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#eye twitch. hey please reblog my writing. okay? okay ??????????????? ^_^

butchdykekondraki · 4 months

Text

do you think eve knew abel would never live to be her age. do you think that, like mary, she was just a victim of fate. someone who, despite everything, could never have changed what happened. do you think when she looked into the eyes of her darling boy, they reflected her inside them. do you think either of them knew. do you think that mary knew, that when she held her baby in her arms, that he would die in them too. do you think that eve, too, clutched the carcass of her son in her arms. did she pray. did god listen. was god capable of listening. would god have listened. did she scream. did mary crumble over her son, agonized if not for herself than for him. did eve bury her face into her sons shoulder, staining herself with his blood. did mary do the same. did they know it was inevitable. would they have loved them all the same, knowing they would return to their arms in the worst ways. did eve know she would bury her son. did mary visit the crucifix after he'd bled out. did eve plant lilies above abel's grave. did mary make his favourite dish for supper. did they know. could they have known. do you think that, despite it all, the only thing they could've done was love them wholly. do you think abel and christ had their mothers smiles.

#[ren]#i cant think of a good way to end this. so. whateva. fuck it we ball #rensdocs.txt #eye twitch. hey please reblog my writing. okay? okay ??????????????? ^_^

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goingferalforhim · 1 year

Note

Hey I saw your prompts and that your requests are open? Could I get the “you are just so handsome” prompt with Megumi?

[ 2.56am ]

📂 megumi fushiguro x reader . fluff , reader is called darling , gumi just wants kisses , (characters aged up but not mentioned) . (inspo — prompt 18: “you are just so handsome”)

a/n kinda a rushed writing job , and ive been in a sort of writing block/slump . please like , reblog , comment !

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shoes scuff along the floors of the hall, megumi being too exhausted to bother lifting his feet as he approached your door. with his head hung low, hair falling into his hooded eyes, and sleep threatening to overcome, he gently brings his knuckles against the wood.

your movements are muffled as you bring yourself closer to the door, where you knew your boyfriend would be waiting—exhausted and desperate to be held.

“hey gumi,” you whisper softly. he grunts beneath his breath as he falls into your hold, arms tightly wrapping your waist, bringing your body as flushed against his as possible. he mutters soft greetings into your neck, which become mumbles of nonsense as he presses gentle kisses to the skin. “you’re kinda smelly,” you sigh, one hand ruffling through his hair as the other rubs soothingly along the span of his back.

another mess of indecipherable words are muttered against the skin of your neck, the raven-haired boys grip growing tighter as he stumbles a few feet deeper into your room—the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress before megumi shoves you down into the comforter. his body immediately falling into the space next to yours, an arm snaking its self around your waist yet again—the boy was desperate for your warmth and comfort.

“gumi, love. go wash up,” your words tickle his lips, your minty breath drawing him closer. “gumi,” you grin as his lips brush yours.

“one kiss and i’ll go,” you sigh. as if you were against the idea of kissing your boyfriend.

“one kiss and then you go clean up,” he nods—eyes slipping shut as he leans in, capturing your lips in his.

his lips are a bit cracked, but you knew the hell he practically just went through, so you’d cut him some slack for his dry kiss. “okay, go on.” he groans as you pull your lips from his. “you promised.”

“I did no such thing,” he pouts.

“no, don’t make that face. you’re hurting my heart,” you lay flat onto your back—hands coming to cover your face, mostly to hide the lovesick look spread across your features.

“a quick shower, that’s it. and then I want to kiss you until i fall asleep,” his weight lifts from the bed and you peak from between your fingers. he’s hovering above you, an eyebrow raised.

“all the kisses you could ever want,” your words send him rushing to the shower, a giggle shaking you as you watch him disappear behind the bathroom door.

while he’s in the shower you search through your closet, finding a pair of sweats and a t-shirt you had stolen from your boyfriend long ago. setting them on the end of the bed, along with a pair of boxers he had left—specifically for moments like this.

as megumi slips from the steamed bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he’s greeted with your soft, angel-like snores. slipping on the clothes you had set out for him, a simple action that continuously melted his heart—sent the butterflies in his stomach into spirals, he approached his side of the bed. peeling back the covers he crawled in next to you, arms looping around you, pulling you to his chest—where you belonged.

“gumi,” you mutter, fist balling his t-shirt.

“im here, darling.”

“im glad,” he grins down at you. you pull away from his chest slightly, sleepy eyes peering up at him. the corner of your lip twitches, provoking megumi to ask what you wished to say. “nothing,” you sigh. “its just,” nuzzling back into his chest, clinging onto his shirt a little tighter. “you are just so handsome.”

thank goodness the lighting was dim, and thank goodness you were drifting back to sleep—because the shade of red that painted your boyfriend’s cheeks was considered rather embarrassing.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair. “I love you so much.”

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

Note

Hey there..thank you for writing my previous ask

Here i am again🙈🙈

Can you do a husband andy x pregnant wife smut!

Just her round belly making him feral trope

Thanks❤️

hi! of course, thank you for sending these requests in! sorry it took so long. I hope you like it.

warning - smut, swearing, creampie, sex while pregnant, breeding kink.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

“Fuck, baby girl! You feel so fucking good! Look so fucking beautiful, round with my baby!” Andy thrusts deep inside you, growling when he feels you clench around his throbbing member. His eyes connect with your dazed ones through the mirror, slowly trailing down to stare at the bump you both created. His large hands come around, gently cradling it as he pounds into you from behind. “So– beautiful and mine, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head lazily, eyes rolling back from the intense pleasure. “Y–yes, all yours, daddy.” Walls pulsating around your husband’s vast cock. “Wanna be round with your babies all the time!” Andy’s hips stutter at your words. He rests his chin on your shoulder, taking in your sweet scent as his hips move faster.

“Yeah, baby girl? You wanna be full and round with my babies all the time? I can do that.” Andy growls, nipping your neck, leaving marks. His eyes were still glued to your bump, “my god, you’re so fucking gorgeous. My little goddess.” Andy’s head lolls, his eyes close, and his body explodes in complete bliss. The feeling of your cunt fluttering around him as you cum, sets him off.

Andy groans, cock twitching as he pumps you full, wishing it would add an extra baby. Carefully, he pulls out and heads into the bathroom to grab a damp washcloth before walking back over to you and cleaning you up. “There you go, baby girl. Are you feeling okay?” He stands in front of you, cupping your face in his hands as he stares deep into your eyes.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion catches up to you. “I’m okay” A yawn falls from your lips. “Just tired, thank you, daddy.” You nuzzle your face into his hands, feeling content with your life, and you can’t wait for this baby to come out because then you and Andy can start on another.

Andy smiles, picking you up gently as he carries you over to the bed. Lying down alongside you, holding your body close to him. “I love you, baby girl.” His hand strokes the growing bump, warmth filling him at the reminder that you are carrying a piece of him.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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writer-freak · 9 months

Text

Summer Rain - Eddie Munson x Gn reader (Fluff)

Summary: You promised your neighbor Eddie to bring him over some cake and you keep that promise even if it's storming outside.

Warnings: reader borrows some of Eddie's clothes (it isn't described how they fit though), gender neutral reader, pure fluff, english isn't my first language so please excuse if there are some mistakes wordcount: 1.2k

A/n: I'm terrible at coming up with names for my fanfictions so this title is taken from the song Summer Rain by Johnny Rivers. My mom had this song playing while I was writing this and it fits.

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and it makes me very happy to see and hear that people enjoy my writing.

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

Rain pounded relentlessly against the windows, its drumming synchronizing with the rapid rhythm of your heart as you hurriedly made your way to Eddie Munson's house. Your neighbor's place was just a few doors down the street, and despite the inclement weather, you were determined to uphold your promise of sharing the leftover cake. You tugged the hood of your raincoat closer around your face, attempting to shield yourself from the downpour. The weather worsened, and within moments, you were thoroughly drenched.

With a determined exhale, you reached Eddie's front porch, your pulse racing like the distant thunder. You knocked on the door, hoping he was home. The door swung open, revealing Eddie, who looked surprised to see you standing there, dripping wet.

"(Y/N)? Hey, what are you doing out in this storm?" Eddie's voice was laced with genuine concern, his brows furrowed as he scanned your drenched form.

You offered a soggy smile, determined to keep your spirits high despite your sodden state. "Brought over the cake as promised," you announced, holding the Tupperware container with a cheerful smile.

A hint of protest danced in Eddie's eyes, his lips twitching as he glanced at the storm outside. "You shouldn't have; it could have waited until tomorrow," he insisted, his voice a mix of appreciation and worry. "Come in, I can't have you going back out there." With that, he stepped aside, ushering you into the warmth of his home.

You carefully stepped inside but didn't venture further as a puddle was already forming under you. Eddie, ever the gentleman, quickly fetched a towel and offered it to you with an understanding smile. "Here, take this. You're soaked!"

You accepted the towel with gratitude, the soft fabric offering a welcomed reprieve from the rain's icy embrace. As Eddie took your coat to hang it up, you took a moment to survey your surroundings, absorbing the essence of his living space.

"Do you maybe want to take a shower? They say this storm won't end any time soon, and it would be best to wait it out." Eddie's voice pierced through your thoughts, anchoring you to the present. His concern pulled you from your contemplative daze, and you met his gaze with a thoughtful nod.

"Um, yeah, that might be a good idea. Though, do you maybe have something else for me to wear? I don't exactly want to wear my wet jeans after coming out of the shower," you confessed, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The idea of borrowing his clothes added a layer of unexpected excitement to the situation.

Eddie looked at you for a second, surprise flashing across his face before it quickly faded.

Eddie: "Oh, uh, yeah, sure! I can find you something comfy to wear. Let me grab you some clothes. You can go ahead to the bathroom," he gestured, pointing you in the right direction.

Stepping into the bathroom, you took a moment to absorb the unfamiliar yet strangely inviting environment. Before long, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Eddie's voice seeped through the crack. "I, uh, hope those fit okay. Let me know if you need anything else."

You acknowledged his words with a genuine smile, feeling a sense of comfort settle over you. "Again, thank you."

With the door closed, you made quick work of the shower, reveling in the warmth that enveloped your chilled skin. Emerging from the bathroom, you felt transformed, the weight of wet clothes exchanged for a pair of sweatpants and a slightly faded band tee. The garments carried Eddie's scent, a subtle reminder of your unexpected visit.

Eddie needed a moment to process when you reentered the living room. Seeing you in his clothing was a sight he had only ever dared to imagine in his dreams.

"You, uh, you look good in my clothes. I mean, you look good... always." Eddie stumbled over his words, unable to sort his thoughts.

Then you settled in the living room, a blanket wrapped around you to escape the chill of the room. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning illuminated the room every few seconds. Eddie asked you what you wanted to watch. "Hmm, how about we watch that new thriller series I mentioned last time? It seems fitting for the weather," you proposed, a grin curving your lips. Eddie nodded in agreement before navigating through the entertainment options to put on the chosen show on the screen.

The rumbling outside grew worse, and you couldn't help but feel a little uneasy, but Eddie being by your side made you feel safer somehow.

The desire to be closer to him surged within you, an instinctual urge to seek solace in his company. You entertained the thought of nuzzling into the crook of his neck, nestled against the warmth that radiated from his skin. It was a fleeting fancy, one that you simultaneously craved and hesitated to indulge, for fear of overstepping boundaries.

As the storm continued outside, you started to chat about everything and discovered that you shared more interests than you thought before. The rain was a mere backdrop to the conversation between the two of you. Time seemed to fly by, and the storm showed no signs of letting up.

"You know," Eddie began, his voice sounding soothing amidst the storm, "I'm really glad you came over. It's nice having someone to keep me company during this storm."

"Me too," you responded, your words bearing a soft undertone of gratitude. A warmth engulfed your chest, something you had never felt before.

Gazing into Eddie's eyes, you felt as though the two of you existed in a world of your own, completely separate from everything that was happening outside.

The storm continued, not letting up by your shared laughter and whispered secrets. The rain drummed a relentless rhythm against the windows, and the TV's glow flickered just like the flashes of lightning outside. Yet, your focus remained squarely on each other, the growing connection between you amplifying with every passing moment.

Finally, with a distant rumble of thunder, the rain started to subside. Despite the calming storm, a surge of hesitation tugged at your thoughts. You really didn't want to leave yet.

The allure of the present moment held you in place, coaxing you to take a daring leap.

"Eddie, I... I really enjoy spending time with you," you confessed, feeling your face heating up.

Eddie's eyes softened, his lips curling into a tender smile. "I feel the same way, (Y/N). You're amazing."

At that moment, the world seemed to stand still. The angry storm was replaced by the tension that crackled between you. Warmth enveloped you, tugging you closer to Eddie until your fingers naturally entwined.

"I like you, Eddie," you admitted, your heartbeat quickening with each passing second.

His smile broadened, the reflection of his emotions dancing in his eyes. "I like you too, (Y/N). More than you could ever imagine."

With those whispered words hanging in the air, you closed the distance between you, a delicate connection brought by the pull of mutual affection. Lips met in a tender kiss, a sweet and passionate show of your blossoming romance against the storm.

As always thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this. ^^

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noctumbra · 26 days

Text

𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮

summary: kiyoomi was not a jealous person until miya atsumu waltzed into his life.

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x miya atsumu (sakuatsu)

warnings: s*mut, bl*wj*bs, kissing, flirting, jealous kiyoomi, power bottom kiyoomi, atsumu is a service top change my mind

a/n: it's been so goddamn fucking long since i posted my writing (or wrote anything, really). but lately i'm on my sakuatsu brainrot era and i just HAD to, okay. i hope i'm still able to connect sentences well, and if i'm not and this sucks, i'm sorry. lol. hope you like it! please don't forget to reblog and leave comments! thank you <333

art credit: @tnkisu

Normally, Kiyoomi is not a jealous person.

He knew that his partner would be faithful to him, no matter what, and that the trust they have for each other was what mattered the most. So, the jealousy was technically a foreign feeling for him.

Until he saw a brunet man hitting on Atsumu, offering him drinks while throwing him sly looks under his eyelashes and giving him sweet smiles.

The man was a good-looking one, Kiyoomi would admit that without feeling inferior. His brunet hair was slightly short on the sides, styled nicely with a touch of natural tousled look. His face was a handsome, but a little too much on the too-pretty-to-be-only-handsome category: Plush lips, pink-ish red from licking and biting, straight nose with a septum piercing, cat-like eyes in the color of sky blue and thick yet nicely shaped brows. He was a looker, and he knew it.

Currently, the man was trying to crawl closer to Atsumu, trying to touch their knees or thighs, while offering Atsumu another drink. Meanwhile, Atsumu was all chatty, smiley and happy. Accepting drinks with a big, friendly smile on his face, very unaware of the fact that the guy next to him was hitting on him to the fullest.

Yet, Kiyoomi did not react. He did not need to because he knew Atsumu was loyal to him and only him. Even though he had this feeling of something burning in him, an urge to snatch Atsumu away from that man, Kiyoomi did nothing and stayed put. He kept sipping his fruity cocktail while fiddling with its umbrella. He was kind of glad that Rin and Osamu were bickering in his ear.

“How many times do I have to tell ya, I dunno, Rin,” Osamu complained and tried to push Rin off his seat. Not even budging, Rin grinned at Osamu and stuck his tongue out to him. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. He was surrounded by children all day, every day, and it was surprising that he was still alive.

“By the way,” Rin started. His green, attentive eyes moved to Atsumu and took in the sight of him being hit on, and then moved back to Kiyoomi, narrowed questioningly. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Kiyoomi raised a brow at the question and sipped his drink. “No?” Rin rolled his eyes. He shrugged. “Despite what people think, Atsumu is loyal, and I trust him, so.” Rin hummed. His eyes moved to Atsumu again, and Rin hummed again.

“Really? Not even that?” He pointed, and Kiyoomi followed his finger and froze.

The guy’s hand was resting on Atsumu’s thigh, the inner side, and his fingers were rubbing the muscle there. The guy’s mouth was right next to Atsumu’s ear, whispering something, and Kiyoomi could see his tongue touching the sensitive shell there.

Kiyoomi’s eye twitched.

He saw Atsumu flinch, immediately pulling back and shaking the guy’s hand off of his body. Yeah, Kiyoomi thought. Push him away.

“Hey, now,” Atsumu’s voice reached Kiyoomi’s ears. “We’re just drinkin’ here, no needta get handsy.” The guy raised a brow.

“No need? I’ve been buying you drinks! Why do you think I’m doing that? For the sake of it?” The guy stood up. “I’ve been flirting with you all night, and you’re telling me no need to get handsy? Are you for real?”

“Jeez, what a piece of work,” Rin muttered, and Kiyoomi agreed with a hum. He only needed to think for half a second before he stood up from his own seat and walked towards Atsumu. He heard Hinata, Bokuto and Osamu whistling behind him, cheering. He held back an eye-roll as he approached the men.

“Hey, there, darling boy,” he called to Atsumu, and Atsumu immediately brightened. Annoyance disappearing from his face, he smiled big and happily at Kiyoomi.

“Omi-kun!” His strong arms wrapped themselves around Kiyoomi’s waist, pulling him in between the V of his thighs and resting his head against his stomach. “I’ve missed ya,” he murmured. Kiyoomi, despite the anger bubbling under his skin, sighed softly and petted Atsumu’s honey-colored hair.

Then, Kiyoomi turned his head to the man standing next to them. His dark eyes were cold, and he raised a questioning brow. “And you are?” He asked and watched the color change on the man’s face. “You here to bring us drinks? I’ll have Sex on the Beach, and my darling likes his Amsterdam.” He heard some choking sounds behind him, where his friends were occupying, and the man sputtered.

“I am not here to bring you drinks, I’m─”

“Oh, then you can walk away,” Kiyoomi interrupted. Atsumu’s arms tightened around him. One look at him, Kiyoomi frowned slightly. “Better yet, you stay here and keep drinking. Let’s go, honey,” Kiyoomi tapped softly on Atsumu’s head, and Atsumu, being the puppy he was for Kiyoomi, immediately stood up. He held his hand tightly, waving his free one to his friends, bidding his goodbye.

They walked hand in hand in silence for a while. Their feet taking them back to their hotel on autopilot, Atsumu felt like he did something wrong. The air around them was awkward and charged with something Atsumu had trouble putting a name on. He could see the barely visible signs of Kiyoomi being angry, but there was a feeling in him that told him that Kiyoomi wasn’t angry at Atsumu.

Kiyoomi pulled out the hotel room’s key and walked inside after the door beeped open for them.

“Strip,” he ordered. He spared a few seconds to watch Atsumu fumble with his clothes before turning around and walking towards the bathroom. He took his t-shirt off, soaped his hands and washed them thoroughly. Thinking about the amount of germs and dirt the bars collect made Kiyoomi’s head spin lightly.

After he was done, he dried his hands and put on some cream to stop his skin drying. He was rubbing the cream in while walking back into the bedroom when he saw Atsumu, all naked, slightly panting with the prettiest blush on his cheeks, sitting obediently on the bed. Kiyoomi stopped.

“Atsu,” he called out. Atsumu lifted his head up and looked at Kiyoomi with those wide, honey-colored eyes. Kiyoomi felt himself soften at the way he was looking right now, could imagine how Kiyoomi was looking at Atsumu, all fond and in love, and he smiled. “Darling boy,” he murmured and extended his hand out for him.

Atsumu whined softly as he nuzzled against the peach-smelling hand. He placed his cheek on Kiyoomi’s palm and looked up once again. Kiyoomi felt himself twitch in his pants.

“I kind of want to punish you for what happened at the bar,” Kiyoomi told him. “Should I?” Atsumu sighed.

“Whatever ya think would be fittin’, Omi-kun,” Atsumu whispered, nuzzling into his palm a little more. Kiyoomi frowned at the sudden urge to squish Atsumu's cheeks and just love on him aggressively. Atsumu kissed his palm, and then his wrist. His tongue poked sweetly at each mole dotted on Kiyoomi’s arm.

“Not a punishment, but service,” Kiyoomi said, deciding on the spot. “Punishing you doesn’t sound right when you pulled back.” Atsumu nodded enthusiastically.

“Ya know I’m all for servicin’, Omi-kun,” Atsumu murmured. “Love servicin’ ya know it.” He bit on the meat of Kiyoomi’s forearm gently. “Can I love on ya? Please?” Kiyoomi let out a soft hum-like moan in response. Atsumu extended his hands to grab Kiyoomi’s waist, thumbs rubbing the skin gently, and pulled him on his lap.

Kiyoomi nudged Atsumu’s nose with his, lips brushing against each other. Atsumu leaned forward and in, letting their bare chests touch, and kissed Kiyoomi’s chin.

“How do ya want me, baby?” He asked, peppering kisses along the long line of Kiyoomi’s neck. Kiyoomi hummed, losing himself a little in Atsumu’s sweet kisses. Kiyoomi’s hands found their ways into Atsumu’s hair, grabbing a handful and using the leverage to pull him in even more. Atsumu moaned against his skin. Kiyoomi shivered. “Omi? Baby? Talk t’me, huh?”

Kiyoomi whined. “Kiss me all over,” he breathed. His resolve from earlier was crumbling quickly. Initially, he planned to take charge, to make Atsumu whine and desperate so that he’d know what would wait for him if he ever let someone flirt with him, but right now, he was practically putty in Atsumu’s clever fingers and loving lips.

“Whatever my King says,” Atsumu whispered and captured his lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. Moaning, Kiyoomi threw his arms around Atsumu, grinding his hips down on the hardness forming resting against his ass, and returned his kiss just as passionately. Atsumu let out a small gasp. His hands immediately grabbed Kiyoomi’s ass to squeeze and help him move.

“My God, Omi-kun,” Atsumu panted as Kiyoomi’s dick rubbed against his. “Yer so sexy, such a little feisty thin’ in my arms…” He dove right back in for another kiss and swallowed Kiyoomi’s moan happily. Atsumu flipped their position, finally having Kiyoomi under him, he rested his groin against Kiyoomi’s already hard dick and ground down deep.

“Fuck, Atsu!” Kiyoomi groaned. Atsumu felt like roaring with the sound and the way his name fell from his beloved’s lips. Grumbling a little to himself, he practically ripped Kiyoomi’s pants off of his body, revealing the gorgeous sight to his hungry eyes. His honey-colored eyes took in the length of his pretty legs, appreciated the muscle covering his body, and his lips tingled with the urge to kiss each mole.

“Goddamn, baby, yer so damn pretty, so gorgeous,” Atsumu mumbled as he dropped his head to kiss his chest, to twirl his tongue on his nipple. Kiyoomi took in a sharp breath at the sensation. “Sometimes I can’t believe that I gotchu in my bed, have you kissin’ and lovin’ me sweetly every day.” He nipped Kiyoomi’s collarbones, biting his way down to the V of his abdomen. “‘m such a lucky bastard, dunno what I did to deserve ya…”

“Atsu…” Kiyoomi sighed. His hands messed Atsumu’s hair more, fingers tangling with the soft curls. “Atsu, please?” Atsumu groaned in defeat against Kiyoomi’s skin. His lips pressed a kiss right over his hard dick, nose nuzzling against the nicely groomed dark curls at the base of his erection. Kiyoomi’s breath hitched when Atsumu’s hot breath hit his sensitive dick, making it jump and twitch for attention.

Humming, Atsumu grabbed a hold of Kiyoomi’s dick, pumping it once, twice and three times before rubbing his thumb on the tip to smear the precum collected there. Kiyoomi moaned, thrusted his hips up and spread his legs even more. Atsumu settled between his sweetheart’s slender yet strong thighs, giving kisses to each inner thigh, covering them up with soft bite marks. Kiyoomi moved his hips again, silently begging Atsumu to get on with it.

Atsumu smirked. “Ay, a’right,” he murmured and closed his lips around Kiyoomi’s hard dick. Kiyoomi’s gasp-mixed-moan echoed in the bedroom. Atsumu took a breath from his nose and slid more of Kiyoomi in his mouth. His throat closed tightly around Kiyoomi, moving each time Atsumu swallowed or hummed or moaned. Bobbing his head up and down, soon, Atsumu was giving Kiyoomi the sloppiest blowjob he had ever had.

“Atsu,” Kiyoomi was saying. “Atsu, Atsu, Atsu, fuck!” Tears were rolling down his cheeks and wetting the duvet under his body. The sweat was covering every inch of his skin, making it look shiny and so damn lickable in Atsumu’s eyes. Pulling off of Kiyoomi’s dick, Atsumu mouthed Kiyoomi’s balls without giving him a second to complain. “Shit─ If you do that, I’ll─ Atsumu!” Biting down very gently, Atsumu sucked. Kiyoomi’s chest curled off the bed, closed over Atsumu’s head, as he came on Atsumu’s face. Sticky ropes of come covered Atsumu’s pretty face, and honestly, Kiyoomi felt like he could die and die happy.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Atsumu husked, voice slightly raspy from the blowjob he just gave him. He rose up on his knees on the bed, between Kiyoomi’s thighs, and stroked his own cock. Kiyoomi blinked away the sudden exhaustion and curled and moved his body until he was face to face with Atsumu’s cock. “Omi?” Kiyoomi kissed his thighs. “Baby, ya don’t hav’to. ‘s me servicin’ ya, remember?”

Kiyoomi made a sound of complaint and took his cock in his mouth, deep in throat, in one go. Atsumu sowre loudly, and his hands grabbed Kiyoomi’s shoulders as something to hold on.

Kiyoomi wasn’t a big fan of giving blowjobs. He knew how filthy men were; some were too lazy to clean their junk, or some were straight up did not care if they were clean or not. So, Kiyoomi always avoided giving blowjobs. It did not mean that he was bad at it, though. With his non-existent gag reflex, Kiyoomi actually didn’t mind having a cock deep in his throat, wrecking it as it fucked his throat on the verge of slightly too much.

With Atsumu coming into his life, Kiyoomi’s view at blowjobs had changed drastically. Even though Atsumu came across as someone who was lazy and didn’t mind leaving his shit around and maybe clean his space once in a week, he was oddly very clean and organized. He was one of those who was organized in chaos. His shit was scattered all around, yes, but it was weirdly very collected at the same time. It was hard to explain, but overall, Atsumu was clean. Kiyoomi could also make sure of that, so he did not mind Atsumu mind and back blowing blowjobs.

Like right now.

“Omi,” Atsumu moaned. His head was thrown back, his strong neck exposed and hair flopped back at the motion, and his eyes were closed as he felt his orgasm approaching rather quickly. “Omi, fuck, baby, ‘m gonna come…” Sighing and moaning, Atsumu’s hands tightened on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into the porcelain skin. “Kiyoomi, fuck!” Thrusting his cock even deeper into Kiyoomi’s mouth, Atsumu came. Kiyoomi’s throat massaged Atsumu’s cock sweetly as he swallowed all the come Atsumu had given him.

Kiyoomi pulled off, licking Atsumu’s cock clean with kitten-like licks.Atsumu’s cock twitched tiredly, but Atsumu knew he could go again if he were to be given five to ten minutes.

“Omi-baby,” Atsumu breathed. His warm and large hand cradled Kiyoomi’s cheek, lifting his head up and pulling his dangerous lips away from Atsumu’s poor cock, he smiled down at him. “Yer so goddamn pretty, Omi-kun,” he whispered. Kiyoomi hummed and nuzzled into Atsumu’s palm.

Leaning in, Atsumu kissed Kiyoomi, spit and come be damned. He could taste himself, but he didn’t mind. Kissing Kiyoomi was his priority. Kiyoomi hummed into the kiss and brought a hand to cradle Atsumu’s face. His thumb stroked Atsumu’s cheek, brow and temple, and then his hand moved to his hair. Fingers tangling in the curls once again, Kiyoomi pulled them back harshly, making Atsumu gasp.

“Let some other guy touch you like that, and I’ll turn your cock blue, Miya, you understand me?” Atsumu gasped once again, cock twitching at the dark tone in Kiyoomi’s voice. “You were so oblivious to his flirting… You just kept accepting his drinks…” He pulled on his hair a little more. “Not again, okay?” Kiyoomi rose up to his knees to make their faces level. “You’re mine and only mine. Got that?”

Atsumu hummed. “Yes, baby,” he whispered. “Yes, I’m yours, only yours, will never be anyone’s.” Kiyoomi watched him for a couple seconds and let go of his hair. Atsumu let out a breath, and then he immediately tackled Kiyoomi against the bed, trapping him between his body and the duvet. “Mark me,” he begged. “Omi-baby, mark me, let them know ‘m yours, please.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes glazed over at the request. “You’re threading into the dangerous waters, Miya,” he said.

“Don’t care as long as I gotchu with me,” Atsumu murmured against Kiyoomi’s skin. “It’s you, baby, I’ll face any danger for ya.” Kiyoomi blinked.

“God, you’re fucking cheesy,” Kiyoomi grumbled, but his heart was making flips in its cage. Atsumu grinned happily. “You mean it?” Atsumu nodded. “Can I mark you in any way?” Atsumu nodded again. “Don’t come crying to me when you regret your choices.”

Atsumu’s grin widened. “Never, Kiyoomi.” Kiyoomi kissed him on the lips.

“You better fucking mean it.”

───

And mean it, he did.

When Kiyoomi found a way to marry him, getting his ring tattooed on his ring finger, Atsumu did not complain at all. He happily, a little too happily maybe, accepted the proposal, the ring and the tattoo.

Kiyoomi left a huge hickey on his neck, anyway.

Atsumu took that without complaint, too, and showed it off without an ounce of shame.

“My love and pride,” he called it when people asked him what it was.

Kiyoomi was too busy trying not to blush at his words to care enough about anything else.

#sakusa kiyoomi x miya atsumu #miya atsumu x sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #skts #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #atsumu x kiyoomi #little jealousy never hurt nobody

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adorecline · 1 year

Note

hi boo!!! could you write abt falling asleep and cuddling with Eric Forman pls:) ❤️

Hi bebe, thank you for requesting! I hope you like it! Feel free to request again <3

Quiet {Eric Forman x Fem!Reader}

Summary: y/n finally finds the peace and quiet she's been craving.

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, fighting, toxic home life

i do not give anyone permission to copy or repost my work on here or any other websites. no translations either. likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Eric was laying in bed getting ready to go to sleep. He reached over to his bedside table to turn his lamp off.

Three knocks on the door made Eric jump and whip his head around. He looked at his window to see y/n, his girlfriend of 8 months, waving to him with an amused smile.

Eric got out of bed and pushed the window up letting y/n enter.

"Hey babe, what are you doing here so late?" Eric asked confused why y/n would be showing up at his window when she had just left a couple hours ago.

"I wanted to see you." y/n said leaning up to kiss him. "You want me to leave?"

"No, no, of course not." Eric reassured her. "It's just it's midnight, and I thought you went home?" He said observing her.

Her eyes were a little red and puffy like she had been crying, and they didn't have the same brightness they did early.

"I did." y/n nodded. "Don't really wanna be home right now though."

"Is everything okay?" Eric asked walking closer to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." y/n smiled, but Eric knew better. He knew her. They had been dating for 8 months and had known each other since they were kids. Eric prided himself on knowing y/n.

"Really? Because you look like something's wrong." Eric pointed out. "Have you been crying?"

y/n took a deep breath before answering, "I'm fine, Eric. I swear."

"I don't believe you." Eric told her.

"Why not?" y/n scoffed.

"Because I know you," Eric said, "And I know when you're happy, sad, angry, jealous, whatever. I know you, and I know something's wrong, so please tell me what it is." He asked.

"It's not a big deal." y/n shook her head.

"Clearly it is if you're crying about it." Eric said. "Come on, babe. It's me."

"My parents just got into a little fight." y/n shrugged.

"A little fight?" Eric raised an eyebrow in question.

"Okay, it was a big fight. A big fight about how their marriage was a mistake and they should've never had a kid and made this life that neither of them wanted because now they're stuck with a life where they're miserable like they always feared."

Eric looked at her sadly. He hated to see her cry. He promised himself he would always make sure she was happy, and she clearly wasn't happy.

"It's gonna be okay, y/n." Eric told her. "I don't know what's gonna happen with you and your parents, but I know that you're gonna be okay."

"How?" y/n asked as Eric wrapped his arms around her.

"Because you've got me, and I'll always make sure you're okay." Eric told her.

y/n's lips twitched into a comforted smile. She wrapped her arms around Eric's torso and pulled him as close as she could.

"Wanna go to sleep?" Eric asked looking down at her. y/n nodded, and Eric pulled her over to his bed.

The two laid down together. y/n cuddled into Eric's chest listening to his heartbeat. She smiled at the warm feeling in her chest from Eric's embrace.

"I love you, Eric." y/n whispered.

"I love you, too, y/n." Eric kissed her head softly.

y/n fell asleep in the peaceful silence as Eric rubbed her back slowly. She held a content look on her face as she could finally relax.

#widowswrld #x reader #that 70s show #that 70s show imagines #eric forman #steven hyde #donna pinciotti #jackie burkhart #michael kelso

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sunascumdoll · 3 years

Note

hey i was wondering if you could do something like “what would jjk/haikyu/mha characters do if they found you naked/ found you sleep naked ? please please please, i love your posts ❤️❤️

jjk guys finding you naked

pairings: itadori x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, megumi x gn!reader

genre: smut

tw: somnophilia and fingering (toji), a singular spank from megumi lmao, there’s nothing too bad in here.

a/n: ahh thank you so much!! that really means alot, especially recently with how i’ve been feelin with my writings. thank you lovely!!

as always, reblogs are very much appreciated! ♡

request rules

yuuji

drinks respect women juice

baby boy doesn’t know what to do

his cheeks are a deep shade of crimson

and his pretty cock is eagerly twitching in his pants at the sight of you

yuuji walks down the hall to his room, shoulders slugged, body sore and bruised from the grueling day of exorcising curses. the entire day his mind was focused on one thing; getting to his room, laying in his bed, and having his baby’s body pressed tightly against his chest.

grabbing onto the door knob, he swings the door open and calls out to you in a sing-songy voice, “hi, baby! today was super tiring, and i’m desperate for some cu-”

yuuji stops right in front of his bed, his eyes widening as he carefully examines the scene in front of him. you were laying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, fresh out of the shower. a small blue towel lays beneath you, the curves of your body and legs on full display, slightly spread, and giving him a peek of your cunt.

yuuji’s pale face grows red, the tips of his ears glowing as his hands quickly clasp in front of him to hide the cock that was angrily twitching through the fabric of his jeans. his eyes can’t help but explore every part of your exposed body. his tongue darts out his mouth to wet his pink lips, eyes hyper focused on the water pooling just above your ass and rolling off to the left.

locking your phone, you turn around and giggle, watching as yuuji chews on his lip, his eyes not daring to tear away from your body, “hi yuu, how was your day?”

“it was uh.. it was… you’re really beautiful, you know?” he mumbles.

you chuckle once more, grabbing the towel and covering your front, before rolling over to sit on your bottom. your e/c eyes land on the growing bulge in his pants, raising back up to watch your pinkette lover’s orbs examine you like fine china.

“yuuji, you know you can touch too, right?”

in a matter of a second, yuuji was sat on the bed, his hands resting on your hips and lifting you up and pulling you over to rest against his groin. his hips thrust upwards, pressing the outline of his cock against your bare slit.

“thought you’d never ask!”

toji

i want to be disrespected by this man

anyway

you? sleeping naked? in HIS BED?

okay

he could leave you be and let you rest

but he wont <3

toji spent the entire day doing what he enjoys the most; lazing about on the couch, eating food, and watching tv. after trying to gain his attention for what felt like an eternity, you defeatedly retreat to your shared room, and doze off.

grabbing the remote and turning the tv off, toji climbs off the sofa, a grunt pushing past his scarred lips as he lifts his body. he walks to the front door, making sure it’s locked before trudging to the still lit room.

“what are you still doing awa-,” he pauses, your soft snores filling his ears.

toji cant help but smirk, his large frame slowly approaching the bed. he stands over you, surveying your peaceful figure. toji licks his lips, his rough hands trailing down your stomach, before using two fingers to grab onto the blanket and pulling it down. his breath hitches, eyes hungrily raking over your nude body.

