#I say I can’t write because I have to Google every third word to make sure it’s a real one
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Part 2/7 - Previous / Next
Track: ‘Glitter & Gold’ - Barns Courtney
Cody had always said Rex would be the death of him, but he never thought about it quite so literally until he was watching his younger brother running headlong towards The Kriffing Sith Lord with two lightsabers in his hands. The cry Cody let out didn’t even sound like a word, simply a guttural feeling of fear as Rex was launched thirty feet into the air without even a second of hesitation.
It felt wrong. It was all wrong. Rex should never be alone like that. Cody was his big brother, he should always be there for him. He would die if he was alone, they always did.
He isn’t alone.
Cody wasn’t sure how the thought had come to be, but with a sudden clarity it all made sense. The goal was clear and as Rex landed before Palpatine's sneering face Cody whipped around to Obi-Wan.
“General, I need to be up there!” he yelled.
Obi-Wan blinked at him. Obviously the thought of his commander, and more importantly love of his life, running towards what looked like certain death was not what he wanted to hear right now; especially when he already had his little brother potentially dying behind him. He even got so far as to scrunch up his nose and start to argue before Ahsoka cut in.
“Master Obi-Wan!” she yelled, still holding her ground by the cliff and using it as an advantage to launch droids off the edge. “Focus on the force. It is their fight!”
Cody didn’t really know what they were saying and he wasn’t sure he cared as he watched Palpatine's red saber slowly grow. “Obi-Wan,” he nearly whispered. “Please.”
Obi-Wan took a breath, smoke burning his throat and tears from more than just the sting of ash in his eyes. He held out his lightsaber, his very life, for Cody to take. “You are coming back to me.”
It was a statement; and Cody took it and the lightsaber with more reverence than he could ever convey. He let the blade come to life, flooding him in light as he met Obi-Wan's gaze. “Always.”
#I say I can’t write because I have to Google every third word to make sure it’s a real one#fingers crossed it’s still legible#clone commander cody#codywan#star wars#clone wars#fanart#mustafar#give clones lightsabers#writing to music#ficlet series#part 2#and for the person who said they wanted more congrats#there are 7 parts friend#my writing#my art
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Part: 1/2
Word Count: 18,101 (for both parts)
Pairing: Bang Chan (Skz) x GN! Reader
Genre: slice of life, college!au, lab partners!au, loving from afar, angst, fluff, bittersweet, Popular!Y/n, Quiet kid!Chan, first loves, meet cute,
Warnings: mentions of coffee, if there is anything triggering I missed, please tell me!
A/N: omg???? Me????? Posting?????? And writing????? Lol uhm I’m currently still in hiatus, just barely LMAOAOOA so I haven’t been able to do anything for the past months because well, I’m so burnt out with writing but i haven’t lost passion for it so dw, next I actually have some stories piled up for posting but I want to keep it that way to even out my content and because I take hELLA LONG?? To WRITE???? So kdhvkshghsdg so sorry everyone. but luckily, I already have the next few fics planned so hopefully if i can jusst follow my plan, then i should get them down with soon, btw I’m thinking of focusing on this series first before requests, becauSEEE, I’m passionate abt this LAIKAJSISO but i also rlly wanna explore how I’ll write these and I’ve planned like 3 of the other stories already so HSDLJHSdh
Part 2
Story under the cut!
A particular “ping” made Chan perk up from the pile of open books that lay on top of each other. He scrambled through the various papers of printed essays and research papers, throwing some discarded, crumpled, paper planes off the table.
“Hi, Chris! (Please tell me I got the right person) This is Y/N, your new science lab partner. I hope we can work together and cooperate :) P.S if you aren’t Chris from class - AB 3 please text me back as soon as possible thank you!”
Chan’s eyes grew with awe and he wore his signature grin as he read your text message. This must be the first- no probably the second time he’s ever been so excited to meet his new lab partner. (he hates science and he hates most of his lab partners)
“Hellooo Y/N, this is Chris, I can’t wait to work with you as well. To be honest, I was starting to get a little worried that I gave you the wrong number.”
Chan went through with his message for the third time, hoping it didn’t sound off or rude. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to give you a bad first impression on the lab partner you’d be stuck with for the next few months.
Through the countless times he’s tried to alter his words and maybe add a few emoticons and emojis to the message, he just either came off as a try-hard or some cringe dad.
He fiddled with his fingers behind his phone, thinking of some way to make up for how stiff his message came off. In the end, he settled for the “grinning face with sweat” emoji (according to Google, he had to make sure it didn’t come off weird) (he’s not weird I promise)
Pressing the little green “send’ button after a while of waiting. A hand flew to his eyes just as the messaging app made a small “whoosh” sound effect, indicating the message was successfully sent.
Ever since he set foot onto the new campus grounds of his university, ever since he caught a glimpse of the first few students that huddled at a table or two near the front gate. He’s heard your name from students left, right, behind, and above.
He’s heard all about you, not in a creepy way, of course, people just couldn’t keep their noses out of other people’s lives. Chan thought it must be hard to get so much constant attention from everyone around you, that sometimes it made him thank the heavens above for his lack of social interaction.
But even with this pet peeve, at times, he’d curiously listen to the things others say about you, it could be when he passed by some students in the cafeteria or by the lockers or even from students a chair or two away from him in class.
And you seemed like a nice person; he could see you being the protagonist of every superhero movie. Sometimes he’d wonder what it would be like to actually get to know you other than to just piece things together from a few “I heard Y/N loves dogs”.
You’ve done many admirable things that even he seemed to adore you from afar just like the rest, not in a creepy way, again. You sounded like a likable person with a lovable personality, and he wanted to get to know you as a friend.
He eventually planned to get closer to you,
but he’s just someone else in the crowd.
Sure he had friends, he’s gotten recognition for awards he’d get from swimming competitions or spelling bees’ maybe, but he’s just but in the end he wasn’t any different from the rest.
And you’re- you’re THE Y/N, who’s on the stage.
Do you know that kind of feeling?
He isn’t- crushing on you per se, he’s admiring you, he’d call it. Whenever he’d walk past your desk after finishing his paper earlier than you, or when he’d pass by you laughing with your friends, he’d just feel like he wanted to talk to you, there’s just something about you that pushes him to get closer to you.
And he was just fond of you. You can’t like someone in these types of conditions. Well, technically, it shouldn’t be possible.
He’s read and heard of love at first sight, but he’s just glanced at you, for all of his days in this pit you’d call college. There was just 0 to nothing for him to be crushing on you after hearing about you? seeing your eyes? and hearing your laugh? He knew himself, he wasn’t that easy.
He’s sure of it... At least he believes he’s sure of it.
“Oh.. haha, my bad! I really didn’t think you were waiting for my text but I guess this was my fault for making you worry.”
You seemed awfully sweet.
Chan held back a small smile at your message, it’s just as if he could hear your little voice in the back of his head.
“So.. Chris... Can I call you that? Let’s get to know each other soon! We could probably get some coffee.? Or if you’re not into that, what would you like to do? We need to be on good terms to work better together right?”
Oh my goodness.
Chan’s smile dropped almost immediately as he read your message. Oh no... Goodness no.
He set his phone down and looked at the wall in front of him, aimlessly trying to think of a reasonable answer, or even contemplating whether he should go or not, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I could meet with them and get to know them, they have a point, we have to be on good terms for us to work together better. But going would put them in an awkward situation of always starting up a conversation-!
His thoughts ran wild as he thought further into the question. He ran his hands into his hair, messing his curls up and aggressively ruffling them as he groaned loudly at himself.
Chan’s eyes closed in an attempt to think straight, he can’t leave you hanging for so long.
As he slowly opened his eyes, he eyed the text message of yours and with a heavy sigh, he told himself, Screw the consequences.
“You can call me Chan or Chris, whichever is comfortable for you, and sure, we can go get some coffee sometime.”
Chan mentally cursed at the haste of his fingers and as he read back his message, he did sound a little … stoic? He seemed to be a dry person on text, he is, but he doesn't want to talk about it.
“Great! There’s this new coffee shop in my district, wanna check it out together then? How’s Friday after classes?”
~
‘Um- Excuse me..? Y/N, right?’ Chan awkwardly gripped his bag strap, squeezing it tightly as he watched you turn your head to him with the warmest smile he’s ever gotten all year.
Oh my goodness
‘Oh- uh yep! That’s me, and you’re Chan right?’
Oh my goodness
Chan blinked for a few moments before nodding his head quickly, you chuckled slightly at his (very obvious) nervous reaction. You two awkwardly sat in your positions, weirdly looking at each other, waiting for the other to say something or to do something.
Maybe you two were just the same despite how different your worlds were.
‘Uhh.. h-have you ordered anything-?’ Chan scratched his neck to seem “natural” even if it wasn’t doing much anyway.
You forced a small cough into your fist just as you laughed awkwardly, breaking the weird eye contact you two just had. ‘No- uh- ye-yeah! Yeah.. I did, I didn’t know what you liked though so I just ordered you something simple.’
A small sorry smile crept to your face as you slowly looked back at the boy. ‘Sorry..’
O h. M y. G o o d n e s s.
Chan returned the smile with his own, a very very awkward, lopsided smile. ‘It’s fine- I like coffee any-‘
‘Two orders for Y/N? Please come to the counter to claim your orders!’ One of the workers from the counter yelled.
The two of you perked up to look in the direction of the counter.
‘Oh- well, I’ll go get our orders, you can go ahead and sit down. I'll be right back!’ You scrambled to pile your things together out of habit as you quickly gestured to the chair across your own to Chan.
