#so like. bit of an edge case. may or may not count depending on who u ask
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thinking thoughts. thor bpd too...?
#space viking tag#idk it's complicated#esp since bpd is a very multifaceted thing#like yeah he has mood swings and angry outbursts and he's impulsive and reckless#and he has like no sense of identity. he does Not know who he is beyond the perfect prince#(and how well he thinks he's achieving that and what it means to him are also all over the place)#but other sides of it... maybe not so much. or not Precisely as typically described#like he is very very needy but i don't think it's specifically consciously about *abandonment*#and i think a lot of his anxiety is deeply repressed#and self destructive feelings are mostly like. redirected? or disguised?#so like. bit of an edge case. may or may not count depending on who u ask#tbh hpd might describe his kind of neediness better#but hpd is a) underesearched and b) frequently written about in blatantly hateful ways#so you really have to squint to work out what they mean and idk if i'm quite Getting It tbh#but idk#people pleasing and a deep deep need to Matter and be Seen... very receptive to others' emotions... very deliberate self-presentation... hm
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adoption centre
I was bored and couldn't help but think thoughts and such thoughts deserve to be written and forever recorded for years to come in tumblr history,spelling and grammar mistakes will be made
TW : yandere shenanigans
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Welcome!Welcome!Are you a chronically lonely person who wished nothing more than for a person to love you unconditionally and even kill for you?,well you're in luck!because step inside the yanyan adoption centre! what's this?you say,well this adoption centre is not just a run of the mil adoption centre for cute animals say the secret password YOU could adopt a yandere ranging from cat boys to homicidal murderer to super villains :D!!!!
I introduce to you our top yanderes ready for the picking! but first I must warn you this whole place is rigged with hidden cameras some for your safety and some we don't even know about! :D go ahead wave at any random place you might waved straight into Dave's hidden camera
oh! but ofcourse I must tell you about the ranking system,it is divided from 1 - 10, for 1-5 it is basically stalking,killing for you,hacking,restricting your moves,little bits and bobs of kidnapping,some hidden cameras here and there you don't even know about but nothing TOO extreme
Oh?you wanna know about the 6 and up? Woooaaah lookie here we got a little fighter don't we? ;) well for the 6 and up the best way is to show,now if you may,please come with me to some of the cells of our rank 6
Yandere beastmen who'd love nothing more than to cuddle you,to death! :D now this one is a rescue,plucked straight from the street,oh?is that ethical? Oh darling darling ofcourse it is! plus we found him abandoned waiting for his owner to came back,they never did rightfully so this one's crazy in the head,but we offer him a better place now he get warm food and a potential 'mate'? Was it he called them
huh?what did he do?well let me tell you this,apart from accounted 8 case of massacre he's a bit delusional you see,make sure not to let him see you or else you'd have no choice but to adopt him,it took us couple of months to finally get him to stop imprinting on his now we found out dead owner,ik!crazy right?!how he did it even I don't know
but! Moving on
âââââââââââââââââ
For our rank 7 we have
Yandere assassin !yes our choices varies for each and individual person,it depends on how MUCH you could actually handle,oh but this one is the more tame one of the rank sevens,trust me ya don't wanna meet Dave,that bastard somehow manage to did the impossible,huh?what rank Dave is?,well.... it's complicated my deary
Now why don't I tell you more about this assasin?,his name is kira,yes like the anime,poor dude,no wonder he become so...twisted.
now then say that you did decide to take him home, he's a sadist,would love nothing more than to have you begging for him to stop,in more ways than one, he'd also be the type to be very very very restrictive,so unless necessary you won't be able to go out very much,even standing on the porch will put him on the edge of his nerve,he also needs alot of recurrence and is very very bipolar,he ranks seven because he impose as a danger to others and his darling, he's also friends with Dave can you believe that?
Oh that and also because he have like a shit ton of murder charges,we won't be counting it but just so you know
âââââââââââââââââ
For the eight place we have
Yandere mage he would be very hard to deal with,not only that he have incredible amount of mana which in turn is energy so wink wink nudge nude ;) funny story actually he almost make a race of merfolk gone extinct because he deemed that if the merfolk were to 'charm' his future darling it'll be a hastle
Yeah....the remaining survivor had to took an unbreakable oath to never sing again yeah Dave was there to help honestly if not for him telling us this story we wouldn't even know it!crazy that guy I swear to devine
now mage isn't very sadistic but his form of 'punishment' is more pain than pleasure compared to his 'rewards' so if you ever decide to pick him,be wise :D
âââââââââââââââââ
Ninth place is
Yandere dragon well well if you like a possesive dragon that will absolute kill for you and some size kink wink wink nudge nudge then I recommend having yourself a yandere dragon, he's very cuddly, don't let his scary and huge built frighten ya,as long as you stay loyal to him I promise you no harm will be done,now what makes him a rank nine is that dragons have mystical powers
they could do some daaarrk shit if prompted,oh but isn't having the fate of many many many pewny humans in your hand so exciting?! just one,and I meant it ONE single sad tears from you and oh boy, it's gonna be catastrophy
he actually turned himself in,he said Dave told him about this place I guess giving Dave a little bit of freedom has it's own perks
âââââââââââââââââ
now then follow me to our rank 10 candid- huh? Oh!I see you've found Dave!
well I'll be leaving you alone then,good luck~
âââââââââââââââââ
and just like that the host you've been following disappeared,in a panic state you subconsciously ran towards the host yelling no! "Geez darling,I didn't know you hate me this much" he whispered besides your ears blowing hot breath on it
whipping your head back you're startled by how close he was,one. Just one wrong move and your lips will touch,your eyes trailed up his face taking inch his features,until they stopped on his eyes,bright ruby eyes,he smiled a cheeky grin a glint of mischievous and....something... In his eyes caused your breath to hitch
he let's out a giggle "you're a cute one,dolly" he said taking a step closer to you,instinctively you took a step back
strut.
Strut.
Strut.
thump!
Your back finally hit a wall,just where did the wall came from?you looked back to make sure it really was a wall,sure enough it was
"eyes on me dolly" you heard someone whispered,a low husky voice rang through your ears,you couldn't help but obey "that's a good doll" he said putting his hand besides you on the wall fully caging you in
"god I've been waiting for this" he said letting out a sinister smile
âââââââââââââââââ
Case file :
log : 1 : encrypt : archive : error
Dave : rank 10
Have an obsession on subject named y/n,subject of effection(s.o.e) had escaped and Dave had been detained in the facilities top security prison
log : 2 : encrypt : archive
dave : rank 11
Somehow his powers manifested into something more sinister,more ..... Powerful persay,we are forced to create a new category for him,current protocol evacuate immediately
Log : 5 : encrypt : archive
Dave : rank 11
being away from s.o.e have made him passive for a while,it has been one week no new movements is caught,he seems to be in a depressive state of things,he also mumbled,scratched and carved a certain phrase "doll" I believe it is the nick name of his s.o.e,we have made the decisions to fully induce selective amnesia on s.o.e, will update on any news
log : 12 : encrypt : archive
what the fuck is happening?!,all of the previous logs has been deleted?!and some distorted beyond understanding!,all of it!months of logging months of research's gone to waste!god if I find who caused this!urrrhggg!! Their dead!you hear me! Error error error
Log 13 : encrypt : archive
Dave : -------
error help error error error error error error error error error error distorted error error error powers error error error what error error seems error error subject error error error we error error die!
âââââââââââââââââ
Last archived log 23-error error error error
"found you my dolly~"
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ugh christ dude bcs characters with an s/o who has chronic migraines i am in so much genuine pain
that shit sucks im sorry. here, some special things i whipped up quick just for you! along with a howard gif i've been meaning to send you
âJIMMY â
Have you seen this man's pill cabinet. He probably has the cure to the bubonic plague somewhere lurking in the corner of. That being said, you can count on him to have a glass of water (or your drink of choice) at the ready with some sort of medical relevant. Probably rushes to the other room at least once durring one of your migrane spells, just barely noticing he accidentally almost gave you viagra instead of Tylenol. What can I say though. Jimmy's scatterbrained like that
âKIM â
I feel like Kim gets migranes a lot. Another headcanon of mine is that she needs glasses but is so caught up with work that she doesn't make time to schedule a doctors appointment for a prescription, so she just resorts to squinting. Which often leads to migraines of sorts. So Kim would know where your coming from.
Sets you in a room with the blinds closed, sets some snacks on the side table, and maybe turns on a TV a few rooms over; just so that way the silence is filled by something without increasing your pain. If you'd allow it, she'd probably even crawl into bed next to you, reading a book of some sorts while making sure you didn't need anything else at the moment.
âHOWARD â
Just like Kim, Howard definitely isn't a stranger to earth shattering headaches. In his caseâhis very very wealthy case becuase let's be honest Howard has a bit more pocket money than the average citizenâa hot bath with good smelling salts usually takes a bit of the edge off.
Keeping aware of your hypersensitivity to certain textures and smells at the moment, he'd let you pick out a certain type, like lavender or ocean breeze, and then place a soft kiss to your temple before heading off to run you a bath. Which he may or may not join you in depending on how you're feeling at the moment. All you'd have to do is ask though!
âNACHO â
One of the things you won't have to worry about with Nacho is him being too loud. The man already has a softer, more gentle voice that it won't really be a problem for him to speak to you. It's definitely a good thing once you consider how he could talk to you until you fall asleep. To shake off the migrane and all. He'll read you any book you'd like, as long as he has it available. And if that's not your thing he's content to shut off any light sources and hold you until you feel better. Not an overly touchy guy but he always makes an acception for you
âLALO â
Catches onto how you're feeling before you even do. Lalo tends to be very attentive and observing to lots of things and that includes you. Especially you! He just can't help but make sure things are going alright in your world.
Cooks for you! Any comfort food you want and he's off to make it. Wants to help you in any way he can. Plus, the additional joy he gets out of cooking for his lover helps distract him from the fact you're hurting; a fact that never sits well with him.
#jimmy mcgill x reader#jimmy mcgill#kim wexler x reader#kim wexler#howard hamlin x reader#howard hamlin#nacho varga x reader#nacho varga#lalo salamanca x reader#lalo salamanca#better call saul x reader#better call saul#request#headcanons#various x reader#x reader#comfort#fluff
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The difference is that Sainz beat Norris at McLaren, so obviously, it's easier to be a team player when you're leading and plus, he had been bouncing around different teams at that point so he was in a less comfortable place. Plus, being at McLaren, there was still room to jump to a team at the top so there was upsides to presenting a team player image since the top 3 all had no. 1s. But now at Ferrari, where would he go that would not be a downgrade? RBR is set and anyway, Marko doesn't seem keen to take him back given alleged politicking at Torro Rosso. Nobody knows when Lewis is leaving Mercedes and anyway they are more or less where Ferrari is rn. Maybe Aston Martin if Alonso leaves? So yeah, reputation wise and career wise, it's better for him to be as close to Charles or sometimes beating Charles than cultivating any reputation as team player.
But that's the thing: Lando might've shown promise at the time, but Carlos still had arguably had the edge over him with his experience, 'seniority' within the team and the fact that he outperformed him two seasons back to back, at least if you take the standings at face value with little context, which seems to how people have decided he's on par with/better than Charles. They weren't a top 3 team at the time by any means, and that might've been discouraging and may have been a factor, but I don't think you could say they were worse than Toro Rosso, and were about on par with or better than Renault, his former team.
He seemed to be generally well liked and appeared to have a good rapport with his coworkers. After all the team hopping he did it seemed like the ideal place for him to put down roots for longer than just two seasons, a chance for him to build up that team and perhaps even lead them. I remember even the Carlos fans were tepid and unsure about the move (especially given Ferrari's form slump in 2020 when McLaren finished P3 in the standings) and there was a healthy dose of vaguely threatening finger-wagging directed at Ferrari, talking about how Carlos is a treasure and any team would be lucky to have a dependable team player like him and that they better treat him right. Sometimes you still get people talking about how the only place he truly felt happy was McLaren because they were his racing family in a way Ferrari can never be because they're bad and have a Charles bias (cue engineer counting on the pitwall fence in Silverstone.) That's probably the one thing both sides agree on. Yes, take him back McLaren đ And take Santander too while you're at it đ
There was that quote about how Ferrari was allegedly interested in Sainz back in 2017 and Marko completely shut down those claims and implied that it was mostly Sainz Sr's wishful thinking.
Which, if that's the case, then it makes me wonder how much of an influence Sainz Sr had in steering Carlos towards Ferrari? đ¤ If you really want to get your speculative tinfoil hat on then you could even wonder if maybe there's a bit of him living vicariously through Carlos's career choices here. Then the other side of it is this idea of "well who in their right mind would turn down Ferrari????" which has come up again recently after Daniil Kvyat revealed Ferrari was apparently expressing interest in him in 2016 prior to his Toro Rosso seat switcheroo with Max. But is that still really the case? Let's be real here, Ferrari is a special type of hell, even - or perhaps especially - for those who've had childhood dreams about driving for the Scuderia.
Also, as for your speculation about where he'd go that's not a downgrade from Ferrari (out of the options that might want him), he's been linked with Sauber-turned-Audi through the power of the rumour mill. He's worked with Seidl before during his time at McLaren so that could work in his favour. However the takeover won't come into effect fully until 2026 so he'd probably still need an extension from Ferrari to tide him over. That or they get him in from 2025 onwards, presumably in Valtteri's place. But obviously it's way too early to tell where they'll end up in relation to Ferrari (and the other teams) especially since 2026 will see a new regulation overhaul come into effect.
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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts Iâve already filled).
Papaâs a liar.
New fandom, new bazillion questions I ask myself about whether or not this is even worth finishing - and thenI do anyway because I'm stubborn and my card looks prettier with one more character on it. I'm not sure how I can still stress myself out over my characterization being at least serviceable when - and I counted - this is the fourth time I'm writing a new fandom with this card alone*. At this point, it's just to cause myself issues. Anyway! I love Twilight/Loid. He's the best spy of Westalis but he's also the dumbest idiot I've ever seen. My man buys his daughter a dog first because she wants it and then because something something Operation Strix. It was also funny to remove like 70% of his agency but that's because I'm a horrible person. And also it's fun. The prompt itself wasn't very fun up until I realized I could use "Crutches" as in both the actual item and emotional crutches - aka Anya and Yor, who are absolute units at disarming a spy, apparently! Have I mentioned I love this manga yet? I hope I don't regret this fic man
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Break a Leg, See If It Brings You Luck
Summary: Itâs a good thing the only bullet he took was in the leg. Itâs an easy thing to take care of and hide for the most part â far easier than on the chest or back, at the very least â as long as one finds a way to justify the slight limp it may carry with it, theyâll find themselves doing just fine.
Except this just had not to be an ordinary gunshot wound. No, the bullet just had to strike in right the perfect way to fracture the femur.
This is going to be a very long month.
Fandom: Spy x Family Characters: Loid, Anya and Yor Forget, the whole famâs here (with a cameo from Bond too!) Ship: The eternally mutually pining TwiYor, you know how it is
Wordcount: 2.5K words
Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo
AO3 version.
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Getting shot at is nothing new. It comes with the job, one could say: dismantle a smuggling network, or fight off human traffickers and you have a good 90% chance to get attacked with firearms in retaliation. In fact, itâs an exception when youâre not â which has also happened to him, of course â so you must be prepared to patch up a gunshot wound in case thing take a turn for the sour.
Heâs not above admitting, at least to himself, that heâs sometimes not been able to avoid bullets as well as he shouldâve. Most of those times are so long ago that the details of it are starting to lose their edge (kind of like him, at the moment, and he still has to take care of that issue tooâŚ), but theyâve all reminded him that, in the end, theyâre simply bigger flesh wounds: they merely require a bit more tending to than your regular scratch or cut.
A bullet fracturing the femur is a new one, though, even to him.
 Whatâs also new to him is the dependency that comes with such a fracture. Despite his best efforts, he didnât manage to pretend like it didnât exist in front of his fake family. He shouldâve seen it coming, in retrospect, considering how much of his edge he keeps losing in front of both fake wife and fake daughter â but to Anyaâs credit, she seemed to have realized on her own even before he could lie to her about this not being a big deal.
Sometimes, he wonders about the sharpness of this little girlâs instincts. For a child whose grades in school are nothing to write home about, sheâs able to get through most of his smokes and mirrors, as if she could read what he meant to hide behind them. Itâs⌠surely just his edge getting dull, though. What else could it be, huh? Surely this child who he found in some dump-like orphanage that barely deserves the name of one doesnât read minds.
(If she somehow does, then Twilight must apologize, because exposing such a young girl to spy affairs could be considered child cruelty, heâs certain).
 At least, itâs perhaps the easiest gunshot wound in the world to explain. After all, breaking a leg can happen for a wide variety of reasons and he doesnât have to blame a crazed patient to get away with it. It made him look somewhat stupid when he had to tell both Anya and Yor that he had tripped in the stairs because they had just been washed and he had conveniently forgotten about that, slipping on a step and tumbling down the stairs. (As long as neither of them sees the bullet-shaped hole under the cast, itâs fine).
On the flipside, itâs handicapping him more than a regular bullet hole in that area. A bone takes longer to heal back to usable capacity than flesh and skin. Thatâs not even getting into the fact itâs his right leg that he canât walk with: it means heâs even limited in his movements. A broken arm, as bad as it is, at least doesnât prevent him from running and shooting; a broken leg, on the other hand, severely limits his options for walking and, by virtue of doing so, also prevents him from using his arms when moving around.
Crutches are a pain. How did he even forget?
 Having to use both arms to move an immobile leg means he canât even take care of chores at home, despite those being the only thing he has to worry about at the moment, aside from Operation Strix: WISE, for once, gave him time off from his usual missions, albeit only because he physically canât handle them, heâs sure). He canât cook dinner, he canât walk Anya to school, he canât walk the dogâ
 âPapa, can I walk Bond today?â
He jumps â he really needs to stop losing himself in thoughts, this is smoothing his edge â and faces a concerned-looking Anya.
âWe should wait until your mother is home, Anya. Youâll get carried away by his strength.â
âMama said sheâd come back super late from work today,â Anya replies.
Thatâs true, yes. Yor proposed to stay home and take care of housework for him, but he refused. His broken leg shouldnât impede on her professional life. Still, this is an issue, and the fate of his undercover operation relies on Bond being happy⌠Right!
âI could ask Franky to take care of Bond.â
âYay, Uncle Scruffy to the rescue!â Then Anya freezes. âBut, Papa, how are you gonna use the phone? You canât stand up and use the phone at the same time!â
Dammit, sheâs right⌠Well, partially, at least. Heâs not that powerless, is he now?
âI assure you, Anya, I can maintain my balance on one foot and use the phone with my available hand.â
âThat sounds dangeâous, Papa.â
Well, itâs not like he didnât portray himself as a klutz no later than yesterday, he supposes.
âItâll be fine.â She looks around for a moment, then walks to the phone. âWhatâre you doing, Anya?â
âIâm calling Uncle Scruffy!â
âWhat did I justââ
 Anya, ever the free soul, grabs a chair and, with every single fibre of strength in her tiny body, puts it next to the phone.
âPapa?â
He sighs as he grabs the crutches at the foot of the couch.
âHow do you use a phone again?â
With an annoyance he canât even bring himself to hide (he doubts Anya would be convinced he doesnât hate having to rely on sticks to walk around anyway), he gets up, sighing. Walking on those things is more tiring than it should be allowed to be.
âLet me at least input the number before you try calling at random, Anya.â
 This is going to be a very tedious month, he can already tell â and itâs only been two days.
  If you put it in a certain way, this entire fiasco benefits Operation Strix. Sure, itâs at the detriment of every other mission WISE is on, which means itâs detrimental to the peace between East and West because heâs stuck on pretending to be a psychiatrist (driven to work by his wife, of all things) and paperwork duties; but it means he can decipher documentation that mayâve taken longer to getting understood and he can watch over Bond. After all, the dog is part of the family, so taking care of him and making sure heâs well-fed and happy is of primordial importance.
(Maybe less so than Anyaâs grades or his cover as a psychiatrist with patients so violent one has to wonder how itâs even possible, but important nonetheless).
Anya seems happy that âBond has a friendâ, at least, and to be fair, at least, the dog doesnât ask about if he should be moving around the place, unlike Anya and Yor and every single one of his fake and real workmates. Maybe, if he could talk, Bond would ask to; but as it stands, Twilight doesnât speak dog and Bond doesnât speak human, so itâs fine.
 In that way, it makes interacting in woofs a much better thing than constantly telling Yor that, no, heâs fine, just moving slowly compared to usual (and not having his hands free for most of it).
 Do crutches really make you look that much like an invalid? When he listens to her, Twilight canât help but think heâs actually lost his damn leg when, no, Anya just keeps asking if she can draw on his cast âhe keeps telling her no, but each time comes out with less strength than the previous one, itâs a war of attrition and the child is winning â and itâll be fixed. Heâs not even tried walking on the damn thing (from experience, it only works when youâve got enough adrenaline to cover up most of the pain).
Since coming back home with that gunshot wound (which, heâll admit, he did underestimate quite a lot), Yor has been more insistent than ever on handling any chore that isnât cooking, insisting she must get the groceries and see Anya off every day to school, among a shopping list of things Twilight isnât even sure theyâve actually done at (Loid Forgerâs) home like dusting bedsheets outside.
Yorâs help at home, as excessive as it is at the moment, is good for Operation Strix: it makes their fake marriage seem this much more realistic to outsiders, as Yor is regularly seen shopping for groceries with or without Anya, while giving him more time to gather intel for other WISE agents. These past few days, heâs been able to crack about a dozen ciphers that had been bothering the agency, catch three secret correspondences between Ostalian pro-war factions and repair very exactly fifteen tears in Yorâs and Anyaâs clothes.
This is less of a net negative than expected; Twilightâs sure of it.
 Still, he should set things straight with her again, and he has the perfect opportunity: Anya is sleeping at Becky Blackbellâs mansion today, which she referred to as âa mission for Papaâs peaceâ (she really must love spy cartoons), so itâs only Yor and him at home tonight. He was supposed to have a side-mission, but it got cancelled due to those same unforeseen circumstances that have been biting at him all week â and no matter how much he tried to insist, Handler refused to let him take care of it. Training to be able to conduct an operation while having one leg amputated really had no use, it seems.
Yor is also available, which is very convenient, in this case. They decided, like most of the time these days, to order something and eat it at home. To his misfortune, and almost as a bad omen, as soon as he goes to grab his crutches from the side of the couch, Yor picks him up like a glass statue of some kind and sits him to the table, going as far as to slide the other side to put his leg on another chair.
This really isnât starting the right way.
 They both pick at their dish until, finally, he decides enough is enough. He wonât be dependant on human crutches, be it a young girl or a strong woman who can absolutely bench-press over twice his weight.
âYou donât need to concern yourself with doing everything around home, Yor,â he tells her in almost a clinical tone.
She, however, stares right back to him like it wasnât obvious.
âBut youâreâŚâ
âPartially incapacitated, I know. I wish to assure you, this isnât as cumbersome as it looks.â
She looks down, eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening.
âBut, Loid⌠Iâve seen how frustrated itâs made you to⌠have to compose with this.â
âItâs nothing I canât manage, I assure you.â
A heavy silence settles between the two of them, only broken by bites of food and sips of water. Itâs a deeply uncomfortable one â which Twilight rationalizes as silence never being a good sign for spies. Something about calm itself being a sign a threat is hiding beneath the surface. Yes, something like this, not about how he seems to have let Yor down or made her feel uneasy⌠(Uncertainty is also a lethal enemy).
 In the end, she breaks the silence, fiddling with the hem of her red sweater (which matches her eyes oh so well â no time to think about that, Loid).
âI donât mind, you know⌠In fact, I really like it! Iâve always liked helping people, I suppose, but it feels⌠different, when itâs you.â Her cheeks grow red as a poppy. âU-unless you really mind, of course! Then I can just let you be or wait until you really need something from me!â
Loid sighs. How is he supposed to say no to this, really? This is going against everything heâs ever learned, and yet he finds himself walking headfirst into it. Dangerous business, really. (The blur of mask and reality should worry him much more than that).
âIâd usually prefer handling myself, but if you say it doesnât bother you, then I donât think I can quite go against it.â He clears his throat to regain some seriousness. âAlbeit, I donât want it to be a burden on you. Think of yourself first.â
âOh, of course! Youâll probably still have to at least help with dinner, but donât worry, Iâll take care of everything else!â
She didnât quite get what he meant, heâs pretty sure, but sheâs got the spirit.
 Crutches really are a spyâs worst hurdle to overcome.
  Thereâs this one sentence that keeps getting on his nerves, no matter how he thinks about it.
Oh, no, let me take care of this for you!
And thereâs this other sentence that triggers⌠something within him that he doesnât quite get, but which doesnât feel bad per say.
Oh, no, Loid, let me take care of this for you!
 âŚwait. They sound the same.
 Yor is nothing if not well-meaning (and a special brand of impossible not to stare at) but having to rely on her has felt horrible all week and heâs not sure of how much longer he can last with her insisting to do anything for him, from cooking to taking care of Anya, without forgetting driving him up to work (and that still stings). The feeling grows worse with each day passing too: like a poison, it sinks into every last cell it touches, no matter how unrelated, and it makes hard to focus on ciphers and intel gathering.
Loid Forgerâs a lucky man, Twilight supposes, to have such a caring spouse ready to help him with so much for something as little as a broken leg and what it causes. Loid Forger, in fact, must absolutely relish in being able to take a break from violent patients and working graveyard shifts every single night of the week. Twilight? Not so much.
He thinks.
Maybe.
 Okay, truth be told, he needed the break from the late-night, about-to-get-shot-multiple-times missions. He had already thought about it even before getting shot in the femur, but this has only confirmed his need for a breather, no matter how short. This, of course, comes at the price of his peace of mind, because he shouldnât be taking it easy while WISE is going through such an intense staff shortage, but it does come with the main perk of not wavering on his feet so frequently.
Relying on civilians still doesnât sit right with him but considering he too canât sit properly at the moment, it may sound hypocritical of him (who is he kidding? Heâs always a hypocrite, it comes with being an undercover agent and like a second nature to him). Some part of him doesnât even hate it, per say; being able to spend time with Anya and Yor, not having to manage everything, taking his time⌠It doesnât sound so bad. It goes against everything heâs ever known, but it feels⌠maybe not quite right, but quite agreeable. Or, at least, less uncomfortable than anticipated.
Heâs even sure letting Anya draw on the cast was a good thing for Operation Strix. It makes him look like a good family man, which he needs for the sake of the mission.
 This⌠might not just be about Operation Strix, though.
Just might.
#bad things happen bingo#spy x family#loid forger#anya forger#yor forger#crutches#dont be scared by the tag this is fluff#bthb#this is all for operation strix y'all
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Okay but consider, if we stretch eyes to include all eye-like organs and not just human-like eyes, then we must include pinhole eyes (eyespots and photoreceptors, to be more scientifically accurate).
Therefore, you must consider Giant Clams! These beautiful creatures have not one, not two, but several thousand eyes each, all along the edge of their outer mantles! Each eye spot is around .5mm wide, so imagine how many of those you could fit on the mantle of a 4 foot to 4.5 foot (average size of a giant clam, it depends on the species). Plus there are approximately 12 species and they can live upwards to 100 years old!
So! That means each giant clam adds a few hundred eyes to the eye count. If you count a clan's foot as a leg, each adds only one to the leg count. (Yep, that's right. Clams have one singular foot.)
Also underwater you can find Chitons. They are truly bizarre and outstanding creatures, and also have photosensitive eye-like structures, sometimes aesthetes and sometimes ocelli (possesses lenses). Guess how many of these eye-like structures a chiton has? Not one, not 100, but upwards to a thousand (or more depending on the species!) of eyes. Want to know something even cooler? Though there isn't solid proof, I must mention that there is a small theory that chitons can even regrow eyes if they lose them. Plus they have no real legs!
I think that balances out some of the leg counts from millipedes.
AND!! I AM NOT DONE!!
If you count compound eyes as singular, then yes a dragonfly or butterfly only adds 2 to the count. But if you count compound eyes as exactly that, a compounded group of eyes, then bugs add hundreds or thousands to the eye count!
Consider, a human eye has one lens, and each facet of a compound eye has one lens. Both are a single point where light or vision is achieved, so a compound eye would be like if a human face was covered in eyes. A bit like that anyways! But then multiply that to thousands, because bugs have so many eyes!
Dragonflies have up to 30 thousand facets/lenses, butterflies have up to 17 thousand. Mantis shrimp, who have some of the most impressive eyes, can have upwards to 12 thousand. And spiders? These lovely little creatures have single lens eyes, so they only have 8. But scorpions can have 12!
Now here is the most controversial take. If we consider eyes as structures that allow a living thing to see, regardless of how bad that vision is, we need to talk about plants.
Plants, you may ask? Well, dear reader, are you aware of the fact that plants can, in a rudimentary way, see? Plants have special structures called photoreceptors, not too different than some scaled creatures that have a specialized "third" eye, a photoreceptor organ that let's them detect light. For plants this let's them detect an array of wavelengths, allowing them to sense light. They "see" through the visible, far red and ultraviolet light spectrum, although their vision is quite different than a human's.
Plants can see you (though their vision is so poor they cannot see the difference between different humans), and they can also feel you, how silly!
But with plants it isn't as easy and counting how many photorexeptive structures they have, as it grows and changes as the plant does! But if we say every plant counts as one more eye (though it would be more accurate to say hundred, just think each tree leaf counts as an eye, how many leaves does a tree have? That's a lot of new eyes to count!).
Personally, I am on the side of the plants, so I will count them as having eyes (as should you, as should you! It is very rude to ignore those that can see you (this is silly, they don't actually watch, don't worry! @:P )
Also don't forget all the microscopic creatures that live on you, because each person is an entire ecosystem of their own! But the less mentioned the better. Protip to everyone, do not look up demodex eyes. One would expect I formation of the animal, but that is not the case. And for anyone with scopophobia don't research giant clam eyes)
SO!! There are many, many eyes in the world, so think again about this question. I, for one, voted for eyes, as I am a firm believer that there are more eyes than legs on this very planet. And another fun fact, technically the average human has less than 2 eyes, which means that you reading this, yes you. You quite likely have more eyes than the average human. Aren't statistics funny?
Please vote eyes
#reblog#polls#VOTE EYES!! DONT FALL FOR THE LEG PROPAGANDA!!#there are more eyes there are more eyes there are more eyes there are more eyes there are more eyes there are more eyes#tw unreality#<- maybe???? i think it is fun silly but just in case#plants are so fascinating as they can also vocalize but in a way no human could ever hear. it gets louder when a plant is hurt so#so like technically plants do scream when hurt#another reason to be against grass lawns! each time you are hirting living things that feel it!#<- depending on how human-focused someone is they may or may not care about that#i always found it so silly when people act like humans are better or separate than animals and the rest of the planet#but acting like humans are separate from the ânaturalâ world is used as justification and ââreasonââ to separate people and#treat the planet worse (i forgor how to explain but it is sad when you notice it)#it is unsurprisingly partially caused by collonialism. they thought themselves as âaboveâ nature and therefore must conquer#that sort of mindset#a human centric view is such a sad one to live your entire life with. but that is just my opinion haha!
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a traitor's curse | d.sc
featuring: guard!winwin x royal!reader
word count: 1223
author's note: hehe guess what !! got inspired to continue writing this so @welcometomyoasis @slytherinshua enjoy <3 may or may not wrap this up soon, depends on whether the characters cooperate with me LOL since this is beginning to become a series, lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist in the replies or by sending me an ask
masterlist | < prev | next >
if you liked it, REBLOG it.
Sicheng heard the sound of thunder and imagined the flashes of lightning that must have preceded them. He wouldnât know, because in the dungeon where his biological sister was kept, there was no light. Not a single sliver of it, no crack between the walls where prying fingers would find reprieve, nothing to accompany his sister while she fell into insanity, staring at the unchanging walls and sleeping in total darkness.
âSixue, turn the lights off,â Sicheng whispered urgently from his post at the dungeon doors. They had to take this chance now, while the only one on guard was him, and the storm would cover for the power outage.
Sparks flitted from Sixueâs fingers, her gift flickering due to her fatigue and hunger. Still, with a bit of effort and concentration, she succeeded in turning the lights off. Sicheng stood at the door, staring resolutely into space while he hovered the key to his sisterâs cell across the floor.
Slumped on the floor, Sixue moved her fingers towards the crack between the door and the floor and picked the key up. Pretending to fumble with the lock, she felt her heart pounding in her chest as she slipped the key into the lock and jiggled it. The door clicked open and she winced, hoping no one had heard.
Sixue leaned carefully against the door, peering through the crack between the door and the door frame. Convinced that the coast was clear, she stumbled to her feet and tried to make her way to where her brother was standing, shrouded in shadows.
A flash of light blinded her before she could do anything.
There, in front of the siblings, stood someone who shouldnât have been there. Theyâd checked, they were sure, that there hadnât been anyone in the vicinity before they attempted the escape plan.
Sicheng swallowed, hard, unmoving. He could tell from his spot, even without turning his head to look at his sister, that the plan had failed. From the sudden silence to the lights turning back on, it was pretty obvious that their plan had been foiled.
