are going to The Three Broomsticks?’’ You asked, causing the corners of Ron’s mouth to curl into a small smile. ‘’I’m afraid you’re right,’’ He chuckled. ‘’And we would love it if you came along.’’ 

Ron looked at you with hopeful eyes. It was, a matter of fact, Friday and it had been a while since you went out and actually did something fun. You looked at the boy for a moment, pressing your lips together as you looked down at your shoes. ‘’I’ll ask Draco,’’ The words left your mouth quietly like you didn’t want him to hear. Ron's facial expression dropped in disappointment, already knowing the answer. ‘’I understand.’’ He let out, mumbling his words.

Draco was really overprotective. Sometimes a little bit too overprotective. You did enjoy it a lot, it was really nice knowing he cared so much about you and you knew he only had good intentions. You couldn't blame him for caring so much, you were the only thing he had left at his point. It had been a rough year for Draco. His father's expectations were getting to the platinum blond boy and were affecting him badly. You knew that you becoming friends with the Golden Trio didn’t exactly help, but you knew you had to think about yourself and what you wanted too, not just what your boyfriend thought was the best option. ‘’I'll try my best to make it,’’ You continued, giving the boy next to you half a smile. ‘’It would be truly amazing if you did,’’ Ron said, his lips curving into a smile once again. ‘’What, are you asking me on a date, Ron Weasley?’’ You exclaimed, acting surprised. ‘’If I wanted your lovely boyfriend to break my nose then yes,’’ Ron laughed. ‘’But unfortunately, I’m not really into that kind of stuff.’’ You grimaced as you hit him in the arm lightly.  ‘’You truly do get your humor from your brothers Weasley,’’ You laughed. ‘’Well, I’m a Weasley at the end of the day, aren’t I?’’ He smiled as he pulled you into a hug.

Draco frowned as he watched the interaction from afar. You had agreed on meeting him outside the Slytherin common room after your last class so you two could see each other before dinner. He had been waiting for what felt like ages before he spotted you walking down the halls with the one and only, Ron Weasley. He scrunched up his face as he watched the taller boy pull you into a hug, feeling the jealousy well up inside of him as you wrapped your arms around the red-haired boy. He clenched his fists as he felt like someone had just stabbed him in the heart, he felt like he could bleed out right there and then. Draco saw the big smile on your face, making tears shimmer in his eyes. He instantly wiped his eyes aggressively, refusing to let anyone see he was hurt.

As you waved Ron goodbye, you turned around. You already knew Draco would be standing by the common room entrance waiting for you, but to your surprise, the platinum blond boy was nowhere to be seen. At this point, there were only a few people left in the halls. ‘’Draco?’’ You called out, looking around but he was still nowhere to be seen even though you could’ve sworn he was there a second ago. You furrowed your brows in confusion as you continued to look around for a moment. Maybe he just gets out of class a little bit later, you thought to yourself before turning around to leave; deciding to let him go find you later.

However, the blond boy never came looking for you. You didn’t see him for hours, feeling a little bad that you didn’t go looking for him instead. But eventually, you just shrugged it off, knowing he was probably just busy doing something else and that you would see him during dinner. You two always sat next to each other, and today was no different. The great hall was already filled with hungry students as you walked in, the loud chatter filling your ears as you started walking towards the Slytherin table. It didn’t take you long to spot the silver hair in the crowd. A small smile formed on your lips as you picked up your pace. His back was facing you, Blaise sitting in front of him. The spot next to him was empty, just like always; reserved for you.

‘’Hello there,’’ You whispered into his ear as you wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. You could feel his whole body go stiff as you touched him, making you confused. Usually, you could feel his whole body relax whenever you touched him, but something was different today. He quickly shoved your arms away from him, making you furrow your eyebrows once again. He turned his head to look at you, a frown forming on his face. ‘’Sorry, this seat is taken today.’’ Draco snapped before turning around to face his friend once again. Your whole body went stiff as the words left his mouth, staring at the boy in front of you. ‘’What?’’ You let out, the confusion lingering in your voice. Draco let out a loud sigh as he turned around once again, glaring at you. ‘’What?’’ He mimicked you. ‘’You heard me. This seat is taken,’’ He repeated himself.

You just stood there, mouth slightly open as you tried your best to find the right words to say. You had no idea why he was acting so cold, but you were about to find out. ‘’Go sit somewhere else Y/N.’’ He finished, staring at you for a moment. His pupils were dilated, his face expressionless. ‘’Maybe Ron has a spot next to him?’’ He sneered at you, turning around once again. You just stood there for a moment. You had no idea why he was acting like this, however, you weren’t having it. ‘’Maybe he does.’’ You snapped back, turning your heel around as you started walking away from the table. You could feel Draco's eyes burning into your back, but you just kept on walking. If that’s how he wanted it, then that’s the way he’d get it.

Of course, Ron had a spot where no one was sitting next to him. You could tell he was happy to see you, but at the same time, he looked quite confused. ‘’How come you’re not sitting at the Slytherin table?’’ He asked as he took another bite of his food. ‘’Did you and Draco have a fight?’’ Hermione asked, making you look over at the brown-haired girl. You just smiled and shook your head. ‘’I just felt like sitting with you guys today.’’ You lied. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell them the truth. ‘’And Malfoy allowed that?’’ Hermione asked once again, raising one of her eyebrows as she looked over at you. ‘’Actually, he was the one who suggested it.’’ You responded, this time telling the truth. ‘’Maybe Malfoy isn’t so bad at the end of the day,’’ Ron mumbled, his mouth stuffed with food. ‘’We both know that’s a lie,’’ Harry muttered, making you chuckle.

Draco watched every movement you made carefully. Sure, he was the one who told you to go sit over there but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. A part of him actually thought you would refuse and sit next to him despite what he had said, his heart breaking when you had turned around and left. Eventually, Draco had enough, standing up abruptly as he left the table; stomping towards the exit. You quickly noticed the tall boy leaving the room, your eyes following him. ‘’Excuse me,’’ You mumbled as you stood up; not taking your eyes of Draco. You quickly left the table in a hurry, not even saying bye to your friends who were left confused.

‘’Draco!’’ You called out, trying your best to catch up with the blond boy who was walking down the hallways with quick steps. You eventually caught up, grabbing his wrist. ‘’You really made me believe you were mine,’’ Draco snapped, stopping dead in his tracks as he snatched his hand away from you. The only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing and the wind blowing outside the thin windows. ‘’What?’’ You let out as he turned around to face you. ‘’I saw you with him,’’ He declared, looking you dead in the eye. ‘’Who?’’ You asked, still just as confused. He snickered as he shook his head. ‘’I see the way you act whenever he’s around Y/N, it wouldn’t surprise you if you were actually fucking him when you tell me you’re just studying.’’

His words felt like a knife being stabbed in your chest. He was talking about Ron. Your eyes widened, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. ‘’Excuse me?’’ You whispered, glaring at the taller boy in front of you. ‘’How dare you act like you’re the victim here?’’ He asked, this time raising his voice. You could tell he was getting angry. ‘’I gave you every piece of me while you act like you’re the victim?’’ He spat at you, his pupils flared. You could see him clenching his fists, anger building up inside of him. ‘’Why are you so jealous? We’re just studying,’’ You stuttered, slowly feeling the fear build up inside of you. You absolutely hated it when Draco was angry, especially when he was mad at you.

 ‘’Don’t lie to me.’’ He glared at you, grabbing your wrist. ‘’You’re lying and you know I know,’’ He continued, taking a steadier grip of your wrist. You looked down at your arm, a red grip forming where he was holding you. You couldn’t even recognize the boy who was standing in front of you. ‘’Draco, you’re hurting me,’’ You mumbled, trying to hold back tears. Draco had never laid a single finger on you this way, and it was really scaring you even though he would never hurt you. ‘’So you’re the who’s hurting?’’ He shouted, making you jump. You looked up at him, a disgusted expression plastered on his face. ‘’Fucking whore,’’ He muttered under his breath, letting go of your wrist. ‘’Should’ve broken up with you a long time ago.’’

And just like that, he was gone. You stood there for a second, looking down at your wrist. His strong grip had left an imprint on your arm. You let out a whimper before the first tear hit your cheek. You had no idea what had just happened, but it terrified you. You knew Draco would never intentionally hurt you, yet you couldn’t stop staring at the mark he had left on your wrist. You let out a sob as you fell to the floor, tears making your vision go blurry. You could hear him walking down the hallway, away from you. You had no idea what you had done, but you knew you had hurt him, really, really badly.

[rreyie]

k. (eren j. x reader)

summary; you're well aware by now that your feelings of eren have blossomed into something more than a fuckbuddy. but you're not quite sure if he'll agree.

content warnings; smut (18+), fingering, oral (f. receiving), vaginal, unprotected sex, unestablished relationship, degrading, use of pet names, creampie, slight dumbification, hurt at the end i’m sorry.

word count; 2.2k

a/n; the fic that has been sitting in my drafts for 2 months has been completed! anyways i’m sorry i’m advance

you're well aware by now that eren jaeger isn't just a one night stand you had a week ago. you couldn't quite call it a friendship now, but perhaps fuckbuddies- or people who banged on the low with no strings attached.

well, you wouldn't say you didn't have feelings for him by now. you couldn't tell if it was his mischievous personality or his nine inch long dick, but there were certainly more than platonic feelings on your end.

you two had met when armin, mikasa and eren bought a house to rent out for college. you were a friend of mikasa's and had nowhere to go except to the house they rented, so you moved in. you and eren clicked almost instantaneously, as if you were best friends your whole life.

the sexual tension between you two was inexplicable. and you both knew it. and that's why one day, eren chose to make his move when you two were watching "finding nemo: blu-ray dvd edition" on the couch in the living room.

you two fucked during the scene when the little red-headed girl was terrorizing the other fish. but you two don't talk about it. all that mattered was that it was good sex- and by good, you meant really. fucking. good. you had no clue how he gained all this experience, but that didn't matter either.

now you were here, nearing the end of your sophomore year. this little rendezvous with eren had lasted five months now. you two definitely fucked often- sometimes sucking him off while he was studying for is psychology course, other times bending you over the bathroom counter with a death grip on your asscheeks.

this time he had walked into your room while you were clicking away at your laptop while you sat on your bed, doing your best to study for the exam you had next week. he didn't say a word, just laid down on the bed next to you and stared up at the ceiling.

you tried your hardest to ignore him, but your train of thought was lost when he cleared his throat unnecessarily loudly as if you couldn't already tell that he was right next to you.

you shut your laptop in defeat, and turned your head over to eren, a smile ever so slightly curling on his lips. you were unamused at his behavior.