Chan nodded timidly as he watched you get up to get to the counter. Just as you turned your back from him, he hugged his bag in front of him as he weirdly settled into his chair.
Slowly starting to feel more awkward by the second, he squeezed his bag closer to his torso, feeling eyes on his back despite no one really caring about what he or you did at all.
He fiddled with his bag strap, wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger as he waited for you to come back with your drinks.
It might have been a few minutes or even less than a minute, but to him, it just felt so different to be in this kind of setting where he thought everyone was looking at him.
How could you be in this type of environment every day and not freak out?
He thought you were amazing for that.
‘Hey! What’s got you so deep into thought? You seem bothered, is there something wrong?’ You offered him that same warm smile you gave him earlier. He realized how you were already sitting across from him.
As he looked up to meet your eyes, he could see your smile grow as you chuckled softly while you waved your hand in front of him.
He shook his head slowly, ‘No, I was just- thinking of ways to not mess up our conversation you know?’ You both laughed at his rough attempt to joke around. He’s more than glad that you think it was funny too.
~
Chan couldn’t hold back a hearty laugh as you told one of your goofy stories with the other friends of yours back at the university.
Chan thought his friend group was the wackiest but you seem to be just as wacky.
You couldn’t continue on as you laughed just as loud as Chan at your own stories. You had this side that made him adore you, even more, you were as everyone told him, probably the next best person to be living and breathing right now.
You two ended up having the weirdest stories ranging from science theories to Harry Potter books and now to embarrassing stories either you or your friends experienced.
I mean, at least the conversation didn’t end, right?
As soon as you were about to finish the story, an employee approached you two and told you that the shop was going to be closing soon so they should prepare to leave soon. You two didn’t notice how some of the people in the coffee shop had left already, there were still many for the capacity of the coffee shop, but it was calmer as compared to how it was when you two met up earlier.
Chan’s laughter calmed down as he blinked a small tear away from laughing too much, both of you following what the worker told you to do soon after. And as you two quietly packed your things away and grabbed your unfinished drinks to go with you, Chan would laugh softly at the remembrance of your story and you would accompany him with a giggle of your own.
While you two headed out of the coffee shop, Chan held the door for you to go first, he urged you to go before he did but you did the same as you joked how you two could (should) “equally” exit the coffee shop.
You were slightly embarrassed at how he held the door open for you, but in the end, you had to accept it with a laugh into your fist to ease your embarrassment.
‘Well.. that was a great story.’ Chan chuckled
You smiled softly at his little chuckle, you two awkwardly looked down at your shoes, and the surroundings around you two started to darken into a dark indigo color.
‘Uh-m I guess- this is goodbye..?’ Chan put up a small grin and a small unsure shrug.
You nodded your head timidly at his attempt to say goodbye. ‘I mean.. congratulations on not messing up our conversations today, I really had fun.’
You both giggled at your joke, referencing what Chan said earlier that afternoon.
This time, the both of you didn’t want the conversation to end, you two seemed like you wanted to keep talking and telling more stories, but unfortunately, every day had to end at some point.
‘I guess.. I’ll see you tomorrow then…? In the lab?’ You subtly asked the boy, you subconsciously played with your fingers as you held onto your notebook.
To this, he grinned.
‘I’ll.. see you tomorrow.’
~
Chan slumped into the metal chair facing the empty train tracks, he felt exhausted, not from your conversation today, but because of how much he’s been outside, talking to someone.
He felt like he had run a marathon, his eyes drooped and his legs felt like jelly.
“The train heading to _________ district 8 will be arriving in 30 minutes”
A goofy smile appeared as he thought about your little hang-out earlier, you were so nice and you just had something that made him excited.
And he wanted to tell you something funny again to hear you laugh. He thought that you had the prettiest smile as well, and in whatever you did, you were always so accommodating, it made him feel all warm and nice inside.
You were just too good to be true sometimes. He’s spent half the afternoon with you and he can conclude that you were probably the only other person he would love to talk to forever.
Okay, maybe not forever.. regardless, a long time especially for someone like him.
He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
“Train ___ heading to _______ district 8 is arriving, please stay behind the yellow tape. Have a safe trip.”
The faint noise from the train coming from the tunnel signaled Chan to stand up, he waddled to stand right before the yellow line on the ground just as how the intercom advised.
He couldn’t wipe his smile off his face, even if his cheeks started to ache slightly, he felt excited.
Maybe this is what they meant how you’d feel when you take coffee.
Like a shot of espresso
Was it the americano you ordered him?
Or was it how you stayed and listened?
~
Maybe Chan should consider skipping lab period next time.
He dropped a flask.
Spilled someone else’s chemistry experiment on their papers.
Left the burner on for a minute too late
Possibly ruined your guys’ experiment
And bombed the first performance task he had to do with you.
Bombed as in nearly blew something in his face because he forgot to label some of the flasks.
What’s wrong with him today? He’s flunked his chances on impressing you, you'll never deem him worthy to be your lab partner now.
Well, one of the good things that happened was he didn’t end up in the infirmary after everything he’s gone through.
But you burnt your hand because you were trying to save the experiment that nearly evaporated.
For the rest of the day, he felt nothing but guilt and a load of angry judgmental stares from people all around the campus, even some of the freshmen he met gave him the stink eye!
Though it did wear off after a few hours of Chan cooping himself up in the library to avoid all the stares. He’s spent too much time hiding, he forgot why he was doing it in the first place, and he forgot to visit you in the infirmary after the class ended.
Chan’s head perked up from the book he enclosed in front of his face, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to recall if he ever walked to the infirmary and talked to you. Chan groaned internally at the results of nothing but speed walking down the halls to the library.
But it was past after-school hours and you definitely didn’t need to stay too long for a minor burn. He dropped his head low as he hid behind the book, he bit his lip in regret and cursed himself for forgetting, today might mark the day he’s going to find a new lab partner.
‘You do know the book you’re reading is upside down right?’ You awkwardly sat beside him, you didn’t know whether you two were comfortable with this distance.
Chan’s eyes widened, he stammered and stumbled over his words with ease.
‘No- I- wh- urghm..- w-what are you doing here?’ He struggled to flip the book the other way in haste, he looked back and forth between you and the book as he did.
You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his “misfortunes”, you raised your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your giggling, the librarian at school was a nightmare to argue with, you experienced that first-hand and you’re not making that same mistake again.
‘Keep your voice down, miss Olivia is not someone you’d want to mess with.’ You jest as you leaned in closer to whisper with a thumb pointing behind you, to a fairly young woman in her 30s glaring at the two of you from the other end of the library.
‘Oh-.. yeah… no kidding, she lectured me 4 times today for trying to use her ladder to get books,’ Chan mumbled, and with a sigh, he closed the book in his hands and raised it beside his head as he faced you. ‘Especially for this book.’
With a slightly uneasy frown, he glared at Miss Olivia’s back as she was taking her sweet time using her ladder to organize a row of books.
‘The book wasn’t even interesting..’ Chan huffed, this made you laugh again, he even joined you in laughing quietly.
If someone ever came across the two of you, they’d claim how ridiculous you too looked trying to laugh without a single squeak, possibly having freaked a freshman or two from the tables across Chan’s table.
~
‘Well.. maybe Miss Olivia was right, maybe we should have thought of leaving the library if we were just going to joke about how she dressed.’ Chan guffawed, he bent forward slightly, clutching his stomach as he laughed a little too hard.
‘Goodness, who thought you had the guts to actually question Miss Olivia.’ This time you laughed.
As the laughter died slowly into a comfortable silence, at least for you. As for Chan, he thought it might have made you uncomfortable until the lingering idea at the back of his head hit him right in the face.
‘Your hand!’ Chan’s thoughts spoke, quite literally.
‘Oh geez- you scared me,’ You chuckled as you flinched to look at his sudden outburst.
‘Oh I'm sorry I- I forgot to visit you at the.. infirmary this afternoon, and I am also sorry for.. burning your hand..’ Chan’s shoulders slumped in guilt as he glanced at you now and then to gesture at your bandaged hand awkwardly.
You subtly waved his apology off, laughing softly, “Everybody makes mistakes right? Plus it wasn’t too badly of a burn, that’s possibly why they advised us to use gloves in the lab.”
“Yeah but the whole day I had to hide in the library since everyone was indirectly making me nervous” Chan hugged himself exaggeratedly to point out his joke.
You giggled as you looked towards the setting sun as you two walked towards the gates of the school. “Well.. these things are gonna happen anyway, don’t mind them, sooner or later they wouldn’t even remember this ever happened.”
“Oh really?” Chan turned to you with a slightly unconvinced reaction as he hugged himself tighter, reminding you of the joke he made earlier.
Both your laughs and ongoing jokes stopped as a big gust of wind blew by. Brings some leaves to scatter and drag on the narrow driveway you two walked on. The setting sun burned the blue skies with tints of orange and red, crunchy leaves drag themselves all around them, making a slight crinkle sound from a leaf or two, and the small pebbles that rub against both your soles, accompanied with your the small taps from either yours or Chan’s shoes, you couldn’t tell.
Chan wouldn’t admit it, but he felt like you were right. Reassurance sure is nice, even if it didn’t promise anything. Chan’s shoulders relaxed as he let his body sway ever so slightly with the wind rushing by you two.
“So.. you’re not worried anymore? You know.. that people would keep staring at you.”
“No, you told me not to worry.” Chan smiled at you.
You thought he had a unique smile, in your opinion, and in the nicest way possible, you thought he resembled a dog.