But how? There was only one explanation that made sense in his mind, and just considering it made the blood drain from his face.
Your brother stood in front of Sicheng, and yet he stood beside Sixue at the same moment. His appearance made everything that had seemed possible before impossible, throwing a wrench into more than just the escape plan.
It took all of Sichengâs concentration not to clench his fist in frustration and fall to his knees, to cry aloud to the heavens and see who was listening.
âWell, well, well. What do we have here?â
SIcheng met your brotherâs gaze with a steely determination. If he wanted to leave that forsaken prison and take his sister out of there alive, he would have to survive this encounter with the man who might as well be the devil himself.
âIâm not sure what youâre referring to, Your Highness.â
Your brother arched one of his perfect eyebrows, impressed by Sichengâs boldness. âWhy donât you turn around and take a look?â
Sicheng felt his limbs turning towards the cell his sister was supposed to be in, and instantly sent the tiniest of breezes towards the edges of the walls, feeling around for your presence.
The air caressed cloth in a crevice where cloth should not have been, and both Sicheng and you knew that everyone in that dungeon was playing a dangerous game of limbo, with the devil in the room.
Each of you, if unmasked at that instant, would be in danger. Treason to the crown, or in your case, a traitor to your kingdom. How that would work, considering you were the sole ruler, Sicheng wasnât quite sure. But he was certain your mind control could do nothing against the manipulation of evidence he knew your brother was capable of.
He took one invisible step in the layered game of limbo, and forced himself to greet the sight of Sixue lying against spikes sticking up from the ground. Dangerously close to her was another layer of spikes, threatening to impale her if she tried to move.
Pinpricks of blood pooled at her fingertips as she dug her fingers into the spikes, casting a desperate, frenzied glance at Sicheng. Help me, her gaze screamed.
Sicheng felt as if he was going to puke. He dug his fingernails into his palms until he was sure they were going to draw blood, biting his lip and swallowing the bile rising in his throat.
Acid burned down his esophagus, and his eyes briefly fluttered shut before he forced them apart again. He forced himself to watch as the two beds of spikes closed in, metal flush against Sixueâs skin, still not digging into her, but giving her no room to breathe.
Itâs not real, he told himself. Itâs not real itâs not real itâs notâ
âCanât bear to lose your precious sister, now can you?â
Swallow, itâs not real, Sicheng repeated in his mind. Sixue is safe. For now.
âShe wonât be safe much longer,â your brother said, as if hearing his thoughts. Sicheng would never understand how he achieved the skill of hiding menace behind innocent smiles, but it didnât matter. He knew that everything your brother said was a lie.
He couldnât read thoughts, but it was easy to predict what people would be thinking in the face of danger. People were predictable, after all, and at the end of the day they all wanted almost the same thing.
That was what your brother preyed on. The tense energy of fear, the desperation and confusion in their eyes. It was the reason your brother rarely appeared at court hearings, despite being so power-hungry. His gift being a secret was his only advantage when it came to his shady dealings, and he almost always succeeded in driving people so insane they confessed to crimes they hadnât committed, or they committed suicide first.
After all, dead men tell no tales. That was a principle your brother was all too familiar with.
Uncertain if anything he was seeing then was real, Sicheng tried to lift your brotherâs shirt slightly, to test if it was tangible.
In his head, he felt the familiar headache that meant that you were preventing him from using his telekinetic abilities. Why? he wanted to ask. He wanted to scream at you until you loosened your hold on him and allowed him to tear his hands into your brotherâs flesh, to scream over his poor, mistreated sister without your unfeeling gaze against his back.
But deep within his mind, beneath all the hatred simmering at the surface, he knew better. He knew that keeping his gift a secret gave him an advantage over your brother, a man who had never cared to learn about his people.
Your brother thought that he could hide in the dark with his illusionist tricks, but Sicheng was aware of them. On the other hand, your brother knew nothing of Sichengâs telekinesis, and didnât know that Sicheng could easily see through all the illusions if he tried to move an object.
Sicheng knew he couldnât trust his eyes, but your brother didnât know he couldnât trust himself.
And that, in itself, might just save one of them.
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#k-labels#đŞ â my works#đ â weather the storm#wayv#nct#winwin#dong sicheng#Spotify#winwin x gn!reader#royalty x guard#royalty au#winwin x reader
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can i request (hcs/drabbles/fic, anything goes) an easily embarrassed itto with a super flirty male!reader and how their first time would go? thanks !
"i dont think ill stop anytime soon."
pairings: arataki itto / m!reader
summary: itto with a flirty m!reader.. what will he do? tw: fluff, breeding, dubcon (?). multiple orgasms. notes: ill do a bit of everything to test out the format! i apologize if hes a bit ooc. itto is my fav, so i levitated towards this rq. theres a severe lack of itto w/ a bf in the world. the dubcon is very light, but ill warn just in case. also, i enjoy the trope of "flirty character loses all composure", so theres a bunch of that in here. still testing things.
itto would be a flustered mess around the boy. its the perfect thing to balance his cockiness out: someone who could make him stutter his words and become a clumsy mess. the rest of his gang knows he's whipped beyond belief, but seeing the oni flustered is a treat for everyone.
this man would bring you everywhere: whether its to excitedly show you a hill he found with flowers (that may or may not remind you of him - not that he'd admit it!), or insisting you go out for lunch with him, itto is insistent on having your arm locked around his own wherever he goes.
poke fun at how ittos cheeks grow a bit darker when you compliment him and he'll swear youre seeing things. deep down, it feels weirdly nice to be the one being flirted with for a change, but he has no idea how to process how a human like yourself makes him feel this way.
when you two are alone after a while, the oni gains some confidence and tries flirting back with you. since his brain can barely think of a coherent sentence in your presence, why not physically show you how he feels? all the frustration thats pent up when you flirt with him in public and he cant do anything in return?
nsfw:
ittos stamina is much higher than your own, so if youre going to flirt with him you better be ready to take your punishment (or reward, depending how you see it).
even though its your first time with him, you've been edging him on for weeks at this point, which leaves a very irritated man in your responsibility. however, his heart is still full of puppy love for you, so he'll try not to push you too hard.. yet. "i-itto, slow down!" your voice was raspy, a desperate plea as the man behind you slammed his hips against yours. he easily towered over you, pulling your hips closer so you'd feel even more of his cock. he laughed loudly, a hand wrapping around your neck to use as leverage. "whats the matter? you were begging for it yesterday - teasing me how you wanted my fat cock inside of you! cmon y/n, dont run away now!" it seemed as though itto got his cocky personality back, leaning to lick the tears of pleasure that streamed down your cheeks. your cock was covered in your own cum, losing count of how many orgasms you had while itto hasnt even cum once. feeling his strong hands pick you up, he flipped you over so you were facing him with your back against the soft mattress. his hair stuck to his forehead, little fang peeking out as he bit his lip in ecstasy. you moaned happily when he pressed his lips against yours for a kiss, hands holding his face for a moment. "i've waited so long to have you in front of me like this, i don't think i'll stop anytime soon."
#first time writing genshin so please be kind!#arataki itto#itto arataki#arataki itto x reader#arataki itto x y/n#arataki itto x you#mlm blog#male x reader#m!reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#genshin impact imagines#genshin imagines#arataki itto x male reader#arataki itto x m!reader#genshin impact x m!reader#genshin impact x male reader#genshin x male reader#genshin impact#genshin#genshin itto#male reader blog#male reader#my fics..
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Mc falling asleep next to them
Lucifer:
he had been working nonstop for hours now and the pile of yet to be read and signed documents wasn't getting any smaller
you had been sitting in his study silently working on your own assignments, that was until you've finished them about an hour ago
pacing his room in boredom and looking at the stuff he keeps in his closets (mostly books, records and demonus)
"Could you stop wandering around, you're irritating me!" Lucifer is stressed, annoyed, etc and your sighs, constant footsteps and opening and closing of closet doors, didn't help him to concentrate
you could have left the room and found something else to do, but you were determined to spend some time with him, as the evening work hours are quite literally the only hours where you can be alone with him
so instead you seeked permission for putting on a record to have at least some entertainment, which was both a good and a bad choice at the same time
yes you had something to enjoy and relax to, but the relaxing part worked a little bit too well
after a good ten minutes you were sleeping peacefully, stretched out all over his sofa with no care in the world
"I'm going to take a small break and get some coffee. Do you want something as well?" Lucifer asked only to be met with silence, which he didn't appreciate
he was about scold you for being rude, when his gaze fell on your sleeping form and the words seemed stuck in his throat
how could you sleep so peacefully right next to one of the strongest demons of hell, he honestly didn't know if he was pleased you found comfort in his presence or if he should be annoyed that you don't take him serious enough
nonetheless you seemed to have a good sleep and as this is often near impossible in the House of Lamentation, he decided to let you sleep
he got himself his coffee and once back in his study he moved his workplace to the small coffee table and took a seat next to you on the sofa
he adjusted your form so you weren't hanging half of the edge and put his coat over your sleeping form for some warmth
"Foolish little lamb, letting your guard down in a house of wolves, good thing I'm here to protect you..."
Mammon:
"And then I, the Great Mammon, made an action movie worthy escape and totally didn't run away in a panic, because Lucifer was chasing me..."
he had been telling you how exactly he got into the situation of hanging from the ceiling once again, as you've tried as careful as possible to cut him free, which was harder then expected with the way he kept moving around
once finally free, he dropped onto the ground, whining about the rope burns he got basically all over his body, though demons heal quicker, it still wasn't a nice feeling
with a sigh you offered him your hand and pulled him up and away to your room to give him some of the salve Satan had made you the last time you had accidentally cut yourself while cooking
you sat a flustered Mammon onto your bed while you went ahead and searched through your bathroom cabinets that were filled with products Asmo had gifted you, when you finally found it you asked Mammon to hold still while you put some salve onto his burned skin
"W-what?! N-no way! I don't need your help, I can do that on my own!" and with that Mammon stormed away with your salve and locked himself into your bathroom
you knew better then to argue at this point, Mammon would do what Mammon wants to do...until he fails and seeks protection behind your back...
be it because he is embarrassed, doesn't know how to open the salve tube, or because there were so many rope burns...but Mammon took quite long to apply the crème, leaving you to wait for him for at least half an hour now
helping out Mammon can become quite tiring, not that you mind helping him or don't like being around him, but a nap sounds nice right now
and so you lay down in your bed, it is after all your room, and just because Mammon is currently camping out in your bathroom, doesn't mean that you can't take a nap
Mammon comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he probably needed a few more minutes to build up courage to face and thank you, but he is met with the sight of you sleeping on your bed
Mammons brain is working overdrive, trying to figure out if he should leave the room quietly, wake you up or stay and watch over you...then again he doesn't want to be seen as a creep by you, but he can't deny that he would like to stay with you
he carefully climbs into bed and pushes you a bit further in so you sleep on the wall side and don't fall off in case you move, it takes five more minutes until Mammon risks putting his arm around you all while holding his breath in anticipation of your rejection, when none comes he settles a little closer to you and falls asleep as well
"Don't worry my human, the Great Mammon is gonna keep you warm and protected in your sleep!"
Bonus: even though you two fall asleep next to each other with only Mammons arm wrapped around you, expect him to wake up on top of you holding you like your his pillow
Leviathan:
it was 5am and Levi and you were currently waiting in line in front of a shop to get your hands on a new limited edition Ruri-Chan figurine
surprisingly enough even though you turned up quite early, there were a good amount of people in front of you
the shop would only open a 9am so you still had a long time to queue in the coldness of the devildom morning
"Ah that is not fair! We planned everything so carefully, it was the perfect timing, why aren't we first in line?" Levi complained while standing on his tiptoes to be able to see and count the demons in front of him, coming to the conclusion that if everyone were to buy one figurine he'd still be able to buy one for himself...and whatever you might want
you weren't the happiest when he told you about his plan a few weeks prior and getting woken up this early you might have been a little slower than usual in getting yourself ready, now that you were here you couldn't help but feel a little guilty
you tried to cheer Levi up with the argument that if you were longer in line that also meant you could spend more time together, which resulted in Levi turning into a blushing but happy mess
you put down the blanket you've brought and made yourself comfortable on it, Levi joining you but looking a bit stiff from the closeness
you ate a breakfast consisting out of sandwiches made with whatever was left after Beels midnight snack, which wasn't much but better than nothing
afterwards as there was still a lot of time to pass you started to play some games on his Switch, trying to stay awake
the emphasis lies on 'trying', because after 2 hours or so you start to fall asleep, eyelids and limbs heavy, you don't have the energy left in you to fight the sleep and so you nod off, your head falling onto Levis shoulder who had been inching closer over the period of time...to be able to better see the Switch display not to be closer to you...
Levi.exe has stopped working
there he sits red as a tomato with Mc sleeping on his shoulder, the queue in front of him starts to pack up and move as the shop gets ready to open up, his Switch display is showing the game over screen, his mind feels fogged over and he has no idea how to react now
Mc just fell asleep and Levi feels guilty to wake them...but they have to move...
"H-hey Mc? T-the line i-is moving? Wake up....please..." his attempts are way to quiet for you to hear and even as he gently shakes your shoulder you do not wake, leaving Levi quiet in a dilemma
"N-no other choice..." he says as he packs up the stuff alone, leaving only you sitting on the cold floor...he can't just leave you here..
Levi turns into his demon form, his hands shaking and eyes flitting across your from and over the crowd of other demons, before he carefully lifts you into his arm, his tail wrapping around you as well for more stabilization, so he has one hand free to carry his shopping bag later
he never bought something faster than that day, he got his figurine and even bought you some anime merch he knew you had stated to like, all while feeling like he was running the worst fever of his life and receiving stares, giggles and smug smiles from way too may people, that was enough attention for at least a century for Levi...but he did like holding you in his arms
"This is not fair! I have to deal with all the embarrassment while you sleep...but I guess it's okay if it's for you..."
Satan:
Satans last anger fit had caused way more damage than usually, it had taken place in the library when Mammon had tried to steal a very rare book about spells, to sell it after he found out how rare it actually is...now that lead to Satan throwing down and emptying almost all bookshelves and kicking Mammon through the room
While Mammon was strung upside down from the ceiling, Satan was forced to clean up the library alone, but you had pity on him as there were quite a lot to clean up, if Lucifer doesn't find out you helped there will be no consequences
Satans opinion about you helping was split, first of all he was really thankful for the help even though he was at fault for the chaos, having to clean up all alone was a bit much, but on second thought Satan was worried that you tried to go against Lucifers orders, he's proud of you for defying his eldest brother but also feels like it's a stupid idea
but you have made your mind up and so while Satan repairs and stands up the shelves, you begin to put the books in, you might not know the exact way they stood like Satan, but for now getting them off the floor is the priority
there aren't many words spoken as you silently work away, only once in a while you point out a book which got a bit more damage, the cover hanging off loosely or a few pages ripped out, you two decide depending on the damage if it can be fixed or not
every now and then Satan asks you to hold a piece of a shelf together while he fixes it, he is surprisingly fast and knows exactly how to repair it...just as if he had to do it more than once in a while...
"Oh Mc? Can you give me the screwdriver? No no that one, the one with the cross head is what I need..." you had no idea there were so many different tools, and wouldn't be the slotted one sufficient if you just angled it right? Satan just laughs and let's you try it for yourself, only for you to fail, he then shows you how to do it correctly guiding you through fixing your first shelf
"The last shelf is standing again, I'll help you with the book now." Satan pointed out, a small ray of hope now that only the books were left, you didn't reply, which honestly wasn't really necessary, but a small affirming noise would have been nice, so Satan tries to keep the 'conversation' going, while he works on the books with his back turned to you
"...you're still ignoring me? Are you angry at me for making such a mess? You know you didn't have to help...you can go, no need to act like all high and mighty!" he was getting angry again, yes he did make a mess, but he didn't do anything to you! Had he? He couldn't remember, but humans might interpret actions and words differentlyâŚhe didn't want you to be mad at him, and neither did he want to get angry at you, but with you ignoring him it became quite difficult to keep his voice low
having enough and wanting to make up before it gets worse, he makes his way over to you, who was leaning against a shelf with a book in your hand
as he sits down next to you and turns your body to him through a guiding hand on your shoulder, he startles, you fell asleep in a sitting position? That sounds more like something Belphie would do...Isn't that uncomfortable?
You must have been exhausted after filling up three shelves of books and fell asleep midway on your fourth shelf, Satan chuckles amused and relieved you aren't mad at him but simply sleeping
He picks you up and brings you to your room where he lies you down in your bed, covering you with the blanket and hesitantly stroking your hair before going back to cleaning up the library
"Thank you for being so patient with me and helping me! You can rest now and I'll make it up to you later!"
Bonus: he will most definitely take you out on a date of your choice, even if he doesn't enjoy the idea as much as you
Asmodeus:
Asmo had taken you out shopping, as he claimed his wardrobe was not having the right clothes anymore so he had to get new ones fast
he had dragged you through town for the whole day and you two only returned home late in the afternoon, you completely exhausted and ready to drop in your bed, while Asmo while being slightly tired, still insisted on putting on all the clothes and showing them off to you and his followers on Devilgram
he entrusted you with his D.D.D to take some nice amazing shots of him to gain even more followers, though that seemed impossible as it already felt as if the whole population of hell was already subscribed to his account
but as long as all you had to do was hold the D.D.D up and click the screen for a picture, you were fine, you sat down on Asmos bed trying not to disturb the bags of clothes that lay there as well
Asmos screen lit up nearly every few seconds with a new message, how did this man not get crazy with all the message?! And he must check them all, because whenever you write him, he is on and writing back instantly...maybe you should steal his D.D.D from time to time to get him away from it...
While Asmo was changing into new clothes in the bathroom, you could hear him humming a happy tune, clearly in his element and enjoying his time, which made you happy as well, but the exhaustion was still plaguing you and the bed felt unbelievably comfy and on top of that the humming of Asmo was slowly lulling you into sleep
"Oooh Mc~ I especially like this top! Just look how nicely it fits, it shows of my best parts, which are all of me haha...hey Mc?~ Look at me!" Asmo pouted as you stayed put on his bed, and climbed over your form, already expecting you to start pushing him off, only to get concerned when you don't
then he sees your eyes are closed and you seem to be peacefully asleep, he instantly coos at your sweet sleeping expression, the back of his hand caresses you cheeks softly, but you don't react much besides moving a bit into am ore comfy position
Asmo backs off and begins to put down his bags, then he tucks you under his covers and climbs right in with you, pulling you close so that you lie on his chest, his arms encircling you to keep you put
the pictures for Devilgram are forgotten for now, they're not running away anyway, you two can continue another time, but for a beauty nap sounds good
"Oh Mc! You look so cute when you're sleeping...next time tell me you need a break, I'm happy to cuddle you while you're recovering!"
Beelzebub:
you had decided to stay a bit longer at RAD today, because you still had something to discuss with one of the teacher, as well as doing some research for an essay that was due next week
most of the brothers had already left for home or different work related activities, except Beel who had Fangol practice today after school, and as you were not allowed to walk around the Devildom without someone accompanying you for protection, all that was left for you was to wait for Beel to finish his practice, which usually took place for about two hours
you sat down on one of the benches at the side of the field, waving to Beel so he knew you where you were and could keep an eye on you
you worked away on your homework and checked you D.D.D from time to time replying to all the messages you got
the practice seemed to be still not finished even after two hours had passed and you were getting a bit tired from sitting around, but you also couldn't just wander off, Beel might start worry...plus the risk of running into a less friendly demon was still a thing
so you shifted from one position into another not really being able to get comfortable on the hard wooden bench
the ground seemed to be comfier with every minute passing, and so you lay down ignoring the weird looks of the team and trainers, you're body simply wasn't made to sit on this bench longer than necessary
"Here you can wrap yourself in this...it's getting cold. Training is almost over, just hold out a few more minutes!" Beel came over and gave you his jacket and you quickly put it on revelling in his warmth
but here is the problem the jacket made you feel so comfortable that you fell asleep, right on the floor next to a few dozen demons
"We're finished! I'm hungry, let's go get something to eat, any wishes what you want?" Beel was packing his stuff and rambling on about how he could eat at least one year worth of food, training having starved him quite a lot
but when you didn't respond he grew worried and kneeled down next to you, gently resting his hand on your side, he simply laughed when he saw you fell asleep, he is used to it due to Belphie, so he carefully picks you up and carries you home, deciding to order food once there
just Beel giving you a piggy back home, softly smiling to himself and being happy you've come to be so at ease around demons..still at bit worried, but he'll protect you, no worries
"I'll stay by your side until you wake up...and then we can eat lots of good food...please just don't sleep too long or I might have to eat before you wake up."
Belphegor:
so there he was, sleeping, on your bed, in your room, without an invitation...and honestly it wasn't even a surprise anymore, coming home after a work shift at Hell's Kitchen and just wanting to sleep, but no there was no space for you on the bed
I have no idea how, but he manages to occupy the whole bed, and hog blanket and pillows to himself as well
if only he was easy to wake, just to tell him to move over, but no he wouldn't wake up unless you pulled the big guns and nobody wants to face the consequences after one dumped water bottle on his head, it would be a hundred times easier and less dangerous to wake Satan
but you were really tired and just wanted to cuddle into your bed, maybe you could maneuver him with a bit strength..actually forget that...you could always call Beel for help to carry him to his own bed, but by the way he was clinging to your blanket and pillows, that would only end in a empty mattress to sleep on and then you would get cold...
honestly it was his own fault at this point you had threatened him to do it, but he had just laughed it off...
and so you climbed into bed and lay down on top of him, wrapping your arms around him so that you would get at least his body warmth if not the blanket
to your surprise he didn't wake up and he was really comfy, his rhythmic breathing was really relaxing and it didn't take you long to fall asleep
after some time Belphie wakes up with you wrapped around him, he quickly realises that you're asleep, but is stunned nonetheless that you would actually have the guts to sleep on top of him with the risk of waking him up in a bad mood
"That's quite bold of you! You didn't think I will let that slip though, right?" he chuckles amused but shifts nonetheless to make room for you, his embrace is tight, and he hopes just a little bit that you wake up, so he can tease you, but you stay asleep looking content with your new position
"I suppose I could go for another nap...now that I have my favourite pillow with me, sleeping will be even better!" he cuddles you, just like the blanket and pillows...which you don't get any of by the way, but you get Belphie so that's even better, he's gonna keep you warm, don't worry
"You're such a odd human...no idea why I like you...anyway just stay here in my arms and sleep!"
Diavolo:
yesterday was amazing, Dia had taken you to a trip in the human world and you had showed him around, visiting as many places as you two could
what you didn't know was that he had actually sneaked out of the castle to spend time with you
well you didn't know until a very angry Barbatos opened a portal right in front of you two and started lecturing Dia for at least one hour
you felt a bit guilty that you were the indirect cause of this and quickly apologised to him promising to make it up
so here you were in Dias office, overseeing him to do his work so he couldn't sneak out again and Barb didn't have to find him
after all if the reason for sneaking out was right in his room then he had no reason to go, besides the intimidating amount of work left on his desk after yesterdays excurse
Dia worked concentrated for most of the time, only now and then staring out of the window or talking to you
"Isn't it boring to watch me work? I can work alone, I promise to run away...or else Barbatos might get a heart attack from shock of seeing me gone again" he chuckled while signing another document
you reassured you didn't mind sitting next to him in silence, you had a good book borrowed from Satan, tea and cookies from Barbatos and you could stare at Diavolo all day long
your last statement made Dia flush red quite quickly and he tried to distract himself with his work, he slouched over in his chair trying to escape your gaze, but you were having none of it
your arms snaked around his waist and your head came to lean on his shoulder, Dia stiffened not sure how to react he liked the feeling of you hugging him, but now he was scared to move too much as not to disturb you or accidentally hit you with his elbow while trying to write
after a few more documents his eyes flit over to your face, cheek squished against his shoulder, eyes closed and breathing calmly
"Mc? Are.. are you sleeping?" he is whispering trying not to be too loud in case you are truly sleeping, and that you are! A soft smile graces his lips, nobody was ever this relaxed around him, he is proud and wants you to stay asleep as long as possible
he keeps working until Barbatos knocks on the door, coming in and announcing to have brought more tea, only to stop when he sees the sight in front him, Mc holding onto Dia, head resting on his shoulder and sleeping, while Dia put his finger to his lips to tell him not to be too loud
you sleep for an hour or so until Dia really has to move, apologising multiple times for having to wake you
"I'm glad you're able to relax around me, please continue to be yourself! My shoulder is always there for you to nap!"
Barbatos:
"You liked the cake that much? I'm flattered! I could teach you how to make it if you'd like?"
you had been over for tea at the castle and the chocolate cake with black-as-hell cherries was the best cake you've ever ate, it was bittersweet in taste not too much sweetness and not too much bitterness, paired with the melting chocolate, you could have eaten the whole cake on your own
you doubt you'd be able to get the same ingredients in the human realm but maybe you could find similar ones, so you were more than willing to learn with Barbatos
and so you arranged to meet the next Sunday afternoon for a baking session
Barb let you into the castle already awaiting you at the door even though you were early
you two worked on the cake, Barb explaining each step carefully, even for the easiest steps he takes his time to explain and help you, being very patient with you no matter how much you screw up
"Next we have to melt the chocolate in a pot. Wait a minute I turn on the stove for you" while you put the chocolate pieces into a pot, Barb moves behind you and turns on the stove, his arms brushing your sides, yet he stays fully focused, what can't be said for you
the cake is put together quickly with you two working together and while it bakes in the oven and the chocolate is meting, you two go ahead and start cutting and coring the rest of the cherries to decorate the cake later
"Here have a taste, they're bitter at first but the aftertaste is nicely sweet!" He holds out a cored cherry for you to taste and eats one himself, smiling gently at you while you sniff at the fruit first, which smells exactly like a normal human world cherry
the only thing left to do is wait for the cake so you two sit down for some tea at a small table in the kitchen, talking about the week, when Diavolo calls for Barb and he quickly excuses himself to help the prince out
the sweet aroma of the baking cake, the warmth of the tea and the very comfy chair you're sitting in, are a dangerous combination making you fall asleep
as Barb returns he sees you with your head lying on your folded arms on the table, clearly asleep, Barb decides to eave you there while cleans the kitchen and checks on the cake half an hour later
"Mc? The cake is ready to be decorated do you want sleep or do you want to help me?" somewhat embarrassed you stand up and help him with the decorations , Barb acts if nothing happened but he can't help but think about your gentle expression while you slept
"Next time I'll let you sleep longer... I wouldn't mind if you visited me for your naps if that meant I could see you more often."
Solomon:
learning magic was many things: exciting, frustrating, dangerous, fun...but sometimes it also was unbelievable boring
like when you think about magic, you think about casting charms, curses, making potions and all that stuff, but nobody told you that beforehand you have to learn everything about the new spell or etc in theory!
so here you were sitting with Solomon as he rambled on about how while the shrinking charm could have really bad side effects if casted wrong, sure it was important to know how to cast it correctly but did you really have to listen on to everything that might go wrong?
listening to all this just make you feel less confident, I mean technically you were practicing with a tea cup to shrink, so shrinking only a part of it wouldn't be too bad of a side effect, but what if you used too much pressure and made the cup explode and you'd hurt Solomon in the process?!
You took a deep breath, which made Solomon stop talking as he looked at you questioningly
"Anything wrong? Already giving up? Is it toom much?" his light teasing was meant to make you relax, but all you could do was give a small, stiff smile, signalling for him to continue and he did, after messing up your hair with his hand giving you a huge grin, but he talked slower now giving you more glances to make sure you were still alright
"How about a small break? I'll make us some tea..." he stood up and made some tea...in a beaker over a Bunsen burner..this weirdo..
the tea didn't taste weird though, it was just normal tea, even though the preparation would have made Barbatos get a stroke
after the break he was back to full tutor mode and your concentration slipped with each new word, until your head falls down, your chin resting on your chest comfortably, you had fallen asleep right before him
Solomon notices instantly that you're asleep and starts laughing so loud that you wake up again, he is crying and gasping for breath at your flustered state and you hit for good measurement on the arm
"Am I that boring? Fine if you're tired you can rest on my bed. I'll read you a bedtime spell book..." he doesn't stop laughing and teases you endlessly, you better be on your toes around him, you won't be hearing the end of this
"Hey sleepyhead? Do you want me to read you into boredom? I won't take pictures of your sleeping and drooling self...No promises made though..."
Simeon:
He was staring blankly at his manuscript, writers block had been plaguing him for quite some while now, but the new chapter had to be sent to the company until next week
you had offered to help him out maybe you could give him some ideas, so he invited you over and let you read the latest chapter so you'd know what had happened
you sat in his room brainstorming ideas on a small extra sheet trying your best to help Simeon out who looked quite lost
"Do you think that would work? Doesn't if feel a bit too rushed? But maybe if we combined these two ideas together..." he seemed to had found something and began to roughly write up a plan for his further writings
he continuously asked you questions about the smallest details, it was kind of cute that he relied so much on you, he probably could have done the rest himself as well, yet he kept involving you into the whole process
while his one hand scribbled like a madman, his other rested on your arm occasionally lightly squeezing it, reminding you that he didn't forget about you
you slowly fell asleep, the sounds of each others breathing, the pen scratching over paper and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall, the inly sounds to be heard
"What about this part? How do you think it could go from here?...Mc?" he wasted no time in making sure you were lying comfortably, putting his cloak over your form and still squeezing your arm from time to time while he continued to write late into the night
only then did he notice, the brothers might worry about your absence, should he wake and bring you home? or should he let you sleep here and inform Lucifer about your safety? but the sofa you were currently sitting on, would make your back hurt if you continued to sleep here
it took him some time debating with himself, but came to the conclusion to carry you to his bed and tuck you in, giving you a forehead kiss like he was used to with Luke, only to realise what he'd done and quickly scrambling away in embarrassment to give Lucifer a quick call about the situation
"Have sweet dreams my lamb! I'll be guarding you in any realm, even the dream realm!"
Luke:
Luke, Simeon and you were having a small movie evening, watching some old Disney movies
Simeon didn't allow you to watch something else to protect Luke, but you didn't mind too much
you were having some freshly made desserts by Luke who had worked on them the whole day, as he was very excited for your meetup
you watched a few movies, talking, laughing and joking together, just having fun
"Huh? They called the mean cat Lucifer? Hahah how fitting, he kind of even looks like the real Lucifer! Ah, don't tell him that though!" Luke really liked to compare the different characters to the people he knows, but when there actually were a cat called Lucifer he was quite surprised...who would want their cute pet to be called like a demon? Why not call them angel names? Michael is a pretty cool name...
over the time you became more and more tired and Simeon seemed to notice, suggesting on stopping for today and continuing another time, but Luke convinced you two of one more movie
unfortunately you didn't last the final movie and fell asleep cuddled underneath the blanket between Simeon and Luke
Luke took some time to notice, only seeing it when he turned to you wanting to tell you his opinion about the last scene
"Oh! Simeon... Mc fell asleep..." Simeon already knew, as you had fallen onto his shoulder, not that he minded, he just told Luke to stay quiet and watch the rest of the movie
Luke cuddled up to you to keep you warm and occasionally glanced at you to make sure you were okay, and there cuddled next to you he as well fell asleep...trapping Simeon underneath your combined weight, making it impossible for Simeon to get out of the bed, so you three just slept together that night
"Don't worry Mc! I'll keep all demons away from you while you sleep!"
#obey me headcanons#obey me#swd obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me belphegor#obey me beelzebub#obey me simeon#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me luke#obey me solomon#obey me shall we date#headcanon
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Not Going Anywhere
Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he canât stand the thought of that happening.
Requested by Anonymous: âMay I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....â
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff
You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, itâd been close to the bunker, close enough that you didnât need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadnât been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like youâd been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.
You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.
But you did, and it wasnât leaving any time soon.
Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didnât stop it from hurting.
You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldnât sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.
You donât think youâve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasnât anything in particular for you to feel this way overâyouâd ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. Youâd done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.
It was different and he knew it.
Any other time youâd start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Samâs nerves. Any other time youâd take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasnât any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didnât sit right with him.
âSweetheart, you okay back there?â He calls out over his shoulder.
Youâre not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didnât get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.
You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. ââM fine, De.â
He wasnât entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying youâre fine when youâre not, and youâre so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful heâs home, youâre home. But that doesnât soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.
Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunkerâs garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didnât need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.
You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.
You hadnât fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open youâve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.
âSweetheart?â He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that youâd been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. âBaby, weâre home.â
You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him youâd heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea thatâd swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.
You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. Youâd been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and youâd yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.
You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.
âDe, Iâm fine. You donât need to fuss over me,â you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.
âY/nââ
âIâm serious. I just need a little sleep and Iâll be fine,â you say, smiling once more in hopes heâd settle down, but you knew he wouldnât.
It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunkerâs hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and thatâs the problem.
You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like youâd been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.
You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Deanâs cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.
You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like youâd been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.
But you werenât.
In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close theyâd really been to you.
You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You werenât aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldnât have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like youâd just run a marathon with the way you couldnât catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.
You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.
Deanâs brows furrowed when he followed Samâs gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a secondâs time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries heâd had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.
âY/n?â Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.