"yes, eren?" you ask, eyes locking with his jade orbs. he clearly hasn't slept in a while, telling from the dark circles under his eyes, contrasting his somewhat tan skin. his brown hair was in its messy bun like normal, tied up sloppily with some baby hairs poking out here and there.

"dunno", he responded. "just seeing what you're up to."

"mhm? well, that sounds like bullshit to me, mister jaeger", you scoff. "you always come in here and make yourself at home when you're horny."

eren sighed, and sat up from his position. "fine, you caught me red handed. but i know you're as horny as i am."

"...you're right", you admit, before he flips over so he's on all fours and crawls over so he's in front of you. the several rings that adorned his fingers glistened in the ceiling light above, his grey sweatshirt hanging loosely around his body. though what he always wore was so simple, he never failed to look breathtaking in it.

tugging at the waist of your sweatpants, eren growled a "take it off" before you slid your hands down to your waist and did as he told you, leaving you in your panties. you didn't wear nice ones today assuming you weren't going to be fucking somebody, but here you were.

the rest was done by him as he pulled down your panties, breath hitching at the sight of your wet cunt. eren licked his lips hungrily.

"wet? already? what are you, some kind of whore?"

when you only looked at him with doe eyes, he rose his voice. "well? give me an answer, slut."

his very words made something awaken in your core, and you responded with a "y-your whore, eren."

eren nodded in satisfaction, content with your answer. "you're learning."

in past experiences, you had been quite a brat to him- as he would say. constantly going up against what he wanted, trying to dominate him. but every single time he ended up pushing you back down and pounding you into the nearest surface, making you state exactly who you belonged to. but since you were being good this time, he relented.

dipping a cold finger into your folds, he collected the juices that wetted the outer lips of your cunt, savoring the warmth it provided him in contrast to his hand. in response, you jolted at the cold temperature, only for eren to hold you down by the waist to prevent too much movement.

working his fingers inside your impossibly tight cunt, he pushed in one, swirling it around in an attempt to find your sweet spot- in which he succeeded. with a hum of approval, he pushed through another finger past the bit of muscle and into your walls, placing it in the same spot the other finger was. curling his digits around that spongy spot and placing the gentlest pressure upon it. letting a pathetic whimper escape your lips, eren is quick to stop what he's doing and reach for your panties.

"w-what are you doing?" you croak, voice weak from the recent stimulation.

"shutting you the fuck up", he snapped back in response. balling up your pair of soaked panties, he stuffed them in your mouth, making you gag a little. he only smirked at the fact you were struggling. "you're just too fuckin' loud. if armin and mikasa weren't downstairs i would let you have at it, but we've gotta keep this a secret baby."

resuming what he was doing a minute ago, he moves his mouth closer to your cunt, ever so gently wrapping his lips around your delicate little clit. your hips bucked upwards as he put his two fingers in their previous spot, pumping slowly in and out.

you're only able to mumble in approval as his pumping turns languid and rough, and before you know it you're already feeling that knot that's all too familiar in your stomach. you yelp into your balled up panties that occupied your little mouth, the sound coming out muffled. erens brow raises as he removes his fingers from your fluttering cunt.

you're about to mutter something in disapproval, but eren starts talking before you. "i told you to stay quitet, princess. what don't you get about that? are you that stupid whore i thought you were? yeah, i thought so."

"'m not a stupid whore", you say, making your statement clear even though there was a piece of fabric in your mouth.

"then show it", eren demands as he slides his fingers back in, his thrusting become too quick for you to resist an orgasm, but still staying quiet so he would let you cum.

you gush all over his fingers, creamy white liquid coating his fingers as he pulls out, and places his fingers in his mouth, licking off the substance. you're reduced to a panting mess on your bed.

"that tired, are ya?" eren mocks you. "too bad. i still've got a hard cock and you're gonna take care of it." he isn't wrong. his print is easily visible in his grey sweats, at its full length and glory.

"more", you pant out. "want your cock, can handle it, eren..."

"i know you can, princess", he coos as he practically rips down his pants and boxers at the same time, exposing his hardened and flushed cock. the tip was tinted red, a few veins protruding through the skin on the side. he had a pretty cock indeed.

"bend over", he commands. shakily, you comply and get on all fours so that your head is near a pillow in case your legs give out. "that's'a girl."

you can feel him come up from behind you, and rub his warm tip over your cunt, making a shiver run down your spine. his size never failed to make you at least just a little bit nervous, it always hurt a bit when it went in but he prepped you well enough that it would slide in easily.

with his right hand, he grabbed the sturdy frame of the headboard, and with his left, started to push his cockhead into your tight little hole. you squealed as you felt his flesh enter you slowly, but soon sheathed his whole self in with one thrust.

"fuck- you're tight", he grunted, and removed his left hand so it was now gripping your ass. you could feel his fingernails digging into the supple skin, likely leaving red crescent marks. after eren took a deep breath or two, he started his movements. and he didn't relent.

the pace he was moving at was almost dizzying, making you let out a few high-pitched wails. his balls slapped up against your behind, lewd noises of skin on skin filling the room. he held onto the headboard, making the bed shake and creak with every new thrust he took.

"eren, eren, eren", you mumbled, completely cockdrunk by him. "more, more please".

eren smirked, his hair starting to fall out of his bun. "liking that? i knew it, you're just a whore. begging for my cock like always, just like the slut i've always known."

his words were mean, but they made you clamp around his dick, making him release a stuttered moan. were you perhaps sick for liking the way he degraded you? you didn't know and didn't care.

"s' good, 'ren", you gasped, wanting him to keep calling you these names and degrading you down to the bone. you would never let any man talk to you like that- only eren could, he did it the right way.

"i know baby, i know", he purred. "m' gonna cum, you gonna cum with me?"

"y-yes!" you shriek, feeling your second orgasm creep up on you, making your stomach do a somersault. "please 'ren! make me cum! need you filling me up!"

eren gave a dark chuckle, and threw his head back into a moan. your orgasm hit you like a truck, the pleasure taking over your entire body and making you shake uncontrollably, squealing into your pillow as your legs gave out. eren knew this was coming, so he removed his right hand from his headboard and put both of his hands under your legs to hold you out as he rode out his high. he jackhammered into you, balls tightening as the knot in his stomach finally snapped, making his cum spurt out of his tip and into your cunt. you were left immobile and speechless, drooling into your pillow as he pulled himself out and let his semen leak out from your hole and all over your sheets.

after he finished panting, he looked over to you. "you good?"

"mmph", you mumble, eren barely hearing you. you meant for that to be an affirmation.

he flipped you over so you were on your back, your sweatshirt still on your body. he cursed himself for not removing it, but there was always a next time. he smiled at your state, knowing he fucked you that good.

“you did good, princess”, he grinned, and pulled up his boxers again, and searched for his phone which he left somewhere in the room.

“eren”, you ask. “where are you going?”

“there’s a party at jeans dorm tonight. you going?”

you sigh. “no, studying for the exam. i need to pass it, maybe i’ll go next time.”

eren nodded, and walked out the door. “thanks again.”

staring up at the ceiling, you wondered how eren could always treat the fact you two fucked on the regular so casually. he always went around and flirted with other girls at parties, but never took them home.

well, it was now or never that you were going to make your move.

you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and unlocked it, your home screen being a photo of you, eren, armin and mikasa all huddled around the couch for a movie night. you opened your messaging app, and clicked on erens contact. this is where you began drafting your message.

| You: um okay hi eren! so thanks for today, it felt really good as always. but i was wondering if maybe you would want to take things further? we can go out to dinner thursday night if you’re free :)

reading it over once before sending, you pressed the blue button that sent the message to him. it took two minutes for him to read if.

the three dots in a bubble popped up on his end of the conversation. you internally panicked, wondering if this was the right choice.

| erennn: i mean don’t we fuck? don’t get me wrong u cool but i mean idk man

your heart quite literally froze at the sight of his message. the dots popped up again, and you held your breath waiting for an answer.

| erennn: so like fuckbuddies basically, that’s all i want rn so uhhhh yeah 💀

this was the exact moment you felt your heart physically sink. fuck, now you’ve embarrassed yourself. would he think your weird?

wanting to act calm and unaffected by his answer, all you wrote was one letter.

| You: k.

[doctenwho]

Gestures and Evasion

Hello! Welcome to a new DT fic! My deepest apologies that it’s been so long, and thank you so much for waiting so patiently! Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently, and I’ve needed a bit to recuperate, but I’m back again!

This prompt didn’t have a specific character mentioned, but luckily, since it wasn’t anonymous, I was able to shoot pistachoz a DM and they’ve confirmed it’s a Tenth Doctor request! :D

Warning: None, I don’t think?