“fuck, why do have such a big effect on me, hm?” he mumbles to himself, his hand running down his toned stomach, stopping at the front of his sweatpants and gripping the massive bulge.

his free hand snakes between your legs, slightly nudging your legs apart and spreading you open. he tsks, shaking his head, his finger tracing the outside of your core, before taking two and plunging them into your already glistening slit. thick fingers curl and work against your sticky walls, while the other hand reaches to meet your neglected clit.

closed eyes flutter open, your small hand instinctively wrapping around toji’s wrist as your hips grind in time with his fingers.

“mm, toji~,” you whine, fingernails digging into his wrist and leaving indents into his pale skin.

“hm? your pretty little cunny was on display, i couldn’t help but play with it,” he chuckles, tilting his head a bit to the left as his fingers continue to abuse your walls, “what’s got this pussy so wet in your sleep, baby? dreaming ‘bout me?”

“no.. mayb- ah!”

“maybe? let’s make that dream a reality then shall we?”

megumi

respect women pt.2

tries his best to not stare

and succeeds

but the tent in his pants definitely shows just how riled up he is

you grumble, grabbing your phone and open the weather app. it’s hot; excruciatingly hot. you had come over to your boyfriend's place, praying his apartment was cooler than yours, only for it to be the same if not hotter than your own. even with a fan blowing directly on you, you just couldn’t cool down. huffing, you grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and chucking it to the other side of the room. your arms reach behind your back, unclasping your bra and discarding it in the same spot as your shirt. finally, your hands reach down, fumbling with the button of your pants, and pulling them off, a sigh of relief filling the empty room as you removed all the sticky clothing from your body. you plop back down on the bed, humming as the oscillating fan whirls cool air onto your almost bare body.

megumi softly pushes the door open with his foot, two glasses of lemonade in hand, “alright, babe i got the dri- where are your clothes?” he deadpans, eyes quickly darting to the floor to stare at his feet.

“ ‘gumi, it’s hot!” you huff, before climbing off the bed and walking over towards him.

“but why are you nearly naked?”

megumi’s eyes scan over your body as you approach him, eyes lingering a bit on your breasts, before averting his gaze back down to the floor. you grab one of the glasses of lemonade, wrapping your lips around the rim of the cup and taking a few sips. you set the glass down on the dresser, turning back towards megumi, your hands now resting on your hips.

“oh come on! it’s nothing you haven’t seen before!”

“yeah but-”

you move towards megumi, wrapping your arms around his neck, his hands instinctively resting on your hips. you place a kiss on each cheek, before kissing his lips firmly. he groans into your mouth, hands slipping past your waist and onto your ass, his hands kneading the area before spanking it.

megumi breaks away from the kiss, eyes gazing into yours. “... cold shower?”

side note: oh to be fingered awake by beefy big tiddy mASSIVE FUCKIN MOMMY MILKERS HORSE DICK TOJI-

taglist: @laudthingcat

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk yuji #jjk megumi

2K notes · View notes

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

NFWMB (boxer!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, alcohol, violence

Pairing: boxer!Harry x reader

Word Count: 30k (I got carried away)

A/N: So this got a little out of hand!! I will admit!! I did not mean to make this so long!! but it’s about the yearning people!!! the yearning!!! anyways I really hope you guys like this!! just a few disclaimers: my medical knowledge comes from google and my first-aid badge I got in girl guides so please do not take any of the medical advice in here as doctor recommended. also this is very long and if you’re reading on mobile it may make it crash? so try opening it on a web browser under the read more if you need to!! I really honestly can’t believe I managed to write 30k, but I love boxer!harry so much, and yes he does have long hair in this fic because I make the rules!! thank you to @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy for proof reading this for me and putting up with my messages about it. also, the title is from NFWMB by hozier and i’d recommend listening to it as you read!! as always, feedback is appreciated!! and if you like it, please reblog it!! reblogging is the best way to show content creators support and encourage them to write more!!

{masterlist}

If money wasn’t so tight, there’s no way Y/N would be doing this.

She’s thought it over a thousand times, running every possible scenario and outcome in her head. More often than not, those scenarios end badly. Yet here she is, standing at the edge of stairs that lead to a gym below the streets of New York City. Men push past her to get below, muttering quick apologies as they bump into her. None of them are sincere, she notices, but why would they be? They don’t care about her. Y/N, on the other hand…she’s being paid to care about them. They’re why she’s here.

The offer had been posted on a bulletin board in the nursing student’s lounge on campus. It was a crumpled piece of paper, with a handwritten message scribbled across it. Y/N had spotted it when she was looking at the board for a summer job, and the uniqueness of it caught her eye. She had pulled it down from the board, reading it over.

WANTED:

Looking for an individual with medical background/first aid training.

Complete medical degree not required.

For all inquiries, contact Patrick Lawson.

Y/N remembers running her fingers over the phone number listed. It was a peculiar request, to say the least. Patrick Lawson, whoever he was, seemed to be searching for someone with medical training, but didn’t require a full medical professional. Still…a job was a job. And it had looked like it was the most promising thing on the board.

Later that day, Y/N had found herself calling the number, and within three minutes of dialing, she had set up a meeting with Patrick Lawson at a Starbucks a few blocks away from campus. When she walked in, her eyes scanning the café for someone who would’ve posted the ad, she had instantly known who he was. The burly man by the window with a long scar across his weathered face and the smell of cigarette smoke wafting from him stuck out from the crowd of students studying, and he had seemed to be the only patron who would hire unlicensed medical personnel.

“Hi.” Y/N had walked over slowly. “Are you Patrick Lawson?”

“That depends.” He looked her up and down, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N. We spoke on the phone?” She took the advertisement out of her bag and handed it to him.

“Right.” Patrick nodded, motioning to the chair across from him. “Sit down.”

“Alright.” Y/N had taken a seat slowly, her eyes on the door behind him. She hadn’t quite decided not to run. “So…you didn’t say what kind of job—”

“What are your medical credentials?” Patrick cut across her, sipping his coffee.

Y/N remembered thinking that that was rude, and completely unprofessional for an interview. Of course, now that she actually knew Patrick, the action was completely in character.

“I’m a third-year nursing student at NYU Meyer.” She had answered, reaching into her bag to pull out her student ID. “And I’m trained in first aid.”

“You ever stitched somebody up before?”

Y/N frowned at the bluntness of the question. “Um, yes, but—”

“What about set broken bones? Noses?”

With an incredulous look on her face, Y/N had glanced around the coffee shop. Could anyone else hear this? When the answer to that question appeared to be no, she had leaned forward, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mr. Lawson, what exactly is this a job interview for?”

What it was for, it had turned out, was an underground boxing ring in the heart of New York. Patrick explained between sips of black coffee that he owns the gym that everyone fought in, and the business is growing. The only downside (the use of the word “only” had made the corners of Y/N’s mouth twitch—there was only one downside to an illegal boxing ring?) is that with no regulations, men get injured. A lot. And because the boxing is illegal, they can’t exactly keep going to the hospital…which was where Y/N comes in.

After seeing her student ID, her first-aid certifications, and testing her on the spot by having her look at a bandaged cut on his leg to see if it was infected (“It is.” Y/N had told him immediately), Patrick had hired Y/N on the spot. For three hundred dollars a night, she would be watching illegal boxing matches with a first-aid kit by her side. If anyone got injured too badly, they would bring them back to the locker rooms, where she would be waiting. There, she would bandage cuts, check for concussions, set broken bones, stitch people up with no anesthetic…

Y/N shudders as she looks at the gym door again, finally pulling herself from her thoughts. It’s definitely not an ideal situation—or even a moderately ideal situation— and she’s not looking forward to it in the least. But being a student in New York isn’t exactly cheap, and the money is good, even if it’s dirty. Really dirty. Probably bloody, from the fighters that she would be expected to stitch up from awful injuries—

“Don’t.” Y/N mutters to herself, taking a deep breath. “Everything is going to be okay. It’s fine. This is fine.”

“Hey, lady.” A man approaches her from behind, giving her a strange look—which is to be expected, Y/N thinks, seeing as how she’s talking to herself in the doorway of an underground gym. “Are you going to stare at the door all night, or are you going to open it?”

“Sorry.” She says sheepishly, stepping out of his way and allowing him to step around her down the stairs.

Knowing that there’s nowhere else to go but inside—and knowing that she can’t block the doorway forever—Y/N quickly makes her own way down the stairs and through the heavy doors.

Y/N isn’t exactly sure what she had expected an underground boxing gym to look like, but the room in front of her eyes pretty much meets her expectations. The gym is dark, with one bright light in the center hanging over the beaten-up ring. There are a few dark-coloured mats scattered around the ring, along with people getting ready to watch that night’s match. Everyone she sees, with their black clothing and leather boots and tough demeanors, looks like they belong at an illegal gym, whereas Y/N…she glances down at herself for a moment. Next time, she thinks, she’ll remember not to wear lavender.

Still, no matter how out of place she feels, she’s here now, and if university and nursing school had taught her anything, it was to act like she belonged until she did. With that in mind, Y/N holds her head up high, ignoring the stares of the gym patrons as she makes her way to the back hallway. Although she’s not exactly sure where Patrick’s office lies within the dark and claustrophobic gym, she feels that the more cigarette smoke she can smell in the air, the closer she’s getting.

Despite passing many identical doors with the same chipped and peeling paint, Y/N continues until she reaches the door at the end of the hallway. The black paint is scuffed, but in far better condition than any of the other doors around her, and Y/N can smell the cigarette smoke wafting out from the cracks beneath it.

“Patrick?” She knocks on the door softly, just in case she’s guessed wrong.

A rough but recognizable voice answers from the other side. “Yeah. Come in.”

With permission, Y/N opens the door, coughing a bit when a wall of cigarette smoke hits her. “Hi…?”

“Hey, Doc.” Patrick has a cigarette tucked between his lips as he speaks, and he hardly glances up at her from the papers in his hands. “How you doing?”

“I’m—I’m good.” Y/N says, her voice tinged with nerves. “I just wanted to check in before the match.”

“Good. Here.” Patrick stands up and walks to a cupboard in his office, pulling out a weathered leather case from within. “This has everything you should need in it.”

He hands the case to Y/N, and she opens it slowly, not entirely sure what Patrick is handing to her. Inside, she finds, is an assortment of medical supplies, all placed haphazardly inside the makeshift medical kit. Y/N roots around a bit with one hand, quickly taking stock of the contents. Bandages, antiseptics, not-yet-frozen cold compresses, painkillers, a stitch kit… “I’ll need all of this?” She asks, looking up at Patrick with a surprised look in her eyes.

“Look around you, Doc. This isn’t a daycare.” Patrick snorts, puffing on his cigarette. “We bare knuckle box. We don’t have personal physicians checking up on us, rules, regulations…this is about making money. And sometimes…it gets messy.”

“But if you needed a medical professional, then why didn’t you get someone who’s finished school?” Y/N asks as she shuts the case and clasps it closed. “They’d be a lot more experienced than a student.”

“Because medical professionals have a duty to report abuse to the cops.” Patrick shrugs as if the reasons are of little consequence to him. Which, Y/N thinks, they are. “You don’t. And students need the money more.”

Y/N purses her lips as she clutches the handle of the case tightly in her hand. “What happened to your last student?”

Patrick sighs with a flip of his hand, waving off the question. “He pissed off the wrong guy and went from being the doctor to being the patient. That’s why I hired a pretty lady this time.”

Y/N scoffs, the ease she had been beginning to feel around Patrick fading within a moment as she remembers where she is. She meets Patrick’s gaze with a harsh look. “Don’t patronize me, Patrick, or I’ll walk out that door right now.”

Patrick raises his hands defensively, an indifferent look on his face, and Y/N understands that it’s not an apology.

“Look, Doc, the last guy had a mouth on him. By all accounts, he deserved it.” Patrick walks back around to his desk, tapping his cigarette ash off into the glass ashtray that sits there, already half full. When he looks back up at Y/N, his gaze is softer than before, and Y/N can’t quite decipher the flicker she sees in his eyes. “I don’t mean to be patronizing. But if any guy in here says shit to you…lemme know. Got it?”

Y/N has a feeling that that’s as close to an apology as she’ll get from Patrick, so she nods tersely. “Got it.” Her attention turns back to the case in her hands. “So I just…wait by the ring?”

Patrick nods, tucking his cigarette back in his mouth as he sits back down at his desk, his thoughts moving back to the paperwork in front of him. “You got it. Watch the match. Have some fun, have a drink…if anything goes too wrong, I’ll pull you up to the ring. If everything is fine, you’ll come back to the locker room after the match to make sure my guys don’t have a concussion.”

“Sounds…good.” Y/N shifts the case around in her hands as she speaks, unsure of what else there is to say. “I’ll go to the audience, then.”

Patrick nods, but offers no other advice as she leaves. Not that Y/N expected it.

By the time Y/N makes it to her designated spot at the edge of the crowd, the gym is already filling with people who are buzzing about the fight. The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sweat is thick in the air, and after her third time of getting shoved by a man she doesn’t know, Y/N is wondering if sewing some medical patches onto her jean jacket will stop her from getting shoved at the next match. Of course, she’s not quite certain she’ll be attending the next match, but she makes the plans to do it nonetheless.

The area around the ring continues to pack itself full with people, and as Y/N stares at the spectators around her, she wonders just how much Patrick is making off this one fight. She’s not sure how much people have to pay to get in, but with at least two hundred people here, not including the money the spectators have put down on bets…Y/N’s certain Patrick will be coming away with a tidy sum.

As the crowd starts to scream, her attention shifts from the people around her to the one bare aisle leading to the ring, where the first fighter has begun walking out. He has a heavy build with broad shoulders, and Y/N knows he has to be over six feet. Top heavy, she thinks, as he climbs onto the edge of the ring and ducks his shaved head under the ropes. He raises his arms as the crowd cheers, apparently loving the attention, and spits to the side before his coach slides his mouth guard in for him.

Y/N wrinkles her nose as she watches the fighter display his muscles to the crowd, and at how much the crowd seems to love it.

There’s a crackle of static over the speakers as the announcer begins to speak. “As last year’s reigning champion, Adam Bowers is aiming to maintain his title this season.” The crowd cheers again as the fighter, Bowers, rolls out his shoulders.

“Those who watched him box last season know that getting this giant off his feet is a gargantuan task. Will his opponent be able to do it?”

The crowd jeers as the announcer mentions the opponent, and Y/N gets the feeling that they don’t think the other guy has a chance. When the other fighter begins to walk towards the ring, Y/N can’t help but agree.

This fighter’s build is much slimmer, despite the apparent muscle mass on his arms and legs. He’s more evenly built than Bowers, and while Y/N knows that will be helpful, she can’t make herself feel anything other than worry as she watches the fighter climb under the rings. He reaches up and fixes the neat bun keeping his brown hair away from his face, and although the crowd roars, Y/N can make out a look of focus and determination in his green eyes.

“Facing our champion is rookie Harry Styles. Despite beginning training just three months ago…”

Three months? Y/N bites her lip in concern, watching as Styles’ coach pulls him down to look him in the eye, giving him his mouth guard as he does. Y/N leans over to a man next to her, unable to stop herself from asking a question that’s at the forefront of her mind. “Don’t they use weight classes to match fighters?” She half yells the question over the cheers. “Bowers seems so much bigger than him!”

“This is illegal fighting, sweetheart.” The man laughs at her question as he takes a sip of his beer. The hair on the back of Y/N’s neck bristles at the pet name, and she once again reminds herself to keep her guard up as the man continues to speak.

“They don’t care about weight classes.” He says easily, nodding towards the ring. “They care about putting on a good show, so they can make money.”

Y/N turns her attention back to the ring, making sure to keep her distance from the other spectators. Styles is surveying the crowd now, and for just a moment, he locks eyes with her.

As his gaze meets hers, Y/N gets the impression that he’s sizing her up just as much as she’s sized him up. His eyes flick down her body and back up, but not in the way most men in the gym have been doing it. When the boxer’s eyes flick back to hers, Y/N doesn’t see a look of lust or desire reflected in his irises. Instead, she sees concern.

He’s about to fight a behemoth, she thinks, and he’s concerned because I’m in the crowd of the fight? The idea would make Y/N laugh, if she didn’t have a sneaking suspicion that she’d be setting his bones before the end of the night.

Styles’ finally looks away from her after a moment, centering himself again to be ready to fight. Y/N watches as he makes his way to the center of the ring, his gaze having to turn up to meet the eyes of Bowers. The bell rings, signalling the beginning of the match, and the loud ring makes Y/N flinch as she watches the two boxers begin to fight.

She had been right when she initially sized them up. Bowers is the first to throw a punch, all of his weight behind it, but Styles’ smaller stature allows him to duck easily, weaving out of the way from the first few strikes. As he ducks from a punch, Styles manages to land the first hit of the match, his fist connecting directly with Bowers’ jaw.

Y/N’s face lights up with surprise as the crowd cheers. However, the surprise quickly turns to worry as Bowers uses his anger to move faster, finally landing a blow on Styles. Not letting one hit deter him, the smaller boxer is quick to recuperate and keep himself in the moment. Already, Y/N can tell that he plays the long game, while Bowers seems to favour a more offensive stance.

As the match continues, Y/N’s concern turns to curiosity as she examines the fighting style of both boxers. Bowers is always the quickest to throw out punches, but Styles manages to dodge more punches than he receives, only standing still long enough to land his own hits on Bowers. The audience, while shocked by the proficiency of the rookie at first, begins to cheer loudly as their champion fights for a victory. The cheering only gets louder when blood splatters from Bowers’ nose to the floor of the ring.

Y/N winces, searching the crowd for Patrick’s familiar face. She finds him in the back, watching with his arms crossed, and raises an eyebrow in question as she catches his eye. He gives a quick shake of his head. This isn’t anything to worry about, the action says. Worse is coming.

The worse comes quickly, Y/N finds, as the groan of the crowd draws her attention back to the ring. Styles is doubled over now, presumably from a punch to the gut. Y/N watches in horrified silence as Bowers lands another punch on Styles’ jaw, knocking the smaller boxer onto his knees. However, the groan of the crowd quickly turns to a cheer as Styles pushes himself to stand once again, a grunt escaping his lips as he straights. Spitting the blood out of his mouth, he attacks Bowers again with a new energy, one wilder and more uncalculated than before.

The crowd roars louder as Styles pummels his opponent, and Y/N watches in shock as he knocks Bowers back in a daze. Styles hits him once, then again, and again, until Bowers goes down with a dull thud that echoes through the gym. He stays there, lying limp, as the referee begins to count, and doesn’t rise when Styles is declared the winner.

“Harry Styles has managed to begin his journey with a win!” The announcer yells, barely audible above the cheering crowd. Styles wipes his bleeding mouth with a shaky hand, a grin just beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth as the referee raises his hand in the air in victory.

The crowd continues to yell and cheer as people turn to those next to them, rehashing the match’s highlights. Y/N sees money change hands a few times, and while she wants to get out of the crowd that’s becoming rowdier by the minute, she’s not exactly sure where to go.

A hand on her elbow brings her from her thoughts, and Y/N whips around, cuss words hanging off the ends of her lips, ready to throw at whoever grabbed her. When she sees Patrick’s face, however, the words fade away, and she grabs the case that she’s all but forgotten is beside her as he begins to guide her back to the locker rooms.

“Time to get to work, Doc.” Patrick calls over the crowd, glancing over his shoulder at her to make sure she’s following.

Y/N nods silently, taking deep breaths to center herself for the task at hand. She can’t let herself be uncomfortable now; it’s time for her to work.

Patrick leads her through the crowd and down the hallway, taking a left turn towards the locker rooms. The echoes of someone groaning get louder and louder the closer they get, and as they walk inside the locker room, Y/N is certain she’ll find Styles sitting in front of her. Instead, her eyes settle on Bowers with a hand to his nose and his head tilted back.

“You need to lean forward.” Y/N says immediately, instinct taking over as she sits down next to Bowers while opening her case.

Bowers grunts, his eyes flicking to Y/N as he does. “I’m bleeding, sweetheart—”

“And leaning back is causing the blood to run down your throat. It’s harmful to your health, sweetheart.” Y/N counters in an icy tone, shooting him a glare before slipping on plastic gloves.

Patrick crosses his arms as he watches the exchange, a smirk making its way onto his face. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Bowers. Don’t piss off the person about to set your nose.”

Y/N glances at Patrick for a moment before turning back to Bowers. Although she’s still weary of him, Patrick seems to be the only one looking out for her in the gym, and she makes a note to bring it up with him after she finishes her work.

Upon examination, Y/N finds that Styles has broken Bowers’ nose, and gives him some pain medication and a cold compress before making a splint, setting it as best as she can in a gym locker room.

“There.” Y/N sits back and pulls off her bloody gloves. “That should be okay. Keep taking ibuprofen to help with the pain and swelling, and if it doesn’t seem to heal, try going to a real doctor. Alright?”

Bowers nods jerkily. Although she can see the doubt in his eyes, he doesn’t contradict her again. “Yeah. Alright.”

“What do you say to the Doc, Bowers?” Patrick prompts him, an expectant look on his face.

The boxer glares at her, but still manages to mutter a quick “thanks.”

Although it doesn’t seem sincere, Y/N doesn’t challenge it. “You’re welcome.” She replies curtly, closing her case before standing up again and turning to Patrick. “Where’s Styles?”

After washing her hands, Patrick leads Y/N down a corridor to another section of the locker room. Styles is sitting on the bench between the lockers, unwrapping the tape from his hands as his coach leans against the lockers while speaking to him. From the towel around his neck, wet curls hanging around his face, and damp chest, Y/N gathers that he showered after his victory. While her observations begin as professional, Y/N’s mind soon drifts to notice how the water droplets cling to his tattooed chest and arms, and how his fingers flex as he unwraps his tape. The clearing of his throat pulls her from her thoughts, and her eyes snap back up to his face as he speaks.

“Patrick.” The boxer’s voice is accented and low, and she sees recognition from earlier flicker across his phase. “Who’s this?”

“This is Doc Y/N.” Patrick lights a cigarette as he speaks, despite the disapproving look that Y/N gives him. “She’s the one who’s going to be saving your injured ass.”

“You can just call me Y/N.” Y/N rolls her eyes slightly as she refutes the nickname that, to her displeasure, Patrick’s already grown fond of before turning her attention back to Styles. “I’m just going to make sure you’re alright, Mr. Styles.”

When she addresses him, his coach laughs lightly, crossing his arms against his chest. Y/N looks at him with a raised eyebrow, her mouth open to ask about the laughter, when a voice cuts her off.

“No one’s ever called me Mr. Styles. Jeff seems to think it’s humorous.” A light chuckle escapes from the boxer, although his is more controlled than that of his coach. “You can call me Harry. Just Harry.”

Y/N nods as she sits next to him on the bench, opening up her medical kit and slipping on gloves. She has to focus at the task at hand. “Alright. How are you feeling?”

“’M fine.” Harry replies easily, running a hand through his wet curls. “Healthy as a horse.”

A snort leaves Jeff’s mouth at that comment. “A horse that got the shit beat out of him.” He turns his attention to Y/N with his next sentence. “He got hit pretty hard in the—”

“The ribs, yeah.” Y/N finishes the sentence for him, her eyes already examining the bruises developing on Harry’s abdomen with a keen eye. “I saw. Thought you were a goner.”

Harry shrugs a bit in response, seemingly unconcerned with the punches he sustained during the match. “I’ve had worse.”

“May I?” Y/N asks, extending a gloved hand. At Harry’s nod, she begins to press around his abdomen. “Can’t imagine much worse. You must’ve really pissed someone off, then.”

A laugh rumbles out from Harry’s chest at the comment, but a wince quickly replaces the expression of mirth on his face as his muscles contract. Although he quickly covers it, Y/N doesn’t miss it.

“Does that hurt?” She asks, pressing on his muscles again while gauging his reactions. “Where? Here?”

Harry clears his throat quietly, carefully controlling his expression as Jeff steps closer. “Uh, yeah. A bit. Just a bit sore.”

“Patrick,” Y/N glances over her shoulder at him before rummaging in her kit for the stethoscope she saw earlier. “Could you grab me a cold compress?”

Patrick leaves the locker room as Y/N presses the stethoscope to Harry’s chest and back, listening to his heartbeat and breathing. “Do you have any abdominal pain? Any shortness in breath, or dizziness?”

Harry shakes his head slightly. “No. None at all. I’m just sore.”

Y/N pulls the stethoscope from her ears and touches his jaw lightly, frowning at the purple bruise that’s blossomed under his pink skin. “You got hit pretty hard here.”

Harry’s jaw flexes under her touch as he chuckles. “I know. I was there.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Harry.” Jeff chastises him from his position against the lockers.

“I’m not! I’m just saying—”

“She’s trying to help you—”

Y/N tunes out the argument between coach and boxer as she sets the stethoscope back down in the kit, making a note to bring her own next week. In fact, she can think of a few things that would be useful to add to the makeshift medical bag Patrick gave her—a manual blood pressure cuff, better suturing supplies, maybe some more bandages—

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” Jeff’s voice pulls Y/N from her thoughts just as Patrick enters the locker room again, the cold compress in hand. She accepts it from him before turning her attention back to the coach.

“Sorry, what was that?” She asks again, closing the medical kit.

“I asked if you thought Harry was being a smart ass.” Jeff gives a pointed look to his boxer. “And if he should apologize.”

Y/N shrugs as she hands the cold compress to Harry. “It’s fine. It’s definitely not the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.” She turns her attention back to Harry, who’s frowning at her again, like he did when they first locked eyes in the ring. That look is back, too, she notices. The concern. Like the comment she made worries him.

Y/N clears her throat, pushing the thought out of her head. “You have some bruising and swelling, but nothing is broken. No internal bleeding, either. At least, nothing detectable.” She says with a sigh, pulling off her gloves. “I think you’re good to go, but if you start experiencing nausea, dizziness, or bleeding from any orifices, then you need to go to the doctor. A real one.”

Harry presses the compress against his swollen jaw, wincing as the cold makes contact with his flushed skin. “Are you not a real doctor?”

A laugh bubbles out from Y/N’s lips as she shakes her head. “I’d say I’m a half doctor at best.”

“The best half doctor this gym can buy.” Patrick chimes in, pausing after a moment. “Which, honestly, isn’t saying much, but…”

“Right.” Y/N tosses her gloves in the garbage can sitting against a locker. “So, again, if you start feeling strange, see a real doctor. One that’s actually licensed.”

Harry nods, standing up and extending a hand. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”

It takes Y/N a moment to realize he wants to shake her hand. Once the realization hits her, she extends her hand cautiously, locking it with his in an awkward fashion. She prays it goes unnoticed by Harry, but judging from the laughter in his eyes, it hasn’t. Her own cheeks flush as she pulls her hand away.

“Of course. I’ll see you at your next match.” She says quickly, and escapes the locker room behind Patrick before she can say anything else.

Patrick brings Y/N back to his office, shutting the door behind them before going behind his desk and removing a cheap picture of a city off his wall, exposing the door of a safe. He opens it quickly and counts out three hundred dollars in cash before slipping it into an envelope for Y/N. “Here, Doc. You did good tonight.”

Y/N had almost forgotten that she’s doing this for cash. “Thanks.” She takes the money from him, tucking it inside her jacket. “I’m just glad I didn’t need to stitch anyone up.”

Patrick laughs as he lights a fresh cigarette, sitting down at his desk chair as he puffs on it. “This time.”

“Yeah. This time.” Y/N eyes the cigarette with distaste. “Smoking kills, you know.”

Patrick glances at her with an incredulous look on his face, unfazed. “I run an illegal boxing ring. Do you think I care?” He exhales smoke slowly. “I got more to worry about killing me than smoking.”

Y/N shifts her weight from one foot to another as a band of anxiety twists its way through her stomach. “Do I have to worry about that, too?”

“Nah.” Patrick waves his hand indifferently, clearly unconcerned. “No one cares about a nursing student with a few bandages and some ice packs.”

“Right.” Y/N says slowly. Her previous hesitancy about her security at the gym returns, and although she tries to hide it, she knows it’s written all over her face.

Patrick’s keen eyes notice right away. “That’s a good thing, Y/N.” For the first time that night, he uses her name to address her. “Trust me, you want to go unnoticed here.”

“Do I?” Y/N pauses in front of the door, her hand resting on the handle.

“Yeah. You do.” Patrick taps the ash off his cigarette as he gives her a long look. “I know you noticed how…different you are from our regular visitors.”

“You mean how I’m not a gigantic man dressed in all leather who enjoys making sexist comments towards women?” Y/N’s voice drips with sarcasm as she rolls her eyes. “Believe me. I noticed.”

“You want to go unnoticed here.” Patrick says again, firmer this time. “Dress in darker clothes. Blend in more. No good men spend their time here. Not one. Understood?”

The serious tone in Patrick’s voice causes a chill to run down Y/N’s back, and her hand tightens on the handle of the door. She doesn’t doubt what he’s saying; she already had her suspicions that she’d need to do more to blend into the crowd next week. But being directly warned about the danger she’s putting herself in gives her pause.

“You seem like a good kid, and I’ll do my best to make sure no one fucks with you. But you have to be watching your own back, too.” Patrick takes a long puff of his cigarette. “I got enough shit on my plate without keeping tabs on you.”

“Got it.” Y/N nods sharply, her fingernails digging into her palm as she steadies herself. “Blend in. Watch my own back. Go unnoticed. Understood.”

…

“So how’s the new job?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up at her friend’s question as her grip on her beer bottle tightens just the slightest bit. The bar around them is loud, filled with the sound of obnoxious, half-drunk laughter and bad music, and Y/N hopes that the ambient noise is enough cover for her to pretend that she didn’t hear the question.

“What, Sadie?” She leans closer as her mind searches for a plausible answer. “What did you say?”

Sadie leans across the table, perfectly unaware of how her question has increased her friend’s heart rate. “I asked you how your new job is.”

“Oh.” Y/N brings the lip of her bottle to her mouth, taking a sip to prolong her pause. “It’s good, yeah. Pretty good.”

“Where is it again?” Sadie asks, settling back down in her seat comfortable. “Some gym?”

“Yeah, I just—I’m doing some first-aid lessons there. For their trainers.” Y/N says quickly, attempting to keep her voice even. Lying has never been her strong suit, especially to her friends. “You know, basic stuff, but it pays well.”

“That’s good!” Sadie replies in an encouraging voice. “That’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah, it’s good so far.” Y/N nods, her fingers tapping anxiously against her beer bottle. “So…” Her mind searches for another topic of discussion. “Tell me more about that guy you’ve been seeing. Peter?”

As Sadie begins to rehash the events of her last date with a man from Tinder, Y/N’s mind begins to wander to the real answer to her friend’s question. How was her new job going?

It’s certainly…going, she thinks, nodding absentmindedly at something Sadie says. It didn’t ever seem to stop going. Every Saturday brings a new crisis for her to handle. Within her first month of working at Patrick’s gym, she’s reset multiple noses, splinted fingers, bandaged knuckles, stitched lips and foreheads, and—Y/N suppresses a shudder—popped a dislocated shoulder back into a boxer’s shoulder socket.

When Patrick told her that the job would be messy, Y/N had assumed that he was overexaggerating, but she’s found herself repairing every single boxer at the gym in some way, shape, or form over the last month.

Every boxer except Harry, that is.

Y/N’s not sure if there’s some sort of guardian angel looking out for him, or if he’s really just that lucky, but so far, the worst injury she’s had to help him with is a bloody nose. Despite being the busiest boxer at the gym, with fights every week, Harry’s managed to evade any broken or dislocated bones. He hasn’t even so much as pulled a muscle.

Although Y/N’s happy that she has one less patient to deal with every week, his winning streak is starting to make her nervous. Whenever Harry steps into the ring, he’s cool, calm, and collected, but Y/N’s seen too much in life to ignore the rule that what goes up must come down. She has a bad feeling that the higher Harry’s luck pushes him, the harder he’ll fall. And when he does, it’ll be her job to put him together again.

“…And I just don’t know what it means.” Sadie pushes her phone in front of Y/N, pulling her from her thoughts. “I mean, who sends the wheat emoji? Is he a farmer? How do I respond to that?”

“Tell him he can plow your crops.” Y/N replies easily, shifting her attention back to her friend. “But only if he wears overalls.”

Sadie rolls her eyes as she pulls her phone back. “Haha. Maybe it’s a weird vegan thing. Do vegans have codes?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Y/N snorts before taking a swig from her beer bottle. “And I thought he was keto?”

“He was, until two weeks ago.”

“Well, even if vegans do have codes, I doubt two weeks is long enough to learn them.” Y/N stands from her seat. “I’m going to grab another beer; do you want a refill?”

Sadie shakes her head, her attention already turned back to her text messages with Peter.

Y/N pushes her way through the crowd until she reaches the bar, carefully working her way in between the bodies of intoxicated New Yorkers. She waits patiently next to a group of a few men until the bartender acknowledges her while her mind drifts to the assignment she has due next week that, really, she should be at home working on.

The bartender stops in front of her, wiping his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have another Budweiser.” Y/N says, reaching for her back pocket for her phone. “It’ll be on debit—”

“Actually—” The body next to her turns at the sound of her voice. “You can put it on my tab. And add another scotch and soda to the order, as well.”

The bartender nods, but Y/N huffs under her breath, pushing her hair out of her face as she prepares the speech that she always hopes she won’t have to use. “That’s very kind of you, but—Harry?”

The green eyed boxer peers down at her, a charming grin playing on his red lips. His long hair is down and flowing, curling around his defined shoulders and collarbones that peak out of his loose, half unbuttoned shirt. One arm hangs loosely at his side as the other clutches an empty glass, rings clicking as he taps his fingers against it. His tongue swipes his lips once before he speaks, making them impossibly redder.

“’M surprised to see you here.” Harry’s voice is as low as it ever is, even in the noise of the club. “I didn’t think dive bars would be your scene.”

Y/N scoffs as she straightens her back, trying to make herself a better match for Harry’s height. “As opposed to what, sleazy underground gyms?”

“Hm. That’s true.” An amused look paints its way onto Harry’s features as he sets his empty glass down on the bar. “Are you here alone? Or did a date bring you here?”

“A friend, actually.” Y/N motions over her shoulder to Sadie, who’s still wrapped up in her messages with Peter. “I’ve never been here before, but she really likes it.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s grin slowly grows as he leans against the edge of the bar. “How are you liking it so far?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders slightly in a small shrug. “It’s alright. Not much different than any other bar in New York. A beer is a beer anywhere, right?”

“That’s your mistake, though.” Harry sighs a bit as his eyes train on something over Y/N’s shoulder. He reaches past her, his warm, tanned arm brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder. It brushes against her again when he moves his arm back, this time with an open beer bottle and scotch and soda in hand, and Y/N’s not sure what’s worse: how good Harry’s skin feels against hers, or the fact that his hands are so large that he can easily carry two drinks in them without spilling a drop.

“My mistake?” Y/N’s successful in keeping her voice steady—just barely—as she takes the bottle from him. “What mistake?”

“Ordering a bottle of beer wherever you go.” Harry’s ringed hand wraps around the cold glass of scotch. “Let me pick the next drink I buy you, yeah? Then you’ll be able to see if you really like this bar or not.”

“Um—” It takes Y/N a moment to process what he says, and when it finally hits her, she feels heat rush to her cheeks faster than it ever has before. Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, and it takes the charming smile on Harry’s face changing to a grin of satisfaction at her reaction for her to snap out of her stupor.

“I don’t need you to buy me drinks.” Y/N says firmly, setting her beer bottle down on the counter. “I can buy my own. Thank you, though.”

“Wait—” Harry’s arm touches her wrist lightly as she turns around, pulling her attention back to him. His satisfied grin has slipped into a look of apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in—that sounded worse than I meant it to. I know you can buy your own drinks, I just—I meant it as a thank you.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow as she looks him up and down. The difference in his demeanor compared to a moment ago is noticeable—his shoulders have curled in slightly, making his body appear smaller, and his brows are knit together in a look of worry. His teeth are tugging on his lower lip as he waits for her response, and it’s not until noticing his lips that Y/N realizes she hasn’t responded.