âIâmâŚâ you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. âIâm fine, Dean. I justâŚ"
Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before youâd gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.
He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that youâd expect to feel and it only added to his upset.
âY/n!â He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. âSweetheart, stay with me.â
His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what heâd been saying to Sam, or the way you couldnât hold yourself up if it werenât for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.
That ache from the wound youâd walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didnât look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when heâd pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasnât a good sign.
You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.
You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly werenât, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think itâd be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.
Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didnât have time to prepare for it. And thatâs what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, thatâs what youâd been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.
âDean,â you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. âIâI just want you to knowââ
âNo, no câmon. Weâre not doing this sweetheart, okay?â
Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesnât know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesnât think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the worldâs worst monsters.
Heâs lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.
âI donât feel so good,â you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression heâd been looking at you with. âWhat is it?â
He couldnât tell you what he saw, he wouldnât do it.
âI know you donât,â he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. âI know you donât but youâre gonna be okay, you hear me?â
All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you canât quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.
âDonât do that,â he urged, âplease, donât do that.â
He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didnât do much to soothe his stresses.
He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. Heâd grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.
Cas.
If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. Heâd worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasnât a thing he wouldnât do to keep them safe. But worry is what heâd done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.
If it was possible, one might think heâd wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a momentâs notice much to Deanâs relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.
It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out youâd been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadnât actually slowed to a stop once heâd patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didnât know it until it almost became too late.
It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldnât sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didnât need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and thatâs something he knew well.
But that wasnât the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldnât help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldnât have believed you when you said you were fine. He didnât, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.
He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.
Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than heâd care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.
It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt heâd always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.
For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldnât handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.
For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way youâd looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.
Cas had to tell him a million times over that youâd be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldnât find it in himself to get over it just yet.
The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldnât be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldnât bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.
He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldnât be, but heâll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.
When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. Youâd seen the chair at your bedside that hadnât normally been there. And if it wasnât telling enough of Deanâs presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious heâd been there.
You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where itâd been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, itâd all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.
You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think heâd handle it well. You knew by the way youâd woken up by yourself that heâd handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew heâd disappeared to sulk by himself.
You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.
Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where heâd been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.
The Impala was still in the garage where heâd parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.
You knew where heâd be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadnât been in either of those places, you knew where heâd be.
A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one youâd been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew heâd been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.
âKnew Iâd find you here,â you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.
You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didnât take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. Heâs quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.
âSweetheart, you should be in bed, youâve been through it today.â
You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.
âWithout you?â Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didnât do much to stave off that feeling he held.
ââM fine, Dean.â
âDonât say that,â he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.
You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasnât one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadnât quite left just yet.
âIâm serious, Dean. Iâm okay.â
âWell you werenât a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,â he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.
âWell Iâm not,â you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.
âIâm glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.â
He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.
âFor cryinâ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,â he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.
You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, heâd expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.
You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.
Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.
You donât fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.
âThere was nothing you couldâve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,â you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. âI know thatâs what youâre thinking right now, but Iâm still here. Now you donât have to believe me on this, and I know you wonât, but you were there when I needed you the most. And thatâs the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but Iâm not blaming this on you.â
He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchesterâs got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.
You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.
You donât know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact heâs still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.
âCome to bed, De, itâs late,â you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.
He hums at first, nodding his head. âIâll be there in a minute.â
You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesnât take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.
âSweetheart, wait.â
You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.
Heâs hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. Heâs got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.
âWhat do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?â He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. âDonât want you dyinâ on me again, sweetheart.â
You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. âYou canât get rid of me that easily, Winchester.â
He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. âYeah, well, Iâm good with that.â
The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.
âIâm not going anywhere.â
â
Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath
#dean winchester#dean winchester angst#dean winchester oneshot#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x you
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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 itâs 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 youâre 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 canât 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 @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacyâ for proof reading this for me and putting up with my messages about it. also, the title is from NFWMB by hozier and iâd 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 wasnât so tight, thereâs no way Y/N would be doing this.
Sheâs 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 donât care about her.  Y/N, on the other handâŚsheâs being paid to care about them.  Theyâre why sheâs here.
The offer had been posted on a bulletin board in the nursing studentâs lounge on campus. Â It was a crumpled piece of paper, with a handwritten message scribbled across it. Â Y/N had spotted it when she was looking at the board for a summer job, and the uniqueness of it caught her eye. Â 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 didnât require a full medical professional. StillâŚa 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. Â When she walked in, her eyes scanning the cafĂŠ for someone who wouldâve posted the ad, she had instantly known who he was. Â 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.
âHi.â Y/N had walked over slowly. âAre you Patrick Lawson?â
âThat depends.â He looked her up and down, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. âWhoâs asking?â
âMy name is Y/N Y/L/N. We spoke on the phone?â She took the advertisement out of her bag and handed it to him.
âRight.â Patrick nodded, motioning to the chair across from him. âSit down.â
âAlright.â Y/N had taken a seat slowly, her eyes on the door behind him.  She hadnât quite decided not to run. âSoâŚyou didnât say what kind of jobââ
âWhat are your medical credentials?â Patrick cut across her, sipping his coffee.
Y/N remembered thinking that that was rude, and completely unprofessional for an interview. Â Of course, now that she actually knew Patrick, the action was completely in character.
âIâm a third-year nursing student at NYU Meyer.â She had answered, reaching into her bag to pull out her student ID. âAnd Iâm trained in first aid.â
âYou ever stitched somebody up before?â
Y/N frowned at the bluntness of the question. âUm, yes, butââ
âWhat about set broken bones? Â Noses?â
With an incredulous look on her face, Y/N had glanced around the coffee shop. Â Could anyone else hear this? Â When the answer to that question appeared to be no, she had leaned forward, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.
âMr. Lawson, what exactly is this a job interview for?â
 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 âonlyâ had made the corners of Y/Nâs mouth twitchâthere 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 canât exactly keep going to the hospitalâŚwhich 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 (âIt is.â 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 anestheticâŚ
Y/N shudders as she looks at the gym door again, finally pulling herself from her thoughts. Â Itâs definitely not an ideal situationâor even a moderately ideal situationâ and sheâs not looking forward to it in the least. But being a student in New York isnât exactly cheap, and the money is good, even if itâs dirty. Â Really dirty. Â Probably bloody, from the fighters that she would be expected to stitch up from awful injuriesâ
âDonât.â Y/N mutters to herself, taking a deep breath. âEverything is going to be okay. Â Itâs fine. Â This is fine.â
âHey, lady.â A man approaches her from behind, giving her a strange lookâwhich is to be expected, Y/N thinks, seeing as how sheâs talking to herself in the doorway of an underground gym. âAre you going to stare at the door all night, or are you going to open it?â
âSorry.â She says sheepishly, stepping out of his way and allowing him to step around her down the stairs. Â
Knowing that thereâs nowhere else to go but insideâand knowing that she canât block the doorway foreverâY/N quickly makes her own way down the stairs and through the heavy doors.
Y/N isnât 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 nightâs match.  Everyone she sees, with their black clothing and leather boots and tough demeanors, looks like they belong at an illegal gym, whereas Y/NâŚshe glances down at herself for a moment.  Next time, she thinks, sheâll remember not to wear lavender.
Still, no matter how out of place she feels, sheâs here now, and if university and nursing school had taught her anything, it was to act like she belonged until she did. Â 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. Â Although sheâs not exactly sure where Patrickâs office lies within the dark and claustrophobic gym, she feels that the more cigarette smoke she can smell in the air, the closer sheâs 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. Â 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.
âPatrick?â She knocks on the door softly, just in case sheâs guessed wrong.
A rough but recognizable voice answers from the other side. âYeah. Â Come in.â
With permission, Y/N opens the door, coughing a bit when a wall of cigarette smoke hits her. âHiâŚ?â
âHey, Doc.â Patrick has a cigarette tucked between his lips as he speaks, and he hardly glances up at her from the papers in his hands. âHow you doing?â
âIâmâIâm good.â Y/N says, her voice tinged with nerves. âI just wanted to check in before the match.â
âGood. Â Here.â Patrick stands up and walks to a cupboard in his office, pulling out a weathered leather case from within. âThis has everything you should need in it.â
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⌠âIâll need all of this?â She asks, looking up at Patrick with a surprised look in her eyes.
âLook around you, Doc. This isnât a daycare.â Patrick snorts, puffing on his cigarette. âWe bare knuckle box.  We donât have personal physicians checking up on us, rules, regulationsâŚthis is about making money.  And sometimesâŚit gets messy.â
âBut if you needed a medical professional, then why didnât you get someone whoâs finished school?â Y/N asks as she shuts the case and clasps it closed. âTheyâd be a lot more experienced than a student.â
âBecause medical professionals have a duty to report abuse to the cops.â Patrick shrugs as if the reasons are of little consequence to him. Â Which, Y/N thinks, they are. âYou donât. Â And students need the money more.â
Y/N purses her lips as she clutches the handle of the case tightly in her hand. âWhat happened to your last student?â
Patrick sighs with a flip of his hand, waving off the question. âHe pissed off the wrong guy and went from being the doctor to being the patient. Â Thatâs why I hired a pretty lady this time.â
Y/N scoffs, the ease she had been beginning to feel around Patrick fading within a moment as she remembers where she is. Â She meets Patrickâs gaze with a harsh look. âDonât patronize me, Patrick, or Iâll walk out that door right now.â
Patrick raises his hands defensively, an indifferent look on his face, and Y/N understands that itâs not an apology.
âLook, Doc, the last guy had a mouth on him.  By all accounts, he deserved it.â 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 canât quite decipher the flicker she sees in his eyes. âI donât mean to be patronizing.  But if any guy in here says shit to youâŚlemme know.  Got it?â
Y/N has a feeling that thatâs as close to an apology as sheâll get from Patrick, so she nods tersely. âGot it.â Her attention turns back to the case in her hands. âSo I justâŚwait by the ring?â
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. âYou got it.  Watch the match.  Have some fun, have a drinkâŚif anything goes too wrong, Iâll pull you up to the ring.  If everything is fine, youâll come back to the locker room after the match to make sure my guys donât have a concussion.â
âSoundsâŚgood.â Y/N shifts the case around in her hands as she speaks, unsure of what else there is to say. âIâll go to the audience, then.â
Patrick nods, but offers no other advice as she leaves. Â 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. Â 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 doesnât know, Y/N is wondering if sewing some medical patches onto her jean jacket will stop her from getting shoved at the next match. Â Of course, sheâs not quite certain sheâll be attending the next match, but she makes the plans to do it nonetheless. Â
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. Sheâs 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 betsâŚY/Nâs 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. Â He has a heavy build with broad shoulders, and Y/N knows he has to be over six feet. Â Top heavy, she thinks, as he climbs onto the edge of the ring and ducks his shaved head under the ropes. Â 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.
Thereâs a crackle of static over the speakers as the announcer begins to speak. âAs last yearâs reigning champion, Adam Bowers is aiming to maintain his title this season.â The crowd cheers again as the fighter, Bowers, rolls out his shoulders.
âThose 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?â
The crowd jeers as the announcer mentions the opponent, and Y/N gets the feeling that they donât think the other guy has a chance. Â When the other fighter begins to walk towards the ring, Y/N canât help but agree.
This fighterâs build is much slimmer, despite the apparent muscle mass on his arms and legs. Â Heâs more evenly built than Bowers, and while Y/N knows that will be helpful, she canât make herself feel anything other than worry as she watches the fighter climb under the rings. Â 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.
âFacing our champion is rookie Harry Styles.  Despite beginning training just three months agoâŚâ
Three months? Â Y/N bites her lip in concern, watching as Stylesâ coach pulls him down to look him in the eye, giving him his mouth guard as he does. Â Y/N leans over to a man next to her, unable to stop herself from asking a question thatâs at the forefront of her mind. âDonât they use weight classes to match fighters?â She half yells the question over the cheers. âBowers seems so much bigger than him!â
âThis is illegal fighting, sweetheart.â The man laughs at her question as he takes a sip of his beer. The hair on the back of Y/Nâs neck bristles at the pet name, and she once again reminds herself to keep her guard up as the man continues to speak.
âThey donât care about weight classes.â He says easily, nodding towards the ring. âThey care about putting on a good show, so they can make money.â
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 heâs sizing her up just as much as sheâs sized him up. Â His eyes flick down her body and back up, but not in the way most men in the gym have been doing it. Â When the boxerâs eyes flick back to hers, Y/N doesnât see a look of lust or desire reflected in his irises. Â Instead, she sees concern. Â
Heâs about to fight a behemoth, she thinks, and heâs concerned because Iâm in the crowd of the fight? Â The idea would make Y/N laugh, if she didnât have a sneaking suspicion that sheâd be setting his bones before the end of the night.
Stylesâ 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. Â Bowers is the first to throw a punch, all of his weight behind it, but Stylesâ smaller stature allows him to duck easily, weaving out of the way from the first few strikes. Â As he ducks from a punch, Styles manages to land the first hit of the match, his fist connecting directly with Bowersâ jaw. Â
Y/Nâs face lights up with surprise as the crowd cheers. Â However, the surprise quickly turns to worry as Bowers uses his anger to move faster, finally landing a blow on Styles. Â Not letting one hit deter him, the smaller boxer is quick to recuperate and keep himself in the moment. Â Already, Y/N can tell that he plays the long game, while Bowers seems to favour a more offensive stance. Â
As the match continues, Y/Nâs 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. Â 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 Bowersâ nose to the floor of the ring.
Y/N winces, searching the crowd for Patrickâs familiar face. Â She finds him in the back, watching with his arms crossed, and raises an eyebrow in question as she catches his eye. Â He gives a quick shake of his head. Â This isnât anything to worry about, the action says. Â 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. Â Y/N watches in horrified silence as Bowers lands another punch on Stylesâ jaw, knocking the smaller boxer onto his knees. Â 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. Â 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. Â Styles hits him once, then again, and again, until Bowers goes down with a dull thud that echoes through the gym. Â He stays there, lying limp, as the referee begins to count, and doesnât rise when Styles is declared the winner.
âHarry Styles has managed to begin his journey with a win!â The announcer yells, barely audible above the cheering crowd. Â 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 matchâs highlights. Â Y/N sees money change hands a few times, and while she wants to get out of the crowd thatâs becoming rowdier by the minute, sheâs 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. Â When she sees Patrickâs face, however, the words fade away, and she grabs the case that sheâs all but forgotten is beside her as he begins to guide her back to the locker rooms.
âTime to get to work, Doc.â Patrick calls over the crowd, glancing over his shoulder at her to make sure sheâs following.
Y/N nods silently, taking deep breaths to center herself for the task at hand. Â She canât let herself be uncomfortable now; itâs 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 sheâll find Styles sitting in front of her. Â Instead, her eyes settle on Bowers with a hand to his nose and his head tilted back.
âYou need to lean forward.â 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. âIâm bleeding, sweetheartââ
âAnd leaning back is causing the blood to run down your throat. Â Itâs harmful to your health, sweetheart.â 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. âIâd watch my mouth if I were you, Bowers. Â Donât piss off the person about to set your nose.â
Y/N glances at Patrick for a moment before turning back to Bowers. Â Although sheâs 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 Bowersâ 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.
âThere.â Y/N sits back and pulls off her bloody gloves. âThat should be okay. Â Keep taking ibuprofen to help with the pain and swelling, and if it doesnât seem to heal, try going to a real doctor. Â Alright?â
Bowers nods jerkily. Â Although she can see the doubt in his eyes, he doesnât contradict her again. âYeah. Alright.â
âWhat do you say to the Doc, Bowers?â Patrick prompts him, an expectant look on his face.
The boxer glares at her, but still manages to mutter a quick âthanks.â
Although it doesnât seem sincere, Y/N doesnât challenge it. âYouâre welcome.â She replies curtly, closing her case before standing up again and turning to Patrick. âWhereâs Styles?â
 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/Nâs 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.
âPatrick.â The boxerâs voice is accented and low, and she sees recognition from earlier flicker across his phase. âWhoâs this?â
âThis is Doc Y/N.â Patrick lights a cigarette as he speaks, despite the disapproving look that Y/N gives him. âSheâs the one whoâs going to be saving your injured ass.â
âYou can just call me Y/N.â Y/N rolls her eyes slightly as she refutes the nickname that, to her displeasure, Patrickâs already grown fond of before turning her attention back to Styles. âIâm just going to make sure youâre alright, Mr. Styles.â
When she addresses him, his coach laughs lightly, crossing his arms against his chest. Â Y/N looks at him with a raised eyebrow, her mouth open to ask about the laughter, when a voice cuts her off.
âNo oneâs ever called me Mr. Styles. Â Jeff seems to think itâs humorous.â A light chuckle escapes from the boxer, although his is more controlled than that of his coach. âYou can call me Harry. Â Just Harry.â
Y/N nods as she sits next to him on the bench, opening up her medical kit and slipping on gloves. Â She has to focus at the task at hand. âAlright. Â How are you feeling?â
ââM fine.â Harry replies easily, running a hand through his wet curls. âHealthy as a horse.â
A snort leaves Jeffâs mouth at that comment. âA horse that got the shit beat out of him.â He turns his attention to Y/N with his next sentence. âHe got hit pretty hard in theââ
âThe ribs, yeah.â Y/N finishes the sentence for him, her eyes already examining the bruises developing on Harryâs abdomen with a keen eye. âI saw. Â Thought you were a goner.â
Harry shrugs a bit in response, seemingly unconcerned with the punches he sustained during the match. âIâve had worse.â
âMay I?â Y/N asks, extending a gloved hand. Â At Harryâs nod, she begins to press around his abdomen. âCanât imagine much worse. You mustâve really pissed someone off, then.â
A laugh rumbles out from Harryâs chest at the comment, but a wince quickly replaces the expression of mirth on his face as his muscles contract. Â Although he quickly covers it, Y/N doesnât miss it.
âDoes that hurt?â She asks, pressing on his muscles again while gauging his reactions. âWhere? Here?â
Harry clears his throat quietly, carefully controlling his expression as Jeff steps closer. âUh, yeah. A bit. Â Just a bit sore.â
âPatrick,â Y/N glances over her shoulder at him before rummaging in her kit for the stethoscope she saw earlier. âCould you grab me a cold compress?â
Patrick leaves the locker room as Y/N presses the stethoscope to Harryâs chest and back, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. âDo you have any abdominal pain? Â Any shortness in breath, or dizziness?â
Harry shakes his head slightly. âNo. Â None at all. Iâm just sore.â
Y/N pulls the stethoscope from her ears and touches his jaw lightly, frowning at the purple bruise thatâs blossomed under his pink skin. âYou got hit pretty hard here.â
Harryâs jaw flexes under her touch as he chuckles. âI know. Â I was there.â
âDonât be a smart ass, Harry.â Jeff chastises him from his position against the lockers. Â
âIâm not! Â Iâm just sayingââ
âSheâs trying to help youââ
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. Â In fact, she can think of a few things that would be useful to add to the makeshift medical bag Patrick gave herâa manual blood pressure cuff, better suturing supplies, maybe some more bandagesâ
âY/N?â
âHm?â Jeffâs voice pulls Y/N from her thoughts just as Patrick enters the locker room again, the cold compress in hand. Â She accepts it from him before turning her attention back to the coach.
âSorry, what was that?â She asks again, closing the medical kit.
âI asked if you thought Harry was being a smart ass.â Jeff gives a pointed look to his boxer. âAnd if he should apologize.â
Y/N shrugs as she hands the cold compress to Harry. âItâs fine. Â Itâs definitely not the worst thing anyoneâs ever said to me.â She turns her attention back to Harry, whoâs frowning at her again, like he did when they first locked eyes in the ring. Â That look is back, too, she notices. Â The concern. Â Like the comment she made worries him.
Y/N clears her throat, pushing the thought out of her head. âYou have some bruising and swelling, but nothing is broken. Â No internal bleeding, either. Â At least, nothing detectable.â She says with a sigh, pulling off her gloves. âI think youâre good to go, but if you start experiencing nausea, dizziness, or bleeding from any orifices, then you need to go to the doctor. Â A real one.â
Harry presses the compress against his swollen jaw, wincing as the cold makes contact with his flushed skin. âAre you not a real doctor?â
A laugh bubbles out from Y/Nâs lips as she shakes her head. âIâd say Iâm a half doctor at best.â
âThe best half doctor this gym can buy.â Patrick chimes in, pausing after a moment. âWhich, honestly, isnât saying much, butâŚâ
âRight.â Y/N tosses her gloves in the garbage can sitting against a locker. âSo, again, if you start feeling strange, see a real doctor. Â One thatâs actually licensed.â
Harry nods, standing up and extending a hand. âThanks, Doc. Â I appreciate it.â
It takes Y/N a moment to realize he wants to shake her hand. Â Once the realization hits her, she extends her hand cautiously, locking it with his in an awkward fashion. Â She prays it goes unnoticed by Harry, but judging from the laughter in his eyes, it hasnât. Â Her own cheeks flush as she pulls her hand away.
âOf course. Â Iâll see you at your next match.â 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. âHere, Doc.  You did good tonight.â
Y/N had almost forgotten that sheâs doing this for cash. âThanks.â She takes the money from him, tucking it inside her jacket. âIâm just glad I didnât need to stitch anyone up.â
Patrick laughs as he lights a fresh cigarette, sitting down at his desk chair as he puffs on it. âThis time.â
âYeah. Â This time.â Y/N eyes the cigarette with distaste. âSmoking kills, you know.â
Patrick glances at her with an incredulous look on his face, unfazed. âI run an illegal boxing ring. Do you think I care?â He exhales smoke slowly. âI got more to worry about killing me than smoking.â
Y/N shifts her weight from one foot to another as a band of anxiety twists its way through her stomach. âDo I have to worry about that, too?â
âNah.â Patrick waves his hand indifferently, clearly unconcerned. âNo one cares about a nursing student with a few bandages and some ice packs.â
âRight.â Y/N says slowly. Her previous hesitancy about her security at the gym returns, and although she tries to hide it, she knows itâs written all over her face.
Patrickâs keen eyes notice right away. âThatâs a good thing, Y/N.â For the first time that night, he uses her name to address her. âTrust me, you want to go unnoticed here.â
âDo I?â Y/N pauses in front of the door, her hand resting on the handle.
âYeah.  You do.â Patrick taps the ash off his cigarette as he gives her a long look. âI know you noticed howâŚdifferent you are from our regular visitors.â
âYou mean how Iâm not a gigantic man dressed in all leather who enjoys making sexist comments towards women?â Y/Nâs voice drips with sarcasm as she rolls her eyes. âBelieve me. I noticed.â
âYou want to go unnoticed here.â Patrick says again, firmer this time. âDress in darker clothes. Blend in more. Â No good men spend their time here. Â Not one. Â Understood?â
The serious tone in Patrickâs voice causes a chill to run down Y/Nâs back, and her hand tightens on the handle of the door. Â She doesnât doubt what heâs saying; she already had her suspicions that sheâd need to do more to blend into the crowd next week. Â But being directly warned about the danger sheâs putting herself in gives her pause.
âYou seem like a good kid, and Iâll do my best to make sure no one fucks with you. Â But you have to be watching your own back, too.â Patrick takes a long puff of his cigarette. âI got enough shit on my plate without keeping tabs on you.â
âGot it.â Y/N nods sharply, her fingernails digging into her palm as she steadies herself. âBlend in. Watch my own back. Â Go unnoticed. Â Understood.â
âŚ
âSo howâs the new job?â
Y/Nâs eyes snap up at her friendâs question as her grip on her beer bottle tightens just the slightest bit. Â 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 didnât hear the question.
âWhat, Sadie?â She leans closer as her mind searches for a plausible answer. âWhat did you say?â
Sadie leans across the table, perfectly unaware of how her question has increased her friendâs heart rate. âI asked you how your new job is.â
âOh.â Y/N brings the lip of her bottle to her mouth, taking a sip to prolong her pause. âItâs good, yeah. Pretty good.â
âWhere is it again?â Sadie asks, settling back down in her seat comfortable. âSome gym?â
âYeah, I justâIâm doing some first-aid lessons there. Â For their trainers.â Y/N says quickly, attempting to keep her voice even. Â Lying has never been her strong suit, especially to her friends. âYou know, basic stuff, but it pays well.â
âThatâs good!â Sadie replies in an encouraging voice. âThatâll be good for you.â
âYeah, itâs good so far.â Y/N nods, her fingers tapping anxiously against her beer bottle. âSoâŚâ Her mind searches for another topic of discussion. âTell me more about that guy youâve been seeing.  Peter?â
As Sadie begins to rehash the events of her last date with a man from Tinder, Y/Nâs mind begins to wander to the real answer to her friendâs question. Â How was her new job going?
Itâs certainlyâŚgoing, she thinks, nodding absentmindedly at something Sadie says.  It didnât ever seem to stop going.  Every Saturday brings a new crisis for her to handle. Within her first month of working at Patrickâs gym, sheâs reset multiple noses, splinted fingers, bandaged knuckles, stitched lips and foreheads, andâY/N suppresses a shudderâpopped a dislocated shoulder back into a boxerâs shoulder socket. Â
When Patrick told her that the job would be messy, Y/N had assumed that he was overexaggerating, but sheâs 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/Nâs not sure if thereâs some sort of guardian angel looking out for him, or if heâs really just that lucky, but so far, the worst injury sheâs had to help him with is a bloody nose. Â Despite being the busiest boxer at the gym, with fights every week, Harryâs managed to evade any broken or dislocated bones. Â He hasnât even so much as pulled a muscle.
Although Y/Nâs happy that she has one less patient to deal with every week, his winning streak is starting to make her nervous. Â Whenever Harry steps into the ring, heâs cool, calm, and collected, but Y/Nâs seen too much in life to ignore the rule that what goes up must come down. Â She has a bad feeling that the higher Harryâs luck pushes him, the harder heâll fall. Â And when he does, itâll be her job to put him together again.
ââŚAnd I just donât know what it means.â Sadie pushes her phone in front of Y/N, pulling her from her thoughts. âI mean, who sends the wheat emoji?  Is he a farmer?  How do I respond to that?â
âTell him he can plow your crops.â Y/N replies easily, shifting her attention back to her friend. âBut only if he wears overalls.â
Sadie rolls her eyes as she pulls her phone back. âHaha. Â Maybe itâs a weird vegan thing. Â Do vegans have codes?â
âHow the fuck would I know?â Y/N snorts before taking a swig from her beer bottle. âAnd I thought he was keto?â
âHe was, until two weeks ago.â
âWell, even if vegans do have codes, I doubt two weeks is long enough to learn them.â Y/N stands from her seat. âIâm going to grab another beer; do you want a refill?â
Sadie shakes her head, her attention already turned back to her text messages with Peter. Â
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. Â 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. âWhat can I get you?â
âIâll have another Budweiser.â Y/N says, reaching for her back pocket for her phone. âItâll be on debitââ
âActuallyââ The body next to her turns at the sound of her voice. âYou can put it on my tab. Â And add another scotch and soda to the order, as well.â
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 wonât have to use. âThatâs very kind of you, butâHarry?â
The green eyed boxer peers down at her, a charming grin playing on his red lips. Â 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. Â His tongue swipes his lips once before he speaks, making them impossibly redder.
ââM surprised to see you here.â Harryâs voice is as low as it ever is, even in the noise of the club. âI didnât think dive bars would be your scene.â
Y/N scoffs as she straightens her back, trying to make herself a better match for Harryâs height. âAs opposed to what, sleazy underground gyms?â
âHm. Â Thatâs true.â An amused look paints its way onto Harryâs features as he sets his empty glass down on the bar. âAre you here alone? Â Or did a date bring you here?â
âA friend, actually.â Y/N motions over her shoulder to Sadie, whoâs still wrapped up in her messages with Peter. âIâve never been here before, but she really likes it.â
âYeah?â Harryâs grin slowly grows as he leans against the edge of the bar. âHow are you liking it so far?â
Y/N lifts her shoulders slightly in a small shrug. âItâs alright. Â Not much different than any other bar in New York. Â A beer is a beer anywhere, right?â
âThatâs your mistake, though.â Harry sighs a bit as his eyes train on something over Y/Nâs shoulder. He reaches past her, his warm, tanned arm brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder. Â 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/Nâs not sure whatâs worse: how good Harryâs 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.
âMy mistake?â Y/Nâs successful in keeping her voice steadyâjust barelyâas she takes the bottle from him. âWhat mistake?â
âOrdering a bottle of beer wherever you go.â Harryâs ringed hand wraps around the cold glass of scotch. âLet me pick the next drink I buy you, yeah? Â Then youâll be able to see if you really like this bar or not.â
âUmââ 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. Â Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, and it takes the charming smile on Harryâs face changing to a grin of satisfaction at her reaction for her to snap out of her stupor.
âI donât need you to buy me drinks.â Y/N says firmly, setting her beer bottle down on the counter. âI can buy my own. Â Thank you, though.â
âWaitââ Harryâs 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. âIâm sorry, I didnât mean that inâthat sounded worse than I meant it to. Â I know you can buy your own drinks, I justâI meant it as a thank you.â
Y/N raises an eyebrow as she looks him up and down. Â The difference in his demeanor compared to a moment ago is noticeableâhis shoulders have curled in slightly, making his body appear smaller, and his brows are knit together in a look of worry. Â His teeth are tugging on his lower lip as he waits for her response, and itâs not until noticing his lips that Y/N realizes she hasnât responded.
âA thank you for what?â Y/N asks, surprise evident in her voice. Â Although Harryâs let go of her wrist, she still feels a stinging in the skin there, and wraps her own hand around the area he touched.
Harryâs free hand grazes his abdomen, just over his ribs, where Y/N knows thereâs a bruise from a fight the previous week. âFor cleaning me up all the time.â
Y/N waves off his comment with a flip of her hand. âYou donât need to thank me for that. Â Itâs my job. Â Literally.â
âI know, butââ 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. âI canât imagine itâs easy. Â Iâve seen how the men there treat you.â
Y/N straightens her spine even more, her mouth pressing into a tight line. Â The last thing she needs is Harryâs pity. âI made the choice to take the job. Â I knew what the environment would be like. Â I donât need you feeling like you have to be the good guy and buy me drinks to make up for the assholes at the gym.â
âNo, thatâs notââ Harry shakes his head quickly. âThatâs not what I meant, Y/Nââ She hates the flutter she feels in her core when she hears her name in his accent. âIâm just concernedââ
âI didnât ask for you to be concerned!â 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 sheâs going to be interrogated the moment she gets back to the table.
âI know that!â Harry defends himself, his face growing more agitated as their conversation continues. âI canât help itââ
âWhy? Â Because Iâm a girl surrounded by big tough guys? Â Because I obviously need protecting? Â Because I canât protect myself?â Although sheâs aware that her frustration is only partly aimed at Harry, and is mostly the product of the emotions sheâs kept locked inside her over the last month, Y/N canât make herself stop.
âNo.â Harryâs eyes drop down from her sharp gaze. âIâm sorry. Â I didnât mean to sound like that.â
Y/N feels a twinge of guilt when she sees the brightness fade from Harryâs eyes, but she doesnât shift her position. âI appreciate the thanks, and the drink. Â But I donât need your pity, your concern, or your protection.â
âAlright.â Harry nods once as his eyes snap up to meet hers again. Â He has the same calm and collected look that Y/N usually sees reflected in his jade irises before a match. âI understand.â
âGood.â Y/Nâs 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. âIâll see you next Saturday, then.â
âYeah.â Harry nods again, and Y/N moves to step away, but Harryâs hand catches her one more time. Y/Nâs 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.
âTake that with you.â Harryâs voice is rough, unreadable. âItâs not safe to leave your drinks unattended.â
âŚ
Now that sheâs spent the last five Saturdays working at Patrickâs gym, Y/Nâs fallen into a comfortable routineâor at least, as comfortable as she can be in an environment filled exclusively by men with anger issues and no morals. Â Every Saturday morning, she gets up around nine A.M. and lounges around for a while, just reading her phone in bed. Â Once she actually makes it out of bed, she showers, taking the time she doesnât 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 dayâs activity calls for. Â 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. Â
Y/N sets her dinner plate in the kitchen sink before grabbing her jean jacket from the back of her kitchen chair. Â She slips it over her black t-shirt, which is tucked into her dark jeans, before grabbing her heavy black boots from the closet. Â 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 toesâliterally. Â 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 hadnât 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. Â Although the match doesnât start until 10, she likes to get there early and check in with Patrick. Â Theyâve 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 doesnât blink when she enters the dark gym now, and instead keeps her gaze aimed straight ahead as she makes her way to Patrickâs office, knocking on the door thrice in quick succession.
âYeah?â His voice calls out roughly from behind the door. Â 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.