Word Count: 3,514

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator! :D)

The Doctor doesn’t really remember the first small act he’d committed to try and get his companion to notice him. To notice him on a... well, on a more personal level?

It’s a general memory, nothing pinpointed, but he knows it happened long ago.

It was something small—mundane. (Y/N) had more or less brushed the gesture off with a light laugh and a smile that made his hearts hammer away in his chest, but (Y/N) had really seen if for what it had been.

It wasn’t very often that the Doctor had these sort of feeling about anything, but there was just something special about (Y/N). Something he couldn’t put his finger on.  

He’d been trying for just about as long as the companion had been travelling with him to send little messages, or gestures in hopes that maybe (Y/N) would see what he was doing for what it was instead of brushing it off like she tended to do.

If he’s honest, he’s never really had this kind of problem before. He’s had many companions, and more often than not, those companions tend to want more from him than he’s willing to allow himself to give. Rose, and Martha—Jack, even—they were all looking for more from him, and being what he is, and what he does, it’s not that simple to reciprocate feelings.  

They’ll all age and eventually die, whereas he’ll just move on to his next bout of regeneration with a broken heart he’ll have to try his hardest to keep under wraps.  

The Doctor knows that maybe (Y/N) showing such little interest in him is almost a good thing. Less heartbreak down the road when (Y/N) decides not to accompany him any longer, or, worse, when old age takes (Y/N) away like every other human before her. It’s inevitable, and he really should have a stronger hold on human life compared to TimeLord life, but the loss always knocks him down for a while.

It should be a good thing, but he just can’t seem to bring himself around to believing that it’s a good thing. Not when every time (Y/N) brushes off a gesture he’s thought over, and put time and effort into, it fills his hearts with an unfamiliar pain he hasn’t felt since losing his family and Gallifrey alike.  

It had taken him a while to notice he was even trying to win (Y/N) in a sort of courtship way. And it had taken even longer to realize he’d been doing it for about as long as he’d known (Y/N). It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but looking back now, he can see how all the little comments and gestures were more than just friendly.  

But she’d been brushing his attempts off since early in their travels. Shooting him a smile, but turning away when anything too even the slightest romantic turn. Avoiding his eyes when he stared fondly, or laughing it off when a compliment slipped past his lips.

He really didn’t understand it.  

He could see the Gallifreyan romantic gestures confusing (Y/N), but the few earth gestures he’d picked up barely stirred anymore of a reaction than the Gallifreyan ones. He didn’t know where he was going wrong—how it was all being perceived the way it was. The wrong way. He wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted and... well, it hurt.  

Both his pride, and his hearts.  

It had started small with flowers—or, a flower. They were on a foreign planet, but he knew giving small gifts like a flower was one of the human gestures. So, he’d searched around while his companion was busy exploring, and located the loveliest flower he could find. It was mixtures of blues and purples; native to the planet but incredibly rare considering they only bloomed twice a year, for no longer that three days at a time.  

The flower had a sweet smell; one similar to those of sweets from earth. For a while, before he’d remembered Earth didn’t have this specific species of flower, nor were they advanced enough in space travel to find one, he’d assumed they’d used the attractive scent of the flower as a marketing technique to sell their sweets.  

The sugary smell Earth sweets had would always come second to the scent of this specific flower.  

The exchange had been short, and less than pleasurable if the Doctor’s honest. He’d found (Y/N) sitting on the ground, just taking the calming atmosphere of the planet. His heart stuttered in his chest before he finally took those last few steps towards her, where he settled at her side and cleared his throat to gain her attention.  

He’d held the flower out, rambling out facts as (Y/N) took the flower into her hands. She gave it a sniff, and fiddled with the stem and petals for a second before smiling down at it. She stared down at it, before looking back at him with an appreciative smile. He’d thought he’d won her over, but instead, she settled the flower on the ground beside her.  

His hearts had cracked as his companion’s hand fell away from the flower, leaving it on the ground as she returned her attention to the world around her. He’d swallowed thickly before sitting himself beside her, not bothering to mention the fact his gesture had gone unnoticed.

It was the same ordeal when he’d ordered (Y/N) a space delicacy from one of his favorite planets, where his companion had taken the treat into her hands and tasted it without a second thought. Smiling down at the treat, before shooting him light smile as she licked her lips.

He didn’t know why he’d been expecting—hoping for—anything more than the usual ‘Thank you’ he always received when he did something out of the ordinary for his companion, but the mumbled words had filled his with a sense of sadness.  

It was silly.  

But he kept trying.

The gestures just kept coming. It was barely a forethought anymore. An unconscious effort to try and win over his companion—seeking this relationship (Y/N) quite obviously didn’t want. It was a sad downward spiral, but he really couldn’t imagine not trying to woo her. He’d been at it for so long, not trying sounded foreign.

He tried just about anything he could to get any sort of reaction. Any hint that his companion knew what he was trying to do. Any acknowledgment that she understood that he was trying. He’d prefer blatant rejection to this... whatever this evasive attitude (Y/N) was expressing.  

Dinner in the stars.

Unique gifts from distant planets.

Various treats and snacks from wherever they happened to be.

He even tried to learn more about human things on earth. How humans went about stuff like this, and how it all differed from his Gallifreyan roots. Human courting was quite the oddity.  

He didn’t talk to many humans who weren’t his companions, or people he’d saved in some way or another, but the man who ran one of the shops had taken some time to educate him, but the Doctor had come out of that conversation more confused than he’d gone in.  

But on the bright side, (Y/N) had enjoyed the bag of sweets he’d awkwardly bought to stand at the register and chat with the friendly shopkeeper.  

He was still at a loss. Nothing seemed to be working. Nothing wooed his companion. He didn’t understand—couldn't see how not one single thing he’d tried had gotten (Y/N)’s attention.

But he still had one more thing up his sleeve.  

“Where are we going?” (Y/N) asked cautiously from the seat in the console room. The Doctor was doing his usual laps around the TARDIS console to what should be six TimeLord’s jobs simultaneously. He’d gotten good at it over the years, but there was still, occasionally, some rough kickbacks when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s a surprise,” the man shot his companion a grin, pulling a lever. At this point, (Y/N) should be used to the surprises. He never got the kinds of reactions he was looking for, but he was still hoping that... maybe sometime he would. That something he planned would be the special one that could win his companion over.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, but continued to watch the Doctor how around the TARDIS like a madman.  

They weren’t far from the next greatest surprise the man had planned. They’d been travelling a little under an hour, and (Y/N) had only joined him in the console room ten-ish minutes prior, but he’d still refused to tell her where they were heading.  

(Y/N) was still quiet when the Doctor stabilized his space and time machine, checking everything twice before finally tugging his companion up by the hand and leading her towards the doors.  

He threw the doors open, grinning widely as he gazed around. Just as promised.  

It was a phenomenon really. A collection of heart shaped carbon monoxide ice chunks. No one was quite sure how they’d been formed, or whether someone had carved the hearts and left them to float in this tiny orbital pull in the middle of nowhere.  

It was a sight few saw—the Doctor had only heard of this place from chatter on a nearby planet, but he had to admit it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. The ice glistened as the light casted from the TARDIS hit it, making them twinkle just as brightly as the stars in the background.

It was about as romantic as you could get.  

“Woah,” (Y/N) gaped at his side, and the Doctor turned to look, smile slowly lighting up his face as he watched his companion’s eyes travel from heart to heart. “What... what is this?”

“It’s carbon monoxide ice,” the Doctor informed softly, the smile on his face widening as his hearts thrummed in his chest. His companion had an astonished look on her face, eyes wide with childlike curiosity. “Like that of Mars in your solar system. No one’s really sure how they take shape but... well, they’re quite the sight.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed out, almost like her breath was taken away by the sight.  

The Doctor had been told by many, had seen for himself as beauty takes away people’s breath. He’d been there too, once or twice with his current companion.  

He barely even caught his words as they left his mouth—his heart speaking before his brain had a chance to filter his words, “Like you.”

That was his moment of error, the Doctor noticed.

He frowned to himself as his companion slowly pulled themself away, shying away from his side and retreating back into the TARDIS with one last lingering glance at the ice. The Doctor’s hearts froze within his chest, as he watched uncertainly—unsure just how he’d managed to mess this one up as well.  

“It’s late,” (Y/N) muttered softly before leaving the Doctor alone in the TARDIS doorway, the man’s gaze locked on one lone heart with a barely noticeable crack down the center. It wouldn’t be long before the orbit around them pulled the frail pieces apart, severing the heart into two.  

The TimeLord forced a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he resided completely with the cracked heart.

He didn’t understand.  

The clumps of frozen carbon monoxide made his hearts hurt the longer he stared, so he was quick to follow on his companion’s footsteps, spinning on his heels and shuffling back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

He wanted to flee this place, this failed attempt, but he couldn’t bring himself around to flying the TARDIS at the moment. He didn’t have the energy too. Like expected, (Y/N) had disappeared into the TARDIS, so the Doctor plopped heavily down on the seat.  

Maybe it was time to accept the fact that his companion did not reciprocate his feelings. That he was barking up the wrong tree. He’d thought that they were... but maybe he was wrong.  

The Doctor stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, his space and time machine giving a little hum as if she could feel his worries and mood. His hand patted the back of his seat halfheartedly as a promise that he was okay.  

It had never been this hard with any other companion. There was just something so special about (Y/N). Something he wanted to get closer too, even though he knew he’d end up hurt in the end. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get now.  

Maybe it was time to settle this once and for all. His gestures were overlooked, or, maybe even ignored. As much as it hurt to admit, (Y/N) didn’t seem very enthused with anything he’d done. Maybe it was the human not understanding what he was trying to do—but humans tended to like words.