“I guess this is goodbye, my district is over there.” Chan turned to you just as he stopped at a certain convenience store just a few steps away from the school gate, he pointed his thumb behind his back to nothing in particular but at the path going off into a neighborhood.
You nodded your head as you purse your lips. “Alright... I guess it is, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“We don’t have lab tomorrow though?” Chan raised his brow curiously, did you forget there wasn’t a laboratory period tomorrow?
“I mean- we could still meet, right? I’m pretty sure there’s no rule that forbids us to meet aside from lab periods.” You hesitate to fully say your suggestion, rejection was … quite frankly a rare thing for you, so you decided to take caution.
“Oh.. uh- yeah! Why- why not..? I mean sure we can... I just- don’t know if you’re free..?” Chan’s voice slowly turned softer as he rambled on.
You chuckled softly before nodding your head at his answer. “Technically, I would have the time since I suggested it. But we will see.”
As you two bid each other a goodnight and a pleasant goodbye, both of your minds had racing thoughts and endless pep talks. All that the sun touched that day was nothing less than happy.
~
12:34 pm
About 30 minutes before lunch break, Chan noted.
It’s been a few hours since you two said “hello, good morning, what’s your first class today?”
Well, it sort of seemed like none of your classes seemed to align today, which bummed Chan out a lot. He kind of wished you were part of his literature class so he could be your partner and he wouldn’t be counting the minutes till he gets to leave.
You can’t blame him though, and he most definitely did not hate his partner, it was Jisung, how could he hate one of his closest friends? But he certainly wished Jisung would stop his weird jokes, but aside from that, they don’t seem like a bad team for the assessment.
He convinced himself that he shouldn’t be too clingy (he thinks it’s him being a tad bit too “clingy”) and he tried to admit that there shouldn’t be any problem right now, he’s with one of his best friends and he’s doing alright in his literature class, everything was smooth.
But a small part of him asked about how you were doing in your “dreaded” calculus class.
Jisung snapped his fingers in front of Chan’s eyes that were focused on their small scattered pile of papers on their desks, but he seemed to be unresponsive to all that Jisung said or asked.
“Earth to Chan? Are you still there? Hello??? Little Chan, please tell Chan to pay attention to our project!” Jisung jokingly knocked at Chan’s forehead with the back of his index finger and middle finger.
Chan furrowed his brows in confusion and slight disgust at Jisung interrupting his thoughts. “I’m still listening, I’m just- thinking.”
“Does it have to do with our 3-page reflection paper that we need to complete by the next two weeks?” Jisung tried to put his chin up to act serious. Chan looked at Jisung in confusion as he glanced around the classroom before nodding his head reluctantly.
“If you were thinking about it, you would have at least answered my questions, I mean I was asking some interesting questions and you didn’t even bat an eye at me!” Jisung crossed his arms and shook his head disappointingly at his partner.
“Well- what was your question anyway..?”
“So you lied!”
~
Chan ruffled his hair just as he yawned. What a day.
It completely slipped Chan’s mind all about your agreement the day before. It didn’t cross his mind even if he escaped literature and he just went on with his day without realizing he forgot something.
4:35 pm
It’s been a long day.
Chan couldn’t wait to get home and faceplant into his bed. This past few weeks college has been sucking him dry, it was sort of a miracle if he remembered certain meetings around the campus.
He trudged down the stairs with his backpack hanging off his shoulder, his eyes barely stayed open, it was weird how he hadn't slipped and just slid down the stairs.
“Chan?”
“Hm?” Chan whipped his head around and looked around aimlessly trying to find someone who called his name.
“I guess your day has been eventful.” You giggled at his confused expression. He had this particularly odd-looking smile, it wasn’t big or anything as compared to a grin or a tight-lipped smile you usually give people.
“My day? Oh no, it wasn’t that bad, I’m just insanely tired from trying to write a 3-page essay for literature earlier.”
“All in one sitting?”
“Nope, I wished though.” You laughed softly as you felt a little embarrassed to laugh a little too loud with the very few students still left in the corridors.
You noticed Chan’s state as you two walked down the stairs together, he had a slight drag on his feet, and miraculously he wasn’t tripping on his other foot. He was asleep, but also awake? Your lab partner is just as interesting as your lab experiment.
“That’s weird.” You muttered with a small smile tugging at your lips.
“What’s weird?” Chan muttered back, like two friends sharing secrets.
You guffawed at his reaction and his response. You will never really understand how he works and he gets a little more unexpected the longer you sit around him.
“How about I take you up on that agreement we had yesterday?”
“Agreement-?” Chan scrunched his face up a little, trying to rack his brain of anything about the day before.
“… That we could hang out after classes? Or to just hang out again today..?” You tried to hint it out for him, you hoped he did remember it though, it was rare anyone made you do this, you know, hint it out for them to remember.
“Oh?”
“You know what? Maybe we should just go get you something to wake you up, you’re basically a zombie. How’s coffee?” You put a supporting hand on his shoulder as he was tipping a little off to the other side, you worried that he was about to faint if you kept talking and ignoring his state.
“Oh... That’s okay, I like coffee anyway.” Chan replied as he smiled, it was a little lop-sided but you thought it was one of his best features, based on how long you’ve been with him.
~
“How do you like Americano? Is it not too bitter for you?” You eyed his dark drink in his hand as you two walked around the neighborhood park in the area.
“No..? How do you like Caramel Macchiato? Is it not too sweet for you?” Chan raised a brow at your drink.
“No?? It isn’t even sweet-“ You put the back of your hand to your mouth as you laughed at his reaction, he cringed as you tried to explain why you like your choice of coffee.
“Well.. Americanos don’t seem bitter to me,” Chan added a tone into his comeback as if to sass you, but all you could do was laugh a little harder into the back of your hand, and you soon made him laugh too. “You just can’t handle it I guess.” He scoffed.
“Goodness.. you sure like to surprise me every time.” You shook your head playfully as you giggled a little.
“Surprise you? In what way?” Chan’s smile grew as he awaited your answer.
You fidget with the straw in your cup by twirling the beverage with it as you try to juggle your words around. “Well you.. have really interesting reactions, that’s one. Two, you seem to be really genuine with how you react to me.”
Chan’s smile turned into a small tight-lipped smile as he listened to you.
“At first, you seemed like you just wanted to impress me, but in the end, you just started to become someone you’d meet every day-“
Chan was about to open his mouth to thank you for saying such nice things, but coming from you felt like a weird dream he never wanted to wake up from. But he was touched and he couldn’t or he wouldn’t want to let you know that, this meant a lot to him.
“- I don’t mean that you’re like- not special or anything.. I just.. I don’t meet a lot of people like you… anymore.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean- with everyone just thinking I’m like someone high and important, no one ever has their own thoughts or ideas anymore, it’s just all aligned with mine and I’m-.. not open to anyone or anything “new” or “ordinary” anymore.”
You held your hand by the cap, fingertips just slightly gripping the sides, letting that hand fall to your side as you watched your shoes kick stones along your way. Rambling on all about the burrow of problems in that head of yours.
“I’ve been around a lot of people who just constantly expect so much, even if it was indirect or when they don’t even mean it that way. You know what I mean?”
“But you wouldn’t want to be someone who’s always stuck in literature classes or someone who just won a few medals in swimming competitions.” Chan offered you the sweetest smile you’ve ever received in a while, it radiated the sun, it felt warm and welcoming, and you wished to have such a sugar-sweet smile to offer to someone.
You were so jealous. Because you know what? Maybe you did want to be someone who was always stuck in literature classes, maybe you did want to win a few medals from small local swimming competitions even if it were just bronze medals, heck! Maybe just winning a position in the runner ups or just being able to participate!
What do you have to do to get a simple.. care-free life like this? A normal life like this?
Everyone just seemed to be better and living a better life, better than yours.
“I’m so jealous of you.”
“Me?” Chan pointed to himself hesitantly, he didn’t want to make assumptions about who you referred to as “you”.
You laughed a little under your breath, “Yeah, weirdly enough, I am,” You smiled sadly at the dark asphalt beneath your shoes. “You’d think that I’d be happy, and I have everything every freshman wishes for in their Junior year.. but all I got were stares.”
“Stares? Well maybe, that’s because you’re doing so well in almost all that you do?” Chan tried to comfort you and to lift your spirits higher as you stumble over thoughts and your feelings.
What were you doing? You’re embarrassing yourself, that's what, you thought to yourself, an uncomfortable lump formed in your throat, making it hard to swallow. You feared you would probably sound stupid if you spoke right then and there.
You forced a small smile at the boy who looked at you a little concerned, you hated that look, did he pity you? Or was he faking being concerned at your little sob story.
He was just your lab partner, after all, You don’t even know each other well enough, would he care?
You shook those thoughts away, you trusted that he wouldn't be like that, you prayed and crossed your fingers that he wouldn’t ridicule you after this. You just overshared a tad bit, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?
“Y/N? Are you alright?”
“Yup, I think I’m just a little out of it today, this coffee is a little too sweet.” You chuckled into your fist, brushing off what just happened earlier.
“Oh.. I can drink it for you or I can get you a new one if you don’t want it anymore, you don’t need to drink it. I'm speaking from experience, those types of light-headedness are not fun, especially after school.” You laughed at his offer, you wanted to just take that leap of faith and trust him.
You want to consider him your best friend from that day on, he was a gem. But you can’t..
“I mean I could just drink it later, plus- you said you didn’t like sweet coffees?”