âEvening, Doc.â Patrick leans back in his desk chair, the usual cigarette between his lips. âHow are things looking out there?â
âThe gym is already half full, and the fight isnât for another hour.â 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. Â Y/N accepts the bottle, opening it on the edge of his desk before continuing. âYouâre getting famous.â
âIâm not getting famous; Styles is.â Patrick stubs out his cigarette before opening his own bottle. âHeâs going on five weeks undefeated in his first season. Â Thatâs never been done before.â
Y/N scratches at the label of her beer with her fingernail while her teeth tug on her bottom lip. âWhatâs his story, anyways?â She asks after a moment, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. âHow did he end up here?â
Patrick takes a swig of beer, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. âI donât know how he ended up here, but I assume itâs for the same reason anyone ever does, including you. The money.â Patrick shrugs a bit. âAs for his story at the gymâŚhe 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.  Wouldnât give up.  Kept coming back, over and over.â Patrick snorts, shaking his head at the memory. âFinally, 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, donât you?â
Y/N thinks back to the blood spurting from Bowersâ nose after Harry broke it. âYeah. Â I do.â
âHeâs a strange guy. Pretty different from any other boxer here. Â But heâs bringing in cash, and lots of it, so I donât give a shit.â Patrick takes another sip of beer, his eyes focusing on Y/Nâs untouched bottle. âYou better drink that, Doc. Â I donât like wasting beer.â
Y/N lifts the bottle to her mouth automatically, but doesnât register the taste of the liquid as it passes her lips. âIâm pretty sure rule number one of nursing is not drinking before a shift.â
âThatâs some bullshit hospital rule, not mine.â Patrick gives an unconcerned wave of his hand. âBesides, I think the alcohol steadies your hands a bit. Â Liquid courage and all that.â
Y/N raises the bottle in her hand, tilting it towards Patrick with a wry grin. âTo liquid courage.â
âŚ
âYou should consider telling Harry to reign it in, Patrick.â Y/N carefully slips off her bloodied gloves, tossing them in the locker room garbage. âThatâs the third nose heâs broken in the last month!â
âWhy would he need to reign it in?â Patrick raises an eyebrow, leaning against the lockers as Y/N washes her hands. âDo you know how much money heâs making me? Â The crowd goes crazy for blood!â
Y/N shakes off her wet hands, quickly drying them on a paper towel before taking her medical kit back from Patrick. Â The bag feels heavier in her hand than it did earlier. âAt this rate, youâre going to be out of boxers before the month is over.â
âI can always get new fighters, Doc.â 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. âA new champion, on the other handâŚthose are rare.â
âAre they?â Y/N raises an eyebrow as Patrick steps back, letting her step into the room first. âIâm surprised this champion hasnât worn himself out yet.â
Harryâs eyes snap up at the sound of her voice. Â Heâs in his usual spot on the bench, his hands already unwrapped and his body already clean from his shower. Â Y/N wishes she could say that the sight of Harryâs damp and tattooed chest doesnât 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. Â 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. âJeff, youâll never guess what Doc Y/N thinks.â Patrick approaches the coach with a smirk on his face. âShe wants Harry to reign it in. Â Says heâs too harsh in the ring.â
Jeffâs laughter matches Patrickâs, and Y/N feels a flush come over her face as she searches for clean gloves. Â She does her best to keep her gaze down and keep her focus on her work, but when she looks up, the look on Harryâs face makes her mind go completely blank.
Although Jeff and Patrick are snickering at her comment, Harryâs face is as unreadable as ever. Thereâs no amusement in his deep green eyes, nor is there a grin on his pink lips. Â Instead, thereâs 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.
âYou think Iâm too harsh?â 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 Harryâs side, where she had watched him sustain most of his opponentâs hits in the match. âIâm the one who cleans up your messes, remember?â She keeps her voice quiet, so she can hear any noises he makes as she presses on his muscles. âIs this sore?â
âNot more than usual.â Harry replies in the same quiet tone, his eyes glued to her movements. Â Y/N can feel his irises burning into her skin, and tries her best to ignore how the attention makes her feel. Â She almost forgets that theyâre not alone in the locker room until Patrick speaks.
âJeff and I have to discuss some things for next weekâs match.â He says, speaking more to Y/N than Harry. âAre you alright here, Doc?â
Y/N understands the tone underneath his question. Â Patrick wants to know if sheâs alright being left alone with a boxer who just proved himself capable, once again, of breaking bones. Â If it was anyone else, Y/N would shake her head and say she needs him to stay. Â With Harry, however, Y/Nâs not afraid of what he can do to her. Â If anything, sheâs concerned about what she may do to him.
âYeah, itâs fine.â Y/N gives a slight nod to Patrick as she pulls out her stethoscope. âI wonât be much longer.â
âAlright.â 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. âThis may be a bit cold.â She warns, setting the device on his chest. Â She listens for a moment before moving it to his back. âBreathe in for me?â
Harryâs ribs expand underneath her fingers as he inhales deeply, exhaling just as slow.
âAgain.â 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 thereâs no need.  Harry is justâŚwarm.
Y/N pulls her stethoscope out of her ears and sets it down in her bag, reaching instead for some wipes. âThereâs a bit of blood under your nose still.â She pulls out a wipe and gently rubs it over the affected skin. âBut your nose isnât broken.â
Harryâs hands fiddle in his lap as she cleans him up, shifting and wincing every once in a while. âI donât mean to break noses, you know.â He says after a moment. âI mean, I do, kind of, but itâs justâIâm fighting to win.â
âI know.â Y/N tosses the used wipe in the trash, her fingers still moving gently over his cheek. Â A black eye is beginning to develop under his left eye, so she reaches in her kit for her penlight. Â She flicks it on and holds up a finger with her other hand. âFollow my finger with your eyes, will you?â
Harry does as she asks, passing the simple test with ease. âWeâre all fighting to win. Â I just happen to be better at it than the others.â
The corner of Y/Nâs lip twitches as she turns off the penlight, swapping it in favour of a cold compress she can press to Harryâs bruised eye. âI suppose you are.â Harry winces as the compress makes contact with his eye, and Y/N sighs. âSorry.â
âSâalright.â Harry says immediately, voice low.
Once again, the conversation dies out in favour of silence. Â As Y/N holds the compress to Harryâs eye, she wonders if heâs been thinking of their conversation in the bar as much as she has. Â She wonders if heâs been thinking of their conversation in the bar at all. Â As much as she dislikes how much Harryâs been occupying her thoughts, she dislikes the idea of her occupying none of his even more.
âSoâŚâ Y/N clears her throat quietly. âPatrick told me this is your first season, right?â
Harry jerks his head in a slight nod. âIt is.â
When he offers no more information, Y/N asks another question. âWhat made you want to start?â
Harryâs uncovered eye meets hers, just for a moment, before looking down at his calloused hands. âI needed some extra cash, and Iâm a good fighter. Â Figured Iâd put it to use.â
Y/N can sense more of a story behind his words, but she can also tell by his demeanor that heâs not in the sharing mood. Â Instead of prying more, she just nods and takes his hand, pressing it over her hand and the cold compress. Â 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. âTake some Ibuprofen if you have any pain, and again, if you start to feel weirdââ
âSee an actual doctor.â Harry finishes the sentence for her with a small smile. âBecause youâre not one.â
âExactly.â Y/N clicks the medical kit closed. âNow you get it.â
âSo what are you then, if not an actual doctor?â Harry asks, leaning back on the bench to look up at her better. âWhat made you start here?â
Y/N pauses by the lockers, surprised heâs inquiring about her life. âIâm a nursing student at NYU. Iâm here because I was the only one dumb enough to answer Patrickâs ad, apparently.â
A chuckle rolls out of Harryâs body, and Y/N watches as she tries to hide the wince caused by his abdomen contracting. âAre youâ?â She begins to step closer, but Harry waves off her concern.
âIâm fine.â He insists. âDonât change the subject.â
âRight.â Y/N gives him a confused look. âWhat was the subject, again?â
âYou. Â Your life.â Harry shifts the cold compress to his other hand, flexing his cold fingers to get blood circulating. Â Y/N watches the movement for a moment before forcing herself to meet his eyes again.
âWhat about my life?â 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. Â He opens it quickly, grabbing a t-shirt from within and smoothly pulls it on with one hand. Â The fabric settles over his muscles nicely. âI donât know. Â Iâm just curious.â
Y/Nâs brow furrows as she takes in his words. âOkay, butâŚno offence, Harry, I justâI donât think itâs very wise of me to tell you too much about my life.â
Harryâs 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. âWhy not?â
âBecause itâs not safe?â Y/N knows her words are true, but her infliction makes it sound like a question, and Harry proves himself eager to answer it.
âItâs not?â Harry glances around the locker room slowly, gesturing to the empty space. âWho else is here?â
âJust you, but Iâthatâs part of the reason.â 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. âYou shouldnât know about my life. Â About me. Â At least, not any more than you need to.â
That unreadable look crosses over Harryâs 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. âWho decides what I need to know?â
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 sheâs with. âI do.â She murmurs. âI decide.â
Harry nods roughly once, jerking his chin up as he takes the cold compress off his eye. Â The bruise is darker now, staining his pale skin, but he hands the compress back to her. âAlright, then. Â Thanks for clearing that up.â
From the tone of his voice, Y/N gets the sense that heâs bothered by what she said, but she doesnât let herself focus on it. Â Harryâs is a grown man, and if he has an issue with what sheâs saying, he can tell her. Itâs 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. âYouâre welcome.â
âŚ
When Y/Nâs phone rings three weeks later with an unknown number flashing on the screen just past midnight on a Thursday, she almost doesnât answer it. After a day of consecutive classes and working through tutorials and labs until her mind went numb, she canât 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.
âHello?â
âY/N?â Harryâs familiar accent crackles through her speaker, half drowned out from the sound of yelling and New York traffic.
âHarry?â Y/N sits up on her couch so fast that she almost spills her tea. âWhatâhow did you get my number?â
âTexted Patrick for it.â Harryâs voice drifts further away, and Y/N canât make out what heâs saying.
âWhat?â She presses the phone closer to her ear in an attempt to hear him. âI canât understand, Harryââ
âWhatâs your address?â Harry repeats again, his voice finally audible. âItâs in Tribeca, right?â
Y/N sets down her tea with a thud. âIâyeah, butââ
âJust text it to me, please.â Harry asks, his voice low and strained. âIâll be there in ten.â
âButââ
The line clicks dead.
Y/N stares down in her phone in shock for a moment before adding Harryâs number to her contacts and texting him her address.  Sheâs not sure why she does it without questionâshe should be concerned that heâs coming for a negative reason, she thinks, but something in his voice over the phoneâŚthere was something there that sheâd never heard before.
A knock comes to her door eight minutes later, after Y/Nâs bustled around her tiny studio apartment to tidy it up. Â Sheâs 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, sheâs not entirely sure what sheâs expecting, but she knows for sure it isnât this.
Harry is slumped against your door frame, his right hand cradled to his chest by his left arm. Thereâs a dark liquid splattered on his navy blue shirt, and it takes Y/N a second to register that itâs blood, not alcohol, despite his body reeking of liquor. Â His curls, which are normally so soft and carefully tied back, are falling into his eyes as he struggles to keep himself upright. Â Bruises are already blossoming along his jaw, thereâs a split in the skin next to his eyebrow, and a frightening amount of blood trailing down his cheek like tears. Â 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 itâs her heâs looking at.
âOh my Godââ Y/N grabs his shoulders quickly, leading him into the apartment. Â She can tell heâs 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 Harryâs lips as he flops onto the couch, low and weak and a complete knife in Y/Nâs chest. Normally, when she sees someone this injured, she goes straight into nurse mode, examining them without emotion, but thereâs something about the way Harryâs chest is rapidly rising and falling thatâs preventing her from doing that.
âHarryâIââ She pushes his curls back from his face, and is horrified to find blood on her hand when she pulls it back. âWhat happened?â
âIââ The words struggle to make it past his pale lips as he takes a shuddering breath. âI got into a fight. At the bar.â
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. âA bar fight? Â This is from a bar fight?â
Harry nods once as he winces. âHad a fewâfew too many. Â Got into an argument.â He grits his teeth as he does his best to take his jacket off. âChristââ
âStop.â Y/N sets her medical kit down on the coffee table, reaching over and carefully helping him remove his jacket. Â Her curiosity is raging inside herâwhat could have irritated Harry so much that he would fight in a bar? Â And, even more pressing, what could have irritated him so much that he would lose? âSo you can only box while sober, huh?â
âYeah.â Harry mutters the word, a tinge of shame echoing in the back of his voice. âApparently.â
Y/N tosses his jacket to the ground once itâs off, her eyes canvassing over Harryâs body. Â Thereâs so much that seems wrong that she doesnât even know where to start. âOkay, justâwhat hurts? Â What happened?â
âThe bastard got a few good shots in at my head. Â Split my eyebrow, but thatâs about it.â Harry sucks in a sharp breath as he hears you snap on your disposable gloves. âBut IâshitâI fucked up my hand, Y/N. Â I threw a bad punch andâfuckââ
Y/N carefully takes Harryâs injured hand in her own, examining it closely. Â A few of his knuckles are split and dripping blood down his pale skin. Â His calloused fingers are bruised, swelling over the rings heâs wearing, and Y/N knows that those have to be the first things to go. Â She takes one of her decorative pillows and sets it on Harryâs 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. Â 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.
âWhatââ He takes a deep breath as she settles next to him, carefully setting the ice pack underneath his hand. âWhatâs the KY for?â
Y/N attempts to keep her voice steady as she answers. âYouâre wearing two rings. Â We have to get them off before your fingers swell any more.â She pops the seal of the lube open and pours a liberal amount over Harryâs fingers. âThisâthis is going to hurt, so justâIâm sorry.â
Harry nods once, his eyes closed as his head jerks in response. âJust do it.â
Although she does her best to be gentle, Y/N can feel Harryâs body tensing as she pulls the rings over his bruised fingers. Â No words leave his lips, but she can tell that heâs gritting his teeth to keep quiet as she works the two rings off.
âGood. Â Good job.â She sets the lube-covered rings on her coffee table with a clink. âThat was the worst of it, I think. Â Or I hope, at least.â
A huff of liquor scented air passes through Harryâs lips. âIs it broken?â
Y/N gingerly picks up Harryâs hand, moving his fingers as much as she can, feeling for anything out of place. âI donât think so, no.â She murmurs in a quiet voice. âJust sprained, I think. Â Your index and middle finger got it the worst, but Iâm fairly certain theyâre not fractured.â
âFairly certain?â Harry asks, jaw tense. âHow could we be 100% certain?â
âIf we went to an actual hospital and got an X-ray.â Y/N shoots back, giving him a harsh look. âBut seeing as how youâre here, I assume thatâs something you donât want to do.â
Harry exhales hard as she cleans his hand with a wipe. âNo. Â Itâs not.â
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. Â With his hand taken care of, she turns her attention to Harryâs face. Â The cut in his brow has stopped bleeding now, enough for Y/N to see that itâs not horribly deep. âI donât need to stitch it.â She tells him as she grabs a cotton pad and rubbing alcohol. âI just need to clean it and then bandage it.â
Harry winces when she presses the alcohol soaked pad to the cut.
âSorry.â Y/N mumbles, her eyes trained on the split skin next to his eyebrow.
âSâalright, Iâll manage.â 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 sheâs thinking that thereâs no way that her icy skin can feel pleasant, Harry sighs.
âYour hands are cold.â He murmurs, his uninjured hand touching the hand thatâs cupping his jaw to keep him steady. âItâs nice. Â Feels like a million degrees in here.â
Y/N resists the urge to pull her hand away from his, keeping all her focus on applying the bandage to his eyebrow like itâs a monumentally difficult task.  She waits until sheâs smoothed the beige cover over his skin to respond. âProbably because youâre so sweaty.â She presses her other hand to his forehead, doing her best to ignore how another sigh slips past Harryâs lips. âI hope you donât have a feverâŚâ
ââM just warm, thatâs all.â His words are less slurred than they had been when he first arrived, and his green eyes are just starting to open again. âThe bar was hot.â
Y/N pulls her hand away from his forehead. âRight.â She walks the three steps it takes her to get to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. âHere.â She hands it to Harry, along with two ibuprofen pills from her medical kit. âSwallow these, and then drink that entire glass of water.â
âYou got it, Doc.â Harry murmurs, following her instructions immediately. Â Y/N rolls her eyes as she takes a seat next to him again, carefully readjusting the ice pack on his injured hand.
âHow many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?â She asks in a tired voice. Â Harryâs hair is falling into his eyes, she notices, and she doesnât 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 doesnât complain. âPatrick calls you Doc,â is the only thing he says.
âThatâs because Patrick isâŚPatrick.â Y/N settles back into the couch as she watches Harry drink the water. âWhy didnât you call him for my address instead of my number?  You couldâve been here quicker.â
âI did.â Harry swallows down another gulp of water, his good hand wiping his mouth gingerly. âHe told me to ask you myself. Â Said he wouldnât give your address out to creeps.â
A rush of affection flows through Y/Nâs heart for the tough gym owner. âThatâs good to know.â
âIt is.â Harry agrees after another drink of water. Â Once heâs drained it, Y/N takes the glass from him and sets it on the coffee table.
âThank you.â Harry murmurs gratefully. âForâŚeverything tonight.  I reallyâI appreciate it.â
âYou donât need to thank me, itâs myââ
âNo, Y/N. Â This isnât your job.â Harry looks at her intensely, a sincerity on his face that sheâs never seen before, or at the very least, never noticed before. âBandaging my hand and head at one A.M. in your apartment isnât your job. Â I know youâyou said you didnât want me to know things about you, and nowââ
âNot quite.â Now itâs Y/Nâs turn to cut him off. âI said I would decide what you could know, and I decided that you could know my address. Â Just donât tell anyone else at the gym, alright?â
Despite the bruising-induced tenderness on his face, Harry frowns immediately. âI would never do that. Theyâre all awful, and I would neverâŚbetray you like that.â
Y/Nâs heart rate picks up as she listens to Harry speak. Â Thereâs something about him throwing around the word âbetrayâ in the same sentence as âIâ and âyouâ that makes a rush flow through her veins. âThanks.â
âI know itâs not easy for you there.â Harry carefully gauges her reaction as he speaks. âIâve heard how they speak to you. Â Itâsâthey have no respect.â
âItâs nothing you need to worry about.â Y/N sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears (her hair tie is in Harryâs hair, and sheâs too tired to get another one from the bathroom). âIâm used to it.â
Harryâs frown deepens, his lips finally pinkening back up (which Y/N notices for medical reasons. Purely medical reasons). âYou shouldnât have to be used to it.â
Y/N barks out a laugh, harsh and short. âAre you serious?â
âOf course Iâm serious.â Harryâs face is indignant, and in any other circumstances, Y/N might find it endearing. Â But not now.
âHarry.â She clears the laughter out of her voice. âDo you know what I deal with every day?â
âWith the boxers? Yeahââ
âNo.  Just in general.â Y/N tucks her legs underneath her as she settles herself into the couch, careful not to bump Harryâs hand. âIâm a female in the medical field.  The amount of shit I get from people, from menâŚâ She shakes her head. âIâve had male professors tell me itâs a good thing that Iâm going to nursing school, and not medical school, because Iâm too emotional to handle being a doctor.  Iâve heard male medical students tell female medical students that they donât belong in the program, because girls canât make quick and rational decisions with patients.  Iâve watched my male classmates be belittled for choosing to be a nurse over being a doctor.  And thatâs just the tip of the iceberg.â Y/N bites her lip, but only for a moment. Now that sheâs started, she canât stop the flood of words pouring out of her. âEvery day, I get my decisions and my calls second guessed by my superiors, while my male classmatesâ decisions are accepted right away.  I get called âsweetheartâ and âhoneyâ and âdarlingâ by professors and patients alike, while my male classmates are âmisterâ and ânurseâ.  Itâs nothing new.â
Harry watches her as she speaks with eyes full of awareness. Â She can tell heâs hanging on every word, his gaze trained on her and her only. Â He doesnât speak as she pauses for a breath, so she continues, a rushed urgency weaving its way through her words.
âDo you want to know why I told you that I didnât need your concern or your protection at the gym?â Y/N leans the side of her head against the back of the couch, not breaking Harryâs stare. âBecause I deal with that shit every day, and Iâve learned to either ignore it or handle it myself. Â Unless some asshole puts his hands on me, and I physically need your help, then Iâm fine. Â Can you understand that?â
Harry clears his throat once, but his voice is still thick when he replies. âYeah, I can. Â Iâm sorry that Iâit was never my intention to push the topic, or make you uncomfortable, but I did. Â Iâm sorry.â
The sincere apology brings a warm feeling to Y/Nâs stomach, and it radiates further throughout her body with every breath Harry takes. âI accept your apology. Â Thank you.â
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 innocentâŚand Y/Nâs not certain why, but something about that observation makes her feel electric.  As a distraction, she reaches for a wipe from her kit, catching Harryâs eye before touching his face with it. âMay I?â 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. Â 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.
âY/NâŚâ Harryâs 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. âYouâre a wonderful nurse.â He says, his deep green irises burning holes into her own.
The burning of Harryâs skin is so much more apparent when he nuzzles his cheek into her hand, and Y/N feels as if sheâs the one whoâs been drinking with how badly her head is spinning at the contact. âI thinkâŚâ 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. âI think you may have a fever.â
Harry gives a short shake of his head, and he maneuvers Y/Nâs hand over his lips before responding. ââS just how you make me feel. Â Feverish.â A small laugh falls out of his mouth, and he presses a chaste kiss to the tips of her cold fingers. âSorry. Â I shouldnât say that.â
An involuntary sound echoes from the back of Y/Nâs throat at his words, and sheâs not sure if itâs a gasp, a whimper, or both, but it brings heat to her cheeks nonetheless. âN-no. You shouldnât say that.â
âSorry.â Harry repeats again, his lips gently brushing against her fingertips over and over. âIâm sorry.â
âNo, youâre drunk.â Y/N briefly thinks that she should pull her hand away, but she doesnât, and while she may later blame that on her thinking she wouldnât be able to, the truth is that she doesnât want to. âYou donât know what youâre saying.â
âIâm not that drunk.â Harry moves her hand to cup his cheek again, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles in a gentle but constant motion. âI know what Iâm doing.â
Y/Nâs breath hitches as Harry turns his head to plant a kiss in the middle of her open palm. Â His lips are just as warm as the rest of him, and sheâs starting to wonder if thereâs a fire burning inside him, deep in his chest.
It would explain the burning she feels whenever sheâs near him.
âYou have the hands of a healer, yâknow that?â Harryâs voice echoes from deep in his chest, filling her senses with the cadence of his accent. âCalloused for all the right reasons. The complete opposite of mine.â
With a shaking breath, Y/N carefully threads her fingers through Harryâs, the metal of his rings cooling down the fire she feels. âIâŚI love your hands.â She says truthfully, because apparently theyâre being truthful tonight. âTheyâre so strong when you fight, butâŚwhen youâre like thisâŚâ Y/N lets go of his hand, but keeps their fingers locked together, so both of their palms are open.  Itâs like each of them is an extension of the other, and delight flushes through her when she realizes it. âYouâre gentle with me.â
âBecause I donât want to hurt you.â Harry breathes, shifting a bit on the couch. Â A flicker of pain darkens his face, and Y/Nâs free hand moves to his chest, rubbing circles over his shirt to soothe him. Â A relaxed sigh falls from his lips. âI donât want you to be afraid of me.â
Y/Nâs brow furrows, her hands pausing their movements. Â A whine of protest leaves Harryâs pink lips, but she ignores it as she gives him a confused look. âYou think Iâm afraid of you?â
âI-I wouldnât blame you if you were.â As Harryâs eyes drop to their intertwined fingers, Y/N begins to realize that thisâhis body close, his eyes downcast, his voice quietâthis is Harry opening up. Â This is Harry being vulnerable, honest, and himself. Â 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 heâs making to choose the right thing to say. âIâŚâ He pauses, the struggle clear on his face before he tries again. âEvery week, you see what I do, right?  You knowâbetter than anyone, you know what Iâm capable of.  So if you were afraid of me, IâŚI wouldnât blame you, Y/N.  Iâd understand.â
If someone asked Y/N in this moment how she got here, she wouldnât be able to explain it. Â The journey from Point A has never been more muddled, but Point B is so clearly within her sight that she doesnât 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 Harryâs body, and the precariousness of their situation. Â How did she get here? Â Y/N has no fucking clue. Â But here is the vulnerable look in Harryâs deep green eyes, the steady beat of his heart under her hand, the raw emotion in his voice, and Y/N wouldnât 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. Â She struggles to form words, to take anything more than a shallow breath, to do anything but watch as Harryâs composure starts to slip more and more. Â His teeth tug on his bottom lip more and more frequently, and his breathing increases as he sits anxiously, waiting for her response.
âIâŚâ Y/N begins to rub his chest again, the circles careful and tight, and the anxiety that she heard in Harryâs words is now laced through her own. âI could never beâŚafraid of you, Harry.  I told you, youâreâŚyouâre gentle with me.â
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 couldnât tie back.
âYouâre notâyou donâtââ She struggles to find the right words, the perfect way to express herself. âI donât know how to say itâŚâ
ââSâalright.â Harry assures her right away as he presses their palms together again. âYou donât need to say it, Y/N, Iâfuckâ!â
Harry cries out with pain, his injured hand falling back onto the ice pack covered pillow after he tried to move it. Â 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.
âDid you forget itâs sprained?â She asks him incredulously, cupping his cheek so heâll look her in the eyes. âWhat were you trying to do?â
âI wanted toâyour hairââ Harry grits his teeth, sucking in a quick breath as he struggles to control the pain. âI wanted to touch it, but I forgotâŚâ
Y/N sighs, smoothing her thumb over his jaw. âYou should go to bed. Â Itâs late.â
Harry nods slightly, his eyes glued to the ground as he lets go of your hand and carefully stands. âThank you for your help. Â Iâll get out of your hairââ
âWhat are you doing?â Y/N stands quickly, her arms automatically moving to support Harry. âYouâre not leaving. Â You canât go home like this.â
Harry meets her eyes with a look of confusion before glancing around her small studio apartment. âYou donât have a guest room, Y/N. Â Donât worry about me, Iâve gone home looking worse. Â Itâs fine.â
âNo, itâs not. Â Youâre not going anywhere.â Y/N tugs carefully on the sleeve covering his good arm. âCâmon. Â I have some clothes you can borrow.â
âI canât stayââ
âYes, you can.â She says stubbornly, her soft look transforming into a firm stare, as if sheâs challenging him to challenge her. âItâs not a big deal, Harry. Â Not unless you make it one.â
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. âFine, Doc.â Harry murmurs. âIf you say so.â
Y/N helps him to her bathroom, setting him down on the edge of her tub before grabbing him clothes from her dresser. Â Harry examines them after she hands them to him, a clear look of displeasure written on his face.
âThese are menâs clothes.â He says quietly, holding up the sweatpants and t-shirt.
Y/N chews on her bottom lip. âYeah. Â They are.â
Harry stares at her for a beat, waiting for an elaboration. Â When one doesnât come, he decides to prompt it. âWhose clothes are these?â
âAn ex.â Y/N says simply, her usual guard is back as she turns to open her bathroom cabinet. âThereâs, um, a spare toothbrush in here.  Use anything you need.  IâllâŚgive you a moment to change.â
 As Harry changes (which takes longer than Y/N wouldâve 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 sheâs 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 canât stop the thoughts that are racing through her head are any clue.
âThey fit.â She says lamely as Harry approaches the bed, the ice pack still wrapped against his sprained hand. âThatâsâŚthatâs good.â
âYeah. Â Your ex and I are pretty close in size.â Harry sits on the edge of the bed, his every movement careful and calculated. Â Now that the alcohol has completely left his system, Y/N can see how heâs assessing the situation with every passing moment.
Her instinct tells her that thatâs good, and itâs what she should be doing too, but the memory of him touching her on the couch is too sweet to let her be cautious. Â Theyâve passed that point, she thinks, and so she pushes back the covers, giving Harry a long look.
âCome here.â Y/N says quietly, beckoning him towards her. âPlease.â
Itâs the small plea that gets to Harry, and he canât stop himself from carefully moving underneath the blanket. Â His warmth is immediately apparent, and Y/N thinks that the blankets are probably unnecessary if sheâs going to be sleeping next to Harryâs fire all night.
Once heâs situated comfortably (or as comfortable as he can be with a sprained hand), Y/N flicks off her lamp, and darkness envelopes them. Â It takes a minute of blinking in the darkness for her eyes to adjust, but she quickly finds Harryâs green irises in the darkness. Â They give off their own light, she thinks, but thatâs not surprising.
They lay there for a moment, each of them on their side, until Y/N decides to break the silence. âHi.â She whispers into the space between them.
âHi.â Harryâs low voice echoes back. Â 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. Â Y/N feels like sheâs trying to memorize every plane of Harryâs face, like thereâs going to be a quiz later and she needs to ace it. Â Where are the creases between his eyebrows? Â Where is his stubble the darkest? Â Where is the tiny, crescent shaped scar? Â Y/N commits every detail to memory, if only for her own pleasure. Â Being this close to him reminds her that heâs real, and she canât help but wonder if Harry is doing the same.
Thereâs a tenseness between them, and Y/Nâs not quite sure how to fix it. Â Sheâs certain sheâll 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. Â Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense and unrelenting as his fingers deftly work their way through her hair. Â Y/N watches his chest rise and fall in time with his movements, and thereâs something about the synchronized actions that calms her racing heart.
A flicker of emotion in Harryâs eyes is the last thing she registers before her own eyes drift shut.
âŚ
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
âŚ
âPatrick, you canât be fucking serious.â
The gym owner gives her a sharp look as he taps ash off his cigarette. âDo I look like Iâm one for jokes, Doc?â
Y/Nâs mouth gapes open for a moment, her grip tightening on the back of the office chair. âHarry canât fight tonight! Â He hurt his hand! Â Havenât you listened to anything I told you?â
âHonestly, Doc, the only thing I listened to was Styles himself telling me he was fine.â Patrick gives Y/N a pointed look. âHe wants to fight, so heâs going to fight.â
âItâs your gym!â Y/N yells, the anger inside her outweighing the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. âTell him no!â
Puffing on his cigarette, Patrick shakes his head once. âIâm not doing that. Â Those people out there paid to see Styles fight, and thatâs what theyâre going to get.â
âTheyâre not going to see Harry fight.â Y/N spits out through gritted teeth. âTheyâre going to see Harry lose!â
âThatâs his business.â Patrick shrugs nonchalantly, as if theyâre not discussing how Harryâs blood is about to be splattered against the off-white vinyl of the ring. âI make my money either way, Doc.â
âAnd thatâs your business, isnât it?â Y/N says scathingly, pushing away from the chair. Â She lets her nails dig into her palms instead. âYou donât care who gets hurt, as long as you get your money!â
Patrick stands up now, his agitation beginning to show. âIâm not the bad guy here, Y/N. Â Harry says heâs good to fight, so heâs fighting. Â Iâm not his babysitter, and Iâm not his mother. Â Heâs old enough to make his own decisions.â
Y/N opens her mouth again, but no sound comes out. Â Instead, she gives Patrick one last look of fury before storming out of his office, slamming the door behind her.
She shouldâve known. Â She shouldâve known that Harry would still try to fight tonight, despite his sprained hand thatâs had less than two days to heal. Â 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. Â When she first heard the name Styles, she had been sure she that was mishearing the conversations. Â But then it happened again. Â 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. Â
Itâs her own fault, she thinks, making her way into the crowd to watch the match.  Itâs 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 tonightâŚthis 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. Â It was a double-edged sword, really. Â She knows him now, which makes her care for him more than ever before. Â And knowing him means knowing that he wonât back down from this match.
Y/N knows itâs 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. Â But she knows itâs 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. Â Itâs clear that Bowers wants his revenge for the humiliation Harry caused him in his very first match, and Y/N knows that heâll stop at nothing to get it.
While most of the short match is watched from behind her hands, Y/N doesnât miss the important moments. Â Harry on all fours, spitting blood out onto the vinyl matt. Â Harry barely dodging a punch, only to take a fist to his chest and having the wind knocked out of him. Â Harry gritting his teeth as his fist connects with Bowersâ jaw, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make him angry. Â 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. Â
As the fear and panic seizes Y/Nâs body, everything around her begins to move in slow motion. Â She sees the crowd roar, but does not hear it. Â She sees the referee drag Bowers away from Harryâs limp body, but does not hear the words heâs yelling. Â She sees Jeff run into the ring, but does not hear him calling for help. Â She sees Patrick run towards her, but does not hear him screaming her name until the fourth or fifth time.
âY/N!â He yells again, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind him as he tears through the crowd. âCome on!â
Y/N lets herself be pulled back to the locker room, which is being transformed into a makeshift E.R. Â Men that sheâs never met before are opening a folding table over the bench, tossing training mats on top of it to make a poor manâs gurney. Â Patrick takes the medical kit from her hands, opening it roughly and throwing a pair of clean gloves at her. Â 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 Jeffâs yelling signals Harryâs 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 theyâre trying to be careful, groans are leaving Harryâs mouth as they lay him face up on the folding table, displaying the full extent of his injuries.
And here it is. Â 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. Thereâs swelling and agitation in his sprained hand (which she suspects is now broken), along with blood spilling from his split knuckles. Â His nose is swollen and bleeding, his lip is cut open, and thereâs a black eye forming on his face at an alarming rate. Â 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.
Thatâs 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. Â Harry needs her right now. Â 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.
âHarry.â She speaks in a calm but firm voice. âOpen your eyes for me, Harry. Can you do that?â
His eyelids flutter at her voice, the green that sheâs come to know barely peaking through. Â Y/N flicks on the penlight, carefully raising one of his eyelids and then the other while shining the light in his eyes. Â 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.