--

The Doctor from (Y/N) in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. (Y/N)’s attention raised when the Doctor announced his arrival with a sturdy knock on the slivered-open door. The knock pushed the door in enough for the Doctor to poke his head in.  

“Do you, uh, have a moment?” He asked cautiously, almost ready for the rejection he’d been living with for the better part of travelling with (Y/N). He’d grown used to it, but it still tugged at his heart strings. She’d never deny him conversation, but he could still see and feel her pulling away from him.  

“Of course,” (Y/N) sat up a little more, giving the Doctor her full attention. “What’s the matter?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead, the Doctor realizes as he shifts from foot to foot in (Y/N)’s doorway, mind vacant of any thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head at the Doctor’s odd silence, studying him from her spot, “Doctor...? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the man cleared his throat. Then did so a second time before continuing, “I wanted to, uhm, know what you thought about the, uh,” he gestured broadly behind him, hoping his companion could piece his question together.

“The ice hearts?”

It was a good thing his companion was so clever.

“Yes, the hearts.” The Doctor nods, fingers tapping awkwardly against his side. “Did you... did you like them?”

“They were beautiful,” (Y/N) repeated once again, fidgeting with her own fingers, “it was a bit unexpected, but... yeah, I did. Thanks for showing me them.”

The man gave a nod, but didn’t voice anything. If he thought his voice would’ve come out naturally instead of the anxious waver he was sure would be there, he definitely would’ve replied with a soft ‘My pleasure,’ because it really was his pleasure to introduce (Y/N) to the beauty of the galaxy.  

There was an unsettling moment of silence where neither really knew what to say.  

It was the Doctor who broke it, staring at his shoes as he finally allowed the words he’d been stewing over out, “do you... not like me, (Y/N)?”

“What?” the surprise was prominent. The word rang out for a second before the Doctor lifted his gaze to settled on (Y/N)’s shocked, tense frame. Her muscles were stiff, body sitting up straighter and more alert than she had been when he’d first asked to talk. “I like you plenty,” (Y/N) assured quickly, “what gave you the idea I didn’t?”

There was a list, really. He could count things off on his fingers, but he wasn't here to be petty. The man bit his lip, leaning against the doorframe to support his weight. He honestly just wanted to know why (Y/N) was so evasive every time he so much as tried to woo her.  

“You... well, uh, you never seem to care,” he made sure to word it carefully, “I... I’m not sure if you even notice, or ignore it, or what. I just, I need you to be honest with me. Why haven’t you... reciprocated any feelings?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor,” (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and one ankle crossed over the other as she leaned forwards in interest.

“Since I met you,” the Doctor swallowed, “I’ve been... I don’t know how to say it but, trying to court you, I suppose? That’s not really something humans do, but it is something TimeLords do. It’s just that... every attempt I’ve made... every try I’ve made to do something cute, or romantic, you brush it off. You’re evasive, and... I’d just like to know if that’s because you don’t reciprocate my feelings. If you don’t feel the same, we can just put this all behind us.”

“It’s not like that,” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, a near whisper, “please don’t think it’s because I don’t like you. I do, Doctor. I just... I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, “sure about what?”

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I noticed everything, the flower you gave me, the sweets. All the dinners, and the... the dates. Today with the ice hearts even. I didn’t know how to admit I liked you when there was a chance you didn’t like me back the same way. I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this.”

“But the gestures and dates?” the Doctor frowned, finally stepping into (Y/N)’s room and sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He’d thought he was being obvious.

“Very obvious,” his companion let out a little laugh, “and I should’ve known, but I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. This adventure is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I didn’t want to compromise that by admitting my feelings.”

He could understand that, a bit. “So... you do like me too?”

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s smile was soft, “a lot, Doctor. I just... didn’t know how to reciprocate it without there being a possibility that everything could fall through, and we’d ruin our relationship in the process. I know you were offering it, but I was nervous. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the Doctor chastised quietly. He paused for a second before speaking again, “I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “you really acknowledged it all? I... never noticed.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) smiled softly, “and I have proof it wasn’t all in vain, Doctor.” (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the bed, and moved towards her book shelf. It housed a few books, and some trinkets she’d found on their travels and liked. She continued speaking as she searched through the books, “I really enjoyed everything you put together for me since I met you. I wasn’t sure you were really doing it all to be romantic at first but... the hearts today really summed that up for me.”

The man watched as she tugged on one of the book’s spines, pulling it from the shelve and holding it in her hands for a second before she waving to retake her seat. She started flipping through the pages, so the Doctor leaned over her shoulder to watch.  

“Here,” she stopped on a page towards the middle of the book. The Doctor refrained from gaping as his companion carefully pulled that singular flower he’d given her all that time ago from the book. The room was instantly filled with that sweet, alluring scent and his hand shook as he took the pressed flower into his fingers by the delicate stem.

“I thought you left this,” he admitted softly, studying the vibrant colours that had stayed even after being pressed into the book. He hadn’t noticed her bringing the flower back. Had really thought she’d left it on that planet and ignored the gesture entirely.  

“I couldn’t,” his companion sighed, “it was selfish, even if I didn’t want to ruin what we had, I wanted to keep it to remember the moment. To remember you, even if we did at some point part ways.”

“You’re brilliant,” the Doctor breathed out, finally passing the flower back like it was as precious as a crown jewel or something. “So incredibly brilliant, (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head away from his gaze, but it was different than the usual brushing away of his gestures. Something was different now.  

They hadn’t cleared it all up, that was for sure. He still had questions, and she still had doubts. They didn’t quite understand each other yet, but it hadn’t all been in vain like he’d thought. She’d seen it all. Acknowledged it, even if not to him. His hearts swelled as he smiled lightly.

There was still a lot they needed to discuss, but for right now, the Doctor just wanted to spend a bit of time with his companion—without all the hassle of their rightful doubts and insecurities.

“Do you think we could... spend a little while longer looking out at the frozen carbon monoxide outside before we leave? It really is quite pretty, and... maybe we can talk about this more later?”

“I’d... love that, Doctor.”

“Good. Uh, great,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His companion giggled at him, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, “allons-y, (Y/N).”

<><><><>

Once again, sorry this took so long! I’m hoping to keep this momentum going and keep getting out the requests in waiting! I hope you all liked this fic, it was a bunch of fun to write! I thoroughly enjoyed creating the frozen carbon monoxide hearts, so I hope you all liked that as well!

As always, feel free to prompt me again if this wasn’t what you were looking for (though it might take a while to get around to it if you do!) and thanks once more for requesting. Hoping everyone had a good morning/day/night!

[spidernerdsblog]

Into You

I have a idea for a smutty story with Peter Parker :D maybe Y/N is a new Avenger, Peter see her at her "welcome" Party but they know each other from a few months ago where they had very great sex (maybe a few details in the story, both love hard sex. Peter is the dom :D). Y/N had a great night with all, the girls love her but peter is a bit shy because he doesn't know if she reminds him. So time after time they repeat the night (please mention it) and fell in love. That would be great haha thaaanks :)) maybe a bit Action, where Y/N looks great in her suit and Peter is surprised what she is able to

Requested by : @fabienneweasley

A/N : Reader's character is inspired by Susan Storm of the fantastic four she basically weilds the power of invisibility and creating forcefields. Hope you like this. Feedbacks and suggestions are always welcome.

Pairing : Peter Parker x Avenger! Reader

Warnings : 18+, SMUT, mature content, unprotected sex (not a wise choice to indulge), dom! peter, fwb -> lovers.

The Avengers are fighting against madame Hydra and her troops

"Parker! Status?" Tony's voice crackles through the intercom whilst Peter fights against a group of Hydra soldiers which seems to just keep on increasing in number.

"Uh Mr Stark things are getting a little crowded over here a little back up would be nice" Peter replies back struggling to keep up the fight as he successfully webs up a bunch of the soldiers. But to his surprise a whole new troop emerges from nowhere.

"Oh no! Karen activate instant kill!" Karen activates the instant kill mode but it still wasn't enough to tackle the whole army as Peter was soon outnumbered. One of the soldiers threw a gamma ray infused bomb which if detonated can be catastrophic to anyone who is hit by its radiation. The bomb detonates with a huge blast but to Peter’s surprise a forcefield forms around it containing the blast inside it, soon the forcefield disintegrates, sucking in the deadly radiation with it like a black hole sucks in everything into it.

"Woah! what the hell was that?!" Peter was awestruck at what just happened.

Suddenly a feminine figure appeared out of the thin air in front of Peter. She was wearing a blue suit which hugged her curves perfectly, hair cascading down her shoulders. And as she turned to face him Peter felt like he was hit by a truck, it was you. He stood there like a statue still processing what he was seeing.

"You're welcome by the way" you quipped, breaking him out of his daze.

"Who are you?" Peter asks though he knew very well who you're but seeing you like this was a huge shock to him.

"Y/N Y/L/N aka storm and you're the famous spiderman"

"Yeah I'm indeed" he chuckles nervously, he was grateful that he was wearing his mask so you couldn’t see his face. You were about to say something when you got interrupted.

"Great work, Y/N" Tony's voice buzzed.

"Thank you Mr Stark" you and Peter fought side by side forcing the Hydra to retreat accepting their defeat.

After the city clean up was done a welcome cum victory party was arranged for you in the evening at the compound. Peter was shuffling on his feet in anticipation of meeting you face to face. The huge spacious hall was feeling stuffy for him. Everyone was enjoying themselves as you walked in a shimmery electric blue number looking stunning as always hair styled into loose waves a dazzling smile adorned your face, eyes scanning through the crowd and momentarily you lock eyes with Peter from across the room but you were soon to look away as if you didn't recognize him.

