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#she would often say that we should put him in a boarding school as he has become to hard to manage (his autism is severe)
inkskinned · 3 months
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she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.
in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.
it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.
i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.
sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.
and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.
once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?
i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.
my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."
the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.
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We're Shit Out of Luck, Munson
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Eddie Munson x gn!reader
Masterlist Part Two
Summary: You're excited to take a trip north to Steve's cabin with all your friends. That is, until you're snowed in alone with Eddie.
Word Count: ~10.5k (I'm sorry)
Warnings: Swearing. Fluff. Improper knowledge of how a fire stove works. Sort of strangers to lovers? One Bed Trope!!!
A/n: This took way longer than I'd like to admit. I just couldn't get it work, but I hope it's good enough now :) Please let me know your thoughts! Love hearing from you all, and thank you for reading <3
--
The wheels of Nancy’s car churned up snowy roads under drifting clouds and floating snowflakes from above. In the rumbling backseat of her car sat you in the back, your head leaning toward the window. She drove, her bracelets jingling whenever she turned the wheel, while Jonathan sat in the passenger seat.
Some Fleetwood Mac song played through the old speakers, your head bobbing along as your eyes danced along the white landscape leading your way north – away from Hawkins and away from regular day-to-day life for just a few days. The three of you were planning to meet Steve, Robin, and Eddie there for an extended weekend away at a rarely used cabin Steve’s family owned. 
A knit hat hugged against your head, a heavy coat weighing along your body as you thought toward spending time with some you knew well – missing the days of standing doubled over again in laughter together every other day – and others you were excited to get to know better. 
Like Robin, who Steve had talked endlessly about how great the two of you would get along – though he seemed to especially say it after you teased or annoyed him. Or maybe like Eddie, your face quirking just a little at the thought.
You didn’t have anything against him, though you had only met him once. But it was just that you weren’t someone who would climb on cafeteria tables like he did back in high school or speak the way he did. You weren’t sure just yet whether his unashamed self put you off or impressed you.
Once your body had begun to ache from sitting for so long, you leaned forward, pushing yourself past the supplies containing clothes, food, movie, board games to rest a hand along Nancy’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re almost there, right?” you asked, peering at the map stretched across Jonathan’s lap.
He cleared his throat, stretching his legs before muttering, “Yeah, we should be there soon. It’s at the end of the road after we turn onto Lake Street.”
“Oh, is there a lake? Maybe we’ll do some ice fishing,” you suggested, humor in your voice as you leaned back into your seat.
Nancy let out a soft laugh, raising her eyebrows in a “maybe” sort of gesture and glancing to Jonathan.
He merely put his hands up. “You two feel free, but I think I’ll stick inside with all of my fingers warm and still connected to my body.”
With a smile, you returned to the view outside, watching it slowly change from straight county roads to winding dirt ones with trees growing thicker on each side. Swaying branches dusted off snow with each passing breeze.
Old brakes squeaked as Nancy pulled the car next to the cabin. Just as you thought about where the others were, Nancy muttered, “They’re probably not getting here until dark, if it’s those three trying to leave on time.”
You put down “chronically late” into your mental descriptions of Eddie and Robin, imagining Steve standing next to the car and waiting for them like the mom he often acted as. Spending time with the kids sometimes required a small escape like this, or at least it certainly seemed from Nancy’s urging to get away from Mike.
She huffed while getting out, but you just took it as a chance to get first pick at the cabin rooms. Grabbing your bag and hauling along food, you walked to the door as Jonathan asked, “Are we sure this is the right place?”
Glancing down, you saw a snowy welcome mat that said, “Live, Laugh, Love” – you turned around and shouted a giggly “Oh yeah.” Though all laughing died down as you tried turning the knob to open it… but nothing. Of course.
“Hey Nancy,” you called back to her at the car’s trunk, “Did Steve happen to give you a key to getting into this thing?”
You pressed your coat closer against your chest, trying to shield yourself from the wind, though the noisy breeze did nothing to hide Nancy’s sigh. “No, he didn’t. He said they’d be here in time, so it’d be okay.”
Pursing your lips, you nodded at the solemn information. Your breaths out made swirling white in the air in front of you as your boots creaked down the wooden steps. You searched around for a window that could be propped open and crawled through, but most seemed too high off the ground. The others refused to budge, even with all three of you trying to pull. Either they were locked or frozen shut out here.
A thud sounded out when your head rested against the cabin, slowly coming to terms with the rocky start to the getaway. Instead, you all were left inside the car, intermittently turning the car on to get enough heat going without wasting all of the gas. 
“Go fish,” Jonathan told you for what seemed like the hundredth time, making you mutter under your breath.
Your cursing only increased when Nancy asked you, “Got any eights?” You shoved your eight into her hands, ignoring her smug smile and ready to give up on this game. It’d been a couple rounds of her winning every single one.
All of your heads popped up at the same time as rumbling came from behind, eyes catching a large van pulling up on the other side of the front of the cabin. You breathed a sigh of relief at the unmistakable flowing hair of Steve through the passenger seat window after what felt like an hour. “Thank the lord,” you whispered before the three of you clambered out.
Nancy was the first to speak, her nose red like yours. “Steve, if you don’t open this cabin right now, we’re stealing it from you and locking you out.”
You guessed he would’ve had wide eyes and a surprised response, but he looked tired, nodding with a straight mouth. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, tossing the keys to her.
The wave and smile Steve your way had you returning them as you went to hug him quick. “You’re so lucky that’s all you’re getting from Nancy. Another half an hour, and you’d be getting much worse threats from me,” you laughed. 
As you turned to grab your things and finally find a warm blanket or bed or shower – something – he sighed out, “Hey, don’t blame me. Eddie here woke up late and was supposed to be the one picking us up. But I appreciate your kindness.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s good to see you though.”
“Good to see you too,” you said, patting his shoulder. And you meant it. That contagious smile and corny jokes were well-missed by you.
Making your way inside with your things, you wrapped your arms around yourself and grumbled under your breath things about Eddie that certainly didn’t help in his favor toward impressing you.
Stomping off the snow from your boots and slipping them off, you rushed through toward the rooms. You found three, which it didn’t take much mental math to figure out it’d have to be two people per room. Jonathan and Nancy would take one of them, leaving you with Steve, Robin, or Eddie. In the moment, though, you didn’t care too much as you picked a room at random and muttered your way into the bathroom with fresh clothes for a hot shower.
The steaming water dripped along your body, slowly warming your frigid fingers and toes. A long breath emptied from your lungs toward the smooth shower tiles, sending a warm shiver through your body. You weren’t sure how long had passed before you eventually turned the shower off, the leaky shower head dripping water droplets over and over again as you stepped out and dressed. 
You exited the bathroom expecting your bags to be right on the bed where you had set them. You had no reason to expect otherwise, until you were met with the chaotic sight in front of you.
Technically, your things were still where you had set them, but they – along with the rest of the bed, most of the floor, the wooden dresser – were covered in clothes, candy wrappers, toiletries, and… were those mini figurines? You only took one step into the room, making the floor creak below you, before a wild wave of hair popped up from the other side of the bed. 
Wide eyes stared into yours, big brown ones that nearly made you forget about the mess. That is until Eddie spoke up. “I uh, lost my Walkman. Tryin’ to find it before I go insane listening to their music.” He motioned his head toward the door with an unamused look on his face.
Listening for a beat, you heard music coming from the living room – which seemed to be “Material Girl” playing. Nodding, you looked around while asking, “Are you sleeping here?”
Eddie still rummaged through his bag as he muttered, “By the time I got in this woodsy cabin, everywhere else had been picked, and Robin was already nearly started the place on fire trying to start the wood stove before Nancy stepped in. So I guess?” He turned to you then. “Are we roomies?”
Between his lateness that caused you to sit in the car and freeze your ass off and having to now dig your things out from his mess, you pressed your mouth tight while thinking of your options. “I’ll be right back,” you told him, flashing a flat smile.
You didn’t give him time to answer before you left, seeking out Steve. You found him in the kitchen unpacking some of the refrigerated food. Walking right next to him, giving him a sweet look, you helped him put away some things.
His sigh filled the quiet space between you two. “What is it?”
“Have I ever told you how good your hair looks, Steve?” you asked.
“Of course. Now, what do you want?”
Groaning, you whispered, “I did not sign up for having Eddie Munson as my ‘snowy getaway’ roommate. Please switch with him. Or with me, I’m sure Robin is better.” You looked at her laughing in the living room while watching Nancy try to teach Jonathan to dance, unsuccessfully.
Steve let out a breathy laugh. “If you find uncontrollable snoring and sleep talking better, then maybe. But I already promised Robin I’d room with her. And you have those freezing fingers that I don’t want to wake up with on my back.”
“I promise I won’t do that, even if you are the greatest furnace I’ve ever known,” you begged.
He looked at you, stopping his unpacking and tilted his head. “What’s wrong with Eddie as your roommate? He’s not all that bad.”
You glanced back to your room to make sure he wasn’t listening. “I’m sure he’s not, but he’s been in there for two minutes and already trashed it. And I’m not exactly the type to share a bed with a stranger.”
“Well you could just talk to him. Or get to know him so you’re not strangers,” he offered, glancing toward the room. Your eyes followed, seeing that Eddie was walking out. You had meant what you said, that he wasn’t terrible – maybe you’d even like his sense of humor or laidback personality. But you already liked the rings wrapped around his fingers and the crinkles around his eyes – and all of that mixed with having to lay mere inches from him all night had you hesitating.
You quickly gritted out, “He could just sleep on the couch though” while bringing a smile to your face as Eddie approached.
Steve looked the same, leaning over to whisper, “Or you could.”
You’d seen the couch, a fancy one that looked as if it hadn’t ever been sat on. Your back hurt from just thinking about using it as a bed. There were no other quiet protests you could give before Eddie made it to you two, the chain on his jeans jingling with each step.
“Harrington, you seen a Walkman around here or in the van?”
Steve shook his head, sending his hair swishing along his face. “I’m sure you just missed it when shoving nearly everything you own into a single bag, Munson.”
“Except for extra underwear. I did forget those,” Eddie said with a sad sort of grin, though it turned happy at seeing your twisted face. “Just messing with you, roomie. Though I did forget toothpaste.” He pretended to bat his eyelashes, silently begging for you to share yours and only stopping once you gave in.
His hand patted Steve’s shoulder before walking away to ask the others whether they’d seen his Walkman. With a tight mouth, you just looked at Steve with pleading eyes.
“He can borrow some of mine,” he offered. 
You leaned your head against his shoulder in a silent “thank you” before making your way back to the room, planning to unearth your bag to settle in. To your surprise, most of Eddie’s things were cleaned up – or at least shoved to one side of the bed, which you appreciated as you opened up your bag, putting away your things into the drawers. 
This was okay. You’d only spend the nights in here, and that was only part of the day. You’d be having fun elsewhere the rest of this time out in the snow or sitting among friends in a nice cabin. This was still going to be a great getaway, no matter what came.
“Oh shit.”
Your head jerked up at the sound, your heart sinking for a moment at hearing Steve say those words. The music quieted down a little, sure someone had turned it down at the outburst. Making your way back, you found everyone else staring at Steve as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Anyone seen the packs of beer?” he asked, his voice low like he already knew the answer.
At everyone shaking their heads, Robin spoke up. “I thought you were bringing them.”
He nodded, putting his other hand on his hip – his classic mom pose. “Yeah, yeah I was. Except they’re back at my house, just sitting on the counter,” he sighed out. “I forgot them when running out of the house when Eddie pulled up.”
Groans echoed out in the space, a quiet “Way to go, Steve” from Robin joining them. 
“Well, how about a trip into town? That could be nice,” Nancy offered, clasping her hands together. “Grab some beer, check out the stores too.”
Jonathan peered out the window, pulling open the blinds. “It’s stopped snowing for a bit. Is it supposed to pick back up?”
You shrugged your shoulders like the others, none of you having bothered to check the forecast. “I’m sure it’s fine. Let’s get this road trip going,” Robin said with a toothy grin.
“We already had a road trip,” you said with a laugh.
“Well, a mini road trip then. Maybe there’s a Family Video there, Steve. We could use our double employee discount to get The Apartment for basically free.”
“Robin, you’ve already seen that literally a hundred times,” he responded.
“But not a hundred and one times.”
You smiled at the sigh he gave as opened up his hand to Nancy. “I can drive.”
Nancy nodded, digging out her car keys before throwing them to him. Most of the others started making their way to the door. Though it wasn’t snowing, you weren’t yet ready to weather the cold so soon again. 
“I might stick back here, if that’s okay. Stay warm for a little longer,” you told them, giving a small smile.
“Want us to pick you up anything?” Robin asked as she shoved a winter hat on her head. 
You waved them off, happy enough to just have the place to yourself for a bit of quiet before everything got going. But your body stilled when Robin turned to look past you, asking, “What about you, Eddie?”
“Besides beer? Nah, I’m good,” his voice sounded. You began to chew on the inside of your cheek, suddenly debating on joining the group after all. Your chances of relaxing went down to zero, instead launching in the other direction of keeping you on edge.
But Steve gave you a pointed look, as if telling you to stay and get along with Eddie. Between his flared nostrils and a breeze pushing through as the front door opened, a fresh wave of frigid air coming through, you just swallowed hard and nodded. You gave them a wave and locked the door after they left, soon watching it pull away.
You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you slowly turned around, preparing yourself to say something to the near-stranger you shared this cabin (and bed) with. But all you saw was the tail-end of the towel sticking out of Eddie’s back pocket as he walked into the shared room, calling back, “Taking a shower” right before the door shut.
Standing in the middle of the cabin, staring at the space where Eddie had just been, your stomach twisted. This wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought. Leaving you with the empty rooms of the rest of the place, you grabbed a snack from the kitchen and the book you’d left on the counter. Taking a blanket thrown over the back of the uncomfortable-looking couch, you sat in a La-Z-Boy next to it, tucking your feet under yourself.  You weren’t sure how many pages you made it through before leaning your head back and slowly drifting off into sleep, the crackling of the fire and winds gusting outside weighing on your eyelids.
The second Eddie shut that door to shower, his mouth opened in a silent scream as his palms came up to his face. Only once he started the shower did he release a groan, fingers coming up to wind through his hair. He trashed the room of one of the most beautiful people he’d ever seen? God, he must’ve looked so dumb and selfish looking for his Walkman.
Where did he put that damn thing anyway?
And he saw the way you talked with Steve right after, probably begging him to switch rooms. A sharp pang ran through his chest thinking of you running to mother hen Steve to tattle on Eddie – all spiraling because he’d forgotten to set his alarm last night. He deserved a little slack, right?
He would’ve tried to make a better introduction if he knew he’d be meeting you. He was sure someone had mentioned it earlier, but after hours of listening to whatever Steve and Robin deemed “music” in his van before being unable to escape it even here, his mind wasn’t altogether there.
He’d stayed back from the beer run to shelter from more musical soundtracks, but he hadn’t expected you to stay too. So here he was, standing in the bathroom, head resting against the tiled wall as he thought of the least annoying way to share this room – or at least not make you hate him during this weekend. 
Eddie’s shower burned against his skin, scalding water dripping down him and washing away the bad start. The curls of his hair grew heavier as he washed it. At least this place had hot water. 
As he dried off and dressed, his lungs filled deep with breaths and emptied them fully, preparing himself to face you again. Silently opening the door, squeezing his dripping hair with a towel, he padded across the floor back and forth for a while. He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent arguing with himself on how maybe hash this out, occasionally taking breaks to tidy his things further – maybe that’d help? As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, he threw down his towel he’d somehow picked up again to find you and fix this. And find you he did.
His breaths grew much shallower, quieter, at seeing you curled up in that plush chair, blanket and book resting against your body. Though he knew if you woke up to see him staring at you, there was no way you’d stop hating him. But your chest rose and fell in even waves, your eyelids twitching once in a while, your fingers intertwined with one another. And as he was about to turn around and go back into the room to leave you asleep and content – without him – his eyes returned to yours one last time to find them already staring at him.
The scream you let out rang through the air, echoed by expletives from Eddie. Hand clutched to your chest, you gritted out, “Why were you staring at me? You scared the shit out of me!”
His teeth clenched together, eyes wide, as he nearly yelled, “You? You scared the shit out of me. Jesus… just came out to check on you, got a fucking heart attack instead.”
Eyebrows screwed downward, you replied, “Is that how you check on people? By staring at them until they wake up?”
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes, though not quite as menacing as it could have been. “I’ll leave you out here to die next time, sweetheart.”
“Die? From what? The only thing that’s made me fear for my life was finding a mysterious man standing over me,” you scoffed, a hint of an incredulous smile across your face.
That made his face change, a growing smirk replacing his grimace. “Ah, so you think I’m mysterious,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants, and your eyes flicked down to his forearms more than once. And maybe at the way his damp hair curled against his shoulders.
“Mysterious like a man wearing a trenchcoat at the end of an alleyway, maybe,” you told him with a hint of laughter in your voice, your gaze rising up to see his face screwed tight.
“Yeah, well at least–”
Whatever retort Eddie had fell flat as the phone rang right next to you. Your gaze went between it and Eddie’s for a brief moment before you threw off the blanket and your book just as he scrambled to it as well. But your hand reached it first, your other pushing him away from getting it.
Your fingers grasped the handle, rasping into it, “Hello?”
“He- hello? Can you hear us?” The voice crackled through the receiver, though it sounded familiar. But Eddie by your side whispered, “Who is it?”
“Robin?” you asked, ignoring him.
“Hey!”
“Where are you all? You’ve been gone awhile,” you said, though only guessing from how much darker it seemed outside.
“Oh yeah, about that. We’re in the middle of butt-fuc– Hey!” The sound of rustling and distant voices talking over one another on the other end erupted into your ear before Nancy’s voice came into focus.
“Still there?” she asked, a bit out of breath.
“Still here, Nance,” a smile evident in your voice.
She huffed out a breath before speaking up again. “We’re stuck here in town. Snow blocked my car in while we were shopping – we can’t get it unstuck no matter what we try–” More noise comes from behind before Nancy’s voice comes from farther away as she says, “We are not using Steve for traction.”
You assumed she said that to Robin, and you’d laugh if you weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nancy let out a long sigh. “No one can come get out to us today… or even a few days if the storm stays this bad.”
Your eyebrows lowered into a deep valley. “Storm?” you asked. You craned your neck toward the nearest window, unable to see much outside with the sun far down now. As you did, you caught Eddie’s face in the reflection looking stern, making you turn to him. 
He waved a hand at you, mouthing something that you only caught every other word of. You mouthed back “What?” but held up a finger as Nancy began speaking again – leaving Eddie with his arms crossed and jaw tightening.
“Yeah. Ugh, I was stupid not to check beforehand. But we’re not making it back tonight.”
“Not at all?” You knew the question didn’t quite make sense, but your eyes flicked to Eddie for a moment, your heart crawling up your throat. All it did was make him whisper-yell at you to tell him what was happening. “What about all of your things here?” you asked, your voice much quieter. There was no way they’d be able to walk all the way back, especially if this snowstorm was as bad as she was saying.
You could practically hear the frustration laced through Nancy’s words. “After we walk to the one motel this town has, we’re going to buy toiletries and things. We’ll try again tomorrow and call you, but in the meantime, are you two okay by yourselves? I know you and Eddie don’t know each other too well.”
Glancing at Eddie again brought his patience to an end, his legs bringing him to your side and holding the receiver between both of your heads to listen. The proximity of his body so close to you all of a sudden had you stepping back, eyes merely blinking at him as you tried to answer, but the way he looked at you didn’t make words come any easier. Eventually, you let out, “Uh, yeah, we should be okay. We brought enough food to last us.”