“Oh no.. Like I said before, I like coffee anyway, I just don’t prefer it too sweet.” Chan made a small pinch with his fingers as he tried to show you a measurement of his preference for preferred sugar levels in his coffees.
“Well help yourself,” You handed him your drink, you barely drank from it since you seemed too in your head rambling on to your lab partner. He reluctantly took your drink, he was a little cautious, and he didn’t think you’d actually give it to him.
Chan took a sip of your drink and cringed at the sweet taste that left a bitter aftertaste of the coffee, squeezing his eyes shut and he sucked his teeth in as he nervously eyed your drink’s cup with the logo of the cafe.
“Wow.. that is sweet.. TOO sweet.” Chan scoffed at your understatement of ‘a little too sweet’, to him, that was a little too flavorful for him, maybe caramel macchiatos are just not his thing..?
“I did warn you.” You laughed at his expression as he sipped the beverage again, he thought maybe it was just because of his bitter, plain-old americano, but no, this was way too sweet for his liking, for anyone at all!
That or Chan has a thing for bitter, plain-old fashioned Americanos more than bright, sugary sweet caramel macchiatos.
“Oh uhm.. this- this is my stop.. sorry our “hang-out” was cut short, my mom would be worried if I missed the bus home.” You awkwardly glanced at the bus station that hung around the corner of a building.
Chan waved you off followed with that same sweet smile that you thought matched really well with the overly sweetened coffee in his hand. You returned that smile to the best you could. “It’s understandable, it is getting late, get home safely.”
You nodded at his goodbye. You two waved to each other as both of you shuffled further in the opposite direction, Chan noticed the orange-tinted skies and the red sun burning through the blue sky, the red streaks mixed with orange made Chan wonder in awe, after a long day, the sun still tries to glow, how admirable.
Chan smiled as he walked back to his district.
He’s glad you.. “opened up” to him.
But Chan wanted to say he knew how you felt but no one likes being told that, he wanted to say he wouldn’t do that to you, but would you even believe that? He wanted to let you know how much you sparkled in his eyes and maybe to others too, but you probably would have just laughed it off, he wanted to tell you that being someone like him was nowhere as a good or comfortable place as you thought,
He was a coward, nobody likes a coward.
‘Did I mess it up again?’
~
You leaned your head onto the glass window of the bus you rode on, this wasn’t even your bus.
It was going in the opposite direction of your home.
You argued that no one could blame you, you wouldn’t like to bore someone all after that awkward confession of yours, you could have kept everything together like you were supposed to
But something pushed you to tell him.
Sighing quietly with your hand under your chin, you watched the shadows of the sunset turn darker as the faint reflection of the moon shone through the window. Each street lamp passing by became blurred lines mixed with the green bushes by the sidewalk.
Maybe if you just did what you were supposed to do, maybe if you controlled your emotions, maybe if you kept your mouth shut
You could call him your first real friend.
Now that’s out the window, who would take that confession so lightly, who would look at you the same once this gets out around the campus?
You frowned at your reflection on the glass pane, as you stared at it longer, you realized how you looked as if you wanted to cry.
That lump in your throat made it hard to swallow, your emotions were leaking like a broken pipe, and you couldn’t help but tear up a little. Just as you thought you could trust someone, just as you thought you could finally make a friend who you genuinely wanted to get to know.
You’re not the Y/N everyone adored and wanted to be, you weren’t the Y/N that was “friends” with everyone in every room you walked into. You weren’t the Y/N everyone loved.
You knew that, but you tried to be that person.
The same person who looked back at you in the mirror was the person you wanted to be.
And now Chan knows this.
He knows you’re not what everyone made you out to be.
He’s seen you like this
You were so jealous of him, he probably doesn't have to worry about how anyone thought of him, he could be normal. He didn’t have to worry about weird stares you felt on your back every day.
He probably didn’t have to worry about what others thought about him to make a friend or two.
What would other people think about you now?
What would Chan think of you now?
‘I should have kept quiet.’
~
Chan fiddled with the spare flasks on your guy’s shared desk at the laboratory. As he waited for the experiment to condensate, the slight clinking of glass sounded louder than the scattered chatter. To Chan, it felt like a boom, the kind of boom that you’d see in comic books, the kind of boom that you’d hear from a loud drum.
Settling the flasks he toyed with onto the desk, he buried his head into his folded arms, resting his head to the side, watching his experiment bubble and whistle.
“Did I really scare them off?” Chan muttered to himself.
“I should’ve said something..”
“I was supposed to say something else wasn’t I?”
Chan’s eyes focused on the liquid on the burner but his thoughts were far off.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Chan knocked his head thrice with his fist, he knew it was really awkward but, he tried his best didn’t he?
Carefully, he put on his gloves before taking the flask off the burner to stop it from scuffing his project. You weren’t there to help him so the best he could do is follow the instructions you left in case you couldn’t assist him ever since the incident when you burnt your hand.
“They would probably feel too awkward to talk to me again.. what should I do?” Chan wrote down his report as he heard his professor drawing in the classes’ attention, indicating it was time to wrap up.
~
Chan’s phone screen lit up, showing a text message. He looked over to where his phone was, turning away from the book he borrowed from the library. His literature homework wasn’t going to read itself, which is why you would find him at the library, actually reading.
“Hey Chan, sorry about skipping lab class today, I had something important to catch up on :(( but if you don’t mind, can we meet up in a bit? It has something to do with the project.”
Oh.
Chan gulped as he read your message, you .. sounded off?
He knows no one can really tell from how you text but, his stomach’s telling him that this wasn’t going to end well for either of them.
~
“The garden?” Chan murmured as he read through another reply of yours, indicating the meeting place. He’s been circling the campus for a while in search of this “garden” you told him about.
“Chris! Over here!” You waved from a familiar fountain, Chan could have sworn your word choice was a little- misleading. There was just a patch or three of grass and shrubs with a singular rose bush in the area; he wouldn't exactly call this a garden.
“Oh- sorry, I got mixed up with which garden you meant. My bad.” Chan sheepishly walked over to you, slightly looking down, like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Ah, yeah.. sorry I didn’t specify.. I just labeled this area the garden since freshman year.” You offered a small smile. Something Chan has seen you offer other people in class as well.
This was it. This was the sign Chan didn’t want to see.
“So.. what did you want to talk to me about?” Chan averted his gaze from yours now and then as he felt awkward staring into your eyes.
You fidgeted with your fingers, averting your eyes from his as well.
“I was thinking, since the deadline drew closer for our project, I suggest we do our experiment in parts. I've been busy with .. uhm.. other subjects these days too, I think I’ll find the setup easier to manage.”
Chan listened closely to you, your voice grew smaller as you spoke, it was as if you were forced to say this.
Chan sighed quietly, nodding his head in understanding. He shouldn’t bother you anymore if he thought hard, he knew you two hanging out after the project was a far stretch, to begin with, you both had to slowly let each other off somehow.
“It’s alright, I understand.”
“.. alright so I’ve split our jobs into two, here are the instructions and reports for your part, And uh..” You shakily handed a clear folder with paperwork and blank sheets in it to Chan, to which he accepted hesitantly.
“.. uh…”
“Uhm.. I guess I’ll see you on presentation day or something then?” Chan concluded after looking at the file you gave him. He sent you a small smile that reflected your smile earlier.
“… y-yeah, sure.” You nodded reluctantly.
After bidding each other a very awkward goodbye, you two went on your “merry” way, hoping for a miracle to happen to fix this.
~
“So.. they just… gave you the files and left?” Jisung scratched his head as he squinted his eyes at Chan trying to squeeze an answer out of Chan.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re just going to.. accept it and do your part till they say something?”
“Yep”
Jisung sighed. He took out the lollipop in his mouth that he’s been leaving to melt in his mouth.
“Chan, what are the odds that they would talk to you again? You have to make the first move, you can’t keep wishing for a miracle if you avoid everything, obviously, the opportunity will never strike you!”
Chan just slumped into his chair before pursing his lips together, glooming at the folder you gave him.
Jisung was right and Chan knew it. But what are the odds that he would do what Jisung said? Make the first move?
If anything, Chan was just good at music, he wasn't good at literature, he hated science, he doesn’t like math, he was not in the council and he was just getting by with average grades.
With what he has so far and what he does, the more he doubts about this miracle he’s hoping for.
What a waste, college was supposed to be the time of his life, but he’s here doubting when he’s only got his Junior-, no half of his junior year, and his senior year left, then who knows what’ll happen then.
Chan pondered on the thoughts that constantly re-occur, “half of my junior year and my senior year.. then who knows what’ll happen then.”
What will happen next after this stage in both of your lives? You get a job, he moves away for his job, you might get a master's, you both draw away, and - sooner or later you’re both back at square one, strangers, just like in your freshman and sophomore days.
And when he looks back, what would he see? Regrets? A load of crap he would tell himself about being able to fix this? The stuff he wished you said? The things he wanted to say? Or the things you two were supposed to be?
What a nice way to remember the prime times of your life.
Chan grumbled.
He’s been stuck in his hoodie and underneath his own shadow, hiding in his dorm room and just going on through his day like a normal person, everyday was monotonous, every day he woke up to the same tune of his alarm, he ate the same cereal, he wears the very same choice of clothes, and he goes to the same classes to do the same thing every day.
It’s time he makes college a moment for him to remember. Who wants to look back into 4-5 years of his life with the same routine, Every. Single. Day.
If he doesn’t talk to you ever again because of this, he’ll never forgive himself.
He wouldn’t be able to live with the fact that all these words were all in his head. It would suffocate him, he just knew it would just like every other unsaid thought of his.