âJeff.â She calls over her shoulder. âPut on gloves and apply pressure to the gash on his forehead. Â Keep talking to him while you do it.â
Jeff steps forward and follows her instructions exactly. Â She hears him muttering to Harry, but canât make out the words as her focus shifts to Harryâs abdomen. Â His breathing is still shallow, much too shallow for her liking, and sheâs worried that something is affecting his lungs.
âPatrick, I need my stethoââ Before Y/N finishes the sentence, Patrick is already holding out the item for her, swapping it for her penlight. Â She mutters a quick âthank youâ as she slips the ends in her ears. âHarry, I need you to take a deep breath for me, alright?â She places the stethoscope on his chest. âAs deep as you can.â
Harry sucks in a breath, but quickly moans in pain.
Y/N curses under her breath. âAgain, Harry. Â As deep as you can.â
Again, the only breath he can take is shallow and constricted. Â Y/N loops the stethoscope around her neck as she begins to examine his chest, her fingers prodding around the bruises. Â When she gets to his ribs, Harry lets out another cry, jerking forward on the table.
âKeep him still.â Y/N commands Jeff and the other man, who she finally recognizes as a gym trainer named Nick. Â She pushes on the same spot, her face grim as she receives the same reaction.
âI think he has a fractured rib.â She glances at Jeff before continuing her examination. âJust one, I think, but thereâs definitely something wrong. Â It doesnât feel completely broken, or like thereâs any splinters, but that last hit to his chestââ Y/Nâs 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. Â She needs to focus. âYeah. Â Fractured rib.â
Y/N moves through the checklist in her mind, turning her attention to Harryâs injured hand. Â Itâs still wrapped from his fight, so she grabs her bandage scissors from her bag to get a better look at the damage. Â She tries to be careful as she cuts, but she knows Harryâs in pain, and she wishes she had stronger medicine to offer than an extra strength ibuprofen.
It doesnât take her long to guess that his hand is fractured. Â Of course, she canât 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. Â Y/N does her best to clean the cuts on his knuckles, carefully bandaging them before looking up at Patrick.
âGo to the pharmacy and buy a hand brace.â She tells him as she wraps a cold compress around Harryâs hand. âSomething sturdy. Â And get more painkillers.â
Patrick disappears with a nod, leaving Y/N with just Jeff and Nick to help her. Â She sets another cold compress over his abdomen before working her way up to the injuries that look the worst.
Harryâs nose, sheâs surprised to find, isnât broken. Â 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 itâs bad. Â Despite the pressure Jeffâs been applying, the gash hasnât stopped bleeding, and seems to be tearing more every time Harryâs forehead contracts in pain. She wipes more blood from the area as the dread in her stomach grows.
âI thinkâŚâ Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth. âIâm going to have to stitch it.â
Jeff and Nick exchange a look with each other as Y/N pushes back Harryâs sweat and blood slicked curls from his forehead.
âNick, grab me two ibuprofen and some water. Â And Jeff, pass me my suturing kit, will you? Â Itâs probably towards the bottom of my bag.â Y/N waits until the two men are preoccupied with their tasks to address Harry. Â His eyes are still closed, but heâs vocal enough to voice when heâs in pain. âHarry.â She murmurs, smoothing his hair again. âHarry, do you know where you are?â
Harry sucks in another shallow breath as his eyelids crack open. âI-Iâmâthe locker room. Â In the locker room.â
Y/N nods quickly. âYou are. Â Do you remember what happened?â
âHad aâŚâ Harryâs brow furrows, causing a fresh stream of blood to drip from the gash.  Y/N applies more pressure as he speaks. âHad a match.  Got hurt.â
âYou did.â Y/N nods again, glancing at the medicine in Nickâs hand. Harryâs responses ease her worries of a serious concussion, so she motions Nick over. âYou have a bad cut on your forehead, Harry, so I need you to take this medicine before I fix it, alright?â
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. Â She prays that she hasnât underestimated the severity of his head injury, and that the medicine wonât do more damage than good. Â She knows itâs risky, but she just wants to give him something to ease his pain, even if itâs 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. Â Y/N steadies herself against the cold metal chair before turning her attention back to Harry.
âIâm going to stitch you now, Harry, alright?â She says in a clear voice. âItâitâs going to hurt, but I have to do it. Â If the pain gets really badââ she nods at Jeff, who takes Harryâs uninjured hand in his own. âSqueeze Jeffâs hand, but only with your left hand. Do you understand?â
Harry manages to mutter a weak âyeah,â 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 Harryâs skin hurts him badly, and with no anesthetic, the pain only increases with each stitch. Â Harry, to his credit, does his best to stay still, gritting his teeth and squeezing Jeffâs hand until it turns blue, but small moans and whimpers still escape him every few minutes. Â 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 Harryâs fractured hand. Â After that, all thatâs 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. Â Itâs 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 sheâs 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. âYou did good, Doc.â He mutters, rubbing her shoulder. âReally good.â
Y/N takes the water from him, but offers no other response. Â Itâll take her a bit of time to forgive Patrick for this, she thinks, although she knows most of the blame is on Harryâs shoulders. Â
Jeff sits down in the metal hair he brought for Y/N and lets out a long sigh. âThank you, Y/N.  If it werenât for you, I donât knowâŚâ
âHe shouldnât have been fighting tonight, Jeff.â Y/N says in a thick voice, her fingers picking at the label on the bottle. âHe was injured, andââ
âI tried to stop him.â Jeff glances at Harryâs sleeping form. âHeâs so fucking stubborn. Â He insisted on fighting.â
âNo more.â Y/N shakes her head. âNo more fights. Â Not until heâs completely recovered.â
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. âI got the car ready, Jeff. Â We can move him whenever.â
âWhere are you taking him?â Y/N asks, and while she hopes the answer is âa hospital,â she knows it wonât be.
âBack to his apartment.â Jeff stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his pants. âIâll stay with him for a bit, make sure heâs alright.â He glances at Y/N. âCan I call you ifâ?â
Y/N nods before he even finishes the sentence, her eyes trained on the rise and fall of Harryâs chest. Â It had soothed her less two nights before, and its continuation still soothed her now. âYeah. Â Call me if he needs anything. Â Iâll come right over.â
âŚ
It takes five days for Harryâs name to pop up on Y/Nâs phone screen. Â
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. Â 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. Â When she sees Harryâs name, however, her heart begins to pound.
She ducks outside the classroom quickly before she answers. Â Y/N had been dying to hear from Jeff on Harryâs recovery, but now that the call was actually coming, she worries that the call isnât just for an update.
âJeff?â She asks, assuming the coach is on the other line. âIs everything alright?â
âUhââ It takes just one syllable for Y/Nâs heart to stop. âItâs Harry, not Jeff.â
Y/N walks further away from her classroom, glancing around to see if sheâs alone. âItâs good to hear your voice.â Y/N murmurs. âHowâhow are you feeling?â
A dry chuckle echoes through the phone. âLike shit, but thatâs to be expected. Jeff told me I have a fractured rib?â
âAnd a fractured hand, and a mild concussion.â Y/N bites her lip. âYour nose wasnât broken, though, soâŚat least thereâs that.â
âYeah. Â Thereâs that.â
Y/N rubs her eyes as she leans against the corridor wall, her gaze trained on the trees outside the window. âIâJeff said heâd call me if there was anything wrong, soâI wouldâve stopped byââ
âNo, Iâve been fine. Â Just in pain, but thatâs to be expected.â Harry assures her. Â Y/N can almost picture him running his (not broken) hand through his hair. âYouâre busy with school. Â I understand.â
âYeah, butââ Y/N lowers her voice as a group of students walks by. âMy class finishes in an hour. Â Can I come see you tonight?â
Thereâs silence on the other end, and for a moment, Y/N begins to worry that sheâs overstepped a boundary. Â She opens her mouth to apologize when Harry finally answers.
âYeah. Â You can.â
âŚ
Y/Nâs medical knowledge tells her that things have to get worse before they can get better. Â Sheâs 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 wasnât wearing a black t-shirt, she knows she would see more scattered across his chest. Â To Y/Nâs relief, however, the swelling in his face has gone down, and itâs obvious that the bandage over his stitched wound has been changed, albeit a bit clumsily. Â 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.
âHi.â Harry opens the door wider, stepping back to allow her inside. âCome on in.â
Y/N steps over the threshold, her gaze turning from Harryâs injuries to his apartment. Â Itâs a little bigger than hers, she notices, and estimates that itâs a one bedroom with actual spaces dedicated for separate things. Â 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. Â A framed photo of him and a woman who looks just like him sits on the table next to the couch. Â A pair of red boxing gloves dangle off the edge of the closet door. Harryâs 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.
âI like your place.â Y/N stands in the hallway awkwardly, not sure of where to go. âItâs nice.â
âThanks.â Harry shuts the door with his good hand before gesturing for her to sit down. âYou can, uh, sit on the couch if youâd like. Â Do you want something to drink?â
Y/N shakes her head. âNo, Iâm fine, thank you. Â But you should drink some water.â
An unbelieving laugh leaves Harryâs mouth, but he moves to the kitchen nonetheless. âAre you telling me what to do in my own home?â
âYes. Â You have to be hydrated to heal.â 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. Â 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. Â While heâs trying to mask his discomfort, Y/N can detect it easily.
âIs it your rib?â She asks, worry slipping into her voice. âIs it hurting you?â
Harry manages to give a small shrug. ââS not awful. Â Iâve been taking some ibuprofen for pain, like you said.â
Y/N twists her ring around her finger, the fidgeting helping to keep her centered. âIâd get you something stronger if I could, butââ
âYouâve done more than enough for me, Y/N.â Harry cuts over her with a firm look. âDonât worry about it.â
Y/N canât look at Harry. Â She canât. If she does, she knows that all sheâs going to be able to see is the bruises and bandages and braces, and sheâll start to cry. Â And if she starts to cry, she wonât stop, and then sheâll just be upset and crying in Harryâs living room, all because she looked at him, and thatâs not what sheâs going to do. Â She repeats the thought in her head like a mantra. Â Thatâs not what sheâs going to do. Â Thatâs not what sheâs going to do.
And then she looks at Harry.
Harry is already looking at her.  The longer theyâve spent together, the more sheâs 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.  Harryâs face, even while emotional, is unreadable.  She canât 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.
âWhy did you do it, Harry?â 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 heâs stalling for an answer, trying to find anything worth saying. âI needed the money, Y/N. Â And I couldnâtâgetting the shit beat out of me by Bowers was better than forfeiting to him. Â I couldnât do that. Â I couldnât give him the satisfaction.â
âThatââ Y/N sucks in a breath, trying to remind her lungs to move the air in and out of her body. âThat isâŚridiculously idiotic, and prideful, and stupid, and a million other things, but thatâs not what I meant.â She steels herself before meeting Harryâs eyes again, willing herself to sound less like a child and more like a woman. âI was asking why you left me that morning, afterâŚafter you stayed the night.â
For the first time since she arrived, itâs Harryâs eyes that are unable to meet hers. Â 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.
âYou justâI told you it was fine for you to stay.  And then the next morning you were gone, and your noteâŚâ Y/N canât help but scoff. ââThanks again for the helpâ?  Really?  Thatâs all you had to say to me?â
Harry clears his throat as his good hand begins to tap against his thigh. âItâs not all I had to say, I justâI couldnât say everything in a note.â
âWhy did you even have to leave a note?â Y/N asks incredulously. âThatâs the whole point, Harry!  You left, didnât call me, or tell me that you were alright, and then the next time I saw you, you were getting beat half to death.  Thatâs notâŚfair.â
At that word, Harryâs eyes widen, and his face contorts into an expression Y/N can finally read: disbelief. âFair?â He repeats, accent thick. âItâs not fair? Â Nothing in life is fair, Y/N. Â I didnât call you because Iâm not yours, and youâre not mine. Â I let myself pretend a bit that night, while I was drunk, but I shouldnât have. Â If thereâs anything that wasnât fair, anything I have to apologize for, itâs that.â
The tears come then, pricking her eyes with an irritating heat as she drops her gaze into her lap. âSo youâyou 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 youâre safe, and the only thing you think you have to apologize for isâis pretending?â Y/N shakes her head. âWhat does that even mean?â
âIt means I shouldnât even have been there in the first place. Â And after I showed up, I shouldâve been more careful. More in control.â Harry stares down at his hands again, not to avoid her gaze, but to think about what they did that night. âI shouldnât have talked to you like I did. Â I shouldnât have asked questions. Â I shouldnât have touched you. Â I shouldnât have crossed all the lines I set for myself months ago. Â But I did, and Iâm sorry.â
âIâm not sorry.â Y/N wraps her arms around herself tightly, and although the force against her is comforting, sheâd prefer it if the arms werenât hers. âIâd rather you come to me for help than stumble home in the dark, and IâŚâ 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. âI didnât mind you asking questions, or touching me.  I liked it.  I thought I made that obvious.â
Harryâs face flicks back to the expression that sheâs unable to read. âNeverthelessââ
âDo you honestly think youâre the only one who set lines and boundaries?â 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. âI did, too, but the more we talked, the more I started to waver. Â The boundaries were out the window the moment you stepped into my apartment, Harry. Â 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 donâtââ Y/N gestures at him, how heâs turned his body away from her. âDonât sit there and act like youâre the only one to blame when I took every step with you.â
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 Harryâs shallow breathing, the pounding of Y/Nâs own heart. Â She focuses on each individual sound, each one an ode to whatever it is thatâs been hanging between them since the night they met, until Harry finally responds in a low and controlled voice.
âI didnât think that youâŚwanted me like that.â 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 doesnât stop until he can meet her eyes.
The sight of his green irises takes all the fight out of her.
âHow could you not realize that?â Y/N crosses her legs underneath her, placing her palms flat against her thighs. Â If she wants to have an open conversation, she thinks, then she needs to be open.
âBecause youâre you.  And IâmâŚâ Harryâs head turns just for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. âI told you last week.  Youâre a healer, in every sense of the word, and Iâm the complete opposite.â
âAnd I told you,â Y/N says stubbornly. âThat I donât buy that for a minute. Â I meant it when I said I wasnât afraid of you. Â And for once, you were being honest, and I thought that we were going to move forward together.â
A sharp laugh falls from Harryâs lips, followed by a wince as his good hand rubs gently over his ribs. âHonest? Â 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 didnât tell you the worst of it.â Harry drags his hand through his hair roughly. âI donât know, maybe I shouldâve. Maybe you wouldâve left by now, and saved yourself the trouble.â
âStop it!â Y/N takes his hand, weaving their fingers together like she did when he was at her apartment. âYou keepâitâs like you want to create this narrative where Iâm good and youâre bad. Â Thatâs not true!â She presses her other hand over his. âWeâre both here. Â We both ended up in the same place.â
âBut what about after?â Harryâs voice is tight as his gaze settles on their locked hands. âThe difference between us is that you have a life outside of that gym thatâs waiting for you. Â But the gym is my life. Â Boxing is my life. Â I donât have any other career to hold out for, Y/N. Â Thereâs nothing for me except boxing, and thereâs everything for you.â
âWhat about me?â Y/N brings Harryâs fingers to her lips, pressing small kisses to the tips like he had done for her. âYou could have boxing and me. If you were just honest with me, if you opened up completely, Iâd do the same.â
Harry exhales slowly, closing his eyes at the feeling of your lips dancing over his hand. âIt doesnât work like that, Y/N. Â I wish it did, but it doesnât.â
âWho decides if it works like that?â
The corner of Harryâs lip twitches, and Y/N knows heâs remembering one of the first conversations they had, when he asked who decided what he needed to know. Â Y/N wonders if that was the first line that was crossed.
âI do.â Harry says after a moment. âI decide.â
âŚ
With how little she knows about Harry, Y/N wouldâve 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 yetâŚwhen sheâs home in the evenings, her schoolwork done, her mind free to roam, itâs always Harryâs face that she sees.
Y/N had known that Harryâs first night back would be hard. Â After six weeks of being away from the ring, recovering from his injuries, Harryâs return to the ring would be the first time sheâs seen him since he got hurt. Â 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. Â She had assured him that Harryâs 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 theyâve 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. Â As she set Jacksonâs 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 Harryâs locker room, the place looks like a paradise. Â The floors are stained with sweat instead of blood. Â The brown stains in the sink are only from rust. Â And the blood thatâs splattered on Harryâs forehead isnât his own.
âYouâre getting quicker, Doc.â Jeff comments in lieu of a hello. âHarry hasnât even had time to shower yet.â
Y/N glances at the sweaty boxer sitting on the bench, who is currently preoccupied with the incredibly difficult task of unwrapping his hands. âIâve had more practice, I suppose.â
Taking her seat next to Harry, she opens her case and slips on a pair of disposable gloves. Â Jeff and Patrick stand in the corner, discussing Harryâs return to the ring, as Y/N focuses on the work that sheâs here to do.
âYou have a bruise on your jaw, but thatâs about it.â Y/N touches his chin gently, tilting his head to a different angle. âHow do you feel?â
âFine.â Harry says shortly, giving a quick nod of his head. âYeah, I feel fine. Â It felt good to be out there again.â
Y/Nâs eyes flicker to the new scar on his forehead before turning her attention to his hands. âDid you wrap your right hand tighter tonight?â
âI did.â Harry nods again. âAnd Iâve been using the brace at home, like you told me to.â
âGood.â After a quick check, Y/N moves to his abdomen, pressing carefully. âHave you been having any difficulties breathing?â
Harry shakes his head. âNo, itâs much better. Â It only hurts if I stretch a lot, and only for a second.â
âJust some residual bruising, probably.â Y/N bites her lip as her fingers brush over his tattoos. âItâs to be expected.â
Harryâs gaze finally catches her own, as unreadable and cavernous as ever, and Y/N clears her throat as she pulls her hands away. âI think youâre all good. Jackson barely touched you tonight.â
âI wanted to give him someone easy to ease him back into the ring.â Patrick joins the conversation. âI need to build my champion back up.â
Irritation flickers across Harryâs face for a brief moment. Â Y/N can tell that he doesnât like the idea of being eased into something.
âWe appreciate it, Patrick.â Jeff claps a hand over the gym ownerâs shoulder. âWhy donât we go discuss next week in your office?â
Patrick glances at Y/N, whoâs busying herself with rooting around in her medical kit. âYeah. Â Alright.â He says after a moment. âAre you two good here?â
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.
âWell, youâre good to go.â She says after a moment. âIâll, um, Iâll see you next week.â
âWait.â Harry catches her arm when she reaches for the kit. âY/N, wait, Iâjust wait.â
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. âWhat?â
âLook at me.â Harry murmurs, his voice lower than normal. âPlease look at me.â
Y/N finally raises her head, looking Harry in the eyes again. Â She can tell heâs searching for something in her stare, but sheâs not sure what. Â If she knew, sheâd give it to him in a heartbeat. Â Or maybe sheâd withhold it, she muses, so that heâd keep searching, his arm on hers.
âWhat?â She asks after a moment, Harry still looking up at her. âWhat? What is it?â
âIâŚâ Harry clears his throat as his hand drops slightly, his grip falling from her forearm to her wrist. âDid you watch the match?â
Y/N nods, hoping her disappointment at the innocence of his question isnât too apparent on her face. âI did. Â I always do.â
âI know, but I wasnât sure ifâŚâ Harryâs gaze flickers to his hand on your wrist. âI wasnât sure if youâd want to.â
âItâs my job.â Y/N tries to sound professional, tries to reinstate the boundaries that they so carelessly broke, but thereâs nothing professional about the way Harry is threading his fingers through hers as he pulls her back down to the bench.
âI missed you.â He says quietly, his thumb moving over the back of her knuckles. âI wanted to call, but I didnât want toâŚI wanted you to move on.â
âIs that why youâre holding my hand?â Y/N raises an eyebrow, but she doesnât pull away.
Harry tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. âHolding your hand is more for myself right now.â
âYou canât do that, Harry.â Y/Nâs voice grows tighter as she wills herself to pull her hand away. âYou canât justâyou canât say things like that. Â Not after what you said before.â
âI knowââ
âNo, you donât.â Y/N finally pulls her hand away, grabbing her medical kit before taking a step back from him. Â Harry watches her movements with disappointed eyes. âYou donât know. Â You donât want to give us a chance? Â You donât want to open yourself up to me? Then fine. Â Donât. Â But donât expect me to do anything more than my job. Â Is that understood?â
Harryâs mouth presses into a tight line. âUnderstood.â
âŚ
Itâs four A.M. when Harry knocks on Y/Nâs 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. Â Sheâs been asleep for less than two hours, having only made it back home from that nightâs match at two A.M. (Harry had dislocated his opponentâs shoulder, as well as split the skin of his forehead, and it took her some time to clean them up), and almost doesnât get up. Â Her neighbours have no problem with making as much noise as they see fit at any time of the day, and she assumes itâs one of their drunk friends trying to find a place to stay overnight. Â Thinking sheâll just wait for them to go away, Y/N pulls her comforter up to her chin tightly.
And then the person knocks again. Â And again. Â And again.
Once itâs clear that she wonât 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. Â 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 canât 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 thatâs darkened in her absence. Â His curls are wild, falling carelessly over his shoulders to dust the top of his long jacket. Â Heâs dressed in casual street clothes, covering up the tattoos that Y/Nâs gotten so used to seeing every week. Â His expression, like always, is unreadable, but when Y/N meets Harryâs 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.
âHarry, what are you doing here?â Y/N demands, opening her door a little wider once she realizes that heâs not a stranger. âItâs four in the morning!â
âI know. Â Iâm sorry.â Harry glances over her shoulder, as if heâs checking to make sure sheâs alone. âCan I come in?â
Y/Nâs mouth drops open in confusion, but she still takes a step back from the door. Â Where else is he supposed to go at this time of night? âIâyeah. Â Alright.â
Harry walks into her apartment slowly, his eyes scanning her living space like heâs seeing it for the first time. Â Y/N thinks that maybe he doesnât remember much about it from when he was last here, seeing he had been drunk and in pain at the time. Â Still, she doesnât 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.
âDid I wake you?â Harry asks slowly, as if the idea that Y/N had been sleeping had just occurred to him.
âItâs four in the morning.â Y/N repeats in a deadpan voice. âYes. Â You woke me, and you better have a damn good reason for it.â Her eyes scan over his body again, in case thereâs an injury from the fight that she didnât notice before. Â Or a stab wound. Â 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 sheâd help him. Â No matter what.
Harry rakes a hand through his loose hair, and Y/N wonders how his rings donât get caught as he does it. Â Then she tells herself to stop looking at his rings, because if she looks at his rings, sheâll look at his hands, and if she looks at his handsâ
âMy dad left when I was a kid.â
Harryâs 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.
âWhat?â She asks, brow furrowing in confusion. Â Y/N thinks that she should tell him to sit, but by the energy radiating off of Harry, she doesnât think heâll listen.
âMy dad left when I was a kid.â Harry repeats, his voice wavering for just a second. Â He clears his throat before continuing. âI was around seven when he ran off, and then it was just my mum, my sister, and I. Â My mum did her best to take care of us herself, but itâit was hard. Â We never really had much, and what we did have, she spent on my sister and I, to make sure that we were alright.â
âHarry, I donât understand.â Y/N reaches for him hesitantly, but pauses before her fingers actually make contact with his jacket. âWhy are you telling me this?â
Harry licks his lips once, and Y/N watches as he flexes and unflexes his right hand. âIâm trying toâŚto be open.  To be honest.â
A beat passes between them before Y/N comprehends his words. âYouâwhat?â
âYou said I had to be honest with you.â Harryâs teeth worry his bottom lip, chewing it for a moment before he continues. âAnd I-I want to try it. Â I want to make this workâmake us work. Iâve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, but tonight, when you were helping me after the match, I justââ 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. Â And taking Y/N with him. âI wanted to kiss you. Â I almost did, but that wouldnât be right of me, because you told me what you wanted, and what you needed, so I went home, but I couldnât stop thinking about you, and missing you, and wanting you, because I want you so bad, Y/Nââ
âHarry.â Y/N touches his shoulder this time, rubbing her hand against him in soothing circles. âTake a deep breath, yeah? Â Slow down. Â How about we sit down on the couch, and Iâll get us a drink, and then weâll talk, okay?â
Harryâs eyes soften at the suggestion, and colour rushes to his cheeks, flushing his pale skin to a light pink. âYeah.â He mumbles, his hands rubbing over the sleeves of his jacket. âI want that.â
The way he says, âI want that,â such a simple phrase, causes Y/Nâs heart to thump in her chest. Â Thereâs something so sincere in his tone, but Y/N doesnât 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. Â The whiskey had been a gift from that yearâs secret Santa gift exchange in the nursing program, and Y/N had yet to open it, as she doesnât have much of a taste for sipping liquors. Â However, tonight seems to call for something stronger than regular beer.
When Y/N returns to Harry, heâs stripped off his long jacket, but his patterned shirt doesnât seem to be warm enough to stop him from shivering. Â Y/N hands the drink to him, frowning as she touches his arm.
âAre you cold?â She asks in concern, despite his skin feeling as warm to her touch as it usually is. âI can get you a sweaterâŚâ
Harry shakes his head once, taking a long sip of the whiskey. âNo, justânervous, I suppose.â
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. âFinish what you were saying earlier.â She murmurs. âIfâŚyou can.â
âCanât remember how far into my speech I got.â Harry laughs once, short and anxious, his hand tugging on his hair again. âI was rehearsing it on my walk over, but I blanked the moment you opened the door.â
âThere was something aboutâŚâ Y/N wraps her hands around her full glass. âNeeding me?â
Harryâs cheeks pinken again. âRight.  Yeah.  Thatâs quiteâŚnew for me.  Iâve never needed someone before in aâin the way that I need you.  I have my mum and sister, and Jeff, but youâŚyouâre different.â He busies himself with another sip of his drink. âItâs likeâŚitâs so confusing, Y/N.  I know I shouldnât.  Iâve had that talk with myself countless times, and with you, and Iâve told myself that youâre so much better off without me, but I just canât make myself let you go.â
Y/N purses her lips, her eyes dropping to her lap as she answers in a careful and controlled voice. âI feel the same. Â I havenât stopped thinking about you in weeks. Â I donât think Iâm capable of it, really. Â Youâreâyouâre under my skin. Â And itâs new, and strange, and uncomfortable, but only when Iâm away from you. Â When Iâm with you, it feels as easy as breathing.â
Harry rubs his lips, and Y /N can tell that heâs still processing what she said, which she doesnât blame him for.  When he continues with his story, instead of commenting on her response, she feels a sense of relief.  Heâs not retreating back into the familiarity of being guarded.  Not yet. âSoâŚso my dad left.  And Mum tried, but we werenât in a super good place.  Gemma wanted to go to college, so she took out loans, and my mum remortgaged the house, andâŚall the bills piled up at once.  And I didnât even know until we were about to lose the house.  I found her crying one day, my mumâŚâ Harryâs eyes get a far away look in them. âShe said sheâŚfelt like she failed us, which is ridiculous, because sheâsâsheâs just the best,â A smile flickers on Harryâs face for a brief moment. âYouâd like her.â He takes another sip of whiskey before continuing. âWell, I had just graduated high school, and I didnât really have anyâŚplans.  College didnât seem that important at the moment, so I went to work. I had to take care of her, you know?â Harry fiddles with a ring on his finger. âI 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 wasnât quite enough.  And I had some friends who had come to America to work, and I knew that there wereâŚeasier 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.  SoâŚthatâs what I did.â
âI remember. Â Patrick told me.â Y/N bites her lip, tapping her fingers against her glass. âHe said that he sent you away at first.â
âHe did.  It pissed me off.â Irritation flickers through Harryâs eyes. âIâd come so far, only to be turned down because I didnât have as much muscle as the other fighters, when I knew I could fight three times as good.  But I couldnât just go home, so I trained.  I fought at some other gyms while training, but none of them paid as much as Patrickâs.  Boxing thereâŚI have enough money to send home to Mum while living here.  Itâs high risk, but itâs high reward.â
Y/N finally takes a sip of her whiskey, trying her best to hide the grimace that crawls onto her features. âDo you really think youâre going to box for the rest of your life?â
âI do.â Harry answers immediately. âIâm no good at anything else. Iâll box until my body gives out, and after that Iâll train others, if I can.  Either wayâŚthis is my life.  This is as far as I go, really.  And youâŚâ
âI still have more school ahead of me.â Y/N runs her finger over the rim of her glass as she replies. âBut Iâm notâI said it before. Â You want to paint me as good, when we both ended up at that gym. I needed the money too.â
Harry shifts on the couch, repositioning himself to look at her better. âI was open with you.  IâŚshared. Will you share with me, now?â
Y/N hesitates, but knows she canât say no. âShare what?â
It takes Harry a moment to settle on a question. âYou had clothes from an ex.â He says finally. âWhat happened with them?â
Y/N sighs, leaning her head against the back of the couch. âHis 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. WeâŚI was in love with him.  Very in love with him.â Y/N glances at Harry, watching how his jaw tenses as she says that. âAnd, um, it didnât work out. Well, at first, actually, it did. Kind of.  He proposed to me about eighteen months ago, and I said yes.â Y/N looks down at her left ring finger, the only finger on her hands that has no ring tan line. âAnd 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 justâjust be what he wanted.â Her voice cracks in a mixture of hurt and anger, and she knows both emotions are apparent in her eyes when she meets Harryâs gaze. âHe wanted a wife.  He didnât want me.  So I sent back the ring about six months before I met you, and I havenât heard from him since.  The clothes are justâŚtheyâre left over from when he came to visit me.  I know I should get rid of them, but itâsâŚhard, you know?  To let go of someoneâŚâ
âI know.â Harry twists one of his rings around his finger, the same one that he always fidgets with, a plain silver band. âThis is my dadâs wedding ring. I found it in my mumâs room before I moved to New York.  I didnât know she still had it, or why she still had it, and I donât know why I took it, but I just looked at it andâŚfelt like I needed it.â
Y/N sets down her drink before taking Harryâs hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over the band. âHeâs your dad. Â Itâs alright.â
Harry stares at their intertwined hands, and his voice is thick when he replies. âIâve never told anyone that. Â About the ring, or my dad leaving. Â I never really talk about it.â
âIâm glad you told me.â Y/N keeps her voice soft as she moves closer to him. âI meant it when I said I wanted to know you. Â That means the bad as well as the good.â
âI know you say that now, butâbut no one stays forever, Y/N.â Harryâs voice drops impossibly low. âEveryone leaves eventually. Â You will, too, once you see what Iâm like.â
âI donât care. Â I really donât.â Y/N shakes her head fiercely. âIâve seen what youâre like. Iâve seen you happy and angry and irritated and guarded, and I want it all. Â Do you know how long Iâve waited to feel this way about someone?â She plays with his fingers as she speaks, adoring the familiar warmth that she feels in his skin. âIt was never like this with Parker.â
âYou said you didnât want a protector. Â And all I want to do is protect you.â Harry brings Y/Nâs hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist gently. âI donât want to force something that you donât wantââ
âItâs different if weâreâif you and Iââ Y/N flushes as she watches him kiss along her wrist and hand. âIâll be your protector as much as youâll be mine. Weâll protect each other. Â Weâll be equal.â
âY/N, youâre so muchâweâll never beââ
âWeâll be equal.â 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. âThatâs all Iâve ever wanted. Can you give that to me?â
A soft breath leaves Harryâs lips, and it washes over her in the sweetest way. âYes.â He says sincerely.
âGood.â Y/N swallows hard as a fire starts to burn in her core. âWill you give that to me?â
âYes.â Harryâs hands shift to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him until sheâs straddling his lap.
Y/N rubs her thumbs along Harryâs stubbled jaw. âDo you need me?â
Harryâs green irises flicker to Y/Nâs pink lips and back again. Â Sheâs starting to get better at reading his eyes, she thinks, although sheâs still not as good as sheâd like to be. Â She still canât see exactly whatâs swirling inside them, but in this moment, she thinks she has an idea of it.
âYes.â Harry says again, his hands moving up her back. âI need you.â
Y/N presses a chaste kiss over Harryâs forehead scar, down his temple, his cheek, his jaw, delighting in every soft breath and sigh that escapes him. âDo you want me?â
Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, and Harry matches her tone perfectly as his fingers press into her back. âMore than anything.â He breathes, tilting his head back as she kisses his neck. âI want you more than anything.â
Y/N kisses across his neck, down to his collarbones, before traveling up the other side of his face. Â She kisses across Harryâs 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. âThen kiss me.â She whispers, half panting the words.
Harryâs 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. Â 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. Â Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she tries to get as close to him as possible. Â After spending so long waiting, she wants to feel him close to her. Â She wants to be his, in every sense of the word.
A wrecked moan falls from Y/Nâs mouth as Harryâs teeth graze her lips, his tongue immediately soothing the spot after he nips at her. Â He repeats the action over and over, anything to hear her moan again, and Y/N has to pull away to collect herself. Â Sheâs not sure if itâs the whiskey or Harry, but her head is spinning in the best way.