“A thank you for what?” Y/N asks, surprise evident in her voice. Although Harry’s let go of her wrist, she still feels a stinging in the skin there, and wraps her own hand around the area he touched.

Harry’s free hand grazes his abdomen, just over his ribs, where Y/N knows there’s a bruise from a fight the previous week. “For cleaning me up all the time.”

Y/N waves off his comment with a flip of her hand. “You don’t need to thank me for that. It’s my job. Literally.”

“I know, but—” A man pushes his way to the bar, breaking into the space between Y/N and Harry. Harry grabs the beer bottle off the bar counter before the man can spill it, a darkening look in his eyes as he steps around the (clearly intoxicated) man to stand before Y/N again. “I can’t imagine it’s easy. I’ve seen how the men there treat you.”

Y/N straightens her spine even more, her mouth pressing into a tight line. The last thing she needs is Harry’s pity. “I made the choice to take the job. I knew what the environment would be like. I don’t need you feeling like you have to be the good guy and buy me drinks to make up for the assholes at the gym.”

“No, that’s not—” Harry shakes his head quickly. “That’s not what I meant, Y/N—” She hates the flutter she feels in her core when she hears her name in his accent. “I’m just concerned—”

“I didn’t ask for you to be concerned!” Y/N replies hotly, her arms crossing tightly over her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sadie begin to notice the interaction between herself and Harry, and she knows she’s going to be interrogated the moment she gets back to the table.

“I know that!” Harry defends himself, his face growing more agitated as their conversation continues. “I can’t help it—”

“Why? Because I’m a girl surrounded by big tough guys? Because I obviously need protecting? Because I can’t protect myself?” Although she’s aware that her frustration is only partly aimed at Harry, and is mostly the product of the emotions she’s kept locked inside her over the last month, Y/N can’t make herself stop.

“No.” Harry’s eyes drop down from her sharp gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

Y/N feels a twinge of guilt when she sees the brightness fade from Harry’s eyes, but she doesn’t shift her position. “I appreciate the thanks, and the drink. But I don’t need your pity, your concern, or your protection.”

“Alright.” Harry nods once as his eyes snap up to meet hers again. He has the same calm and collected look that Y/N usually sees reflected in his jade irises before a match. “I understand.”

“Good.” Y/N’s fingers twist around each other as she considers what else to say. Nothing else really seems worth saying, so instead she focuses on a goodbye. “I’ll see you next Saturday, then.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods again, and Y/N moves to step away, but Harry’s hand catches her one more time. Y/N’s eyes find his face in confusion, and her whole body jumps as she feels the cool glass of the beer bottle press into her palm.

“Take that with you.” Harry’s voice is rough, unreadable. “It’s not safe to leave your drinks unattended.”

…

Now that she’s spent the last five Saturdays working at Patrick’s gym, Y/N’s fallen into a comfortable routine—or at least, as comfortable as she can be in an environment filled exclusively by men with anger issues and no morals. Every Saturday morning, she gets up around nine A.M. and lounges around for a while, just reading her phone in bed. Once she actually makes it out of bed, she showers, taking the time she doesn’t normally have on university mornings to wash her hair, shave anything that she thinks needs shaving, and just enjoy the hot water on her skin. After her shower, Y/N gets dressed in whatever the day’s activity calls for. Sometimes she stays in all day, just studying and catching up on readings, while other times she has errands to run, or friends to meet for brunch at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that charges seventeen dollars for avocado toast. Whatever the day brings, however, her evening routine is always the same.

Y/N sets her dinner plate in the kitchen sink before grabbing her jean jacket from the back of her kitchen chair. She slips it over her black t-shirt, which is tucked into her dark jeans, before grabbing her heavy black boots from the closet. After her first week, Y/N realized the key to being comfortable at her new job was dark clothing and protective footwear, as drunk men placing bets on illegal fights seemed to have a habit of stepping on her toes—literally. Y/N found that it was best to take protective measures against the shoving of the crowds, as stitching paramedic patches onto the sleeves of her jean jacket hadn’t done any good.

With one final check to make sure her good stethoscope and manual blood pressure pump is in her bag, Y/N sets out for the gym, arriving at 9 P.M. on the dot. Although the match doesn’t start until 10, she likes to get there early and check in with Patrick. They’ve begun to develop a rapport over the last few weeks, and Y/N finds herself looking forward to her talks with the surly gym owner.

Y/N doesn’t blink when she enters the dark gym now, and instead keeps her gaze aimed straight ahead as she makes her way to Patrick’s office, knocking on the door thrice in quick succession.

“Yeah?” His voice calls out roughly from behind the door. Y/N opens and shuts it behind her, managing to take one last gasp of clean air before being confronted with the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

“Evening, Doc.” Patrick leans back in his desk chair, the usual cigarette between his lips. “How are things looking out there?”

“The gym is already half full, and the fight isn’t for another hour.” Y/N takes a seat across from the desk as Patrick reaches under it, opening the minifridge he has stashed away and pulling out a beer for each of them. Y/N accepts the bottle, opening it on the edge of his desk before continuing. “You’re getting famous.”

“I’m not getting famous; Styles is.” Patrick stubs out his cigarette before opening his own bottle. “He’s going on five weeks undefeated in his first season. That’s never been done before.”

Y/N scratches at the label of her beer with her fingernail while her teeth tug on her bottom lip. “What’s his story, anyways?” She asks after a moment, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. “How did he end up here?”

Patrick takes a swig of beer, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I don’t know how he ended up here, but I assume it’s for the same reason anyone ever does, including you. The money.” Patrick shrugs a bit. “As for his story at the gym…he knocked on my office door seven months ago, saying he wanted to get into boxing. He had a bit of muscle, yeah, but nothing like he has now. He just sounded like some posh boarding school kid, so I sent him packing. But he was adamant. Wouldn’t give up. Kept coming back, over and over.” Patrick snorts, shaking his head at the memory. “Finally, I told him to start training and bulking up just to get him off my back. And then he came back the next day with his coach, Jeff, and spent hours working every drill imaginable. I have to admit, it impressed me. So I gave him a trial match, the first night you worked. You remember how that went, don’t you?”

Y/N thinks back to the blood spurting from Bowers’ nose after Harry broke it. “Yeah. I do.”

“He’s a strange guy. Pretty different from any other boxer here. But he’s bringing in cash, and lots of it, so I don’t give a shit.” Patrick takes another sip of beer, his eyes focusing on Y/N’s untouched bottle. “You better drink that, Doc. I don’t like wasting beer.”

Y/N lifts the bottle to her mouth automatically, but doesn’t register the taste of the liquid as it passes her lips. “I’m pretty sure rule number one of nursing is not drinking before a shift.”

“That’s some bullshit hospital rule, not mine.” Patrick gives an unconcerned wave of his hand. “Besides, I think the alcohol steadies your hands a bit. Liquid courage and all that.”

Y/N raises the bottle in her hand, tilting it towards Patrick with a wry grin. “To liquid courage.”

…

“You should consider telling Harry to reign it in, Patrick.” Y/N carefully slips off her bloodied gloves, tossing them in the locker room garbage. “That’s the third nose he’s broken in the last month!”

“Why would he need to reign it in?” Patrick raises an eyebrow, leaning against the lockers as Y/N washes her hands. “Do you know how much money he’s making me? The crowd goes crazy for blood!”

Y/N shakes off her wet hands, quickly drying them on a paper towel before taking her medical kit back from Patrick. The bag feels heavier in her hand than it did earlier. “At this rate, you’re going to be out of boxers before the month is over.”

“I can always get new fighters, Doc.” Patrick sniffs, rubbing his nose while leading Y/N to the other locker room. He still comes with her to check on the boxers, despite her knowing the drill by now. Deep down, Y/N appreciates it. “A new champion, on the other hand…those are rare.”

“Are they?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as Patrick steps back, letting her step into the room first. “I’m surprised this champion hasn’t worn himself out yet.”

Harry’s eyes snap up at the sound of her voice. He’s in his usual spot on the bench, his hands already unwrapped and his body already clean from his shower. Y/N wishes she could say that the sight of Harry’s damp and tattooed chest doesn’t have an affect on her anymore, but as she takes in the sight of him, her eyes are only half scanning his body for injuries. The other half of her, to her displeasure, is focused on how his muscles flex under the harsh artificial light as he takes a drink from his water bottle.

Patrick laughs once as Y/N takes a seat next to Harry, opening her medical kit. “Jeff, you’ll never guess what Doc Y/N thinks.” Patrick approaches the coach with a smirk on his face. “She wants Harry to reign it in. Says he’s too harsh in the ring.”

Jeff’s laughter matches Patrick’s, and Y/N feels a flush come over her face as she searches for clean gloves. She does her best to keep her gaze down and keep her focus on her work, but when she looks up, the look on Harry’s face makes her mind go completely blank.

Although Jeff and Patrick are snickering at her comment, Harry’s face is as unreadable as ever. There’s no amusement in his deep green eyes, nor is there a grin on his pink lips. Instead, there’s just a small crease between his brows as he meets her gaze, and Y/N can hardly fight back the urge to lean forward and press her lips to the worried spot.

She had been afraid that seeing Harry for the first time since their bar dispute would throw her, and it only takes one look in his eyes to know her anxiety has a solid foundation of reason underneath it.

“You think I’m too harsh?” The corners of his lips turn down the slightest bit as he speaks, and Y/N has to tell herself that she has no right to notice such a slight difference as quickly as she does.

With a slight shake of her head, Y/N begins to press around Harry’s side, where she had watched him sustain most of his opponent’s hits in the match. “I’m the one who cleans up your messes, remember?” She keeps her voice quiet, so she can hear any noises he makes as she presses on his muscles. “Is this sore?”

“Not more than usual.” Harry replies in the same quiet tone, his eyes glued to her movements. Y/N can feel his irises burning into her skin, and tries her best to ignore how the attention makes her feel. She almost forgets that they’re not alone in the locker room until Patrick speaks.

“Jeff and I have to discuss some things for next week’s match.” He says, speaking more to Y/N than Harry. “Are you alright here, Doc?”

Y/N understands the tone underneath his question. Patrick wants to know if she’s alright being left alone with a boxer who just proved himself capable, once again, of breaking bones. If it was anyone else, Y/N would shake her head and say she needs him to stay. With Harry, however, Y/N’s not afraid of what he can do to her. If anything, she’s concerned about what she may do to him.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Y/N gives a slight nod to Patrick as she pulls out her stethoscope. “I won’t be much longer.”

“Alright.” Patrick gives one hardened look to Harry before following Jeff out of the locker rooms, leaving behind only the smell of his cigarette to mix with the locker room air.

Silence sits between the two of them for a moment, until Y/N fixes the stethoscope in her ears. “This may be a bit cold.” She warns, setting the device on his chest. She listens for a moment before moving it to his back. “Breathe in for me?”

Harry’s ribs expand underneath her fingers as he inhales deeply, exhaling just as slow.

“Again.” Y/N says, moving her stethoscope. Even through her gloves, she can feel the heat radiating off his skin, and briefly wonders if she should take his temperature before deciding that there’s no need. Harry is just…warm.

Y/N pulls her stethoscope out of her ears and sets it down in her bag, reaching instead for some wipes. “There’s a bit of blood under your nose still.” She pulls out a wipe and gently rubs it over the affected skin. “But your nose isn’t broken.”

Harry’s hands fiddle in his lap as she cleans him up, shifting and wincing every once in a while. “I don’t mean to break noses, you know.” He says after a moment. “I mean, I do, kind of, but it’s just—I’m fighting to win.”

“I know.” Y/N tosses the used wipe in the trash, her fingers still moving gently over his cheek. A black eye is beginning to develop under his left eye, so she reaches in her kit for her penlight. She flicks it on and holds up a finger with her other hand. “Follow my finger with your eyes, will you?”

Harry does as she asks, passing the simple test with ease. “We’re all fighting to win. I just happen to be better at it than the others.”

The corner of Y/N’s lip twitches as she turns off the penlight, swapping it in favour of a cold compress she can press to Harry’s bruised eye. “I suppose you are.” Harry winces as the compress makes contact with his eye, and Y/N sighs. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Harry says immediately, voice low.

Once again, the conversation dies out in favour of silence. As Y/N holds the compress to Harry’s eye, she wonders if he’s been thinking of their conversation in the bar as much as she has. She wonders if he’s been thinking of their conversation in the bar at all. As much as she dislikes how much Harry’s been occupying her thoughts, she dislikes the idea of her occupying none of his even more.

“So…” Y/N clears her throat quietly. “Patrick told me this is your first season, right?”

Harry jerks his head in a slight nod. “It is.”

When he offers no more information, Y/N asks another question. “What made you want to start?”

Harry’s uncovered eye meets hers, just for a moment, before looking down at his calloused hands. “I needed some extra cash, and I’m a good fighter. Figured I’d put it to use.”

Y/N can sense more of a story behind his words, but she can also tell by his demeanor that he’s not in the sharing mood. Instead of prying more, she just nods and takes his hand, pressing it over her hand and the cold compress. She gives herself a split second to enjoy his hand on hers before pulling her own hand away.

She stands up slowly as she snaps off her gloves, tossing them in the garbage. “Take some Ibuprofen if you have any pain, and again, if you start to feel weird—”

“See an actual doctor.” Harry finishes the sentence for her with a small smile. “Because you’re not one.”

“Exactly.” Y/N clicks the medical kit closed. “Now you get it.”

“So what are you then, if not an actual doctor?” Harry asks, leaning back on the bench to look up at her better. “What made you start here?”

Y/N pauses by the lockers, surprised he’s inquiring about her life. “I’m a nursing student at NYU. I’m here because I was the only one dumb enough to answer Patrick’s ad, apparently.”

A chuckle rolls out of Harry’s body, and Y/N watches as she tries to hide the wince caused by his abdomen contracting. “Are you—?” She begins to step closer, but Harry waves off her concern.

“I’m fine.” He insists. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Right.” Y/N gives him a confused look. “What was the subject, again?”

“You. Your life.” Harry shifts the cold compress to his other hand, flexing his cold fingers to get blood circulating. Y/N watches the movement for a moment before forcing herself to meet his eyes again.

“What about my life?” She asks, just a hint of breathlessness detectable in her voice.

Harry shrugs with one shoulder as he stands, making his way to the locker next to Y/N. He opens it quickly, grabbing a t-shirt from within and smoothly pulls it on with one hand. The fabric settles over his muscles nicely. “I don’t know. I’m just curious.”

Y/N’s brow furrows as she takes in his words. “Okay, but…no offence, Harry, I just—I don’t think it’s very wise of me to tell you too much about my life.”

Harry’s mouth twitches down into a frown as he grabs his leather jacket from the locker, shutting it with a bang that echoes around the empty locker room. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe?” Y/N knows her words are true, but her infliction makes it sound like a question, and Harry proves himself eager to answer it.

“It’s not?” Harry glances around the locker room slowly, gesturing to the empty space. “Who else is here?”

“Just you, but I—that’s part of the reason.” Y/N speaks steadily and carefully, as if to make Harry understand, but the words are as much a reminder for herself as they are for him. “You shouldn’t know about my life. About me. At least, not any more than you need to.”

That unreadable look crosses over Harry’s face again, clouding his green irises in mystery. His free hand combs through his long hair, still damp from his shower, as his teeth worry his bottom lip. “Who decides what I need to know?”

Y/N tightens her grip on the medical kit, the feel of the rough leather acting as a reminder for where she is and who she’s with. “I do.” She murmurs. “I decide.”

Harry nods roughly once, jerking his chin up as he takes the cold compress off his eye. The bruise is darker now, staining his pale skin, but he hands the compress back to her. “Alright, then. Thanks for clearing that up.”

From the tone of his voice, Y/N gets the sense that he’s bothered by what she said, but she doesn’t let herself focus on it. Harry’s is a grown man, and if he has an issue with what she’s saying, he can tell her. It’s not her job to coddle him and drag his feelings out.

Y/N matches his tone of voice, looking him straight in the eye as she replies. “You’re welcome.”

…

When Y/N’s phone rings three weeks later with an unknown number flashing on the screen just past midnight on a Thursday, she almost doesn’t answer it. After a day of consecutive classes and working through tutorials and labs until her mind went numb, she can’t handle dealing with a telemarketer in a different time zone. However, the New York area code catches her eye, and her curiosity gets the best of her as she picks up her phone and taps the screen.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” Harry’s familiar accent crackles through her speaker, half drowned out from the sound of yelling and New York traffic.

“Harry?” Y/N sits up on her couch so fast that she almost spills her tea. “What—how did you get my number?”

“Texted Patrick for it.” Harry’s voice drifts further away, and Y/N can’t make out what he’s saying.

“What?” She presses the phone closer to her ear in an attempt to hear him. “I can’t understand, Harry—”

“What’s your address?” Harry repeats again, his voice finally audible. “It’s in Tribeca, right?”

Y/N sets down her tea with a thud. “I—yeah, but—”

“Just text it to me, please.” Harry asks, his voice low and strained. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“But—”

The line clicks dead.

Y/N stares down in her phone in shock for a moment before adding Harry’s number to her contacts and texting him her address. She’s not sure why she does it without question—she should be concerned that he’s coming for a negative reason, she thinks, but something in his voice over the phone…there was something there that she’d never heard before.

A knock comes to her door eight minutes later, after Y/N’s bustled around her tiny studio apartment to tidy it up. She’s normally a clean person, but had to toss some clothes in her hamper, put her mug in the sink, and, three seconds before the knock came, tossed her old teddy bear under her bed.

When Y/N opens the door, she’s not entirely sure what she’s expecting, but she knows for sure it isn’t this.

Harry is slumped against your door frame, his right hand cradled to his chest by his left arm. There’s a dark liquid splattered on his navy blue shirt, and it takes Y/N a second to register that it’s blood, not alcohol, despite his body reeking of liquor. His curls, which are normally so soft and carefully tied back, are falling into his eyes as he struggles to keep himself upright. Bruises are already blossoming along his jaw, there’s a split in the skin next to his eyebrow, and a frightening amount of blood trailing down his cheek like tears. A sheen of sweat covers his face and neck, and when he looks at Y/N, she can see the moment it takes him to register that it’s her he’s looking at.

“Oh my God—” Y/N grabs his shoulders quickly, leading him into the apartment. She can tell he’s trying his best to walk independently, but half his body weight is being pressed into her while she struggles to lead him to the couch.

A groan escapes Harry’s lips as he flops onto the couch, low and weak and a complete knife in Y/N’s chest. Normally, when she sees someone this injured, she goes straight into nurse mode, examining them without emotion, but there’s something about the way Harry’s chest is rapidly rising and falling that’s preventing her from doing that.

“Harry—I—” She pushes his curls back from his face, and is horrified to find blood on her hand when she pulls it back. “What happened?”

“I—” The words struggle to make it past his pale lips as he takes a shuddering breath. “I got into a fight. At the bar.”

The answer is so simple, so common, and yet it shocks Y/N that she pauses mid-step on her way to get her medical kit. “A bar fight? This is from a bar fight?”

Harry nods once as he winces. “Had a few—few too many. Got into an argument.” He grits his teeth as he does his best to take his jacket off. “Christ—”

“Stop.” Y/N sets her medical kit down on the coffee table, reaching over and carefully helping him remove his jacket. Her curiosity is raging inside her—what could have irritated Harry so much that he would fight in a bar? And, even more pressing, what could have irritated him so much that he would lose? “So you can only box while sober, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harry mutters the word, a tinge of shame echoing in the back of his voice. “Apparently.”

Y/N tosses his jacket to the ground once it’s off, her eyes canvassing over Harry’s body. There’s so much that seems wrong that she doesn’t even know where to start. “Okay, just—what hurts? What happened?”

“The bastard got a few good shots in at my head. Split my eyebrow, but that’s about it.” Harry sucks in a sharp breath as he hears you snap on your disposable gloves. “But I—shit—I fucked up my hand, Y/N. I threw a bad punch and—fuck—”

Y/N carefully takes Harry’s injured hand in her own, examining it closely. A few of his knuckles are split and dripping blood down his pale skin. His calloused fingers are bruised, swelling over the rings he’s wearing, and Y/N knows that those have to be the first things to go. She takes one of her decorative pillows and sets it on Harry’s lap, setting his injured hand on top of it before quickly moving to her fridge. She grabs an ice pack from the freezer and wraps it in a tea towel, tucking it under her arm as her eyes scan her apartment for something to help her get his rings off. Only one thing comes to her mind, and Y/N tries to control the blood rushing to her cheeks as she opens her bedside drawer and grabs the lube she keeps stashed there.

When Harry sees it in her hand, he raises an eyebrow for a split second until the pain of the cut catches him off guard.

“What—” He takes a deep breath as she settles next to him, carefully setting the ice pack underneath his hand. “What’s the KY for?”

Y/N attempts to keep her voice steady as she answers. “You’re wearing two rings. We have to get them off before your fingers swell any more.” She pops the seal of the lube open and pours a liberal amount over Harry’s fingers. “This—this is going to hurt, so just—I’m sorry.”

Harry nods once, his eyes closed as his head jerks in response. “Just do it.”

Although she does her best to be gentle, Y/N can feel Harry’s body tensing as she pulls the rings over his bruised fingers. No words leave his lips, but she can tell that he’s gritting his teeth to keep quiet as she works the two rings off.

“Good. Good job.” She sets the lube-covered rings on her coffee table with a clink. “That was the worst of it, I think. Or I hope, at least.”

A huff of liquor scented air passes through Harry’s lips. “Is it broken?”

Y/N gingerly picks up Harry’s hand, moving his fingers as much as she can, feeling for anything out of place. “I don’t think so, no.” She murmurs in a quiet voice. “Just sprained, I think. Your index and middle finger got it the worst, but I’m fairly certain they’re not fractured.”

“Fairly certain?” Harry asks, jaw tense. “How could we be 100% certain?”

“If we went to an actual hospital and got an X-ray.” Y/N shoots back, giving him a harsh look. “But seeing as how you’re here, I assume that’s something you don’t want to do.”

Harry exhales hard as she cleans his hand with a wipe. “No. It’s not.”

Once his hand is clean, Y/N wraps it in a bandage carefully, setting it back down on the ice pack once the bandage is secure. With his hand taken care of, she turns her attention to Harry’s face. The cut in his brow has stopped bleeding now, enough for Y/N to see that it’s not horribly deep. “I don’t need to stitch it.” She tells him as she grabs a cotton pad and rubbing alcohol. “I just need to clean it and then bandage it.”

Harry winces when she presses the alcohol soaked pad to the cut.

“Sorry.” Y/N mumbles, her eyes trained on the split skin next to his eyebrow.

“S’alright, I’ll manage.” Harry matches her mumble, his voice barely audible in the quiet living room. She can feel the heat of his skin pressed against her hand, and just when she’s thinking that there’s no way that her icy skin can feel pleasant, Harry sighs.

“Your hands are cold.” He murmurs, his uninjured hand touching the hand that’s cupping his jaw to keep him steady. “It’s nice. Feels like a million degrees in here.”

Y/N resists the urge to pull her hand away from his, keeping all her focus on applying the bandage to his eyebrow like it’s a monumentally difficult task. She waits until she’s smoothed the beige cover over his skin to respond. “Probably because you’re so sweaty.” She presses her other hand to his forehead, doing her best to ignore how another sigh slips past Harry’s lips. “I hope you don’t have a fever…”

“’M just warm, that’s all.” His words are less slurred than they had been when he first arrived, and his green eyes are just starting to open again. “The bar was hot.”

Y/N pulls her hand away from his forehead. “Right.” She walks the three steps it takes her to get to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “Here.” She hands it to Harry, along with two ibuprofen pills from her medical kit. “Swallow these, and then drink that entire glass of water.”

“You got it, Doc.” Harry murmurs, following her instructions immediately. Y/N rolls her eyes as she takes a seat next to him again, carefully readjusting the ice pack on his injured hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She asks in a tired voice. Harry’s hair is falling into his eyes, she notices, and she doesn’t even think before she slips her hair tie off her wrist to carefully pull his curls into a bun on top of his head.

Harry doesn’t complain. “Patrick calls you Doc,” is the only thing he says.

“That’s because Patrick is…Patrick.” Y/N settles back into the couch as she watches Harry drink the water. “Why didn’t you call him for my address instead of my number? You could’ve been here quicker.”

“I did.” Harry swallows down another gulp of water, his good hand wiping his mouth gingerly. “He told me to ask you myself. Said he wouldn’t give your address out to creeps.”

A rush of affection flows through Y/N��s heart for the tough gym owner. “That’s good to know.”

“It is.” Harry agrees after another drink of water. Once he’s drained it, Y/N takes the glass from him and sets it on the coffee table.

“Thank you.” Harry murmurs gratefully. “For…everything tonight. I really—I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s my—”

“No, Y/N. This isn’t your job.” Harry looks at her intensely, a sincerity on his face that she’s never seen before, or at the very least, never noticed before. “Bandaging my hand and head at one A.M. in your apartment isn’t your job. I know you—you said you didn’t want me to know things about you, and now—”

“Not quite.” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to cut him off. “I said I would decide what you could know, and I decided that you could know my address. Just don’t tell anyone else at the gym, alright?”

Despite the bruising-induced tenderness on his face, Harry frowns immediately. “I would never do that. They’re all awful, and I would never…betray you like that.”

Y/N’s heart rate picks up as she listens to Harry speak. There’s something about him throwing around the word “betray” in the same sentence as “I” and “you” that makes a rush flow through her veins. “Thanks.”

“I know it’s not easy for you there.” Harry carefully gauges her reaction as he speaks. “I’ve heard how they speak to you. It’s—they have no respect.”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.” Y/N sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears (her hair tie is in Harry’s hair, and she’s too tired to get another one from the bathroom). “I’m used to it.”

Harry’s frown deepens, his lips finally pinkening back up (which Y/N notices for medical reasons. Purely medical reasons). “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

Y/N barks out a laugh, harsh and short. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.” Harry’s face is indignant, and in any other circumstances, Y/N might find it endearing. But not now.

“Harry.” She clears the laughter out of her voice. “Do you know what I deal with every day?”

“With the boxers? Yeah—”

“No. Just in general.” Y/N tucks her legs underneath her as she settles herself into the couch, careful not to bump Harry’s hand. “I’m a female in the medical field. The amount of shit I get from people, from men…” She shakes her head. “I’ve had male professors tell me it’s a good thing that I’m going to nursing school, and not medical school, because I’m too emotional to handle being a doctor. I’ve heard male medical students tell female medical students that they don’t belong in the program, because girls can’t make quick and rational decisions with patients. I’ve watched my male classmates be belittled for choosing to be a nurse over being a doctor. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Y/N bites her lip, but only for a moment. Now that she’s started, she can’t stop the flood of words pouring out of her. “Every day, I get my decisions and my calls second guessed by my superiors, while my male classmates’ decisions are accepted right away. I get called ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’ and ‘darling’ by professors and patients alike, while my male classmates are ‘mister’ and ‘nurse’. It’s nothing new.”

Harry watches her as she speaks with eyes full of awareness. She can tell he’s hanging on every word, his gaze trained on her and her only. He doesn’t speak as she pauses for a breath, so she continues, a rushed urgency weaving its way through her words.

“Do you want to know why I told you that I didn’t need your concern or your protection at the gym?” Y/N leans the side of her head against the back of the couch, not breaking Harry’s stare. “Because I deal with that shit every day, and I’ve learned to either ignore it or handle it myself. Unless some asshole puts his hands on me, and I physically need your help, then I’m fine. Can you understand that?”

Harry clears his throat once, but his voice is still thick when he replies. “Yeah, I can. I’m sorry that I—it was never my intention to push the topic, or make you uncomfortable, but I did. I’m sorry.”

The sincere apology brings a warm feeling to Y/N’s stomach, and it radiates further throughout her body with every breath Harry takes. “I accept your apology. Thank you.”

Harry smiles at her just the slightest bit, the corners of his mouth tugging up, and the warmth increases when Y/N notices the dimples that appear in his cheeks. Something about them makes Harry look so much younger, so much more innocent…and Y/N’s not certain why, but something about that observation makes her feel electric. As a distraction, she reaches for a wipe from her kit, catching Harry’s eye before touching his face with it. “May I?” She asks, waiting for his nod.

When he gives it, she begins to wipe the sweat and dried blood from his face, careful not to aggravate his bruises. It only takes her a few moments, but she spends extra time running the wipe over his cheeks, feeling the dip of his dimples beneath the cloth.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice rumbles deep in his chest as his good hand catches hers. The wipe falls from her fingers as he keeps her hand pressed to his cheek. “You’re a wonderful nurse.” He says, his deep green irises burning holes into her own.

The burning of Harry’s skin is so much more apparent when he nuzzles his cheek into her hand, and Y/N feels as if she’s the one who’s been drinking with how badly her head is spinning at the contact. “I think…” She does her best to make sense of her words, while Harry busies himself with moving her hand over his cheek, guiding her to stroke the stubbled skin. “I think you may have a fever.”

Harry gives a short shake of his head, and he maneuvers Y/N’s hand over his lips before responding. “’S just how you make me feel. Feverish.” A small laugh falls out of his mouth, and he presses a chaste kiss to the tips of her cold fingers. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that.”

An involuntary sound echoes from the back of Y/N’s throat at his words, and she’s not sure if it’s a gasp, a whimper, or both, but it brings heat to her cheeks nonetheless. “N-no. You shouldn’t say that.”

“Sorry.” Harry repeats again, his lips gently brushing against her fingertips over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re drunk.” Y/N briefly thinks that she should pull her hand away, but she doesn’t, and while she may later blame that on her thinking she wouldn’t be able to, the truth is that she doesn’t want to. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Harry moves her hand to cup his cheek again, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles in a gentle but constant motion. “I know what I’m doing.”

Y/N’s breath hitches as Harry turns his head to plant a kiss in the middle of her open palm. His lips are just as warm as the rest of him, and she’s starting to wonder if there’s a fire burning inside him, deep in his chest.

It would explain the burning she feels whenever she’s near him.

“You have the hands of a healer, y’know that?” Harry’s voice echoes from deep in his chest, filling her senses with the cadence of his accent. “Calloused for all the right reasons. The complete opposite of mine.”

With a shaking breath, Y/N carefully threads her fingers through Harry’s, the metal of his rings cooling down the fire she feels. “I…I love your hands.” She says truthfully, because apparently they’re being truthful tonight. “They’re so strong when you fight, but…when you’re like this…” Y/N lets go of his hand, but keeps their fingers locked together, so both of their palms are open. It’s like each of them is an extension of the other, and delight flushes through her when she realizes it. “You’re gentle with me.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.” Harry breathes, shifting a bit on the couch. A flicker of pain darkens his face, and Y/N’s free hand moves to his chest, rubbing circles over his shirt to soothe him. A relaxed sigh falls from his lips. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

Y/N’s brow furrows, her hands pausing their movements. A whine of protest leaves Harry’s pink lips, but she ignores it as she gives him a confused look. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I-I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” As Harry’s eyes drop to their intertwined fingers, Y/N begins to realize that this—his body close, his eyes downcast, his voice quiet—this is Harry opening up. This is Harry being vulnerable, honest, and himself. The fear in his voice is as much himself as the calm look on his face before a fight.

His fingers fiddle with hers as he searches for his next words, and Y/N can see the effort he’s making to choose the right thing to say. “I…” He pauses, the struggle clear on his face before he tries again. “Every week, you see what I do, right? You know—better than anyone, you know what I’m capable of. So if you were afraid of me, I…I wouldn’t blame you, Y/N. I’d understand.”

If someone asked Y/N in this moment how she got here, she wouldn’t be able to explain it. The journey from Point A has never been more muddled, but Point B is so clearly within her sight that she doesn’t care. How did she get here? she asks herself, when she already knows the answer like she knows the back of her hand, the bones and muscles of Harry’s body, and the precariousness of their situation. How did she get here? Y/N has no fucking clue. But here is the vulnerable look in Harry’s deep green eyes, the steady beat of his heart under her hand, the raw emotion in his voice, and Y/N wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

When Y/N realizes that, how badly she wants Harry, after weeks of denying it, the wind gets knocked out of her chest. She struggles to form words, to take anything more than a shallow breath, to do anything but watch as Harry’s composure starts to slip more and more. His teeth tug on his bottom lip more and more frequently, and his breathing increases as he sits anxiously, waiting for her response.

“I…” Y/N begins to rub his chest again, the circles careful and tight, and the anxiety that she heard in Harry’s words is now laced through her own. “I could never be…afraid of you, Harry. I told you, you’re…you’re gentle with me.”

He exhales a quick breath of relief as she speaks, the tightness visibly relaxing out of his expression, and Y/N moves her hand from his chest to his neck, cupping over his pulse point, her fingers tangling in the few strands of Hair she couldn’t tie back.

“You’re not—you don’t—” She struggles to find the right words, the perfect way to express herself. “I don’t know how to say it…”

“’S’alright.” Harry assures her right away as he presses their palms together again. “You don’t need to say it, Y/N, I—fuck—!”

Harry cries out with pain, his injured hand falling back onto the ice pack covered pillow after he tried to move it. Y/N immediately tends to it, securing the ice pack back around it quickly and carefully as Harry closes his eyes and lets his head fall back on the couch.

“Did you forget it’s sprained?” She asks him incredulously, cupping his cheek so he’ll look her in the eyes. “What were you trying to do?”

“I wanted to—your hair—” Harry grits his teeth, sucking in a quick breath as he struggles to control the pain. “I wanted to touch it, but I forgot…”

Y/N sighs, smoothing her thumb over his jaw. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

Harry nods slightly, his eyes glued to the ground as he lets go of your hand and carefully stands. “Thank you for your help. I’ll get out of your hair—”

“What are you doing?” Y/N stands quickly, her arms automatically moving to support Harry. “You’re not leaving. You can’t go home like this.”

Harry meets her eyes with a look of confusion before glancing around her small studio apartment. “You don’t have a guest room, Y/N. Don’t worry about me, I’ve gone home looking worse. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’re not going anywhere.” Y/N tugs carefully on the sleeve covering his good arm. “C’mon. I have some clothes you can borrow.”

“I can’t stay—”

“Yes, you can.” She says stubbornly, her soft look transforming into a firm stare, as if she’s challenging him to challenge her. “It’s not a big deal, Harry. Not unless you make it one.”

The corners of his lips twitch, and Y/N wants to plant kiss after kiss on the edge of his mouth until he gives her a true smile. “Fine, Doc.” Harry murmurs. “If you say so.”

Y/N helps him to her bathroom, setting him down on the edge of her tub before grabbing him clothes from her dresser. Harry examines them after she hands them to him, a clear look of displeasure written on his face.

“These are men’s clothes.” He says quietly, holding up the sweatpants and t-shirt.

Y/N chews on her bottom lip. “Yeah. They are.”

Harry stares at her for a beat, waiting for an elaboration. When one doesn’t come, he decides to prompt it. “Whose clothes are these?”

“An ex.” Y/N says simply, her usual guard is back as she turns to open her bathroom cabinet. “There’s, um, a spare toothbrush in here. Use anything you need. I’ll…give you a moment to change.”

As Harry changes (which takes longer than Y/N would’ve thought, but then again, it may be hard to do with one sprained hand), Y/N busies herself with cleaning up. She tosses out the wipes and cotton pads stained with blood, and packs up her medical kit before setting it in her closet. As she pulls back the covers of her bed, a seed of regret begins to grow in her stomach. Would she be able to handle sleeping next to Harry? The idea of being encompassed by the smell of his cologne and musk for an extended period of time makes her woozy, and she’s beginning to consider sleeping on the couch when he emerges from the bathroom.

His build is bigger than that of her ex, so the t-shirt strains across his shoulders and arms. The pants fit nicely, but almost too nicely, if the way that Y/N can’t stop the thoughts that are racing through her head are any clue.

“They fit.” She says lamely as Harry approaches the bed, the ice pack still wrapped against his sprained hand. “That’s…that’s good.”