Peter's mind was a mess, never did he imagine he would run into you again and in a circumstance like this. He had so much to say to you. But you acted so oblivious. Don't you remember him at all? Moreover he was feeling way too shy to approach you what if you actually don't remember him. Tony clinked his champagne glass to draw everyone's attention standing at the center of the room with you beside him

"Ladies and gentlemen I would like to introduce you to our newest addition to the team’’ He introduced you ‘‘The very young and talented Y/N Y/L/N!" everyone clapped and cheered for you.

"Hello everyone honored to be a part of this incredible team and looking forward to working with you guys" For a fraction of second your eyes met Peter’s and memories rushed back in. You never expected to see him again not at a place like this. What is he even doing here?

"Y/N come let me introduce you to the rest of the team" Tony offered you happily followed him as he introduced you to Steve, Sam, Bucky, Rhodes, Dr Banner and then the other ladies of the team.

"Welcome to the circus girl" Natasha joked patting your shoulder "we girls always stick together, you'll love it here"

"Yeah and any problem feel free to come to us" Wanda insisted.

"Sure" you gave a broad smile as you engaged in a hearty conversation with them, your eyes occasionally fleeting towards Peter who was standing at a corner.

"Hey kid, why are you standing there all alone? Come here" Tony called out to him. Peter hesitantly made his way towards where you were standing as you watched him intently.

"And last but not the least my young and promising protégé, kid this is Y/N and Y/N this is-" you cut him off

"Peter" Peter looked at you wide eyed you indeed remember him.

"You know him?" Tony asks amused

"Yeah we met last year at Uni. I was an exchange student there before you know I got hit by some weird cosmic rays"

"Well then great! Peter can show you around won't you kid?"

"Yeah would love to Mr Stark" he smiled.

"Looking forward to working with you, Parker or may I say spiderman" you smirked with a playful glint in your eyes strutting past him to mingle with the other guests.

The summer of last year will always be memorable for you. Firstly because you accidentally got hit by cosmic radiation and got your powers and the epic one night stand that you will never forget. You were an exchange student for the Biophysics programme at the Empire State University though you actually never fitted the perfect description of a nerd because you were never a bookworm, very much outspoken, loved to go out and yet managed to score a perfect A during exams one could say you were the best of both worlds. You were a burst of energy in a classroom full of a bunch of nerds and none of them interest you. But in that classroom full of geeks one particular brunette in glasses caught your eyes. The cute awkward guy of the class Peter Parker. He had this boyish charm that you tried but couldn’t resist. You have often caught him stealing glances at you but every time he used to turn away flustered.

Peter himself couldn't deny the fact that he was attracted to you since the day you walked into the class, you were beautiful as well as witty but he knew it very well that you were out of his league and then you started to hang out with Harry Osborn and he started dating Gwen so nothing really happened between you two. And since none of you took the initiative to make a move both of you continued to secretly have a crush on each other though it was just a matter of time.

The club was crazy packed. It was a Friday night so you weren’t exactly sure why it surprised you. You were standing near the bar deciding your drink for tonight when your eyes caught a rather unusual visitor, Peter Parker. He was sulking at the corner of the counter looking a bit tired. You ordered two drinks and took them in your hands making your way towards him. You slid a glass to him, breaking him from his thoughts as he looked up to you.

"Rough day?" you ask nonchalantly. He smiles letting out a long sigh.

"Is it that obvious?" you chuckle lightly.

"Oh no, just never took you as a club going person"

"Well you’re kind of right, I was actually thinking of getting out of here"

"So where's blondie?" you ask while taking a sip of your drink.

"Uh we're taking a break" He answers nervously.

"Oh I see" you "Then let’s drink to that" you raised his glass in front of him

"No it’s fine, I’m not a drinker actually"

"C'mon for one night, now drink up" you insisted. He gulped down the drink, slightly wincing at the burning taste down his throat.

"Let’s go" you grabbed his hand pulling him off his seat.

"Where?"

"To dance! We are in a club Peter" You exclaim.

"I-I can't dance" He stutters nervously.

"Rubbish! Everyone can dance" you dragged him with you. Peter stood in the middle of the dancefloor feeling a little uncomfortable as well as nervous after all he had a crush on you and the last thing he wants is to disappoint you. He watched you intently as you swayed to the music. You took his hands and placed them on your hips placing your own around his neck making him sway with you. He slowly began to loosen up and dance with you enjoying the vibe. After sometime you went to have a couple of shots together and you were nevertheless drunk.

"So you and Harry, huh?" Peter asked, downing another shot.

"Nah we're just messing around" you shrug

"So no one in our class interests you either?"

"Good boys aren't my type. I mean they're real softies and that's cute" you scrunch your nose "But I prefer a little hardcore" You gave a subtle wink.

"Maybe you're wrong to judge just by the looks"

"Well I would be happy if you prove me otherwise" You practically challenged him.

"With all my pleasure if you want" he smirks. His eyes had a mischievous glint that you have never seen before. Things escalated pretty quickly as you found yourself back in your apartment in your bedroom. Your back arched up, face buried in the pillows as Peter took you from the back.

"Fuck!" Your grip tightened on the sheets as he rammed into your throbbing cunt. His grip tight on your ass, as he pulls you back to meet with his thrusts. Your elbows felt weak nearly in the state of giving out as you jolted forward everytime he snapped his hips going deep inside you hitting your sweet spot. He places a slap on your ass as you yelp in shock. You couldn't think straight the only thing you could focus on how well he was fucking you.

His hand goes to grab your hair pulling you back, flush against his strong and sturdy chest.

"You like it don't you? To be fucked hard like the slut you’re" he growled pressing his lips roughly to yours swallowing your moans one hand snaking down to rub your sensitive bud as he fucks you hard and fast. You felt delirious as you felt the knot build inside you. You screamed out his name as your orgasm washed over he was quick to follow suit.

Though it was a one night thing but it was worth it. After that night he had truly left you wondering how a nerd like him was so fit and strong and now you know why and if you had to put it quite plainly you were properly railed by spiderman last summer.

..........

"Sparring with you on my first day is it really necessary?" you quip

"You need to start from day one now C'mon give me your best shot" Nat stood defensively as you lunged towards her throwing a punch that she dodged without any effort before tripping you and causing you to fall on the ground. You groan in pain before pulling yourself back on your feet.

"Ow! that hurt"

"You really need to build up your lower body strength, start with some leg exercise today, do squats 3 sets 10 reps"

"Yes mam"

Peter was sparring with Sam, the moment you walked in that sports bra and skin tight pants he knew he was gone, his eyes frequently drifting away to you as he watched you work out squatting in those skin tight yoga pants which just perfectly defined your plump round ass.

"Yo Parker! Eyes here"

"Yeah, yeah sorry" Peter stutters as he feels his face heating up.

After you finished your set of workout you went to grab your water bottle. Peter's eyes were transfixed on you the whole time as he noticed a little bit of the water drizzled down the corner of your mouth trailing down to your chest just between your perfect cleavage. The only thing he could think of right now was to rip that sports bra off you and suck on to those perfect tits. You noticed your secret admirer through the glass as you sent a playful wink his way. Peter choked on his spit, turning away flustered as if a deer caught in the headlights. You turned around lazily walking towards him.

"You know I'm not a psychic so if you got something to say just say instead of staring at me like a creep" you quip.

"Wha-what do I have to say to you?" He stutters.

"I don't know, maybe hey how are you? It's been a long time" you half shrug.

"Uhh…''

"OK my bad" you turn to leave Peter scrunches his face at how stupid it was of him.

''Umm Y/N!" he called you as you turned to face him again.

"Yeah?"

"It's good to see you again"

"Good to see you too Parker" you smiled.

A few days went by like this, both stealing glances at each other from time to time when you were present in the same room or during your missions a lot of unspoken words and emotions bubbling inside of you trying to come out. Peter couldn’t help but admire this new and powerful you. He never got the chance to talk to you after that night because you just vanished from his life and now he knows why.

..........

A new threat arrived from madame Hydra again when she seized the cube and shielded it in a dome of lethal gamma radiation. The team had already sorted out a plan to defeat her malicious plans and you were to play a big part in it.

"May I come in?" You knocked at Peter’s door. He was busy on his computer as he turned to see you outside his room.

"Huh,yea-yeah sure" He says nervously. You smiled in return and walked into his room, eyes looking around.  

"Umm so Tony asked me to discuss with you the plan of how we are going to execute the whole infiltration thing to retrieve the cube which is shielded with gamma radiation’’ you showed him a holographic structure of the dome. ‘‘Anybody entering the dome will become an abomination. So you guys will distract them and I in the meantime will disintegrate the gamma dome so you can retrieve the cube" You looked up from the hologram to find Peter staring at you intently.

"What? Is anything wrong?"

"No-no, it’s absolutely fine" Peter fumbles

"Then what is it?"

"Jus-just still can’t believe that you are here and-and-"

"have super powers just like you which by the way was shocking for me too given that we knew each other for a while" You snicker, Peter smiles shaking his head.

"So how did this all happen?"

"Well a little misadventure with the quantum tunnel in the lab I got exposed to its energy and ta da! Now I make force fields as well as can go invisible"

"But now you can save the world"

"Yeah that's true" you chuckle "So how's blondie?" Peter stiffens at your question.

"Don't know, haven't been in contact for a while" He shrugs.

"Why what happened?"

"There were some differences so we parted ways"

"Oh I'm sorry" you place a hand on his gently

"Don't be" he smiles, eyes soft, gazing at you longingly as you gazed in his eyes too for how long you didn't know before you shook yourself from the daze clearing your throat.