His gaze held yours, his eyebrows raising high at your words. He mouthed, “Why?” but Nancy responded first.
“Good, good. Okay,” she breathed out, “Sorry about all this, but we’ll hopefully see you tomorrow then.”
You didn’t think Eddie’s face could’ve twisted further in confusion, but you were mistaken. “Yeah, see you, Nance,” you said, your own voice feeling distant from where your mind was at. The line clicked to an end after saying goodbye, the receiver falling limply with your hand.
Before you could even collect your thoughts, Eddie spat out, “Can you finally tell me what the hell is going on?”
Your head jerked back just an inch before your eyes rolled. This was going to be a longer weekend than you ever thought. Instead of answering him, you walked to the cabin’s front door, pulling it open carefully so the wind didn’t fling it off its hinges. Standing there, gazing out into the world, you felt Eddie’s feet walk across the floor until they stopped next to you.
With the front porch lights illuminating the way, you could see heavy flakes pelting down onto growing piles of snow. It wasn’t nearly as much of a surprise as to how their car had gotten buried so fast after seeing how much snow blanketed the world.
“They’re stuck – staying in town tonight,” you finally muttered. “They’re shit out of luck.”
He rubbed a hand down his face, fingers tangling in his hair as a groan rumbled up his throat. “No, we’re shit out of luck. Jesus.”
Despite the view of endless stars littering the sky, goosebumps started littering your skin. Your hands grasped the door handle and pushed it shut and locked before resting your head against the thick wood. 
“Well,” Eddie said from behind, making you turn and watch him shift from one foot to the other, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “At least we don’t have to share a bed anymore.”
You let out a mostly unamused snort, lifting your head to shake it back and forth. “That’s the least of your problems. They had all the beer.”
“Shit…”
The two of you had nearly started a fire and a fistfight in the kitchen while trying to make a late-night dinner. This cabin felt ancient, none of the appliances working how either of you thought they would. Eddie tried to come in to help, hoping it’d mend some sort of relationship between the two of you, but he ended up pulling off one of the dials. Instead, while he piled up logs high into the wood stove for the night, not knowing if any of what he was doing was right, you rummaged through food to make a couple sandwiches.
In silence, you two sat at a creaky dining table and ate a meal that wouldn’t fill you up and that would have you searching for snacks in the middle of the night. But he was having dinner with you, trying to not stare at you too much – though, part of him thought “How could he not?” There was a way you spoke, lived, breathed that had him strangely captivated and wanting to know more.
“So…” he started saying in between bites of his surprisingly delicious sandwich, “do you forgive me yet for scaring you?” He tried to sound sincere, but a wry smile rose along his cheeks.
Tilting your head, you told him, “Might be my memory, but I don’t quite remember you apologizing for it, Eddie.”
As his name rolled off your tongue, he couldn’t stop his face from flushing for a second. But his grin came back almost immediately. “Think it’s your memory then.”
“While how about you refresh it for me,” you said, looking at him expectantly. The crackling of the fire filled the air between you, its heat wrapping around his body while you waited.
A few emotions crossed his face, determining the right way to do this, before he finally said, “Sorry about it.” He shrugged. “Not sure you could blame me for staring me for staring at you, though I didn’t realize you were so jumpy.”
Eddie’s throat felt tighter as he swallowed down the risk he took to say that, but he’d say it a million more times if it meant to see the way you paused, your face turning shy as you looked away. 
“See…” you said, your voice returning to you as you pointed at him with your sandwich, “I don’t think that’s a very good apology. Not sure why it’d make me forgive you.”
“It came from my heart.” His hand came to rest on his chest, right above his heart with a solid thump. His fingertips felt the way it beat just a bit too fast for his liking. His apology wasn’t good, but it got you to talk to him some more, and that felt like enough.
Flat-toned, you told him, “Sounds like you should go to a cardiologist, cause your heart gives shit apologies.”
Dramatically, he pretended to stab a stake through his chest. “Great, now you’ve wounded me.”
“Clean up dinner and I’ll forgive you, okay?” You stood up with a smile you tried to hold back, only moving to the living room once he wordlessly nodded. “Thanks.”
He felt glad you weren’t watching at how fast he put the few ingredients away and tidied up the table. He glanced at you while you gathered up your things, your face a bit shyer as you approached him.
“Gonna get ready and head to bed. See you in the morning, yeah?” you said, making a pang hit his chest in a way that left him confused and nearly breathless. 
“Yeah, sleep well,” he muttered, hands back in his pockets and playing with the coins left in there. 
Standing in the cabin alone as your door shut, only accompanied by the hot fire and chilling winds outside, had Eddie walking to bed with too-loud thoughts. Had he won you over? The way his body seemed to care so much about the answer to that question didn’t help his tiredness as he climbed into bed.
Despite the constantly creaking house under the harsh force of the storm’s wind, the night passed quietly at first, only accompanied by your occasional tossing and turning. You went to Steve and Robin’s bed that night, leaving Eddie in the one you were supposed to share with him. You thought of your friends and hopefully what plans they had in store for all of you once they made it back tomorrow.
Robin had a million movie recommendations for the group to watch. Nancy brought games for you all to play. Mostly, you just wanted to catch up with everyone that you hadn’t seen in awhile, happy to finally find a time to be together, but look where you were…
Sleep came and went, and came and went again until you woke up a few hours later with a chill climbing up your spine. Your weary blinks barely did anything, the room soaked in dark. Though if you had been able to see, you would’ve expected to see your breath billow out into the air. 
How did it get so cold? Squeezing your eyes shut, you willed yourself to curl tighter against yourself and fall back asleep. But it evaded you, slipping away through chilled fingers and goosebump flesh. 
No part of your body agreed, but you slid out of the bed with a blanket wrapped around you. Your feet curled against the cold floor as you made your way to the fire stove, doing your best to not run into anything. 
In the dark, you could spot the last embers in the fire stove still dying out. Shit, you hadn’t been paying attention to where Steve’s family kept the logs. While searching in the dark for a light switch or the logs, pain erupted through your toe as you stubbed it against something. 
A subdued groan stuck in your throat, one hand over your mouth while the other went to your toe as you bent down. Breaths came from your nose in rough bursts, the cold air only making the pain worse. 
Feeling around, you vaguely recognized what you ran into as Eddie’s bag he’d brought out at some point last night. You silently cursed him before making your way to his room, exhaustion fueled by the cold weighing on your eyelids and shoulders, slowing you down.
Fingers wrapped tight around the blanket still, you knocked on his door once, twice, three times… you lost count when he didn’t answer. Fed up, you creaked the door open and whispered, “Eddie?”
Only once you repeated his name louder did he stir, his mouth releasing a groan from beneath the sheets.
“Hey, Munson. Where’s the firewood?” you asked, walking closer to him.
His hand came up to rub at his eyes. “Jesus,” he mumbled, “it’s freezing in here.”
He couldn’t see you roll your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. The wood stove burned out, where’s more firewood?”
“I used the last of it when I filled it. Thought it’d last us awhile.”
You didn’t want to absolutely lose it on Eddie, but the heat of your frustration felt welcome in your cold body. “You used the last of the firewood in a winter storm? Are you trying to get us killed?”
He sighed out, “I’m sure there’s more somewhere.”
“Where?”
“How should I know?” he asked, sleep still laced through all of his words. You envied him and wanted to strangle him. “We can look in the morning or call Harrington, okay?”
“And what, do we freeze until then?” you asked, pulling your arms in closer to your body. You weren’t sure you had enough layers to last you that long.
Shifting himself over, Eddie offered, “You could join me to share body heat or whatever, or you could leave. Either way, I’m falling asleep in the next 60 seconds.”
Your face twisted, nails digging into the softness of your blanket. Part of you wondered whether freezing during the night would’ve been better than sharing a bed with Eddie, the first thing you tried to avoid after getting here.
But his hand flopped over near you, and you could feel the warmth of him washing onto your thigh. With a final shiver through your spine that you blamed on the cold and nothing else, you grumbled, “Let me in. And watch your hands.”
He held up his hands as if to show you he wouldn’t dare, not that you really expected him to. Climbing into the bed, your body relished in being near him. Your tired muscles loosened with the heat as you curled against him while he laid on his back. 
“Shit!” Eddie nearly yelped as your cold feet accidentally brushed against the skin of his legs. 
“Oh suck it up and warm me, Munson.” You pressed closer to him still despite his protests, and despite the nerves firing inside you. Your blanket stayed wrapped around you like a burrito, acting as a barrier between your bodies at least a little bit. Maybe it’d be enough to let you fall asleep without overthinking all of this.
But the blanket constricted your upper half, so as you wiggled against Eddie to get comfortable, you brought your arm across his chest. Hoping that didn’t go too far, you began to ask him, “Is this oka– are you not wearing a shirt?”
Pulling back a bit, you tried to look him in the eye… and maybe lower. But the darkness obscured any glimpse. 
“Got warm when going to bed. Shirt’s somewhere on the floor. S’that okay?” For once, his voice sounded void of teasing. Instead, you could tell he angled his head to try and get a look at you as well.
Settling back against him, laying your head against his shoulder and pressing your body to his, you nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” Was it okay? Your fingers rested along his ribs and unable to get the feeling of his bare chest out of your body’s memory.
The weight of his hand resting against your back and the slight tickle of his wild hair brushing along your face warmed more than just your skin. All of this breathed intimate, made you close in more than a physical way.
“Good night, Eddie,” you whispered. Your body began to relax as the chill left in favor of the blooming warmth he provided you.
Against your head, he whispered back, “Good night, sweetheart.” 
You thought sleep would be impossible while wrapped together with him, and while calling you those pet names, but the comfort of your breath falling in line with his had you tipping toward exhaustion. And though you seemed to be bursting with thoughts and questions, Eddie had vowed to go back to bed soon, so you shut your eyes to let him sleep, falling into unconsciousness within moments.
Eddie did not fall asleep soon, not even close to the 60 seconds that he had told you. Not with you snuggled this close to him, your soft breath sliding against his skin with each exhale. He was sure you’d fallen asleep then, little noises sounding from the back of your throat kept his mind racing and his body all too aware of yours.
When your thumb had rubbed back and forth along his skin, his brain went blank then burst back online when his stomach tingled. Did he really have god damn butterflies from that? At least it seemed he’d won you back over from pure annoyance to mild tolerance. 
He hadn’t told you, but he’d been cold too. Eddie absolutely wouldn’t have told you about the way his heart lept into his mouth when asking you to stay in the bed together. Or how wide his smile had gotten when you actually said yes. Each time you twitched, he feared you had gotten cold again or had some bad dream. But there you stayed, in his arms.
No part of him could tell what time it was by the time his tingling nerves finally settled and warmed. Dipping toward unconsciousness, he knew he’d sleep better than he had in a long time. And he did, with you pulled tight against him and refusing to let go.
The sun peeked its body up above the horizon. Light streaming in painted the frosting swirls adorning the window in a rainbow of shades. The absolute silence out here in the winter felt welcome against your ears. Through everything this trip had brought, at least you had time to sleep in. 
And Eddie took full advantage of that. As your eyes blinked open, you found him out cold – but he certainly didn’t feel cold. The first thing touching your awareness was the feeling of Eddie pressed against your back, the rising of his chest and pounding of his heartbeat. His arm wrapped across your ribs and came to rest his hand on top of yours. 
Silently, a soft smile rose on your face as his nose nuzzled against the back of your neck. Who knew he loved to cuddle so much? As each quiet minute passed, you seemed to care less and less about the minor ways he had annoyed you through this trip so far. Well, not completely – but at least this was nicer than bickering with him or being stuck outside.
Despite the chill still in the air, your body ached to stand and stretch. As you slipped from Eddie’s grasp, you glanced back at him. In the morning light drifting past the curtains, you could get a better look at him. But only a short one, not wanting a repeat of what he’d done to you yesterday. Facing you, your gaze took longer than you’d like to escape from staring at his arms and chest or how his hair cascaded across his face and onto the skin of his shoulders.
 He had nice shoulders.
Shaking your head, you opened the door to let him continue resting, which apparently he really needed. While he slept in through most of the morning, you’d managed to make breakfast, get washed up and ready for the day (and covered in many, many layers) and actually read this time – with the record player on its lowest volume. Through the busyness of work and college, you found it hard to capture (let alone appreciate) moments like these anymore.
You’d checked outside again and again to see whether the snow had miraculously melted since you last looked. But each time you pulled back the curtains, the blanket across the land still sat there – though snow continued to fall, it drifted slower now. Its quiet and undisturbed body looked peaceful, comforting in a way despite everything.
Though not unwelcome, the soft air broke once the phone rang. With quick footsteps, you went to it and picked up, rushing out, “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Nancy again,” the voice on the other side breathed through the receiver.
Maybe you should’ve asked how she was or how she slept, you skipped past any pleasantries. “Any good news?” you asked.
The sigh Nance let out told you the answer before her words did. “Wish I had some. Everywhere within a hundred miles is facing exactly what we are. No one’s getting anywhere for a bit, barely even plows.”
You swallowed down a deep groan, your fingers tightening around the phone. “There’s no way you’re getting here today?”
“Maybe, if we’re lucky. I’m sorry.” And she did sound sorry, but she was the one stuck in a motel room in a tiny town buried in snow.
“Don’t worry… I’m sorry you’re roomin’ it in that motel for the time being. And with those two children,” you laughed out, breathing easier when hearing Nancy’s laugh too. You vaguely heard her say something else, but you turned to look at Eddie’s room to see the door open.
Your eyes roamed across his sleepy state as he walked toward you, the back of his hand coming up to rub against his eye as he yawned. His hair laid at odd angles, the curls raining down on a faded Judas Priest shirt he now wore, which hung down onto a pair of black sweatpants. You couldn’t quite look away, a warmth in your chest at seeing him in such a state. Only hearing your name through the phone brings you back.
“Sorry Nance, what was that?” you ask, shaking your head and keeping your gaze elsewhere.
“Just wishing you luck on your extended vacation with Eddie,” she said, a slight humor in her voice, almost as if she knew what just went through your head.
You nodded even though she couldn’t see – maybe she could apparently, or you were just that obvious – but you followed up with, “Yeah, good luck too. Keep us updated?”
“Of course,” she said, and your mouth pressed tight. Perhaps from missing out on this time with her or perhaps from the impending conversation with Eddie in a second. 
“Oh wait!” you said louder, “Please ask Steve where the extra firewood is. We’ve burnt through it.”
Nancy mused out loud, “We should’ve had one of you there when he explained all this. One second, I’ll ask.” You imagined her whispering to Steve while Robin was still asleep.
While sounds of shifting and moving went through the background, you watched as Eddie grabbed the blanket you’d been using on the couch and wrapped himself in a burrito. You turned away to hide your smile, thankful Nancy came back.
“Hey, he says it’s out back in a log rack. And that you only need to put some in the stove at a time, not too many or it’ll burn out faster,” she explained to you. 
You thanked her, and the click of putting the receiver back echoed through the room. A silence settled before Eddie finally asked, “They on their way back yet?”
Leaning back against the kitchen counter, you angled toward him as you answered, “Uh, no. Quite the opposite, actually. There’s a small chance they get back today.” Gesturing to the window with the head, you followed with, “Snow’s probably not stopping soon.”
You allowed yourself to glance back at him while he looked past the curtains, knocking his head against the glass with a groan. “This storm has a vengeance against my quest for beer.”
Letting a laugh out through your nose caused him to stare at you, eyebrows furrowing in a way to ask you what was so funny. Shrugging, you told him, “You certainly have a flair for dramatics.”
He crossed his arms as he stood tall. “Maybe you’re not being dramatic enough. We’re stuck here for a whole weekend.”
With wide eyes, you asked, “Oh, having to stay here with me calls for melodrama and agony?” Eddie’s face looked hesitant, even speechless for a second, until you were unable to hold back your smile anymore.
His eyes roll back, his usual demeanor coming back quickly. “You’re the one that didn’t want to share a bed with me, sweetheart.”
Your fingers came to pick at the hem of your shirt, eyes drifting downward. Your grin fell, throat tight as you struggled to explain yourself. “I, uh…”
His shrug followed with, “S’alright. We made up for it last night.” He let out a small laugh, one that didn’t quite ease your embarrassment. “Where’s this firewood though? Freezing my tits off here.”
That did get a giggle from you and let your shoulders ease a little. If Steve were here, he’d give you an “I told you so” about communication or whatever, but you were just glad Eddie wasn’t too upset.
Still, you couldn’t stop your sigh as you told him, “Firewood’s out back in some log rack apparently.”
Raising his eyebrows and pulling his blanket tighter, all he offered was, “Well, good luck. Have fun with that. I’ll be here to warm you up again when you get back.”
“Ahh… no. You’re the reason it burned out in the middle of the night. So if anyone is going out by themselves, it’s you, Munson.” You crossed your arms, letting the silence grow louder as you two stared each other down.
“Fine! We’ll both go,” Eddie gritted out, shuffling back to his room. You slipped on boots, a hat (or two), gloves, and your coat. You were plenty tired of the all too familiar chill aching through your body.
But as Eddie came back out, you barely contained an explosive laugh at seeing him covered up. A ratty sweatshirt bulged against him, clear that he wore many layers beneath it. And he at least had on two pairs of pants. 
“Not one word,” he muttered, about to grab his shoes when you convinced him to wear Steve’s boots he’d left here. You also spent too long forcing him to put on a hat – it would “ruin this perfect hairdo” he told you, but you won out.
You were sure the two of you resembled young children bundled up and unable to move well by the time you opened up the front door. The porch allowed you to open it at all, unlike the back door that had a growing wall of snow barricading it.
Both of your boots crunched as you walked around the cabin. Despite trying to shield your face from the wind that seemed to come from every direction, the view you had certainly didn’t get old. Thick trees weighed down with fresh snow all spanning for miles, looking like a scene out of an old Christmas movie.
Nearing the other side, you spotted a rack with a tarp over it, sure to be piled high with logs. Your freezing fingers clenched at the promise of warmth soon. Just as you were about to look for the logs, you felt a thud against your back along with muffled laughter. Eyes narrowed and jaw tight, you turned around to see Eddie very obviously looking away from you, pretending nothing happened – like he didn’t just pelt you with a snowball. 
But in his act, he didn’t see you bend down to form your own snowball between your gloved hands. Packing it tight, you pulled back your arm and let it fly, hitting him square in the chest as he turned toward you at the last second.
There was no stopping the shit-eating grin on your face at his mouth dropping open or the way his gaze steeled. The look pierced past all the ridiculous layers, making you feel a little less cold out there. The way his head tilted to the side, awaiting him to make some cocky comment that’d have you internally stuttering – it kept you still, even as he bent down.
“Oh, you are so fucked,” he told you, packing another snowball.
He had no idea how right he was.
The second he stood back up with his ammo, your legs took off in the other direction, feet slipping through the snow as you ran from him. Though the icy air sharpened against your face, your grin stayed, now accompanied by uncontrollable laughter as Eddie chased you.
Rounding the next side of the house, you slipped around the corner to press against the wall, hiding from his view. His own laughter grew louder as he followed, making your teeth sink into your lip to stop from letting out any noise.
As he ran full speed around the corner, which wasn’t that fast in knee deep snow that wormed its way into your boots, you jumped out at him. Your hands landed on his shoulders with a slap, forcing a scream from his throat and his hand to release the snowball.
But he flew back in surprise, his legs tangling with yours and bringing you both down into the sea of snow. White powder billowed up and around your bodies, some of it wiggling into your exposed neck and wrists.