Undeterred, Harryâs lips move to her neck, kissing and nipping just as much as they did before. âIs this alright?â He mutters between kisses, his hands pushing up her hoodie to get a grip on her bare skin. âI-Iâll stop if itâsââ
âDonât you dare.â Y/N moans, throwing her head back to allow him better access. âIf you stop now, Iâll never forgive you.â
âNoted.â Harry mumbles the word against her jugular, letting his teeth scrape her skin before sucking over the spot. Â A guttural moan slips from Y/Nâs mouth as a shock runs through her, and she can feel the smirk on Harryâs lips as he licks over the mark heâs made.
The fabric of Harryâs shirt is soft to the touch when Y/N gathers it in her fists, tugging on it enough to get Harryâs attention. âTake it off.â She says in a low voice, her eyes locking with Harryâs as he pulls away from her neck. âDoctorâs orders.â
A groan rolls out from the back of Harryâs throat. âGod, thatâs so fucking hot.â He mutters, kissing her once more. âIn a totally respectful and non-objectifying way.â
Y/N laughs into the kiss, tugging on the hem of his shirt again. âMhmm. Just take it off, will you?â
Harryâs 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. Â Y/N, however, has other plans, and begins to run her hands down Harryâs chest.
âIâve wanted to do this for weeks.â She murmurs, tracing her fingers over his tattoos. âSo handsomeâŚâ She scratches her nail over Harryâs butterfly tattoo, adoring how his eyelids flutter at the feeling.
âThat feels soâŚâ Harry closes his eyes completely, letting his head rest on the back of the couch to fully lose himself in Y/Nâs touches. âKeep going.â
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 Harryâs body. Â She works them over his chest, grazing over his nipples just enough to make his body jump beneath her.
âIs thatâŚ?â She begins, trailing off as she touches them again.  Harry doesnât jump as much this time, but thereâs an undeniable hitch in his breath.
âFeels good.â He says thickly, his fingers digging into her back in the best way possible. âYeah. Â Really good.â
Y/N nods, tweaking them one last time before she continues her exploration down his abdomen. Â 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.
âI love these.â She whispers, her fingers taking their time as they touch them. âTheyâre some of my favourite tattoos of yours.â
Harryâs eyes open, and the tenderness in his green eyes is unmistakable. âYou have favourites?â
Y/N flushes as she nods. âI-I do.  I like your cross tattoo.  And your mermaid.  And theseâŚâ Y/N raises one hand to touch over his collar bones again. âWhat does this year mean?â
âItâs my mumâs birth year.â Harry admits as one of his hands begins to play with Y/Nâs hair. âI got it last year.â
Y/N knows that her eyes match the tenderness in Harryâs, and she kisses him once more before continuing to move her hand lower. Â She traces her finger over the buckle of his belt as her teeth tug on Harryâs lip lightly.
âCan I?â She asks gently, her breath blowing across his lips. âPlease?â
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 sheâs never once been afraid of his hands and what they can do.
âIs it the Doctorâs orders?â Harry asks, his teasing tone disguising the need in his voice.
Y/N lets out a light laugh, and itâs 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 otherâŚY/N knows thatâs something good, despite never having it before. Â
âYes.â 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. Â When itâs finally free, Y/N busies herself with the button and zipper of his jeans.
âWait.â Harry grasps her wrist carefully, stopping her before she can attempt to pull his jeans down. âI didnâtâI came here to take care of you.â He murmurs as he pushes her hands away. Â His own hands move to Y/Nâs 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.
âLet me take care of you.â 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. Â 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. Â He moves her carefully as he does, so her head is supported by her pillows. Â Y/N doesnât notice his hands moving from her waist untilâ
âWhy donât we just move this guy until weâre done, hm?â Thereâs a trace of laughter in Harryâs voice as he holds up the teddy bear. âI donât think Iâll be able to look him in the eye after if he watches.â
Y/N clears her throat as an embarrassed flush quickly works its way up her neck. âAlright, justâhereââ She takes the teddy bear from Harry, dropping it to the side of the bed. âAnd he has a name, you know. Â Itâs Paddington.â
âPaddington?â Harryâs laughter is obvious now, and he buries his head in her neck as he attempts to stifle it. âThat is so fucking adorableââ
âCan you not laugh at my teddy bear when youâre about to fuck me?â Y/N asks, voice exasperated and strained.
Harryâs laughter dies off as he pulls his face back up, his eyes darker than they were a minute ago. âIâm about to fuck you, am I?â
Y/N clears her throat, and as Harryâs gaze finally sweeps down her body, she gets the overwhelming urge to cross her arms and cover her exposed self. âYou are. Â At least, you were, until you got distracted.â
âIâm not distracted.â Harry traces a single finger down Y/Nâs sternum, and Y/N canât hold back the choked gasp in her throat.
âIâm completely focused.â 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 Harryâs long curls, Y/N lets out another whine in sync with her tugging. âHarryâ!â
Although Y/N doesnât have her eyes on the boxer, she can feel the smirk thatâs on his face, and just knows that heâs adoring the way that sheâs reacting to him. Â While thereâs a small part of Y/N thatâs irritated at his smugness, thereâs a bigger part of her telling her to react more. Â Moan more. Â Pull his hair more. Â 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. Â Harryâs ring covered fingers tweak her nipple, tugging and twisting just enough to work more whimpers out of her. Â 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 Harryâs 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. Â Harry switches his mouth to Y/Nâs 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. Â 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 theyâve created on Y/Nâs bed.
When Harry lets Y/Nâs nipple fall out of his mouth, his lips are bright red, shining with saliva almost as much as his eyes are shining with lust. Â Y/N quickly pulls him up to kiss her, and fingers one of his curls as she takes a shaking breath.
âIâve never felt so good from justâŚâ Her voice wavers for a moment, and a new wave of blush heats her cheeks.  âJustâŚyou know.â
Harry brushes a thumb over her cheekbone, delighting in the heat he feels beneath his fingers. âYeah?â His accent is thick. âThen youâre going to love what Iâm going to do next.â
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. Â Within a moment, her pajama shorts are tossed to the side, and Harry is directing her movements.
âBend your knees for me, love, justâyeah. Â Just like that. Â And spread them wider.â He coaxes her gently, helping to guide her body into the position he wants. Â The pleasure on his face at the sight of Y/Nâs uncovered cunt is evident as he inhales deeply, laying his stubbled cheek onto one of her thighs as he just stares at her.
Y/Nâs chest heaves as she glances down at the sight. Â Harry hasnât even touched her core, and yet sheâs never been more turned on in her entire life. Â Something about the look in his eyes as he stares at her bare cunt drives her insane, and Y/N knows that sheâll never experience this with anyone else. Â No one else will ever compare to Harry, and she doesnât want them to. Â She just wants him.
Harryâs 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. âDonât even want to touch you.â He murmurs. âJust want to keep staringâŚâ
âThatâthatâs sweet, butââ Y/N swallows hard as she shifts on the bed. âI need you to touch me, Harry. Â I need it.â
âYeah?â Harry cocks an eyebrow at her, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. âGood. Â I need it, too.â
And then his mouth is on her, and Y/N loses herself completely.
Itâs not even that Harry is so wonderfully talented at cunnilingus that drives Y/N insaneâalthough, honestly, thatâs definitely a significant factor. Â No, the thing that makes Y/N fall apart is how obvious it is that Harry loves doing it.
From the moment Harryâs tongue flicks over her clit, heâs making as many sounds as she is. Â 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.
âTaste so fucking goodââ
âFuck, Y/Nââ
âSo bloody sweetââ
âTug on my hair harderââ
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. Â 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 Harryâs fingers begin to aid his mouth, and Y/N canât 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. âYouâre a squirmer, arenât you?â Harry mutters, and the flat of his tongue licks over her clit just to prove the point.
Y/Nâs body jumps again as another guttural moan leaves her lips. âHarry, Iâfuckââ
Harry hums against her. âI know. Â Youâre alright, love. Â You can let go.â
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/Nâs mouth as she squirms on the bed, held only in place by Harryâs firm hand on her tummy. Â Something in the pressure is comforting, and itâs the only thing that keeps her grounded to her bed as waves of pleasure roll over her.
Harryâs 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 doesnât pull them out just yet.
âI can feel you squeezing me.â Harryâs eyes flicker between Y/Nâs soaked cunt to her heaving chest. ââS nice.â
Another flood of warmth passes through Y/Nâs core when he says that, and she pants out whatâs meant to be a laugh, but instead turns into a whimper. âFuck, HâŚâ
Harryâs eyes brighten from between her thighs as he presses another kiss to her thigh. âYouâve never called me that before.â He comments quietly. âI like it.â
âWeâve never done a lot of this before.â Y/N squirms again, âThis is all new.â
âItâll take some time to get used to it.â Harry presses on her tummy again, a reminder to keep still as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her. Â 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. Â 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. Â Y/N snaps a picture in her mind to remember later on, when Harry has someone elseâs blood dripping from his fingertips. Â 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 Harryâs cheek in her hand. Â Although thereâs a tenderness growing in the pit of her stomach, the need is still there alongside it. âLay down for me.â She murmurs, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of his black eye.
Harry doesnât 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. Â She loves the way Harryâs 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.
Heâs already so hard from eating her out, with precum dripping from his flushed tip. Â 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.
âChristââ The word falls out of Harryâs mouth involuntarily, and his cheeks redden more at the outburst. Â Y/N rubs his tummy with her free hand, assuring him that itâs alright without actually saying the words. Â
While one of Harryâs hands is running through his own curls, he brings the other down to play with Y/Nâs hair, helping to guide her mouth as she takes him more and more. Â 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. Â His arm is thrown over his eyes now, and his chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. Â Y/N can tell heâs 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. âWhyâd you stop?â He asks, his voice cracking in the middle of the question that he knows the answer to.
âBecause I want you.â Y/N presses one last kiss to the top of his cock before letting go. Â She crawls up the bed again and reaches over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. Â Her fingers pause over the lube, remembering the last time that she had used it with Harry, and she canât help the smile that flickers over her face as she holds up the bottle. âRemember this?â
Harry laughs breathlessly as he rubs his eyes. âBloody hell, donât remind me. I was a fucking mess that night.â
âA bit, but I didnât mind.â Y/N sets the lube back in the drawer before shutting it. âThat was the night that I knew I wanted you.â
âWas it?â Harry raises an eyebrow, the teasing grin back on his face as pushes his sweaty curls out of his face. âTook you that long, hm?â
Y/N rolls her eyes as she rips the condom packaging with her teeth, retrieving the latex disc from inside. Â She pumps Harry once more before sliding the condom on, making sure that itâs positioned correctly. âShut up.â
âAre you really telling me to shut up while youâve got your hand on my cock?â Harry laugh again, and while Y/Nâs heart flutters at the sound, she does her best to keep her face from showing it.
âI am.â Y/N throws her leg over him, straddling his lower stomach as she leans down to kiss him. Â The teasing tone between them fades into one of lust and affection and need as Harryâs lips move against hers, and theyâre both panting when Y/N pulls away to press her forehead against his.
âAre you comfortable like this?â She asks, worry seeping into her tone. âI know your ribs are still bothering you a bit, so I figured that this would beââ
Harry cuts her off with another kiss, this one wilder and more passionate than the last. âIâm fine, love. Â You donât need to worry about me.â He says, despite the flutter in his stomach at the idea of Y/N worrying about him.
âI always worry, H.â 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. Harryâs hands grip her hips to give her more stability. âYouâre soâfuckâreckless that it drives meââ Y/N gasps loudly as she begins to sink down on Harryâs cock. âInsane.â
Harryâs first instinct at the feeling of Y/Nâs 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/Nâs entire body is flushed, and she knows that the heat practically rolling off of her is because of Harry. Â Everything that sheâs 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. Â
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 sheâs going to take her time building up her speed. Â She wants this to last.
Y/N knows that Harry has the capacity to fuck her. Â She knows that, if she asked, heâd 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. Â But, as much as the thought intrigues her, thatâs not what she wants right now. Â 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 loverâs hand left on thighs and necks. Â 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. Â
With one of his hands still guiding her hips, Harry gently grips the back of Y/Nâs neck, pulling her chest down to press against his. Â Their lips find each other quickly, kissing and nipping as Y/N feels herself beginning to fall apart.
âH.â She breathes against his lips. âIâm so closeâŚâ A choked moan stumbles out of her mouth as Harryâs hand shifts from her neck to her clit, rubbing small circles with two nimble fingers.
âI can feel it.â Harryâs breath is hot on her ear as he presses open mouthed kisses to her neck. âCan feel you squeezing me, loveâŚbeing so good for meâŚâ
Y/N bites her lip hard, almost enough to draw blood as the movement of her hips begins to stutter. âI-I want you toâHarryââ she digs her nails into his shoulder when Harryâs 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. âThatâs a good girl, loveâbreathe through it, thatâs itâŚâ Harry buries his face into Y/Nâs neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and sweat thatâs more intoxicating than anything else heâs ever smelled. âFuck, Y/Nââ His words cut off in a strangled moan as her walls squeeze his sensitive member.
Although sheâs barely come down from her high, Y/N takes it upon herself to guide Harry through his orgasm like heâs 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. âLet go, HâŚfeels so goodâŚâ She can feel the jerking of his hips as he finishes inside the condom, and for a split second, she wishes that there wasnât a barrier of latex between the two of them, despite knowing that protection is mandatory.
Y/N waits until Harryâs managed to catch his breath before she carefully climbs down from him, missing the feeling of him inside her the moment sheâs empty. Â 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. Â
Now that sheâs begun to touch him, she canât stop. Â Y/Nâs 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. Â Although a small grumble leaves her when he gets up to throw it away, she canât help but smile when he returns with two glasses of water in his hands.
âHere.â 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. âYou need to hydrate. Doctorâs orders.â
Y/N lets out a breathless laugh before taking a sip of the cool liquid. âSo youâre the doctor now, huh?â
âGod, no. Â Iâm not nearly as smart as you. Â Iâm just smart enough to remember what you tell me.â Harry gulps down his own glass, setting it on the bedside table once itâs empty. Â His arms then move to encircle Y/Nâs body, pulling their chests together so her weight lies on top of him.
Y/N doesnât miss the small wince that the movement causes, and she sets her own glass down before moving back to her position next to him. âYou need to be more careful.â She murmurs, resuming her motion of rubbing over his chest. Â Sheâs not sure why the motion is so soothing, but she doesnât fight it, loving the feeling of Harryâs warm skin beneath her hand. âPatrick wonât forgive me if I put his best fighter out of commission.â
âNo, he probably wonât.â Harry muses, settling for wrapping one arm around Y/Nâs body. âHe might fire you.â
âAnd then who will clean up your messes?â She cocks an eyebrow teasingly. âOr clean you up, when youâre a mess?â
âIâd just have to stumble my way to your apartment in the middle of the night again.â A laugh rumbles deep in Harryâs chest. âAnd then after you bandage me up, we can have a quick shag. Â Itâll be a nice routine.â
Y/N rolls her eyes. âMhmm. Â Nice try.â
Harryâs laughter trails off after a moment as his fingers begin to trace shapes on Y/Nâs back. âSeriously, thoughâŚâ His eyes grow sober. âHow do you want toâŚhandle this?â
Y/N bites her lip. âHow do you want to handle this?â
A sigh leaves Harryâs lips. âI wantâŚyou.  I want you to be mine.  And I donât want to hide it, but if you feel like thatâs best, thenâŚâ
âItâs justâI donât know. Â Itâs complicated.â Y/Nâs eyes focus on the G tattoo on Harryâs shoulder. Â She wonders if itâs for Harryâs sister, and then wonders if Harry would ever tattoo her initial on his body. âYeah. Â Complicated.â
âYouâre nervous about Patrick knowing.â Harry states simply.
Y/N nods. âHe specifically told me not to get involved with any boxers. He said thatâŚno good men come there.â
Harryâs hand moves over his jaw, scratching at his stubble. âYeah. Â He wasnât wrong.â
His answer bothers Y/N, and she moves to sit up more in bed, making him look her in the eyes. âYouâre a good man, Harry. Â I know that.â
âIâm not.â Harry shakes his head once, his voice growing rougher. âI have a lot of shit that IâmâŚtrying to work through.  Iâm not that good.â When he sees how Y/Nâs face shifts at his words, his tone changes. âBut Iâd neverâŚthat has nothing to do with you.  Any of my issues, my pride, my anger, anything like that, itâs allâitâs separate from you.â He cups her cheek gently. âIâd never hurt you.â
âI know that, Harry.â Y/N repeats as she places her hand over his, weaving their fingers together. âI trust you. Â I just wish youâd trust yourself.â
âI trust myself more when Iâm with you.â Harry admits. âIâve never really feltâŚregret for what Iâve done.  The ring is an equal playing field, right?  But that night when you said you thought I was too harshâŚâ
Y/N bites her lip. âDid that bother you?â
âI was worried I scared you off.â His eyes close for a moment as he remembers. âI thoughtâŚI donât know.  I thought you already disliked me just for being a boxer, and now Iâm the boxer that breaks bones, and thereâs no way youâd ever want to be around me.â
âI probably shouldnât want it.â Y/N admits. âWhen you phrase it like that.  But Iâve told you beforeâŚyouâre different when youâre with me.â
âOnly with you. Â Only for you.â Harryâs voice grows tender as he holds her close to him. âSo if you want to keep it private, I understand. Â I just want you to be mine.â
Y/Nâs finger brushes over one of Harryâs rings. Â Itâs a beautifully sculpted silver rose, and thereâs 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. Â Itâs too big to fit on her ring or middle finger, so after a moment of consideration, she slips it onto her thumb. âThen Iâm yours.â
Harryâs eyes darken at the sight of Y/N with his ring on her finger. âYeah. Youâre mine.â
The feeling of Harryâs ring on her finger makes Y/N feel so complete, and she wants to share it with him, so she ignores Harryâs whine of protest as she climbs out of bed to walk to her dresser. Â 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. Â She cups it in her palms before returning to bed, an excited but shy smile on her face.
âHere.â She places it in Harryâs hand. âYou can put this on your chain with your cross.â
The silver caduceus looks small in Harryâs palm, and he brings it closer to his eyes to examine it. âWhat is it?â
âItâs a caduceus.  Itâs the medical symbol, the one I wear on my jacket to the ring.â Y/N explains, her cheeks reddening at her words. âItâs from Greek mythology, but doctors adopted it, andâyeah.  Just something to show thatâŚyouâre mine, too.â
A small smile plays on the corner of Harryâs lips. âWill you put it on me?â
Y/N nods, and although her fingers are shaking a bit, she manages to undo the clasp on Harryâs chain, and slips the pendant on before refastening it around his neck. Â She settles the caduceus and cross pendants on his chest, just between his two swallow tattoos.
âIt looks pretty on you.â She murmurs, her hand brushing down his abdomen. âReally nice.â
âItâll be my good luck charm in the ring.â Harry brings her hand to his mouth, kissing over the rose ring. âI wonât take it off, as long as you donât take my ring off. Â Deal?â
âDeal.â Y/N lays her head back down on Harryâs chest. âNow get some sleep. Doctorâs orders.â
A playful groan falls out of Harryâs mouth. âIs that going to be a new thing? Â Are you going to get me to do everything by saying itâs doctorâs orders?â
âI wouldnât have to if you took better care of yourself.â Y/N matches his playful tone. âBut we both know that you have a tendency to ignore your instinctsââ
âMy instincts are good!â
âLike your instinct to fight with a sprained hand was good?â
The corner of Harryâs mouth twitches. âFine. Â Letâs go to sleep.â
Sunlight is beginning to spill through the curtains as Harry closes his eyes, bathing his entire face in a golden glow. Â His pale skin glows under the light, save for the purplish bruise that rings one of his eyes. Â Y/N presses a gentle kiss to the darkened area before settling herself down in Harryâs arms.
#feedback is appreciated!!#boxer!harry#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagines#harry styles preference#harry styles#one direction imagine#one direction preference#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction smut#harry styles smut#boxer!harry styles#watermelon sugar#watermelon sugar music video#fine line#fine line album#writing
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neighbor!yunho
word count: 7k
angst, fluff
you had three requirements when searching for your first apartment: a good location, an all pets allowed policy and access to the rooftop.
it seemed a little unusual, that youâd really find the perfect place, all the other check marks and lovely amenities secured, and just say no because you werenât able to escape to the roof.Â
but it was a place you always found solace in.Â
cold nights overlooking the city or warm, spring days in the sun - and when you first moved in a few months ago, overjoyed to check out your new daily view, you saw one of your other neighbors also had an affinity for the rooftop.Â
he was softly humming to himself as he looked out over the roof, his tall, broad figure covered in a yellow hoodie. just the profile of his face alone had your cheeks warming, faded light blue hair peeking out from under his hood.
a peaceful look covered his face, all the light in eyes and softness of his features making him look boyish and sweet.Â
and then as if he sensed your presence, or more like your fascinated stare of admiration, he looked to you and his lips pulled into a bright smile.Â
âhi.â
you bit down on your lip at the realization you got caught, a slight blush on your cheeks as you shot the handsome stranger a shy smile.Â
âhi,â you said softly, your eyes moving from him to the view behind - all very picturesque and pretty, tall skyscrapers and a clear, blue summer sky. âiâm sorry if i interrupted you.â
ânot at all,â he hummed, his arms crossed carelessly over the edge.Â
an awkward silence hung in the air, unsure if you should stay grounded in your place or make a move closer to him; you chose the former, in case the handsome stranger was weirded out by your closeness - but he seemed to take it another way.
âare you scared?â
your eyebrows pulled together at the teasing smirk on his face, an interesting contrast to the slightest hint of concern in his eyes.Â
âof what?â you ask in confusion, looking from the view to his cute, questioning face. âyou?â
a smile crosses his face that has your heart jumping in your chest, the sun shining down on him and proving that he really is just as perfect as he seems even from afar.Â
âi was thinking more the heights or the view but i guess the fact that youâre on the roof with a stranger could be scary too.â
an awkward chuckle leaves your mouth, not so much because of his comment but because you donât know how youâve managed to develop a crush on this man in less than 60 seconds.Â
you hesitantly make your way over, your eyes shining with nerves and slight amusement.Â
âactually, iâll have you know, access to the rooftop was one of my three requirements for getting a place.â
âoh yeah?â he asks, a smile on his face as he turns his body toward you. âdid you just move in?â
heâs pressed up against the concrete without a care in the world, eyes roaming your face and not once dipping toward your dress-covered body.Â
âi did,â you smile, âabout an hour ago.â
âno shit,â he smiles, the profanity leaving his mouth a stark contrast to the sweet smile on his face. he makes his way over to you, his large form towering over you making you swallow nervously - heâs far too handsome and big, two factors proving to be a major weakness for you.
âiâm yunho, apartment 304.â
ây/n,â you smile, the way it lights up your face making yunhoâs heart jump in his chest - youâre even prettier looking this happy and excited. âapartment 305.â
you shouldâve known then that the handsome man on the rooftop was gonna turn out to be the kindest neighbor youâve ever had.Â
he welcomed you into the building with open arms, invited you to a dinner party with his friends mingi, wooyoung and san who also lived on the same floor as you two.Â
he was always quiet and considerate of the people around him, making sure his tv and music was low by the time 9:00 came around - and even when it wasnât, you couldnât help but mind because it was always sweet, soothing tones of comedic chatter or soft pop music.Â
he always lended you extra butter or milk when you needed, the first time he saw you in your messy ponytail and pastel pink apron the time he realized he might have a little crush on you.
that the times he got excited seeing you down in the lobby or in the elevator were more than just his heart having random palpitations.Â
the knock on his door that day was soft in a distinct pattern of two, opening up his embarrassingly messy apartment to see you standing there with flour in your hair and a sheepish smile on your face.Â
âhi neighbor,â you smiled sweetly, your small hand with chipped nail polish waving to him. âdo you have an extra egg you can spare?âÂ
âdepends,â he smiles, leaning his head against the doorframe cooly. âwhat are you making with it?â
âpumpkin bread,â you inform him cheerfully, just about the only festive, fall food youâre able to make apart from sweet potato soup.Â
âooh that sounds good,â he smiles, his large hand ushering you inside. âcome on in. excuse the mess.â
it was your first time stepping inside his apartment, messy and properly lived in but a nice, clean scent in the air - like laundry, home and menâs cologne.Â
he had a large sectional to fit his crazy group of friends he told you about once in the hallway, a large tv perched on the wall and a small dining room table with rickety folding chairs. Â
you could tell immediately that it was an apartment that was like a home rather than a house, the same type of warmth in it that shines through the man taller than his own refrigerator.Â
âi wish i could say my apartment isnât always this messy but thatâd be a lie,â he says, one egg in hand as he makes his way over to you. he looks down at you with a smile, his eyes going back to the cute little apron adoring your body.Â
âthatâs okay, so is mine,â you say, far too guilty of skipping your sunday cleaning day for the past three weeks.
you canât help the way your eyes trail over his soft brown ones, everything about him and his aura only making you develop a stronger crush on him. he just seemed like such a sweet and genuine person, always looking out for you and going out of his way to send you a smile.Â
no one has ever made you feel so welcomed in a new place before nor have you ever seen someone with such a sweet, soft smile and kind eyes.
âso just one egg?â he finally asks, breaking the silence and the way your eyes roam over each other intensely.Â
âi.. oh- yes! yes, thank you, just one,â you stutter out, taking the cold egg from his large hand. you never noticed how nice his hands were either, veiny and large with long fingers and clean nails.Â
there doesnât seem to be anything about this man that isnât perfect, apart from maybe his disaster of an apartment.Â
âiâll be sure to bring you a piece of bread when iâm finished,â you say sweetly, the man smiling down at you teasingly causing your heart to jump.
âand if you burn down the complex?âÂ
a mock gasp leaves your mouth as you hit him lightly, his soft chuckle ringing through the air as he watches you turn to leave his apartment.Â
âforget it then!â you squeal jokingly, knowing right when itâs done, youâll be rushing over to make sure itâs still nice and warm for him.
his eyes linger on the bounce of your hair and your messily tied apron as you disappear into the hall, letting out a small sigh when he feels the remaining hints of butterflies in his stomach.Â
âare you ever gonna tell her?â his best friend mingi asked, the two of them going down to sanâs for thanksgiving dinner a few weeks later. âyouâve known her for three months now. thatâs a reasonable amount of time to have a crush, she wouldnât be weirded out.â
âi know but we havenât really like... talked talked, you know,â the tall boy explains, a bowl of mashed potatoes in hand. âwe have... neighborly chats in the hallway or in the elevator, sometimes even on the roof if weâre both there, but we really donât know each other that way.â
âokay and thatâs what a date is for, the fuck?â his younger friend spats, a small chuckle leaving his mouth; he wishes it really were that easy for him.Â
âdo you just wanna give her eggs and sugar for the rest of your life?â
the tall boy lets out a sigh as he looks at his friend, the dramatic, playful flair of his body causing him to bite back a smile.
âand itâs obvious she doesnât have a boyfriend, you wouldâve seen him coming and going by now,â mingi continues, their loud footsteps stomping further and further down the hall. âyou really have nothing to lose.â
but he kind of has everything to lose.Â
he likes being the friendly neighbor you can get eggs from or see on the rooftop.Â
he likes being the person whoâs made you comfortable here, helping as you adjust to a new, intimidating setting.
he likes being a friend to you, one that genuinely cares for you and doesnât have any ulterior motives because he may or may not have feelings for you.Â
âi donât know, maybe one day,â yunho says, knocking on sanâs apartment door with his free hand. âbut today is not that day. today is not the day i confess my tiny, small, minuscule crush to-â
the door opening causes his words to halt, potatoes nearly slipping from his grasp when he sees your smiling face and the light brown sweater dress clinging to your body.Â
ây/n,â he smiles, shocked but pleasantly surprised to see you here. âhi. i-i didnât know youâd be here.â
san comes out from behind you less than a second later, throwing a friendly arm around your shoulder as he smiles at him connivingly - yunho knew he was gonna regret letting his little crush on you slip when he and san went out and got shit-faced at dinner together.Â
âi heard she made delicious pumpkin bread so she had to make the cut,â san said, bumping your arm teasingly when you turn to narrow your eyes at him.
âoh? you heard i made good pumpkin bread?â you question, remembering the events from a few weeks ago very differently. âor you demanded to be let into my house for a bite after you smelt it through the walls?â
âeh, tomato, tomahto,â he says quickly, ushering in mingi and yunho who are holding in their loud, contagious chuckles. âcome in, weâre fucking starving waiting for your slow asses.â
you catch yunhoâs soft gaze moving to you, smiling at him sweetly and heart fluttering rapidly when he smiles back.
âhi, neighbor. surprised to see you here.â
âyeah,â you chuckle out awkwardly, not wanting the man to think youâre intruding on him and his friends after your short time knowing them. âi hope itâs okay. once san smelt the bread and heard i wasnât doing anything for the holidays, he kind of, basically, insisted that i-â
âoh, no, no, iâm... iâm happy youâre here,â he says, his words rushed out and awkward but full of sincerity. âiâm really happy to see you here.â
your heart jumps at the sentiment, a soft blush on your cheeks that youâre somehow ignorant to on his face as well. you bite down on your lip to control your smile, giving him a small nod before offering to take the potatoes from his hands.Â
when you turn to bring the bowl over to the dining room table, your back to the two giant boys watching your retreating form, you miss the way yunhoâs blush becomes darker.Â
you miss mingi elbowing his friend obnoxiously and mimicking his cute, flustered âi- iâm really happy to see you,â resulting in yunho elbowing his friend back roughly.
heâs able (aka cuts off, both, wooyoung and san) to secure a seat next to you at dinner a few moments later.
he tries to ignore the way your elbows bump all night, the two of you awkwardly giggling and apologizing with soft smiles before finally allowing your arms to just... touch.Â
remain close to one another and find comfort in the way your skin is warm and soft on each other.
he tries to ignore the way your fingers graze as you wash the dishes and he dries them later that night, what feels like electric sparks shooting through your skin every time you touch.
âthat was really good,â you tell yunho softly, your eyes observing the boys throwing left over remnants of food at each other or picking through the netflix movie selection. âyou guys are good cooks.â
âlike your bread wasnât demolished in three minutes,â yunho huffs, pride and assurance in his tone that causes you to smile sheepishly; thereâs a few beats of silence, embarrassed by the compliment, before he begins to speak again.
âour first thanksgiving together was also the first away from our families,â he shares quietly, ignoring the way his heart jumps as he takes a plate from you. âwe didnât know what the hell we were doing and completely fucked up the turkey.â
you let out a giggle as he recalls the disaster that was thanksgiving day two years ago, airing out the smokey apartment and waiting for their thanksgiving feat of chinese food.Â
âwell you guys definitely redeemed yourself, it was all very good,â you compliment proudly, a pretty smile stretched across your face. âone of my best thanksgivings.â Â
âdid your family not celebrate?â he asks absentmindedly, watching the way your face falls for a split second before masked by a small smile.Â
ânot really,â is all you share, both of you quickly pulled away by wooyoungâs incessant demands to âhurry up so we can bust out the second desserts.â
you both try to ignore the slight tension in the air as you walk back to your apartments that night, arms bumping and soft giggles echoing through the walls.Â
it feels as if the night shouldnât end yet, like you guys have been talking in this hallway for hours upon hours because neither of you wanna go inside and separate yet.Â
a couple of nosy onlookers canât help but observe the scene, your back pressed against the wall as you talk animatedly about your journey for a pet.
âi wanted a cat but i also want a dog,â you tell him, the light in your eyes as you talk about the possibility of orange tabby cats and golden retrievers. âmaybe iâll get both one day.â
yunhoâs smiling down at you with such a fond softness in his eyes, like heâs hanging onto each and every word you say no matter how small or casual.
âtheyâll be dating by next,â san says, bumping his arm into mingi playfully.Â
ânah,â the taller boy says, knowing that while his friend definitely likes you, heâs slower and shyer when it comes to romantic feelings. âgive it two months. and thatâs if weâre lucky.â
you never considered yourself to be a lucky person, although luck seemed to be on your side when you found this apartment complex in the first place, so you canât say youâve been cursed with terrible luck.Â
but itâs certainly how you feeling right now, in the dead of a january snowstorm and one of the only apartments in the complex with absolutely no power.
âit could be a problem with your breaker in particular,â the maintenance man said over the phone, âsomeone could come look at it tomorrow.â
but no power meant no heat despite the negative temperatures outside, all of your freshly cooked food rotting spoiled and no means of communicating with your cell phone currently on 1%.Â
âtomorrow?â you squeak, understanding the horrific conditions outside are making their job difficult but also not wanting to freeze to death. âwould it be possible if someone could come-â
your phone light shines on your face before it promptly fades to black and dies, the only source of illumination in your dark apartment now gone as well.Â
you let out a sigh as you resist the urge to scream, attempting to move around your apartment without impaling your body parts.
youâre able to light the three wick candle on your table with little to no problems, collecting all the blankets and fuzzy socks you can find and placing them on your couch.
you have a long, cold night ahead of you with nothing to do but an attempt at rereading some old books and forcing yourself to sleep.Â
but itâs then, right before you sit down, that you remember all of the food in your fridge.Â
you used every last bit of your ingredients for this weekâs meal prep, knowing that if you it goes bad, youâre not gonna have that much around the house until next weekâs trip to the grocery store.Â
you guess thatâs on you, though, foolishly forgetting to not go to the food store before a massive winter storm.
you notice a faint stream of light coming from under your front door on your journey to the kitchen, lips pursing to the side before you open it up with a squeak.Â
you peek over at yunhoâs door besides yours to see light coming from underneath his - so he didnât lose power it seems, the lucky bastard.Â
it takes you just as long to convince yourself to go over and ask if you can store the food in his fridge as it does to pack it all up into two containers, not wanting to inconvenience yunho and his storage any further than you are by asking.Â
you reluctantly knock on his door with the two containers in hand, forgetting you already have on about three layers due to your freezing apartment.Â
a smile immediately lights up his face when he sees you standing outside his door, small and cute and bundled up like youâre ready to brave the snow storm outside.Â
âhi, y/n,â he smiles, noticing the two containers of food in your hand.Â
âhi, yunho iâm sorry for bothering you,â you begin apologetically, a slight grimace on your face as you prepare yourself to ask him for a favor.