"Uh I think I should go to my room now"

"Yeah-yeah sure" He stutters.

The tension between you was thickening at each passing day and soon it reached its breaking point. The other team members were out on a mission in which you weren’t required so you were now in the kitchen leaning on the counter with a nutella jar in your hand and a spoon in your mouth savoring on the delicacy when Peter walked in unannounced making you jump in fright.

"Oh god!" you gasped, surprising him even.

"Woah! relax it's just me"

"I thought you were Nat, jeez" you blew out your cheeks as he chuckles.

"Please don't tell her I'm not allowed to have this as per her new diet plan"

"My lips are sealed" He assures you with a playful smile as he goes to open the fridge and takes out the juice carton to drink. You poked your finger to swipe the nutella from the edges of the jar as you lick on to your fingers. Peter was following each and every movement of yours the way your eyes fluttered closed whilst you licked and sucked your fingers clean. He gulped as he felt heat rising in his body at your teasing gestures. Your fingers fell short to scoop the leftover at the bottom of the jar as you huffed in defeat. Peter stood in front of you as he gave out his hand

"May I?" You gave him the jar his long slender fingers easily reached the bottom of the jar as he scooped the cream on his two fingers and brought it to your lips. You stick out your tongue giving a kitten lick before wrapping your lips around his fingers. You hummed sucking his fingers a little deeper as you looked at him with big doe eyes. Peter groaned feeling himself harden at the mere sight of you sucking his fingers, a little moan escaped from your own mouth as you continued sucking, swirling your tongue around his fingers coating them with your saliva. You release his fingers with a pop, a trail of your saliva connecting your lips with his fingers.

He swiped his thumb on your plump lower lip eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. Your vision was clouded with lust and so was his as his lips came down to brush against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily as you grabbed his face and sealed your lips together. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, prying it open exploring it. Your hands go to grab on to his soft curls making him groan into the kiss. His hands trail down to your ass giving it a light squeeze through your shorts

"Oh missed this so much" He gasped, pulling away for some air.

"Does Mr Stark know that his young protégé isn't that innocent he looks like?" You bite your lip as one hand goes to palm his growing bulge through his sweatpants. He grips on to your wrist a cocky grin forming on his face.

"Maybe you need a little reminder of whose name you were screaming last summer"

"Then remind me Parker" your voice is challenging yet sultry. His eyes darkened as he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potato and carried you to his room. He dropped you on the mattress whilst climbing on top of you whilst taking of his tshirt revealing his toned torso. You ran your hands through his muscular chest encircling them around his neck as you pulled him down, your lips meeting fervently as he grinded his hips to your clothed core.

"Mmmph Peter" you pull away after sometime

"What? Is something wrong?" He asks with concern in his eyes.

"No just lock the door, don't want others to come back and know about us do you?"

"Oh, yeah OK" he went to lock the door when a mischievous idea crossed your mind. You quickly stripped out of your clothes and got off the bed. Peter turned to see your clothes lying on the floor with no sign of you in the room.

"Y/N this is not funny!" He whined as your giggles could be heard in the room.

"Find me if you can spider boy" you giggled. Peter smirked accepting your challenge as he closed his eyes and focused his senses. He was able to hear you breathing and he swiftly moved to the direction pinning you against the wall. You squeal as your whole body slowly becomes visible to Peter.

"Gotcha!" he says pining both of your wrists against the wall.

"I’ll give you that spider boy" you smirk as you went to hold on to his face but were unable to move your hands when you noticed he had webbed your wrists to the wall.

"Parker!" You glared at him.

"Who's laughing now?" he chuckles as he brushes lips on the sensitive spot behind your ears making you shudder. He parts your legs placing his knee between them whilst he drags his lips down the column of your neck to your collar bones as you whimper at his touch. He trails further down to your exposed tits attacking your soft mounds with wet kisses before latching on to your hardened bud, rolling the other with his nimble fingers. He sucked and nipped on it as you moaned loudly. He pulled away gasping eyes dripping with lust as he went to kiss you passionately meanwhile his fingers brushed against your wet heat as you arch into his touch, making him smirk as he dips a finger and brings it to his mouth.

"Mmm tastes perfect just as I remember" He sucks his finger before continuing his journey further south slowly kneeling down. He hitches your leg over his shoulder as he looks at your soaking cunt hungrily. Two of his fingers spreads your slick folds as he licks a bold stripe drawing a loud moan out of you.

"Oh fuck!" he smirks before his thin lips wrap around your sensitive bud as he dips a finger inside your heat. He thrusted in and out of you with a steady pace swirling his tongue exploring more of your pussy. He added another digit pumping them in and out of your core as you squirmed above him. One of his hands held your thigh, keeping you in place. You wanted to touch him, tug on to his hair so badly as you struggled to free yourself from the restraints biting your lips hard as jolts of pleasure coursed through your body.

You felt a tight knot building inside you and as you were about to tip over the edge to your shock he pulled away.

"What the hell Peter!" you snapped at him with frustration at your ruined orgasm.

"With that attitude did you think I would let you cum?" He chuckles darkly, you whined in anguish and desperation as you rubbed your thighs to get yourself some relief. He stands up face glistening with your arousal, his hand reaches to cup your face.

"What happened pretty girl? You want to cum?"

"Yes please Peter" you gave him your best puppy eyes.

"Such a needy little thing aren't you?" He chuckles seeing you at his mercy.

"Only for you Peter"

"Well if you be a good girl maybe I’ll let you cum on my cock" saying so he quickly got rid of his sweatpants and boxers and lined himself to your dripping entrance. He kisses you roughly before slowly sliding inside you, stretching your walls deliciously.

"Ungh shit so tight!" He grunts lifting you up from the floor with his strong arms as you lock your ankles around his waist pulling him closer to you. He begins to pound into you making you see stars hitting your spot every time he bottomed out.

"Oh feels so good Peter" you moan.

"I know baby. You feel so snug and warm around me, so perfect, my beautiful angel" he showered praises whilst sucking the nape of your neck marking you up.

"Peter please let me touch you!" you begged him desperately. He finally complied to your request as his hand went up to your wrists and ripped off the webs. Once free your hands greedily go to grab on to his face and kiss him hungrily while he keeps on with his punishing pace.

He halts for a moment still inside you as he pulls you away from the wall and carries you to the bed and lays you down gently with him on top of you. He draws back his hips and slams back right in picking up the pace from where he just left.

"Peter…" you breathed out as you felt the knot growing inside you.

"Yes baby, you going to cum? I can feel you squeezing me real hard" Your back arched when he brought his thumb to your clit drawing tight circles around it coaxing you to fall over the edge. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you gripped on to his biceps nails digging into his skin. You were a moaning mess by now, the fire burning in the pit of your stomach made you feel like you would combust any minute

"That's it baby, give it to me" Peter encouraged you.

Your body convulsed as your orgasm came crashing down on you. Peter continued with his thrusts fucking you through your high as he chased his own. His movements grew sloppier and with a few more labored thrusts you felt him twitch as he came inside you his warm release coating your pulsating walls. Your body trembled with the aftershocks as Peter collapsed on top of you panting head buried in the crook of your neck as you both gasped for air completely exhausted. He pulled out after sometime, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder he rolled over to your side. Peter gazed at your figure as he watched your bare chest rise up and down when his eyes went to the bruises on your skin courtesy of him as concern clouded his face.

"You okay?" he asks, rubbing soothing circles on the bruised areas. You turned to him gazing into his soft brown eyes.

"I'm more than okay" you breathed out smiling with content.

Though you thought once this sexual tension between you subsidized you would be able to think clearly. But you were wrong as now you couldn't keep your hands off each other for a second. From lingering teasing touches to sneaking away from the eyes of the senior avengers in the lab or a quickie while on the quinjet during a mission. You had become addicted to each other making you come back for more after each time. Still you guys never acknowledged the course of your relationship. It scared you both what if the other didn’t feel the same way so you were content with this current arrangement of yours.

"Oh shit we’re late!" you shrieked checking the time as you turned to meet with a sleeping Peter you took your time to admire him. He looks so sweet and peaceful you really wished you could wake up to this sight everyday. You nudged Peter to wake him from his sleep.

"Peter! Peter, wake up!"

"Ungh what is it?" he groaned pulling the covers over him.

"We are late for our training" he forced his eyes open

"Huh what? What’s the time?"

"It’s ten past seven already"

"Oh shit! Cap's gonna kill me" Peter hurries out of the bed stumbling as he got tangled in the bed sheets before running to the bathroom. You laugh at his antics as you sneaked out of his room to go back to your room.

You were busy sweating it out in the gym after getting an earful from both Cap and Nat for your lack of punctuality you heard Bucky saying

"Hey queens what's with all these red marks on your neck?" you swallowed hard as Peter’s eyes bulged out in fear of getting caught.

"Umm nothing-nothing it-it was a cat, that-that I saved yesterday" he spluttered. "that darn cat, heh" he chuckles nervously.

"Wait let me see" Sam joins in too "Looks like some really big cat" he laughs

"Seems like the kid here is getting some, who is this unlucky girl who fell for you" Bucky teased

"Shut up man! It's nothing like that" Peter shoved him with his elbow.

"Oh c'mon leave my young adult alone he's way too innocent for this" Tony intervened meanwhile heat rose to your face listening to their conversation. Natasha noticed you standing all flustered.

"So is something going on between you two?" she asks you directly

"Between who?" you frowned at her question.

"You and Peter"

"Nothing! we're just good friends" you shrug "He's not even my type" you clarified totally flustered with the whole ordeal. Natasha decided to let you go though she was still suspicious with you two.