“Yeah. Your ex and I are pretty close in size.” Harry sits on the edge of the bed, his every movement careful and calculated. Now that the alcohol has completely left his system, Y/N can see how he’s assessing the situation with every passing moment.

Her instinct tells her that that’s good, and it’s what she should be doing too, but the memory of him touching her on the couch is too sweet to let her be cautious. They’ve passed that point, she thinks, and so she pushes back the covers, giving Harry a long look.

“Come here.” Y/N says quietly, beckoning him towards her. “Please.”

It’s the small plea that gets to Harry, and he can’t stop himself from carefully moving underneath the blanket. His warmth is immediately apparent, and Y/N thinks that the blankets are probably unnecessary if she’s going to be sleeping next to Harry’s fire all night.

Once he’s situated comfortably (or as comfortable as he can be with a sprained hand), Y/N flicks off her lamp, and darkness envelopes them. It takes a minute of blinking in the darkness for her eyes to adjust, but she quickly finds Harry’s green irises in the darkness. They give off their own light, she thinks, but that’s not surprising.

They lay there for a moment, each of them on their side, until Y/N decides to break the silence. “Hi.” She whispers into the space between them.

“Hi.” Harry’s low voice echoes back. His minty breath rolls over her, and Y/N lets out a soft sigh after inhaling the scent. She likes it more than she should.

Quiet falls between them again as each of them takes in the other. Y/N feels like she’s trying to memorize every plane of Harry’s face, like there’s going to be a quiz later and she needs to ace it. Where are the creases between his eyebrows? Where is his stubble the darkest? Where is the tiny, crescent shaped scar? Y/N commits every detail to memory, if only for her own pleasure. Being this close to him reminds her that he’s real, and she can’t help but wonder if Harry is doing the same.

There’s a tenseness between them, and Y/N’s not quite sure how to fix it. She’s certain she’ll never be able to relax around Harry, until his good hand reaches out and begins to stroke her hair.

The action is so tender and so gentle that her breath hitches in her chest. Harry keeps his eyes locked on hers, his gaze intense and unrelenting as his fingers deftly work their way through her hair. Y/N watches his chest rise and fall in time with his movements, and there’s something about the synchronized actions that calms her racing heart.

A flicker of emotion in Harry’s eyes is the last thing she registers before her own eyes drift shut.

…

The note is scribbled messily on a scrap of paper from her kitchen note pad, left on the pillow for Y/N to find the next morning.

Thanks again for the help. -H

…

“Patrick, you can’t be fucking serious.”

The gym owner gives her a sharp look as he taps ash off his cigarette. “Do I look like I’m one for jokes, Doc?”

Y/N’s mouth gapes open for a moment, her grip tightening on the back of the office chair. “Harry can’t fight tonight! He hurt his hand! Haven’t you listened to anything I told you?”

“Honestly, Doc, the only thing I listened to was Styles himself telling me he was fine.” Patrick gives Y/N a pointed look. “He wants to fight, so he’s going to fight.”

“It’s your gym!” Y/N yells, the anger inside her outweighing the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. “Tell him no!”

Puffing on his cigarette, Patrick shakes his head once. “I’m not doing that. Those people out there paid to see Styles fight, and that’s what they’re going to get.”

“They’re not going to see Harry fight.” Y/N spits out through gritted teeth. “They’re going to see Harry lose!”

“That’s his business.” Patrick shrugs nonchalantly, as if they’re not discussing how Harry’s blood is about to be splattered against the off-white vinyl of the ring. “I make my money either way, Doc.”

“And that’s your business, isn’t it?” Y/N says scathingly, pushing away from the chair. She lets her nails dig into her palms instead. “You don’t care who gets hurt, as long as you get your money!”

Patrick stands up now, his agitation beginning to show. “I’m not the bad guy here, Y/N. Harry says he’s good to fight, so he’s fighting. I’m not his babysitter, and I’m not his mother. He’s old enough to make his own decisions.”

Y/N opens her mouth again, but no sound comes out. Instead, she gives Patrick one last look of fury before storming out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

She should’ve known. She should’ve known that Harry would still try to fight tonight, despite his sprained hand that’s had less than two days to heal. In all honesty, the thought that he would try to fight never even occurred to her until she walked into the gym tonight and overheard multiple men talking in excitement about the match. When she first heard the name Styles, she had been sure she that was mishearing the conversations. But then it happened again. And again. And when she realized that Harry planned on fighting, she had been certain, so foolishly certain, that Patrick would cancel the match when she explained the situation.

It’s her own fault, she thinks, making her way into the crowd to watch the match. It’s her own fault for getting too comfortable, for believing that anyone would listen to what she says. The way Harry had looked at her made her believe that her words mattered, but tonight…this is a harsh reminder of what the world is really like.

If she thought there would be any chance of convincing Harry to call off the match, Y/N would storm the locker room in an instant, yelling and screaming and pleading until Harry saw sense. It was a double-edged sword, really. She knows him now, which makes her care for him more than ever before. And knowing him means knowing that he won’t back down from this match.

Y/N knows it’s going to be bad when Harry walks out with his sprained hand held awkwardly at his side, his face void of its usual calm and collected expression. But she knows it’s going to be a blood bath when Adam Bowers immediately follows him.

While Harry is doing his best to not show the pain and weakness on his face, Bowers is snarling at him from across the ring, rage and fury written into every one of his movements. It’s clear that Bowers wants his revenge for the humiliation Harry caused him in his very first match, and Y/N knows that he’ll stop at nothing to get it.

While most of the short match is watched from behind her hands, Y/N doesn’t miss the important moments. Harry on all fours, spitting blood out onto the vinyl matt. Harry barely dodging a punch, only to take a fist to his chest and having the wind knocked out of him. Harry gritting his teeth as his fist connects with Bowers’ jaw, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make him angry. Harry facedown on the floor of the ring, breath barely moving in and out of his body as blood streams from a gash on his head, mixing with the blood already flowing from his nose.

As the fear and panic seizes Y/N’s body, everything around her begins to move in slow motion. She sees the crowd roar, but does not hear it. She sees the referee drag Bowers away from Harry’s limp body, but does not hear the words he’s yelling. She sees Jeff run into the ring, but does not hear him calling for help. She sees Patrick run towards her, but does not hear him screaming her name until the fourth or fifth time.

“Y/N!” He yells again, grabbing her arm and yanking her behind him as he tears through the crowd. “Come on!”

Y/N lets herself be pulled back to the locker room, which is being transformed into a makeshift E.R. Men that she’s never met before are opening a folding table over the bench, tossing training mats on top of it to make a poor man’s gurney. Patrick takes the medical kit from her hands, opening it roughly and throwing a pair of clean gloves at her. If she were in a clearer state of mind, Y/N would scream at him, demand to know why he allowed this to happen, but the sound of Jeff’s yelling signals Harry’s arrival, and all thoughts rush out of her head.

Jeff and another man carry Harry into the locker room, and while Y/N can tell they’re trying to be careful, groans are leaving Harry’s mouth as they lay him face up on the folding table, displaying the full extent of his injuries.

And here it is. The fall of Harry Styles.

Bruises are blossoming over every inch of skin that she can see, new tattoos that she hates the meaning behind, but those are the least of her worries. There’s swelling and agitation in his sprained hand (which she suspects is now broken), along with blood spilling from his split knuckles. His nose is swollen and bleeding, his lip is cut open, and there’s a black eye forming on his face at an alarming rate. His cut from a few nights ago has split open again, three times as wide, two times as deep, and the blood pouring down his face is getting into his half shut eyes.

That’s where Y/N decides to start.

She takes a deep breath to center herself, pushing all of her emotions out of her as best as she can. Harry needs her right now. He needs her to take care of him in the way that only she can.

Y/N ties her hair out of her face quickly before snapping on the gloves. She pushes Jeff and Patrick out of the way, grabbing her penlight from her kit and stepping towards Harry.

“Harry.” She speaks in a calm but firm voice. “Open your eyes for me, Harry. Can you do that?”

His eyelids flutter at her voice, the green that she’s come to know barely peaking through. Y/N flicks on the penlight, carefully raising one of his eyelids and then the other while shining the light in his eyes. The dilation of his pupils is slightly uneven, but Y/N ignores the sick feeling that it causes in her stomach so that she can continue to work.

“Jeff.” She calls over her shoulder. “Put on gloves and apply pressure to the gash on his forehead. Keep talking to him while you do it.”

Jeff steps forward and follows her instructions exactly. She hears him muttering to Harry, but can’t make out the words as her focus shifts to Harry’s abdomen. His breathing is still shallow, much too shallow for her liking, and she’s worried that something is affecting his lungs.

“Patrick, I need my stetho—” Before Y/N finishes the sentence, Patrick is already holding out the item for her, swapping it for her penlight. She mutters a quick “thank you” as she slips the ends in her ears. “Harry, I need you to take a deep breath for me, alright?” She places the stethoscope on his chest. “As deep as you can.”

Harry sucks in a breath, but quickly moans in pain.

Y/N curses under her breath. “Again, Harry. As deep as you can.”

Again, the only breath he can take is shallow and constricted. Y/N loops the stethoscope around her neck as she begins to examine his chest, her fingers prodding around the bruises. When she gets to his ribs, Harry lets out another cry, jerking forward on the table.

“Keep him still.” Y/N commands Jeff and the other man, who she finally recognizes as a gym trainer named Nick. She pushes on the same spot, her face grim as she receives the same reaction.

“I think he has a fractured rib.” She glances at Jeff before continuing her examination. “Just one, I think, but there’s definitely something wrong. It doesn’t feel completely broken, or like there’s any splinters, but that last hit to his chest—” Y/N’s demeanor begins to slip as she remembers the sight of Harry lying on the floor of the ring, and she shakes her head to clear the image from her mind. She needs to focus. “Yeah. Fractured rib.”

Y/N moves through the checklist in her mind, turning her attention to Harry’s injured hand. It’s still wrapped from his fight, so she grabs her bandage scissors from her bag to get a better look at the damage. She tries to be careful as she cuts, but she knows Harry’s in pain, and she wishes she had stronger medicine to offer than an extra strength ibuprofen.

It doesn’t take her long to guess that his hand is fractured. Of course, she can’t be entirely sure without an X-ray, but the closest thing to an X-ray machine that she has at her disposal is the vending machine down the hall. Y/N does her best to clean the cuts on his knuckles, carefully bandaging them before looking up at Patrick.

“Go to the pharmacy and buy a hand brace.” She tells him as she wraps a cold compress around Harry’s hand. “Something sturdy. And get more painkillers.”

Patrick disappears with a nod, leaving Y/N with just Jeff and Nick to help her. She sets another cold compress over his abdomen before working her way up to the injuries that look the worst.

Harry’s nose, she’s surprised to find, isn’t broken. She can touch it without hearing any cracking sounds, and, to her relief, the majority of the blood beneath his nose is from the initial hit. She instructs Jeff to hold another cold compress lightly to the area before she moves to the gash on his forehead.

From the first look, Y/N knows it’s bad. Despite the pressure Jeff’s been applying, the gash hasn’t stopped bleeding, and seems to be tearing more every time Harry’s forehead contracts in pain. She wipes more blood from the area as the dread in her stomach grows.

“I think…” Y/N takes a deep breath through her mouth. “I’m going to have to stitch it.”

Jeff and Nick exchange a look with each other as Y/N pushes back Harry’s sweat and blood slicked curls from his forehead.

“Nick, grab me two ibuprofen and some water. And Jeff, pass me my suturing kit, will you? It’s probably towards the bottom of my bag.” Y/N waits until the two men are preoccupied with their tasks to address Harry. His eyes are still closed, but he’s vocal enough to voice when he’s in pain. “Harry.” She murmurs, smoothing his hair again. “Harry, do you know where you are?”

Harry sucks in another shallow breath as his eyelids crack open. “I-I’m—the locker room. In the locker room.”

Y/N nods quickly. “You are. Do you remember what happened?”

“Had a…” Harry’s brow furrows, causing a fresh stream of blood to drip from the gash. Y/N applies more pressure as he speaks. “Had a match. Got hurt.”

“You did.” Y/N nods again, glancing at the medicine in Nick’s hand. Harry’s responses ease her worries of a serious concussion, so she motions Nick over. “You have a bad cut on your forehead, Harry, so I need you to take this medicine before I fix it, alright?”

Harry makes a noise of understanding in the back of his throat, and Y/N swaps out her gloves and prepares her sutures while Nick helps Harry swallow the pills. She prays that she hasn’t underestimated the severity of his head injury, and that the medicine won’t do more damage than good. She knows it’s risky, but she just wants to give him something to ease his pain, even if it’s only a fraction of the painkillers he actually needs.

Jeff sets up a folding chair for Y/N, so she can sit and be more comfortable as she stitches the gash closed. Y/N steadies herself against the cold metal chair before turning her attention back to Harry.

“I’m going to stitch you now, Harry, alright?” She says in a clear voice. “It—it’s going to hurt, but I have to do it. If the pain gets really bad—” she nods at Jeff, who takes Harry’s uninjured hand in his own. “Squeeze Jeff’s hand, but only with your left hand. Do you understand?”

Harry manages to mutter a weak “yeah,” before his eyes clamp shut again.

Stitching somebody up in a locker room is about as awful as Y/N imagined it would be.

She knows that each tug of the needle through Harry’s skin hurts him badly, and with no anesthetic, the pain only increases with each stitch. Harry, to his credit, does his best to stay still, gritting his teeth and squeezing Jeff’s hand until it turns blue, but small moans and whimpers still escape him every few minutes. When Y/N finally finishes, cleaning and bandaging the now-closed wound, the entire room breathes a sigh of relief.

Patrick returns a few minutes later with more medicine and a brace, which Y/N carefully straps onto Harry’s fractured hand. After that, all that’s left for her to do is to wipe more blood from his face and say a prayer.

The pain medication now finally starting to kick in, Harry begins to doze off, his breathing shallow yet even. It’s not until his eyes completely close that the exhaustion and emotions catch up with Y/N, and she leans against the lockers, her back sliding down them until she’s seated on the ground with her knees pulled to her chest.

Patrick crouches down next to her, taking off her plastic gloves and handing her a water bottle. “You did good, Doc.” He mutters, rubbing her shoulder. “Really good.”

Y/N takes the water from him, but offers no other response. It’ll take her a bit of time to forgive Patrick for this, she thinks, although she knows most of the blame is on Harry’s shoulders.

Jeff sits down in the metal hair he brought for Y/N and lets out a long sigh. “Thank you, Y/N. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know…”

“He shouldn’t have been fighting tonight, Jeff.” Y/N says in a thick voice, her fingers picking at the label on the bottle. “He was injured, and—”

“I tried to stop him.” Jeff glances at Harry’s sleeping form. “He’s so fucking stubborn. He insisted on fighting.”

“No more.” Y/N shakes her head. “No more fights. Not until he’s completely recovered.”

No one contradicts her.

Nick reappears in the doorway, despite Y/N not even realizing he had left the room, with a pair of keys in his hand. “I got the car ready, Jeff. We can move him whenever.”

“Where are you taking him?” Y/N asks, and while she hopes the answer is “a hospital,” she knows it won’t be.

“Back to his apartment.” Jeff stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his pants. “I’ll stay with him for a bit, make sure he’s alright.” He glances at Y/N. “Can I call you if—?”

Y/N nods before he even finishes the sentence, her eyes trained on the rise and fall of Harry’s chest. It had soothed her less two nights before, and its continuation still soothed her now. “Yeah. Call me if he needs anything. I’ll come right over.”

…

It takes five days for Harry’s name to pop up on Y/N’s phone screen.

While she normally keeps her phone on do not disturb during class, she programmed his number to come through, just in case there was any sort of emergency. The sound of her phone vibrating on her desk makes her jump, and she sends an apologetic look to her professor, reaching to turn it off. When she sees Harry’s name, however, her heart begins to pound.

She ducks outside the classroom quickly before she answers. Y/N had been dying to hear from Jeff on Harry’s recovery, but now that the call was actually coming, she worries that the call isn’t just for an update.

“Jeff?” She asks, assuming the coach is on the other line. “Is everything alright?”

“Uh—” It takes just one syllable for Y/N’s heart to stop. “It’s Harry, not Jeff.”

Y/N walks further away from her classroom, glancing around to see if she’s alone. “It’s good to hear your voice.” Y/N murmurs. “How—how are you feeling?”

A dry chuckle echoes through the phone. “Like shit, but that’s to be expected. Jeff told me I have a fractured rib?”

“And a fractured hand, and a mild concussion.” Y/N bites her lip. “Your nose wasn’t broken, though, so…at least there’s that.”

“Yeah. There’s that.”

Y/N rubs her eyes as she leans against the corridor wall, her gaze trained on the trees outside the window. “I—Jeff said he’d call me if there was anything wrong, so—I would’ve stopped by—”

“No, I’ve been fine. Just in pain, but that’s to be expected.” Harry assures her. Y/N can almost picture him running his (not broken) hand through his hair. “You’re busy with school. I understand.”

“Yeah, but—” Y/N lowers her voice as a group of students walks by. “My class finishes in an hour. Can I come see you tonight?”

There’s silence on the other end, and for a moment, Y/N begins to worry that she’s overstepped a boundary. She opens her mouth to apologize when Harry finally answers.

“Yeah. You can.”

…

Y/N’s medical knowledge tells her that things have to get worse before they can get better. She’s seen it time and time again, not only in cases she studies, but in her life. For things to heal, they have to hurt.

And yet, when Harry opens the door to his apartment, her breath still freezes in her chest.

More bruises have settled in since she last saw him in the locker room. Dark purple stains down his skin, across his jaw, under his eye, and if Harry wasn’t wearing a black t-shirt, she knows she would see more scattered across his chest. To Y/N’s relief, however, the swelling in his face has gone down, and it’s obvious that the bandage over his stitched wound has been changed, albeit a bit clumsily. His fractured hand is held gently at his side, so as not to agitate it, but Y/N can tell that the fractured rib is bothering him as he breathes carefully.

“Hi.” Harry opens the door wider, stepping back to allow her inside. “Come on in.”

Y/N steps over the threshold, her gaze turning from Harry’s injuries to his apartment. It’s a little bigger than hers, she notices, and estimates that it’s a one bedroom with actual spaces dedicated for separate things. Although he mostly sticks to a grey colour pallet in his minimalist decorating, Y/N can pick out objects that tell her this is where Harry lives. A framed photo of him and a woman who looks just like him sits on the table next to the couch. A pair of red boxing gloves dangle off the edge of the closet door. Harry’s familiar cologne lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of a candle he has lit in the living room. Despite the grey tones, the apartment feels just as warm as Harry does.

“I like your place.” Y/N stands in the hallway awkwardly, not sure of where to go. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Harry shuts the door with his good hand before gesturing for her to sit down. “You can, uh, sit on the couch if you’d like. Do you want something to drink?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m fine, thank you. But you should drink some water.”

An unbelieving laugh leaves Harry’s mouth, but he moves to the kitchen nonetheless. “Are you telling me what to do in my own home?”

“Yes. You have to be hydrated to heal.” Y/N watches as Harry fills two glasses with a water filter from the fridge, her mouth falling open slightly when Harry manages to pick up both filled glasses with his good hand. Although the sight sets off a familiar flutter in her stomach, she manages to come to her senses enough to snap her mouth shut again by the time he turns around.

Harry sets the glass down on the coffee table in front of her before gingerly sitting down on the other side of the couch. While he’s trying to mask his discomfort, Y/N can detect it easily.

“Is it your rib?” She asks, worry slipping into her voice. “Is it hurting you?”

Harry manages to give a small shrug. “’S not awful. I’ve been taking some ibuprofen for pain, like you said.”

Y/N twists her ring around her finger, the fidgeting helping to keep her centered. “I’d get you something stronger if I could, but—”

“You’ve done more than enough for me, Y/N.” Harry cuts over her with a firm look. “Don’t worry about it.”

Y/N can’t look at Harry. She can’t. If she does, she knows that all she’s going to be able to see is the bruises and bandages and braces, and she’ll start to cry. And if she starts to cry, she won’t stop, and then she’ll just be upset and crying in Harry’s living room, all because she looked at him, and that’s not what she’s going to do. She repeats the thought in her head like a mantra. That’s not what she’s going to do. That’s not what she’s going to do.

And then she looks at Harry.

Harry is already looking at her. The longer they’ve spent together, the more she’s noticed cracks in his calm façade, and in this moment, those cracks are wide open. The problem, however, is that Y/N can never decipher what exactly those cracks show her. Harry’s face, even while emotional, is unreadable. She can’t understand the feelings swirling through his green eyes any more than she can understand the flexing and unflexing of his uninjured hand. Is it a nervous tic? Is he trying to calm himself, like Y/N does when she plays with her ring? Is he trying to restrain himself from reaching over to touch her, like the night he showed up at her door? While all those questions flip through her mind, only one passes through her lips.

“Why did you do it, Harry?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder will shatter the space between them.

Harry takes a long sip of water like he’s stalling for an answer, trying to find anything worth saying. “I needed the money, Y/N. And I couldn’t—getting the shit beat out of me by Bowers was better than forfeiting to him. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

“That—” Y/N sucks in a breath, trying to remind her lungs to move the air in and out of her body. “That is…ridiculously idiotic, and prideful, and stupid, and a million other things, but that’s not what I meant.” She steels herself before meeting Harry’s eyes again, willing herself to sound less like a child and more like a woman. “I was asking why you left me that morning, after…after you stayed the night.”

For the first time since she arrived, it’s Harry’s eyes that are unable to meet hers. He drops his gaze to his injured hand, cradling it in his lap, and Y/N takes his silence as a signal for her to continue.

“You just—I told you it was fine for you to stay. And then the next morning you were gone, and your note…” Y/N can’t help but scoff. “‘Thanks again for the help’? Really? That’s all you had to say to me?”

Harry clears his throat as his good hand begins to tap against his thigh. “It’s not all I had to say, I just—I couldn’t say everything in a note.”

“Why did you even have to leave a note?” Y/N asks incredulously. “That’s the whole point, Harry! You left, didn’t call me, or tell me that you were alright, and then the next time I saw you, you were getting beat half to death. That’s not…fair.”

At that word, Harry’s eyes widen, and his face contorts into an expression Y/N can finally read: disbelief. “Fair?” He repeats, accent thick. “It’s not fair? Nothing in life is fair, Y/N. I didn’t call you because I’m not yours, and you’re not mine. I let myself pretend a bit that night, while I was drunk, but I shouldn’t have. If there’s anything that wasn’t fair, anything I have to apologize for, it’s that.”

The tears come then, pricking her eyes with an irritating heat as she drops her gaze into her lap. “So you—you showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night, bleeding and injured and drunk, and you spend the night so I can make sure you’re safe, and the only thing you think you have to apologize for is—is pretending?” Y/N shakes her head. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I shouldn’t even have been there in the first place. And after I showed up, I should’ve been more careful. More in control.” Harry stares down at his hands again, not to avoid her gaze, but to think about what they did that night. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like I did. I shouldn’t have asked questions. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have crossed all the lines I set for myself months ago. But I did, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sorry.” Y/N wraps her arms around herself tightly, and although the force against her is comforting, she’d prefer it if the arms weren’t hers. “I’d rather you come to me for help than stumble home in the dark, and I…” A chill runs through her, and she rubs her arms a bit to keep warm. Being away from Harry and his fire takes its toll. “I didn’t mind you asking questions, or touching me. I liked it. I thought I made that obvious.”

Harry’s face flicks back to the expression that she’s unable to read. “Nevertheless—”

“Do you honestly think you’re the only one who set lines and boundaries?” Y/N turns her gaze back to Harry, taking in the closed off posture he displays. She hates it almost as much as she hates her own guarded appearance. “I did, too, but the more we talked, the more I started to waver. The boundaries were out the window the moment you stepped into my apartment, Harry. And we can go back and forth and debate who crossed what line first, but the truth is, we both knew exactly what we were doing, so don’t—” Y/N gestures at him, how he’s turned his body away from her. “Don’t sit there and act like you’re the only one to blame when I took every step with you.”

Her final words are followed by silence and all the sounds that fill it. The ticking of the clock on the wall, the dripping of the kitchen sink, the laboured sound of Harry’s shallow breathing, the pounding of Y/N’s own heart. She focuses on each individual sound, each one an ode to whatever it is that’s been hanging between them since the night they met, until Harry finally responds in a low and controlled voice.

“I didn’t think that you…wanted me like that.” He begins slowly, his body finally turning to look at Y/N straight on. She can see the strain on his face, and how difficult this movement is for him, but he doesn’t stop until he can meet her eyes.

The sight of his green irises takes all the fight out of her.

“How could you not realize that?” Y/N crosses her legs underneath her, placing her palms flat against her thighs. If she wants to have an open conversation, she thinks, then she needs to be open.

“Because you’re you. And I’m…” Harry’s head turns just for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. “I told you last week. You’re a healer, in every sense of the word, and I’m the complete opposite.”

“And I told you,” Y/N says stubbornly. “That I don’t buy that for a minute. I meant it when I said I wasn’t afraid of you. And for once, you were being honest, and I thought that we were going to move forward together.”

A sharp laugh falls from Harry’s lips, followed by a wince as his good hand rubs gently over his ribs. “Honest? Do you have any idea of how much I managed to hold back that night? I was half pissed, sitting on your couch, feeling you touch me, while things I had never said out loud before were coming out of my mouth, and I still didn’t tell you the worst of it.” Harry drags his hand through his hair roughly. “I don’t know, maybe I should’ve. Maybe you would’ve left by now, and saved yourself the trouble.”

“Stop it!” Y/N takes his hand, weaving their fingers together like she did when he was at her apartment. “You keep—it’s like you want to create this narrative where I’m good and you’re bad. That’s not true!” She presses her other hand over his. “We’re both here. We both ended up in the same place.”

“But what about after?” Harry’s voice is tight as his gaze settles on their locked hands. “The difference between us is that you have a life outside of that gym that’s waiting for you. But the gym is my life. Boxing is my life. I don’t have any other career to hold out for, Y/N. There’s nothing for me except boxing, and there’s everything for you.”

“What about me?” Y/N brings Harry’s fingers to her lips, pressing small kisses to the tips like he had done for her. “You could have boxing and me. If you were just honest with me, if you opened up completely, I’d do the same.”

Harry exhales slowly, closing his eyes at the feeling of your lips dancing over his hand. “It doesn’t work like that, Y/N. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

“Who decides if it works like that?”

The corner of Harry’s lip twitches, and Y/N knows he’s remembering one of the first conversations they had, when he asked who decided what he needed to know. Y/N wonders if that was the first line that was crossed.

“I do.” Harry says after a moment. “I decide.”

…

With how little she knows about Harry, Y/N would’ve expected forgetting him to be easier.

She can count on one hand the number of personal facts that she knows about him, with at least three of them involve his boxing, and yet…when she’s home in the evenings, her schoolwork done, her mind free to roam, it’s always Harry’s face that she sees.

Y/N had known that Harry’s first night back would be hard. After six weeks of being away from the ring, recovering from his injuries, Harry’s return to the ring would be the first time she’s seen him since he got hurt. Patrick had forewarned her about him coming back two weeks ago, and although he mentioned it like an update, Y/N knows he was saying it to caution her. She had assured him that Harry’s return had no personal meaning to her, and no affect on her, but as she makes her way to the locker rooms after the match, her nerves are as high strung as they’ve ever been.

The match between Harry and an unexperienced boxer named Jackson ends within minutes, with Harry the unsurprising victor, but the match had only been a small source of her anxiety. As she set Jackson’s nose (Harry seems to be back to his old patterns), her mind was on one thing and one thing only.

Compared to the last time she saw Harry’s locker room, the place looks like a paradise. The floors are stained with sweat instead of blood. The brown stains in the sink are only from rust. And the blood that’s splattered on Harry’s forehead isn’t his own.

“You’re getting quicker, Doc.” Jeff comments in lieu of a hello. “Harry hasn’t even had time to shower yet.”

Y/N glances at the sweaty boxer sitting on the bench, who is currently preoccupied with the incredibly difficult task of unwrapping his hands. “I’ve had more practice, I suppose.”

Taking her seat next to Harry, she opens her case and slips on a pair of disposable gloves. Jeff and Patrick stand in the corner, discussing Harry’s return to the ring, as Y/N focuses on the work that she’s here to do.

“You have a bruise on your jaw, but that’s about it.” Y/N touches his chin gently, tilting his head to a different angle. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” Harry says shortly, giving a quick nod of his head. “Yeah, I feel fine. It felt good to be out there again.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker to the new scar on his forehead before turning her attention to his hands. “Did you wrap your right hand tighter tonight?”

“I did.” Harry nods again. “And I’ve been using the brace at home, like you told me to.”

“Good.” After a quick check, Y/N moves to his abdomen, pressing carefully. “Have you been having any difficulties breathing?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s much better. It only hurts if I stretch a lot, and only for a second.”

“Just some residual bruising, probably.” Y/N bites her lip as her fingers brush over his tattoos. “It’s to be expected.”

Harry’s gaze finally catches her own, as unreadable and cavernous as ever, and Y/N clears her throat as she pulls her hands away. “I think you’re all good. Jackson barely touched you tonight.”

“I wanted to give him someone easy to ease him back into the ring.” Patrick joins the conversation. “I need to build my champion back up.”

Irritation flickers across Harry’s face for a brief moment. Y/N can tell that he doesn’t like the idea of being eased into something.

“We appreciate it, Patrick.” Jeff claps a hand over the gym owner’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go discuss next week in your office?”

Patrick glances at Y/N, who’s busying herself with rooting around in her medical kit. “Yeah. Alright.” He says after a moment. “Are you two good here?”

Y/N nods, not lifting her head to watch the two men leave the locker room. She keeps her eyes glued to anything but Harry as she stands, snapping off her gloves and tossing them in the trash.

“Well, you’re good to go.” She says after a moment. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you next week.”

“Wait.” Harry catches her arm when she reaches for the kit. “Y/N, wait, I—just wait.”

The familiar burn of Harry touching her courses through her arm, and Y/N bites her lip to keep the sigh of relief from slipping out of her. “What?”

“Look at me.” Harry murmurs, his voice lower than normal. “Please look at me.”

Y/N finally raises her head, looking Harry in the eyes again. She can tell he’s searching for something in her stare, but she’s not sure what. If she knew, she’d give it to him in a heartbeat. Or maybe she’d withhold it, she muses, so that he’d keep searching, his arm on hers.

“What?” She asks after a moment, Harry still looking up at her. “What? What is it?”

“I…” Harry clears his throat as his hand drops slightly, his grip falling from her forearm to her wrist. “Did you watch the match?”

Y/N nods, hoping her disappointment at the innocence of his question isn’t too apparent on her face. “I did. I always do.”

“I know, but I wasn’t sure if…” Harry’s gaze flickers to his hand on your wrist. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”

“It’s my job.” Y/N tries to sound professional, tries to reinstate the boundaries that they so carelessly broke, but there’s nothing professional about the way Harry is threading his fingers through hers as he pulls her back down to the bench.

“I missed you.” He says quietly, his thumb moving over the back of her knuckles. “I wanted to call, but I didn’t want to…I wanted you to move on.”

“Is that why you’re holding my hand?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t pull away.

Harry tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Holding your hand is more for myself right now.”

“You can’t do that, Harry.” Y/N’s voice grows tighter as she wills herself to pull her hand away. “You can’t just—you can’t say things like that. Not after what you said before.”

“I know—”

“No, you don’t.” Y/N finally pulls her hand away, grabbing her medical kit before taking a step back from him. Harry watches her movements with disappointed eyes. “You don’t know. You don’t want to give us a chance? You don’t want to open yourself up to me? Then fine. Don’t. But don’t expect me to do anything more than my job. Is that understood?”

Harry’s mouth presses into a tight line. “Understood.”

…

It’s four A.M. when Harry knocks on Y/N’s door two weeks later.

Y/N, like most people at this time of the very early morning, is in bed when she hears the frantic knocking on her front door. She’s been asleep for less than two hours, having only made it back home from that night’s match at two A.M. (Harry had dislocated his opponent’s shoulder, as well as split the skin of his forehead, and it took her some time to clean them up), and almost doesn’t get up. Her neighbours have no problem with making as much noise as they see fit at any time of the day, and she assumes it’s one of their drunk friends trying to find a place to stay overnight. Thinking she’ll just wait for them to go away, Y/N pulls her comforter up to her chin tightly.

And then the person knocks again. And again. And again.

Once it’s clear that she won’t be getting any sleep until she deals with whoever is pounding on her front door, Y/N angrily pulls herself out from under her covers, throwing a hoodie over her tank top to cover herself. She grumbles to herself as she walks from her bed to her front door, ready to curse out whoever it is that gets so drunk that they can’t remember which apartment their friends live in.

And then she sees Harry.

He looks more or less the same as he did when Y/N left him at the gym two hours ago, save for the black eye that’s darkened in her absence. His curls are wild, falling carelessly over his shoulders to dust the top of his long jacket. He’s dressed in casual street clothes, covering up the tattoos that Y/N’s gotten so used to seeing every week. His expression, like always, is unreadable, but when Y/N meets Harry’s eyes after he looks her up and down, she can define one thing: longing.

Then again, she may just be imagining that as a symptom of sleep deprivation.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Y/N demands, opening her door a little wider once she realizes that he’s not a stranger. “It’s four in the morning!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Harry glances over her shoulder, as if he’s checking to make sure she’s alone. “Can I come in?”

Y/N’s mouth drops open in confusion, but she still takes a step back from the door. Where else is he supposed to go at this time of night? “I—yeah. Alright.”

Harry walks into her apartment slowly, his eyes scanning her living space like he’s seeing it for the first time. Y/N thinks that maybe he doesn’t remember much about it from when he was last here, seeing he had been drunk and in pain at the time. Still, she doesn’t appreciate how he seems to be evaluating how she lives, especially when he smirks as he spots the teddy bear on her bed that she had hidden when he was last there.

“Did I wake you?” Harry asks slowly, as if the idea that Y/N had been sleeping had just occurred to him.

“It’s four in the morning.” Y/N repeats in a deadpan voice. “Yes. You woke me, and you better have a damn good reason for it.” Her eyes scan over his body again, in case there’s an injury from the fight that she didn’t notice before. Or a stab wound. Honestly, with Harry, she feels like there are any number of things that he could show up at her door to ask for help with.

And she knows that she’d help him. No matter what.

Harry rakes a hand through his loose hair, and Y/N wonders how his rings don’t get caught as he does it. Then she tells herself to stop looking at his rings, because if she looks at his rings, she’ll look at his hands, and if she looks at his hands—

“My dad left when I was a kid.”

Harry’s voice snaps Y/N out of her thoughts. She refocuses on him, watching as the cracks in his façade slowly open up again to reveal the nervousness behind his words.

“What?” She asks, brow furrowing in confusion. Y/N thinks that she should tell him to sit, but by the energy radiating off of Harry, she doesn’t think he’ll listen.

“My dad left when I was a kid.” Harry repeats, his voice wavering for just a second. He clears his throat before continuing. “I was around seven when he ran off, and then it was just my mum, my sister, and I. My mum did her best to take care of us herself, but it—it was hard. We never really had much, and what we did have, she spent on my sister and I, to make sure that we were alright.”

“Harry, I don’t understand.” Y/N reaches for him hesitantly, but pauses before her fingers actually make contact with his jacket. “Why are you telling me this?”

Harry licks his lips once, and Y/N watches as he flexes and unflexes his right hand. “I’m trying to…to be open. To be honest.”

A beat passes between them before Y/N comprehends his words. “You—what?”

“You said I had to be honest with you.” Harry’s teeth worry his bottom lip, chewing it for a moment before he continues. “And I-I want to try it. I want to make this work—make us work. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, but tonight, when you were helping me after the match, I just—” The words are spilling out of him faster than they ever have before, like a dam has burst, and Harry is getting washed away in the flood. And taking Y/N with him. “I wanted to kiss you. I almost did, but that wouldn’t be right of me, because you told me what you wanted, and what you needed, so I went home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and missing you, and wanting you, because I want you so bad, Y/N—”

“Harry.” Y/N touches his shoulder this time, rubbing her hand against him in soothing circles. “Take a deep breath, yeah? Slow down. How about we sit down on the couch, and I’ll get us a drink, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Harry’s eyes soften at the suggestion, and colour rushes to his cheeks, flushing his pale skin to a light pink. “Yeah.” He mumbles, his hands rubbing over the sleeves of his jacket. “I want that.”