âi lost power for the night and just meal prepped the rest of my food for the week yesterday so would you be able to keep this in your fridge for me?â you get out quickly, for some reason feeling panicked and grimy.Â
âsomeoneâs gonna come fix it tomorrow but when i tried to ask someone to come tonight, my phone died and now i just donât want this to go to waste because i stupidly forgot to-â
âhey, hey, relax,â yunho says calmingly, his voice all kinds of sweet and soft as he takes the food from your hands immediately. âof course, y/n, no problem.â
you smile at him gratefully, slightly embarrassed by the desperation in your tone.
âthank you, i promise iâll be back tomorrow to pick it up. i just donât want everything rotting overnight.âÂ
the wind howling outside causes both your eyes to widen, a sinking suspicion coming over him after he hears the horribly stormy conditions outside.
âwait... does that mean you have no heat?â
âno, i found a lot of blankets and fuzzy socks though,â you chuckle out humorlessly, gesturing down to your ridiculously layered outfit and purple socks. âalso found some candles so as long as my food is taken care of, i donât think itâll be that-â
âstay with me, are you crazy,â he says, his eyes looking at you in disbelief. âyou canât sit there in the dark and freezing cold all night!â
âitâs okay, yunho, really,â you quickly insist, about ready to take off and into your apartment because you know how overwhelmingly nice your neighbor is. âi just didnât want my food for the week to go to-â
ây/n, please,â he begs, the soft, sympathetic look in his eyes tugging at your heart. âitâs too cold tonight. even with blankets, youâll be freezing. and your phone died, thatâs dangerous.â
a small, touched smile covers your face, heart warming at how kind and thoughtful this man is - how could you not have the biggest crush on him still?Â
you thought after a few weeks that youâd be over it but he just makes it harder and harder the more you get to know him.Â
âi donât wanna intrude,â you weakly protest, the heat coming from his apartment far too tempting right now.
âyouâre not, iâm inviting you,â he says, dragging you in by the sleeve of your sweater and leave no room for protest.Â
he places the food back in your hold before his large hand rests on the open front door, peeking his head into the hallway to see your door still open.
you watch as he walks into the hallway before quickly reappearing a few seconds later, the sound of your apartment door closing echoing through the hallway.Â
âdonât worry,â he hums, smiling at you as he walks back into his apartment and closes the door. âi blew out your candle.â
you let out a soft, amused giggle as you look at the boy, his sweet smile mirroring yours as he takes back the food and walks toward the fridge.Â
âgot any 4s?â
âgo fish.â
âgot any 7s?â
âgo fish.â
âgot any aces?â
âgo fish.â
âokay, one of us has to be lying!â you squeal from the other side of the coffee table, yunho throwing his head back in laughter at your competitive, feisty side.
he couldnât help but smile at the way your eyes lit up when you saw the pack of cards on his table, leftover from poker night with the san, mingi and wooyoung that rid him of his last $50.Â
his smile only grew wider when you told him the one family tradition you had, at least before the age of ten, was to play go fish - especially on nights when the electricity was turned off, although you left that part out.Â
in all your experience of playing go fish, however, youâd never seen a game go on for this long.Â
âiâm not, i swear!âÂ
âso youâre telling me the one four i need is in that deck?â you ask, not even realizing you outed yourself until he throws you a wide-eyed, playful look. thereâs a silent stare-off, able to hear a pin drop in his apartment.Â
your eyes are roaming each other carefully before down to the deck in complete ignorance of whoâs turn it is to go.Â
you let out a squeal when chaos erupts afterward, the two of you frantically grabbing at the cards. you make a mess over the table as everything goes flying off, a melodic giggle leaving your mouth nearly causing him to stop his futile attempts at grabbing the next card.
it should be considered unsportsmanlike, really, for you to unknowingly use your cute giggle and wide, happy eyes against him.Â
you just get even happier when you grab at the desired card, flipping it over and letting out a squeal when youâre lucky enough to flip over the last remaining four in the deck.
âi got it!â you squeal happily, yunho at a terrible loss as he sees all your matches lined up in front of you. he canât even be sad about it though, accepting defeat as he throws down his cards.Â
âthat was probably the longest game of go fish ever,â he says, stretching out his long arms; you guys had played several rounds but that one had to have lasted over forty five minutes.
probably because you two kept getting distracted, babbling about stories of friends and family or the real pet fish yunho won at a fair that lived for three and a half years.Â
âi know right,â you giggle, picking up the cards from the floor as you start to tidy up his house. you ignore his pleas to leave it alone and let him clean up instead, your head shaking as you continue to clean the mess you helped make.
you hand him the deck a card a few moments later, your fingers grazing as he takes them from his hand.Â
âthanks,â he smiles at you, his eyes roaming your slightly flushed face.Â
heâs never had you in his apartment for longer than ten minutes, never had you so close to him with your bright smile and cute giggle. itâs proving to be very trying for him already, trying to keep you entertained and himself distracted so he doesnât do something, or say something, he regrets.Â
a silence hangs in the air as you look up at from your spot on the couch, about to make a comment about something, anything, when your stomach decides to do it for you in the form of a growl.
itâs embarrassing and makes an awkward giggle leave your mouth, a handsome smirk crossing his face as his eyebrow quirks up playfully.
âhungry?â
âjust for a snack,â you mumble shyly, in disbelief youâre still hungry after your left over pizza. âi ate about four slices of pizza before.â
he lets out a low chuckle as he rises to his feet, sock-covered feet padding over to see kitchen where he holds up a big tub of chocolate chip cookie dough.Â
âwanna make cookies? i was prepared for the storm tonight, unlike some of us.â
youâre so excited at the prospect of making cookies that you ignore his snide, teasing comment, letting out a happy gasp as you rush over to him.Â
the two of you stand side-by-side as you prep the oven and cookies, rolling the cold dough between your hands. he makes the cookies a lot bigger than yours, an obvious difference in who made which ones on the baking sheet.
âthey kind of look like us,â he remarks playfully, a loud giggle leaving your mouth as you poke his arm.
you two linger in the kitchen once the cookies are in the oven, sharing shy smiles and softly spoken words with the scent of chocolate and warmth in the air.Â
you thank him again for allowing you to stay in his warm house for the night, grateful for his ample food and running refrigerator.Â
âitâs kind of crazy since weâre literal neighbors,â you speak aloud, your hip leant against the cabinets. âi didnât even know that could happen.â
âi know, right,â he chuckles, his smile and eyes getting softer as he looks down at you. âbut iâm happy you decided to stay. i wouldnât want you there alone in the dark and cold.â
and perhaps thatâs the bare minimum. that someone wouldnât want their neighbor, someone considered an acquaintance or even a friend, to be without heat or food in a snowstorm.Â
but to you, itâs something youâve never had before.Â
youâd spent far too many nights cold and hungry where nobody cared if that was the case. itâs why you so often escaped to the rooftop, away from the loud voices and looming presences that made living there just a little too difficult. Â
itâs why you blurt out, âwhy?â not meaning to sound as brash and sudden as you do but itâs just something that gets to you sometimes. how kind and thoughtful and genuinely good jeong yunho is.
his eyebrows pull together but heâs still wearing a soft smile, his body inching just a little bit closer to you.
âwhat do you mean why?â he questions, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. âwhy didnât i let you freeze to death?â
he tries to keep his tone light and teasing but feels like it falls flat when you give him a sad smile. he thinks it wouldâve fooled anyone else, a person who basically hadnât fallen in love with your smile in five months, but it doesnât fool him.Â
he doesnât know what or why something is bothering you, how your mood seemed to change after his reassurance, but he just wants to make sure, above all, that youâre okay and comfortable.Â
he doesnât realize how close his body is to yours until youâre looking up at him, your head just meeting the top of his chest in a way that makes him wanna protect you even more.Â
his eyes roam every part of your face, wondering just how warm your skin is or if your hair is as soft as it looks.Â
this would probably be the perfect time to confess his feelings to you.Â
to tell you that he wanted you over tonight because he likes you. that heâs really, really come to like you over these past few months of getting to know you and he wants to know you more.
he wants to take you on a date and show you off to the world and maybe one day, if things go well, introduce you as his neighbor turned girlfriend.
he wants to make sure youâre never cold or alone in your apartment again, that you know you could always come to him for anything whether it be reassurance or an egg for pumpkin bread.Â
but instead, he gives a slightly less intense, cheesy version. for now.
âyouâre my favorite neighbor,â he begins quietly, not quite the confession he wants to make right now but the one he settles on. thereâs an aroma of cookies and heat around you as you stare up at him, eyes so wide and curious, he has to swallow down a second rushed out, bumbling confession.Â
âi didnât want anything happening to you, especially when iâm right here to make sure youâre safe.â
safety is always what you craved. safety and security and warmth, even if just for a fleeting moment.Â
and your fleeting moment proved to be tonight.Â
the ding of the oven as you both got the cookies out silently, pulled from a moment you both felt forming but was quickly pulled away from. you ate the gooey chocolate with quiet hums of âmmms,â and âahhs,â softly padding your way over to his couch when he suggested watching a movie.Â
he sat on one end and you sat on the other, before your bodies eventually inched closer and closer to share a light blue throw blanket in the middle of the movie.Â
âthis is really nice,â you comment as you touched the fabric, observing the intricate stitching on the soft blanket.Â
âyeah? my mom made it for me actually,â he tells you, watching closely as you play with the blanket between your fingers. he wants to reach out and just hold your hand, feel your smaller one in his and see just how much they fit.Â
âwhen i first moved out, she was slightly distraught,â he chuckles out, remembering the dramatics that were his momâs tears and demands to visit once a week. âi was the first one to move out and she didnât know what to make of it. i swear she brought me over food every day for the first six months.â
your heart feels heavy as you hear him talk, not only because of the fond moments between parent and child but because of the love in his eyes as he talks about it.Â
how, even though heâs complaining about it, itâs obvious thereâs a love and affection there that you, yourself, could never understand or reciprocate in your own life.Â
âthatâs really sweet,â you comment, his gaze catching that sad smile once again.
it causes his heart to drop, a slight sinking feeling in his stomach as he tries to understand what made you that way. are you uncomfortable here with him, just a few inches away from each other under the shared blanket?
or is it something more, the topic of conversation regarding parents and living alone and all things deeper and more personal.Â
âme and my parents were never really closed,â you find yourself saying.Â
you donât even mean to blurt out the words but itâs like one second itâs silent and then the next, itâs not.Â
the next youâre telling him about how you couldnât wait to get out. how fighting and loneliness and the cold was a big part of your life growing up, how you got so used to it, itâs taken you a while to adjust to a normal life.
youâre still trying to adjust to a normal life, honestly.Â
âi donât know why i just told you all of that,â you confess awkwardly, the blush on your cheeks causing his heart to soar in chest - he likes you, he really really likes you and now he wonât ever be able to let go of these feelings.Â
âbut... i just wanna thank you,â you tell him, embarrassed that you somehow managed to make the conversation and vibe like this. âyou and san and wooyoung and mingi made the adjustment a lot easier for me. but you, especially.â
âoh? with all my eggs and sugar?â
you let out a soft giggle as some of your anxiety eases, your eyes flicking toward his to see, despite his teasing, his eyes are 100% serious and locked on you.Â
âyes, definitely that,â you smile, biting down on your lip as you look back down on the blanket.Â
âbut amongst other things too. it was funny meeting you on the rooftop, actually, because thatâs always where i felt most comfortable. iâd always escape there but iâd be alone. it was nice... itâs been nice having someone, i guess.â
it feels like you could just about die from embarrassment, oversharing with the most handsome man youâve developed a massive crush on about your tragic tales of a broken home and pretentious love for the roof.Â
but then he inches just a bit closer to you, placing his hand atop yours on his motherâs soft blanket, and just smiles at you. everything about him warm and soft and sweet, making you feel the safest and coziest youâve ever felt in your life.Â
âif youâll keep allowing me up there, i promise iâll come every time,â he promises softly, the pounding in your chest and butterflies in your stomach overwhelming you to the severest degree.
your cheeks are burning and youâre positive he can feel the frantic beating in your chest but you try to keep it together. smile at him with a a breathy little giggle, tell him that while you love that heâs asking, you have no control over who does and doesnât go on the roof.Â
he lets out a soft chuckle as he pinches your arm gently, the hand on your arm slowly falling down until your fingers are just grazing.Â
closer and closer and closer until theyâre locked around one another, both of you eternally grateful for the lights being off because of the burning on your cheeks.
he wakes up around 2 a.m. to the bright tv blasting, a heavy ache in his bladder and your head on his shoulder.Â
it takes him a moment to remember where he is and whatâs going on around him, the events of the night quickly swarming back when he peeks down at your sleeping face.
you look so peaceful and at ease in your sleep, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks and your lips pressed into a firm line.Â
he wanted to kiss you for half the night, every time you giggled or moved closer to him or asked him a question about the movie getting distracted by your lips or pink cheeks.
he felt an immense amount of happiness at the fact you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, that you were still here beside him and so comfortably sleeping against him.Â
told him things about your life and family that make him wanna be there for you even more now.
he doesnât wanna move, he doesnât think even the snowstorm crashing through his apartment could get him to tear himself away from you, but the embarrassment of pissing his pants right beside you on this couch outweighs everything.
his eyes roam your pretty, peaceful face on more time, moving a stray piece of hair with his long fingers and watching as you stir. press yourself further into his hand and let out the quietest of groans, he has to stop himself from proclaiming his undying love for you on the spot.Â
it only gets worse when he remembers he gave you his clothes to wear. noticing just before the movie ended, you were picking at your leggings that stuck to your skin uncomfortably.Â
âdo you want a change of clothes?â he had asked, noticing your discomfort and only wanting a little bit to see how much his shirts engulfed you. âi have sweatpants and a clean t-shirt sitting in my dryer right now.â
you took up his offer for two reasons: your leggings were sticking to your ass and there was nothing you wanted more than to wear this manâs clothes. feel the soft material on your skin and have his manly, teakwood scent surround your very being.
but right now, as he stares down at you and attempts to keep you as comfortable as possible, it feels as if this mightâve been too much for him.Â
seeing you wrapped up in his clothes and on his couch so comfortably, moving your smaller body so youâre laid out on the cushions and resting your head on the pillow.
your eyes pop open, confused and in a daze, as you look around at the unfamiliar surroundings and sound of movement. you smile softly when you see yunhoâs sleepy, pink face at face-level with you, his large body knelt down beside you on the couch.
âsorry for waking you,â he whispered into the dark, the tv and snow reflecting outside the only source of light. âi had to pee and wanted to make you comfortable.â
âitâs okay, thank you,â you mumble, stretching out your arms when you realize the sleeves are well past your hands. âforgot i changed into your clothes.â
âyeah,â he chuckles lightly, not being able to help the way his eyes roam over you.Â
even sleepy in the dark and the daze that youâre in, youâre able to see the slightest bit of hunger in his eyes. the way they trail over your body slowly and surely, taking in the way his shirt engulfs your figure and looks against your skin.Â
how if you stood up, heâd see the way the pants are baggy and making your smaller figure looking even more short and petite and cute.
it makes your stomach flip and swoop uncontrollably, your own eyes staring at his lips and picturing what theyâd feel like on yours.Â
âi hope thatâs okay. theyâre a little big on you.â
you let out a soft, quiet giggle, adjusting your head on the pillow so youâre staring up at him even closer.Â
âitâs okay,â you assure, tongue peeking out to lick at your dry, hopefully not crusty lips. âi like it. i like them.â
it takes everything in him not to let out some sort of growl, throw all of his sweet and nice boy caution to the wind and confess to you how much he likes them too.Â
how much he likes seeing you in them and how much more (or less) he wants to see you in them.Â
but because the time isnât right, because he knows for sure the time isnât right and he wants something a lot more pure and honest with you, he doesnât say anything.Â
he wishes you a goodnight after a nearly ten-minute bickering fest back and forth, yunho offering you his bed three times before you eventually flipped over and put your back to him.
he let out a deep chuckle as he ran his hand through your hair instinctively, smoothing out the parts that stuck up in your sleep, before bidding you one final goodnight.Â
it was around 10:00 when he woke to the smell of bacon, eggs and pumpkin bread. walking out of his bedroom to see you there still clad in his clothes and your hair in a messy bun.Â
you jumped when you noticed his presence perched against the doorframe, a wide smile on his face when you let out the softest but harshest of curses.Â
âwhatâs all this?âÂ
âi made you breakfast. and your very own loaf of pumpkin bread.â
a soft smile covers his face when instead of looking over the food that looks and smells delicious, he looks at you. standing there smiley and sweet, in clothes that morph your body and make you smell like him.Â
he feels grateful for the extra bit of counter space he has when he places a hand on your waist, lifting you off your feet with ease and plopping you right down on the granite.Â
your eyes are wide and your heart is racing but youâre staring right at him, happiness and excitement swelling in your chest when you catch the look in his eyes - you thought you made it up last night in a dream-like daze but youâre still seeing it right now.
a certain kind of softness mixed with desire and fondness, the way his eyes take in every part of your face before finally landing on your lips. the very same way you dreamed of him last night, with his lips against yours and a sweet smile on his face.
âthank you, neighbor,â he mumbles with a smile, voice low and deep and making your stomach swoop dangerously. âdid i mention you were my favorite?â
âyou mightâve,â you respond breathlessly, all too aware of the way heâs leaning in closer and closer until youâre pushed flush against the cabinets.Â
his large body is covering yours but he doesnât make any moves until you do, your bodies naturally drifting closer and closer together until, finally, youâre the one to do it.
press your lips against his so so hesitantly, scared and unfamiliar about making the first move but wanting him to know you wanted to kiss him - you needed to kiss him, or you wouldâve gone crazy.
he smiles against your lips as he deepens the kiss, keeping you perched right on the counter as his hands rest on the sides of your legs. he doesnât make any moves to touch you further or deepen the kiss, allowing it to be sweet and soft and as chaste as could be.Â
you both pull back and stare at each other with soft smiles and pink cheeks, silence lingering between the both of you before you let out soft chuckles at the same time.
âdo you kiss all your neighbors?â you finally ask, fighting the smirk threatening to make itâs way on your face. âor just your favorite ones?â
âjust one,â he says, tapping the tip of your nose gently and feeling his heart jump when you smile widely at him. âjust you.â
itâs 2:00 on the snowy rooftop and bright summer sun when you hear the heavy metal door squeak open, turning around to see your handsome, smiley neighbor coming toward you with two mugs of hot chocolate in hand.Â
you take it from him with a soft âthank you,â pressing up on your toes to peck a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.Â
it was only fitting that you had your first date where you two first met, shy smiles and nervous jitters turned soft pecks and loud giggles as you got to know the sweet, handsome neighbor you just knew you were gonna fall for. Â
tag list: @mochibabycakesâ @atinyarmyx1â @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwichâ @baekhvunsâ @marksflvrâ @bunbaebaeâ @markleeyeosangâ @inkigayeoâ @nlost21â @hyunjeansuniverseâ @cherryeoniiâÂ
#happy bday mr yunho <3#this was supposed to be 3k jdvkkvd#yunho#yunho fluff#ateez#ateez fluff#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#yunho scenarios#yunho imagines
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Coming Home
Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but heâs not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh
You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.
He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.
Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.
"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.
"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.
You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."
Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.
"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.
Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."
You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.
And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.
Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.
His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.
With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.
Taglist: @bdffkierenwalkerâ
#Billy Russo#Billy Russo x Reader#Billy Russo Smut#Billy Russo Angst#The Punisher#I'm soft for this man#I just- I want him to be happy#Yes even though he's kinda a psycho
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A Reunion of Sorts (dad!Arthur Morgan x reader)
A/N: Daisyâs middle name is not May! Daisy May is just something John calls her! I have a great aunt who always called my little sister Maddie May even though May was not her middle name. That great aunt always used May as a sort of middle name for my sister and a couple other cousins and I thought it was cute. Find the rest of dad!Arthur Morgan AU on my masterlist here!
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: none really, all game canon related
Additional Note: Lupine Valley Ranch is Arthur and Y/Nâs ranch/home/farm. We already know Beecherâs Hope is John and Abigailâs. And Lone Paradise is Charles and Lucyâs home/ranch/farm.
***
You rubbed your eyes, struggling to stay awake. The night air was just a little chilly but you wore one of Arthurâs jackets to keep you warm.Â
Cicadas and frogs chirped from the woods that surrounded your home. Occasionally, youâd hear a coyote yip or a raccoon chitter and the underbrush would rustle, stirring you just long enough to make your eyes widen. But then youâd start to drift off to sleep on the porch once more.Â
âGo on to bed, Y/N.â Arthur insisted, moving to your chair. He was standing at one end of the porch, eyes set on the drive that led to your home. Every once in a while, heâd glance over to you and see your head bobbing as you tried to fight off sleep.Â
âNo, no.â You shook your head, swatting his hands away as he tried to grab your hands or wrists to pull you to your feet. âI want to stay awake until they get here.â
âI can wake ya up when they get here.â
âYou wonât wake me up.â
âY/N, thereâs no sense in you beinâ awake.â
âI want to make sure everyone is well and comfortable tonight.âÂ
He continued to try to take your hands but you stubbornly refused to let him grab you, knowing he could easily pull you to your feet and haul you off to bed.Â
âArthur Morgan, I want to stay out here with you!â
âWhat if I donât want to carry your ass back to bed?â He raised a brow, his tone teasing as he looked down at you. He braced himself on either arm of your chair and leaned down to kiss your forehead. âJust go to bed, woman.â
âNo.â You closed your eyes as you leaned against him, only meaning to do so for a few moments. But your eyelids were so heavy that it was a struggle to open them.Â
âPumpkin-,â
âShut up, Arthur. Youâre just tryinâ to get me to go to bed so you can leave and go cause all sorts of trouble you donât need to be causing.â
âI would never do such a thing.â
âSomethingâs coming down the road.â Hosea spoke from the other side of the porch.Â
You stood to your feet, following Arthur to where Hosea stood. You placed your hand on his forearm, watching the light from a wagon.Â
âThatâs them.â Arthur picked up his hat from an end table on the porch.Â
***
You stood out in the hallway watching as John placed a sleeping Grace down in Daisyâs bed. Daisy was wide awake in your room, pouting and upset that Grace was asleep. She wanted to play, but you told her that with it being so late Grace would probably be asleep.Â
âThank you again for lettinâ us stay here, Y/N.â Abigail placed her hand on your arm.Â
âItâs safer for you to be up here.â You gave her a little smile.Â
âUncle Johnny!â
âShh, Daisy May.â John turned his attention to Daisy, who slipped out of your bedroom.Â
âUncle Johnny, when will Grace be awake?â Daisy tugged on his jacket.Â
âItâs past midnight, girly.â John knelt down to be at Daisyâs level. âYou should be sleeping.â
Daisy scrunched up her nose at him.Â
âIâve gotta go help your daddy outside.â John ruffled her hair and stood up.Â
âCan I come with you? You can see Piper!â
âNowâs not the time for that, Daisy.â You put your hand on her head. âUncle John and Aunt Abigail want to get to bed, Iâm sure. If you want to go out and help Uncle John bring their things inside, Iâm sure he wouldnât mind the help.â
âCourse not. Come on, Daisy May.â
You and Abigail watched the duo make their way down the hall.Â
âHow has John been since he saw Micah?â You started towards the kitchen with Abigail behind you.Â
âHeâs been angry and on edge. He hasnât been able to sleep none. I havenât either. Itâs hard to sleep when you know Micah Bell is nearby.âÂ
âWell you all are safe now. I donât reckon heâs dumb enough to come up here.â Hosea joined you both in the kitchen.Â
âDepends on how desperate he is for that Blackwater money.â You went to stand at the kitchen sink. From there, you could look out towards the barn. You could only see that the barn doors were open and there was light coming from inside.Â
âI hoped we had left this all behind ten years ago.â Abigail rubbed her eyes and then brushed her messy hair back. âWeâve worked so hard to get away from that. Johnâs worked so hard to change.â
âWe all have.â Hosea reminded her. âThat was the only life we ever knew. It wasnât easy making what weâve got now. But thatâs why we arenât gonna roll over and give Micah what he wants.â
You watched as Arthur emerged from the barn with Daisy on his shoulders. John, Jack, and Uncle were right behind them.Â
âI just donât want anyone hurt.â You murmured. âWeâve got too much on the line this time.â
***
The Next Morning
Arms wrapped around you from behind. A smile slipped across your lips. You leaned back against your husband. He kissed the back of your head, rubbing your side with one hand.Â
âYouâre up early.â
âSomeoneâs gotta feed everybody.â You hummed, looking over your shoulder to him.Â
âYou didnât sleep any last night either.âÂ
âNeither did you.â You pointed out.
He tightened his grip on you, arms holding you firmly against his body as he buried his nose in your hair.Â
âWhatâs on your mind?â
âNothing.â
âObviously itâs something.âÂ
You tried to move out of his arms but he refused to let you go. Â
âArthur, Iâve got toâ,â
âCan you just hold on a second?â He moved to stand next to you, looking down at you with furrowed brows.Â
âIâve got to get breakfast made before the kids wake up, Arthur.â
âStop messing with the breakfast, pumpkin.â He took your hands and pulled you away from the stove. âYou were tossing and turning all night.â
âYou know why.â Your voice was low as you held his gaze. âAll this talk about Micah coming for Hosea, for usâŚ. I canât help but get upset and anxious. Iâm bound to lose sleep over it. And the only thing that can help me keep my cool is making sure the kids are taken care of and that everyone here has something to eat.â
âWe donât even know yet if he is cominâ for us.â Arthur shook his head. âItâs all just speculation.â
âIt would be naive of us to assume he wouldnât.â
âBut itâd be too soon to assume he was. There hasnât been any signs to point that he was. All John saw was Micah in Blackwater and John movinâ him and Abigail and the kids up here to Lupine Valley is just a precautionary measure.â Arthur brushed his hands up and down your arms. âWe gotta take this one step at a time. If we start getting ahead of ourselves and losing it too soon, weâll justâŚ. Well, bad things will happen.â
You nodded, sniffling and wiping the tears from your cheeks.Â
âWhy donât we go out to the porch for a minute? Just for some fresh air?â
âBut the breakfast, Arthur.â
âThe breakfast can sit here and simmer for a minute.â He put his hand on the small of your back and began to guide you towards the front door.Â
The two of you went out to the front porch and sat on the porch swing. Arthur kept his arm around you while you rested your head on his shoulder. He moved the swing back and forth just a bit.
âYou know, I almost forgot how much you used to do this.â His voice was low and quiet.Â
âDo what?â
âWorry. You worry now, but thisâŚ. This is a different kind of worry. The kind that I always thought would give ya a heart attack or something.â He smiled a little at the memories that came flooding back from his time with the Van Der Linde gang. âEvery time I went out, I knew youâd be nothinâ but a case of worry and fret.â
ââCause I wasnât sure if youâd come back to me whole orâŚ. Or missing something or even if youâd come back at all.â You murmured. âI used to drive everyone mad at camp. Always had to keep busy when you were gone. Chores with the girls or with Mr. Pearson. I couldnât sit still. Not until you came back.â
âAnd then when Iâd come back, youâd sleep for hours and hours.â Arthur looked down at you. âYou never slept when I was gone.â
âNo, I didnât.â You shook your head, smiling a little. âBut that was the good thing about camp. There was always something to do.â
Arthur nodded his head. Silence fell between you both. The sound of morning birds filled the air. But in the distance, Arthur could hear hooves against the dirt road.Â
âStay here a minute.â He muttered under his breath as he stood from the swing.
Your brows furrowed together and you leaned forward, wanting to follow him.
âWhat is it?â
âSomeoneâs coming down the road.â He went to the edge of the porch and paused for a moment.Â
You moved to stand just behind him, your hand coming up to his back. A horse came into sight a few moments later. It was a familiar one, dark in color with a familiar rider.
Arthur smiled as Sadie stopped the horse just in front of the porch.Â
âI didnât reckon you folks would be up so early.â
âWell, weâve got a full house right now.â Arthur nodded. âWe can talk about it inside.â
âHave you had a long trip, Sadie?â You asked her. âIâm afraid your room is occupied right now but Daisy is in mine and Arthurâs bed if youâd like to rest.â
âI can rest later. Who are your guests?â She tilted her head to the side a bit.
âJohn and his family.â Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other. âThere might be trouble in Blackwater.â
***
âI havenât heard anything about Micah being this close. Is John sure he saw Micah?â
âHeâs positive.â Arthur nodded his head.Â
âIâve been keeping a watchful eye on the papers. Wherever he and his new band go, they always turn up in the papers. I havenât seen anything close to West Elizabeth in a few years.â Sadie shook her head, lifting her cup of coffee to her lips.Â
âSomehow the standard snuck through.â Arthur muttered, moving towards the window behind the kitchen sink.Â
âMaybe heâs traveling with a lighter gang now so he wonât make so much commotion.â You thought out loud.
âThat would be unfortunate for us.â Sadie sighed. âWell, I hope you donât mind one more guest.â
âOf course not.â Arthur shook his head, turning to lean against the sink.Â
âBut we are running out of room here.â You frowned. âJohn and Abigail are staying in your room and Daisyâs sleeping in our room while Jack and Grace get Daisyâs room.â
âAnd Uncle insists on sleeping out in the hayloft.â Arthur added with a shake of his head. âOld bastard can still make it up the ladder somehow. But I know Charles and Lucy have room over at Lone Paradise.â
âDo they know about Micah?â
âYeah.â Arthur messed with the brim of his hat.Â
âHowâs Charles taking it?â Sadie shifted around in her seat so she could see Arthur a bit better.Â
âHeâs on edge, like all of us are. Lucyâs gonna have her baby soon. Last thing we need is Micah Bellâ
âNothinâs gonna happen to Lucy or that baby.â Sadie assured him, shaking her head as she stood to her feet. âIâm gonna walk around yâallâs property a bit then make my way over to Lone Paradise. Iâll bounce back and forth between here and there. Youâre separated by a few acres, right?â
âFrom the house here headinâ west for thirty acres thereâs a big oak with an old wagon sittinâ there. Thatâs where my property ends and his begins. Keep goinâ west for another ten acres and youâll come up on his barn first. His house is just beyond that.â Arthur explained.Â
âItâs quicker that way than it is going the road.â You added. âThereâs a trial to follow too so you shouldnât get lost. We use it often.â
Sadie nodded and began to head for the door.Â
âBe safe out there, Sadie.âÂ
She turned back to look at Arthur before leaving.Â
As the front door closed, he let out a soft breath.Â
âFeels better havinâ her here.â
You nodded in agreement, standing to your feet.Â
âI donât think weâve had everyone here sinceâŚ. Well, since Daisy was sick three years ago.â
âSure feels like a long time ago.â Arthur mumbled quietly. âItâs funny how time passes but things stillâŚ. Things are the same.â
âHow so?â You cocked your head to the side a bit as you came to stand in front of your husband. You placed your hand on his stomach, looking up at him.Â
âMicah was the problem back then, and heâs the problem still.â
You pressed your lips together as your eyes lowered to the buttons of his shirt.Â
âThere were a lot of problems back then, Arthur. Micah was justâŚ.â You trailed off, unable to think of the right words.Â
âHe was the root of it all.â
Something moved out of the corner of your eyes. You turned your head to see Daisy standing in the edge of the kitchen. She held in one hand a stuffed bear Hosea had bought her when she was a baby. Carson was right beside her. Her free hand held on to the back of his neck. There were tears in her eyes and her cheeks were damp.Â
âSweetpea.â Arthur moved away from you so that he could kneel down in front of your daughter. âWhat happened? Whatâs got you in tears so early in the morninâ?â
âHad a bad dream.â She sniffled. He used his thumbs to gingerly wipe the tears away. His hands appeared so big as he tenderly cupped her cheeks. âI think I accidentally kicked Carson when I was sleeping.â
Arthur looked down at Carson, who wagged his tail and nosed at Arthurâs arm.Â
âWas he layinâ at your feet? I know he likes to do that to watch over you while you sleep.â
âYeah. I-I woke up and he yipped real loud.â Daisyâs voice hitched in her throat. âDid I hurt him daddy?â
âWhere do you think you kicked him, sweetpea?â Arthur kept one hand on Daisyâs side while his other rubbed along Carsonâs back and then down each of his legs.Â
âI think his chest. Do you think heâs gonna be scared of me, daddy?â
âDonât be silly, sweetpea.â
âCarson knows you didnât do it on purpose, Daisy.â You moved to be next to them.Â
âI donât think heâs hurt.â Arthur shook his head. âThink you mightâve just surprised him, sweetpea.â
Daisy stepped closer to Arthur, burying her nose in his neck. He rubbed her back and kissed the side of her head.Â
âItâs still early, sweetpea. You wanna go back to bed? Iâll lay down with you.â
âNo. I donât wanna sleep.â
âAre you hungry? Iâve got breakfast almost done.â You brushed your hand along Arthurâs shoulder before turning back to the stove.Â
âYeah, I am.â
âAfter bit here, you can go wake up Uncle John and Aunt Abigail.â Arthur stood up and in the same motion picked Daisy up. He took her over to the table and placed her down in a chair. âGuess who will be here later on today, sweetpea?â
âWho?â
âAunt Sadie.â
Daisyâs eyes lit up.