And yet, you weren’t complaining as you landed with your body pressed against Eddie’s, half of your chest on top of his – your faces only a breath apart.
Perhaps you should’ve scrambled back, apologized, or even laughed at him for screaming, but you admired the snowflakes littering his dark hair like constellations against a night sky. Then you glanced to the soft red covering his cheeks and nose, sure that it came from the cold but hoped it grew from something more.
Eddie’s breathing rose and fell beneath you, pressing close and then all too far a second later. You thought you might’ve caught his doe eyes glancing toward your mouth, yours doing just the same, but as he shifted closer, more snow dipped on the back of his neck and down his coat.
“Shit!” he yelled, flying up to try and shake it out, breaking whatever had held you two together for that all too brief moment. 
You sat there with a smile, watching him scramble to rid himself of the quickly melting snow. Letting out a long sigh, you stood up and waited until he calmed before nodding your head back toward the logs.
Moment broken indeed as you began to sweat trying to grab as many logs in your arms as possible – no part of you wanting to trudge back out here. Between the two of you, there stood (balanced precariously, really) a sizable amount of logs to fuel the wood stove for a while.
Your body felt a little lighter as the layers of clothes dropped to the floor, your cold cheeks beginning to warm up back inside and out of the wind. This time, you loaded the logs and set the stove ablaze, declaring the spot directly in front as yours for the next half hour.
Eddie, of course, had none of that. He plopped himself next to you, pressed against your side – claiming “it had the most heat, stop hogging it.”
You didn’t stop, not when the still-warming skin of your arm goosebumped as it touched his. The veins running along his forearm occupied most of your thoughts while you two sat there in silence, only interrupted by occasional complaining of a different body part being cold and cursing of this storm.
“You warmed up?” Eddie asked, turning his head to look at you. 
If you turned to him, you’d get caught up in the deep brown of his eyes or how soft his lips looked, so continued staring at the flames in front of you. You’d been plenty warm for some time now, but if you told him that, then you’d have to leave his side.
But before you could speak, he brought a hand up to scratch at his neck as he continued, “Cause I was thinking we could watch one of those movies Robin brought.”
Oh, that you could do. “Yeah. You can pick, I’ll go search for that popcorn Nancy put somewhere,” you said, getting up and finding it before he noticed how scattered your brain was becoming. 
The TV came to life as kernels popped in the pan you shook on the stove. As you watched each one burst, the nerves of being with Eddie settled back in your body, sleeping against your spine. This weekend hadn’t gone as any of you expected, especially not with seeing this near stranger as cute, charming even – not that you’d tell him that.
And rather than watch The Apartment as planned, you realized you didn’t want Eddie to be a stranger anymore. So you pestered him with questions, not that he seemed bothered. You loved hearing about Uncle Wayne and the auto shop Eddie worked at, or his D&D campaign he was planning at the moment.  Not with that smile when you told him about your family, friends, and how work was going. He even vowed to fight your annoying coworker if he ever saw him in public – like you had promised to check out Corroded Coffin when you made it back.
“Like, I know we fight literal demons in our game, but are you sure Tanner isn’t one of them? I mean, who falls asleep in the only bathroom? And locks it!” Eddie said, shaking his head as he filled his mouth with more popcorn.
“Right?” you said in between salty bites, “But as long he doesn’t show up at The Hideout, I’m coming for your show next month.”
And you’d give him a million more promises if it meant making that look spread across his face again – excited grin, cheeks squishing up to make his shining eyes shut. Wow. Maybe you’d put too many logs in, the air feeling much warmer now.
But it was easy, so surprisingly simple to spend the day with Eddie. He played you some of his favorite songs while you both laid on the ground, heads next to each other but feet pointing opposite directions. Every time he bopped his head to the beats, his hair brushed against you. The way his hands shot up to play an imaginary guitar and softly mouth the lyrics had you holding back giggles. 
This time, he tried making you dinner. And he did make a surprisingly good plate of pasta – without burning the whole place down. While eating, he nodded along to what you said as if every word quenched some sort of thirst he had for listening to you, for learning everything there was about you. He had this air about him of confidence, but past that, in those soft moments, you saw him settle into a quieter form of himself – one that calmed you too.
And reaching the end of the night, you awaited his question. Whether you’d be staying in his bed again. The fire was fixed; it’d stay lit throughout the night. But the two of you threw on another movie, maybe just so you didn’t have to confront that just yet in case you would separate ways. Your eyelids drooped and you yawned so hard it shook through your body. And that tiredness made your decision just a little easier.
“Hey,” Eddie whispered, resting his hand on your arm and shaking it gently. “Let’s get to bed, alright?”
Your head had drifted down until it rested against his shoulder, so it ruffled his shirt as you gave him a few sleepy nods. Shutting the TV off, he grabbed your hand and led you toward the bedrooms. As he slowed at the split between the two doorways, you kept shuffling your feet, pulling him into his room. Not bothering with getting ready, afraid it would break the unspoken moment between you two, you climbed into the bed and took the leap, holding out your arm as he had the night before.
God, he took the space next to you so quick. But he kept his movements gentle, not wanting to rock you out of your sleepy state in case it woke you from this dream you’d created. Eddie settled in, wrapping himself around you and under the covers. Jesus, he spent all night working up a way to ask you for this.
A deep sigh loosened from his lungs that you had done it instead. Maybe it’d been the way your eyes lit up whenever he made you laugh before they shut as you turned breathless, clutching your stomach. Or how excited you got talking about your favorite show at the time, your hands flying through the air. 
It’s not that you were intimidating, but you sure made him feel intimidated – nervous that he’d say the wrong thing and make that beautiful smile drop. But it didn’t. He could still see it in the faint light coming from the hallway, and it only grew as he pressed his body against yours.
Eddie really wanted to stay awake, on purpose this time. To enjoy this time as he stroked a thumb along the soft skin of your hip peeking out from under your shirt. But your heartbeat pumped against him, your breath made his fall in line to yours like a steady conductor – leading him right into sleep along with you. And he followed you without question.
It was in the late morning that you it happened, it finally came together. Half-awake, you laid your arm on the one wrapped along your stomach. It pulled against you, bringing you closer to the chest behind you. You weren’t yet aware enough to recognize that you weren’t dreaming, that it was Eddie also on the cusp of sleep holding you.
Not until did his lips connect to the point where your neck slopes into your shoulder did your eyes shoot open, any bit of tiredness inside you disappearing in a moment. Your head turned back to look at him, seeing his own eyes shut before also blinking open at your sudden movement.
He glanced between where he’d just kissed and your face, a blush rising to his cheeks as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, um…” he stammered out before pulling his arm and scooting back until no part of him touched you anymore.
You’d done it – you’d broken the tension in the ugliest way, and you felt cold without him there. Turning to fully face him, you rambled to try to fix this in some way. “No, no, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry, really I should be the one sorry for taking your bed and forcing you to sleep next to me–”
“You didn’t force me–”
“But it’s really okay because it was cold that first night and so it made sense. And we both weren’t really awake just now, and–” You’d gotten up now to pace, unable to look him in the eyes anymore. You didn’t want that extra space between you, but he’d done it first and maybe that’s what he actually wanted.
Shit. Shit. Shit. How could he kiss you in his sleep? What a god damn idiot. Though he understood why he did it, watching you pace and float through the room like some angel he felt undeserved to kiss.
As you glanced at him for just a second, you saw the way his fists squeezed the blanket between his fingers. Oh, how could you have been so stupid to misinterpret things, and now you’ve made him uncomfortable.
Taking a long breath, you finished with, “I’m sorry, Eddie.” Your hand clasped onto your other one as you shifted from foot to foot.
With a hand rubbing down his face, he shook his head. “I’m the one that kissed you, and you’re apologizing,” he laughed out. “I didn’t mean to do that, especially without asking or something first, Jesus.”
You barely heard his next words that he spoke to himself, but your ears held on to every word. “Maybe my subconscious had gotten into my thoughts…”
Your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek as you contemplated your next sentence, the rabid butterflies ravaging your stomach. Pursing your lips, you quietly asked, “So… you would have wanted to do that if we were both awake?”
And his face shot up, those eyes the color of melting chocolate meeting yours. He climbed from his side of the bed, shuffling toward you – one of his steps for every three of your racing heartbeats. “Yeah, of course. But I didn’t even ask if you wanted that…” he said, leaving his unspoken question hang in the air.
Fighting the smile trying to rise up, you said, “So, you should probably ask then, Munson.” And the kind light shining from his eyes turned brighter into a tall flame threatening to burn you both. There it was, that cocky way he had.
His hand reached to grab yours, giving it a squeeze before he finally said it. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered, gaze unsure of where to stay, definitely your mouth it seemed.
You tried to come up with a million different ways to say yes, to tell him that you couldn’t stand another second without him being pressed against you again. As your mouth opened, a creaking noise came from the front of the cabin, followed by voices.
“We’re alive!” Steve shouted as the group walked through the door and stomped off snow from their shoes. Other words shot through the air, destroying the haven the two of you had made. Dropping your forehead against Eddie’s, you sighed out a breathless “Yes” that fell flat against his cheek.
Fuckin’ Harrington.
--
A/n: ​Thank you so much for reading. Reblogging and commenting make my day (and make me love you), so I’d love to hear what you thought! <3
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fan-fantasies · 2 years
Text
Stolen Goods
A/N: dedicated to breezy for being my best friend and putting up with my bullshit since we were 5 years old ❤️ I’m absolutely in love with this piece and I hope you guys love it to! Part two is already written so just let me know when you guys want it 😏
Pairing: Eddie x reader
Warnings: 80s version of nudes, fingering, swearing, tension out the ass
Summary: You take a liking to your friend’s weird friend. Even more so you take a liking to teasing him.
Part two
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“Please come! All you have to do is sit there!” Your best friend pleaded with you.
“I highly doubt that,” you scoffed.
(y/n), pleaseeeeee. I’ll owe you big time,” Bri said.
“Ugh, fine. But you do owe me!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She screamed as she pulled you into a hug.
You had just agreed to sit in as a sub at her DnD club meeting or campaign, whatever she called it.
You would consider yourself a nerd, just not the type to play that game. You could often be found in the library studying or in a comic book store, which is initially how you became friends with Bri.
She had tried to convert you into her satanic club, just kidding of course, but the game confused you and you had no patience to learn.
She really enjoyed being in the Hellfire Club and you were glad it made her happy. She talked so highly of the guys in it and even said you’d probably take a liking to the leader, Eddie. You’d seen him around school, and heard him of course, but you never understood why she thought you’d like him. You didn’t have a problem with him like everyone else seemed to but you also didn’t understand why he thought so highly of himself either. Maybe that was it- his “better than the bullshit” attitude.
You didn’t think anyone was better than anyone else or above the bullshit. It was high school- it was all bullshit.
The day went by rather quickly and you soon found yourself standing outside the theater room with Bri.
“You ready?” She asked. You thought for a moment before turning on your heel and walking away. But Bri was quick and grabbed your arm, dragging you into the room.
“Hey Bri. Who’s your weird friend?” Eddie asked.
“I’m the weird friend? That’s rich coming from you,” you scoffed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“Use your big-boy brain and figure it out,” you replied. Bri just shook her head and sighed.
“I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea,” she mumbled to herself. The rest of the guys were just staring between you and Eddie, scared to say anything.
“Sit down. You’re a level one princess,” Eddie smirked.
“And you’re a five star douche. What’s that have to do with anything?” You shot back.
You could tell Eddie was getting frustrated which made you happy. He had no reason to judge you right off the bat so you decided to piss him off as much as possible.
“Please, for the love of gods, just sit down!” Bri whispered to you.
“I’m so glad I tagged along. I’m already having so much fun,” you told her. She just groaned and sat you down in a chair behind her. You smirked at Eddie who was giving you a death stare.
You mostly just watched the game, having to roll the dice a few times. You still didn’t understand it but you could see the appeal. The biggest thing that caught you by surprise was just how passionate Eddie was about the game, and just how attractive you found him as the dungeon master. You’d never admit that to anyone, of course, but now you could see why Bri thought you might like him.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Dustin screamed.
“Language, young man,” you scolded jokingly.
“(Y/N), you’re our last hope. You have to roll a nat 20 or else we lose,” Mike told you.
“That should be easy. Just have to roll for one singular number. On a twenty sided die!” You yelled. Eddie chuckled from across the board.
“I look forward to your defeat, m’lady,” he said.
“I look forward to you shutting the fuck up,” you mumbled.
“Language!” Dustin yelled.
“Bite me.”
“Gladly,” he purred. You just laughed and told him to blow on the die. Everyone watched with intensity as you threw the die down the table.
“Yes!!! We won!!” They all screamed. They hugged you happily as Eddie finished out his dramatic scene.
“Not too shabby for a level one,” he said, coming over afterward. “Maybe you should bring your weird friend more often, Bri.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Munson?” You asked sarcastically. He leaned on the table and dipped his head closer to yours.
“Yeah, I just might.”
His warm breath against your skin made goosebumps break out all over your body. You couldn’t hide the shiver that ran through you.
“Do you wanna head out?” Bri asked. You just nodded as Eddie looked at you wish a wolfish grin.
•the next day•
“Hey, princess,” Eddie said, slinging an arm around you in the lunch line. “Come join us.”
“No thanks. I eat in the library,” you said.
“Nope, not today. Today you feast with Hellfire,” he said dramatically.
He pulled you over to the table and Bri looked confused. You went to sit next to her but Eddie stopped you.
“Nope, you sit beside the smartest, toughest, and coolest master-“
“Masturbator, got it,” you said, sitting next to his seat. Dustin spewed milk from his nose and Jeff choked on a piece of chicken. Bri just laid her head onto her hands and sighed.
“Fucking kill me now.”
Eddie scowled at you but still took his rightful seat at the head of the table. You fell into easy conversation with the group and you actually found yourself enjoying it. Eddie waited until you had a mouthful of soda to lean over and whisper in your ear, quiet enough so only you would hear.
“So you think about me masturbating?”
You spit your drink out all over the table and down your shirt.
“Fuck!”
“You okay?” Bri asked. You dabbed are the stain setting into your top and tried to clean the table in front of you.
“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Eddie, may I have a word outside?”
“Anything for you, m’lady,” he said with a smirk.
You drug him from the cafeteria to an empty classroom down the hall. You pushed him inside and closed the door, shutting the blind of the window.
“I didn’t take you as a girl who spit,” he laughed. You turned around and glared at him.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are we doing this or what? Take your shirt off,” you said, pulling at the hem of your own top, lifting it enough to show him some skin.
“Oh shit. Fuck. Um, yeah, we can do this. Shit.” He fumbled to get his jacket off but he did and then off came his hellfire shirt. His torso was littered with tattoos and you took a second to admire him.
“Even better than I imagined,” you said.
“Your turn, baby,” he said, taking a step toward you. You matched his own step forward, and just when he closed his eyes to lean in and kiss you, you snatched his shirt from him and ran to the door.
“Guys are so fucking dumb,” you laughed. His eyes shot open and he was too stunned to move.
“Seriously? Give it back!” He said.
“Absolutely not. Did you think I was wearing this mess for the rest of the day? Fat chance,” you smirked. “Oh and Eddie? I definitely don’t spit.”
And with that, you walked out the door and to the bathroom, leaving a very horny and angry Eddie behind.
Eddie threw on his jacket and zipped up the front. He trudged from the room and back to the cafeteria.
“Gareth, do you still have that extra shirt I gave you a while ago?” He asked.
“Yeah it should still be in my locker…why?”
“I need it,” Eddie mumbled.
“Sure, no problem, man.”
“Do I even wanna know?” Bri sighed.
“I’m gonna show that little princess who’s boss,” he growled.
Bri met you outside after classes got out.
“Is that Eddie’s shirt? (Y/N), what’s going on?” She asked.
“He made me spit my soda all over my shirt so he gave me his,” you shrugged.
“He gave it to you?”
“I may have taken it… it’s a long story!”
“You guys are gonna be the death of me. And probably each other,” she sighed, hopping in your car.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” you chuckled.
The next morning, Eddie was waiting by his van for you to pull in. As soon as you parked, he was opening up your door.
“Why thank you, kind sir,” you joked.
“I want my shirt back.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Someone please kill me,” Bri groaned from the passenger seat. “I’ll see you guys later. Please don’t kill each other.”
“Why won’t you give it back?” He asked, blocking you from going any further.
“Because it’s comfortable,” you shrugged.
“But it’s mine.”
“It’s mine now. I actually wore it to bed last night, it was nice.”
“Jesus Christ, just give it back! I’m sure it doesn’t go with whatever stupid pajama bottoms you wear.”
“Who said I wear bottoms?” You asked. His mouth instantly snapped shut and you smiled. “See you later!”
Once again, he was left horny and angry at the thought of you wearing nothing but his Hellfire shirt.
You didn’t see Eddie for the rest of the day, so you figured you’d give him a little present the next time you saw him. That happened to be at lunch the following day which was perfect.
You folded up his shirt and walked up behind him. You snaked your arms around him and placed the shirt in his lap, making him jump.
“Glad you finally came to your senses,” he said, leaning into your touch ever so slightly. He took a big gulp of juice just as you leaned down.
“Unfold it,” you whispered. He did as you said and his juice was immediately sprayed all over the table.
“Woah, dude!”
“Jesus, Eddie!”
“Enjoy,” you whispered.
Eddie snatched the Polaroid of you, posed in a mirror, in nothing but his Hellfire shirt with your ass on full display, and quickly shoved it in his pocket so no one else would see.
You pecked his cheek and walked off, acting like nothing happened. He wanted to get up and chase after you, but the growing bulge in the front of his pants prevented that.
He did his best to calm himself down by the end of lunch so he could hunt you down and ask you just what the fuck you were doing. Unfortunately for him, you figured he was going to come after you so you went straight to your next class. You did your best to race to your car after school, but Eddie cut his last class just to stake you out.
Your keys had just entered the lock when you were pressed against the door. You new immediately by the smell of his cologne that Eddie had found you. You tried your best to hide your smirk when you turned to face him. He had his hellfire shirt slung over his shoulder for safe keeping.
“Hey, Eddie. Funny meeting you here,” you said. He had you caged between his arms and you couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze.
“Do you think you’re funny?” He asked.
“Fucking hilarious, actually,” you answered. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with anger.
“You’re gonna get yourself into trouble, (y/n),” he said.
“Oh is that so?” You chuckled. “I’m counting on it.”
His body was pressed to yours and you were certain he could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage.
“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”
“I wouldn’t ask for much- wouldn’t want to be disappointed after all.”
“I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” he whispered.
“Absolutely not! You’re not fucking in the school parking lot and certainly not in my ride home!” Bri yelled, walking up behind you. She threw her bag in the backseat and got into the passenger side.
“I’ll see you around, Eds.” You winked before pushing him off of you and opening your door. “Oh, wait! One more thing.”
You snatched the shirt from his shoulder and quickly closed your door before he could do anything.
“Are you serious?” He yelled as you sped away. “I hate her. I hate her so much.”
About halfway home, Bri finally broke the silence.
“Sooooo what’s going on between you and Eddie?”
“What do you mean? I’m just having some fun pissing him off,” you laughed.
“I know you and I know when you pick on someone it means you like them. And boy have you teased the hell out of him,” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled.
“Listen, I think you two would be good together and I don’t want you getting in your own way. And don’t say you wouldn’t!” She argued.
Her words played in your head for the rest of the drive. Did you really like Eddie or were you just having fun? You knew the answer but you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.
You spent your Saturday night alone in your room like the party animal you were. Your parents turned in early but you decided to stay up and break open the newest addition to your comic collection.