.........

You were at the Hydra base the other avengers were busy fighting their whole army making it easier for you to reach the shielded dome. Tony and Banner had devised a plan to blast the shield off which will release a tremendous amount of energy that you will contain inside your forcefield. And as per the plan Tony blasted off the dome you created a forcefield immediately shielding everyone Peter noticed the discomfort you were facing to hold it.

"Y/N no! It's dangerous for you don't force yourself" concern laced in his voice

"I can do it, trust me" You gave all of your strength you had in your body creating a massive forcefield to contain the radiation from the blast but it was true you never did this on such a large scale and it was taking a toll on you. Your ears and nose started to bleed. Peter noticed that as he grabs you by your shoulders and tries to stop you from using more of your powers.

"Y/N stop it, you're getting weak" he was scared of losing you.

"No I can do this!" You assured him as you managed to diffuse the radiation inside the field, finally letting go. Your body was completely drained out, your vision blurring out as you collapsed unconscious.

"Y/N!" Peter was quick to catch you. You were immediately rushed to the med bay in the compound. Banner checked your vitals and everyone was relieved that you were fine but you needed a long bed rest to recover.

You woke up after how long you don't know but your body felt rejuvenated. You sit up to find Peter sitting beside you dozing in his sleep. Your slight movement woke him up.

"Oh Y/N! thank god you're finally awake" he sprung up to his feet "How are you feeling?"

"Refreshed to be honest"

"Never ever do something like that again or I swear I'll web your hands" he scolds you

"Hey it's okay, I'm OK. Come sit beside me" he sat beside you as you looped your fingers to his "See? I'm absolutely fine"

"You know how scared I was? You have been unconscious for twelve hours"

"You don't need to be so worried about me Pete"

"Yes I have to because-because.." he fumbled

"Because what Peter?"

"Because I love you Y/N!"

"What?" you couldn't believe your ears.

"Yes Y/N I love you and if anything happens to you I will be not able to forgive myself ever"

"Peter… " you cupped his face.

"I know you never had feelings for me but this the truth I love you…"

"Hey who said I never felt anything for you? You were all I could think of since last summer"

"For real?" Peter was finding it hard to believe that you actually liked him too.

"Yes you idiot, I love you too!" You pressed your lips to his. It was all soft and gentle at the beginning which pretty soon escalated into a more passionate one with teeth and tongue involved in it you got on his lap as his hands kneaded the soft skin of your ass.

"Hey Y/N! We heard you are awake-"  all the older avengers were stunned at the scene in front of them as you jumped away from each other in embarrassment. Steve was shaking his head in dismissal, Sam and Bucky had a huge grin plastered on their face while Tony was utterly shocked and amused. Nat was the first to speak up.

"Umm you seem to be doing quite well, we'll leave you two alone" she says clearing her throat.

"Aww I'm so happy for guys!" Wanda chirped before Nat dragged her away.

"Be safe kid" Tony added before leaving, adding more to your embarrassment. After everyone left you were the first one to speak up

"So how long have you been into me?"

"Since forever my love" he smirks tackling you down on your back, you squeal as he smothers you with kisses.

.....................................................................

Requests are open.

Taglist : @peaches-parker​ @hollanddolanfangirl​ @starcoadrienette2​ @spideyth​ ​ @allthisfortommy​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​​ @larrystylinson-sus​ @bloodyscarlet​ @itstaskeen​ @dummiesshort​ @tutuabby28​ @dramaholic18​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @majo240820​ @lokibuckylove6​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @parkerpeterparker2004

[refurbishedgray]

Lover, Look and See (Crosshair x Reader drabble)

Crosshair x Reader; NSFW; 1.1k words

Involves Extra Imperial Dark!Crosshair, vaguely stream-of-consciencey 

Trigger Warnings: reader death, suggested violence

...........................

You remember the days when his hand used to shake. But maybe those, too, had been your imagination. A faraway summer dream that is no longer as vivid as it used to be, until you find you can’t quite make the warm colors fit into stark black-white reality.

You close your eyes and try harder to remember, but cold wet is seeping into your kneecaps and the only warmth that comes flashing through your mind is an old one, from rough hands and sharp, biting incisors and the grunting ring of beautiful sounds from above and under and around you. Like gnashing teeth, the memory stirs and starts to chew.

“Look at me.” It’s the same voice. His voice, the only one that ever made your own hands shake. “Look. at. me.”

Desperation. A different, harsher, uglier kind than what he used to show you in darkened rooms.

The whisper of a threat - they’re not promises any more, even if the words are the same - presses at your temple. You try to look past him, to the mouth of the dirty, midnight street where he’d chased and caught you. You never could outrun him. The rains on this planet are heavy; pretty sounds pattering all around in an empty alley. But the sky is dark and so is his armor now. Above him, the red, phosphorescent glow of a neon cantina sign leaves his outline hazy. Unclear, like all the memories now.

As you turn your eyes to the gun, the vicious gleam of the barrel is the same color as the hair he had shaved away, and in the tick of slow seconds, you wonder if you had always lived in a dream.

………………

“Look at me.” The flashing white-hot lance of pain at the cusp of your ear drowns your lungs in a sudden breath. You hiss and curse and when the burn is soothed by a wet, hot kiss, you make sweeter sounds. Sometimes you can’t look at him. Sometimes, it’s too much, the tangling that starts in your chest too threatening for you to be brave.

His lips slide from your ear to your mouth. It’s not a kiss. It’s a joining. Until where he stops and you start can’t be separated by the breaths rattling from your mouth into his.

“Look, look…”

His hips rut against yours, hitting deep and grinding. Rooted inside you. It’s almost too perfect, too close, too intense, but your thighs slide around his anyway, damp skin over damp skin, and you lock him to you. He groans into your mouth, tries to thrust, but he’s so deep there’s nowhere to go.

“Look at me.” He mouths the words against your cheek. “Please.”

The plea makes your hands tighten and then tear loose from his shoulder blades, fingers sliding up his neck to snare the silver cropped hair. You dare to open your eyes and catch a flash of it against the neon glow leaking in through the window. You’d never tell him it was pretty.

Another roll of his hips tears a sob loose from you and he swallows it, drinks it like it will keep him alive when he leaves. His heart is pounding, or maybe it’s your own, but the rhythm is a fast-burning flame that coils itself around your insides and makes you flutter around the cock that’s planted inside you. It tears something free inside his chest, a ragged, pitiful sound Crosshair will call you liar for repeating when later, you remind him he’s made it.

He peels back, shoulders rising, arms loosening beneath you just enough that he can watch you.

You look at him, at the honey brown in his eyes lost to something dark. He snatches at the hand you raise to his face and presses a kiss to your palm, canines catching flesh as he pulls away.

He smiles, a white slash of teeth, when he hears you keen. His chest shines in the neon glow, blue-white over brown that’s lost its color; he’s sweating, suffering for this, like you are. He snaps his hips as you wrap your legs tight around his narrow waist, and somehow, he’s deeper still, like the plunge of a knife that’s found your heart. It’s going to bleed you out and leave you happy to die bloody.

You keep looking at him until you can’t. Until you see the knot form in his brow you know so well. Sometimes, you can’t look at each other.

There’s too much that needs to be said that will never be said.

But it doesn’t matter.

Stars flash behind your eyes as the universe goes nova and somewhere, distantly, you hear him curse your name and feel the flood of all he can give you bury itself deep, deep inside.

That’s what matters.  

He collapses beside you, an arm pulling you tight, and sighs contentedly as his fingers dance past your stomach to probe at what he’s left behind.

You look at him through the darkness, and trade a smile for a smile.

This is what matters.

He’s here. He’ll always be here.

………….

The hiss of a plasma cartridge charging loosens the memory. Carries it off into the flooded sewer trickling nearby. Gone. Spoiled now. Never to be remembered again.

He’s going to kill you. You wonder if he wants to, or if they’ve told him to do it just to prove to him that he can. You were the easiest to catch. The simplest and sweetest target. His brothers are long lost to the stars, safe on a planet you can’t name.

An ache blooms in your chest, so sharp and shattering you think he’s pulled the trigger too soon.

“Cross…” It’s the first word you’ve said to him since they stole him. Since he left. It’s said so softly, you wonder if he’s heard it.

“Look.” It’s the same susurrous whisper you remember and the echo the soft word sends splintering in your mind brings tears when nothing else does. “Look and see.”

You don’t want to see the ruin.

Your tears are lost to the rain and you wonder if he knows or notices you are weeping. For him. For yourself. For the galaxy that had given and taken him to and from your hands.

The plasma cartridge flares, charged and blindingly bright, like a sun rising. Or setting. You suppose it’s setting now. Strange, how slowly his finger moves to the trigger, unshaken. A stranger’s hand that used to pull your heart out and put it back in again.  

You look, because it’s the last thing you can do.

And in the final yawning millisecond, you see him and one last tear falls.

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[shinescape]

tw: Poly relationship. Character being blindfolded and tied up. No smut just a lot of tension, teasing and suggestive content.

note: 2.3k of i don't know how to put it but it happened.

Play time

It was Saturday, resting day for most and laundry day for you and the boys. The fact that their clothes piled more than yours had you sighing loudly as you placed all the dried clothes in a basket.

It was almost lunch time but the other two were still sound asleep. You went into your room and spotted Seonghwa lying down on the bed, busy on his phone. You stepped closer to the bed and tilted the basket, all the garments falling on the bed and some hit his chest.

You didn’t say a word and sat down on the bed, starting to fold the clothes. “I’m finishing this round then I’ll help, okay?” You hummed back in response and continue on with the folding. Their clothes were bigger than yours so even after a few shirts, you were starting to get tired. You heard Seonghwa clicked his phone off and he started to sit down properly before taking a piece to fold.