The way he says, “I want that,” such a simple phrase, causes Y/N’s heart to thump in her chest. There’s something so sincere in his tone, but Y/N doesn’t want to let herself hope. She needs to hear everything he has to say before she lets herself be that foolish.

Y/N walks to her tiny kitchen, pulling out two glasses and filling them halfway with whiskey and ice. The whiskey had been a gift from that year’s secret Santa gift exchange in the nursing program, and Y/N had yet to open it, as she doesn’t have much of a taste for sipping liquors. However, tonight seems to call for something stronger than regular beer.

When Y/N returns to Harry, he’s stripped off his long jacket, but his patterned shirt doesn’t seem to be warm enough to stop him from shivering. Y/N hands the drink to him, frowning as she touches his arm.

“Are you cold?” She asks in concern, despite his skin feeling as warm to her touch as it usually is. “I can get you a sweater…”

Harry shakes his head once, taking a long sip of the whiskey. “No, just—nervous, I suppose.”

Y/N nods softly, pulling her feet under her to sit cross-legged on the couch. She wants to watch Harry straight on as he speaks. “Finish what you were saying earlier.” She murmurs. “If…you can.”

“Can’t remember how far into my speech I got.” Harry laughs once, short and anxious, his hand tugging on his hair again. “I was rehearsing it on my walk over, but I blanked the moment you opened the door.”

“There was something about…” Y/N wraps her hands around her full glass. “Needing me?”

Harry’s cheeks pinken again. “Right. Yeah. That’s quite…new for me. I’ve never needed someone before in a—in the way that I need you. I have my mum and sister, and Jeff, but you…you’re different.” He busies himself with another sip of his drink. “It’s like…it’s so confusing, Y/N. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve had that talk with myself countless times, and with you, and I’ve told myself that you’re so much better off without me, but I just can’t make myself let you go.”

Y/N purses her lips, her eyes dropping to her lap as she answers in a careful and controlled voice. “I feel the same. I haven’t stopped thinking about you in weeks. I don’t think I’m capable of it, really. You’re—you’re under my skin. And it’s new, and strange, and uncomfortable, but only when I’m away from you. When I’m with you, it feels as easy as breathing.”

Harry rubs his lips, and Y /N can tell that he’s still processing what she said, which she doesn’t blame him for. When he continues with his story, instead of commenting on her response, she feels a sense of relief. He’s not retreating back into the familiarity of being guarded. Not yet. “So…so my dad left. And Mum tried, but we weren’t in a super good place. Gemma wanted to go to college, so she took out loans, and my mum remortgaged the house, and…all the bills piled up at once. And I didn’t even know until we were about to lose the house. I found her crying one day, my mum…” Harry’s eyes get a far away look in them. “She said she…felt like she failed us, which is ridiculous, because she’s—she’s just the best,” A smile flickers on Harry’s face for a brief moment. “You’d like her.” He takes another sip of whiskey before continuing. “Well, I had just graduated high school, and I didn’t really have any…plans. College didn’t seem that important at the moment, so I went to work. I had to take care of her, you know?” Harry fiddles with a ring on his finger. “I was the man of the house. I had to take care of her. So I went to work, and I boxed a bit in my free time, nothing serious, but it still wasn’t quite enough. And I had some friends who had come to America to work, and I knew that there were…easier ways to make money here. And I could make a lot of money fast, and send it back home, and make sure that everything was okay. So…that’s what I did.”

“I remember. Patrick told me.” Y/N bites her lip, tapping her fingers against her glass. “He said that he sent you away at first.”

“He did. It pissed me off.” Irritation flickers through Harry’s eyes. “I’d come so far, only to be turned down because I didn’t have as much muscle as the other fighters, when I knew I could fight three times as good. But I couldn’t just go home, so I trained. I fought at some other gyms while training, but none of them paid as much as Patrick’s. Boxing there…I have enough money to send home to Mum while living here. It’s high risk, but it’s high reward.”

Y/N finally takes a sip of her whiskey, trying her best to hide the grimace that crawls onto her features. “Do you really think you’re going to box for the rest of your life?”

“I do.” Harry answers immediately. “I’m no good at anything else. I’ll box until my body gives out, and after that I’ll train others, if I can. Either way…this is my life. This is as far as I go, really. And you…”

“I still have more school ahead of me.” Y/N runs her finger over the rim of her glass as she replies. “But I’m not—I said it before. You want to paint me as good, when we both ended up at that gym. I needed the money too.”

Harry shifts on the couch, repositioning himself to look at her better. “I was open with you. I…shared. Will you share with me, now?”

Y/N hesitates, but knows she can’t say no. “Share what?”

It takes Harry a moment to settle on a question. “You had clothes from an ex.” He says finally. “What happened with them?”

Y/N sighs, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “His name was Parker. We met in high school. We started dating in our junior year, and continued dating until last year. He goes to school back east, at Stanford. We…I was in love with him. Very in love with him.” Y/N glances at Harry, watching how his jaw tenses as she says that. “And, um, it didn’t work out. Well, at first, actually, it did. Kind of. He proposed to me about eighteen months ago, and I said yes.” Y/N looks down at her left ring finger, the only finger on her hands that has no ring tan line. “And then he started talking about me transferring to Stanford, leaving NYU, so I could be with him, and then that conversation changed to me dropping out altogether, so I could plan the wedding, get married, have kids, and just—just be what he wanted.” Her voice cracks in a mixture of hurt and anger, and she knows both emotions are apparent in her eyes when she meets Harry’s gaze. “He wanted a wife. He didn’t want me. So I sent back the ring about six months before I met you, and I haven’t heard from him since. The clothes are just…they’re left over from when he came to visit me. I know I should get rid of them, but it’s…hard, you know? To let go of someone…”

“I know.” Harry twists one of his rings around his finger, the same one that he always fidgets with, a plain silver band. “This is my dad’s wedding ring. I found it in my mum’s room before I moved to New York. I didn’t know she still had it, or why she still had it, and I don’t know why I took it, but I just looked at it and…felt like I needed it.”

Y/N sets down her drink before taking Harry’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over the band. “He’s your dad. It’s alright.”

Harry stares at their intertwined hands, and his voice is thick when he replies. “I’ve never told anyone that. About the ring, or my dad leaving. I never really talk about it.”

“I’m glad you told me.” Y/N keeps her voice soft as she moves closer to him. “I meant it when I said I wanted to know you. That means the bad as well as the good.”

“I know you say that now, but—but no one stays forever, Y/N.” Harry’s voice drops impossibly low. “Everyone leaves eventually. You will, too, once you see what I’m like.”

“I don’t care. I really don’t.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely. “I’ve seen what you’re like. I’ve seen you happy and angry and irritated and guarded, and I want it all. Do you know how long I’ve waited to feel this way about someone?” She plays with his fingers as she speaks, adoring the familiar warmth that she feels in his skin. “It was never like this with Parker.”

“You said you didn’t want a protector. And all I want to do is protect you.” Harry brings Y/N’s hand to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist gently. “I don’t want to force something that you don’t want—”

“It’s different if we’re—if you and I—” Y/N flushes as she watches him kiss along her wrist and hand. “I’ll be your protector as much as you’ll be mine. We’ll protect each other. We’ll be equal.”

“Y/N, you’re so much—we’ll never be—”

“We’ll be equal.” Y/N repeats firmly, unfolding her legs from beneath her. She sits up on her knees right next to Harry, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Can you give that to me?”

A soft breath leaves Harry’s lips, and it washes over her in the sweetest way. “Yes.” He says sincerely.

“Good.” Y/N swallows hard as a fire starts to burn in her core. “Will you give that to me?”

“Yes.” Harry’s hands shift to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him until she’s straddling his lap.

Y/N rubs her thumbs along Harry’s stubbled jaw. “Do you need me?”

Harry’s green irises flicker to Y/N’s pink lips and back again. She’s starting to get better at reading his eyes, she thinks, although she’s still not as good as she’d like to be. She still can’t see exactly what’s swirling inside them, but in this moment, she thinks she has an idea of it.

“Yes.” Harry says again, his hands moving up her back. “I need you.”

Y/N presses a chaste kiss over Harry’s forehead scar, down his temple, his cheek, his jaw, delighting in every soft breath and sigh that escapes him. “Do you want me?”

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, and Harry matches her tone perfectly as his fingers press into her back. “More than anything.” He breathes, tilting his head back as she kisses his neck. “I want you more than anything.”

Y/N kisses across his neck, down to his collarbones, before traveling up the other side of his face. She kisses across Harry’s jaw again, his cheek, back to the scar-free side of his forehead, planting one last kiss in the center of it before pressing her own forehead to his. “Then kiss me.” She whispers, half panting the words.

Harry’s breath is just as ragged as hers as one of his hands tangles in her sleep-mussed hair, pulling them together until their lips meet. The contrast between the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble delights her, and Y/N finds herself pressing closer and closer to him just to feel it more. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as she tries to get as close to him as possible. After spending so long waiting, she wants to feel him close to her. She wants to be his, in every sense of the word.

A wrecked moan falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s teeth graze her lips, his tongue immediately soothing the spot after he nips at her. He repeats the action over and over, anything to hear her moan again, and Y/N has to pull away to collect herself. She’s not sure if it’s the whiskey or Harry, but her head is spinning in the best way.

Undeterred, Harry’s lips move to her neck, kissing and nipping just as much as they did before. “Is this alright?” He mutters between kisses, his hands pushing up her hoodie to get a grip on her bare skin. “I-I’ll stop if it’s—”

“Don’t you dare.” Y/N moans, throwing her head back to allow him better access. “If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Noted.” Harry mumbles the word against her jugular, letting his teeth scrape her skin before sucking over the spot. A guttural moan slips from Y/N’s mouth as a shock runs through her, and she can feel the smirk on Harry’s lips as he licks over the mark he’s made.

The fabric of Harry’s shirt is soft to the touch when Y/N gathers it in her fists, tugging on it enough to get Harry’s attention. “Take it off.” She says in a low voice, her eyes locking with Harry’s as he pulls away from her neck. “Doctor’s orders.”

A groan rolls out from the back of Harry’s throat. “God, that’s so fucking hot.” He mutters, kissing her once more. “In a totally respectful and non-objectifying way.”

Y/N laughs into the kiss, tugging on the hem of his shirt again. “Mhmm. Just take it off, will you?”

Harry’s hands replace her own as he tugs his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor before attempting to kiss Y/N again. Y/N, however, has other plans, and begins to run her hands down Harry’s chest.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” She murmurs, tracing her fingers over his tattoos. “So handsome…” She scratches her nail over Harry’s butterfly tattoo, adoring how his eyelids flutter at the feeling.

“That feels so…” Harry closes his eyes completely, letting his head rest on the back of the couch to fully lose himself in Y/N’s touches. “Keep going.”

Y/N leans in and kisses his neck again, spreading the pecks all along his collar bones and shoulders while her fingers continue to trace the contours of Harry’s body. She works them over his chest, grazing over his nipples just enough to make his body jump beneath her.

“Is that…?” She begins, trailing off as she touches them again. Harry doesn’t jump as much this time, but there’s an undeniable hitch in his breath.

“Feels good.” He says thickly, his fingers digging into her back in the best way possible. “Yeah. Really good.”

Y/N nods, tweaking them one last time before she continues her exploration down his abdomen. She runs one finger lightly around his belly button, and feels the shiver that runs through Harry as she continues down the light trail of hair situated between his two vine tattoos.

“I love these.” She whispers, her fingers taking their time as they touch them. “They’re some of my favourite tattoos of yours.”

Harry’s eyes open, and the tenderness in his green eyes is unmistakable. “You have favourites?”

Y/N flushes as she nods. “I-I do. I like your cross tattoo. And your mermaid. And these…” Y/N raises one hand to touch over his collar bones again. “What does this year mean?”

“It’s my mum’s birth year.” Harry admits as one of his hands begins to play with Y/N’s hair. “I got it last year.”

Y/N knows that her eyes match the tenderness in Harry’s, and she kisses him once more before continuing to move her hand lower. She traces her finger over the buckle of his belt as her teeth tug on Harry’s lip lightly.

“Can I?” She asks gently, her breath blowing across his lips. “Please?”

Harry strokes her cheek, letting the back of his knuckles drag across her skin. Y/N leans into his touch wholeheartedly, wanting Harry to know that she’s never once been afraid of his hands and what they can do.

“Is it the Doctor’s orders?” Harry asks, his teasing tone disguising the need in his voice.

Y/N lets out a light laugh, and it’s then that she knows that she and Harry are meant to be. When two people can be so intimate together while still laughing and giggling and teasing each other…Y/N knows that’s something good, despite never having it before.

“Yes.” She works her hand over his belt, and the only sounds in the room are their laboured breathing and the gentle clinking of the metal buckle. When it’s finally free, Y/N busies herself with the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Wait.” Harry grasps her wrist carefully, stopping her before she can attempt to pull his jeans down. “I didn’t—I came here to take care of you.” He murmurs as he pushes her hands away. His own hands move to Y/N’s thighs, grasping them tightly before picking her up with ease. Y/N gasps, her hands flying to his shoulders as Harry carries her to her bed, laying her down gently on the mussed sheets.

“Let me take care of you.” He repeats the sentiment as his hands move to the hem of her hoodie, slowly and carefully removing the article of clothing, along with the tank top underneath. Y/N knows that his pace is intentional, giving her plenty of time to refuse, but stopping Harry is the last thing she wants to do.

When her top is off, the first thing Harry does is kiss her. He moves her carefully as he does, so her head is supported by her pillows. Y/N doesn’t notice his hands moving from her waist until—

“Why don’t we just move this guy until we’re done, hm?” There’s a trace of laughter in Harry’s voice as he holds up the teddy bear. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eye after if he watches.”

Y/N clears her throat as an embarrassed flush quickly works its way up her neck. “Alright, just—here—” She takes the teddy bear from Harry, dropping it to the side of the bed. “And he has a name, you know. It’s Paddington.”

“Paddington?” Harry’s laughter is obvious now, and he buries his head in her neck as he attempts to stifle it. “That is so fucking adorable—”

“Can you not laugh at my teddy bear when you’re about to fuck me?” Y/N asks, voice exasperated and strained.

Harry’s laughter dies off as he pulls his face back up, his eyes darker than they were a minute ago. “I’m about to fuck you, am I?”

Y/N clears her throat, and as Harry’s gaze finally sweeps down her body, she gets the overwhelming urge to cross her arms and cover her exposed self. “You are. At least, you were, until you got distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” Harry traces a single finger down Y/N’s sternum, and Y/N can’t hold back the choked gasp in her throat.

“I’m completely focused.” Harry adds on, and before Y/N can gather herself enough to give a retort, his mouth is on her breast.

With her hands immediately tangling in Harry’s long curls, Y/N lets out another whine in sync with her tugging. “Harry—!”

Although Y/N doesn’t have her eyes on the boxer, she can feel the smirk that’s on his face, and just knows that he’s adoring the way that she’s reacting to him. While there’s a small part of Y/N that’s irritated at his smugness, there’s a bigger part of her telling her to react more. Moan more. Pull his hair more. Anything to make him happy.

Y/N wants to make him happy.

While his mouth works over one breast, his hand works over the other. Harry’s ring covered fingers tweak her nipple, tugging and twisting just enough to work more whimpers out of her. When his teeth graze one nipple at the same time that he tugs on the other, Y/N drags the nails of one hand down Harry’s warm back, and it quickly becomes her turn to delight in the whine that leaves his mouth.

It almost becomes a competition then, with both of them working to see who can make the other moan more. Harry switches his mouth to Y/N’s other breast while Y/N alternates between tugging on his hair and pushing her hand down the waistband of his jeans, her fingers rubbing over his defined hip bones. The competition, however, yields no winners, and is quickly forgotten in the pursuit of pulling the other closer, touching them harder, dragging them deeper into the safe space they’ve created on Y/N’s bed.

When Harry lets Y/N’s nipple fall out of his mouth, his lips are bright red, shining with saliva almost as much as his eyes are shining with lust. Y/N quickly pulls him up to kiss her, and fingers one of his curls as she takes a shaking breath.

“I’ve never felt so good from just…” Her voice wavers for a moment, and a new wave of blush heats her cheeks. “Just…you know.”

Harry brushes a thumb over her cheekbone, delighting in the heat he feels beneath his fingers. “Yeah?” His accent is thick. “Then you’re going to love what I’m going to do next.”

Y/N knows exactly what Harry means, but a surprised gasp still leaves her as he quickly pulls himself down her body, situating himself easily between her legs. Within a moment, her pajama shorts are tossed to the side, and Harry is directing her movements.

“Bend your knees for me, love, just—yeah. Just like that. And spread them wider.” He coaxes her gently, helping to guide her body into the position he wants. The pleasure on his face at the sight of Y/N’s uncovered cunt is evident as he inhales deeply, laying his stubbled cheek onto one of her thighs as he just stares at her.

Y/N’s chest heaves as she glances down at the sight. Harry hasn’t even touched her core, and yet she’s never been more turned on in her entire life. Something about the look in his eyes as he stares at her bare cunt drives her insane, and Y/N knows that she’ll never experience this with anyone else. No one else will ever compare to Harry, and she doesn’t want them to. She just wants him.

Harry’s breath is hot on her wet core when he lets out a sigh, his hands continuously rubbing her thighs, up to her pelvis, and back down again. “Don’t even want to touch you.” He murmurs. “Just want to keep staring…”

“That—that’s sweet, but—” Y/N swallows hard as she shifts on the bed. “I need you to touch me, Harry. I need it.”

“Yeah?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Good. I need it, too.”

And then his mouth is on her, and Y/N loses herself completely.

It’s not even that Harry is so wonderfully talented at cunnilingus that drives Y/N insane—although, honestly, that’s definitely a significant factor. No, the thing that makes Y/N fall apart is how obvious it is that Harry loves doing it.

From the moment Harry’s tongue flicks over her clit, he’s making as many sounds as she is. Moans and whimpers fall out of his mouth in abundance while his lips and tongue work Y/N over, and while most of it is incoherent sounds of pleasure, Y/N can decipher the occasional phrase.

“Taste so fucking good—”

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“So bloody sweet—”

“Tug on my hair harder—”

Y/N does as he requests, gripping his curls by the roots as she pulls harder in response to his tongue dipping into her entrance. It briefly occurs to her that Harry may have a pain kink, which explains a lot about him and his career choice, she thinks, but then Harry’s fingers begin to aid his mouth, and Y/N can’t think at all.

While one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of Y/N slowly, and while his mouth is still firmly suctioned over her clit, Harry’s other hand moves up to her pelvis, pressing down on top of it to keep her in place. “You’re a squirmer, aren’t you?” Harry mutters, and the flat of his tongue licks over her clit just to prove the point.

Y/N’s body jumps again as another guttural moan leaves her lips. “Harry, I—fuck—”

Harry hums against her. “I know. You’re alright, love. You can let go.”

And when Harry sucks on her clit again, crooking his fingers inside of her, she does as he says.

Incoherent whimpers and whines fall from Y/N’s mouth as she squirms on the bed, held only in place by Harry’s firm hand on her tummy. Something in the pressure is comforting, and it’s the only thing that keeps her grounded to her bed as waves of pleasure roll over her.

Harry’s mouth moves from her clit to her thigh, pressing gentle kisses along the tender skin, which is red from his stubble scraping against it. Although his fingers have stilled inside her, he doesn’t pull them out just yet.

“I can feel you squeezing me.” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s soaked cunt to her heaving chest. “’S nice.”

Another flood of warmth passes through Y/N’s core when he says that, and she pants out what’s meant to be a laugh, but instead turns into a whimper. “Fuck, H…”

Harry’s eyes brighten from between her thighs as he presses another kiss to her thigh. “You’ve never called me that before.” He comments quietly. “I like it.”

“We’ve never done a lot of this before.” Y/N squirms again, “This is all new.”

“It’ll take some time to get used to it.” Harry presses on her tummy again, a reminder to keep still as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her. Y/N bites her lip to hold back the whine that threatens to leave her mouth, and watches with heavy eyelids as Harry sucks his own fingers into his mouth.

Despite the trembling from her orgasm, Y/N manages to sit up on her elbows to look at Harry between her legs. He seems quite content there, his black eye a stark contrast against the red of his cheeks and lips, one hand holding her as the other runs over his own lips. Y/N snaps a picture in her mind to remember later on, when Harry has someone else’s blood dripping from his fingertips. A reminder that this man lives within the fighter, underneath every wall and safeguard that he had to build to be able to protect and provide for his family.

Y/N reaches down and cups Harry’s cheek in her hand. Although there’s a tenderness growing in the pit of her stomach, the need is still there alongside it. “Lay down for me.” She murmurs, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of his black eye.

Harry doesn’t speak as he moves, and the room falls quiet again, a brief break between the symphony of pleasure that they composed only a moment earlier. He takes his place on the pillows next to Y/N, and she kisses him again before moving down the bed.

Y/N sits on her knees by his side, allowing her fingers to run over his vine tattoos and down his pelvic bones. She loves the way Harry’s breath flutters, how it hitches when she uses her nails, and delights in how a quiet moan leaves his lips when she wraps her hand around his warm cock.

He’s already so hard from eating her out, with precum dripping from his flushed tip. Y/N pumps him a few times with her hand, adjusting to his size and weight before leaning her head down and licking over his slit.

“Christ—” The word falls out of Harry’s mouth involuntarily, and his cheeks redden more at the outburst. Y/N rubs his tummy with her free hand, assuring him that it’s alright without actually saying the words.

While one of Harry’s hands is running through his own curls, he brings the other down to play with Y/N’s hair, helping to guide her mouth as she takes him more and more. Her tongue runs up and down his length, tracing the veins that throb beneath his skin, and Y/N loves how Harry tugs on her hair harder when she does it.

Y/N pulls up from his cock to give her jaw a break, continuing to pump him as she looks up with him. His arm is thrown over his eyes now, and his chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. Y/N can tell he’s close, so she slows down her movements until her hand is just lazily pumping him.

Sensing the change in momentum (and his orgasm slipping away), Harry removes his arm, looking down at Y/N with lustful eyes. “Why’d you stop?” He asks, his voice cracking in the middle of the question that he knows the answer to.

“Because I want you.” Y/N presses one last kiss to the top of his cock before letting go. She crawls up the bed again and reaches over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. Her fingers pause over the lube, remembering the last time that she had used it with Harry, and she can’t help the smile that flickers over her face as she holds up the bottle. “Remember this?”

Harry laughs breathlessly as he rubs his eyes. “Bloody hell, don’t remind me. I was a fucking mess that night.”

“A bit, but I didn’t mind.” Y/N sets the lube back in the drawer before shutting it. “That was the night that I knew I wanted you.”

“Was it?” Harry raises an eyebrow, the teasing grin back on his face as pushes his sweaty curls out of his face. “Took you that long, hm?”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she rips the condom packaging with her teeth, retrieving the latex disc from inside. She pumps Harry once more before sliding the condom on, making sure that it’s positioned correctly. “Shut up.”

“Are you really telling me to shut up while you’ve got your hand on my cock?” Harry laugh again, and while Y/N’s heart flutters at the sound, she does her best to keep her face from showing it.

“I am.” Y/N throws her leg over him, straddling his lower stomach as she leans down to kiss him. The teasing tone between them fades into one of lust and affection and need as Harry’s lips move against hers, and they’re both panting when Y/N pulls away to press her forehead against his.

“Are you comfortable like this?” She asks, worry seeping into her tone. “I know your ribs are still bothering you a bit, so I figured that this would be—”

Harry cuts her off with another kiss, this one wilder and more passionate than the last. “I’m fine, love. You don’t need to worry about me.” He says, despite the flutter in his stomach at the idea of Y/N worrying about him.

“I always worry, H.” Y/N reaches underneath to grip his cock, rubbing the tip of it over her slit as she balances herself with one hand on his pelvis. Harry’s hands grip her hips to give her more stability. “You’re so—fuck—reckless that it drives me—” Y/N gasps loudly as she begins to sink down on Harry’s cock. “Insane.”

Harry’s first instinct at the feeling of Y/N’s warm walls hugging his cock is to throw his head back, close his eyes, and let the pleasure take over. However, he uses every ounce of willpower he has to do the opposite, and thanks God that he does, because he gets to see Y/N take his cock for the first time.

Y/N’s entire body is flushed, and she knows that the heat practically rolling off of her is because of Harry. Everything that she’s feeling, from the fullness in her core that extends to her stomach, to the fluttering of her body, to the overwhelming sense of something just being right, is all because of Harry.

After giving herself a moment to adjust to his size, Y/N begins to move. Harry helps guide her hips up and down slowly, and she decides from the first moment that she’s going to take her time building up her speed. She wants this to last.

Y/N knows that Harry has the capacity to fuck her. She knows that, if she asked, he’d flip her over and bend her over the edge of the bed and fuck her as fast as he possibly could until she screamed his name. But, as much as the thought intrigues her, that’s not what she wants right now. There will be time for fucking later, she thinks. There will be time for loud moans and teeth clicking together and bruises in the shape of a lover’s hand left on thighs and necks. Right now, all she wants is to feel every inch of Harry inside of her, and to listen to his quiet yet desperate moans as she gradually increases her pace.

With one of his hands still guiding her hips, Harry gently grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her chest down to press against his. Their lips find each other quickly, kissing and nipping as Y/N feels herself beginning to fall apart.

“H.” She breathes against his lips. “I’m so close…” A choked moan stumbles out of her mouth as Harry’s hand shifts from her neck to her clit, rubbing small circles with two nimble fingers.

“I can feel it.” Harry’s breath is hot on her ear as he presses open mouthed kisses to her neck. “Can feel you squeezing me, love…being so good for me…”

Y/N bites her lip hard, almost enough to draw blood as the movement of her hips begins to stutter. “I-I want you to—Harry—” she digs her nails into his shoulder when Harry’s fingers speed up, and within a moment, another orgasm is sending shockwaves through her body.

Harry can tell the moment it happens, and a grunt leaves his throat as he begins to lift his hips to meet her movements. “That’s a good girl, love—breathe through it, that’s it…” Harry buries his face into Y/N’s neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and sweat that’s more intoxicating than anything else he’s ever smelled. “Fuck, Y/N—” His words cut off in a strangled moan as her walls squeeze his sensitive member.

Although she’s barely come down from her high, Y/N takes it upon herself to guide Harry through his orgasm like he’s done for her. One of her hands moves from his marked shoulder to his hair, pushing the sweaty curls back from his eyes in a repeated motion as she murmurs in his ear. “Let go, H…feels so good…” She can feel the jerking of his hips as he finishes inside the condom, and for a split second, she wishes that there wasn’t a barrier of latex between the two of them, despite knowing that protection is mandatory.

Y/N waits until Harry’s managed to catch his breath before she carefully climbs down from him, missing the feeling of him inside her the moment she’s empty. She lays down on her rumpled sheets next to his exhausted body, and hopes that she looks just as pretty in her post-sex haze as Harry.

Now that she’s begun to touch him, she can’t stop. Y/N’s hands continue to rub tenderly over his sweat-soaked chest, feeling the thumping beat of his heart beneath her as Harry carefully removes and ties off the used condom. Although a small grumble leaves her when he gets up to throw it away, she can’t help but smile when he returns with two glasses of water in his hands.

“Here.” Harry hands her a glass before getting back on the bed, situating his naked form back into the position he was in a moment ago. “You need to hydrate. Doctor’s orders.”

Y/N lets out a breathless laugh before taking a sip of the cool liquid. “So you’re the doctor now, huh?”

“God, no. I’m not nearly as smart as you. I’m just smart enough to remember what you tell me.” Harry gulps down his own glass, setting it on the bedside table once it’s empty. His arms then move to encircle Y/N’s body, pulling their chests together so her weight lies on top of him.

Y/N doesn’t miss the small wince that the movement causes, and she sets her own glass down before moving back to her position next to him. “You need to be more careful.” She murmurs, resuming her motion of rubbing over his chest. She’s not sure why the motion is so soothing, but she doesn’t fight it, loving the feeling of Harry’s warm skin beneath her hand. “Patrick won’t forgive me if I put his best fighter out of commission.”

“No, he probably won’t.” Harry muses, settling for wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body. “He might fire you.”

“And then who will clean up your messes?” She cocks an eyebrow teasingly. “Or clean you up, when you’re a mess?”

“I’d just have to stumble my way to your apartment in the middle of the night again.” A laugh rumbles deep in Harry’s chest. “And then after you bandage me up, we can have a quick shag. It’ll be a nice routine.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Mhmm. Nice try.”

Harry’s laughter trails off after a moment as his fingers begin to trace shapes on Y/N’s back. “Seriously, though…” His eyes grow sober. “How do you want to…handle this?”

Y/N bites her lip. “How do you want to handle this?”

A sigh leaves Harry’s lips. “I want…you. I want you to be mine. And I don’t want to hide it, but if you feel like that’s best, then…”

“It’s just—I don’t know. It’s complicated.” Y/N’s eyes focus on the G tattoo on Harry’s shoulder. She wonders if it’s for Harry’s sister, and then wonders if Harry would ever tattoo her initial on his body. “Yeah. Complicated.”

“You’re nervous about Patrick knowing.” Harry states simply.

Y/N nods. “He specifically told me not to get involved with any boxers. He said that…no good men come there.”

Harry’s hand moves over his jaw, scratching at his stubble. “Yeah. He wasn’t wrong.”

His answer bothers Y/N, and she moves to sit up more in bed, making him look her in the eyes. “You’re a good man, Harry. I know that.”

“I’m not.” Harry shakes his head once, his voice growing rougher. “I have a lot of shit that I’m…trying to work through. I’m not that good.” When he sees how Y/N’s face shifts at his words, his tone changes. “But I’d never…that has nothing to do with you. Any of my issues, my pride, my anger, anything like that, it’s all—it’s separate from you.” He cups her cheek gently. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know that, Harry.” Y/N repeats as she places her hand over his, weaving their fingers together. “I trust you. I just wish you’d trust yourself.”

“I trust myself more when I’m with you.” Harry admits. “I’ve never really felt…regret for what I’ve done. The ring is an equal playing field, right? But that night when you said you thought I was too harsh…”

Y/N bites her lip. “Did that bother you?”

“I was worried I scared you off.” His eyes close for a moment as he remembers. “I thought…I don’t know. I thought you already disliked me just for being a boxer, and now I’m the boxer that breaks bones, and there’s no way you’d ever want to be around me.”

“I probably shouldn’t want it.” Y/N admits. “When you phrase it like that. But I’ve told you before…you’re different when you’re with me.”

“Only with you. Only for you.” Harry’s voice grows tender as he holds her close to him. “So if you want to keep it private, I understand. I just want you to be mine.”

Y/N’s finger brushes over one of Harry’s rings. It’s a beautifully sculpted silver rose, and there’s something so wonderful to her in how Harry chooses to wear flowers on the hands that have done so much damage.

She twists the ring around his finger before pulling it off. It’s too big to fit on her ring or middle finger, so after a moment of consideration, she slips it onto her thumb. “Then I’m yours.”

Harry’s eyes darken at the sight of Y/N with his ring on her finger. “Yeah. You’re mine.”

The feeling of Harry’s ring on her finger makes Y/N feel so complete, and she wants to share it with him, so she ignores Harry’s whine of protest as she climbs out of bed to walk to her dresser. A little ceramic dish with her jewelry in it sits on top, and she sorts through the rings and bracelets before setting on something that he can wear while in the ring. She cups it in her palms before returning to bed, an excited but shy smile on her face.

“Here.” She places it in Harry’s hand. “You can put this on your chain with your cross.”

The silver caduceus looks small in Harry’s palm, and he brings it closer to his eyes to examine it. “What is it?”

“It’s a caduceus. It’s the medical symbol, the one I wear on my jacket to the ring.” Y/N explains, her cheeks reddening at her words. “It’s from Greek mythology, but doctors adopted it, and—yeah. Just something to show that…you’re mine, too.”

A small smile plays on the corner of Harry’s lips. “Will you put it on me?”

Y/N nods, and although her fingers are shaking a bit, she manages to undo the clasp on Harry’s chain, and slips the pendant on before refastening it around his neck. She settles the caduceus and cross pendants on his chest, just between his two swallow tattoos.

“It looks pretty on you.” She murmurs, her hand brushing down his abdomen. “Really nice.”

“It’ll be my good luck charm in the ring.” Harry brings her hand to his mouth, kissing over the rose ring. “I won’t take it off, as long as you don’t take my ring off. Deal?”

“Deal.” Y/N lays her head back down on Harry’s chest. “Now get some sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

A playful groan falls out of Harry’s mouth. “Is that going to be a new thing? Are you going to get me to do everything by saying it’s doctor’s orders?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you took better care of yourself.” Y/N matches his playful tone. “But we both know that you have a tendency to ignore your instincts—”

“My instincts are good!”

“Like your instinct to fight with a sprained hand was good?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches. “Fine. Let’s go to sleep.”

Sunlight is beginning to spill through the curtains as Harry closes his eyes, bathing his entire face in a golden glow. His pale skin glows under the light, save for the purplish bruise that rings one of his eyes. Y/N presses a gentle kiss to the darkened area before settling herself down in Harry’s arms.

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deanstead · 3 years

Text

Scared The Hell Out Of Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request by @deandaydreaming: Can I pleaaase request an angsty dean x reader one shot where they get separated during a hunt and when they finally find each other she gets stabbed in the back (just like what happened to Sam) and she's bleeding so much and he nearly loses her...can you pleaaase include all the details, that makes it easier to imagine the story! Thank you so much! Love you 💚

Warnings: mentions of injury/blood, angst, fluff

A/N: Hope you like how this turned out and what I did with it! Always love writing about protective dean so thank you for the request!! As always would appreciate to hear what you guys think so hit up my ask/replies or even tags when you reblog! Thanks for all the love!

---

The door creaked as you pushed it open with one foot.

Being alone in a potentially haunted abandoned building was not what you had in mind when you had agreed with Sam that three of you should take on this case.

You’d entered the building with Sam and Dean but had lost them in the labyrinth of a building about half an hour ago. Your cell wasn’t working either, probably because the spirit or spirits were interfering with the signal.

You raised your gun as you walked out of the room, hesitating a little before letting your voice travel a little tentatively down the corridor. “Dean?”

You were met with silence.

You gritted your teeth but treaded carefully, swiveling your head this way and that, straining your ears to hear the sound of footsteps.

That’s when you felt it, a slight gust of wind before the hairs on the back of your neck rose.

You spun around, finding yourself facing the spirit. You gave a yelp of surprise, but before you could even pull the trigger, you felt it throw you backwards.

You groaned as you felt yourself slam against the wall, the force of it knocking the breath out of you and you sank to the ground. You didn’t have time to hesitate. Staring at the spirit that was now holding a knife, you pulled your gun upwards and let out a shot, the salt pellet shooting out of your gun.

---

Dean’s head snapped up as he heard a gunshot ring out.

“Y/N.” He muttered as he ran towards the sound.

“Dean, wait!” Sam called and Dean spun around. “I’ll go down to the basement. If I’m right, I might be able to find the bones there.”

Dean hesitated.

“I’ll be fine.” Sam said, turning away. “Find her.” Sam stressed, running in the opposite direction.

Dean started running. He’d been looking for you since you had been separated. He didn’t like not knowing where you were, especially in the middle of a hunt – a hunt for a violent spirit that was taking place in a huge abandoned building.

Dean glanced at his phone, the no signal sign still flashing. Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace, moving towards where he thought the gunshot had come from, hoping he was running in the right direction.

---

You groaned, your shoulder throbbing from the impact with the wall.