“Shi-“ Chan muttered a curse halfway as he rolled to stand up from his bed.
These past years of his life were a blur, what was there to remember? What was there for him to look back to anyway?
Is this what they meant when they made up the saying, “It’s now or never”?
“I have nothing to lose” that’s another saying.
“Go big or go home”?
“The time is now”, that’s another.
How do you tell someone something without actually telling them that “something”?
You can’t, that’s the problem Chan has to overcome.
Chan rummaged through his desk for anything: paper, pen, correction tape, a page of his math textbook(?), anything! He wanted to hold onto something that could be useful! Useful.. Useful, anything..?
He threw onto the desktop all the junk he’s grabbed onto. Flicking the switch of his lamp aaaaaaand.. what a letdown…
A pad full of paper, a half-used pen, cut-out shapes from his math homework, and a pile of unwanted science and literature essays. Goodness, this was supposed to be his “moment”, maybe this is why he hasn’t done anything “significant” in his life?
“This- will do…” he grabbed the pad full of paper, and his half-used pen. Pushing the rest of the junk on his desk to the side to have a fresh, clean desk to write on? Or to draw maybe? He hasn’t figured out what exactly he wanted to do.
Make paper planes?
Write a letter?
~
“Write a letter?” Chan resounded his thought, cliche, every movie has done it, every cliche love story starts with letters, not all but, it was cliche. But what choice did he have?
What path could he take?
He’s in a box filled with water, with no key. He’s going to have to find a way to do anything in a box filled with water. Unrealistic comparison but this whole problem was unrealistically impossible to get out of in the first place, it was his first time to do this, he’s going to have to knock some attention to the box he’s stuck in. That was his first step.
Dear Y/N- no that sounds weird.
Hello! - erm..
Chan was making blots of inks and erasures on his first sheet. He made faces at his work every time he made something up, quick to erase the words he would write, just like this was his first time to be in this position, he’s never taken the initiative to write his first ever love letter.
Love letter? No no this was just his.. vent. That’s all.
Taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. This won’t be shown to you. This was his deep pit to pour out his frustrations and feelings. But this is his only way to talk to you indirectly, if he finds the courage to give these to you, the moon would be blue.
Dear Y/n,
Please don’t be frightened when you read this.. or if you do read this. This really is not meant to be creepy! I would love to tell you who I am, because I don’t want to frighten you at all. Do understand this is my first time writing letters to someone. So if it gets awkward or- really weird, just know this would be weird for me too.
It’s weird writing to someone when I could just tell you the contents of this letter, you know, verbally. But I find it really hard to.. talk to you. Weird right? Maybe it’s because whenever I’m near you and I try to speak, they’re just stuck in my throat or in my head. I get really nervous but comforted and at peace at the same time.
I feel that you could make someone feel almost everything in a single blow. Weird right? But that’s how I feel. I’m sorry if that sounded really- creepy but I mean it in a good way, one second I could feel intimidated, the second- I’d feel like I fit in, the third, you’d make me feel as if we’ve known each other for 20 years instead of 20 minutes.
You’re incredible, I mean it. You are one incredible thing, you’re everything nice, Goodness that sounds so stupid, I’m no good at writing letters. I’ve never liked literature, have I told you that? I absolutely hate reading long books. I hate math, and I hate science textbooks.
I like to swim, I used to be a part of this junior swim team. You told me you liked caramel macchiato, swimming is- something like a caramel macchiato to me, it’s cringy to say but, when you take the first sip, it sort of shocks you awake, your mouth gets sour from the sweetness, and then the bitter zap from the coffee, it’s just the same when you get into the water, it's cold then warm then ticklish? I can’t explain it but no matter how weird the feeling is, it never gets old. You just can’t get enough of the feeling or you just can’t get sick of it. And the feeling never sticks long enough for you to remember, so you end up going back to it.
Sorry if I’m rambling, It’s weird for me to express these thoughts from the top of my head, much less to actually write it, I’ll probably never read this again, I do hope that- You won’t find out who I am so soon though. I’d be more than embarrassed.
If you end up finding out who I am. Please don’t tell me you know me. I’ll only cower more. I’ve had my fair share of cowering away, more than enough.
I do hope this letter will find you in good condition, and with that, I’ll see if I can write you another letter. Maybe I’ll be better at writing these? Who knows, well.. you would but..
Anyway, I’ll see you soon?
From:
—————
_____________________________
Dear Y/N
5/4/22
Hello, it’s me again. Don’t mind the dates, I feel like I have a long way to go before coming to terms with myself and actually giving these letters to you. So- I decided, that maybe these can be memory keepers? Uh- like photographs, I actually never thought of what to put in these letters, especially since I think I’m talking to you, like actually talking to you through these letters. I feel it’s unsettling to start telling you my fears or something. I could tell you all about my day but it would just be me describing how the food at the canteen never ceases to gross me out, or all about my friends, or just about me. This seems really insensitive, but what can I say? I’m talking to a piece of paper.
I think I’ll find myself forgetting about these letters after a while, and I’d end up throwing them out once I move back to my parent’s home after college. Or when I move out to a separate home that I’d be spending my days in, till I think about getting a new house.
I ran out of ideas on what to talk about, so if the correction tape starts to chip, don’t mind the erasures. I guess I should talk about my day. Today was - eventfully dull, like always, I mean what’s so special about going to class (the same classes to be exact) and doing the same things all day, everyday. I did our science project in the study cubes we have in the library. It's actually- fairly comforting to have a whole box to yourself. I feel the study cube could be one of the investments of the school that I personally enjoy the most. Have you studied there before? It was my first time if you hadn’t noticed yet. It was surprisingly .. nice to be alone for once, it was quiet, not the awkward type considering the whole front wall and door is made of glass, I think the giant, white, obnoxiously large letters that spell out “study cube” helps keep the other student’s noses out of your business, whoever designed that is brilliant, brilliantly- stupid? I mean I’m no interior designer but they could have done better. (Back me up here, you’re the one in an interior designing class.) (Well only if you want to.)
It’s currently 12:34 am, I would say good morning but...
Anyway, I’m tired, you must be tired, I’ll head to bed, I hope we can talk in person soon, so I can actually stop caving in my dorm room, writing letters like you’re gonna read this. But I can wait. Okay, that sounded weird, but I can’t even keep a yawn in right now. Good night, I can't wait to lock this in my drawer.
from: ________
__________________________________
Dear Y/N
5/5/22
It’s me again. Again, please don’t talk about the dates, I guess you can see how often I want to talk to you? Never mind, that sounded stupid and weird. Please don’t think of me that way.
Do you know Jisung? Han Jisung? He’s told me before that you guys share the same social studies classes, he’s from the literature department, and he’s also tried to sign up for the school paper once, do you remember that? It was during sophomore year I believe, we haven’t met yet, but I guess we saw each other briefly, you were the - editor in chief? Was it? Or someone important in the office, and Jisung mistook you as the person who declined his “audition” (I forgot the term, was it submission?) for the papers, you did look like someone, the someone who actually did disapprove of his work. I was the friend beside him that day that he tried to and I quote “give you a piece of his mind” I still haven’t apologized to you about that, I just felt it was a little weird for me to still remember something like that so I felt embarrassed to bring it up to you now that we’ve actually met.
I do hope that you haven’t strayed away from making friends with my friends. I admit, maybe I did do something wrong but please don’t limit yourself, they’re good friends, I shouldn’t be the reason why you’re avoiding people that I’m usually around with. If I could promise and show you that I would actually mind my own business, I would. Whether you become my friend’s best friend, I really wouldn’t mind. As long as you don’t take them away from me, I wouldn’t mind, even if we aren’t comfortable talking to each other anymore.
That was some word dump, my bad. You know if these get cringed and you did read them, burn these letters, it’s the least you can do before telling me you never want to hear from me again. Knowing me, I’ll never EVER stop thinking about the fact that these letters could be up and running around the campus.
Have you read or watched the series “To all the boys I’ve loved before”? I’ve never been so traumatized from it, which is why now that I have my own letters to keep, I’m quite literally keeping them with my life. Okay wait before you go and ask me why I watched or read the series, I have a sister. And a friend named Changbin.
Seo Changbin, he’s majoring in physical education? Something about a major in sports, I think? I’m not too sure about myself anymore, he’s been transferring and having second thoughts about his course since sophomore year, and I can’t keep track of whether he’s in economics or sports, animal care, or culinary art. This can explain my case, he’s all over the place and you can’t understand what’s going on in his brain so ask him why he thought the series was fun and asked me to join him. (To be fair, it was confusing, but I did find the series- uh- interesting. It’s not my favorite show, but I don’t think it’s as bad as people say it is? I just don’t see why there’s such a big fuss about the movie series with the book series, so I watched and read both.)
Not the stereotypical, “my sister watches said series like any other girl.” She usually isn’t into those. I can vouch for her, for the past.. 18-19 years of growing up with her, I've never ever seen her read a book with that type of genre. And she seemed interested too. So I mean adds on to reasons why I might wanna see what the show’s all about right?
It’s uh- 3:45 pm, and I’ve been stuck in the infirmary with a badly twisted ankle, and I got to pass my time icing the injury so, might as well get a letter done right? I got the injury from playing soccer with my friends, it was a hassle hopping to the infirmary with 2-3 other people dragging attention to you by sobbing and acting like you got a limb cut off.
Until the next letter then.
From:
_______
~
Chan stretched his arms, leaning back on his chair, another letter finished. He sighed in contentment, his lips formed a flat smile, it held certain contentment and a tinge of fatigue from the finals week he had to accommodate together with his ongoing letter-writing agenda.