Halfway through, you thought you heard something at your window. You waited and heard it again. You looked out and saw Eddie waving you down. He pointed at your front door and you shook your head no. He picked up a large rock and held it up like he was going to throw it. You threw your hands up and flipped him off before quietly running downstairs to the front door. He was already waiting on the front steps when you opened it.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” You asked.
“Did you think I was gonna let you get away with stealing my shirt a second time? Where is it?” He asked.
“Be quiet! My parents are asleep!” You whisper-yelled. “I’ll give it back on Monday; go away.”
You went to close the door but he stopped it. The way his rings shimmered in the moonlight made you shiver.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“Fuck you.”
“I wish you would!” He finally snapped.
Your eyes widened and you had the biggest smirk on your face.
“Is that so, Munson?” You asked.
“Like you don’t want the same,” he scoffed. He pushed the door open wider and let himself in, pressing you against the wall in your foyer.
“Well aren’t we being presumptuous,” you chuckled. “And I have a dictionary if you need to look that up.”
“God, I hate you.”
Before you knew what was happening, his mouth was on yours in an angry kiss of tongue and teeth. He bit down on your bottom lip and it made you hiss.
His hand slid easily into your panties as you wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself. He wasted no time in plunging his fingers between your folds and rubbing harsh circles on your clit. The sensation made you squirm but he had you held firmly against the wall.
He changed his pace and movements and pleasure was suddenly all you could think about. He was sucking hickies all across your neck but you didn’t care enough to stop him.
He slid two fingers into you with ease, pumping them until his rings nudged your clit. You did your best to stifle your moans, not wanting your parents to wake up. You thanked the heavens that the lights were off and no one looking from the outside would be able to see what a mess he was making you.
“Not so much to say now. Huh, sweetheart?” He laughed.
You tried to think of a witty comeback but all you managed to do was whimper his name. You clenched down on his fingers and he knew you were close.
“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” He asked.
“Y-yes, Eddie,” you moaned. A few more strokes from his hand and you’d be coming undone. Only right before you could finish, he stopped completely and pulled his hand from your panties. “Wh- no!”
“Sh sh sh, wouldn’t want mommy and daddy coming down to see what the noise is, now do we?” He asked with a smirk.
He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. You were almost embarrassed by how his fingers glistened.
“That’s it? Are you serious?!”
“As a heart attack, baby. Not fun, is it?” He walked back out onto the porch and turned around. “I want my shirt back on Monday.”
He left you on your doorstep, horny and angry. If he thought that he was getting the upper hand, he was so incredibly wrong. You went back to your room to do two things. 1. Finish what he started and 2. Plot how to take down Eddie Munson.
Part Two
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Taglist:
@thebookbakery @dootys @lily-sinclair-2006 @mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes @munsaniac @rafecameronswhore @tiredwritersworld @mellomadness
It would mean the world to me if you could reblog this and hype it up. I really enjoyed writing it 🥺
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jianghuchild · 3 months
Text
In The Wind
I wrote this story a couple years ago, as a response to my anxieties about the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the pandemic, and the idea that lifelong separation often disguises itself as something much more trivial.
I was angry with you that night, the last night we would ever see each other. You’d forgotten to take out the trash again. The house was a mess, and the twins were bouncing off the walls.
“How many times do I have to say this?” I told you, voice stringent. “I can’t put my foot down anywhere. Look at this.” I picked up the papers strewn across the dining table and slapped them back down. I kicked at the cardboard boxes blocking the hallway. “And this. Malachi, take that out of your mouth. Mara, watch your brother.”
“Gonna see gramma, gonna see gramma,” the kids chanted, either gleefully oblivious to my ire or purposefully ignorant.
“It’s fine,” you said, flapping a hand at me. “I’ll clean it when we get back.”
My annoyance simmered all night and flared to new life the next morning. The wind was so strong it almost blew us apart and I just managed to wrangle the kids into the airport’s stillness. I watched you pat your jacket, a look of infuriating innocence on your face.
“Where’s my passport…” you mumbled. The PA system chimed and announced that our flight was boarding. And here we were, stuck at check-in. You looked up, apology in your eyes. “You take the kids. I’ll catch the next flight.”
Looking back, I imagine that I felt a prickle of unease go down my spine. But maybe it was just the last vestiges of my frustration. Should I have stayed?
No, I would have said, It’s alright. We’ll go home together.
But the kids twisted in my sweaty hands and annoyance made tangled knots of my thoughts and if truth be shamefully told I wanted to punish you. And, not so shamefully, I am glad for my selfishness because it took the kids with me.
“Let’s go,” was what I really said, tugging on their hands. “Your father will catch up.” Mara turned to look back at you curiously. I gave her a gentle tug. “Come on. Time to go see gramma.”
Did you know what would happen? Sometimes, when I am desperate for poetry, when I am hungry for some sense to the closed borders and gas shortages, I imagine that you must have. I imagine that you knew the airlines would shut down and we could no longer stay in the country and that you made some great sacrifice to push us to safety. I imagine I am the ill-fated heroine in a tragic play, watching the threads unravel into my inevitable epilogue.
But I am weaving story where it doesn’t exist. Because of course you didn’t know. How could any of us know, if even the presidents and prime ministers did not?
You’ll be glad to know I watch the news now. I don’t do it like you did, with a rice bowl in your left hand and a foot propped up on the edge of your chair. I do it sitting straight, fingers stilled on my chopsticks and a mug half-raised to my lips.
And sometimes I don’t, because sometimes a man with blue eyes in a windless mansion drools false sympathy into the TV.
“I hear what you’re saying, Sarah, I do,” he lies, and says words like “collateral damage” and “economic recession.”
Malachi asked me when we could go home, some months or weeks after we left. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this was home. I stroked his nose with my knuckle and smiled.
“Well, the airplanes are very tired.” He swung his legs in his seat. I glanced at his clumsy letters. “But planes like boys who work hard, so if you do well in school maybe they’ll make you an exception.”
I refused to feel guilty for the lie. We all need some false hope.
My mother and I watch the news together, sometimes. That man, Jared Thompson or Karl Cobbler or whatever his name is. (I know the news anchor’s name, but I am trying to make a point.) The blue-eyed man smiles genially from his tall ivory office.
“He reminds me of someone,” says my mother. “We didn’t have TV back then.”
She takes my hand in hers. I trace her finger, slightly bent at the same angle as mine. I’m startled to find I have callouses in the same places she does. The air is heavy, so I grab a cracked banana leaf fan and fan us both. The weight in my chest does not lift.
Mara lost her temper once. (More than once, but I am telling this story so it makes sense. At least in my head, I need this to make sense.) I took her to get the E string on her half-size violin replaced, and she wouldn’t get out of the car.
“Dad will fix it,” she said.
No, he won’t, I tried to say, but the words stuck like a fishbone in my throat.
“Of course he will,” I said instead, “but in the meantime you still want to play it, don’t you?” I perched on the cracked leather of the backseat and reached for her hand. She jerked it away, tucking her toy into her armpit.
“Dad will fix it,” she said again.
My own string snapped with a sting. I grabbed Mara’s tiny elbow and tugged. She shrieked. I yanked harder, but she scrabbled against the flaking leather and kicked her Skechers in my face.
“Fine!” I snapped, red face and wind-tossed hair giving the impression of a smoking fire. I slammed the back door and jerked myself into the driver’s seat, muttering all the way. “You want to play with a broken toy, you do that. I drive all this way, waste precious gas, you little ingrate—” The seatbelt jerked to a stop in my impatient hands and I resisted the urge to tear it to shreds.
Mara cradled her broken violin in her skinny arms. When we got home, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel until my mother coaxed me out of the car.
I’m a light sleeper. I bar the windows so the night wind will not wake me. I always got annoyed with you for opening the bedroom windows. Now, alone in my bed, the air stagnant as a dead summer, I pretend I am arguing with you. In my mind you slide the windows open and I grumble as the draft slides cold fingers down my arms.
“You’ll swallow the sky and float away in your sleep,” I mumble.
“A little breeze is good,” you say. You wrap your furnace of a body around mine. “The wind will carry me to you.”
My eyes snap open. The sheets are cold and the air is still. I turn on my side. The windows in this house aren’t the sliding glass kind like we used to have. They’re shutters that swing open like doors, bolted from the inside.
Eventually I tire of watching the news. When the blue-eyed man says words like “our heroes” and “liberation,” I stand at the door and watch the dirt road like a forlorn girl in one of those romances. Your silhouette never breaks through the dust. The road throws up eddies of dirt but the wind is aimless and smells of spider lilies. (I don’t know what spider lilies smell like.)
Malachi graduates middle school at the top of his class. Mara plays the cello and learns to change her own strings. They track airlines and ticket prices on our beat-up desktop computer and close the tab when they catch me watching. Some borders open, but not all, not yet.
Maybe not ever, no one says.
The night you return is the night I know you will never return. Papers are strewn across the table and cardboard boxes clutter the cramped halls. I startle awake on the worn couch with Malachi’s jacket around my shoulders. Mara is playing a rendition of Baikal Lake, but that isn’t what woke me. I sit up. Malachi’s jacket slides into my lap. I turn around. 
A wind has blown the window open, warm despite the autumn night.
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luverofralts · 1 year
Text
Arkhelios Adventures
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Theo Bellamy sat on the stairs with his trusted familiar, Too by his side. Today was an important day. It certainly wasn’t everyday that you turned thirteen. He was officially a teenager now with all the rights and responsibilities that came with it. 
“How badly do you think they’re going to embarrass me, Too?” he asked his faithful companion. When Too responded with a quick mew, Theo sighed. “Yeah, that’s my guess. Whatever they’re planning, I just know that it’s going to be embarrassing. I’m so glad this party is family only; I’d die if the kids at school could see me. I’ll probably have to wear the dumb birthday hat and everything.  At least the cake looks good. God knows it was the only good thing from last year.”
Too mewed again sympathetically at the thought. Theo could never be certain if the cat truly understood what he was saying or if she had simply learned to meow when he paused speaking to look at her. Either way, it was nice to have her support.
He could tell that his parents were going out of their way to make things perfect for his special day which was even more unnerving. Things hadn’t been the same between them since “The Incident” they never spoke of or the conveniently timed birth of his little brother, Abe III. Words like “postpartum” and “mid life crisis” and “cheater” were usually shouted when they thought the children were asleep, but Theo and his sisters heard every word. It was enough to make Theo come home from school only two weekends a month, instead of every weekend like he used to. At school things were quiet and ordered and all of his friends lived there with him. Every day was like a sleepover that he didn’t have to worry about his parents ruining with either arguments or overly zealous good intentions.
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“He’s going to be so excited. I can’t wait to see his reaction,” Roman said excitedly, staring at the expensive guitar they had purchased for their son. “We should film it. Do you think you can pull out your phone before he notices and starts giving us sass about ‘acceptable boundaries’?”
“He’s a teenager now, I’d be surprised if he didn’t give us sass,” Abe replied with a smile. “We’re the only thirty year olds at parent-teacher night though, we have that to our advantage. We’re still cool, unlike the other parents.”
Roman kissed his husband, catching Abe by surprise.
“Abe, we were never cool,” he laughed. “I was the poor transfer student who grew up in a “cult” and you were the nerdy kid who got knocked up at sixteen. We’re many things, but we’re not cool.”
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“Theodosius, you put that hat back on your head right now!” The instant Abe laid eyes on his son, he could see that Theo was missing an important item for his party. “And don’t go on a little tirade about me using your name. It’s only your siblings and family here and we all already know what Theo is short for. I’m not getting told what to do in my own house by some school in Pleasantview. Don’t give me that look! Go help your father set up the snacks.”
Theo rolled his eyes but obeyed his father, mumbling something unkind under his breath. Abe didn’t like yelling at his son; it was something he’d always struggled with. With his own mother as an example, Abe knew first hand how strict parenting pushed him away from her. Having his son run away from home as a young child because of his strictness and inflexibility had been devastating to Abe, but at the same time, he had no idea of how to reach Theo. The boy was away at boarding school for most of the month, something that Abe hated, and when he was at home, it was nonstop sass and rudeness. Theo needed boundaries and Abe was trying his best, but he often worried if his best would be enough for his son. The twins at least had Adrian and Evren as additional parental role models and Saturnia was still young enough to think that her parents knew what they were doing. Maybe by the time Abe Jr was Theo’s age, his parents would finally understand how to successfully parent a teen.
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The Bellamy household had never been bigger than it was now. Theo and the twins had their bedrooms when they weren’t at school or Adrian’s house and Saturnia was currently sharing the twins’ old room with her baby brother until the new addition could be added on to the house. Plus with Adrian’s three kids often staying over and all of the kids’ friends, a dog and the hyperactive cat, Too, the Bellamy house often felt like a circus.The only other household in Arkhelios that could compete was the Durant family, but it had been some time since either Abe or Roman had paid them a visit. Most days, they tried to ignore the Durants if they could. “The Incident” had severed those friendships pretty thoroughly.
The mixed Bellamy family was working though, despite their differences. Abe never thought that he’d see the day that he’d be okay with Adrian not only spending several hours with his children, but also helping to raise them. There were still moments when Adrian showed up with expensive gifts for the kids and a new expensive baking dish for Roman that made Abe fume, but they didn’t happen nearly as often as they did before.
it was rewarding to watch the girls grow into young ladies with goals and talents of their own. Adrienne was a better tarot card reader than her father and loved taking apart all the appliances in the house to figure out how they worked. She’d also insisted on being called Rien for short as her previous nickname, Addy, sounded too much like a “name for babies”.
Luciana was a bundle of energy who poured all of that energy into sports and fitness. She played in Osbert’s new soccer league in Arkhelios and a tee-ball and volleyball league in Twikkii Island.
Saturnia was shy and more reserved than her sisters. The twins sometimes excluded her from their activities because Saturnia was younger, but she always took it in stride and found her own entertainment. She was following in her father’s footsteps and helping him cook and bake. She used the toy stove they bought her to make muffins nearly every day for her family.
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“There you go kiddo, just sit tight here and I’ll have your bottle ready in no time. I just have to check on the cake.”
Roman placed Abe Jr in his high chair and then turned to open the oven behind him. The cake was nearly done and the icing was ready for when it cooled. Things were going surprisingly smoothly for once.
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“Etienne, Everard be careful.”  
“Oh hey, Evren,” Roman called out to the man attempting to wrangle two toddlers with limited success. “You’re early. The kids are still running around the house and the birthday boy is busy talking back to his father, so you can help me in the kitchen if you want. Where’s Adrian?”
“Busy. He's been looking over something Maura sent him on her efforts to protect the coral reefs near the property. He should be here in time for the party though. Oh, he signed the paperwork for your little collaboration this morning. The lawyer is sending you a copy.”
“That’s great. I’ll have to send a copy to Wanda’s office. She pushed through all the red tape just like she promised. We should be open by next week if it all goes smoothly. I guess it pays to have the president of Arkhelios as an aunt.”
Roman was too busy fussing with icing to see irritation flash across Evren’s face.
“She’s been president of Arkhelios for over a decade,” he said, shifting his wiggling son in his arms. “Plus she’s taken over the Arkhelios Coven’s leadership and spends a suspicious amount of time with...less reputable foreign witches. When you do send the documents, maybe you could suggest that she chooses a single project to focus on, or that she might want to step back from so much responsibility. She might listen to you.”
There wasn’t much that Evren could do about Wanda’s goals, as every time he tried to speak with her about his concerns, she ignored him completely. He wasn’t a very powerful warlock, and he didn’t have the brutal mindset to navigate witch politics. He’d tried to speak with Wanda two weeks ago and had only managed to be “volunteered” to help design Wanda’s expensive new home for his efforts.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her,” Roman replied, his mind completely focused on his cake. “She was supposed to come to the party, but something came up. I’ll bring her some leftovers if there are any.”
Evren rolled his eyes. As usual, Roman couldn’t see past his own worries. If Evren wanted change among the witches, he would have to find another way to get through to Wanda.
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In the last post you mentioned about Napoleon having his own mental health issues, what were they like? I'm curious about it
ah the Junot post!
It's purely speculation on my side, there's no firm proof for anything. Also, swiftly putting my Former Historian Hat on: psychoanalyzing the dead is a fool's game and one shouldn't do it aside from idle speculation on the Internet (with that being caveated heavily), or amongst friends after a few glasses of wine. I side-eye historians who go and fucking give Napoleon 500 mother complexes and what-not.
On the other hand, Junot did explicitly, clearly have something going on, in terms of mental health, but I would never think to formally speculate on what that issue was. I think it's important to note he had clear struggles and challenges, and they likely impacted his behaviour and choices, but more than that we can't say.
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Ok, now that I've said we shouldn't overly psychoanalyze the dead, I'm going to psychoanalyze the dead! This is very-much my idle speculation, which is all debatable.
So, off the record, I suspect Napoleon had various traumas and other such things from life, battle, etc. that he never properly dealt with in any meaningful capacity which, in turn, resulted in some of his interpersonal struggles, among other things.
The separation from his family at nine, when he was sent to school in France, was a huge trauma that he never really...did anything with, and it just sat there in the back of his head festering. As these things do. Would explain some of his attachment issues. Family did note that there was Napoleon before going to boarding school and Napoleon after and they were different. Not being able to be at school with Joseph didn't help, either, since they had been companions since birth.
In addition, the tough love approach to how he was raised probably caused some issues, I think. There's that (perhaps apocryphal) story of how he had been fucking around during mass when he was a boy and Letizia didn't say a word about it. Then, later that night, it was bath time for the kids and she told him he got the honour of being first in the water. She waited till he undressed then grabbed him and gave him the world's soundest hiding as punishment for misbehaving during mass. When he talked about it later, he said that while the hiding was deserved, he hated that she lied in order to get him in place for his punishment. She should have just been upfront.
(I have sympathy for Letizia. Aside from the, "she was mothering in the 1770s (i.e., product of her time)," she was young, regularly single-mom-ing it as Carlo fucked off to wherever, had her own issues going on, and Napoleon sounds like a difficult child. A very sweet boy, by all accounts, but an absolute menace and a handful. Also like, everyone's parents fuck up, and their parents before them fucked up, and their parents before that - so on and so forth. And we will fuck up as parents, and our children will fuck up as parents etc. I've just got some sympathy for her, basically.)
Fame and power! Not talked about super often, aside from the glib "absolute power corrupts absolutely," but this stuff does do weird shit to your brain. Also, this wasn't helped by the need he felt to hyper-perform Empire (we are the most courtly court, the more imperial empire etc.) in an effort to demonstrate his worthiness in comparison to other monarchical powers in Europe at that time.
So we get someone who is already pretty emotionally walled off, insecure in some ways, scared of being laughed at, already prone to some degree of selfishness and such, and then this is just dialed up to eleven. Add in a light sprinkling of paranoia and the neurosis that comes with maintaining a position of power viewed as vulnerable (Napoleon lived through the Revolution, he knew how tenuously one's head is attached to one's body) and that just sweetens the cake of "Oh Boy, You Could Use Some Therapy. I Know A Guy You Should Talk To."
The uncertainty of the Revolution definitely put some people into a bit of a survival mode and a scarcity mode of thought and approach to decision making. Having to go down every morning to check the lists of those taken up during the night to make sure your friends and family aren't on it is going to have an impact.
Being at war, almost constantly, for twenty-plus years, will do things to a person.
Anyway - one could go on but I shan't.
Like, Napoleon's issues, whatever they may have been, do broadly fall into the category of "normal shit" (e.g., bouts of occasional depression, attachment issues, various traumas (childhood, war, grief etc.) we're not talking more extreme things, such as what Junot may have suffered from.