“Damn spirits.” You muttered, clambering to your feet and looking around again. You really hated hunting spirits, they were nasty and unless you knew where their remains were, it was almost impossible to fight them.

You hated spirits. But even more than that, you hated spirits that could freaking hold weapons.

The sound of footsteps made you turn your head again. Your gun still held protectively out in front of you as it got nearer and nearer.

“Dean.” You exhaled as you saw your favourite person in the world round the corner.

Dean’s expression echoed your feeling of relief – glad that he was safe and also feeling much better just being able to see his face again.

“Y/N.” Dean’s relief could be heard in his voice as he moved towards you, smiling, letting his hand which was gripping his gun fall to his side.

It happened in an instant. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you saw Dean’s expression change. Then, you felt it – a sharp pain in your lower back as you felt the knife pierce your skin. You let out a strangled cry as you felt the knife twist.

“No! Y/N!” Dean yelled, pulling out his gun to shoot, aiming straight for the spirit that was behind you. Before he could even pull the trigger, the spirit gave a cry as it went out in flames. Sam had done it, he’d found the remains, salted and burned it. Just a few seconds too late

“Y/N!” Dean sprinted to you as you fell to your knees. It felt like your whole life force was being sucked out of you, you could almost feel the energy seeping out of you bit by bit.

Dean closed the gap between you, sliding the last few inches on his knees, taking you by your shoulders the moment you were within reach.

“D…”

“No, no, no…” Dean muttered, pulling you towards him. Your face fit snugly into his shoulder like it always did but this time, Dean didn’t like how motionless you were. He reached his hand around to your back, finding the penetration wound from the spirit’s attack, pressing his hand against it.

When Dean pulled away, his hand was stained with blood. Your blood. Enough blood that Dean was really worried. It didn’t look like something a little patching up would fix. Dean pressed down on your wound again.

Dean pulled you upwards. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He spoke, putting his free hand to your face.

Your eyes were fluttering shut. “No, no, sweetheart please.” Dean whispered. “Baby, don’t give up on me.”

“Dean, I can’t…” You muttered.

“No, no. Don’t give up on me, honey. You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” Dean pleaded.

“Y/N?” Dean felt your body go limp in his arms.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, his voice echoing against the walls.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through Dean’s panic. He hadn’t even heard his brother’s footsteps. “Oh god.” Sam whispered.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, pulling Dean out of his paralyzing fear. “We have to get her out of here. I’ll get the car, come on.”

Dean pulled himself up, scooping your motionless body into his arms, one of his hands still pressed onto your back.

The empty building felt even larger than it had felt just now. Dean picked up his pace as quick as he could with you in his arms, running after Sam.

Dean held you close to him, laying you into the Impala and climbing into the backseat with you as Sam jumped into the car and started the engine.

Laying your head gently on his lap, Dean quickly shed his jacket, rolling it up into a ball and pushing it under you, pressing it against the wound.

“Sam, faster.” Dean said through gritted teeth as he looked down at you.

“You hang in there, you hear me?” Dean whispered, as Sam pressed harder on the accelerator, speeding towards the hospital.

---

Sam pulled up the hospital as Dean scrambled out, scooping you back into his arms and onto a stretcher the nurses had brought out.

Dean followed close behind as the nurses pushed you in, a doctor catching up to them and already starting to examine you.

“We have to take her into surgery.” The words echoed in Dean’s head while he stood frozen, staring past the doctor, his eyes focused on you lying motionless in the treatment room of the emergency department.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice sounded from next to Dean, causing Dean to pull his eyes away from you for just a moment, nodding to the doctor.

It was only after you were wheeled into surgery that Dean noticed his hands were still shaking.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder but he shrugged it off, choosing to pace up and down in the waiting room, looking down at his hands that were still stained with your blood. When Sam tried to coax him into washing off the blood, Dean gave his brother a furious look. “I’m not going anywhere.” Dean snapped.

It felt like hours before the surgeon finally stepped out.

“The injury was severe and she lost a lot of blood. The penetration nicked some of her internal organs and we found a massive internal bleed as well.” The doctor said.

Dean didn’t say anything, staring straight at the doctor.

“It wasn’t easy, but we managed to control the bleeding and repaired it. If you had come in any later, we might have lost her.” The doctor finally said, looking from Dean to Sam.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Sam let out a sigh of relief as well.

“Can we see her?” Dean asked, keeping his voice steady.

The doctor nodded, “We’ll transfer her to recovery in a while. A nurse will be by to get you.”

“Thanks Doctor.” Sam responded.

---

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes a few hours later was Dean’s face hovering above yours.

“Sight for sore… everything.” You muttered.

Dean sighed.

“You scared the hell out of me.” Dean said. You could see the thin stress lines in his forehead, the way his green eyes watched you carefully, as if afraid you would slip past him again.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dean’s eyebrows twitched a little before he shook his head. “I could hear you, Dean.” You whispered. “I could hear you calling me, talking to me… I just couldn’t answer you. I couldn’t…” You paused. “That was scary as hell.”

Dean sighed, scooting a little closer to you. “You’re telling me. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.” You whispered again.

Instead of answering you, Dean bent towards you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before putting an arm around you, tucking you tightly into him as you closed your eyes, once again enveloped by the feeling of safety of Dean’s mere presence.

---

DEAN WINCHESTER TAGLIST

@akshi8278 | @mrspeacem1nusone | @starlight-halstead

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mettlekettle · 3 years

Text

Killer- Harry Styles x fem!reader

hii everyone!!! it feels like ive been gone for so long. I have so many wips but no motivation to finish them lol. new harry photos inspired me today bc i absolutely want harry to rail me while covered in blood,,, anywhoooo please reblog!!!!! it motivates me so much when i get love on my writing!!!

read my other fics if you want!!!

masterlist

warnings: daddy kink, sub y/n, dom harry, fake blood, throat fucking and covid doesn’t exist bc fuck that <3

word count: 2.5k

“Cut!” Olivia yells ending the intense scene Harry was filming. “Take a little break H, then we’ll do the next scene with the blood”. Harry sighs wiping his forehead while trying not to mess up the carefully placed fake blood. He walks to the snack table, picking up a tiny water bottle and drinking it quickly.

“Hey killer,” he hears from beside him, looking to see his girlfriend of two years. She’s looking up at him with a soft smirk on her pretty face. She was bored at home, and she thought that Harry would appreciate her company at work for a little bit. What she wasn’t expecting was Harry to be covered in blood, wielding a knife and shouting like Billy from Scream, her first celebrity crush. Call her sadistic, but there was just something about scary hot men, covered in blood that just riled her up.

“Baby! What are yeh doin’ here?” he gasps.

“Oh you know, just came to visit my favorite movie star,” y/n murmurs leaning up to kiss his cheek before looking behind him, “ooh here she is now! Hi Florence!” Harry groans, pouting down at the girl as she pulls his co-star into a big hug.

“Why yeh gotta steal my girl every time she comes to set Flo,” he asks rhetorically, making a large mistake in the process. y/n and Florence share a mischievous look before bursting out into song.

“Everybody wanna steal my girl! Everybody wanna take her heart away! Couple people in the whole wide world! Find another cuz’ she belongs to me!” Harry groans again, before covering her mouth with his hand. y/n licks his palm and he pulls away quickly. Florence starts up a conversation with an extra, leaving the couple to themselves.

“You’re gross,” he says pointedly before grabbing her and wrapping his arms around his girl.

“And you’re hot.” y/n returns with the same tone. Harry pulls away from the hug, raising his eyebrows at the girl. “How do you look so good covered in fake blood?”

“Only you would think I look good covered in fake blood, my love,” he humours. y/n pouts shaking her head softly.

“No, no I think your fans would agree with me on this one. How much longer do you have before you need to be out there again? Wanna take me to your trailer?” she speaks smiling up at him. y/n knows how to get Harry riled up, batting her eyelashes always works when she wants him, and pretending to be innocent despite how much of a little tease she is. y/n was now grateful for the pretty floral dress she chose today, which was one that Harry, on many occasions, told her drove him crazy. The combination of his messy hair, the fake blood splattered across his body and watching him act scary and tough during the scene when she first arrived made her want him even more than she already did. y/n wanted him rough and mean. She wanted her daddy.

“You little minx,” Harry smiles down at her, pulling her hips towards him.

“I have no idea what you mean by that H,” she giggles wrapping her arms around his neck.

“C’mon bunny, let's see how long I have to take care of my girl,” he pulls her along by her hand, finding the assistant director, and asking her how long until they start filming again.

“We’re having a few technical difficulties, so you’ll have about an hour,” she pauses, looking at the girl partially hidden behind Harry, “but if your hair and makeup gets messed up, you need to come back thirty minutes earlier so that it can get fixed”. Harry chuckles while y/n hides behind him more. Shy little thing she is, always gets embarrassed when people know things about their sex life. He turns them around and begins to walk to his trailer, pulling open the door, he leads her into the small area. Once the door is closed, y/n immediately drops to her knees tugging on his trousers. Harry quickly grabs a hold of her wrists.

“Wanna suck me off angel? What about you?” he questions. She whines, pulling her wrists out of his grip and unzipping his pants. She nods murmuring a small “you first” before taking his length out, pushing his pants down his legs. Harry’s already hard. How could he not be when his love wore his favorite dress and teased him just the way she knows drives him wild.

“S’pretty” y/n giggles up at him, and that’s how he can tell she’s feeling very submissive today.

“Yeah bunny? Like daddy’s cock?” Harry questions again, gathering her hair in his hands. y/n nods in response, leaning forward to lick the tip. Harry tuts softly, tugging her head away from him. “Use your words, I won’t repeat myself.” he growls, his accent thick and voice stern.

“Sorry daddy, love your cock,” y/n hums. Harry allows her mouth to get close to him once again, not releasing his grip on her hair completely. She presses a few soft kisses to the vein running up his length before taking it in his mouth. The sweet little thing bobs her head up and down, using her hand to stroke the part she can't reach. Harry’s body is instantly wracked in pleasure, his stomach tensing up and his head thrown back as y/n sucks him exactly how he likes it.

“Pretty girl,” he moans, “doin’ so good for me, always so fuckin’ good for me darling”. y/n knew she was dripping, his dominant persona never failed to get her going. She pressed her thighs together and wiggled her hips slightly, thanking whoever was up there that Harry was feeling too good to notice because she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to pull her over his lap and spank her till she was crying and her bum was sore for getting off without permission. Pulling off his cock and beginning to stroke it with both her hands is what causes Harry to look back down at the girl. “s’wrong ?” he speaks.

“Fuck my throat please?” her voice is quiet and her eyes are glossy.

“Yeh lost your voice last time baby, were sore f’days. Don’t wanna hurt you again,” Harry reasons. The pout on her spit covered lips grows, looking up at him with her glistening eyes.

“but I liked it last time, daddy. Pleaaaase?” she begs. She was being a brat, but he didn’t wanna punish her for lack of time. Harry’s mind was racing.

“God you’re so fucking cute. If it gets to be too much you tap my thigh three times? Okay bunny? You gotta Promise me,” he gives in. y/n bounces a little on her knees excitedly.

“Promise daddy, we’ll stop if it's too much,” she agrees, shifting forward on her knees greedily opening her mouth. Harry couldn't help himself, moving forward himself he grips her hair, tilting her head back at the same time.

“Such a greedy little girl aren’t yeh?” he hums, “would let me do anything to you”. y/n nods as much as she can with his tight grip in her hair. Harry opens his mouth again, spitting directly onto her tongue. “Swallow.” he watches y/n’s throat bob and then reopens her mouth, showing him that she did in fact swallow it all. “Good girl,” he praises, “ready?”

She nods excitedly. Harry uses his grip on her hair to guide his cock into her mouth. As he pushes himself further into her throat he hears her gag, he pulls out, letting her breath for a moment. y/n breathes deeply a few times before opening her mouth again, letting him re-enter. Harry begins to thrust his hips, a shallow pattern interrupted by the wet sounds of y/n’s throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off her this time, wanting to watch her for two reasons: it was so fucking hot, and to make sure she’s okay. Sometimes his angel had the habit of pushing herself too far when it comes to Harry’s pleasure. He needed to make sure she wasn’t in any unbearable pain because of how big he was. As Harry’s thrusts became quicker, y/n let out some whimpers of her own, telling Harry that she was pressing her thighs together, hoping to relieve some pressure.

“Fuck, bunny, m’so close,” he groans. y/n moves her hand to cup his balls, fondling them how she knows he likes. With one last thrust, Harry pulls out, jerking himself over y/n’s tongue, cumming in thick ropes. y/n envelopes his head in her mouth again, draining him completely. When she pulls away a string of spit connects her lips to the tip of Harry’s cock, making it twitch again. He moves his hand to her face to break the string, rubbing his thumb over her wet lips as he once again watches her swallow. Harry pulls his pants up his thighs, buttoning them and redoing the belt given to him by the costume specialist on set. He took a seat on the couch, adjusting himself before patting his thigh to signal to the dazed out girl that he wanted her near.

“C’mon baby,” he ordered. y/n stands on shaky legs, wobbling over to her boyfriend, sitting back on the couch, arms spread over the back. God her daddy is so hot. She takes a seat on his lap, placing her hands onto his shoulders. The white button down he was wearing had red blood spatter, just like his face. The thought of Harry making someone bleed, made her even more wet, holy, she’s gross. Why does this turn her on?

“Daddy,” she whimpers, grinding her clothed center against his crotch. Harry almost allows her to continue her endeavor before he remembers his probably expensive costume trousers.

“Can’t make a mess of daddy’s clothes angel,” he moves his hand to her panties, feeling that she soaked through the undergarment, “soakin’ wet f’me aren’t yeh sweetheart?”

“All f’you daddy,” y/n moans. Harry moves y/n so she’s laying down on the couch. Pushing her dress over her hips and he feels himself get slightly hard again when he sees the pink, cherry covered panties that y/n chose for today.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pulling them down her thighs, leaving a seductive kiss to the smooth skin of her knee.

“Please,” she keens, desperately bucking her hips as Harry’s hands move over her hips.

“Please what angel? Gotta ask for it bunny,” he speaks lowly, making sure she hangs onto every word.

“Please, want your fingers H,” y/n begs. Harry smirks at the girl. Pulling off the fake wedding band that was used for filming. Something felt wrong about fucking the girl he was one day going to marry with a wedding ring on his hand. He placed the ring in his pocket before rubbing his fingers over her sopping wet cunt. Her hips bucked into his hand. After playing with her swollen clit for a moment he slipped a finger into her tight hole.

“Always so tight sweet girl,” he growled. Pumping his long finger in and out of her, after he felt that she was loose enough he slipped another one inside her. Hearing her whines get louder, leaned close, pressing his lips to hers. When he began to rub his thumb over her clit along with fucking her with his fingers, she let out a sound that was between a scream and a squeal. Covering her mouth with his other hand he spoke into her ear gruffly, “shh bunny, just take it. Be a good girl for me”. He feels her hips buck suddenly, feeling her clench around him. “Cum f’me pet, soak my hand,” he grunted. y/n tried to close her legs but Harry was having none of it, he pried her legs open as she reached her high.

“Feels so good daddy, please don’t stop. Please please please ngh!” she rambled, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Harry smiled, continuing to work y/n through her orgasm. He only removed his thumb from her clit when she started writhing away from him. Harry lifted her onto his chest, laying down on the couch. He lifted the patterned blanket off the back of the couch, placing it over the pair.

“Thank you,” she hummed softly into his neck. Harry ran his hand up her back, pressing a few kisses to her forehead. Her favorite form of aftercare has always been a good cuddle. Sometimes she likes a bath and then for Harry to brush her hair, but that was only when they had a very rough session where Harry threw a little bit of name calling in there. She liked when he was rough with her but sometimes her dazed out brain would really think that daddy thought she was just a slut. Harry always worked quickly to reassure his pretty girl that she was absolutely everything to him and help draw her out of her subspace.

“Have to go back soon,” he sighs

“Mmm don’t goooooo,” she groaned, trying to wiggle closer to him.

“Can come back with me baby,” he responds.

“I look like a mess H,” she complains. She sat up taking the small compact mirror of her bag on the floor, pulling out a makeup wipe as well. y/n wiped the mascara stains on her cheeks.

“You look like a goddess,” he says.

“Sure killer,” she hums. y/n picks her panties off the floor, sliding them back up her legs. Harry stands as well, moving to look in the mirror and see if he messed anything else.

“What’re yeh doin for the rest of the day angel?” he speaks softly, watching his girlfriend put herself together again. Her legs were still a bit shaky so Harry walked to the small fridge in the corner, pulling out a small bottle of iced tea. He pops the bottle open before handing it to her.

“Thanks bub, uh, I think I might go home and have a nap, miss you a bunch, take naughty photos and send them to you, you know. The usual,” she hums, taking a sip of the sugary drink.

“My little minx hmm?” he asks, placing his hands on her face. y/n threw arms around her neck, pressing a soft kiss to the mole beside his mouth. She brushes her thumb over the blood on his cheek.

“My scary man. I love you,” she muses.

“Love yeh too, bunny”.

#harry styles #one direction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #smut #dom harry styles #daddy harry styles

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Pain Is For The Living [Javier Peña x F!Reader] - Chapter 4 [SMUT]

Summary: Sex work in the heat of 1980’s Colombia was never going to be a walk in the park. Especially not when you had a crush on your number one client, agent Javier Peña. You’d been warned about him and his reputation, but after one very specific incident that would change your life forever, you find yourself attached to him like never before and you’d do anything to make him yours. Even if it means endangering your own life.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT: fingering, cunnigless, female receiving oral, (loss of virginity kind of), so much sexual tension. And more feelings! Unrequited love... or is it?

Word count: 3300

Pain Is For The Living Masterlist

* Reblogs appreciated and my ko-fi is linked in my bio if you wish to support my writing!

Neither you or Javier could sleep that night. At least, not at first. Javier’s bedroom was, although decently sized, pretty empty. You figured he wasn’t the type of guy to keep momentums anyway. His closet was small and you imagined the rainbow array of shirts that were neatly hung up, one-by-one. Staring at the ceiling at two in the morning doing your damn hardest not to think about what happened back at the brothel was proving to be very, very difficult, and you’d do anything to catch a distraction.

Sleeping in his bed though, meant you could seize the perfect opportunity to get to know him better without exactly confronting him. Everything in Javi’s room was brown, an ugly shade of brown too. He clearly didn’t care much for interior design, although you did find it odd that his front room was majorly decked out in nice furniture, and yet every other room in his small apartment felt… empty. Rolling over, you quietly opened the drawer on his nightstand. It was hard to see, being that all the lights were out and it was the middle of the night, but you could just about make out the contents. Half a pack of cigarettes, two lighters, many many condoms (which was strange since Javi almost always insisted that he go bareback whenever you two were intimate), sleeping pills and a passport.

Javier couldn’t sleep either, even though he’d drunkenly fallen asleep on that couch plenty of times. He was thinking of you; not only replaying the fact he said your name while he was fucking Nina, but also the fact that you wanted to kiss him. And honestly? He wanted to kiss you too. Javier balled his hand into a fist as he felt his chest tighten. He seriously wanted to kiss you too.

His thought process halted when he heard you shuffling down the hallway, your hesitant footsteps tip-toeing into the living room and turning on one of the amber colored lamps. Your shy frame was highlighted perfectly in the shadows and Javier simply couldn’t take his eyes off you, strictly in awe of your beauty.

“Javi?” you asked, tiredly rubbing your eyes. You had spotted him lounging on the couch, shirtless with the same crocheted blanket you had slept in, now draped across his lower half.

“Hermosa,” his voice was rich and rasp. “You’re still awake.” the statement came out as an observation, more so than a question.

You fumbled a little with your words before eventually sighing and nodding your head. “Yeah.”

“Is my bed not comfortable enough?” Javier enquired, leaning over to the coffee table and turning on another lamp, now illuminating his side of the room.

You chuckled lightly. “A lot more comfortable than the beds back at the brothel, that’s for sure.” you replied, and Javier nodded knowingly.

“Something on your mind?” Javier prodded further.

Yeah, him.

When you didn’t reply, Javier extended his arm and ushered you over. You sat down next to him, on the edge of his sofa, and remained silent. But the way you could feel his chocolate coloured eyes bore into you was enough to create a cluster of nervous butterflies in the pit of your stomach. He must’ve been up for a while, because the entire atmosphere stunk of tobacco. It wasn’t bad though, it was just… Javi. His honeyed voice interrupted the silence.

“I’m sorry about earlier, about the uh-- the whole kiss thing.” He said, shuffling upwards awkwardly, his hand remaining clutched on the crocheted blanket.

“Pay it no mind,” You replied maybe a little too quickly. You’d rather just forget about the incident, and not come to terms with just how upset his rejection had made you. “It’s um…” you looked up at the ceiling and then back at Javier. “...hard, to stay distracted, when I’m alone. I was fine with Connie and Steve. I was fine with you. But… sleeping alone is hard.”

Javier nodded understandingly. “I know how it feels to need a bed warmer, believe me,”

You came to the sudden conclusion that being a ‘bed warmer’ was all you ever were to Javier, no matter how much more you yearned for. That’s all you’d ever be.

“Although I suppose that’s not exactly what you meant,” Javier continued. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you replied quietly. “I mean guys come to me all the time for that quick release. To feel less lonely. But I’ve never really sought out the same thing, you know?”

“Never?” Javier asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Not even a hook-up?”

You shook your head and scratched the back of your neck. “I uh-- I was a virgin before I moved to Colombia,” you laughed wearily.

Javier’s reaction was priceless. His eyes became apologetic and his jaw loosened. “You haven’t been here long,” he grumbled. “Tell me, have you only slept with the guys from the brothel?”

You looked down at your hands feeling slightly ashamed and nodded your head. Javier’s hand found your chin and he tilted it upwards, forcing your gaze to lock with his.

“I’m sorry.” he muttered.

You furrowed your eyebrows together in bewilderment. “Sorry for what? Working here was my choice.”

“No,” Javi said quickly, placing a hand over your thigh, his dark eyes not diverting from your face once. “I know what the guys are like there,” Javier said, shaking his head. “Hell, I know what I’m like. I had no idea…” Javier paused for a moment before continuing. “Was-- was I your first?”

You smiled at him and shook your head ‘no’, and Javier looked somewhat relieved.

“Tell me cariño, do they make you feel good?”

You thought about the question but practically knew the answer immediately. No. Because sex at the brothel was never for pleasure, it was for rent money. It was to put food on your table and to wear clothes that fit.

“Only you Javi,” you replied softly, your hand finding his as you began to trace circles into his skin. “Only you have made me cum.” you confessed.

It wasn’t necessarily anything he’d done, because you’d only ever given Javier blowjobs and let him put it in you. It was more so the fact you were in his personal company, and you were so deeply attracted to him.

Javier chuckled dryly and shook his head. “That can’t be true hermosa,” he sighed. “I’ve been so selfish with you. If I had known, I would’ve fucked you real good. I would’ve made it good for you. I mean it.”

He sounded mad at himself, even though there was truly no way he could understand your circumstances.

“I can make you feel good. I can… distract you, if that’s really what you need,” he promised. “Just say the word.”

His voice had lowered considerably, and his words alone were enough to create a pool of arousal between your thighs. You were almost scared to think about the wet patch you’d leave on the sofa beneath you as his large hand travelled up your thigh and underneath his shirt that he’d given you to wear.

“Please.” you nodded breathlessly as Javier fiddled with the hem.

“Tell me you want it.” he urged as he tugged at the bottom button.

You swallowed thickly and nodded your head harder this time. “I want it, Javi. Please. I want you.”

“Lay back,” Javier ordered, pushing you into the sofa where he had originally been laying.

Your skin flushed with heat as Javier carefully opened your legs and positioned his head in between your soft thighs. “Your cunt looks so sweet,” Javier praised, a throaty moan escaping his lips as he rubbed his thumb between your soft wet folds. “Have you ever let a man taste you before?”

“No,” you squeaked as his thumb found your clit. He rubbed small and tight circles over your bundle of nerves, but his movements were achingly slow. “No man has wanted to.”

Javier huffed. “That’s not true, I promise,” he replied, tapping his thumb over your clit. You gasped longingly, your entire body tensing up. He drew back from you and looked at you, wanting to make sure that you were okay. He could see the way your nipples had hardened and were poking through the shirt he had given you, and it made his cock twitch with excitement underneath the blanket. “Hey pretty girl, relax. I need you to relax.”

You whimpered understandingly and took a deep breath before closing your eyes.

“Look how wet you are.” Javier said, leaning back down and licking his lips. The richness in his voice alone spread through your body like wildfire. He pressed a kiss into your mound, his mustache tickling your skin before lowering his head even further down. The curve of his nose bumped against your clit and you felt yourself clench around nothing, needing him so desperately.

Then, without warning, Javier slid his tongue in between your wet folds, gliding it up and down. Obscene wet sounds filled the room and if you weren’t already seeing stars, you might have even been slightly embarrassed. Your hands, that were once clenched around the curve of a cushion, had instinctively wormed their way into Javier’s chocolate coloured hair.

Once Javier had you spread open, his tongue became more dexterous and began to flick over your clit; up and down, up and down. He was skillful, to say the least. Occasionally though, he’d stop his movements, bringing you down from your high, only to start again. He was teasing you so much, but he was completely right. No man had ever made you feel this good. No man had ever cared about your own pleasure, other than Javier of course. His lips latched onto your sweet spot and he began to suck on it longingly, groaning wantonly against you and pushing vibrations through your core.

“Taste so fucking good, fuck,” Javier cursed, pulling off your cunt with a pop as he regained his breath. “Better than I imagined.”

And just like that… the nervous butterflies came fluttering back. He’d imagined this.

Javier found the way you shivered adorable and it only spurred him on, wanting nothing more than to bring you to the greatest heights of your pleasure. Your perfect sweetness glossed over his lips as he lapped your wetness up like a starved man, and your writhing beneath him didn’t stop once. You tugged on his hair as you felt your climax build up.

Recognising that you were close, Javier, pushed two of his fingers inside of you, scissoring them and stretching you open. Finally you could clench around something. His mouth didn’t stop though, and his tongue became faster and faster as he pumped his fingers inside of you.

Javier curled his fingers and they pushed against your special spot, your body involuntarily arching with pleasure and a long moan of his name leaving your lips.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?” Javier asked, a wicked smile crossing his lips. “Right there huh? You like that?”

You couldn’t even fathom words, only his name leaving your lips in the form of a chant as he continued his movements. You weren’t going to last, and he knew it too. In fact, Javier was too busy focusing on giving you pleasure, he hadn’t even realised the way his cock was leaking too, desperate for some kind of attention.

It was incredibly erotic, every time you looked down and saw Javier’s fingers get lost inside of you as he ravished your cunt. He was so good at it, you had no doubt he’d done it a million times before. One last thrust of his two fingers sent you into a frenzy as your cunt clenched around his fingers, and you came undone.

You were a heaving, gasping mess, and Javier had left you unlike anyone had ever left you before. As he pulled his hand away from you, your cunt continued to clench around nothing and your thighs were twitching as the pleasure raced through your veins.

Javier’s fingers shone with your wet arousal and he brought them up to your own lips. “Look at the mess you made. Such a delicious mess,” he cooed. “Taste.”

You parted your lips and sucked your arousal from his fingers. “How was that, hm?”

You nodded wordlessly. “Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your eyes feeling heavy with post coital exhaustion. “Let me-- let me return the favour.”

“No sweet girl,” Javier said. “You need to rest.”

The agent pushed your hair out of your face and— fuck, he wanted to kiss you so bad. He wanted to kiss your pretty, swollen lips. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Kissing you might only confirm these feelings he had been trying to push away. “Sleep tight hermosa.”

You mumbled something incoherent before you fell fast asleep, your smile not fading away once. Javier removed his blanket and wrapped it over your body. That was when he realised he’d came too. He hadn’t even done anything… nothing to pleasure himself, but he’d come just from pleasuring you. That had never happened before.

He cursed to himself, reaching for the box of tissues that he kept on the coffee table and wiped himself down. Padding into the kitchen, Javier made you a glass of water and set it down next to you, just in case you woke up thirsty during the night.

He remembered your words. ‘Sleeping alone is hard.’

Javier brought his pillows, duvet and blankets from his bedroom and set them down on the floor so he was laying next to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to wake up alone and be in a panic. He considered just lifting you up and taking you to his own bed, that way he wouldn’t have to take the floor, but he just didn’t want to risk waking you.

Javier barely slept that night, his mind active and his thoughts racing a million times an hour. Did he regret what just happened? No, absolutely not. He’d do it a million times over. But that didn’t make it right. Sure, he’d slept with his informants many times but you were different. He already had a past relationship with you, he already knew you. And he felt like he had some kind of responsibility for you. Romantic relationships never ended well for Javier, so he could only hope that whatever you and him had going on, would remain strictly sexual. No feelings. There was no need for feelings. No time for relationships in the middle of this mess.

———

Javier really didn’t want to wake you, but he had to go to work, and he wasn’t willing to leave you home alone. Besides, you were his informant. And the DEA needed information.

When you woke up, you were fine, much to both yours and Javier’s surprise. The bliss from the night before still hadn’t escaped your memory, and had set you on course for a pretty good day ahead. Javier couldn’t really cook (minus paella), and so you both swallowed down some dry toast and you finished your glass of water.

Javier got a phone call just before the both of you were about to leave. It was brief, and ended just as you threw over one of his denim jackets that he’d loaned you. “DEA sent a couple of guys over to your place to pick up your possessions. You’ll be able to get changed once we arrive at the office.”

You nod your head gratefully, but then stop as Javier heads out the front door. “Wait, I didn’t give anyone my key.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Javier replied. “They will have found another way in.”

You weren’t sure how much you liked the idea of a bunch of strange cops breaking into your tiny apartment but nonetheless, you were just glad to have fresh and clean clothes. Not that you minded living in Javier’s pale yellow button down, but if you were going to be visiting DEA offices and God knows where else, you at least wanted to be dressed appropriately.

Javier told you to wait in the car while he nipped inside to grab your clothes. He handed the duffel bag to you through the car window and waited for you to get changed so the both of you could walk into the office together.

His office was bigger than you imagined, and spacious too. Despite it being pretty early in the morning, all the desks were filled and it seemed like the agents were hard at work.

“This is Luisa,” Javier pointed at the receptionist. “This is where we clock in and out of work. If we ever go out on impulse stake-outs or find the need to follow a lead, we gotta sign our name. It’s dumb, really.”

“Only Agent Peña never signs his name. Neither does Agent Murphy. Both of ‘em are as bad as each other.” Luisa laughed.

Javier rolled his eyes. “Pipe down Luisa,” he replied jokingly, his eyes darting to her hands. “Is that a new nail colour? Hmph, suits you.” he charmed before whisking you to the next station.

“There is Messina’s office,” Javier pointed through a narrow hallway towards an opaque glass door at the very end. “She thinks she runs the place but she’s only just transferred here.”

“Here is where I work,” Javier sighed, tapping his finger on a desk which was stacked high with paperwork. The tapping had clearly alerted the blonde haired man, who you remembered from yesterday. “And this is my partner Steve, sleeping on duty.” Javier tsked and Steve’s tired frown only deepened.

“Olivia been keepin’ us up all night,'' Steve groaned before standing up and shaking your hand. “Nice to see you here,” he said politely. “Has Javier given you a tour of the place?”

You nodded and smiled, already not hating the environment.

“Yeah. Everyone seems nice.”

You must’ve spoken too soon because in that very moment, none other than CIA Agent Bill Stechner came waltzing over, his lips curled into a smug grin.

“Well well well,” he observed, looking you up and down with judgement in his blue eyes. “What do we have here?”

Before you could reply, the man turned to Javier. “Peña, you know we don’t usually allow whores to wander the office.”

You flinched at his comment, your eyes narrowing at the unwarranted attack. Javier though, saw red, his own eyes darting up to look at Bill.

“She’s my informant.” Javier snapped back, trying his damn hardest to keep it together.

“I know who she is,” Bill seethed.

“Get the fuck outta here, Bill.” Steve sighed, standing up, his chair scraping against the floor.

Bill raised both of his hands defensively, almost as if he had done nothing wrong, and laughed darkly. With an innocent shrug of his shoulders he walked away and left you standing there, speechless.

Javier didn’t say a word, only pinched the bridge of his nose and got his head stuck straight into some paperwork.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna fuck with the CIA guys. They’re assholes.” Steve informed, his eyes glancing back over to Bill who was now sitting at his own desk. It was like the confrontation had never even happened.

“Noted.” you gulped.

“Take a seat, grab a coffee. Make yourself at home.” Steve told you.

Home. I guess this was where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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PIFTL taglist in replies! Let me know if you wish to be added to either taglist Xx

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal smut #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javi pena #narcos

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levisgirll · 3 years

Note

hi it me uWu I read your first headcanon and can I just that I am surprised that's your first headcanon?!??? Because it's honestly SO good and you sound like a pro at this!! I want to request a headcanon with Kakashi if possible please (sorry I'm not a levi girl haha). I want it to be kinda like a domestic affectionate husband role while I am like a workaholic wife who always never seems to get a break from life. I look forward to what you will write!! (lmk if you need more details)

𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

text: Omg hey!! Thank you so much for your sweet words 🥺💙and yes it is my first headcanon post I have made and I'm so glad to hear that you found it good!! 😭✨. Well, I did say I am open to any request (but the things I post personally are usually Levi or other AOT characters but anyone is free to request a character!!) so sure thing Kakashi Hatake is it! (I really enjoyed writing this so ty for this request). now I'm simping for husbando kakashi- Also note I made it more like focusing how both y/n and kakashi are like a married couple and what they do/say to each other so hope that’s alright too ^^

synopsis: kakashi hatake is y/n’s husband, while you, as his wife, being a workaholic and how is both of your lives are like in a modern AU. (incoming some adorable headcanon-)

comedy and cute fluff ♡—

First off, you and I mean Y/N is the ONLY one who can see Kakashi without his mask. He feels that his wife is the only person in the world who is only allowed to see him without his mask and cause he loves and trusts you a lot. He feels only comfortable showing it to his amazing wife and no one else, not even Guy sensei (even though they were buddies since they were kids). His love for you is strong.

He would send you random messages during your work saying “Yo! make sure to take care of yourself alright?....Also, do you wanna order food tonight?”

You both work and I definitely see Kakashi in a modern AU with a job as a teacher and he would brag to you about his students. Especially Naruto (won’t shut the fuck up in the class) and Sasuke and how they always fight, making him slowly gonna lose it with them one day.

Also, he would talk to you about Shikamaru being such a rascal that gets on his nerves whenever he corrects him in class, or sleeps and whenever he says “Sensei, going to your lessons is such a drag..” and his friend Choji eats a lot of snacks at the back of the class but Kakashi secretly takes one of his snacks without him knowing.

Whenever he mentions them to you during dinner time, you feel at ease and even chuckle and start to relax. And he knows that cause he has seen you been so busy lately with work and he wants to always see you laugh and not tense up.

You both have the same timing of your break time so, you being such a workaholic, you try to even work during the breaks but someone stops you by doing that. Your awesome husband. Kakashi literally rings you even 5 minutes before your break from a video call.

You guys would defiantly match clothes and he loves that so much.

Kakashi catches you sometimes wearing his mask and he finds that so cute, it melts his heart. “Haha, you are so adorable!” and he would give you his happy face smile and hug you as you blush. You always get embarrassed and shy whenever he throws in comments such as “you look hot”, “you are my sweetheart” and etc.. and he knows that! but does it on purpose cause he likes to see how you get all red and especially in public ;)

During the weekends, he knows you wake up early to work and so he decided to change that and make the weekends to bake! Every morning in the weekend you guys would bake cookies and muffins and they smell and taste so good. (you eventually forget the load of work you had to do and Kakashi notices that and he gets happy lowkey-)

Okay, he is a big fan of reading, and so he loves reading comics and fanboys about it to you!

During your work, as you wait for the next customer you would get a random message from him and he would send screenshots of the comic and he’s like “Omg dear, did you read the latest chapter?!”. You know he is all excited so you texted him back. “Hm, No why?”. “Quick!! Go read it before I spoil it!”