âReally? Sheâs here!â
âNo, well not yet.â Arthur rubbed Daisyâs shoulder. âSheâs over at Uncle Charlesâs and Aunt Lucyâs. After while, sheâll be coming over here.â
âItâs been forever since I seen her last!â
âI know. Itâs gonna be an exciting day.â
Taglist: @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday @micahs-bird
If your name is in italics, it wouldnât let me tag you :(
#dad!arthur morgan#dad!arthur morgan x reader#dad!arthur morgan series#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#arthur morgan fic#oneshot
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Insatiable
Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping donât worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending
A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? Iâm just as surprised as you are, who am I
@damerondjarinâ @rzrcrstâ @okay-hotshotâ @beskarsâ @acomplicatedprofessionâ @huliabitchâ @pascalpleaseâ @darksideofclarkeâ @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreamsâ @generaldamneronâ @criminal-cookiesâ @someplace-darkerâ @amarvelousmandalorianâ @roxypeanutâ @leahsafaeâ @bunnyart-blogâ @duamuteffeâ @themandjalorianâ @hopelikethesunâ @dindjarindiariesâ @paniclanaâ @winters-buckâ @pedropascalitoâ @agentpikeâ @hiscyarikaâ @lesquiâ @mandadorationâ @the-huttslayerâ @poeticandorsâ @tintinwritesâ @mserynlarsenâ @hystericalmedicineâ @queenofheavenandhellâ @himbopoesâ @qveenbvtchâ @bookshelvesandteacupsâ @yougottakeeponkeepinonâ
Something isâ something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that heâs returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way heâs moving, the way heâs hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like heâs hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You canât see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better.Â
Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. âMando?â You hate how your voice sounds even as itâs leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.
You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didnât realize how attached youâd truly grown to it until now.
The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs wonât support him any longer and heâ he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time youâd be fascinated by the skin heâs showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.
âSomething got under the helmet,â His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. âJustâ I feel so, feel so hot,â
You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. âDid you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?â You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You donât think this planet houses a lethal strainâ uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.
The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin heâs ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories youâve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that heâll go for his helmet next, that you wonât be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?
âIt smelled...sweet, but, but more than thatââ He doesnât know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he canât reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but itâs already taken hold and now he canât stop.Â
Heâs having trouble remembering why itâs a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until heâs sick with it. He feels like heâs burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like itâs filled with cotton but itâs watering for you.
His mouth. Thatâs right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He didâ some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he canât describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he wonât be opposed to tasting it again.Â
âI donât know, somethingâ something good,â The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isnât smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after youâd met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because heâd had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.
If the circumstances werenât so dire you think youâd laugh because this is ridiculous.
You swallow and raise your hands like youâre trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. âWe need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?â You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you arenât sure what youâre more scared ofâ him forgetting himself or you letting him.Â
Heâs breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what youâre trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. âYouâve heard of adamari, right?â
That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. âThis one isnât lethal we justâ you just have to ride it out,â Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldnât be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.
âItâs going to get worse, isnât it?â The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you canât stop him, you know you wonât want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and thatâs why one of you has to leave.
âLook, itâs probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,â You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before heâs too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere between a few hours to a couple days.
You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. âIâll go.â The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadnât sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.
He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. âTake care of the kid for me,â Itâs a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple âof courseâ into the still air. He doesnât resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.
Youâre trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.
Should youâ should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You arenât afraid of him, not really, and you donât want him to think that you are. What youâre afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you canât keep your eyes closed. Youâre afraid that itâs the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you.Â
You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him.Â
You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe heâll get far enough away before it really slams into him.
You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how heâs faring, if itâs gotten worse yet. If heâs in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like youâre so afraid of.
Itâs the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and youâve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasnât woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well.Â
And then the lights go out.
Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like youâre floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you donât already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside.Â
The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you canât see a thing.
Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until youâre shaking and you donât know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.
What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks itâs shameful and canât bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if itâs never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you wonât be able to do anything about it.
Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.
Youâre pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if heâs plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.
You donât even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you donât run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress.Â
You donât know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.
âMâsorry, Iâ I tried, so hard, Iâm sorry,â He slurs into your ear and all the breath youâve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because youâre not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. Heâs taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere.Â
They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you canât stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because thereâs just so much of you heâs never touched, never felt like this and youâre so soft and warm and heâs losing his mind.
âSâokay, really,â You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because itâs like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs.Â
His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think heâs trying to watch himself play with youâ you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that heâs trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe thatâs the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and youâre unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. âM-Mando,â
The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you.Â
âWanted this for s-so long and youâ youâreââ Youâre letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he canât believe it. Youâre arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and heâs never been this hard in his life.
His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesnât waste time, isnât capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear andâ and he fucking chokes.
Youâre so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He canât get over the fact that youâre almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver.Â
âIm-imagined this,â He canât stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isnât pollen thatâs caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff heâs spent the past months edging towards. âDidnât know yo-youâd be thisâ this warm,â His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment heâs slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because thereâs no way youâre this hot, thereâs no way youâre drenching his hand and moaning for him.
He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good youâre taking his fingers. How heâs been dying for this.
You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but youâre greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.
You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and itâs all too much.
You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorianâs moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You donât notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.
You donât realize youâve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. âPlease, p-please, Man-Mando, justâ I need your cock,â You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and youâre still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.
Your head falls back onto his shoulder and youâre rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still havenât gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and itâs like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. Theyâre hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know youâll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you and you canât wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.
Any control heâs managed to cling to is gone and heâs helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razorâs edge.Â
This is what heâs been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.
Heâs barely pulling out, as if he canât stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious. The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you canât manage to care.
You arenât being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot thatâs causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well youâre taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat.Â
You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toesâ so you do it again.
He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and youâre only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and heâs pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate. And then, almost before you realize whatâs happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet. Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first andâ and then youâre mewling some pitiful parody of his name because heâs fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesnât stop.
Which he doesnât. Youâre sensitive and shaking and he isnât stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and youâre sure youâve never heard anything better. Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat.Â
The Mandalorian doesnât move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesnât rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over againâÂ
âMore.â
Hours later youâre sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long youâve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.
Youâre drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.
You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isnât a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you canât resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm. The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. âThis, itâ it started because of the pollen,â He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesnât take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you donât know if he realizes what heâs doing.
You donât answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You donât reach for it. You donât even move your hands from where theyâre braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.
You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. Youâre higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness thatâs settling into your muscles.
#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#din djarin x reader#din djarin smut#din djarin x you#mandalorian smut#star wars fic#star wars smut#first time writing mando and first time writing sex pollen we've got a double whammy folks
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Anatomy Lesson
Reader has some sex trouble, out of all people to ask for help, she asks Spencer Reid.Â
Requested: Nope
Prompts: Nada
Word Count: 5.2K
Warnings: Itâs pretty much just straight smut
âGood sex is like good bridge. If you donât have a good partner, youâd better have a good hand.â -- Mae West
Your head fell back against the plush pillow with an annoyed groan. You threw the vibrator to the side, watching it roll across the bed, once again you were unable to achieve an orgasm. It was almost always like this, even in past relationships you found yourself having to often fake orgasms. You definitely didnât have a low libido, you considered your sex drive to be slightly above average, but an orgasm for you was hardly ever attainable, especially not solo.Â
Maybe it was the fact you had always been a sucker for rough sex, it was easier for you to come while being totally dominated. All of your past relationships had been fairly vanilla, they either werenât into it or still couldnât get you off.Â
You were desperate for an orgasm at this point, were you doing something wrong, was something wrong with you? You had to find out, you had exhausted all of your options. There was one thing left to try, you had to ask Spencer, I mean, he was your best friend, and a genius, he would know. He wouldnât find it totally weird, right?Â
You had decided Friday would be the perfect day to ask him, Friday, at the end of the day, where you could avoid him until Monday if the conversation headed South.Â
âHey, uh, Spence?â You questioned, luckily, by the grace of God, you were the last two packing up to head home after a long week.Â
âHm?â A sugar-crashed Spencer answered.Â
âI have a question, itâs sort of-Oh God how do I word this?â There was no backing out now, you had to ask.Â
Spencer stopped what he was doing, his brows furrowed in concern. He laid his files onto his desk, walking around it briskly towards you. âWhat is it? Did something happen?âÂ
âNo-no-I just, I was just wonderingâ you took a deep breath, letting your words flow together as fast as possible âhow unlikely is it for someone to be unable to achieve an orgasm during sex?â
Spencerâs face flushed slightly, automatically stuffing his hands into his pockets, a habit you had noticed he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. âI-uh-well, I mean, statistically during- uhm, intercourse, only around 20% of women have an...o-orgasm, and around 5% of women never have orgasms during intercourse.âÂ
You nodded your head, keeping your eyes trained on your desk, straightening a set of files. Well, that was good to know, there definitely wasnât something wrong with you then. Maybe you just needed a man's touch, and, yes, that is a horrible thing to say. Usually, you werenât so dependent, especially dependent on a man alone, but you needed some form of relief, and if a male could give it to you, then you would take it. Â
Spencer cleared his throat, âare you, uh, having t-trouble?âÂ
For some reason you didnât want to answer the question, the topic was already embarrassing enough, and admitting aloud that you were having trouble orgasming doubled that embarrassment. âY/N?â Spenceâs tentative voice brought you out of your stupor.Â
Huffing, you grabbed the files shoving them into your bag and throwing it over your shoulder. You turned, continuing to look everywhere except at Spencer, beginning your trek to your car.
You were halfway to the elevator when Spencer caught up to you, his hand coming to lay on your shoulder. âY/N, Itâs nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, itâs quite normal, especially for someone who isnât in a relationship.âÂ
You pushed your shoulder back, moving away from his touch. âLetâs not talk about it, I shouldnât have even asked, it was a stupid question.â You stepped into the elevator, Spencer hot on your trail.Â
âItâs not a stupid question, Y/N, itâs perfectly normal. Out of curiosity, are you just-is it just-vaginal penetration?â The elevator doors shut, and you were regretting ever asking the question.Â
âNope, Spencer, itâs not.â You huffed. It shouldnât be this uncomfortable to talk about your sex life, but this was Spencer weâre talking about. Spencer was practically asexual!
âMaybe you should try relaxing, your mind at least, sometimes if youâre distracted by other things itâll become hard to achieve an orgasm. Itâs actually the opposite for your body, a lot of women report feeling tension, especially in their abdomen and legs during or before an orgasm.â Spencer stated, watching as you walked out of the elevator, following after you.
Since when did Spencer get so open talking about sex? Sure he was a bit hesitant, but, to be honest, you didnât even know if he was going to answer, let alone in this detail. âThanks, Spence.â You said curtly, it was a little wrong for you to be so upset when you were the one who asked the question, but you were already stressed enough.Â
Here you were, one warm bath later, laying on your bed, butt naked, once again.
Still, you couldnât orgasm. Shamefully, you had even gone as far as choking yourself, playing out one of the dirtiest fantasies you could think of in your head. When that didnât work you switched to visuals, which definitely brought you closer to the edge, but wasnât enough to push you over into the sweet blissÂ
Surprisingly Spencer didnât say anything about your awkward encounter on Monday, or the rest of the week, until Friday. Once again, you and Spencer were the last two, Spencer had been going over the files from the most recent case, and you were filling out some paperwork, trying to get ahead of the load Hotch was going to give you next week.
âSpencer, itâs over. Sheâs safe, and that bastard is off to prison.âÂ
He sighed deeply in response, one of his long slender fingers pressed thoughtfully against his lips. âI just donât understand how I didnât see it sooner.â
You scoffed, âSpencer, you may be a genius, but no one expects you to know everything, you donât have to know everything. Spence, youâre going to kill yourself trying to figure out everything. Youâre always so stressed, you just need to relax, let go, read a book, or listen to some music, do something that calms you.â
Spencer turned to you, his hazel eyes bearing into yours, âspeaking of stressful, howâs your, uhm, problem?â His hands stuffed into his pockets comfortably.Â
You let out a short chuckle, as uncomfortable as talking about your sex life with Spencer was, the sight of Spencer flustered and stuttering was definitely humorous. âSpencer, stop trying to distract me, you need to stop stressing over closed cases.â Â
âSo, you havenât cum yet?â Spencer questioned, pulling his hands out of his pockets.Â
You swear your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, Spencer had never been that forward, especially not talking about sex, and especially not with you. Your mouth fell open, not completely sure how to respond.
âThat was too forward, wasnât it?â Spencer questioned, realization seeping through his voice.Â
You nodded your head, mouth still hung open.Â
âAnd you tried relaxing, but also simultaneously letting yourself be tense?âÂ
âYes, Spence.âÂ
He went silent for a while, turning around and beginning to gather his things.Â
And you thought the conversation had ended, and he had decided to drop it, and hopefully go home and relax, but alas, you were wrong.Â
âYou know, I could always, uhm, help you, i-if you want.â Spencer stuttered, his face flushing with an awkward smile.Â
At first, you thought you were hearing things, that sentence had not come out of Spencerâs mouth. You didnât even know how to respond, he obviously wasnât joking. I mean, sure, Spencer was very attractive, but you had never really thought of him as anything more than a friend.Â
âW-what do you mean?â You knew what he meant, at least you thought you did, but you didnât want to risk being wrong.Â
Spencer grabbed his satchel, placing it across his body, âI mean I could help you, you know, help you, uh, o-orgasm.âÂ
Holy Shit. You were right.Â
âW-we donât have to, obviously, I just-it sounds frustrating, and I just-I want to help.â Spencerâs hands wrapped around the strap of his satchel, watching you with wary eyes.
âNo-no, I get it, that-thatâs very sweet, Spence, I just-wonât that change our friendship?â
Spencer shrugged, ânot necessarily, Y/N, youâre my best friend, I want to help you. Plus itâll be good for me too like you said, I need some sort of stress relief.â
You smiled, how on earth did you get so lucky to have a best friend like him, âthanks, Spence, that means a lot.â
âJust think about it,â Spencer said with a smile.
You nodded your head, turning to begin packing up your things.
You ran your hand over your sweaty face, pushing aside some hair. Still, nothing. At this point, you were very much ready to accept Spencerâs offer. Even if it did change your relationship.
Your eyes glared at the screen of your phone, the 11:04 seemingly taunting you, would he even be awake? I mean, it wouldnât hurt to try
Y/N: Are you up?
You hit send, laying your phone next to you, you didnât really expect Spencer to answer, at least not immediately, he rarely ever used his phone. But, like a lot of things lately, you were wrong, because your phone buzzed beside you.Â
Spencer: Unfortunately, I canât seem to sleep. Iâm assuming the same for you?
Sighing, you formulated a reply.Â
Y/N: Unfortunately, you probably know whyâŚÂ
His reply was almost immediate as if he was sitting there waiting for you to answer.Â
Spencer: My offer still stands.Â
You ran your hands over your face for what seems like the millionth time. Were you really going to do this, let Spencer come over and fuck you?  Â
Y/N: How fast can you be here?
Yes. Yes, you were.Â
You paced back and forth in front of your door. You had brushed your teeth, and hair, luckily, you had already shaved today. Were you supposed to wear something, like lingerie? Was he even going to touch you, or just tell you what to do? What if he couldnât make you cum? What if he wasnât rough enough?
Knock, knock, knock. Three soft wraps on the other side of the door. Spencer.Â
You sighed, no turning back now. You moved, unlocking the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.Â
There Spencer stood, clad in some simple plaid pajama pants, and a grey T-shirt. It was unusual to see him so casually dressed.
âHeyâ you greeted shyly.
âHey,â Spencer said, stepping into your apartment.Â
âS-So how does this work? How do you want to do this?â You questioned, gulping nervously.
Spencer chuckled surprisingly calm, âWe donât have to do anything you donât want to, Y/N. This is about you, helping you get some relief.â
You smiled, biting your lip slightly, you had zero clue where Spencerâs newfound confidence was coming from, but you were enjoying it. âWell, I donât know, Iâm pretty much okay with anything, I guess.â
âHow do you usually like to have sex, rough, soft, both? What gets you off Y/N, what turns you on?â Spencer stepped closer to you, his voice dropping an octave.Â
Your breath hitched in your throat, who knew Spencer had such a dirty mouth? âI-uh, wellâŚâ you trailed off.
Spencer moved forward once again, his large hand pushing a strand of hair out of your face, âsomething tells me you like it rough, you like to be dominated, totally fucked into oblivion.âÂ
The room seemed to spin, and your lip caught between your teeth, at this point, you werenât even sure if this was Spencer? Had you just let a random man into your apartment? Did an alien infest Spencerâs body and now it was here to kill you?
Spencer tucked the strand of hair behind your ear, but his hand continued moving, playing with the hair at the back of your head. Then in one swift tug, your head was yanked back, neck exposed. You let out a yelp, digging your teeth deeper into your lip. âAm I right?â He questioned, his hazel eyes now a deep brown with lust. His other hand ran a finger up your neck, watching you shiver.Â
You didnât answer, you couldnât, somehow, it almost felt foreign to move your mouth, if he didnât have you convinced before, he definitely did now. Maybe Spencer could make you cum, and maybe multiple times.Â
He tugged on your hair harshly once again, causing you to release a low groan. Spencer leaned in closer, placing his head next to your ear, whispering lowly âin case you canât tell, Iâm looking for an answer, sweetheart.â His finger trailed to the base of your neck, flattening his palm to run it up to your neck once again, his hand wrapping around the sides of your neck.Â
You whimpered lightly, letting your hands grip his wrist for support. Without thinking you breathed out a response, âyes, yes sir, youâre right.âÂ
Spencer pulled his head back from your face, his dark eyes making contact with yours. âMhm, good girl.â Spencerâs voice was low, and gravely, obviously, he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you did. His hand released your neck, shifting slightly so he could run his thumb over your bottom lip.Â
Once again, almost out of instinct, you took his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. If someone had asked what your plans were for tonight, never in your life would you think to respond âinviting Spencer Reid over to my house at 11 o'clock at night, then letting him fuck me.âÂ
Spencer groaned lightly, pulling his thumb out of your mouth, dragging it down your chin, wiping off the saliva. He brought his other hand up to cup your face gently, his eyes darting down to your lips. Taking the initiative, you stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips up to his soft pink ones. Your mouths moved in sync as if this were an everyday occurrence.Â
 You both pulled away, chests heaving for air. âY-youâre sure about this?â Spencer questioned, concern filling his eyes.
You giggled, Spencer would never not be a gentleman, âIâm sure, Spence. I need this, and you need some stress relief, and if itâll benefit us both, why not?â
Spencer chuckled lightly, âokay.â
Smiling, âokayâ you responded.Â
âIs there-you know, anything that I shouldnât do, things you arenât comfortable with?âÂ
You let yourself think for a moment, was there anything you werenât comfortable with? You were very explorational with your sex life, and you trusted Spencer. âNot really, Spence. Just, do what you think will make me cum.âÂ
Once again, the predatory look clouded over Spencerâs eyes, his lips curling into a smirk. âThat's not my name, sweetheart.â He growled.
Your eyes fluttered shut, your thighs rubbing together for some sort of friction. âSorry...sir.â You were slightly hesitant, you had already called him sir, but you werenât sure if it was the name he was looking for.Â
A smack rang through the air and a stinging spread through your ass. Your body jerked forward pressing further into his, âshit! Sorry, daddy!â You cried, your eyes snapping open to watch his reaction. The daddy had slipped out, you didnât know if Spencer would be weirded out, or into it, hopefully, the latter.Â
Spencerâs eyes widened, apparently, that wasnât the answer he was looking for. Before you could correct yourself, one of his hands gripped your hips, roughly pulling you into him, and the other pulled your head to him, smashing his lips against yours. You moaned into the kiss, your hands wrapping around his torso, trailing up his back and into his long hair, tugging at it. He groaned against your lips, his head falling back slightly, breaking the kiss.Â
âFuck, Y/N, not what I was looking for, but, I definitely enjoyed it.â Spencer groaned out, his hands traveling your sides. Yet, you longed for more, you longed to feel his skin against yours, the weight of his hips between your legs.Â
You peppered kisses over his neck, relishing in the way his hands felt against your body. Spencer groaned lightly as you sucked at a spot at the base of his neck. His hands dug into your hips harshly, and you whimpered slightly at the pain. With a rough shove, Spencer pushed you away from him, both of you panting.Â
âI want you on the bed, naked, donât touch yourself, just wait for daddy,â Spencer said, his voice dripping with an authority he only ever used in the interrogation room, and God did you love it.
You nodded your head in understanding, turning to walk to the bedroom. Once inside, the nerves hit, you were really doing this, you were actually going to fuck Spencer, and hopefully cum. Your shirt hit the floor first, the cool air causing your nipples to harden since you had opted not to wear a bra. Your leggings came off next, with only a little struggle due to the slight sweat that came with being aroused. Lastly, your thin lace thong, which you made sure to drop a little closer to the doorway, just so Spencer would notice it first thing when he walked into the room.Â
Spencer walked down the short hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking under his feet, alerting you of his approach. Quickly you sat on the bed, both legs and arms crossed in a means of covering yourself. As excited as you were to cum, that didnât knock the anxiety of Spencer seeing your naked body.Â
Spencer appeared in the doorway, his teeth immediately biting down on his lip at the sight of you. He took slow steps towards you, maintaining eye contact the whole way. He crouched in front of you so his face was level with yours. His hands ran over your arms, uncrossing them gently before doing the same with your legs. âGod, youâre so beautiful.â
A blush covered your face, it was incredible how quickly he could switch from domineering to sweet. Spencer leaned in, peppering kisses over your neck. His arms were placed on either side of you, his mouth working sinfully.Â
Your head leaned back with a breathy moan, giving him better access to your neck. Spencer's mouth worked over your collarbone, beginning to leave open-mouthed kisses in the valley of your breasts. âSuch pretty tits,â he mumbled against your skin, letting one of his hands reach up and palm your breast. Your back arched into his touch, his warm skin against yours.Â
You brought your head upright, watching as he took one of your perky nipples into his pretty pink lips. âFuck, Spenceâ you moaned out, placing your hand on the back of his head to run through his hair. Spencerâs teeth lightly grabbed your nipple, pulling his head back, tugging sharply. âShit! Daddy, I meant daddy.â You corrected breathily. Â
Spencerâs mouth released your nipple, his head coming up to yours for a sloppy kiss. He pulled back, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. He chuckled lightly, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip to break it. âYouâre sure youâre okay with this?âÂ
You smiled, could this man get any more polite? âYes, please just do something.â You begged.Â
âAsk and you shall receiveâ Spencer answered, a hint of playfulness in his voice. He moved slightly, situating himself on his knees. You bit your lip softly, wishing this intimate moment could last forever. His large hands rested on your knees, spreading your legs. He chuckled, âMhm, so wet for me and I havenât even touched you.âÂ
Your head tilted back slightly, ecstasy running through your body at his words. One of his hands trailed up your leg, stopping to rub soft circles around your clit. You moaned lightly, one of your hands placed behind you to keep your body upright, the other on the back of Spencerâs head playing with his hair. His pace sped up slightly, and you bucked your hips forward, aching for more. âPlease, please, I need more.â You whined.
âPatience, loveâ despite his words, his pace sped up again, and your head tilted further back with a loud moan. âThere you go, sweetheart, enjoy it.â He removed his thumb, and before you could complain, it was quickly replaced by his tongue, kitten licking your clit slowly.Â
You groaned lightly, the hand in his hair tightening its grip. âYes, daddy, fuck.âÂ
Spencerâs tongue sped up, his eyes gazing up at you, watching you squirm with pleasure. Spencerâs hand on your knee trailed up your thigh, his fingertips running up and down your lips.Â
You looked down at him, a whimper escaping your mouth at the sight. His hand parted your lips, pushing a finger into your pussy. âFuck, yes, Spencer.â He didnât correct you this time, instead, he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking lightly, while his finger began slow strokes in and out of your cunt.Â
A loud moan escaped your lips, your hips rocking lightly against his face. The tip of his tongue ran lightly over your clit, and his finger picked up the pace. âMhm, yes, daddy, just like that.â Your hand tugged harshly at his hair, and you were sure it had to hurt.
Spencerâs lips released your clit with a pop, âare you close, love?â He questioned, a lust-hungry look in his eyes.
You nodded your head vigorously, âyes, so, close, please-just-please.â You could feel it, the knot building rapidly in your stomach, the tension in your legs. Spencer slipped another finger into your pussy, crooking them slightly, his pace becoming ruthless, hitting a spot inside of you that you didnât know existed. His lips wrapped around your clit again, this time sucking harshly, watching as your thighs shook around his head and your back arched, your hips thrusting into his face.Â
You let out a loud cry, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you came. Your toes curled, breath hitched, and your thighs clamped down on Spencerâs head, whimpers and moans leaving your mouth. It was like pure bliss, and you had never been more thankful for Spencer in your life.
Spencerâs mouth and fingers worked you through your orgasm, only slowing down when your chest began to heave for the breath you lacked. His lips popped off your clit, and his drenched fingers slid out of your pussy. âYou made a mess, baby.âÂ
You looked down at him, and never had you seen a more beautiful sight, his hair was tousled, and his chin was covered in your arousal. He brought his fingers to his lips, taking them in his mouth, cleaning off your arousal. You moaned at the sight alone, still slightly out of breath. Spencer pulled his fingers out of his mouth, placing his hands at your sides. He pushed himself back up onto his feet. âYou want me to fuck you?â He asked, his voice low and strained, you could see why his erection was visible through his pants.Â
Your mouth hung open, you had just come, but somehow, your body longed for more, to feel his cock inside you. You nodded your head, your eyes pleading with his. His hand trailed up your side, sliding over your breast and up to your neck, choking you lightly. âUse your words, sweetheart.â He teased.
âYes, yes, please fuck me, daddy.â You squirmed in his grip, body aching for him.
The hand on your neck pushed you back so you were lying flat against the bed. Spencer released your neck, quickly beginning to shed his clothes. You watched with hooded eyes, your thighs rubbing together for some friction. Once he was fully unclothed, he was on you, his mouth catching yours in a feverish kiss. Your hands wrapped around his torso, nails clawing down his back. He groaned at the pain, âready for me to fuck you?âÂ
âYes! Yes, fuck me!â You groaned, reaching your hand in between the two of you to pump his cock. He moaned loudly in your ear, and you swear it was like you had died and gone to heaven. In one swift motion, he snapped his hips forward, burying his cock in you. You yelped, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your nails scratched down his back once again as he bottomed out, slamming back into you setting a brutal pace.Â
âFuck, youâre so tight for me, so perfect.â He groaned out. He stopped momentarily, his hands grabbed your thighs, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders. He pounded into you, this time balls deep. Your hands left his back, moving to grab your breasts, mouth falling open in a silent scream.
His hand shot up, wrapping around your neck lightly, causing your already dizzy head to spin more. Groans and curses left Spencerâs mouth, a thin sheen of sweat coating his tan skin. He looked like a God above you, and you had no idea how you got so lucky as to fuck him.Â
âHarderâ you groaned out. Your hips thrust up to meet his, both of you working aggressively towards your orgasms. Spencer complied, his head falling back with a groan as he rammed into you. You screamed, eyes crossing as his cock brushed over your g-spot, your cunt clamping down onto his cock. âFuck! Right there, Spencer, God, yes!â
âOh, God, Y/N, such a perfect little slut for me.â He growled, his breath coming out in short pants. Incomprehensible moans and cries of Spencer's name left your lips.
 Your hand on your breast crept up to Spencerâs hand around your neck, wrapping around his wrist. âIâm so closeâ you managed to groan out.Â
âFuck, me too.â Spencer moaned, his voice deep and gravely. Your skin slapped against his with each thrust, the sound filling your bedroom. âRub your clitâ Spencer commanded, his hand held your hip in a harsh grip, which would definitely leave bruises.Â
You nodded, as best as you could with his large hand wrapped around your neck. You reached your hand down, using two fingers to rub harsh circles on your swollen clit. âI-Iâm gonna cum.âÂ
Spencer moaned above you, his eyes shutting, and his teeth biting down on his perfect lips. âFuck, cum, cum for me.â He leaned closer into you, his swollen mouth capturing yours in a kiss. You pressed your lips desperately against his, teeth clashing sloppily.Â
You broke the kiss with a moan, your head falling back against the bed, and your back arching. The hand on his wrist squeezed harder, âtighter, tighter.â You cried, signaling for him to cut off more of your circulation. Without question, his hand tightened to the perfect pressure, and it was all you needed to send you over the edge into pure bliss. You came with a loud scream, that was sure to alert the neighbors, and your walls fluttered around Spencerâs cock, tears of pleasure flowing freely down your face. Everything in your body tensed, and your eyes rolled so far into the back of your head youâre surprised they didnât get stuck there.Â
Your orgasm sent Spencer into his own, his head falling back with a deep guttural groan, his hands on your body tightening their grip. His body stilled, his cock buried deep within you, twitching and releasing his cum. âFuck, Y/N, you perfect slut, ugh.â
Spencerâs hand released your neck, falling onto your hip. You gulped down the air like a fish, your hand releasing his wrist and coming up to rub your sore neck. Spencer pushed your legs off his shoulders, and his body collapsed onto yours, both of you completely wrecked.
You felt his hot breath against your neck, both of you panting like dogs. You could feel the sweat running down your forehead, mixing with the tears on your face. Your eyes were still closed, your body still coming down from itâs high. At that moment you couldnât wait to go to sleep, not just because you were exhausted, but because you could wrap around Spencer like a sloth. You laughed lightly, running one of your hands through Spencerâs hair. âThat was amazingâ you breathed out.
Spencer chuckled into your neck, âI knew I could make you cum.â He pulled back, hovering on his forearms above you.Â
You giggled at his words, your hands trailing down his back, to his tense shoulders, massaging them lightly. With one last peck to your lips, Spencer pulled away, turning around. You giggled again at the sight of his bare ass, âas much as I love the view, where are you going?â
He turned back to you with a light-hearted smile on his face âI need to clean you up, I donât think you want to go to bed with cum dripping down your thighs.âÂ
You groaned, lazily reaching out for him, âbut Iâm tired.âÂ
âAnd whiny,â Spencer replied, his voice muffled as he walked away from you and into the bathroom.Â
âIâm only whiny because I want to go to sleep, we can take a shower in the morning.â You attempted to sway him.Â
He walked back into the bedroom, a wet rag in his hand. You smiled, you could already see the multitude of love bites you left on his neck. âYour neck looks pretty,â you stated lazily.
Spencer laughed at your words, crouching down to run the rag up your thighs. âYours does too, youâre going to need a lot of makeup to cover that bruise.â He was right, a bruise in the shape of his hand was going to be on your neck for days.
You let out a hiss as he ran the rag up your folds, still extremely sensitive. You sat up slightly, attempting to retreat further onto the bed and away from Spencer. His arms slung over your waist, pulling you right back to the edge of the bed. âThe quicker I do this the quicker we get to go to sleep, sweetheart.â He chided.Â
You rolled your eyes, pouting like a child, âbut it hurts.âÂ
Spencer hummed in understanding, continuing to clean you, âyou know, I was going to make you cum another time, but, I didnât think you could handle it.â
âOh, please, Iâd let you fuck me till I pass out if you made me cum like that again.â You laughed, watching as he threw the dirty rag onto the bedside table. He turned back to the bed, hovering over you once again.Â
His lips found yours in a slow, passionate kiss. âIâm holding you to that.âÂ
You scoffed, pushing him off of you, âyou better.â You turned onto your hands and knees, crawling to pull the comforter down. Spencer repeated your actions, crawling into bed next to you. You threw your leg over his, laying an arm across his chest.Â
âHere,â he said, sitting up slightly to slide his arm under your head as a makeshift pillow. âNext time, Iâll have to teach you how to make yourself cum.â
You sighed dreamily, snuggling further into Spencerâs warm body. You looked up at him, ânext time, huh?âÂ
Spencerâs eyes widened, his body shifting slightly away from you, âI-I mean, only if you want to-â
You laughed, using your hand on his chest to push him back down onto the bed, â of course I want to.â You paused for a moment, âbut, wonât that be a little...weird?â
Spencer laughed âOnly if you make it, Y/N. Think of this all as an anatomy lessonâ Spencer whispered breathily into your ear.
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