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I hope this answers your question! And as noted at the front, this is purely speculation and idle thoughts I've had. It is by no means historical analysis or anything and shouldn't be approached as such.
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rhysdarbinizedarby · 1 year
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Rhys Darby returns for NZ Comedy Festival
The first time Rhys Darby was praised for his humour was in primary school, when two little girls told him he should be a comedian.
He thought that meant a lizard.
Darby didn't know there was such vocation as a comedian, and got mixed up with chameleon.
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It might not have been for him, but Rhys Darby doesn't regret joining the army, it's given a lot of material over the years.
He rushed home to tell his mum that the kids at school thought he should be a lizard, and took it upon himself to start doing lizard impressions.
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David Farrier, Rhys Darby and Buttons' radio show The Cryptid Factor is dedicated to the weird and the wonderful, and in particular, cryptozoology.
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Rhys Darby and wife Rosie, at the Wellington premiere of What We Do in the Shadows, in which Darby who plays a werewolf.
His repertoire extended to Scooby Doocharacters, people in soup commercials and anyone else he saw on television.
Darby entertained his friends with drawings too. They would look forward to the next instalment of a cartoon he sketched at the bottom of his book.
The entertaining has not stopped since.
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Rhys Darby starred alongside Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet in Modern Family.
After making a name for himself on the live comedy circuit, the actor has gone on to become one of New Zealand's top comedy exports.
His big break was starring inFlight of the Conchords, as the hopeless band manager Murray Hewitt, alongside Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie.
Now based in Los Angeles with his wife, Rosie, and sons Finn (10), and Theo (6), Darby's CV is looking pretty impressive.
It includes his own mockumentary series Short Poppies, the lead in the romantic comedy Love Birds, starring alongside Jim Carrey in Yes Man, a scene-stealer in What We do in the Shadows, guest starring in Modern Family and The X-Files reboot, and most recently, playing Psycho Sam in The Hunt for the Wilderpeople.
Even the drawing has served Darby, who is currently writing and illustrating a (currently top secret) children's book.
Darby heads back to New Zealand this month for the NZ International Comedy Festival, to perform as his old duo Rhysently Granted, with Grant Lobban.
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Rhys Darby and Grant Lobban as the comedy duo Rhysently Granted, 1996
The two last performed together more than 20 years ago.
Darby's humour was nurtured from a young age, it was a trait he particularly shared with his mother, Barbara.
After Barbara had three girls and a boy, there was a nine-year gap before she had Darby.
"I was very much this mistake at the wrong end," Darby says, whose parents split shortly after he was born.
"So it was just really me and Mum, my brother was with us for a while until he hit his early 20s, but I guess I felt like an only child a lot.
"Mum was a bit older by then and so she got through every day by really just having a wonderful sense of humour. The two of us had such fun, laughter was really the main thing that we kind of enjoyed every day."
He joined the air training corps when he turned 12, before switching over the the army cadets.
When Darby hit adolescence, Barbara  began dropping hints that her son might like to join the army or look at boarding schools, he says.
"It was going to be harder having another child and putting him through his teenage years.
"I think she was thinking I was going to be this teenage tyrant, probably getting onto the wrong side of the tracks and stuff, but of course I was the nicest boy you'd ever meet.
"I guess it was just kind of in my nature to be nice and geeky. I didn't really do any parties or anything like that, I played with my action-figures right up until I joined the army at 17."
In the army, he would often got lost in the bush and get into trouble for impersonating officers.
Darby says he would not send his own sons there, but he does not regret joining. He is only glad he got asked to leave before he saw any combat service.
"You'd probably be better off being a clown or something, rather than a soldier, Darby," he was told.
"I mean you're good for morale here, but we worry once you actually get into combat whether you'll shoot our own people by mistake or something."
Darby couldn't see the humour at the time, but the army has sure been worth it's value in comedy material since.
"I've since gone back and seen that a lot of old British comedians have spent time back in the day in military, and there's a lot of humour that I've got from it.
"It made me who I am, it gave me some self-discipline and made me care about the way I look and do things, and have a responsibility to complete tasks, turn up on time, and I think all that got ingrained into me".
Conchords was Darby's ticket to America.
When the show took off, Darby would often get mistaken for his character in real life.
He and Murray have some similarities – Darby tends to be the one to make the decisions among his friends – "But as far as being an absolute naive idiot, definitely not," he says.
The odd person will still call him Murray, but does not care, because the character was so loved.
"I'm a big fan of him as well, because he's just a sweetheart and optimistically naive and it's the blind leading the blind because he's got no idea what he's doing as a band manager. Luckily his band are even thicker than he is, so it's just a sweet romance between those three."
Having always been obsessed with the paranormal, landing the X-Files gig was the ultimate role.
It is a hobby that has seen him travel the world in search for mythical creatures, like when he traveled to Puerto Rico with David Farrier in pursuit of the chupacabra.
Darby has reached an extraordinary point in his career where casting directors already know who he is and what he can do.
The tables have turned from crossing fingers for an audition, to being asked to attend.
One of the best career decisions Darby says he has made is choosing his manager.
"Ultimately my wife manages everything, so it had to be somebody that could work with Rosie.
"We selected a really cool manager, a guy that I very much love by the name of Tucker, and it's these decisions that continue to lead to great things."
But keeping his Kiwi accent is the career decision he is most proud of.
"That's really important to me, because so many actors when they come over to  America just drop their accent straight away and Americanise themselves, and I didn't want to be like that. I wanted to be able to use my own voice in all the stories I tell, because there are plenty of New Zealanders on the planet and you don't often get to hear them."
"So I'm very lucky, not just as an actor, but a comical actor, that is in a sort of smaller pool of people who are picked for various things in which I can be myself more, and that seems to be working."
As well as Rhysently Granted, Darby performs in three other Comedy Festival shows.
"I'm looking forward to going back and doing that and actually having fun again, because I kind of lost my way a bit in the last few years with it all being such a big money-making enterprise.
"You kind of lose what it was in the first place that made you want to laugh, and it was just that having fun with friends."
Source: Stuff NZ
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milkmademozzarella · 2 years
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Let me preface this by saying that this is not a fanfiction, this is a drabble. Thank you to @craftycheetah for helping me get this out!! 
No, no, no, but can you imagine a no-powers AU professional chess player Shinsou? Because I can see it!
Okay, so let me set the scene...
You two met in high school; you both were in AP classes, most of your classes lining up. And so often, you would see this boy get tormented for everything under the sun, his looks, his hair, his hobbies, but there was one thing about him that stuck out to you. At lunch, while you’d hang out with your friends, you would see him sitting with one other person, a blonde fellow with a black lightning stripe down his hair. You’d seen him around before. He was on the cheer team. But there was something different, laying on the table was a chessboard. 
“Wow, Hitoshi!” The blonde exclaimed, “You’re super good at this!”
You were intrigued, to say the least, so what do intrigued people do? They investigate, of course! So you made your way over to the nearly empty table, waving and smiling at the two boys, asking them what they were doing. 
“We’re playing chess!” Energy radiated in the blonde’s voice. “Hitoshi is a literal genius when it comes to this game!”
“Mind if I have a turn?” You asked.
"Go ahead!” The energetic one answered.
So you played, trying your best to make small talk between each chess piece moving. Hitoshi answered politely, asking you questions in return about your day, how the classes you shared were going, etc. One question caught you off guard, though.
“So do you have a boyfriend?” 
You spluttered and dropped the piece on the floor, going under the table to pick it back up and place it on the board.
“Oh-um! I… I’m single, pretty much….” 
“What a shame,” A small sigh left his lips. “You seem like a lovely person. Especially to be talking to the ‘weird kid’,”
“I don’t think you’re weird, I think you’re pretty cool!” You offered him a small smile.
Your eyes gravitated towards his, away from the pieces and the game, towards his facial features. You thought he was pretty, he had a strong jawline, beautiful lavender-colored eyes, and the eye bags actually suited him!
“Checkmate,” His smooth voice rolled over you, and your eyes met. “I hope to see you again, (Y/N).” 
A smile came to both of your faces.
And that was the start of your friendship with him! 
People always asked, “Y/n, you’re such a nice person! Why are you hanging out with that weirdo?” but you always gave them the same answer. “Just because you think he’s weird doesn’t mean he is.”
So, you began to sit at his table during lunch. Only him and the other person whose name you figured out is Denki. Denki was super friendly! You can see why he and Hitoshi got along.
Over time you grew away from your friends. No, it didn’t make you a social outcast perse, but you were looked down upon by those that didn’t like Hitoshi and, in turn, decided to use you as a tactic for bullying him.
“Dude, she’s super cool. Why don’t you ask her out before someone comes around and picks her up?”
“She’s not into me anyways. Besides you heard what those assholes said. Try anything and they make the rest of her year here a living hell.”
“Hi ‘toshi!” You bounced up to the table, unaware of what they were talking about.
“Hi (Y/N)!” Denki gleamed.
Hitoshi put up a hand and waved at you. 
“Are we gonna play another game of chess today?” You asked, rubbing your hands together. 
“Actually, (Y/N)!” Denki smiled, energy radiating off of him once again. “We were wondering if you wanted to meet us at the park this Friday! After school? It’ll be super fun!”
Denki repeatedly kicked Hitoshi under the table, indicating that he should continue the conversation with you. When that wasn’t effective enough, he had one last option.
“Welp! I need to go to the bathroom. You two continue planning the date- day! I mean day! You two continue planning the day! I will be back!” 
Once Denki walked away from the table, you looked at Hitoshi, who was avoiding your gaze.
“Hey, ‘toshi. Are you okay? You’re kinda quiet today. More quiet than usual. Is something wrong?”
“I'm okay. Let’s just finish this game and lunch then go to class.”
“What about Friday?”
“Maybe another time!” he stammers, packing his things and rushing out of the cafeteria, the tips of his ears burning bright pink.
Your brows furrowed at his strange behavior as he ran off. 
The next time you saw Hitoshi was in AP environmental. You recently moved to his table for a project, and of course, it gifted you a few glares and whispers. You would always ignore them, but they did hurt a little bit. 
Hitoshi felt terrible about what he did. He shouldn’t have run off like that and left you there alone. So when he saw you in class, he passed you a note, not wanting people to see you talk to him out of fear of what they’d do to you. 
“About the park on Friday… I’d love to. What time?” 
You smiled and looked up at him, making a 5 symbol with your hand, and he nodded, shooting you a quick text about the details before the teacher walked in and class started. 
‘I’ve got a date with the cutest guy ever!’ you think.
After two long days, Friday eventually arrived. 
You met with Hitoshi at the park. You started off the evening with a few chess matches, him complimenting you on how much you’ve improved since your first chess match and ending the evening sitting on the swings, talking about life and checking up on each other. 
 “Still no boyfriend?” Hitoshi asked.
“Still no boyfriend,” You sighed. “I wish I had one though! That’d be cool.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I still don’t have a girlfriend,”
“That’s actually very surprising, you’re such a catch and I bet you’d make a great boyfriend,”
“Well… a lot of the girls at our school don’t think so,” 
“They’re just being stupid! You’re too good for them anyways,”
“Yeah… I guess so,” There was a comfortable silence between the two of you for a few minutes. “Hey, (Y/N)?” 
“Yeah?”
“What if I had a crush on my best friend?”
“Denki? You should totally go for him!”
“Uh, no, I meant…you,” His screwed his eyes tightly shut. “It’s just that… you’re so cool and nice and I really love you and I can see us spending the rest of our lives together and-” 
“You… you love me?” 
He nodded, his head buried in his hands as he desperately tried to hide the rising blush on his face.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered, y’know.” “You think I’m cute?” “I think you’re hot. If you’d pull your head out of your hands, I could tell you to that cute face of yours.”
He stared at you as you smiled and let out a soft giggle. He began laughing as well, your hands slipping into each other, and the swingset rocked you both back and forth.
“Wanna be cute together?” He looked at you with wide eyes.
“I’d love to!” You pecked his cheek. 
And that would be the story of how you and Hitoshi got together!
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thatdepridragon · 1 month
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This is a story I wrote a while back but just found, and yes, I know there is spelling mistakes, English is not my first language, I'm sorry.
Simon (English)
The words flew through my head, while I imagined the world. Ignored all the sounds around me. The window squeaked, and the flames made small sounds. I turned the page. Then I felt something cold on my shoulder, that felt like a hand. It touched me gently. I turned to the last page. Benedicte didn’t always read as fast as me. I waited a bit, then I put my bookmark in the book and closed it.
The door opened.” Turn on some light, you’re destroying your eyes by reading in the dark.” my dad said. I got up and turned on the lights and blew out the candles.” What are you reading?” Said dad curiously.” I am reading about ghosts, and about what happens if you’re living with one.” I said quietly. Dad wasn’t happy for supernatural stuff. He meant that it was bad.” Don’t read that, it’s not good for you.” Then he walked away.
I turned around. Benedicte sat on some of my books at looked at me through her big glasses.” Don’t listen to him, he's just a little stupid.” I spoke.” Simon, I know he's stupid, but I still don’t think he should say that I know you get sad.” She looked at me and played with one of her threads on her dress.” One day we’re going to be together every day, Simon, and then we’re running around and having fun every day. Forever. And then you’re not going to worry about him.” She laughed. I also laughed. I just wanted to get away from it all. From my dad, from my class, from the neighbours and their kids.” When do you think I can do it?” I asked her quietly.” I think you mean, when are you ready to do it?” She looked over at my bookcase, then at the loose board on my floor.” What's stopping you?” She asked. I sighed.” Rose! Your school is waiting! And it is not a choice!” I heard dad yell.” Yes dad!” I turned around so I could tell it, but when I turned around again Benedicte was gone. Typical. Then I took my music sheets and took off.
When I walked into my class, they all looked at me. I was 5 minutes late. I hurried to my chair and sat down. Unfortunately, we had math in the first class. I ended up drawing the whole lesson. I drew some big glasses and a rope. I was really going into the details in the rope. I began to draw a book, when the bell rang.
I hurried out when we had a break, with my music sheets in my hand, and ran towards the music room. As always, it wasn't locked. Weird enough, sat Benedicte in there. “What are you doing in here?” I asked. She looked at me calmy, and said: “Simon, I´ve found a perfect tree. You can even do it right now. Nobody is going to see it. But you will probably wait until after school.” I shook my head. “I don’t have it with me.” Benedicte looked disappointed.
I sat down by her and began to push down on the key. After a little time, the music flew in the room. The exact same song that mom always played for me, before she died. She would have accepted me. She would call me Simon and call me he. I began to cry. Benedicte stroked my back. Her hand was cold. Then the door opened. Carl walked in. “Oh, would you look at that. It’s CryingRose. What are you doing here? Crying? Over your dead mom? How sad. Or are you crying because nobody likes you?” His eyes were cold and evil. There was nothing to do. In a moment, he would pull my hair and lock me inside of the room.
And that was also what happened. When I finally got out, we had P.E., but because I forgot my sweatsuit home, I sat down and played with some robes. I ended up practicing the knot. The one I should use.
After P.E. we had English, and we read a book. It was about a boy who was bullied, but he ended up getting revenge. It wasn’t very exciting, very predictable.
After school I walked home and took the stuff I needed. Benedicte came often with some encouraging words like: “You’re doing good.” And “In a moment, everything is okay again.” I believed her. Why would she lie?
When I was by the tree, I could see what Benedicte meant. It was perfect. I looked at my note. Then I put it on my shirt. Then I tied the robe to the tree with the knot, I learned myself. Took the knife. Cut the name Simon into it. Then I put the knife down, took a big rock, and placed it under the tree. Then I got onto the top of the stone. Then I put my head through the loop. I made sure that nothing would go wrong. I looked at the scars on my arm. Some of them are newer than others. Then I pushed the rock away with my legs. The last thing I heard was Benedicte's laughter and my fight for air. Or that was what I thought.
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maybebi47 · 3 years
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anime-rambles · 3 years
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“Welcome Home Omega”
Pairing: Alpha Bakugou x Alpha Kirishima x Omega Reader
Type: ABO Dynamic, SFW  
Word Count: 2700+
A/N: I’m new to all this, but I dreamt about this the other night and really wanted to share this with everyone. I have a tone more to write, so please follow along and any feedback would be hugely appreciated. Thank you so much.
Summary: Omega y/n returns home to her pack after so many years aboard being a successful hero, now they fear begin rejecting by her pack and more importantly her alpha’s.
 *****************************************
“Everyone please welcome to the stage, the one you’ve all be waiting for, Pro-Hero Shadow…” a loud voice spoke into the microphone as I waited backstage. Once my name was called, I left the spoke I was hiding in and joined them. The crowd was screaming and shouting, holding banners of my name and posters with my face. This was something I didn’t expect to happen when I returned home to Japan from my many years abroad. I smiled towards the women on stage, already determining her as a beta.
“Welcome Shadow, to your first ever hero-con” She spoke to me looking in my direction. I brought my mic to my face,
“It’s so good to be here, look at all these people wow.” I smiled towards the crowd. The cheering began again.
“So shadow, how are you feeling being back in Japan and being high on the hero board, especially as an omega…” she continued on looking at me, this was something I was used to.
“It feels so good being back, I left Japan 6 years ago after I graduated with my friends/pack members from UA, which many of you know...” I waited for the screaming to stop before I continued. “I was faced with two choice really, be a omega hero that would only get 2 years in hero work before being forced to stop by the hero commission or I could leave my pack and go to America and have a really good hero career helping other omegas reach their potential and then come back home, I think you can guess what I chose” I said, and turned to the interviewer waiting for her reply.
Being an omega in Japan and America is very different from each other, especially in hero work. In Japan, you get an unspoken max of 2-year work and then often omegas go to desk jobs in hero agencies. In America, you can be a hero no matter your 2nd gender but the chance of being taken seriously as an omega is very slim and was something I worked hard at. During my time in America, I created an omega hero agency and left it all to the very capable hands of my sidekick, frostbite. It was my time to come home, I need my family back.
“So, tell me, does you pack know your back?” She asked with smile in her eyes.
“I mean, yes and no. Our pack is a big one and it was created when we were back in school. The time that I left, I had an agreement with the unmarked alphas that I would not contact them at all, but to know I was safe, I was only allowed contact with the omegas. So, they know” I replied, laughing slightly back.
“So, a lot of alphas in your pack, how does that work?” she pushed for an answer.
“I can’t really say, our pack dynamic is private, so I won’t tell you who or what position everyone is but, we have a main alpha who us our leader, they have a second and then we have one alpha that doesn’t really care and then one alpha who gave up their position years ago.” I replied smiling hoping she would not ask any more questions about the pack.
“That’s fine, tell me about your work as a hero omega and how difficult is” She asked again. This is something I could talk about openly. I took a deep breath and began to speak about the importance of separating your 2nd gender, from your workplace, and they it does not define you. Yes, you can still have a timid nature but do not let it halt your growth as a strong independent person. That if you want to be head of heart surgery you do it and tell those Alphas/ beats to shove it, its your time to shine. I continued until I felt the interviewer wanting to ask another question.
“Although I’m strong, I would not have gotten to where I am today without my pack, in public they treat me like a hero, not an omega. I mean it didn’t take long to do bu…” I went to say but was cut off.
“What do you mean, didn’t take long?” she interrupted. I hesitated for a bit, and then looked out into the crowd.
“Okay, I really should not be saying this, but he won’t mind. Okay so when our pack was created, I was never allowed to do anything, and it really annoyed me. So, when our first Alpha was being chosen, I kind of challenged Pro-Hero Dynamite…. And won.” I replied looking out into the crowd and everyone started cheering.