Would chill and vibe with you for sure whenever you play some music and both of you are sitting at the balcony, stargazing.

He is in charge of cooking most of the time cause he knows you have more work than him and whenever he cooks, oh...it’s amazing and that’s one of the best things when you get back home after a long day.

He would brush your hair every time whenever you go out to work which is usually earlier than him

Whenever you sleep together, he would cover you up with the comforter while you sleep and would later hug you around your shoulders, he does that to hold you and also to shield you (it’s a habit of his and its cute)

He would give you also a thumbs up all the time before you leave and say “Good luck dear with work!” (it’s now your lucky charm before you leave work). Oh, and he would always remind you to take your lunch that he packs for you every early morning and he would usually put a cute little note there saying ‘Don't overwork yourself!’

I feel like he would get another small tattoo on his wrist after marrying Y/N.

During breaks if your work place is near his, you guys would have cafe break dates and he would literally recharge even if he sees a glimpse of you.

You guys have his pet dog, Pakkun, one of his smallest cute dogs who is usually grumpy but ever since Pakkun met you, they loved you instantly and listens to you instead of Kakashi. Ha....This damn dog. He would think and twitch his eyes as Pakkun is all over you. (The dog is doing that on purpose to piss Kakashi off).

Makes you stay up with him late at night reading comics and the stories you both like to spazz about it and he loves doing that with you.

All his students thought he is a lonely sad man who lives alone with his dog and reads comics.

He once caught Naruto using his phone in class and he was going to give him detention but....he was shocked to find him reading the comic that Kakashi and his wife liked the most.

Kakashi: “Naruto! I told you not to use your......Oh.” Damn he is in chapter 34 already?! I need to caught up, this little kid is fast.

“Hm...Sensei?...WAIT! YOU READ IT TOO!” Naruto would scream and get up from his seat. “Naruto, shut up you are being loud.” Shit.

He would text you immediately after that. “Omg...Y/N! Naruto reads our favorite comic!!”

Y/N: “NO WAY! Bond with this kid, he seems cool.”

After that, his favorite student is Naruto and they become pretty close but still finds him annoying, although Kakashi finds him as a good kid. And when they have parent teacher conference, Kakashi wouldn’t mention to Minato and Kushina that he uses his phone during class or skipping some classes.

Alright! I hope you enjoy this and you liked it :,) And if anyone else did do leave a like and reblog ♡ (I really had fun with this-)

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george-fabian-weasley · 3 years

Text

if we had 5 more minutes — f. w.

Summary: You thought you could save Fred from the rumbles of falling stones; you did your best, only to be in the rumbles with him instead.

Words: 2,160 words

Warnings ⚠ : ANGST, TW: Death, TW: Battle of Hogwarts, TW: war, TW: injuries, Fred died, you died, big Pain™, I strongly suggest tissues and a dozen of comfort chocolates, I cried so you will too, Basically An Emotional Rollercoaster, Read At Your Own Risk

Disclaimer: inspired by Billie Eilish's cover of The End of The World, so... ya'll know this is going to be a painful ride. Buckle up your seatbelts and enjoy. Reblogs and Comments are Highly Appreciated! <3 p/s: reading this with the song at the background really helps with the tear pouring effect ;)

Disclaimer 2.0: i know what yall are thinking... what tf is syaf doing, posting a fic when she’s in a hiatus she just posted yesterday? Also where is mad hatter chap 5 and epilogue? well, my brain likes to conjure up ideas at very inappropriate times (like rn) so bare with me and uh i’ve been really physically and mentally exhausted from work (retail is bathshit crazy) to write the mad hatter series so idk when will i update the two chapters but i’m working on it! thank you for being patient, and im sorry for causing you guys to wait for so long, ilysm don’t kill me <3

masterlist! | general taglist! | buy me a coffee!

The end of the world.

The Battle of Hogwarts looked like the end of the world. Curses and spells thrown left to right, different kinds of bodies found at each corner and crook, walls here and there crumbling as down as hope for freedom. And blood.

At that point of time, the pools of blood on the floor look the same; pureblood or not. Because they bleed the same anguish red.

You didn't need to see the apocalypse of the world anymore. Screw the end of Mother Earth; this battle in front of your eyes was more than enough — sadly — to be your end of the world.

“Hey,” You called, causing Fred to turn his head around to your direction, his lips etched up a smile before replying with another hey. You sat next to him, the place where George had sat before he got up and left to speak with Professor Lupin.

Evil is winning, and good is losing. But then again, what difference would it make; if good kills as many as evil? At the end of the world, there is no good and evil alone. There are desperation, madness, and hunger for power, lust for victory brought along with them.

So, at the end of the world, you chose to be side by side with your lover, Fred Weasley. The red-headed dork you’ve taught yourself to pour your love into had become the very source of your life. He is your elixir, he is your soul, heart, and happiness.

It was silent for a while, none of you had anything to say. Yet the silence was comforting, with only the presence of each other as calming as it is. “Y/N,” Fred suddenly turned his head to you, biting his lower lip in contemplation. “Hm?” “Can you just stay at the Burrow?”

You blinked, “What?” Fred sighed, “Can you just stay at the Burrow right now and not join the war? I- I don’t want you to join in-” “Fred-” “I-It’s dangerous and it’s literally a war a-and I don’t want you to get hurt I would- I would rather die than have you hurt-”

“Fred!” You raised your voice, your hand clasping onto his securely, an effort to calm his frenzied thoughts. He stopped rambling and stared at you with those doe eyes you adored so much, “You know I can’t do that.”

“We need everyone on board for this war. I am no exception- bloody hell, even your parents are joining in, Freddie!” You tried to explain slowly, and Fred closed his eyes in denial of defeat.

“I love you,” he suddenly blurted out. He noticed the slight fluster you had, your eyebrows were raised for a millisecond before they furrowed upon a realization, “Wait, why are you saying this now? I-“ “I love you, Y/N,” he repeated himself and you shook your head, realizing what he was doing, “Wait, hold on a minute, no-“

He was saying it in case anything happens.

“Y/N, I love you-” “Don’t you dare say it one more time like you’re not gonna make it, Fred Weasley, I swear to Merlin,” You cut him off, your jaw clenching at his absurdness. “… Aren’t you gonna say it back?” Fred asked, his voice was small.

“I-” You sighed, “No, I won’t because I don’t want to say it right now, given the circumstances,” You paused, your voice quieting down, “It felt like a goodbye when you say it like that.” “Then when will you say it? We’ve been dating for almost a year and you'd never say it before,” He said.

“Really? This is the time to argue about this?” You gave him a pointed look, but your expression softened as you understood the meaning behind his actions. “Look, Freddie, I- You know how I feel about us,” You sighed, looking down at your hands on your lap, “You know I’m not that expressive with my words but- but I’m trying and- okay, let’s make a deal,” Fred’s ears perked up the mention of a deal. "I'm listening," he drawled.

“I’ll say the words when the war is over,” Fred gave you a sour look that clearly said ‘really?’ and it caused you to huff a smile, “Once everything is over, and everything is okay again, I’ll say them as many times as you want me to, okay?” Fred leaned into your touch as you cupped his cheek with your hand, kissing his forehead.

“Even if I made you say it a thousand times?” He asked and you chuckled, your heart warming at his childlike question, “I’ll say it for an hour if you asked me to.”

It happened so fast.

One second you were fighting off the Death Eaters with Percy and Fred, and then the other, you find your body aching at the major pressure from the rocks and debris that used to be Hogwarts’ protective wall from the outside world.

It was dark, and it was dusty, but you were too unconscious to notice. That was until you felt your cheek being patted a few times. As you gained consciousness with a cough or two, you also gained the pending pain spreading all across your whole body. You couldn’t feel your legs, or safe to say your whole lower body part.

Memories of you a few moments ago trying to push Fred away from the rumbles but ended up facing the falling stones head-on with him instead began to flow back into your mind. How foolish could you be to act like a hero, as if you could sacrifice yourself for him to live.

“… Y-Y/N…”

You turned your head with a silent grunt, and your eyes fixate at the body beside you, a few feet away, Fred.

He had blood leaking from his nose and ears, probably from the impact, and his face was dusty with debris from the stones. As he looked at you, he threw you a smile; a weak, hiding the fact that he’s in immense pain kind of smile.

“F-fancy seeing you here,” he grunted with a wince, a smile nevertheless rested on his lips. “Fred…” you could only mutter his name, closing your eyes for a brief second at the growing pain on your thighs. The pressure from the rumbles had slowly increased, and you felt yourself losing consciousness again. Only to be brought back to open your eyes as Fred poked your cheeks a few more times, “Hey, hey, s-stay with me, love.”

“We’ll… We’ll be okay.”

You winced at the trickling sensation on your skin as you tried to move your fingers towards him, “It’s… It’s impossible, Fred…” You voiced out, your voice cracking up. You saw Fred’s lips quivered before he threw you another comforting smile, “Don’t… Don’t say that. We’ll make it… I-I know we will.”

“We… We will?”

Groaning from the injuries on his body as he tried to move closer to you, he nodded, “We will.”

You felt his fingers trying to reach for yours, and you handed him assistance as you hooked your fingers with his. His hand was cold, trembling. But it was Fred’s. And Fred’s hand is always warm.

“It’s… It’s so heavy,” You whimpered in pain, looking at Fred for comfort. All Fred wished to do at the moment was to be strong enough. Strong enough to push off these rumbles pressing onto his body. Strong enough to pull you out from the pain. All he wished for was for you to not be in pain anymore. But he knew he couldn’t do anything. The rumbles were too big, too heavy, and it would take a while for anyone to find them at the bottom of everything.

Fred breathed out heavily through his mouth, slowly finding it difficult to breathe through his nose anymore, trying his best to look strong for you, “Stay with me, love. S-stay with me. Five more minutes. F-five more minutes and they’ll- they’ll save us…”

“Fred…”

“Five more minutes, I promise…”

You saw the desperation in his eyes, trying his best to somehow keep you afloat until you two are saved. You heard muffles from the other side, Percy screaming for Fred and you. His screams were sad and painful to hear; you would’ve cried for him if it wasn’t for the constant high-pitched ringing in your ears.

“Fred, h-hold my hand. P-please,” You whispered, finding no more strength to say anything louder than a whisper. He instantly intertwined your fingers with his, stretching as far as he could to reach you; no matter how screeching the pain in his lower body was.

“Fred,” You called him again. He chuckled a bit, “You’re… you’re saying my name a lot of times right now, darling.” You huffed a smile, the corner of your lips twitched, “… I want to ask you something.”

“… Anything.”

Your eyes met his, even in the darkness, his eyes still managed to look so beautiful. So earthly beautiful. “… Are you happy, Freddie?”

There was something about the way you say it, Fred couldn’t get a touch of what it was but… it felt like a goodbye. As much as Fred hated to admit, he wasn’t holding on much longer either. He was bleeding heavily from everywhere, his wand was out of his reach, and his body was starting to numb. His vision began to blur by itself, hence he blinked his eyes repeatedly. Trying his best to see your features clearly, one last time, if the worst happens.

This is it, he thought. This is the end of my line.

Finding an urge to cry, but didn’t have enough strength to sob, Fred let out a tear or two onto the dusty surface he laid his head on, his eyes closing after the content stare of your beautiful— though bloody and dusty— face. How ironic, he’s slipping away first even though he was the one who said five more minutes.

If only you had five more minutes.

“W-with… With you? Heh, always… “ The whisper coming out from his mouth caused you to narrow your eyes at him. It felt strange, it felt wrong. Was he saying goodbye? Watching Fred close his eyes was alarming, so you gained all your strength to pat his hand a few times, “H-hey, Freddie… Five more minutes. Hang… Hang on for five more minutes, please.”

You squeezed his hand, and he naturally squeezed back, only this time it was weaker than usual. His grip on your hand started to soften, but you tightened yours desperately. The pain all over your body was partially forgotten, your only focus was on keeping Fred breathing and alive, as well as yourself.

“I’m… I’m trying, my love… but I’m sleepy… and tired…” he mumbled, his words became slurred by time. He was on the edge, you realized that. Upon the sad realization, you bit your tongue, trying your best to prepare for the worst. “L-look at me, darling,” Your voice quivered, feeling the sandy surface on your temple as you tried to force your eyes open, to properly look at him, “Look at me.”

You knew it. He was slipping away from your fingers, and you were slipping too. It didn’t matter anymore even if Percy bulldozed his way to you now, it was too late. Simply too late. And that’s none of his faults. It’s none of his and none of yours.

Some things are just meant to be.

You took your other hand and placed it onto his cold, dirty cheek. Caressing his cheekbone gently, you gave him a comforting smile, “Fred.”

He looked at you, a faint smile on his lips. He’s at the end, you acknowledged. You widen your smile to assure him, although the tears escaping your eyes say otherwise, “… You make me happy. You make me so so happy. And I… I love you.”

“I love you, Freddie.”

With a big smile, Fred widened his eyes weakly, letting out a sigh of content as he looked at you with gentle eyes,“… Now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?“

Gentle eyes that soon hollowed empty.

“Yeah,” the dam of your tears broke down, “Took me a long time...” You squeezed his now lifeless hand, trying to find comfort and warmth from him for the last time. You smiled at Fred, whilst tears rolling down your temple slowly as if mourning the passing of your lover for you. You inched closer to him, careful not to graze your injuries, and met your nose with his.

You caressed his cheek, finally feeling yourself lose consciousness. This is it, you thought, I won’t wake up ever again. “You said we’ll be okay,” You whispered weakly, huffing a content smile on your lips. Staring into his eyes that had held so much love and pure unadulterated affection for you all these years, now empty with no trace of life, had sent you into pain more powerful than the injuries present on and in your body.

“I guess we will be, after this.”

“… You spent your last five minutes with me, huh?” You felt yourself going in and out of consciousness, and your vision blurring continuously, “Aren’t you a sappy git,” the mere whisper escaped your mouth with a sigh. The warm smile never left your lips, and the only thing in your mind was how peaceful he looked as of that moment, and you wondered if you’ll ever be in that state of peace, with him.

“No- no- no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! no!” And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them with his hand on Y/N’s head, and the pair of lovers stared at each other without seeing, the ghost of their last smile still etched upon their faces.

On our last few drags of air, we agree

I was, and you were

Happy

TAGLIST:

@multifandom-but @sirenswhispers @lilac-skies-xd @obsessedunicorn24 @foggyturtleknightangel @evewithluv @softlyqoos @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @lilypad-55449 @fiantomartell @hopemalfoyweasley @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @bucketandpotato @klausdatprettyboi @adoregin @littlechillies @phuvioqhile @sweetnspicysimp @wand3ringr0s3 @harrypotter289 @emptyporsche @tallyovie @potters-heart @amourtentiaa @lunalovecroft @loveboyhalo @lupinsclassroom @breadqueen95 @iwritesiriusly @rcwenaclaw @sevsbitxh @freds-slut @acosmis-t @colorfulprofessornickelangel @vote4weasleys @anchoeritic @alluringshawn @cute-sidney @anna-banana-13 @lostaurorax @emrysts @rosietoesy @lilgeorgie78 @prismarts @an2402lths

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fredweasley #frederick gideon weasley

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Nash Wells x Reader - Squandered Altruism

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

****I am not to be held liable for any mental breakdowns, please direct everything to the comments or tags. Also, when you get to the first scene change, it is crucial to put on the song ‘Hold On’ by Chord Overstreet. It’ll make sense when you read through.

MASTERLIST

Word Count: 3750

You shrugged, the tension in the air had settled as everyone vacated the Speed Lab. Turning to walk away, your mind mulled over a few things. Before you could take a step towards the exit, Nash latched a gloved hand onto your upper arm. He maneuvered you towards him and handed you the MAD 2.2. Frowning, you placed it on your forehead. Whenever he handed the telepathic device to you, you knew he needed a second opinion with the racket that goes on in his head. He had trusted you with that aspect of his life. Also, the explorer would get inklings of feelings when you missed his other selves and wanted to talk to them.

“Hm?” You let out a questioning noise only for Nash to turn to an open space.

“What?” Nash let out brusquely, eyebrows raised, and nostrils flared as he gestured with his arms. “What?”

You saw Harry’s form emerge from the shadows. The beating in your heart skipped a beat or two. The mental personification of the Earth-2 genius had his hands pocketed in his typical dark wash jeans as he padded over to you and Nash. “Well, it's nice to see you, too. So, it turns out we cracked the fuel problem - for this ASF of yours.” Harry’s icy blue eyes landed on you. “Love,” he breathed out.

Waving at your second love, you smiled gently at him. “Hey, Harry.”

“Pas facile non.” Sherloque appeared as well, hair slightly tousled under his fedora. “Not easy, not great.” The detective tipped his hat towards you, “Mon fleur. C’est toujours un plaisir d'être en votre présence."

“Le plaisir est tout la mein, mon bien détective.” Yeah, he had been teaching you a bit of French. Nash rolled his eyes at you two.

“But so much fun, huh?” You giggled as HR bounced into mental existence with a drumstick in hand. “I love all the brainstorming. Plus, we got all the Wellses back together again.” Let’s just say you internally squealed at how cute the novelist still is when he gets all excited. “It’s been a while, Kitten.”

“It has, puppy.”

“So, I expect I need no introduction,” A new Wells appeared in a grandiose manner. “But, yes, it is I, master of stage and screen, Harrison Orson Wells.” Orson accented his name in that deep voice of his and a slight bow as he stood dramatically next to Sherloque. You swore you saw Sherloque roll his eyes.

“Uh?” You tilted your head before looking at Nash with confusion laced on your features. So, he’s definitely a drama bish. He met your eyes and sent you a look that said to ‘ignore him and roll with it’ until the end of the conversation.

“Okay, you're new,” Nash crossed his arms at the finely dressed artisan. The geological explorer was already fed up with 3 Wells the team were familiar with, he didn’t need this nitwit joining in.

“Nash, as I know you know, when our worlds died in Crisis,” Harry began once more when no other Wells decided to join the party and interrupted his explanation. “Particles from our brain waves were drawn to you like-”

“-Like a moth drawn to a cosmic flame.” Orson was doing something with his hands that you couldn’t describe, looking off into the distance as he spoke.

What… the fuck?

“Whatever happened to show, don't tell?” Harry just fucking shook his head at Orson, a completely disappointed expression on his face. The man was just disturbed at this version of his doppelganger. At least to Harry, HR was more manageable to be around than Orson. “HR?” HR knew that signal and tossed a drumstick to his handsome doppelganger. Your eye twitched at Orson’s yelp when the two boys did that. Who allowed this dumbass in this conversation? Can we boot him out? You kept those thoughts to yourself. However, it did make your insides twist happily to see that Harry and HR were working fluidly together in contrast to a few years ago where Harry was at HR’s throat for every single detail.

“Oh, nice catch,” Sherloque complimented the exchange and Nash just rubbed his face. He needed these four to get to the point so Nash can go about riling you up today. It was a daily thing he did to see you all fiery and snarky for him.

“I love this part,” the Earth-19 novelist murmured and pulled out a rather detailed sketchbook accompanied by a dramatic gasp.

“So, there are multiversal particles inside you right now, Nash, made of synaptic energy.” Harry started to explain with the drumstick in hand and HR doing the pointing onto the page. You have no idea what the fuck Orson was doing, some hand camera gesture that didn’t need to happen. He was really trying to sell his point of being a theatrical arts master, but whatever. “Now, we take those particles and you put them in the Fusion Sphere, theoretically, they could power the ASF forever.” Rather than 100% paying attention to Harry’s speech, you were about… 75% there and 25% resisting the urge to face-palm at HR and Orson’s antics on the side. Sherloque had elected to ignore them, and Nash just looked at himself, patting his chest.

HR did another dramatic gasp as he spoke, “Forever.”

“Not only would Allen get his speed back, but I'd be rid of you lot forever,” Nash summarized for himself and Sherloque simply shrugged, rolling his eyes to the side at the connection made. The detective was 100% done and exhausted with himself.

“No, you'd be gone, too,” HR simply responded, nodding his head along. “I mean, because of the whole organic receptor thing. Oof.” The three men to HR’s side stopped and turned to him slowly. Your eyes almost bugged out of your head. You and Nash got the subtle message that HR wasn’t supposed to say that.

“Excuse me?” The blood in your veins turned to ice as goosebumps pebbled your skin. You looked at the lot incredulously as your heart fell into the balling pit of dread that resided in your stomach. “What?”

“What?” HR asked innocently, the others continued to give him unnerved stares.

“What's he talking about?” Nash asked, placing his hands on his hips. You crossed your arms and sent Harry a heated look. He knew that look and he’s slightly thankful he wasn’t physically there. Or else.

“Multiversal particles are just... they're very volatile, right?” Harry gestured to the sphere while HR did his thing with the sketchbook. “And there's no way they'll stay in that sphere long enough to be charged unless... unless we have an organic receptor.” Nash blinked at Harry, collecting his thoughts and willing words to come out. But he couldn’t. Death? So soon?

“The organic receptor is Nash then.” You unfurled an arm, trying to make sense of all this in your mind. You pointed to Nash as he pointed to himself.

“For the Flash to run again, Nash Wells must die.” Harry concluded as hurt and betrayal flickered in your eyes. It pained him to utter those words, but it was the only solution the Council had managed with the ASF.

“No.” You whispered, feeling your body throb at Harry’s revelation. “Hell no! I just got you back,” you raised your voice and turned to Nash desperately then turned back to the Wells men, “all of you. No one is being sacrificed. You all may not value your lives as much as it is right now, but I do. Call it selfish or whatever, I don’t care! But no one is dying for a stupid artificial force.” Water started to blur your vision. First HR’s death, then Devoe using Harry as a guinea pig, then Crisis, the Exorcism with Thawne a few months ago, and now this. HR looked off to the side and Sherloque fidgeted with his pocket watch, hearing the crack in your voice. Orson was the only one that was indifferent to your tone of voice. “You know more than anyone that artificial solutions don’t last long, they can’t fully replace a natural force.” Your voice trembled, “No one is- is doing that for an artificial force that won’t be a permanent solution.” Your head hurt, your heart hurt, your everything hurt.

“It is,” Harry challenged you, but he knew better than to do that. He knew not to push you to a certain degree.

“You don’t know that for sure!” A tear fell as you used your powers to leave, to escape- you couldn’t breathe. You needed to go home; you needed some air. Your throat constricted as you made it home, collapsing on your bed as your heartbeat increased rapidly. The tears fell freely, straining the pillow you clutched in your shaky hands.

Back at the labs, Nash gave his doppelgangers a hard look. He knew what had just happened, knew he needed to get to you before… “No.”

“Whoa.”

“What?”

“No way!” Nash shouted at them. He couldn’t just… drop it all for Barry. What about his life? It’s Barry’s problem anyway. How can he just throw his life away for a man he didn’t really get to know until recently.

“Nash, you're our organic receptor.” Harry tried once more, desperation in his voice. “You're the only one that can contain us inside the Fusion Sphere.”

“By dying?”

“Ye-”

“-By dying, Harry?”

“Yes.” The answer was absolute to Harry. This was their only way of helping Barry be the hero that he is.

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“Come on.”

“I have a life here now. I have people that I actually don't hate.” Nash gritted his teeth, his mind falling back to you. “I have her. I'm not gonna give all that up so Barry Allen can run fast!”

“Nash, you're the only one of us that can help Allen.”

“And I will, Harry, by figuring out another way to save Allen that doesn't mean I have to commit suicide!”

“Nash!” Harry called out to him as they watched him step away at a hurried pace.

“Where he's going?” Sherloque sighed from where he stood, watching the once-multiversal explorer leave.

“Bozos!” Nash yelled as he waved a hand in the air as if to shoo them away, storming out to find you.

“Didn't see that coming.” HR mumbled to the others. Harry ran a hand through his hair. One by one the Wells men disappeared until Orson was the only one left on stage.

“And scene,” Orson whispered, the hypothetical curtain had dropped on this particular moment.

***

Loving and fighting, accusing, denying

I can't imagine a world with you gone

The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of

I'd be so lost if you left me alone

Sucking in a sharp breath, Nash popped the window open and climbed into your living room. Shutting the window, he set his bag and jacket down by the couch. He could hear the tune of music echo in your apartment. Stepping towards the front door, he placed his boots there. The treasure hunter took in a breath as he carried a paper bag and placed it in the kitchen. Maybe you’d want to eat later? Food always helped, even if you only ended up taking a few bites.

Nash knocked on your bedroom door a few times before entering. You laid under the covers; a pillow gripped tightly to your body. Light sniffles left you. You didn’t look up at him, eyes dulled from all your tears. He swallowed thickly, gently coming close to you on the bed. He recognized this song; it was from your sad Spotify playlist. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you like this. For once, since the lab incident today the noise in his head was at a volume of zero. He can hear his own thoughts. Nash wondered if the others could sense your sorrow.

“Did you have another one?” You nodded as he pulled your shaking form closer to his. You left your pillow. Nash’s grip tightened around you. The tears fell all over again. You didn’t want him to let go. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here fast enough.” You shook your head and buried it deeper into his shirt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take your pain away.”

You locked yourself in the bathroom

Lying on the floor when I break through

I pull you in to feel your heartbeat

Can you hear me screaming?

“Please don’t leave me,” you murmured as the song ran that line, you pulled back to look at him. Nash cupped your face gently, his thumb wiping away the tear stains from your skin. You can’t lose him again – any of them. Not when things started to feel right, to go in the right direction for you.

“I won’t.” Because in the end, it was his decision. His conscious. Not the others. They may take up residence in his mind, but they do not harness the power to dictate his actions. Nash kissed your cheek sweetly then your quivering lips. The song continued to play in the background. Nash held you close, knowing when you’ve calmed down and regained control of your breathing that you would want to talk then. Blood roared in his ears.

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Let me take your hand, I'll make it right

I swear to love you all my life

Hold on, I still need you

“Y-you need to stop breaking into m-my apartment,” you hiccupped, trying your best to calm your nerves. To stop the stutter in your voice. Nash played with your hair as you two laid there in the dim light of your bedroom. “Or else my bat is g-going to make friends with th-that handsome mug of yours.”

“But I like keeping you on your toes,” Nash pouted, but a small smile crossed your face. It was totally worth the break-in to see that smile. “I… enjoy this. You. Being here with you. You’re exactly like the others had said when they came into my mind.” You gave your boyfriend a quizzical look as your head throbbed from all the crying. Soft breaths left you, your breathing beginning to even out. “A game-changer – a precious treasure to cherish. I- we shouldn’t be willing to give it up for anything.”

“Nash.”

“I won’t give this up. The others – they should know more than anything that another way is always possible.” You cupped Nash’s face with both hands as he spoke in hushed tones, your thumbs rubbing his stubbly cheeks. “I don’t want to die.” A single, pesky tear fell from Nash’s beautiful eyes. His expression, those whispered words – they broke you.

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

***

“The plane's only three minutes out.” Barry looked up to Nash, exhausted and desperate for a solution. “We need a plan.”

“No,” Nash licked his lips, his throat constricting. “We need the Flash.”

“What-” A hard throb hit echoed in your body as Nash pulled you in for one last kiss. The kiss was hard, it was meaningful. It meant the world to you. It was a good-bye. Pulling away, Nash gave you a softened look before pushing you from him and connecting his hand to the ASF sphere.

“Nash, no!” You shouted, taking a step towards him, Barry had rounded the table to stand by you, holding you back by your arms.

“That'll kill you!” Barry shouted at him,

“I know. But I'm the organic receptor that we need.” Nash grunted in pain as the sphere siphoned off him- off his doppelgangers. “You're getting your speed back.”

“Hey! Hey! We'll find another way.”

“What other way, Allen?” Nash retorted to Barry. The speedster bit his lip. He knew he couldn’t get near the sphere without it absorbing his life force. Not while Iris was still out there in Eva’s clutches.

Water welled up in your eyes as you struggled against Barry’s grip. He wouldn’t let go. You barely made it a few centimeters close to the man you love. No, take me instead. “Nash, please- Stop, I can’t-”

“-There's no time.” He cut you off, the pained look on your face twisted your heart achingly.

“Nash,” Allegra tried to talk him out of it. “You don't have to do this just to prove a point.”

“I'm not doing it to prove a point.” Nash’s energy was whittling, but he needed to hold on. “I'm doing it because I won't watch you die. I won't let any of you die.” His eyes met yours. “I love you too much to have you die because of my selfishness.” He hated the words that he had to tell you, but their time had run out and there was no other solution.

“Don't! Don't! Don't!” Chester stopped Allegra. “No, no, no, no, no. If you touch him, we'll lose you, too.”

“Nash, please. I can't let anyone else die for me. I've already lost so many people.”

“Do you know what I feel right now, Allen? Pride. Honor. It's been so long since I felt those things. And it's not just me. The Council feels it, too. And we've made our decision. We're doing this, Allen.” Nash groaned, turning to Chester. “Is it charging?”

The scientist back to the computers. “Uh...” The ASF continued to whir. “Yeah, the Fusion Sphere is charging.

“How can I be the Flash without a Wells on this team?”

“You've always been the Flash. You always will be... with or without me.”

“I can’t live without you. You know that!” You begged, fighting Barry again, but to no avail. Barry fought his own tears. “Please don’t do this to me. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me- You promised. You promised me you wouldn’t go. That there was another way.” Your words pierced through his heart. He didn’t want to leave you alone- but you wouldn’t live the next day if this plane bomb was to strike the city. Tears fell and Nash’s eyes watered at your broken image. Sharp pains continued to shoot up through his body. One by one, a Wells succumbed their life for Barry.

“I will always love you, my precious gem.” Nash whispered as he screwed his eyes shut. “Whether in this life or the next.”

You saw a halo-like energy form around Nash’s head. Rocking his head back then forward, Nash smiled at you and Barry. Only… this wasn’t Nash’s trademark smile. “Hey, B.A. How's it going?” HR chuckled at his friend sadly. “You're so fast. No, no, no. B.A., don't be upset. This... this is not goodbye. It's just... till our next communion. Kitten, you’ve accepted me when I first got here. Saw me for who I am, not who I pretended to be. You allowed me to be me, to write and exist without doubting my very existence. This isn’t the end, my love. I’ll always be right here with you. Until fate allows our paths to cross again.” A shaky breath left you, your head felt like lead and cement had been poured into it.

Again, the energy-halo appeared over Nash’s body. This time a French grunt left his lips.

“Not great, ‘mm? Our current situation, ‘uh? But... it vill be.” Sherloque panted, a string of French curses leaving him. His eyes met yours. “You showed me zhat- love is an entity to give, mais to also ‘ave reciprocated. You taught me to break out of zhe abusive cycle I ‘ad locked myself in, mon fleur. And for zhat, I zhank you dearly, mon amour. Je t'aime.”

The halo appeared one last time, Nash’s features changing to that disgruntled look you’d see too often. Harry. “Allen... you know, when I came to your stupid Earth...” The Earth-2 genius chuckled at the memories, the years that had passed. “With its good burgers... I was a broken man. Lost, angry, blah, blah, blah, and you showed me… how to be a better person. And I'll always be grateful for our friendship.” His eyes locked on yours. Harry always hated it when you cried, when he was the reason you did. “(Y/N), you were persistent. You annoyed the hell out of me with your kindness and that… smile of yours. You made me feel things I hadn’t felt in years. Hadn’t allowed myself to feel because all I saw was my work and Jess. You loved me, showed me how to love again, and how to love myself. You stuck with me after Devoe, always checking in. Always so bubbly when you crossed the breach. I’ve never loved anyone more than you and Tess. Forgive me, my love.” Harry whispered to his dear friend, “Now... Run. Barry, run.”

The emotion in each Wells’ eyes as they had given you their personal message forever burned in your mind.

“We're at 95%.” Chester swallowed as he moved his gaze back to Harry.

“You got this.” Harry raised an eyebrow at the speedster. Barry let go of you, letting you fall to the ground as he used the remainder of his speed to get on the speed platform to channel the ASF into his system. Allegra ran to you, holding you from taking any steps towards him. You were frozen in her arms, the hairs on your neck stood as your heart began to shatter. Strained grunts and groans escaped Harry’s lips; the pain was becoming too much as the Fusion Sphere roared loudly. Harry glanced at Allegra and Chester. “After I'm gone... look out for one another. Look after her.” He sent you a wink with a sad smile as his body was 80% disintegrated. The energy from the ASF charged Barry allowing him to leave for the plane.

As Nash’s body disintegrated to nothing your scream pierced the atmosphere, the windows in the lab shattering as your powers vehemently escaped your body and darkened the labs. You felt numb, you couldn’t see. You felt yourself slipping. Where? You didn’t know. A few lines echoed in your head.

Hold on, I still want you

Come back, I still need you

Everything went black…

***

French Translation:

“Mon fleur. C’est toujours un plaisir d'être en votre présence." - Always a pleasure to be in your presence

“Le plaisir est tout la mein, mon bien détective.” – The pleasure is all mine, my good detective

Pas facile non - Not easy either

#harrison wells x reader #nash wells x reader #Nash Wells #harrison wells #harry wells x reader #harry wells #sherloque wells x reader #Sherloque Wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #the flash #the flash cw #the flash fanfiction #post-crisis

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kidney9-9 · 4 years

Text

Give Me Your All - Tom Holland

Anonymous asked: heyyy, idk if your still taking requests but could I ask for a Tom smut??? It’s okay if not, just ignore this. But if so, could you write one where Tom has a massive crush on the reader and he’s touching himself to the thought of the reader and records it (moaning and all) , pretending that he was going to send it because it turned him on. But after he climaxes, instead of deleting the video he ACTUALLY sends it. You could take it form there, but yeah phew🥵

Hey there sweetie, hope you enjoy this oneshot of Tom Holland and Reader. Please read the warnings. This oneshot is childhood friends-to-lovers :) Let me know if you’d like a part two, I didn’t get to write everything I’d like to, because it’s already long :)

Tags in reblog, to join a taglist send in an ask or press the link in my profile. Masterlist is linked in my profile.

Tom Holland x Reader (Smut) Warnings: Smut, confessions of love, unsolicited nude video, swearing, nicknames (sexual and nonsexual), teasing, female recieving oral, mention of hand job, unprotected sex, talk of kinks, slight mention of hand kink, biting, some dominance fighting, choking/breath play and some dirty talk. Please do not read if any of these warnings made you uncomfortable, thank you :) Word Count: 7.4k

He’s been friends with you since forever, and he’s been in love with you since then. Your friendship was something he valued close to his heart as well, loving how you were kind to him and how funny you two would get sometimes. He remembers how the two of you met, back in kindergarten. You were playing near the slide, and you demanded people called you the Queen of the court. Being only five years old, everyone was confused, including Tom. He was the one to question you, and your explanation only made it more confusing, making him feel competitive though. He challenged you to a duel using sticks for the title of Queen of the court. You both ended up with bruises and scrapes, but giggled at each other, shouting dumb jokes about chickens and crayons.

You’ve been inseparable since then. You were there when he lost his first tooth and made a letter with him to the tooth fairy for a mighty amount of 1 trillion pounds. Tom ended up receiving one pound and an old copy of Toy Story. You both cherished that movie forever, claiming the tooth fairy loved giving cool movies to Tom, because every tooth he lost after that (until he realized the tooth fairy wasn’t real), he received old copies of movies and a few pounds. He remembered the crush he formed on you by age 11, how he would blush and call you a dumb girl when you’d compliment cute things about him, and then he would apologize and tell you how he thought you were a bit too cool to be a girl (which always led to funny arguments).

By age 16, he realized that it was much more than just a crush, watching you have your first kiss. It hurt him, and he thought it would be the end of the world because he was convinced you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. Sure, he had his first kiss at 14, but it was a truth or dare game, and he didn’t like the other girl, but it still hurt to see you kiss someone else. He always wished that his first and last kiss would be with you.

And now, he knew for sure he was in love with you. So many years being close to you, but unable to make a move, it was tough.