It seemed as if he’s been writing letters to you for a while now, even if he only started a few weeks ago. Chan wondered how much his letters have accumulated now. He reached over to the other end of his desk, pulling out the drawer he stashed the letters in, the sealed envelopes were all scattered on top of each other, all with dates and entries like “Letter 4” or “To: Y/N. From: “
He sighed at the sight of the envelopes, picking up a few every now and then to read all that is on the surface of each letter; if he bothered to count, these letters would outnumber the fingers his hands had. Had he been writing every day? He scoffed at himself, knowing well enough he was- amazed that he had this much to say.
Putting the letters back into the drawer, not really caring if letter 8 was under letter 5. He refocused to the newly written letter on his desk, he folded the paper neatly before putting it into a brand new envelope, snapping a tape off the small tape dispenser he stationed on the side of his table, glancing at that little tape dispenser as he was about to reach for the drawer to let the letter in his hand join the rest of his collection, he’s going to need a new roll if this prolongs or if he plans to say any more to you.
Oh goodness.
Chan closes his eyes as he leans back into his chair, his fatigue caught up fast, it was nearing 1 in the morning.
“What did I even do today?” Chan wondered to himself. As he was recounting the events of his day. Come to think of it, his recent days were just spent in the library preparing for the finals, or doing homework in class and writing letters in his dorm room.
As he thought about how his time managing skills were average, to say the least, he couldn’t help but doze off to other topics. He thought of everything he’s done, and everything he’s written, no matter how boring his day was, he always had something to write to you about. He hasn’t talked about his feelings or anything, just about himself, like his hobbies, his friends, his day, it was like those introductions in kindergarten.
Chan glanced at this mini calendar on his desk, it had a line character on the left side of the calendar, and a few of his annotations on the right. Things like “Changbin’s birthday” and “family dinner” were the common things he’d write, just simple reminders in case he missed the notification on his phone.
He looked past the dates with big red circles, those marked the dates of his final exams, and as he looked past those, there was a small note on the last day of the month, “Christmas break”.
Chan could only imagine what Christmas break would look like after finals. He wondered,
By then, would you and him be friends again?
~
Chan cursed under his breath as he mopped up the spilt apple juice on the wooden floors of his living room. It was way past 8 in the evening, his parents asked him to clean up a little bit after the party his relatives threw for his little cousin in his house. Perfect timing as well, just the day before his graduation. Tomorrow was the big day, finally the day that will mark his completion in college and his successful years passing his course with average grades and a finished bucket list.
His parents were taking down decorations and keeping leftovers, even though the constant rustling and crumpling from the cleaning session in Chan’s kitchen, Chan felt so at home with his thoughts, it was quiet in the neighborhood weirdly enough because usually, he would hear a loud motorcycle zoom past his house at an ungodly hour or an overly enthusiastic rooster or even a party down the street with obnoxious music on the highest volume.
It was like a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Chan, one of his “must-sees” before he leaves his childhood neighborhood, it’s weird because he was against the idea of leaving when his father introduced it to him with the jobs available for Chan in the next city or in the state next to his current one. But every time he thought of everything that happened in this place, all he could think about is college and then the time he fell down his bike and rolled down the street when he was 9, the only reason he wouldn’t leave was because he was comfortable here, no one ever cared that he was wearing a sweater in the middle of summer or no one really cared that he was moving, when he gets out of this place, no one will ever know someone named Christopher Bang.
Maybe his relatives, a few friends, a couple of batch mates but what are they worth in a neighborhood the size of Jisung’s cheeks, sometimes it might not look like a lot but when you really walk around the area, it’s like a whole new place you’ve never stepped foot in yet the air seemed the same, familiar even.
As soon as his parents told Chan he could head to his room to get some rest for his “big day” tomorrow. Chan trudged to his room, he wasn’t at his dorm because the school gave an early warning that he should move out slowly as the semester closes, so now he’s stuck in his childhood room with the glow in the dark stars still stuck to his roof, and his Cars 2 bedsheets. Even if he hasn’t been away from home in a long time, his mother finds his room like some Time Capsule and refuses to change it to his liking.
Chan wouldn’t say he didn’t miss this though, he’d be lying if he did. He could just remember 8-year-old him flopping on the same bed right after doing his math homework and falling asleep almost immediately. Chan bets the sheets would smell like his childhood, something like apricots and autumn leaves, or was it lavender? Chan never appreciated that smell from his blanket that would put him to sleep almost immediately, maybe that’s why he hasn’t been getting much sleep?
As Chan closed the door behind him, he spotted a clean pack of pad paper and his funny-looking transformers and star wars pens in his pen holder. Cereal packs these days don’t give anything, Chan wonders if kids these days experience the meaning of enjoying your childhood if you didn’t collect pens from cereal packs of your favorite show.
He sat down and switched on his lamp, the light flickered now and then and the light it gave off was weak, and .. it was about to go out, maybe but Chan could care less, this was pretty bright for him, he could work his way through this. He reached over and grabbed an R2D2 pen, the pen charm had the head of R2D2 hanging off a slightly rusted chain from the top of the pen. Chan clicked the pen a few times before testing it out on a corner of the pad paper on his desk.
Surprisingly it still works, like brand new actually. This was Chan’s cue to start writing, he decided, this was one story to tell you, next, he wanted to say his final thoughts and finally reveal who he was. Even if he planned to keep this to himself, at least he could finally sign the letters with his name, admitting that all those letters were in fact, his thoughts and his emotions.
“Here goes..” Chan muttered.
~
‘Breathe in, breathe out.’ Chan tried to pat down his graduation (gown?) outfit and adjust his hat. He frantically wiped his hands on his jeans under his regalia, his hands were much sweatier than usual, not like they were always wet but he figured it was the nerves he was developing or is it excitement? I mean it’s not every day you finally get to receive your diploma and finally experience the taste of adulthood.
Looking at the mirror in his old room was.. nostalgic? He has slightly longer hair as compared to before and he swore he’s grown an inch or two since he last stood in front of the mirror. A small smile found its way onto Chan’s face as he finally saw, with his own two eyes, that not only did he grow physically but maybe he did mature over time, and now’s the result of all his hard work and of all the unnecessary pain he’s been through.
“Dear? Are you ready? You’ll be late!” Chan hurried to the muffled sound of his mother. Shoving a bunch of materials and some notebooks, he didn’t think about what he shoved into his bag, he took as much as he thought he’d need from his desk top.
His bag seemed heavy but Chan figured he can sort this out later, he can’t fix time if he was late for his graduation.
“Coming!”
~
Chan heard all kinds of boisterous noises screaming, cheering, strained laughs and sniffles. He’s taken at least 2 naps in total and he’s seen his parents and younger siblings in one of the seats behind him. It had been a good 3 hours? His behind was getting numb and his brain was empty and all he saw was nothing but gray as he clapped aimlessly every time he heard a name being called to the stage.
He doesn’t mean to be rude at all but he’s been half asleep half the time and he doesn’t even know half the students being cheered for, they were all people he’s seen but never cared to get to know or just didn’t seem like they were interested in being friends with someone like him. He never liked to talk to a lot of people so he didn’t have a problem with that.
Graduation seemed slow at first, Chan was seated beside people he barely knows of and strangers and parents of said strangers were all around him, occasionally he’d be woken up from his doze by the loud shrieks of this girl in front of him or the low obnoxious cheers from the varsity player beside him. But luckily after a while, the names started to deplete, and soon after he would get called on stage and his friends too, he heard your name but the people in front of him stood on their tippy toes and screamed at the top of their lungs.
Graduation was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience, a milestone, an honor that you wear around your neck. Now that everyone was flooding out the auditorium, chatters among students with things along the lines of “I can’t believe it! We’re out of this place for good!” And “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!”
And if Chan was, to be honest, he felt the same way. It's unbelievable that college just ended like that, all those years blown away in one big gust of wind, Chan could hardly recall the days he’d complain to his friends about how he would consider dropping out if a certain teacher didn’t lift the workload. (As a joke of course)
As Chan caught up with friends he forgot about “sorting” his bag out from earlier and he was pretty carried away with the jokes and diploma-shoving banter from his friends and some acquaintances from different classes. He could almost smell the tinge of sweet autumn breeze in the air, like a reward after all the grueling years of college.
He felt the slight odd-one-out item in his bag as he gripped it before slinging it over his shoulder. As Chan walked out of the auditorium he could smell a familiar scent and an “aftertaste” of a certain drink. Caramel Macchiato.
Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or a hit of nostalgia, or just a familiar feeling he missed resurfaced. He held onto his bag as he ran up to his friends waiting at the side of the auditorium to tell them he had to catch up with someone before he could miss them.
Chan ran back to the auditorium, looking all around him for a sign of you but all he saw were teachers and some staff members cleaning up the mess as well as some students who were just chatting with friends, but none of them resembled a certain Y/N.
He ran outside and went to gardens and sanctuaries students usually stayed to hangout. At this point he was losing hope, it was getting dark and each minute that passed was a moment he hoped he could catch up to you, he hoped you’d still miraculously, still be there waiting or that he could somehow catch up to you.
As the day was coming to a dark, vibrant orange, and the sun was slowly setting with each tick of his watch. Chan, with all hope lost, trudged to the front gate of the school, he tried, that’s one story for his very final letter maybe.
He thought about all the places he wanted to check, he wished he could be everywhere all at the same time in case you decided to go to a certain place, he wouldn't have missed you if it were that way.