“Since then, I was treated like a person, not an omega. Well not in public, in private we still use the proper greetings.” I smiled and turned to the interviewer again.
“Wow, you are amazing. We all know your now number 5 on the hero board, can you remind everyone your quirk again.” She asked gesturing to my hands. I look down and noticed the black sut coating my fingers. I nodded and began to explain. I can create my own smoke from my body and ignite it. From this smoke I can create solid weapon and if I have enough smoke in the area, I can tell a person’s movements. I do have a drawback; the smoke uses up the oxygen from my blood and can make me pass out or it stains my skin with black smoke.
The interview continues and eventually is opened to fan questions, near the end of the questions. I notice the back wall starting to fill up with tall dark figures, already guessing that my pack got word I am here. Excitement rises through me, and I find it hard to sit still.
“Well, I think the cats out of the bag your home, Shadow” the interviewers says to me gesturing to the back wall. Light shines to the back wall, standing there when their arms crossed is Pro-heroes Dynamite, Red Riot, Deku and Chargebolt who is waving crazy towards me. I laugh to myself, locking eyes with Bakugou lowering my head slightly.
“I guess so” I reply, and the cheering slowly dies down.
 ************************************
While sitting at my signing booth, listening to some amazing stories from fans. I hear my name being called the curtain behind me. I have a break from the fans for a second and approach the curtain.
“Hello, little omega.” The voice says, as I instantly know its Bakugou. I smile to myself, wanting to rip the curtain away and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Hello Bakugou, don’t move the curtain, I can’t look at your right now” I say honestly.
“Okay, at least put your hand through the curtain, Kiri’s here to.” He replies nudging the curtain. I sigh, it’s been 6 years and I can barely hold myself together with he thought of being back with my family but being a hero right now is what I need to do.
“Okay, but only quickly I have to get back” I whisper, and slowly put my right-hand backwords them. Instantly I can feel like touching my hand and kissing it.
“Can’t smell you omega, how come?” Kirishima asks.
“Stupid American pheromone blockers, I’ll take them off later at home, promise.” I say and pull my hand back to finish quickly and get back to my family and quickly as I can. I can hear both alphas walk away, and I pull my hand to my chest.
*********************************************
Hero-con is over, and I can finally come home. After we all graduated, everyone pulled their money together and we bought a huge house together which allowed all of us to live together as a pack. Before I left, I entered a relationship with Bakugou and Kirishima but now I do not know if they still want me in a dynamic with because they’ve been an Alpha/Alpha relationship for 6 years. I don’t’ even have a room anymore, Denki took it when I moved to America. There might be room, I think, Midoriya (A) and Todoroki (A/O) have a room, Sero (B) and Mina (B) have a room, Shinso (A), Jirou (B) and Denki (O) all have separate rooms even though they are together which leaves Bakugou (A) and Kirishima (A) who have the biggest room. I could always share with Denki until I find a new place, I say to myself as I knock on the front door.
I wait patiently, until the door is opened revealing a very excited Denki. Practically jumping on the spot.
“Y/N YOU’RE HOME.” He shouts while throwing himself into my arms. I hug back, I breath him in and tears start to fill my eyes.
“Oi sparky, you know the rules. She needs to follow the greetings as she’s been away for so long.” Says Bakugou with his arms crossed. I enter the house and look around seeing everyone in their groups. I cannot believe I am home.
I quickly great Mina and Sero first, presenting our pack mark and then onto hugs. Next, I go straight over to Shinso, presenting my neck to show I am not a threat to his omega or beta. Which he simply nods and as these dynamics, Shinso does not really care for. I great Jirou and then great Denki properly by touching our noses together. I approach Midoriya next as he used to be the main Alpha who brought us all together, I greeted him the same way as Shinso but instead Midoriya threw his arms around me puling me into a hug.
“Please never leave again, Bakugou’s been impossible” He whispers into my ear. I laugh looking over his shoulder to a very anger Bakugou. I turn to Todoroki who is half Omega/Alpha, I greet him the same way as Denki, I know he prefers that greeting than the alpha one. Its finally time to see if they still want me. Kirishima is practically beaming at Bakugou side. I approach with my head down; I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I approach him. As he is lead Alpha, I must wait to see what he will do.
“Still can’t smell you omega.”  Bakugou announces loudly.
“There’s a pheromone implant in my neck, Alpha, see you can feel it.” I reply, taking his hand to my neck. In American you are not allowed to use pheromones in public, so for hero work you must use an implant to block it. Bakugou feels my neck and I can tell he is not happy. He grabs me by my neck, slamming me on the wall behind him. Everyone runs forward but Kirishima stands forward stopping them. Telling them it must happen and that Bakugou won’t hurt me, much.
With his claw Bakugou cuts into my neck to pull the impact out, I do not make a sound and only look at him in the eye. It must be done, and I know he will not hurt me. Once the implant is out. Bakugou lends forward and breathes me in. He hesitates, and calls Kirishima over. Kirishima looks between the two of use and breaths me in.
“Oh, y/n, you should’ve come home sooner.” Kirishima says, pulling me towards him for a hug.
“Please, Bakugou, get rid of the rest they can’t see me like this.” I whisper.
“Oi, extra’s don’t you have a party tonight. Your hotels have your clothes, now get lost.” Bakugou calls out, looking at them all. No one moves.
“NOW!” Bakugou yells, using his alpha voice and everyone leaves.
As soon as the door closes, I start to cry. Six years of being all alone hit me at once, yes it was my plan to be a strong hero, its hard to do it without your pack or alphas.
“The first sign of your omega depression, you should’ve come home little one.” Kirishima says whispering into my hair.
“How could I, I would’ve let you all down and all other omega’s out there without a voice, so what I had to go through omega depression….. more than once.” I say back looking up into Kirishima’s eyes. Bakugou stands beside us, looking slightly smaller.
“Bakugou, go run a bath,” Kirishima calls out and Bakugou follows his orders.
“Wait, what’s going on. Bakugou what are you doing” I ask, looking confused. Bakugou leans over the stairs to look at me.
“Kirishima’s the Alpha now, we’ll the others haven’t picked up on it yet because we haven’t publicly fought, but he’s been the main Alpha for a while now, I can’t be number one all the time now can I.” Bakugou replies with a smile. I look to Kirishima who still holds me but is beaming with love as he watches Bakugou. I try to pull away from his arms. It is stupid why did I think this would work. They do not want me anymore, I just know. Kirishima noticed how I suddenly changed but decided not to say anything.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and smelling natural.” He says, picking me up with no issues. He climbs the stairs and I place my head into his scent gland in his neck. I notice that neither him nor Bakugou do not have a claiming mark yet. Once we reach the top of the stairs, I see my old bedroom door and ask Kirishima to put my down, he walks ahead to the double doors at the end of the hallway. Which is their room.
“I’ll only stay for tonight, and then I’ll find somewhere else to live, I don’t even have a room here anymore.” I say to Kirishima which makes him freeze.
“Silly omega, come here.” He replies, gesturing me to follow. I start to hear the water running in their private bathroom. Kirishima opens the door and lets me enter the room first.
The first thing I can smell is the strong smell of Alpha but slowly a familiar smell enters, I look around the room and see my stuff. Things that I had left behind, my paintings, photos of the three of use. The queen size bed with three sets of pillows, big enough for all of us. I look around and notice a curtained canopy hiding something. I look to Kirishima who leans on the door frame by the Bathroom and nods. I breath in again and noticed the familiar smell but I am not able to pinpoint it yet.
I pull back to curtain and freeze. “Is that m..” I say unable to finish as I look down, tears filling my eyes. Bakugou comes out of the bathroom and leans on the opposite side to Kirishima. I look at the two of them and then look down at my old nest, they kept it, they really kept it. I can’t speak, only cry. Bakugou comes over to me and hold me bringing me towards the bathroom. Kirishima entered first. He began to undress and tied back his long hair, He entered the bath first, as Bakugou began to undress me as my emotions were betraying me at his moment. There was nothing sexual about this moment, it was about Alpha’s taking care of their Omega. Bakugou lifted me and lowered me into the water to sit in Kirishima’s lap, he quickly undressed and joined us.
I started to calm down, feeling I could now speak. “So, you mean, you have forgotten me, and you still want to be with me.” I ask looking down at my hands. Kirishima wraps his arms around me more and places his head into my scent gland breathing me in, tickling me slightly.
“Of course, silly omega, we’ve wanted you since the day you knocked me on my ass.” Bakugou replied leaning in to kiss me.
2K notes · View notes
slytherbun · 3 years
Text
wildflower
pairing: cedric diggory x hufflepuff!reader
summary: you weren't too sure what to think when a new eye candy transfers to hogwarts and becomes the new seeker of the hufflepuff's quidditch team but you realize in time that he is all of what you hoped for.
word count: 3.7k
tags: @specialagentsoftie
note: so this is all just a bunch fluff. i'm not sure how i feel about it in terms of cringey and hope y'all like it! figured i'd post this anyways either way though lol. i made up the way reader and cedric met at hogwarts so, it's non-canon from the movie.
another note: italics are flashbacks! :)
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it was cold.
you could see everybody’s breath in the air outside and knew it was a crime to be out and about now with freezing and chilly weather.
the snow outside coated the ground by inches and the black coats zippered up and wrapped around you only helped so much. you were the type to freeze easily and the climate at hogwarts didn't help your situation at all.
minutes ago before you walked outside, you knocked on the door to his dorm after surveying the hufflepuff’s common room and noticed there weren't very many people around. and when cedric opened the door after you rapped on it a few times—he took in the view of your body wrapped around your blanket before pulling you into his room.
pathetically enough, you were shivering in the halls even with your mitten covered hands stuffed in the pockets of your coat. you weren't about to admit the doubled up socks on each of your feet either underneath the knee-length boots you wore today.
"are you cold?" cedric successfully taunted you when you reached your arm out of the pocket of your jacket and then under the blanket to slap his arm. he hissed and glared your way playfully while rubbing his arm dramatically.
you shrugged with a smirk on your lips and he plopped down onto his soft bed. “don’t get too comfortable.” he suggested when noticing you trying to sneakily get underneath his covers. 
“what i’d do for one of those thermal blankets the muggles use.” you sighed dreamingly while watching him walk towards his closet.
“imagine having a postal company deliver the package to hogwarts? dumbledore would have an aneurysm.” cedric replied and you couldn’t help yourself when imagining the scenario playing out in your mind. 
he turned to the side to admire your smile while you were a little distracted while pulling out a coat. then he closed the closet up and walked back over, holding it in your direction to offer an extra to put over your body. you gladly took it with a smile. "thanks ced."
cedric backed up a few steps and brushed a hand through his brunette hair. not being able to help himself he joked, “can’t have you walking around with your blanket wrapped around you. your height already makes you look so adorable.”
you got off from the bed when he exaggerated with your blanket in hand and scoffed. cedric bit his lip nervously while continuing to back up before he felt the wall pressed against him.
he rubbed the back of his nervously while you held the blanket up to his height and above your own head. “i’m just kidding.” he gulped before you took it and put it over his face.
when he tugged it down from his face he spotted you innocently standing by the door with his jacket around you. “i was going to leave it here anyway. just put it on the bed and i’ll come get it later after we get back.”
while you zippered it up you noticed this particular jacket was the one that you often saw him wearing before he ended up buying a new one for the upcoming winter that you were suffering in now.
and it was longer than the one you had previously put on about twenty minutes ago so, you couldn't argue with him on that steal.
"alright.” he laughed and added with a more serious tone. “oh and by the way—you don't need to thank me. you're my best friend, wildflower."
today was the first quidditch match of the season and you were sitting at the edge of your seat in anticipation. the hufflepuffs didn't score well last season and you were hoping they wouldn't come out with last place again for the year.
y/g/b/f (your girl best friend) sat down on the stands next to you with an umbrella in her hands. you turned and looked at it with a confused face. but she just smiled at your contemplating thoughts and looked up at the sky once before supplying you with an answer.
“well it looks bright now but i have a feeling it’ll rain later.” she always had a suspicion for when it was going to rain or snow and you never second guessed her because every single time she was right.
“did you know we’re having a new seeker play on the team today? i believe he’s going to be captain too if he plays his cards right this game.” she asked. you didn’t know that.
“wait is he the new guy everybody is talking about? i heard the rumors but you know how they are. i didn’t want to take it seriously until i saw it with my own eyes.” you stated and she nodded. 
“yeah he’s a transfer i think but i’m not too sure. his name is cedric diggory though.” after her reply, you glanced around the stands to see if anybody had diggory signs for the game but with no avail you sighed. before you could respond you felt a few droplets on your shoulder. 
your friend gave you a smart-ass grin and popped out the umbrella to hold it over the both of you. “guess we’ll see how good he is.” you mumbled before seeing the players come up to the playing area with their brooms.
butterbeer was pretty popular during the winter season. many students from school usually went and got some to help regulate their body temperature and keep warm.
everybody else must have gotten the same memo because you were inside the three broomsticks now for some butterbeer and it was crowded.
almost every table was filled with peers and that’s probably why you didn’t see many people in the school. with just one glance around the area, you could already tell the divided area’s of where each school was seated right away. 
your tables were to the left area, the slytherins must have come earlier because they grabbed the back ones, some of the ravenclaw’s were off to the right, while harry and the other gryffindor’s had the middle area.
cedric nudged your side to grab your attention and nodded towards the hufflepuff area. “want to grab us some seats and i’ll get the drinks?” he asked and you nodded. “sure, could you get me a snack too if you don’t mind?” 
he smiled and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “i suppose i could.” cedric walked away with a wink and you shook your head knowing he was just humoring you.
little did you know he already had planned to get you something else even before the two of you left the dorms. it had gotten to the point where asking him for little things hadn’t bothered you because you reciprocated all of the time.
but sometimes cedric would give you little excuses when it was your turn to pay, just so he could end up paying for whatever you guys were having or getting. he always spoiled you.
"ah the golden girl is here." hermione scoffed and watched you walk towards the hufflepuff area. your other best friend was seated already and started talking to you when you sat.
the brunette from the red colored house didn't particularly dislike you since you were always nice. sometimes you chatted with her while working on a project that you were paired for. then other times you gave her a soft smile when catching her eye while walking in the halls towards your next class.
she definitely couldn’t help but respect and admire you.
but the reason she didn’t put herself out there and try to befriend you was because you were one of the girls known in school for your smartness, quick reflexes, and witty attitude. 
when people from school talked about you and referred to you as the golden girl instead of your name most of the time—it wasn’t that you were golden per-say but the fact that it matched up perfectly with the school’s color that you sorted it.
hufflepuff was known for its represented yellow color.
and there’s no doubt about it that hermione was also known around the school. but, she felt it was for all of the wrong reasons. despite not having it any other way as one of harry's best friends, she wondered if not for him that in an alternate lifetime that she would be you. 
“why is she wearing cedrics jacket?” ron asked after following hermione’s stare. harry thumped him on the back of his head and then shook his own. “why does it matter?” the one with a thunderbolt on his forehead replied.
“well it is interesting, isn’t it?” the brunette said in defense of ron’s question. the one who didn’t seem curious at all took a sip of the butterbeer in front of him.
he licked his lips, thinking then replied to them with a response. “i mean it’s not our business but it is an odd find now that you pointed it out. maybe he’s just being friendly?”
“as if! cedric has had a crush on y/n since he met her. she’s just oblivious to it all,” she paused and tapped her chin. “—or is she?” ron gasped at her accusation but took a sip of his own drink before she could hear his outburst.
harry noticed her getting riled up once again and sighed. “well i don’t know what else to say. maybe you should just introduce yourself already and ask her instead of me.” he shrugged and hoped to end the conversation there.
you knew exactly who cedric diggory was when he swiftly passed by the hufflepuff area during the game. of course, he was wearing yellow. 
the game has been going on for a decent amount of time now and he was stacking up the scores on the quidditch board—easily passing by the score of the gryffindor’s team.
cedric was undoubtedly the new eye candy for the whole school with the gasps and ‘awes’ from the other girls sitting in the stand. your friend was so busy watching harry that she didn’t catch the commotion.
you didn’t really pay attention to him to get a good glance at his face so, you thought he was just another arrogant rich boy and rolled your eyes.
what you didn’t notice was the way it was like a slow-motion love at first sight situation for him when he went by. since it stopped raining through the middle of the game he was able to catch a quick view of you. 
the week wasn’t done yet so it was possible he’d be seeing more of you in another class he hadn’t had yet. and cedric hoped you were because he couldn’t help but look over in your direction throughout the game to catch another glimpse of your face.
it was still humid outside and you tried wiping your makeup a few minutes ago since it was under your eyes now, but you only smudged it further. your robe was drenched with your wavy and half-dried hair now lying down the back of it. 
but he didn’t care what you thought about yourself because he knew without a doubt that you were the prettiest girl there.
“cedric’s looking pretty good today.” y/g/b/f voiced for the first time today. you played with the napkin in your hand while trying to get a glimpse of cedric. 
“i don’t think you would know even if he was—since you spend all your time looking at harry.” cedric was up to the counter now waiting for your butterbeer and food.
“uh huh. don’t think i haven’t admired cedric before from afar though.” after a moment of not answering her, y/g/b/f noticed that you weren’t paying attention. you knew exactly what she was hinting towards.
cedric did look good.
his hair had that ‘just woken up’ style to it and he always managed to look even more attractive then he should have. the yellow scarf wrapped around his neck was the one that came with every hufflepuff’s supplied uniform clothing.
he usually wore it when you sat with him in potions on a chilly morning and you caught yourself wanting to take it off of him and wear it sometimes.
he always smelled good and it comforted you in ways a best friend shouldn’t have the ability to.
you seemed to have let your guard down and stared longer then you should have which confirmed what y/g/b/f already knew. “i knew it!” she chuckled and stated more loudly than the last comment to snap you out of the zoned out state you were in. 
“know what?” you asked while placing the napkin back down on your table.
cedric was reaching the table and you wanted the conversation to end quickly. you usually dragged out conversation topics like this so you had time to think of another one to distract her with. but, she always found a way to circle it back around again. 
you had to shut it down before he could hear, already knowing exactly what she wanted to talk about again.
“i’ll tell you later before our curfew.” y/g/b/f smirked and you sighed knowing she would in fact take the time out of her night to find you before bed. lucky you.
“hey y/g/b/f. how has your day been?” he asked your other friend while sitting down and placing your refreshments in front of you and then doing the same with his. 
she grinned at you then glanced over at him, “pretty good i guess if it wasn’t for this weather i would say great. how about you? and how’d you manage to get this one out?” she gestured towards you, causing you to roll your eyes. 
here we go again.
you were walking down the path back to the hogwarts dorms with y/g/b/f and some others. there was going to be a small celebration in the hufflepuff’s common room and other students were trying to hurry back without raising suspicions with any professors nearby.
“hey, i’ll be right back y/n/n. i see luna and i’m going to go ask her if she has a hair tie.” she said and pointed to the curly knots that she had on her shoulders.
you nodded and continued along the path while she walked over to the other side. it was quiet for a moment and you surveyed the peaceful area, a few feet over in the grass was a small patch of flowers.
you were about to take a quick look at them before feeling someone tap your shoulder. it was sudden and you couldn’t help but quickly move to the side and form a fist. you were about to throw it but stopped when you stared wide-eyed at the person who scared you.
cedric felt awful and only after he startled you did he realize that you were looking off in the distance of the area. the way you jumped though seemed that you were quick on your feet and he couldn’t help but smirk at the new name he had for you. 