The both of you worked in silence and the once pile of clothes started to disappear gradually. “Why are we even folding their clothes as well?” Seonghwa asked out of nowhere. “You’ve already folded more than ten shirts and decided to ask that, Hwa? You know how both of us hate it when they just put their clothes on the sofa so might as well just do this.” He looked at you and pouted, agreeing to the fact that both of you can’t handle the amount of clothes around the house scattered by the other two.

He looked at you long enough and decided to ask, “Is there anything you want to tell me, sweetheart?” You paused at his sudden endearment. What is going on all of a sudden, you thought. “Like what?” “Is there anything you want to try besides the usual things we do? You know like se-” Before he could finish his words, you threw a boxer at his face.

“Hey, I was asking nicely you know. But seriously, I saw the way you look at me sometimes. It’s like you have something you want to say but you shrug it off afterwards.” At this point, your whole body heated up yet you still fold the clothes like it’s nothing. “Come on, don’t ignore me, babe. Just tell me what it is that you want to try. Hurm?”

The first thing you should do was avoid his eyes or his pouting lips, basically his whole face but you looked up and everything just jumbled up in your head. Telling him your unspoken fantasies would embarrass you to death and it’s Park Seonghwa we’re talking here. He’s like a switch, sometimes he’s kind and soft and other times he’s dangerous and rough.

He was still staring at you intently, the boxer still in his hand. “I...I’ve always wanted to try blindfolding you,” Your lips feel dry all of a sudden and you licked them before continuing, “and tying your hands up.” You literally covered your face and slammed down to the covers, as if it would change anything.

Seonghwa could not believe what he just heard and the fact that you said it nervously made his stomach churned weirdly. He pushed away whatever that was between you two and pulled you back up by the shoulder. He watched how you were avoiding from looking at him, as if you might just lose control and pushed him down that instant.

“Is that all?” You shivered at the low tone of his voice and took the courage to look at him in the eyes. “I kinda like seeing you in blue jeans and a white shirt too.” You said cautiously.

He was processing everything that you said as his fingers slowly let go of you without realising. Felt as if you were going to be sucked into his gaze, you clumsily get off the bed and leave the room.

Leaving Seonghwa in his own thoughts, questioning why he asked in the first place if he himself can’t handle the fact that his lover has this side that was kept hidden all this time. It’s like he unlocked a part of you and was trying to wrap the idea around his head.

A week passed by after that seemingly heart to heart talk, it was Saturday again but no laundry to wash just a normal weekend breakfast.

You were having breakfast with Wooyoung since the other two went out early in the morning to god knows where. He wanted to cook you breakfast but you declined saying he should just rest and both of you ended up eating cold milk with cereal.

“Is everything okay? You seemed out of it these days.” He ruffled your hair and pulled you closer, planting a kiss on your temple. “Everything’s fine.” You smiled at him and hoped that he let it pass.

He narrowed his eyes at you and you can’t help but pinched his cheeks. “Any plans for today?” “None, I’m just going to laze around and play games. Unless, you have something else in mind.” He smirked to which you rolled your eyes at him. “Nothing, I’m just gonna go take a nap.” You kissed him on the lips and stood up with the bowl in your hand.

You heard movements as you were washing the bowl, an arm snaked its way around your waist. “You woke up an hour ago, let’s play a bit hmm?” You were controlling every fiber in your body to not react to his advances.

You turned around and hugged him back, “Imagine Seonghwa finding out we had fun without him, he’ll get upset.” You tried to reason. Wooyoung pulled back from the hug and gave you an annoyed look.

“You’re always so obedient to him.” He suddenly went straight to your neck and bit it. You were taken aback by his actions but he pulled away before you could scold him. He went away sulking and you sighed as you rubbed the skin he just bit. It hurts but the moist of his lips lingered and odd thoughts were getting to your head.

Afterwards, you were playing with your phone on the sofa that after some time you actually fell asleep. A couple hours later, you woke up to someone entering one of the doors in the house. You rubbed your eyes and stood up to stretch your limbs.

The house was still quiet and you assumed that Wooyoung was just in his room. You walked to your room and was about to twist the knob when it burst open, surprising you in the process. “Are you going out again, Seonghwa?” You took in his outfit and noticed that it was different than earlier in the morning.

He walked up closer to you and held you by the shoulders, “You want to do it now?” You had to blink a few times and looked at him confused. “I just woke up...and why all of a sudden?” That’s when you realised his outfit. He’s wearing a white cotton shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

You placed a palm on his chest and turned your head to the side. What the hell, is he serious about this? You felt his fingers wrapped around your hand that was on his torso and was pulling you inside the room. It was safe to say you were wide awake the moment you saw him but what’s about to happen doesn’t look safe at all.

You were sitting on the bed and he was standing right in front of you, looking fine as ever. He looked down at you and gave you something. “Is this yours?” You examine the two materials that he passed. One was a lace and the other was a tie. He hummed and crawled on the bed, leaning at the backrest.

You were contemplating as usual. As much as it was exciting, you were still somewhat intimidated by him. You made your way and sat in front of him. “I can’t believe you want to do this.” You said and tried to read his face, his eyes were staring directly at you yet the tips of his ears were red.

“This is going to be the first and last.” He said and ushered you to go on with it. You went closer and took both his hands behind him, tying it up with the necktie he gave earlier. The both of you were looking into each other's eyes as you made sure the tie was secured properly around his wrists.

“Is it too tight?” You whispered shyly. This was a first for you thus you wanted to make sure he was absolutely fine with it. He shook his head and smiled at you. You wondered how he was able to smile when you can tell deep down he’s about to lose it, the fact that he agreed to this was enough of a shocker to you.

Your eyes were leveled now and you just had to confirm, “Are you really sure about this, Hwa?” “Just do it, sweetheart.” You gulped at his reply and slowly covered his eyes with the lace.

His eyes were your favourites, just staring into them always made you weak but seeing him in this state sparked something in you like never before. You made sure he can’t see and even waved your hand in front of his blinded eyes to confirm.

You told him to lie down comfortably even though his hands were behind his back which made it hard to move around. “I can’t believe I did this to you.” You took in the sight of the never before seen Seonghwa and felt heat rushed throughout your body.

He was nervous since he couldn't see and his hands were tied so the only thing he could do was licked his lips. You got up from the bed slowly and looked at him again. He doesn’t seem as intimidating as he always was and it surely excites you yet you didn’t know what to do next. “You’re still there right?” He questioned and you hummed at him in response.

Without thinking much, you left the room and went to find Wooyoung. You had your fair share of experience but you never took the lead and realise how embarrassing that sounded. It was always Seonghwa, he does everything to make you feel loved and satisfied.

“Woo, I need your help.” You found him in his room, on his phone. He sat up and gave you a questioning look. “What is it?” You didn’t reply and rushed to his side and dragged him to where Seonghwa was.

When he saw the state Seonghwa was in, he gasped so loud you had to put a hand over his mouth. “You did this to him?” He asked quietly and you nodded in embarrassment.

Wooyoung cleared his throat loudly and saw Seonghwa froze. “Did you call him here?” “I’m sorry Hwa. To be honest I don’t know what to do and Woo seemed like he can help out a bit.” You heard him groan from the bed. “I’m going to have so much fun right now.” He smirked at the older male who was now trying to untie himself.

“You should go sit on him. For a start.” You gawked at his directness and he only pushed you to the bed as a support. You could not believe what was going on yet both your legs were now wrapped on either side of Seonghwa’s body.

Wooyoung who was now on the swivel chair with crossed legs watched the sight unfold in front of him. He told you to move up to his stomach and you heard the man under you hissed. “Stop...moving too much.” You had to admit Seonghwa was looking hot and bothered right under you and that lace made him look even hotter if that was even possible.

You couldn’t help but kiss him and felt that he wanted more as he tried to hold on to your lips longer yet you pulled away. Of course you felt bad but you have all the time to kiss on later so what’s the rush right?

“Shouldn’t we get that shirt off from him, babe?” You turned to watch Wooyoung taking something from your table and coming back to you with a playful smile. “Jung Wooyoung, I’m going to kill you once this is over.” Seonghwa growled which Wooyoung found it even more fun to tease him. You were torn between whether to stop everything or listen to Wooyoung and just do whatever he told you to. But was stopping even an option anymore?

He came closer to Seonghwa and kissed his cheek before grabbing the hem of his shirt and starting to snip its way up to the collar. The shirt now split up and you're just sitting there staring at his bare torso. “I just bought this shirt, you idiot!”

“Aww, that’s so cute of you to actually go buy one just for this.” Wooyoung chuckled, clearly enjoying the fact that he’s in control of Seonghwa at the moment. This was like a one of a lifetime chance might as well make it worthwhile before it ends, Wooyoung thought.

Although you were the one on top of Seonghwa right now, it felt like you were third wheeling instead. Your mind went totally blank and at this point whatever instructions Wooyoung gave, you would follow it willingly like a lost child.

As he was about to say something, the bedroom door creaked open. “Guys, I’m back! I brought dinner too.” You and Wooyoung turned to the door where Mingi stood there grinning, unaware of the situation.

Once he did, the expression on his face changed. “What is going on here?” He tried to take in the sight of what his lovers were up to while he was away.

You were sitting on a struggling Seonghwa and Wooyoung who sat next to both of you with the most mischievous look ever. It was indeed a sight to see.

“We’re planning to have dessert first. You wanna join us, Mingi?” At Wooyoung’s words he shut the door and made his way towards all of you.

“Why not. So where should we start?”