He dragged his feet, kicking pebbles along the way and fallen pine cones in his way. Chan heard chatter from a distance and he just prayed it was his friends waiting for him, he wanted to take his mind away from you, or from this whole thing, he should be celebrating after all!
Chan couldn’t look up for some reason, scared it could be you or your friends, he wasn’t really prepared for a moment like that you know?
“Chan? Where have you been?”
What?
That doesn’t sound like Jisung at all. Chan looked up to find a certain caramel macchiato enjoyer. You.
Chan’s mouth was slightly left agape, what’s with his luck? He wouldn’t count this as luck but neither did he think this was something unfortunate. He gulped as he held onto his backpack strap, why did you ask where he’s been? Have you been looking for him?
“Hey..?” Chan answered meekly.
“Hi.. uh..” You laughed nervously as you looked at your friends and waved them off for a bit before turning back to Chan.
“Can we talk?”
“Can we talk?”
You two asked in unison, both with a similar tone in your voices, it wasn’t something like after an unresolved break up or with misunderstood feelings, more like a needed congratulations.
And an awaited goodbye.
“Uh, my bad you can go first.” Chan offered.
“You should go first.” You insisted.
Chan coughed awkwardly into his fist, averting his gaze to the side before pursing his lips. This was it, this was it, this was it. Chan encouraged himself as he unzipped his bag to get the box out of his bag.
As he handed it to you with his eyes looking off to the tree behind you.
“I wouldn’t say this is a graduation gift to you per se, but it’s something I meant to give to you for-.. awhile? I guess you could say that.”
You took the box into your hands as you furrowed your brows, but offered a small smile to him. Chan finally glanced back at your expression. He was worried you’d be sort of negative about this but to his surprise, your smile was something that resembled an overly sweetened caramel macchiato. Sweet, too sweet on that note, but enjoyable, stereotypical, an everyday thing but you could tell the barista made it with a whole lot of love and effort, in short, it was genuine and Chan longed to see that from you after a long while.
“Don’t open it!” Chan outstretched his hand as you slightly lifted the box’s lid off.
“Open it at least a week later, or-.. well when you start to miss college, yeaH! TILL YOU MISS COLLEGE! Or -.. better a week later..!” Chan rushed as he tried to push back the cover.
You chuckled at his antics just as you nodded at his request(?). You tucked the box’s lid back on properly, easing Chan’s nerves.
After a long comfortable silence and a few awkward giggles and chuckles here and then, Chan started to bring back the topic, “A-anyway.. your turn…”
“Ah right.. my bad… uhm” Now you were afraid to look at him.
“I wanted to congratulate you, we had a good score for our project, and your delivery was great. Sorry, I couldn’t have… congratulated you earlier, I- I wanted to for a while actually ! But I figured you were too busy juggling with the finals and with your swim practices..” You hugged the small bouquet of flowers in your arms.
You grinned sheepishly and laughed awkwardly to ease the tension you felt, Chan offered the same laugh before answering.
“Oh no no it’s no problem, I haven’t been able to congratulate you earlier either! So it’s no worries! Really.” Chan waved you off as he averted his gaze to look at his shoes.
“Well uhm.. this is for you by the way.” You smiled sheepishly as your voice grew small while extending the bouquet of flowers to him, the plastic’s soft crinkles seemed to fill a void of silence that you two couldn’t fill. Chan doubted either of you were bothered though, in fact it reminded him of the autumn leaves.
Chan’s eyes grew in astonishment as he was faced with a dozen roses, from the looks of it, it was just freshly picked as well. He hesitantly glanced at you, asking if this was really for him before reluctantly accepting the bouquet of roses into his own arms.
“Oh.. thank you..?” He turned from admiring the roses to thanking you with a slight confused tone, you chuckled softly. “Sorry, I’ve never gotten flowers, it’s usually just me giving them to my mom.”
“You can give these flowers to your mom as well.” You shrugged playfully as you watch Chan erupt into laughter.
“I mean, people can give others flowers right? Plus it’s graduation day, isn’t it tradition?” You offered him a smile, Chan couldn’t understand what was behind it, to be fair, he couldn’t even understand if the smile he was giving was because he was happy he got his first ever bouquet of flowers or the fact that you thought about giving it to him.
Chan exhaled, as if he were holding his breath but he was able to feel a wave of relief as he inhaled the fresh autumn air. “It is tradition but you rarely see it happen these days.”
“At least you got to see it for yourself right? Doesn’t it make it extra special?” Your smile never faded but your eyes softened at the sight of Chan, you missed this.
“It does.” Chan held the flowers close to his chest as his smile grew, the sides of his eyes crinkled slightly.
After a while of silence, the two of you laughed off the awkwardness before nodding in acknowledgment that you both are here, at this moment, you two can finally say goodbye..? It felt short-lived but this was all that Chan has been wishing for since his first letter.
“I should probably get going now.. It’s getting late and.. your friends are probably waiting for you.” Chan gestured to your friends chatting behind you, before offering you a reassuring smile. It’s time to go home, or well to go with your respective friend groups.
“Oh right.. Yeah.. I should probably get going as well.” You glanced back at your friends and chuckled softly.
“… I guess I’ll see you then?” You held onto the box Chan gifted you and you felt your fingers squeezing it, realizing the smooth, soft, feather-like texture of the box, something similar to a stationary box.
“Yeah.. Until then I guess.” Chan unconsciously gave the bouquet in his arms a squeeze, it was already impossibly close to his chest but he hugged it closer, finding uncut thorns that poked at the thick plastic wrapping and colored paper outer wrapping.
You two waved to each other as you both giggled to yourselves, you were relieved that even with the gap between you two before, something’s don’t really change. You hoped and wished maybe you had more time to say goodbye, but you can’t keep him here forever.
~
Slamming the door shut as you sighed harshly, flopping onto your bed, face planting into your pillow. Turning your head to the side just to sigh again, it was a small disagreement with your parents and it ended in you storming to your room and planning to keep to yourself until the whole thing blows over.
Closing your eyes, you squeezed them shut, your head was starting to have a slight pounding sensation at the back. Just your luck.
As you opened your eyes, you noticed a familiar box on your desk, you never noticed, and maybe it’s because the baby blue shade that was confused with white, was blending with the polka dots. You sat up on your bed, ignoring the slight headache from falling into bed.
Reaching over to grab the box from your desk, you realized there was a small tag stuck on the box, it had a small “Chan’s things :)” in a carefree, child-like handwriting, you smiled at the endearing sight, everyday it’s like you could still see bits and pieces of him.
Opening the lid your eyebrows raised in shock? Amusement? Maybe in the middle of both. Multiple letters (you assumed) were in airmail envelopes with stamps that were considered valuable were on corners of each one.
Picking the first one in the pile to inspect it, you realized that each envelope had the familiar handwriting of Chan, it wasn’t neat nor was it messy, but you found it something like a characteristic of his. With each letter that you picked up, more emerged from the bottom of the pile, you wondered how Chan was able to fit hundreds- maybe even thousands of these letters.
You put the pile in your hands back into the box before plucking a letter randomly, opening it, and finding an evenly folded paper inside and with the letter being addressed to you. You were seeing the date of each letter being from a year or two ago. Subconsciously picking another random letter up into your free hand as you read. This process continued until half the pile in the box was transferred to another pile of opened envelopes beside you.
As you finished another letter, you carefully folded it back to how it was and inserted it back into its envelope before stacking it on top of the other letters you finished. Opening a new one, and you realized it had a second page, you noticed the dim lighting from your window and realized it was late. And that you’ve spent your remaining afternoon reading letters.
This letter didn’t have a date. You figured it could be a really recent letter or a letter Chan forgot to mark.
Dear Y/N,
On this day is my little cousin’s birthday, and it’s just a day away from our graduation ceremony. I went to his birthday party and when I entered the first thing he called me was, crispy. For obvious reasons, I do hope that I don’t give off that vibe.. or get-up, and I do hope you won’t call me crispy either, Chan or Chris, that’s it, not crispy. Weirdly enough his parents and MY parents egged my little cousin on and they started to call me uncle crispy. Anyway, tomorrow is our graduation day. I have my letters in a box, only recently did I get a box for them, and you know what? I tried to count them but I sort of lost count, so I’m stuck with thinking I wrote 87 letters..? But I don’t recall writing that much though, hopefully, it isn't, I don’t want you reading 87 letters of just me talking about how much I hate mathematics class. I also forgot to ask how was your day? I hope it’s going well. I believe this will be my last and final letter to you, I doubt I’ll have time to write another one tomorrow, not with my nerves for the graduation ceremony. I’m still unsure if I want to give this box of letters that are sitting on my desk right now. If I do, and you will see this letter, I hope you won’t be creeped out or- anything.. I mean well with the letters.
Since this is my last letter to you, it might be one long one. It’s just for goodbyes, you know? I’m going to be moving out of the dorms soon. I've done some packing early in the week so I’ll be out of here faster than I estimated, which is why I concluded that this might be my last letter. I’m not sure if I’ll stay in the neighborhood either. I have plans, I guess you can say, and it involves me moving out of the country or off to another city. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart I want to stay here so in turn that if you wanted to say something to me before I go, I’d hear it. But from the pit in my stomach, I don’t think you would even stop to think about these. Throw these letters out as soon as you read them though, I really don’t see why you would keep them in the first place and I want you to promise that you will, I’ll only sleep better if I know you will.