“hey i’m sorry for startling you wildflower but i just wanted to introduce myself. i’m cedric diggory.” he introduced with a panty-dropping smile.
you weren’t sure if it was some kind of joke so you treaded carefully. “uh it’s okay, it’s my fault really for not paying attention but i’m y/n y/l/n. nice to meet you ced.”
cedric held out his hand for you to shake and you took it, giving him a firm shake. after you let go he smirked and questioned. “ced, huh?”
he crouched down to pick up a flower that you were looking at earlier and it reminded you to ask, “wildflower, huh?” you met his statement equally and folded your arms together so they were across your chest to look more tough.
his cheeks tinted a minor shade of pink and tried to hide his embarrassment by ducking down and ignoring your question. instead he glanced back up to tuck a hair behind your ear and then placed the flower there.
“yes, wildflower.” 
and how could you argue with him when he was being so sweet?
the two of you made it back to the common room after an hour of eating, then chatting with cedric and your other best friend. he was sitting on the bed with you sitting next to him.
you’ve been sitting for only about a minute or so—only enough time to shrug off your jackets and place them on the desk chair between that time after walking back to his dorm.
“would you like to lay down for a few minutes?” cedric asked when he noticed the tiredness shown clear as day on your face.
“sure” you agreed and you laid down while he shook your blanket out for the two of you to use. his eyebrows scrunched together when he realized it wouldn’t make much of a difference in comfort with how small it was.
you chuckled watching him trying to maneuver it around and he glanced your way with a smirk of defeat. “hmm, seems this blanket is a little small. would you like to go under the covers?”
cedric was giving into what you wanted earlier before the two of you left and he knew that too. the three broomsticks' food was delicious as always and you just wanted to relax for a few minutes after getting teased by your friend.
he grinned watching you get comfortable after the both of you were situated under the sheets and yellow comforter. there was a hufflepuff patch ironed onto it and you rubbed your thumb over it while laying down.
it wasn’t that awkward since you’ve fallen asleep in his arms a couple of times before already. class exams were frustrating and took a lot out of the students so he took comfort in you and vice versa when there was some down time during the weekends throughout the school year.
with an arm around you—he pulled you close to the point where you could feel his warm breath along your neck. “i don’t think you realize how much i treasure these moments y/n/n.”
he spoke breathlessly and you gulped slowly. you were dumbfounded with how seriously he said that. as if it had some kind of hidden meaning behind it. “me too.” you agreed and wondered if he would leave it at that.
but you knew better and cedric never left well alone when he wanted to get a point across. he turned your body slowly with the arm he had around your middle and you faced him with confusion.
he glanced down once before looking back up and continued on with his confession while staring into your doe eyes—a color he deemed his favorite the day that he met you.
“i’ve been fighting myself for a while on whether or not i should tell you this because i didn’t want my feelings to ruin our friendship. i’d rather be your friend than not be a part of your life at all. and i always look forward to seeing you e-everyday.” he paused when his voice cracked.
after cedric cleared his throat he continued, “and i totally understand if you don’t share the same feelings with me but i just couldn’t go on another day without telling you how i—” you cut him off by leaning in and brushing your lips against his.
he moved closer on the bed, so his skin was touching yours. cedric wanted to get as close to you as he possibly could. your hand swept through his brunette curls and you surprised him by tugging it.
he never knew what you were going to do and his friends teased him that you were a wildcard, to which he’d correct them and say you were his wildflower.
cedric smirked into the kiss and you groaned knowing he was being a smart-ass. but in return, he shocked you when he placed a hand delicately on your cheek to cup it rather softly.
he rubbed your cheek while your hand massaged his curls and then moved them downwards to the nape of his neck.
cedric pushed the hair back from your neck with his hand and then placed it back so his thumb splayed across on your cheek in a loving gesture. and you only wanted him closer after feeling sensitive about the whole astonishment that still had you stunned to the core.
you tugged the collar of his shirt and he pulled away with puffy, red lips and a smile. “what’s wrong?”
“i don’t know, i’m just emotional.” you voiced squeakily and full of embarrassment about it. cedric shook his head and before patting his chest, he held up the comforter over the both of you and let the minimal cold air in.
“oh, baby it’s okay. come here and let's cuddle a little before curfew.”
you bit the bottom of your lip and nodded, giving him a smile in return to the one he gave you and then crawled onto him. “i think i like baby better.” you voiced and laid on his chest with your head over his heartbeat.
he let go of the comforter when he noticed you were settled and tugged it firmly around both of your bodies. “better then what?” he asked.
“wildflower.” you admitted and hummed nervously while awaiting his response. you felt cedric shake his head and he put his arms around your body so you were pressed firmly against him before he kissed your forehead.
“you’ll always be my wildflower.” you closed your eyes after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in response.
after a moment of laying back down you could feel his chest rising up and down in an odd pattern so, you put your head up to see him laughing again at you.
“what now?” you questioned trying to keep a serious facial expression but failing when he grinned.
“guess you got what you wanted, hmm?” cedric said—referring to the fact that you were finally under the comforters and you smirked.
“of course i always do. including finally getting you, ced.”
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totiredtowrite · 3 years
Text
Light Oneshot Thing
Warnings ~ None, really. Old writing that I fished up to add some start to this blog that I might get embarrassed from?
Deadpan/calm reader, reader knows about the shinigami and stuff.
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Light sighed, casting narrowed eyes toward you. He has important things to get done for sure, and yet here he was. Tutoring the new boy. You, seemingly oblivious to the side eye he was giving you, turned towards him and pushed your notes his way. “Is this good?”
He quickly put on a neutral expression, and leaned forward. At the very least, your voice wasn’t annoying. Sure it was kind of deadpan, but the smooth way the words rolled off your tongue wasn’t something you can just find often. He took in your appearance swiftly before you looked up. You had soft looking (h/c) hair, a decent face, and (e/c) endless eyes. Your uniform was on, but the tie was loose and a few buttons were undone. 
Light hummed out in acknowledgement that you didn’t mess anything up, and turned to take in your features once more. You were definitely an oddity, but he really did have more important things he could be doing. The teachers didn’t even bother to tell him your name, for heaven's sake! All they said was to meet the new boy in the library to catch him up on the subjects. “So,” Light starts. “What’s your name?”
You don’t raise your head as you reply. “(y/n).” 
He cocks a brow. “Is that your given name?” 
You nod. “It is. Feel free to call me that, or don’t address me at all. I don’t mind either.” This time, Light was confused. Yep, definitely an oddity. 
“No last name?” He joked, trying to get your full name out of you. You simply gave him a small, knowing smile, and didn’t answer. Walking home, that unnerved him to no end. He doesn’t know who you are, he doesn't know your name, and now he's unsure of whether or not he should ignore you. 
----------
After a particularly sleepless night, Light found himself asking the teacher about you. “Oh him?” She said in recognition, “His name is (y/n).” Light could feel his eye twitch. He figured at least the teacher would know, but apparently not. He had spent all day discreetly trying to find out your last name, but to no avail. Even weirder still, your last name wasn’t apparent anywhere. No legal documents, no class boards, hell, not even in your email address. (Not to mention how odd it was that everyone called you by your given name).
Light stalked down the hallway, which was now painted grey blue from the light outside. Ryuk barked out a laugh behind him. “Getting antsy Light?” 
Light glared at him. “He's a detriment.” Even saying that, he wasn't sure as to why. “He knows something, and if I don’t do something about it soon I could be in-” he was cut off when his eyes trailed to by a figure leaning on the front gates. You shot a small smile at him, the light of the sky illuminating your features. “So Kir-oops, Yagami-san. Where would you like to finish studying?” Light's eyes widened. “What?”
You laughed softly, a glint in your eyes that wasn’t there before.  Even if you look exactly the same as yesterday, it was hard to associate the shy, deadpan new kid with the mischievous looking boy in front of him. “What...did you just call me?” Light said, venom lacing his voice. The glint in your eye faded quickly, your deadpan expression returning. 
“Kira. I figured you wouldn’t mind. Besides, if I had known there was a shinigami in my presence, I would have been more welcoming yesterday.” You got up from your lean on the school gates and walked over to Light. “If I wanted to get you in trouble, you would be in trouble,” you deadpanned again, and took up a place at his side.
“Now,” you said, deep (e/c) eyes shining in the outside light, “how about we make a deal?"
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360iris · 3 years
Text
Like Then (James Potter x Reader x Sirius Black x Remus Lupin)
Warning: Does this qualify as hurt/comfort?? Maybe comfort/hurt? Is this even angst? Ah! I tried! Fem!Reader using she/her pronouns.
Word count: 1,201
Summary: Why do girls always leave The Yule Ball heartbroken?
A/N: This is a Prequel to my fanfic, Like You! We’ve reached 408 followers, which is big considering I had zero when I first posted “Like You”. Welcome on board, sweeties! I was the most elated in the midst of trying to explain how chaotically Sirius + Y/N would dance and the most sullen trying to properly word the ending.
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Of course Lily would be James’ date to the Yule Ball. They’d been together for about six months now and he’d wanted nothing more than to see her all dolled up just for him. 
Her fiery red locks curled and pinned, not to mention the sterling silver dress she’d been able to pick out with her mother. She was a sight for sore eyes, glowing as if she’d been taken directly from his sweetest dream. So why did his eyes drift to the other side of the room? 
Half of his attention divided on the lovely girl in front of him, where it should be. Focusing on the way her eyes gleamed and the showstopping smile that never failed to make his heart race. She was enjoying herself tonight, swaying in his arms and giggling at almost every joke he made; a rarity.
But the other half of his attention, the other half of himself, was with them. 
Sirius had Y/N’s hand in his grasp and was twirling the beaming girl in place, her laughs bubbling up into the space around them. Remus must have slipped away to take a breather because he was seated alone with a fond smile on his lips, watching the duo dance.  
Could he even call what they were doing dancing? Sirius’ extensive knowledge on waltzing, mixed with the younger girl’s eager tango, had the pair moving sporadically. 
They turned about the room, swiveling, alternating and cross stepping. Every so often, Sirius lifted her off of the ground mid-twirl as if she were light as a feather. And though the way they moved was quite a spectacle, partygoers giving the two a wide berth, they were in their element.
 It was as if the world had melted away and they were left in each other’s company.
When the song came to an end, Sirius parted from her quite begrudgingly. James could only guess what was being said, but with the boy putting on his best begging face, he was possibly asking to go another round. His fingers reluctantly releasing hers as she pulled away from his grasp. 
James watched as she all but skipped to Remus’ side, mere seconds from going in to kiss him before seemingly remembering the presence of the school staff. She settled for clasping the boy’s hands and leaning up to his ear to whisper.
“James?” he heard from below him and promptly redirected his gaze.
“What was that again, love?” he asked and she smiled up at him. He faintly felt his chest shag and heart give a euphoric leap.
Lily laughed when he bent his head to press a kiss into her hair, “I said that I’m gonna go the restroom real quick, I’ll be back.” 
“Of course, dear. I’ll get some punch then.” and before long she was slipping through the crowd. 
He watched after her until he was unable to differentiate her head bobbing from all the rest. Eventually trudging to the refreshments table in hopes of clearing his head.
His cup was midway to his mouth before a soft, 
“Unfortunately there isn’t any booze in there.” sounded from his left and he nearly jumped from his skin.
The red liquid in his grasp promptly sloshing onto his shoes.
A curse slipped from his lips as he took the napkin offered to him, quickly cleaning himself off. 
Looking up he finds Y/N leaning against the table, an amused smile playing on her face.
“Since when did you sneak up on people?” He asked, standing up straight and setting down his drink. 
“Didn’t sneak up on you, James. I was standing here before you even got to the table; but you’d know that if you weren’t busy daydreaming. What’s on your mind? Let me guess! Devious plans of what you’re gonna do with Evans tonight perhaps?” She questioned, tossing a chicken popper into her mouth.
Eventually offering him one when all she got back in response was him staring dumbly at the ensemble she was wearing. 
He’d briefly been shown the dress she was planning to wear weeks before the event, but it was a different experience actually seeing her in it. 
The lengthy, shimmering fabric draped and folded to the floor elegantly. The metallic fringes of her shawl glinting and swaying with every movement she made. She looked positively ethereal.
Acknowledging his silent gawking, she gave an indulgent twirl, “You like it, J? I was going for 70s era Stevie Nicks, but Sirius said I just look like a muggle’s imitation of a witch. What do you think?” She asked with a pout, fluttering her eyelashes expectantly. Notedly taking one of his larger hands into her own. 
He allowed himself to inwardly admit that she looked undeniably adorable fiddling with his fingers. How pink her lips were tonight.
“I honestly don’t know who that is, love. Where is Sirius anyway?” He coughed awkwardly, pulling his hand back and looking anywhere but her in faux search of his friends.
If his eyes had still been on her, he’d have seen how crestfallen she’d looked at his refusal to acknowledge her question. How she pulled her shawl over her shoulders tighter and attempted to shake off the feeling of dejectedness that silently clawed at her heels.
“He’s over there, trying his hardest to get Remus to kiss him in front of all these poor bystanders. You should have heard how fervently he pleaded with me earlier; he could’ve made a sailor blush.” She laughed and James caught sight of the two boys slowly swaying in between the sea of people.
The contrast of how gently he held Remus was stark. The pair barely moved from their spot on the floor in comparison to the full blown recital that took place only minutes before.
“Despite his remarks, he loves the two of you a great deal.” He found himself saying, melancholy apparent in his voice. The words tumbling from his lips before he could fully think them over.
“Why’d you say that so glumly, as if it doesn’t apply to you as well?” Y/N asked abruptly, an unexpectedly harsh edge to her tone.
“What?” Turning his attention back to her, he was shocked by the deep furrow in her brow. She clutched at her shawl so tightly her knuckles were turning pale.
“You say that as if we- as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you just the same! As if you didn’t choose-“ Her voice was raising but cut off before it garnered anyone else’s attention.
“James?” He heard from behind him and he already knew it was Lily, slight confusion laced in her voice.
In the time it took for him to turn to Lily in acknowledgment and back, Y/N was already moving to depart.
“Speak of the devil-“ She whispered exasperatedly, voice so low he barely caught it over the music. Releasing the deathgrip on her shawl, she allowed her hands to fall to her sides defeatedly.
“Goodnight, James.” Is all she offered before she was padding towards the main entrance; and though he moved to follow, the hand enveloping his own from behind grounded him.
This was where he was supposed to be, he reminded himself. Even if she took half of him with her.
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pepper-up-potion · 3 years
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Humor me (George Weasley x fem!reader)
Summary: Reader can't stand George Weasley but over time she realizes he might be a good addition to her life.
Warnings: crying, angst, let me know if I missed any.
Word count: 5.5k (this is my longest fic so far!)
A/n: I still don't know how to feel about this. A part of me likes it and a part of me feels it could be better. This is my first enemies to lovers and it was very very fun.
———
“Thanks (y/n)! I can always count on you, you’re a lifesaver.” Shouts Neville as he runs down the hall and towards his next class. (Y/n) had helped him put healing salve and a bandage on his cut hand.
“Anytime!” She smiles as she watches him stumble away. She pulls out her book and sits back down on the windowsill.
“Humour me.” Says a foreign voice.
She looks up frowning. “I’m sorry?” She asks politely.
“When was the last time you did something for yourself?” Asks the red-haired boy.
“What are you talking about? I’m doing that right now.” She points to her book: Charms for first years
“That’s weird because I could’ve sworn you were in my charms class and not in first year.” He argues, shoving his hand in his pockets and clicking his tongue.
“Well I’m helping out a first-year next period but I enjoy doing that so I am doing something for myself.” She explains, slightly irritated.
“You can’t be serious?” He waits but she offers no response. She only lifts her nose at him. “That is not taking time for yourself. That’s preparing to help someone else.”
Her nostrils flare as she abruptly snaps her books shut. She shoves it into her bag before swinging it over her shoulder. She steps towards George. She suddenly realizes how tall he is. She gulps before placing a hand on her hip and pointing a finger at him.
“Listen here, helping other people is a very noble thing and if I wish to spend my free time doing that, I should not have to explain myself.”
“Ah, so you admit that you spend your free time helping other people rather than doing something for yourself?”
George smirks at her and she wants to slap it off his stupid pretty face.
“Wha-? No.” She huffs. “I don’t know why I’m arguing this with someone I hardly know but what I mean to say is that yes, it’s demanding and tedious but it’s also rewarding and the most gratifying thing I could ever do, so I believe I am doing something for myself. You just don’t get it because you spend all your time playing stupid pranks on everyone.” She snaps before pulling the strap of her bag further onto her shoulder and walking away. Normally she would feel bad for saying something like that to someone but for some reason she felt George could take it.
“So when will I see you again?” George shouts down the hall.
“I have to go!” She shouts back.
“I’ll see you in class then. Or maybe in the halls again.” He continues.
“Goodbye!” She turns the corner and speeds as far away from George as possible, steam practically fuming from her ears.
———
“Hey (y/n) could I just copy your homework before class? I didn’t have time to do it what with quidditch practice and all.” Asks Angelina.
(Y/n) nods and pulls out her answers, stands and walks to her seat, passing them to her. As (y/n) walks back she sees George slide into the spot next to hers. She grunts before stomping to her seat.
“ ‘Morning.” He sings, kicking his feet on the desk. She rolls her eyes and pushes his feet off, offering no other greeting. Now this is saying something, (y/n) always greets everybody. He laughs a little before turning to his bag and pulling out his textbook.
“Ark, couldn’t you go sit somewhere else?” She asks with a look of disgust.
George shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I could, but I’d like to think we’d make a good team and I’d like to test that theory.” He waves a pointed index as if to emphasize his point.
She shudders at the thought of having to work with him. It’s very likely they will, it often happens in potions class. (Y/n) is at the top of the class and she doubts Snape would have any objection to George working with her since she could easily bring up his grade. She sighs as Snape walks in and starts the lecture portion of the class.
“You will have the remaining hour to make your hiccoughing solution. Work with the person next to you.” With a wave of his arms everyone starts opening their textbook and discussing the potion.
To her surprise, George is really good at potions. Logically it makes sense because him and Fred are always creating new things but she never really thought it transferable to school. She watches, a little stunned as George quickly and skillfully goes through the steps of the potion. For the first time since she can last remember, she sits back instead of running the group. George occasionally asks her to cut something or extract oil from a root. She doesn’t argue, it’s sort of nice being told what to do rather than making all the decisions. She doesn’t tell him and refuses to think more of it because that’s not her proper role. She’s the leader, she’s the helper. Maybe this once she’ll let it slide, give herself a break.
Once the bell rings they gather their books and George finally speaks of other things than the potion.
“Relaxing isn’t it?” She tilts her head in confusion. “Not having to take care of others for once.” He continues.
Oh no he didn’t. He just ruined it. He took her small guilty moment of peace and crushed it. “You hardly let me do anything! What was I supposed to do? Fight you?”
George shrugs. “You could’ve.” He winks at her and she lets out an angry moan.
“Ark!” She turns on her heels and walks out of the class without another word.
“Same time next week?” She hears him shout but she’s already in the hallway and simply ignores him.
———
“You know you could give that to a house-elf and they could take care of that for you.” Says George as he leans into the door frame and watches (y/n) clean the chalkboard in the defence against the dark arts classroom.
“Well I don’t need to be taken care of, I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own thank you very much” she spits back at him.
George and her are acquaintances at best. It’s been a month since they’ve first spoken to each other. Since then he seems to always be around her. Sitting next to her in class, offering to help her with her books in the hall. She’s never asked for him to be there or to share his opinion. Yet he’s there and very verbal about his thoughts.
He steps into the class and sits in the front row. He bounces his leg under the desk and leans back into the chair. He looks nervous but she can tell he’s trying to cover it up.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, curiosity getting the best of her.