It’s been hard, hiding his real feelings for you and watching as you would get your heart broken over again. He tried many times to get over you, to date random girls or just have hook ups, but it always ended the same- he’d end up thinking of you. He’d think of how you’d smile brightly to him when he’d make a stupid joke, or how you would nudge him during parts of a movie you found funny. Or when you’d giggle loudly when you’d accidently drop your phone multiple times a day, or when you’d wear his sweaters when you’re cold. He truly loved you, and when he learned to accept it, it only strengthened.

He’d find himself gazing down at your body at moments, and just wonder what it would be like if you were moaning and whimpering under him. He couldn’t count the times he’d catch himself with a hard on just by seeing you in his bedroom, where you two always hang out. He’d excuse himself quickly, rushing to the bathroom and he’d groan quietly, lecturing himself to stop thinking about you.

It rarely worked, and he’d sit with a hard on for hours as you laid back on his bed, scrolling through your phone as you talked to him, without a clue of what bulging pain he was going through.

He couldn’t help it today either, realizing he hadn’t seen you lately and he pulled up your text messages, to read what you two spoke about before. His cock stirred and twitched in his pants as your profile picture loaded on the screen.

It was one of his favorite photos of you, beautifully sat next to him, with your head tucked close to his neck and your lips barely touching his skin as you beamed. Fuck, it was too much. The adrenaline he would have when he’d jerk off, filming in the messages he had with you was addictive. It turned him on so much, it felt so real, that he would actually send it to you, and he could only dream that you would send one back- or even come to him.

Tom slipped a hand under his boxers, after he spit into his hand. It curled around his cock, gently bringing it out from his boxers and sighing in relief as he pumped it to life. His finger swiped over his tip, collecting some of the precum to slide down the rest of his cock. He pressed on the record button with his other hand, facing his cock and him as he moaned quietly at the start.

“Fuck,” He murmured, blinking slowly as he focused on the picture near his bed of the two of you. It was another one, different than the profile picture. You had your legs wrapped around his, in a game of twister the two of your played back on his latest birthday. He remembered the feeling of you so close, touching his bare legs with yours and he remembered your breathing hitting his skin, and he soaked in the memory, almost feeling you against him again.

“Y/n…” He moaned out, closing his eyes now, and his hand started to curl faster up and down, slapping all the way to his skin, savoring the sounds as if it was him pounding into you instead. Oh, how much he imaged your pussy clenching around his cock, soaking in juices and cum, and you’d be stuttering out his name, crying for more. The camera focused on his cock, picking up all the noises of his heavy breathing, and the sounds of his hand moving up and down at an increasing speed over his precum soaked cock.

“I need you so bad,” He whimpered, imagining you sat naked against his sheets while he walked closer to your figure. He’d pleasure you, first. He would beg to hear you moan his name; chant out swears while you’d cum all over his face. “Cum for me, be my good girl, you can do it.” He gasped loudly, head tilting back even more. Your pussy would pulse against his cock as he’d slide it sloppily against your clit to get you even more aroused and soaked.

Oh, fuck, just thinking of you wet made him hang right over the edge. “I- fuck, such a good girl, you can do it, I love you!” He cried out, hand shaking with his phone and the video still capturing the moment. His cock twitched with anticipation, leading up to his orgasm. Tom flicked his thumb over his tip repeatedly before slapping up and down with even more speed.

“Y/n, angel, please- fuck- you’re too good to me.” He whimpered, his cock finally spilling with cum, spurting out in long moments as Tom breathed heavily, keeping his hand on the base of his cock. He sighed, opening his eyes as he wished you were here.

He watched as his cock stopped coming, and he wiped up quickly, making sure he didn’t let any of it fall onto his sheets. He stopped the video, tossing the phone on his bed as he stood up slowly to go wash his hands. He took off his boxers, throwing them to a corner of his bedroom, and walked over to his bathroom. He tried to stop thinking of you, knowing he’d only be even more horny if he continued, and he would have to jerk off again.

His hands lathered in the soap and water and he didn’t care to dry them as he walked back to his bed. He gazed at the phone, trying to press out of the message app, but instead it froze causing him to groan. He irritated tapped at the screen, just wanting to delete the video and get out of the app.

But instead, it replayed the first part of the video, and Tom gulped in nervousness, quickly realizing what might have just happened. He turned off his phone in an instant, shakily pressing the home button again, and unlocking it to see the messages again. “Fuck!” He yelped out, seeing the video had sent to you and he froze as he saw you start typing back.

“No, no, no” He continued, as fear and panic stroke through him, knowing he fucked up completely now. “Shit, how do I delete this?” He groaned loudly, starting to breath unevenly and in a panic, as the video played over again, and he quickly wiped his hands onto his sheets, not caring that it got wet.

He started typing, in shock. He was writing apologies left and right, as tears started to burn in his eyes. He didn’t want to lose you, not like this. It was a mistake, he didn’t mean to do it, he wrote heartfelt, and with passion, trying to explain you were never supposed to see or know any of this. That it was wrong for him to take videos, moaning your name. Tears started to drop onto the phone screen as your message popped up.

“Are you at home?”

Tom gasped after he pressed send to the long apologies, quickly typing that, yes, he was at home. He continued to add an even longer sorry in the message, as he started to cry more. Just mere minutes ago he was moaning your name, now he was crying your name. He didn’t want to lose you; it would be terrible and unimaginable.

That was when his phone started to ring, with your name at the top. You were calling him, and his eyes widened in further shock, wondering what he should do. He hesitated until the third ring, pressing accept and putting you on speaker.

“Hello? Tom?” Your voice came through the phone, causing Tom to shakily sigh out. His face rested in his hands as he groaned muffled, “Hey…” He trailed off, trying to stop his crying and apologize again. He was sat on his bed without any of his clothes, and before he could continue, you spoke up again.

“Do you- are you alone right now?” You murmured into the phone, causing Tom to glance up confused. His eyebrows were furrowed together as he quietly answered you, “Yeah, I am. Listen, I’m really sorry, that was inappropriate and…” He paused as you cleared your throat.

Your question burned through his mind, “Did you mean it? That you love me?” Yes, he meant it, he swore he’s been in love with you so long. The fear that he felt as he opened his mouth to reply was harsh, but he knew that he needed to confess now or never.

That video was never supposed to be sent to you, but he knew if he finally got it out, then there would be some type of light feeling he’d have off his chest. He nodded, silently hyping himself up and pushing out the nervousness as he pulled his face away from his hands and squeezed at his thumbs.

“Yes, I love you.” He confessed, biting down harshly on his lip as silence went through the call.

Panic filled his thoughts and body as he heard you shuffle on the other line. “Y/n?” He whispered, staring down at the phone as he went rigid, wondering if he’s lost you now. Fuck, he wouldn’t know how to cope with losing you. Everything started with you, and you were his best friend. He didn’t care if he’d be hurt, watching you fall in love with someone else if that meant he could still be close and be your friend. But if he lost you, it would hurt the most.

“I’m coming over.” You responded, after those few moments that felt as if they were hours to him. He didn’t know what to do in that second, he almost forgot to breathe until you called his name again softly. “I love you too.” You whispered into the phone, hanging up as you got into your car and sighed out in shock.

Tom sat on his bed, naked as warmth spread through him. You love him back? The same way he did? He fell back onto his bed as one of the brightest smiles he’s ever had appeared on his face, love-doped by the fact his most desirable dreams were real- they came true. But he instantly shot right back up with a loud yelp. You were on your way right now, holy fuck. He glanced down to his figure in shock and stumbled up, rushing to his closet and tugging out new boxers. His eyes searched his closet for over two minutes, stressing about what to wear, and what the fuck was happening.

“Shit,” He pressed out, just tugging out an old but nice shirt he hasn’t worn in a few years. He buttoned it up and threw on his boxers and pulled out a pair of pants before groaning. It wasn’t a fucking business meeting, was it? No way, he pulled out a pair of dark jeans instead, slipping and tumbling as he pushed them on quickly.

You. Just you, he thought of. Everything about you was so amazing, and he couldn’t think of anyone or anything that was more flawless than you.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard you knock on the door and his eyes widened once more, rushing to the mirror and glancing down at himself, like he had pre-date nerves but much worse. He ran over to the door after a few seconds, and answered it, tugging the door completely open as you smiled softly to him.

“Hey,” You mumbled, smiling to him as Tom’s mouth opened up, but he had no idea what to say except, “Sorry! Again!”

You laughed back and shrugged. It was very surprising, shocking in fact. But also, just fucking hot, you watched it so many times, just hearing him moan out your name in such a way. You had so much to say and wanted to know- but it was still just incredible to you that he loves you like you love him. You can’t count how many times you’ve accidently moaned out his name when you were with your ex, but it just proved you love Tom so much.

When you developed feelings for him back in middle school, you quickly denied them. It didn’t make much sense at first, but you remembered seeing him in a different way. Noticing the strange but lovely things about him, how he tugged on his hair when he was bored, or nervous. And when he’d smile and look down, as if he was shy or insecure about it. You slowly started to start noticing these things about him, and you started thinking about him more, thinking about how something reminded you of him.

By high school, you thought he was your soulmate. Which wasn’t really a good idea to think. You’d be upset seeing him date other girls, and you tried to convince yourself that he wasn’t the one, that your soulmate was out there- and soon you just stopped believing in soulmates or even twin flames. Maybe the two of you were destined just to be best friends for life, which you thought back at the end of high school would be fine.

Something about Tom was that the had glow ups almost every month, it seemed impossible but each time you saw him, you’d be more attractive to him. Notice his dimples, and how his shoulders developed more muscle to them. Summer was always a mess for you, seeing him in his trunks, you couldn’t look anywhere at him without thinking of the things you wished you could do with him, but most of all you wanted to be with him.

Now with his video, everything seemed so complicated but easy to solve at the same time. You didn’t know what he was thinking though, and you wondered if you’d leave without a best friend, or even happier. You’d hope for the later, but it was up to whatever would happen now. You cleared your throat, as you stepped into his house, after Tom moved out of the way silent.

“Y/n…” He started, watching as you took a seat on the edge of the couch, facing him. You nodded back to him, biting your lip as your eyebrows knitted together in nervousness. Tom walked closer to you, choosing to take a seat on one of the chairs next to the couch.

“I’m really sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out- at all. I know that was just horrible, and I feel really bad.” He rambled, sniffling slightly as he waved a hand through his messy hair. You saw everything, it was so embarrassing, but he felt confused, after hearing you confess back to him. “Tommy, I- um, it’s okay.” You replied, nodding your head back to him.

He groaned, knowing it wasn’t. No one likes being sent videos like that without their permission, and to hear him say your name and what he was saying must’ve been the cherry on top. “And, I do love you, Y/n. I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I don’t want to lose you.” He went on, gazing at you softly and worriedly.

“You won’t lose me…” You trailed off, glancing around the room. “Unless you want to. I don’t want to lose you either, you’re my best friend and I love you- I’m in love with you too.” You whispered back, feeling your heart start to race. Tom blushed at your words, as his eyebrows raised.

“You really love me?” He questioned, starting to wonder if this was just all a dream. How many times have you said it now in the past hour? It was just all a shock to him now, but it was true, everything was. You giggled back at his question, watching a goofy grin pulled across his face, “Yes Buzz Lightyear!” You replied, laughing even more as Tom let out a loud laugh.

The nickname traveled all the way back to when the two of you watched Toy Story for the first time together. You told him he looked like Andy but acted like Buzz, to which he proudly stood up from the couch and shout, “To infinity and beyond with my best friend!” You quickly bounced next to him, standing on the couch excitedly, “We’re best friends?” You questioned. And that was the story of how you two got even closer, still watching Toy Story together even now.

You both watched Toy Story and lots of other movies together throughout the years. Constantly nicknaming each other by the characters. It was an inside joke you both played by, but you felt especially happy whenever he’d call you something. He’d nicknamed you Matilda after he saw you carrying three textbooks in the hallway and you usually stuck to calling him Buzz.

While you were laughing hard, Tom stood up from his seat, admiring your beauty while he walked over to you. You calmed your laughter, letting your face soften as Tom came closer, and you hoped off the couch, glancing to his lips for a few moments. Tom saw your movement, as he parted his lips and licked them gently. The thought of your perfect lips against his, he almost groaned.

His eyes also drifted down to focus on your lips, favoring the way they sparked in the soft sunlight. You were beautiful, always, inside and out, something he found wonderful. Your eyelids fluttered as Tom stepped even closer to you, where you can feel his breath his against your skin. You leaned up, tilting your head close to his as his hand gently grasped under your chin.

“I love you Y/n.” He whispered, closing the gap between the two of you, landing his lips against yours softly. You instantly responded to his kiss, closing your eyes completely now, as you felt yourself fluster with happiness and excitement. Your mouth opened slightly, letting your tongue out as the kiss deepened. His tongue warmed against your lips, licking them as you wrapped a hand around the back of his head, gasping slightly.

Fucking sparks.

It was perfect, his arm flew around to your back, pulling you closer to him as you tugged on his hair and played with it. You stepped closer to him, as the two of you started to kiss passionately, and his other hand drew down under your shirt, skimming your skin gently as you gasped at the coldness. It only led to him kissing you even harder, as he stumbled with you back around to his bedroom, knocking into random objects of the house.

He cursed as he pulled away, breathing deeply along with you and you pulled him in for another kiss, bumping into one of the floor lamps, causing you to giggle against his lips. You both clumsily and blindly walked back towards his room, still hitting walls and even a pile of scripts he had on the floor.

His hands now were both under your shirt, sliding up and down on your back, feeling your soft skin as you still had one in his hair, tugging it with more force now. Your other arm went down to his neck, circling shapes and pinching at times.

When Tom’s back hit against his bedroom door, you both pulled away for a few moments, taking deep breaths as he pulled the doorknob, opening to the room. He pushed the door opened quickly, before taking ahold of you again, groaning as your lips hit his, instantly opening as his tongue explored your mouth. You both stumbled into the room, but instead of going to the bed, he pushed you against the wall to get closer to your figure. He grunted, feeling his cock twitch again as he felt you grind against his leg, trying to heave yourself up.

Tom grunted, pulling away from your lips, but kept his head against the wall, pulling your body up as you jumped. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pushed your hips against his, moaning when you felt a spark of heat run through your body, filling up in your lower stomach. “Fuck Tommy,” You laughed out breathlessly, before pulling his head back to your lips, kissing him again. Tom hummed against your lips, letting his teeth bite down onto your bottom lip, causing you to gasp.

“Like it when I kiss you like that?” He muttered back to you, pushing into your body even more against the wall, causing you to shiver at the closeness. This was your best friend, the man you fell in love with over so many years, and now hearing him talk back to you made you want to roll your head back and moan. It was incredible, being with the person you’ve loved for most of your life.

“Oh, yes,” You responded, nodding as his lips kissed down your neck. Your hips jutted up against his again, causing Tom’s cock to stir completely up into a full erection. Earlier today he wouldn’t believe this would ever happen, but now it was and fuck, he was so in love and lustful.

He bit and nibbled at your neck, causing you to whimper as he licked and smoothed sweet kisses to calm your neck down. “Tom- fuck, babe.” You moaned, as he started to grind against you in a rhythm you found addictive, pushing your hips up to meet.

“Can you believe how long I’ve wanted to do this? See you crying out my name?” He pushed out after leaving a long lick onto your neck. Your eyes widened as his dirty talk turned you on even more, causing you to feel a pulsing at your core, wanting to feel even more of him.

“I wanted you like this too,” You confessed, out of breath as you slid a hand between your bodies, underneath his shirt. Your hand contacted his abs, causing you to shake with delight.

“Really?” Tom retorted, grinning as he gazed back at you as sweat started to pull at his forehead. You nodded back to him as he continued to dry hump against you. “Then show me.” He taunted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows before tugging his head back to yours again. You harshly bit onto his lip, swirling your tongue out after a moment while your other hand curled near his pants, cupping his hard on.

Tom gasped into the kiss as you started to unzip his jeans, making him groan against your lips. You grinned, loving the way he made those sounds, “Mm, pretty boy,” You mumbled, letting your lips disconnect, as you made your way to his ear. Tom clenched one of his fists up against the wall as you pecked messy kisses into his ear and tried pushing his pants lower.

He helped you out, but shivered as you moaned into his ear, “I’ve dreamed of you begging,” You paused, whispering now against his skin, under his ear and onto his neck, “Asking for my wet pussy,” Another pause.

Tom’s face was more than red at this point, as he realized his wishes were granted to him, and he thanked everything around him, but most importantly you in his head. “And hm, do you know who made me wet?” You murmured, grinning widely as you peeked at his face.

“I- I do.” Tom responded, instantly losing all his confidence as you slid your hand underneath his boxers. You licked your lips as your eyes widened, getting a feeling of his girth. Feeling excited, but still playful, you continued your talking, “Who is it? Is it my pretty boy?” You murmured to him, sliding your hand up and down while lightly gripping his cock, giving him a loose hand job to work him up.

“Y-yes, fuck Y/n.” He panted out, head rolling to the side as his legs started to go weak. You grinned even more, before pulling your hand away and grasping his stomach again. He groaned, pushing his hips forward and meeting your center again, as you wrapped your legs tight around him once more.

“You’re a fucking tease,” He cried out, as you bit his ear, moaning. You sighed out again, watching as his eyes fluttered at the feeling of your breath against his skin. “And you know what happens to teasers?” He continued, stuttering as you grinded down against him again. Fuck, he was pounding hard, and he needed to tug the rest of his jeans off.

“What happens?” You questioned back with an innocent tone. Tom pulled you off the wall without a second for you to process that he was kissing you now. You blinked momentarily before responding, wrapping your arms fully around the back of his neck to support yourself more. Tom grunted as he swung you around, licking at your lips as you let out a soft happy sigh.

He carried you across his room, still not to the bed, and instead to his bean bag chair. He moved his head away from yours, breathing heavily with lust doped eyes, “Get off,” He whispered to you, causing your arms to collapse and you grinned, falling back onto the chair. You sunk into it, and almost wanted to laugh at the size, but your attention was all on Tom, your best friend. You weren’t sure what else to call him, because you knew no matter what was happening now, he would always be your best friend, and you’d love to be with him any type of way, whether that be as friends or more.

“Well when you tease someone, darling, you should always expect it back.”

You felt the air leave your body as he slowly stripped his jeans off, leaving him in his boxers and shirt. You tried not to stare, but well, it was hard (both not staring and his clothed cock). Fuck, you gulped as Tom started to peel his shirt away, tossing it to one of the corners of the room. You quickly glanced that way as you noticed you started to feel shy.

Damnit, not the time to feel that way, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be perfect for him, he was the one you’ve loved for so long, one you’ve wanted for so long. You wanted to lay flawlessly for him, kiss him as he wanted, just make him happy, but you really wanted to just fuck him in the moment. Were you really into that “making love” thing? Where was the love if you would just sit and take his cock and not cum? Love and passion were two things that fit great together, and your shyness was threatening your desire to fuck Tom out of his mind.

Just as Tom finished taking his boxers off, he noticed your facial expression and instantly paused. “Y/n,” He started, whispering down to you almost nervously, “I- what’s wrong?” He asked, stuttering, wondering if he’d done something bad. He instantly started to swear himself out in his head as you glanced up to him with that smile of yours, the one he’d always recognize.

“I’m sorry…” You trailed off, groaning as you contemplated what to say. It was hard, you wanted to be everything for him, but you didn’t know what his everything was. He didn’t know yours either. You both needed to find out somehow though.

“What do you,” You cleared your throat, gazing up at Tom as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. “What do- what are things you enjoy, or your kinks?” You mumbled out, scratching your leg as an odd habit as Tom furrowed his eyebrows.

“My kinks?” He repeated, as his gazed ran over your figure again. You nodded back, stretching back onto the bean bag chair as your arousal pounded with lust and restlessness. You could smell the sweat already, what it would be like to feel his skin against yours everywhere, how he’d pound into you and whisper things you’d beg to hear again.

Tom kneeled close to you, biting his lip as his hand reached out for your chin, tilting your head closer to his. “I like hearing everything, I like when I hear pleading,” He paused, gulping as your eyes flickered down to his lips. “I want to see you squirm with my hand around your neck,” He stopped as your lips parted in surprise and want.

“As long as you’re okay with that.” Tom whispered after a moment. You instantly nodded, pushing yourself up and kissing him again. Fuck, even though this was the first day of kissing him, you knew that you’d never get enough of it, always wanting more. His lips were something you adored for years, and now you can finally feel them, know their language, and you loved every bit of it. Your lips separated as his tongue slid onto your bottom lip.

“I love you so much,” You mumbled between the messy kisses as Tom fully started to move on top of you, onto the bean bag chair. Tom grunted into the kiss as you wiggled around while pulling him closer to you. “I love you too,” He sighed out, pulling away from your lips momentarily to gaze back at you, smiling.

“Take off your shirt, I want to see you.” He whispered, sliding his hand underneath the front of your shirt, feeling your skin against his palm. His eyes fluttered close as you grinded up again against his cock. You whimpered as he retaliated, pinching your skin. You rushed your hands to your shirt, tugging it off with Tom’s help.

You both broke the kiss as you tossed the shirt over your head, in a rush. Before you could kiss him again, Tom’s hand lingered over your bra, speaking up, “Wait, what are your kinks? What are you comfortable with?” His breath was hitting you again, as you blinked back surprised, he asked. You felt your breath hitch from his hand.

“I um, I like it when you touch me- anywhere. Fuck- it’s just your hands are just hot,” You rambled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Tom smirked at your comment, pushing his hand down onto your bra again, causing you to sputter out a quiet moan.

“Why did we never do this before now?” He questioned, as he brought his other hand behind your back, lifting you up slightly. His fingers curled around the bra as you shuddered at the feeling, shaking your head, “I’m not sure, but I’m happy we are now.”

Tom smiled back to you, before kissing you again. His lips were hot against yours, warming your whole body as you felt your underwear dampen even more. You felt as though you two continued to sink into the bean bag and you grunted, wanting even more. “Fuck,” You gasped out, as Tom finally undid your bra completely and pinch at your skin again.

You shrugged out of the bra, causing him to gaze in awe, “You’re so beautiful,” He whispered. You sighed as he placed one hand onto a breast, squeezing it. “Tom,” You began, as you started to feel as though you couldn’t take it any longer. You needed him; it was bad.

“Please-” You cut yourself off with a gasp as he trailed his fingers down your stomach lightly, sliding it to your pants. Fuck, when you looked down, you felt everything heat up, seeing him clench his fist around the buckle to your belt, tugging it off. “Please what, darling?” He asked back.

“I need you now. In me.” You whined, lifting your hips up to take off your pants and to be closer to Tom. He raised his eyes back to you, shaking his head, “Mm, no, I’m going to savor this.” He murmured back, teasingly. You groaned, but quickly quieted down as Tom unzipped your pants, leading you closer to him. Your panties snapped against your skin as he slid his fingers near the elastic.

“I want to taste you,” Tom paused, whispering as he stood back up. You glanced down to his cock again and licked your lips, just imagining what he would taste like, since he brought it up. But the idea excited you even more, pooling wetness near your thighs now as you slipped off your pants smoothly and standing up close to him. “While you scream my name,” He finished up, pulling you close as your eyes widened.

“Fuck Tommy,” You responded, instantly leaning up to kiss him again. Oh, it felt so good to be bare against him, to feel his heat and fuck- his cock hitting against your stomach as well. He pushed you back against the bed finally, and you collapsed with a sigh as he dug his fingers into your thighs. You let out a whimper as his fingers trailed closer to your panties.

Tom let out a chuckle, watching you shiver, before he bit onto the cloth, tugging your panties down completely with the help of you lifting your hips up into the air, and with his hands. “Woah…” He breathed out, seeing your glimmering wet pussy. You gazed down at him with need, gasping as he blew air close to your hood.

His sweet lips found their way to one of your inner thighs, pecking your skin softly. His fingers twirled around on the other thigh, as he groaned, listening to your heavy breathing. His kisses became slower, and messier, leaving a trail of spit as he lingered closer to your center, breathing into you.

And finally, his lips collided with your core. You gasped, instantly rushing your hands to the back of his head, tugging on his curls. Your back arched as his tongue lapped long and fast stripes against you, leaving you no time to stop the loud cry of his name. Tom smirked against you, finding joy in your moans, and lapped his tongue against your clit over again, pressing hard.

You yelped, crying out again as one of his fingers urged into you, curling and soaking in your heat. “Fuck, you’re- how is your tongue so good?” You rambled out, tugging his head up momentarily to see his face.

Oh shit, it was covered in your slick, and you cried out again feeling him slip and stretch another finger into your pussy. Tom smiled before letting his tongue out, teasing you once more as he licked your outer lips now, instead of your clit. He headed towards your labia, carefully pressing slow kisses again.

“You taste so fucking delicious,” Tom paused, murmuring now against your clit. You moaned aloud from the vibrations it sent through your nerves. You couldn’t believe you were here now, with his head between your thighs, loving and admiring you so much.

“Bet you taste even better.” You responded, watching as Tom glanced back up to you, grinning. His eyes were darker than you’ve ever seen before, and you loved seeing this side of him now finally. “I think I can sit here and eat you out for hours. Everything about you is addicting.” He finished up, raising his eyebrows back to you as you whimpered at the thought.

You didn’t even have time to warn him about your orgasm, it rushed out of you, gushing against Tom’s lips and fingers as he licked you up again. “Tom- fuck- oh my,” You choked out, raising your hips against his face as his other hand grasped around your hip, digging into your skin. You came onto his face, causing him to soak it all up with his tongue, groaning at the taste in delight.

Your head hit back against the pillows again as you dropped your body completely, feeling as if you were floating. “That was,” Tom cut you off, kissing your hip slightly, “Perfect, absolutely perfect.” You let out a laugh, just in disbelief that you were finally with him, in the way you wanted. You shifted slightly, still feeling the effects of your orgasm drift through your body as Tom laid back next to you, kissing your shoulder gently.

You giggled quietly, “Yeah, it was great.” Tom smiled back to you, as you rolled to face him, kissing his nose for a quick second. As you gazed back at Tom, you instantly were reminded of his throbbing cock, as it hit against your stomach, making you gasp. You pulled him in for a deep kiss, causing him to groan, and stumble on top of you.

“I’m ready, are you?” You mumbled through the kisses, pulling and tugging at his hair. Your legs spread wider, gasping again when you felt him pull away from the kisses completely, as his cock barely brushed against your heat. “I am,” Tom responded, smiling back to you as his face softened. His hand grasped your face gently, as he propped himself up above you, lining his cock to your pussy.

“I love you so much,” He whispered, brushing his thumb to your lips briefly, before his entire hand drifted down towards your inner shoulder. Your eyes gazed up to his before you smiled back, “I love you too,” You mumbled back.

Tom started to push his cock in slowly, gazing back to you to check if you were alright, and you gasped as you felt his girth. “Oh…” You let out, furrowing your eyebrows together in surprise before you felt him push all the way into you. He grunted, before pulling back, to start his pace, “Are you okay, darling?” He asked softly, as he saw your face.

You nodded back to him, wiggling your hips, “Please keep going,” You responded, causing Tom to breathe in deeply, holding back his moan. You grinned back to him as his fingers caressed against your throat. You nodded back to his silent question, if it was alright for him to put his hand around your neck, as he slowly pushed in again, and you started to get used to the feeling.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper than before and you instantly let out a moan, feeling the heat build up in you again, during his rhythm. Your attention went back down to his hand, sighing as he grasped around your neck, fuck. You loved it so much, as he started to strengthen his hold, he kissed you again, as he pounded into you.

You kissed him back, groaning as his fist tightened again, and he pulled away from your lips, now going towards your cheek and leaving sloppy kisses. His other hand drifted in between the two of you, finding your clit again, and started to rub harshly causing you to gasp and moan out his name.

“You like that, huh? Louder.” Tom spoke up, gazing back to you in lust and desire, pounding into you even harder now. You gasped his name in return, moaning as you felt his fingers around your throat. Your head tossed back against the pillow, and you breathed in slowly against his hand, blinking dazed and in amazement. You almost felt too out of it, as airflow was limited now, but it felt good still.

Tom didn’t stop moving motions on your clit either, as his pounding started to go into an unsteady pace. He pulled away from your cheek and his hand away from your neck, now gripping at your hips harshly, groaning again. You shuddered as you felt him go even deeper than before and hitting your g-spot again. “I’m going to cum again,” You quivered out, feeling a tear run down your face from the rush of your orgasm building up, and Tom huffed back, grinning down to you.

“I’m going to as well,” He responded, eyes locked down onto your expression as his fingers started to go even faster, rubbing at your clit. “You’re doing so good darling.” Tom continued, praising you as his cock soaked in your pussy. You clenched around him, crying his name again, and bringing his face back to yours, kissing him again. You could taste your cum from before too, and Tom groaned into the kiss, as your legs squeezed around his figure.

You started to quiver as your orgasm pushed over the edge, and you gasped against his lips, losing your grip. “I’m co-” You couldn’t even warn him as you came out quickly, causing you to yell out his name, eyes fluttering closed as Tom continued to push into you.

It felt unreal, how the day had gone. With Tom above you, coming right after you and whispering his love for you. It made you want to scream into a pillow with joy, but you couldn’t find yourself letting go of Tom’s figure as he dropped besides you with that smile. You didn’t know what else to do but to hold onto him like you’ve been doing your whole life. He’s your best friend, and now perhaps a lover, a scenario you played in your head during daydreams for fun, but it’s real now. Your head tucked into his neck, as the both of you laid on the bed, sweating and covered in each other’s cum.

“Hey, Buzz,” You paused, barely mumbling his nickname while giggling. Tom gazed back down to you with a love doped expression, “Yeah, Matilda?” He answered, laughing along with you. His laugh made you beam even more with a happiness you couldn’t compare to any. You shifted slightly, capturing his gaze as his laugh quieted down. Your hand drifted up to his face, cupping his cheek softly as the words poured out from your lips.

“I really do love you.”

In a few quiet moments after, his lips rested against your forehead, “I’ll love you forever,” He confessed, closing his eyes as sleepiness rolled between the two of you. A hum went through your lips in agreement, cuddling closer to him as your breathing settled, fluttering your eyes shut with a smile.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader insert #tom holland/reader #tom holland/you #tom holland x reader smut

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lordabovehelpme · 3 years

Text

Do you remember?- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: I'm not sure if you would do this because the angst levels are insane. So din and (wife)reader go out to a mission, but the reader gets hit really badly on the head. She survives though!! Obviously dins happy abt that but she lost her memory. This is so sad but I live for this andndmcIt's okay if you dont wanna do this, and I really adore your work smfmxmcm thankyou! -anon

A/n: Hello my dear! Oh man this request is such a good idea! I’m not the best with angst, but I hope this lives up to your expectations.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment, I love hearing what you all have to say! :)

Warnings: memory loss, angst

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cyare, keep looking at me. Stay with me!” His hands hold you to his chest as he runs back to the ship.

“Din, I wanna sleep.” Your words slur together and your mind screams at you to rest. It’s becoming too hard to keep your eyelids open, your skull throbbing.

“No no no, don’t sleep. Come on cyare, stay awake. Focus on my voice. We’re almost back.”

“‘M sorry, love you.” You offer him one smile before succumbing to the screams of your brain.

“No no no no. You’re not sorry. You have no reason to be sorry. You’re gonna be sorry if you stay asleep.” He rushes up the hatch, bringing you to his bunk, and tucks you in. Grabbing bacta and medicine, he tries to patch up every cut and bruise that formed on you.

If only he had been a little faster. He had watched as the quarry threw the explosive. He had watched as your body was thrown back against a wall. He had watched as his heart fell to his feet. Out of instinct he shot down the quarry and his legs carried him to our body.

You had looked too peaceful to have just been thrown by an explosive. And now you lay there on your bed looking just as unfazed.

***

Your body starts to move under him, signalling your wake. Instantly he opens his eyes and looks down at you, biting his lip in excitement. It’s been three days since you’ve moved. He’s tried everything to get you to wake up, extra bacta shots, small sips of water, and just leaving you to rest. Every night he wraps the two of you up in blankets and molds himself to your body.

His hand moves to cup your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Cyare? Are you finally waking up for me?” Your eyes open and he instantly attaches to your mouth. “Cyar’ika, I thought I lost you. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“Get off me! Who are you? Where am I?” You push him off of you and move from beneath his body, taking the blanket and sinking into the corner. When he gives you no answer, you yell out, “Who are you?”

His eyes soften and his heart shatters, scattering into millions of pieces. “Cyare? It’s me. Din, your husband.”

You scoff, “Don’t lie to me. I’ve never even thought of marriage. Who are you?”

The child runs up to you with his arms outstretched. He babbles as he slaps your knee, climbing into your lap.

Taking the child into your arms you scowl at the strange man. “Are you a kidnapper? You are aren’t you? I know all about you. Kidnapping me and this kid, trying to fill the void of a family you don’t own. GET AWAY!”

He stops from where he was slowly walking over to you. “No cyare. I-”

“Why do you call me that?” Grabbing a wrench over to your side, you pull the child closer to your chest and hold it up to him. “Don’t get any closer, I’m not afraid to hit you. And we both know that this will do some damage.”

Fighting back tears, he stands up and rushes to the cockpit, locking himself in. Sitting in the pilot seat he rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head in his hands. Sniffles and small cries fall from him as warm tears trail down his cheeks.

Resting on one of the shelves to the side of his seat is a framed photo. A photo he took of you on your honeymoon. You’re smiling as you hold a bouquet of wildflowers. The white flowy dress you wear highlights your curves, and your hair rests naturally. Taking the frame into his hands, he watches as teardrops fall around your face. Subconsciously he fiddles with the wedding ring that decorates his left hand.

“Hey, ummm, I’m sorry for freaking out.”

He turns and sees you standing in the doorway, hands clutched together and your head hung low. No words seem to form and he just sits there as you walk over. You sit down in front of him on the floor and take the frame into your own hands.

His eyes trail over your face, searching for every miniscule twitch and tell of your emotion. Your fingertips trace along your photographed figure. You look up at him, meeting his dewy eyes. “Where was this?”

He sighs softly, “It was during our honeymoon. I took you to a planet with a small population, that way we could celebrate without having the worry of someone seeing me without my helmet.”

You nod, your eyes unfocusing as you try and piece back together the broken memory. Slowly, you reach for his hand, taking his palm into your own hands and twirling his ring. You hold your left hand in his and play with your own ring.

“How long have we been married?”

He breaths in, too many emotions tugging on his weak heart. “Umm about a year and a half now.” Again, you nod. “Cyare?” You hum and look at him. “Do you remember anything?”

“Ummm.” Scooting forward on the floor to sit in between his legs, you rest your head on his thigh. One of his hands starts to pet the top of your head. “Not really, but my heart does this thing when I’m near you. It’s like a magnetic pull, my mind screaming at me to run into your arms.”

More tears start to fall from his eyes, as he nods. “I feel it too.”

You stand and sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He watches as your eyes glaze and a smile forms on your lips. “Wait, I’ve remembered something.” You leech onto the spot of soft skin beneath his ear, sucking and nipping. He groans and his hands rub at your back. “I remembered how if I ever wanted anything, I’d just suck on this spot and you couldn’t say no.”

He chuckles, pulling your face out from his neck. The two of you look at one another and smile. “You have me wrapped around your finger. Do you remember anything else?”

Looking up you try to focus on anything. After a few minutes you frown, looking back down you shake your head. “No, sorry.” Water starts to build in your eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” His thumb brushes away the tears and he smiles at you. “It’s okay. It’ll all hopefully come back eventually, and even if it doesn’t we have our entire lives to make new memories. All I need is you in my arms.”

You nod and nuzzle into his embrace, tucking yourself away from the world. “Can you tell me what you remember?” Your hands twirl and play with the ends of hair at the base of his head.

He chuckles, “Where do I even begin?”

“From the beginning.”

“Glad to know you still have your humor.” He kisses at the side of your head as you giggle and squirm. “From the beginning…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next part: No, but I am trying

Well, I hope you all liked it! My heart hurts a little from writing this, but hey, that’s good... right?

Anyway, Love you all!

Muah xx, Lordy :)

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