“Waiting for Umbridge.” He points up the stairs at the closed door of her office. “I got detention.” He adds.
“What did you do?” She stops cleaning the board and sets the cleaning potion on the desk next to George.
“Gave a ton tongue toffee to Filch. His tongue was four feet long when Umbridge found him.” He chuckles to himself, remembering Umbridge’s reaction.
For the first time ever, (y/n) laughs in front of George. She tries to hold it in but it slips past her. George first looks surprised but soon he’s laughing with her.
“Glad to see someone is standing up to them.” She shakes her head. “Umbridge really is a horrible person. I can't believe all the mean things she’s doing to the students.” Her face is sad. George can see how much she cares for the other students.
“Well, would you look at that? We actually agree on something.” He crosses his arms and smirks at her. “Does this mean we're friends?” He asks.
She barks out a loud laugh. “Don’t get ahead of yourself Weasley.” She grabs her bag and walks out without another word. She can feel George’s gaze following her until she steps into the hall and out of sight. She wonders why her cheeks feel so hot suddenly.
———
(Y/n) is tutoring Seamus Finnigan in the library. They’re whispering over a book when George spots them. He smiles and beelines for their table.
“Mind if I sit here.” He asks, holding onto the chair in front of them. They both look up at him. Seamus smiles and reaches out his hand for a fist bump. (Y/n) rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out.
“Yeah mate, it’s no problem.” Says Seamus.
“No, you may not. It is very much a problem.” She hisses. Seamus looks at her, shocked by the bitterness in her voice.
“Blimey (y/n), I’ve never heard you so angry before.” He stuns.
She laughs nervously. He’s right, she normally doesn’t talk to people like that. The only exception to the rule is George. She grits her teeth and pastes a smile before looking at George.
“Of course you can sit here George. Any friend of Seamus is a friend of mine.” She somehow manages to sound sweet and somewhat sincere. George raises his eyebrows in surprise. He quickly recollects himself and takes a seat before she changes her mind.
“So, going back to charms. Can you tell me the definition of the substantive charm?” She asks Seamus.
“How long have you been doing this?” George interrupts.
Seamus grabs (y/n)’s arm and reads her watch. He whistles dramatically. “Crickey, it’s been an hour and fifteen minutes. I think we should call it a day.” He grabs his book and bag and gets up. “Thanks again (y/n). See you next week.” And with that, he was off.
(Y/n)’s jaw clenches as she looks from the now empty chair to George.
“Why?” She groans. “Why would you do that?”
“This is great. He got his help and you get a break. What do you say we go down to the dungeon and pull a prank on Malfoy?” He beams at her, pleased with his idea.
She gets the sudden urge to scream. Who does he think he is? Coming into her life and ruining everything. It is quite likely that Seamus won't do as well on the quiz as if he had stayed for the extra fifteen minutes she had planned and now she has to go deal with Hermione who wanted to rant about Ron. Something which she had very much been putting off. She takes a long, deep breath before looking at George again. The urge to scream has faded with the breath but the look on his face makes her see red.
“Could you please, please, find someone else to annoy. I don’t have time for this and you’re really starting to test my patients.” She pleads.
George’s face drops, evidently displeased by her response. He stands from his chair and puts his bag strap over his shoulder.
“Alright, I’ll leave.” He surrenders. There is a pause like he’s debating between leaving or adding another word. To (y/n)’s dissatisfaction, he continues to speak. “Anytime you need someone who doesn’t need help tutoring or homework to copy or healing salve, you know where to find me.”
She laughs loudly making everyone turn to look at her. “Pff yeah okay.” She dismisses, and with that George is turning away and walking out of the library.
She hates the sad feeling that settles in her chest. It’s like it’s telling her she wants him to stay. She rolls her eyes and swears to herself, gathering her things and heading to Hermione’s aid.
No matter how hard she tries not to, she spends the rest of the day thinking about George. His stupid face keeps popping into her head. What does he know? She likes when people ask for help. She is happy being the person people can turn to. She can’t understand what George thinks is wrong with that. Maybe he’s just a horrible person. It’s much easier to tell herself than to think there could be something wrong with her.
———
A week later (y/n) is knocking on Susan Bones’ door and stepping in before hearing a welcome.
“Merlin! I can’t stand him!” She shouts once in her best friend’s dorm room. Susan looks up from her book with her brows knitted.
“Who?” She asks while shutting her book and sitting up.
“George!” She states looking at Susan like she should have known. She shows no sign of further understanding (y/n)’s dilemma.
“Why?” She asks hesitantly. (Y/n) stomps to Susan’s bed and plops onto it.
“First he’s everywhere meddling into my life like it’s his business and now, radio silence.” She adds nothing more, leaving Susan even more confused.
“And that’s a problem because…”
(Y/n) sits up and flails her arms in the air. “Well, why did he make me question myself like that and then just vanish?” She exclaims exasperated.
Susan gapes, further confused. “But, didn’t you ask him to leave you alone?”
“Ark! That’s not the point!” She gets up and stomps out of the room. Susan blinks and looks around the room stunned even though there is no one to share the confusion with.
A moment later (y/n) is back into the room. “What on earth did he mean by if ever you want someone who doesn’t need help, you know where to find me?” She puts her hands on her hips and waits for her friend’s answer. Susan’s eyes light up and she smiles slightly. Now it’s (y/n)’s turn to look confused.
“He said that?” Asks Susan with a hopeful tone.
“Wha- I- Well yes he did but-.” She stops. Susan has left her stunned, she’s too confused to debate.
Susan’s smile grows wider. “Have you heard about Dombledors army?” She asks.
(Y/n) scrunches her nose. “No. What does that have to do with this?”
“Well I think you should come to our next meeting.” Her smile is mischievous, (y/n) hates it.
———-
The next day Susan takes (y/n) to the seventh floor. She stops in the middle of the hall and passes back and forth in front of a stone wall. Soon a door appears in front of them and (y/n) smiles, amazed by the castle's secrets.
Susan is the first to walk in waving at a few people near the door. Once (y/n) follows through the room goes silent. Harry finally walks up to them, hand stretched out.
“Welcome to the army.” He says confidently. She looks to Susan who gives her an encouraging nod. She finally accepts Harry’s hand with a small yet nervous smile.
As she looks around the room she feels a pair of eyes on her. She turns to find George looking at her with a neutral face. She lets out a little screech and turns back to Susan.
“You didn’t tell me he was going to be here!” (Y/n) whispers with a panicked tone.
“Well if I did you wouldn’t have come.” She states simply before walking off to talk with one of the other girls.
“Alright everyone. I think we’ll get started.” Announces Harry. Everyone goes quiet and they quickly form a half-circle around him. She sees a tall man settle next to her in her peripheral. She can just make out a flash of red hair. Her heart starts beating at an unruly pace.
“Today’s focus is on stunning. Nigel and I are going to do a demonstration so watch closely.” Everyone moves to the sides of the room whispering excitedly.
(Y/n) claps her hand over her mouth as she watches Harry fly backwards after being stunned by Nigel. She lets out a relieved sigh when Harry sits back up.
“I’d like to see you do that.” Whispers George into her ear. She jumps a little as his hot breath on her neck sends a shiver down her spine.
She turns to look at him. She has no snarky answer. She just gapes at him in surprise.
“I’d like to see you stand up for yourself for once.” He adds. She huffs in shock.
“I-“ She starts but Harry cuts her off. “Who wants to go next?” He asks.
“(Y/n) and I will go.” Announces George. She freezes as everyone eyes them curiously.
“Maybe someone else would like to go before us.” She tries.
“Nonsense, go on (y/n).” Says Harry enthusiastically. “No one here will judge you.” He adds thinking that’s her concern.
It’s not that she didn’t want to defend herself, it’s just she felt sort of bad stunning someone. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to do it. She walks to one end of the room and George to the other. He stretches out his arm, wand at the ready. She looks at Susan with a pleading look. Susan gives her an impatient nod and (y/n) reluctantly lifts her wand.
Neither of them moves, the room is completely silent. Soon there are whispers in the crowd. George is looking at (y/n) with a challenging eye. She gulps, trying to convince herself to stun him. She thinks that maybe if she does nothing he’ll grow impatient and stun her. That way she wouldn’t have to do it and he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of getting what he really wants.
“Right, any second now. Go ahead.” Says Harry slowly.
Nothing happens. George slumps out of his stans and raises his arms in the air. “Oh c’mon (y/n) stun me!” He exclaims.
She looks at the crowd as they all stare back at her. She suddenly feels weak in the knees. She begins to sweat nervously and looks at Susan. She looks a little concerned, maybe thinking this wasn’t as good an idea as she first thought. She still gives her a weak encouraging smile and a little thumbs up. (Y/n) looks back at George who has his arms stretched out taunting her.
“Oh for once in your life be mean!” He shouts. The words echo in the room.
“I can be plenty mean!” She disputes. “Last week, I ate Susan’s cookie.” She adds, puffing her chest.
George tries to hold back his smile. She hears a couple giggles in the crowd.
“That is not mean.” His tone is adoring and she hates it.
“It was her favourite brand.” She adds trying to make it sound more horrific. She’s the only one in the room with a serious face. Everyone else is smiling enjoying the tense exchange between the two.
He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “If it’s anything, it’s cute.” He says with a wink. There it is. There’s the final straw. She can feel her blood boil. Everyone holds their breath as they watch her face contort into an angry pout. George smiles wide thinking the pout is possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
She lets out an angry grunt. “It is not cute! You wanna see cute? Watch this.” She flicks her wand and shouts: “Stupify!” The spell sends George across the room. Everyone exclaims as he hits the ground with a thud.
“Excellent! Really good (y/n)!” Exclaims Harry.
Across the room George is whooping. He runs over to her with arms wide open. His smile is contagious, she can’t stop hers from pulling at her cheeks. Laughs spill from her lips as he wraps her tightly into his arms. Fred helps George throw her over their shoulders. Everyone gathers around them and cheers. (Y/n) feels her cheeks go hot suddenly, very aware of George’s hand on her thigh keeping her in place. She looks at everyone’s happy smiles and she can't help but join in. She hates to admit it but George might have been right. Standing up for yourself can feel good.
———
It’s a Wednesday evening. Most people were already back in their common rooms. (Y/n) was walking back from the library, having finished another tutoring session with Zacharias Smith. The halls are practically deserted when she suddenly hears quiet sobs further away. She speeds her pace and turns the corner finally spotting a little boy crying quietly while holding his hand. Two older boys are kneeling next to him. Her breath hitches when she spots him. George hasn’t talked to her since their duel. She would sometimes catch his eye across the classroom or in the dining hall but this is the first time she’s run into him. George is rubbing circles on the boy's upper back as he whispers sweet comforting phrases to the crying boy. As she steps closer she recognizes the boy to be Michael. She has helped him countless times after he has gotten detention from Umbridge.
Looking at George now she questions how she once called him a horrible person. She sighs accepting she might have been too quick to judge. She steps between the Weasleys and kneels down at Micheal’s feet so they're at eye level. She looks through her big bag before pulling out some gauze and a small glass jar of healing salve. Micheal gives her his hand, remembering the drill. She quietly applies the salve and wraps his hand. She listens to George explain to Micheal how soon the pain will subside. She notices he never stops rubbing circles on the boy's back. There’s something reassuring about the movement and she’s not even the one receiving it.
Micheal takes a deep breath, recollecting himself. He looks between George and (y/n) before smiling mischievously.
“Thanks mom, dad.” He tips his head to each before getting up and walking to his dorm. George’s hand stays frozen in the air even if there’s no longer a back to rub. (Y/n) stops screwing the lid to her salve as she looks at the now empty seat. They both jump when Fred starts howling with laughter. His laughs echo down the hall as he doubles over himself, holding his aching stomach. He wipes at his eyes and sighs loudly.
“Good one kid.” He shouts though Michael is much too far to hear it. “Ah! That’s golden.” He adds before he walks off in the same direction as Micheal did before.
George and (y/n) remain frozen. (Y/n)’s face is pale and George's cheeks are tomato red. (Y/n) is the first to move, she finishes screwing on the lid and shoving it into her bag. She’s in a hurry to get out of this very awkward situation. She shoots a look at George who moved from the floor and onto the bench. He’s leaning back onto the wall with his arms crossed. He smirks when she meets his eyes.
“We would have some cute kids.” His tone is teasing but there’s still something soft and affectionate in the statement.
“Oh honestly George, get a grip.” She rolls her eyes and walks away quickly. It takes all her willpower to hold in her smile until her back is turned to George. He’s not wrong she thinks to herself.
——-
She knocks lightly on the dorm room door. She can hear George’s loud laugh on the other side. She hopes he won’t be mad at her for interrupting the fun. Lee opens the door and the smile on his face is quickly replaced by a look of surprise.
“(Y/n)?” He stuns. The laughter in the room stops abruptly. She hears shuffling and soon George is peaking his head over Lee’s shoulder.
Lee quickly moves out of the way and George looks at her with a concerned look.
“(Y/n)? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He asks looking around to make sure there is no one else listening.
“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you were having fun there.” She feels pretty stupid now that she’s actually standing in front of him. George shakes his head vigorously to tell her it’s no problem.
“I just-“ she runs a hand through her hair. “I sort of need someone who doesn’t need help with tutoring or homework or healing salve.” The offer is months old. They haven’t even talked in weeks. She never thought she’d actually take him up on it but she didn’t know who else to turn to.
His shoulders drop and a natural smile spreads across his face. “Well then I’m your guy.” He closes the door behind him and guides her down the stairs and into the common room. It’s late, most students are in bed. George asks the few left if they could give them some privacy and they all retreat to their rooms.
“What’s up?” He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets.
She sighs and walks over to the big red couch. She sits down and buries her head into her hands. “I- I’m so tired George.” Her voice is laced with despair. “There’s just so much to do and I’m trying, I really am but I just don't know if I have it in me.”
George sits next to her, so close that their knees touch. “What are all the things you need to do?” He asks softly.
“I have to run the potions club and make that banner for the Ancient Runes Club. I have to tutor Hannah and Seamus and Zacharias and so many other people. I have to make sure Lavender is okay and that Luna found her socks. I have to listen to Hermione and Ginny talk about their boy problems and then give them advice. I have to write back to my parents and help them with their problems. I have to help McGonagall with the rat problem because no one else wants to. Madame Pomfrey said I could intern with her but that means I have to spend ten hours a week in the hospital wing. I told professor Sprout I’d help her extract pus from Bubotuber. I promised Colin I would look out for Dennis and I haven't even seen him in weeks.” It all spills out. For the first time ever she is totally transparent about her problems. “And then I have to worry about my own studies and try and keep my grades up and there’s the stress of Dumbledore’s army, what if we get caught?” She’s panting by the end suddenly feeling much lighter.
“Well maybe you could say no to a couple people. I’m sure the Ancient Runes Club can wait for a sign, Mcgonagall can take care of the rats on her own. You can say no you know.” He places a hand on her thigh and looks deep into her eyes.
“But- I can’t George! I can't say no. Those people are counting on me. What if the clubs fall apart or Seamus’ grades drop or Luna never finds her socks.” Her face is panicked.
“Let me help you.” He says it so softly. She feels a dry lump in her throat. Her jaw suddenly hurts and she feels tears well up in her eyes.
“I don’t want your help George!” She jumps off the couch and onto her feet. George’s hand slips off her thigh and onto the couch. It looks limp and sad without her leg to hold it. “I don’t need you, I was doing perfectly fine before you came around and I’ll be fine without you moving forward.” There’s a pause. “ I didn’t come here for you to save the day.” There it is. She doesn’t want to appear weak. She thinks asking for help makes her weak.
George stands up, towering over her. “Fine. If that’s how you feel then I’ll leave. I will go for good and you won’t have to worry about me meddling in your life anymore. I just want you to know that I’m offering to help because I can see how hard this is for you and I think you deserve more than what you’ve granted yourself.” George steps forward closing the gap. “I think you deserve to be taken care of for a change.” They’re inches away from each other. His face suddenly turns soft as he looks into her tear-filled eyes.
There’s a silent pause. She looks into George’s eyes and she sees the honesty, the care, the love. George is there for her when no one else is. He’s right, she is having a hard time and he’s the one offering the help. No one else. All the other people she has sworn would help her, be there for her, aren’t there. But how could they have known? She never tells them how hard it is, always caring for others. She never asks for their help. It’s not that those people don’t care. She just never opens up to them. She never permits them to be anything else than people she could help. All she ever did was give and give. She never believed she should do anything else. George is the first person who wants her to take, not give. It finally clicks. Everything that George has been trying to make her see is crystal clear now.
A tear spills from down her cheek and she feels her knees go weak. She cups her hand over her mouth trying to hold in a sob. She takes a step back shaking her head in denial. George’s face remains soft but there’s concern in his eyes.
“Hey.” He tilts his head, maintaining eye contact as she tries to look away. “It’s okay.” He pulls her towards his chest and she welcomes it. She falls into his arms as more tears fall down her cheeks. “Let it out.” He says.
With that permission (y/n) cries. She cries like never before. Loud sobs slip from her lips as her body shakes in George’s arms. She cries about all the sad secrets people have confided in her. She cries for all the days she sacrificed for others. She cries for all the “I love that you never say no”. She cries for all the grades she sacrificed to keep others high. She lets out years of pent-up tears, of hurt.
He rubs small circles on her upper back and remains quiet. She was right, there relay is something reassuring about those little circles. She cries for an hour and George never moves, never speaks, never stops her.
Finally, she sniffles her last tear and steps out of George’s arms. He reluctantly lets her go but takes her hand in his. She pulls it away to wipe at her eyes.
“Thank you.” Her voice is so delicate she would be embarrassed if it weren’t George in front of her. She laughs suddenly and George looks shocked. She soon starts crying of laughter and George gapes unsure of what to do.
“Are you okay?” He asks confused.
“I just, I hate you.” She laughs again. George looks stunned. He takes a step away from her and opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off.
“Or so I thought. You have bugged me every day for months yet there’s no one I want here more than you.” George takes a tentative step forward. The words seem to give him confidence. “As crazy as it sounds I’ve had some of the best times talking with you because I actually said what I wanted to say. You can handle me better than anyone else. You challenge me in a way that I absolutely hate but I know why you’re doing it. You’re helping me learn to take care of myself and that’s hard because it’s something I’ve never done before.” She stops for a moment. The look in her eyes changes. First, there’s shock as she realizes. Then there’s a soft and happy glow. “I think I’m falling in love with you George.” She gasps. It’s almost a whisper. She barely wants to admit it.
“Come here.” Is all he says. She doesn’t move. Her brows knit themselves as she searches his face for an explanation. She takes a deep breath. The step towards him feels like a trust fall. He gently pulls her closer by the waist. He presses his forehead to hers. (Y/n) pushes her nose to his, bringing their lips closer to one another. He repeats the movement.
They tease each other a couple more times before George whispers “Can I kiss you?” She nods slowly and whispers a yes. He tips his head so their lips connect. His soft lips send sparks down her spine. George wraps an arm up to her back and pulls her closer quickly deepening the kiss. She wraps her arms around his next and soon her hands tangle into his fiery red hair. It feels like rain after a dry summer, like the cold side of her pillow, like the warm fire after coming in from the cold, it feels like heaven. Nothing has ever felt more right than their lips pressed together and for once, she’s giving in to what she wants.
When George pulls away she finds herself chasing his lips. She pouts a little missing the kiss. George runs a hand over her hair and looks at her adoringly.
“I’m falling for you too (y/n)”
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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years
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NFWMB (boxer!harry)
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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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