Below this paragraph is the things I’ll finally say and mention to you, after a long while of not being able to admit these things to you, no they are not problems, or complaints, neither is it obsessions and addictions, just my feelings, not necessarily feelings as in romantic feelings, but feelings as in the things I thought and felt when we were friends, and/or when we had the chance to hang out. If you don’t want to read beyond this, feel free to just throw it out.
Do you remember when you made your first friend? I can’t really remember the feeling, but I remember the memory, but what’s a memory without feelings? A black and white picture maybe. To be fair I have made a lot of friends, in my whole life, I don’t recall meeting more than 20 people a year so.. being “friends” with a people’s person did get into my head for a while. You’re admirable as a person, I’m sure people around you have made that clear, but I think when I met you, half of me or probably more, was happy to meet someone who didn’t seem too intimidating. Maybe you were intimidating at first to me, considering your status but after sometime you seemed like the warmest, kindest being I’ve encountered. I may not know what it’s like to be in your place everyday and I may not know what you see in your eyes everyday, but from what I know, you’re going through so much, and yet you have so much compassion and kindness despite it all. That’s admirable.
Maybe I am wrong and maybe I’m just overthinking but I feel that there were some things left unsaid, and some unexpected outcomes in our friendship and I understand you need space, and you’d rather save yourself the trouble, which is why I’m writing these letters to you, in hope that when you’re ready to talk to me, and that I’ll be too late to reply, at least I’ll have some answers for you. I’ll admit, if I knew my timing, if I knew how to approach you, and if I knew how to resolve things that are left undone, maybe I would have reached out to you sooner, but sadly, I don’t, and I could barely tell time on regular days, either I’m too sleepy to care or it’s usually around dinner time by the time I get out of the building, whether it be from the dorms or from school and I don’t have the guts to even talk around new people or well.. talking to people was never really my forte, to begin with, and I’ve always hated solving math word problems, so I’m sure you could tell why I didn’t approach you sooner and I’m sure you know that I’m actually not so special, I’m a little below average actually. I’m the definition of a quiet kid that, maybe only 3 people in the whole batch knows about me, even if I wore sweatshirts and vests instead of hoodies or khaki pants instead of joggers and even if I walked around wearing clothes like that, no one would care who I was because I wasn’t going to be special or I wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb. (Not that you are one though)
But you, on the other hand, you’re like the definition of a successful, “someone-whose-future-is-bright”, “they’re-going-places” type of student. And sometimes they forget that putting you so high on a pedestal… makes you so isolated from everyone else. I must admit, I looked at you the same way, like some otherworldly- being. Which I’m sure you didn’t know..? Or pretended to not know maybe. But after hanging out with you for a while, after you told me what you said to me that day? I realized you’re just a person, who has dreams and passions, and fears and flaws. I realized you’re just trying to fit in what others say you are because you felt like if you didn’t, you aren't Y/N anymore. I admire that you still strive to be the best. That’s something a normal person can’t do. That’s something I can’t do. This must be the other reason why I looked at you like some “otherworldly being”.
Oh gosh, that was a whole word dump. I apologize, really, it’s just what I realized and I wish I knew that early on, and I wished that I knew how to tell you that it was okay to let your guard down. And that if you need help, I’ll always be willing to lend a helping hand.. and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that earlier on. I also want to apologize for that day, my answers weren’t really well thought of and maybe I didn’t consider what you could have felt either and I’m sorry, I know I could have done better and maybe I wouldn't be holed up in my room on the night before we graduate, writing this letter to you. You know what? It’s funny, people would call this and my other letters “love letters” even though I doubt the rest had anything to do with me claiming I loved you or anything. I’m only using this method as an actual way to communicate, you know, like how letters were actually used before. But to say that this last one is not a love letter, might be a lie. Love letter as in me telling you these things because I care about you, be it platonically, romantically, I wouldn't know, I’ve never felt anything like this before and I doubt it’s what they call love. They say it's something like being close to the sun or on cloud 9 or talking to the moon or something, hell, what does it mean to be on “cloud 9”? Wouldn't it hurt to be close to the sun? Why would someone talk to the moon so eagerly when you’re “in love”? I talk to the moon about my science homework, would it mean I love science? Do you get what I mean? This isn’t a letter about me being in love with you romantically, it’s more like a letter of admiration? Of care maybe. A care letter(?). But if these were symptoms or bits and pieces of love, in the romantic sense. I wouldn’t know, because I guess love will come differently to everyone else. But right now, when I think of you, my lungs are alright, my heart isn’t beating abnormally and my hands aren't shaking. In the time that I can confirm this is romantic love towards you, I guess I’ll write another letter to admit that to you. I learned in my time of writing to you that having unsaid thoughts and “feelings” have a choking effect on you. If anything, I’m telling you this because half of me confides in the fact that we might never meet again, and the fact that I know I’d rather not force these thoughts and feelings down my throat. I’ll admit to you that, even if we spent maybe a week? Or half a month? Hanging out with you and thinking back on it makes me feel like we spent ages growing up together and yet I can’t even recall your favorite color. Am I just forgetting that important detail or did I never ask? Maybe you would’ve gotten awkward if I asked that before, don’t people on dates usually ask that? I hate to say that this is most likely our last conversation. And you know what? I feel like I spent a good amount of time completing my bucket list in college. I made a new friend, “fell in love” I guess, and got through the 4 years with memories. Thank you for being part of my 4 years here, it was a blast. Might be the most I’ve done in my whole life, and.. one thing I have to admit before I end the letter.
I lied. I actually dislike americanos, I mean I don’t hate it, and I do drink it, but bitter isn’t usually the option I’d go for, the reason why I stuck with it was because you ordered it for me and in time.. I didn’t really mind the bitterness anymore, I guess I was distracted talking to you. I also disliked science projects, mainly because it’s never my forte and because I was never grouped up with someone who tried to cooperate with me. That day in the cafe where we first met? I didn’t actually think about anything, I was just- scared, no I wasn’t scared of you or anything, I was scared of what others will think when they look at me with you. I still do, and I think about it a lot whenever I write a letter to you. The rest are completely true though, I hated literature classes, I never liked math and I had a small hobby for swimming and I had my cousin’s birthday party today, and that I have 2 other friends. But the truest thing about me, in my letters? Is that I “loved” you, platonically or romantically, I can’t tell, it’s just as I said before, I have never been in love with someone romantically, maybe platonically but I don’t really know that feeling either. Maybe it’s unconfirmed but the fact that I dislike americanos but in turn ended up liking it, is true, because like I said before, I like coffee. And I’ll never really know if that’s true for me, maybe liking americano will or is just a phase because of your influence (?) but I never really lied to you have I? I like science, it’s just the projects I hate, I was thinking of some things on the day when we met. I was thinking about what others would think about me sitting in the cafe with you. So.. the fact that I can admit that I “loved” you, isn’t that technically true as well? This is exactly how my thoughts are right now in my head as I write, confusing but, it’s not everyday I can put my thoughts into words like this.
I’m going to end the letter like this, I think I’ve said everything that’s been burdening my heart, I think this is all that I can say. I may be someone normal and maybe I’m someone you probably have forgotten about a long time ago, but I’ll always remember you as someone I was probably romantically and/or platonically in “love” with. As we are parting ways, you don’t need to say anything regarding this because maybe I’ve already left but because I’m afraid of what you’ll say to begin with. If you feel the same way(?) you don’t have to admit anything to me, just accept the fact that I had the odd opportunity and sudden courage to tell you this. But believe that this, and the rest of my letters, were written with my whole heart and with good intentions and with the purest emotion and thoughts a human being can put into words.
Goodbye Y/N, I hope you read this a week later as you promised. (And that you will throw this out like I told you to do)
And I hope to see you soon in the future.
Sincerely yours,
Chris.
#narsicen#romance#klibrary#ficscafe#kpop#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#writers on tumblr#skz fluff#stray kids x reader#bangchan#christopher bang#bang chan#skz fanfic#skz x reader#skz au#writerscommunity#kpop imagines#kpop boy group#flangst#slice of life#angst#fluff
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Hiiiiii
First of all, I looooooove every fic that you wrote, love your infinite descriptions and the characterization of the everyone. I even love the Maxiel one even though I am not so much a Maxiel fan, you almost converted me but #lestappen4life
Secondly, I think my brain is broken because I loved « All the Lights » a little bit too much more than I would normally love a fic like this, with this kind of subject.
Thirdly, my question. HOW DO YOU DO TO WRITE DIALOGUES??? I mean, English is not my mother tongue and I write in English because I feel like I would literally *die* if I ever wrote in French. I think it is cringy (a little sentence in French in a fic does not bother me that much, it only does when it screams google translate). But even if I write in a language I have zero emotional connection, I can’t help but to find it weird or not natural. The worst in this? It’s not like I would publish anything (I would if my friend bully me but she’s nice) so nobody would judge (she read but English is also her third language so it doesn’t count).
You know, it bother me so much that I wrote a 3k lestappen fic with 3 sentences of dialogue. Probably doesn’t make any sense, the descriptions aren’t that good (read not as good as your perfection) and it is a little too much poetic ( a very bad one). I had so much plan for this like so much but I couldn’t do it because of the dialogues, same for another fic, I am blocked at 7k I know what to do but I can’t because of the dialogues. And for the 3k one, I even have a title, reviewed my grammar and I know I can’t add anything more but I am not satisfied, which brings me to my fourth point:
HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOU ARE SATISFIED WITH SOMETHING??? Because I never am.
Anyway, that’s it for me. Thank you for reading my essay, I hope this one is more than 13/20 (my points for the last one I wrote in English class) and continue writing !!!!
Xxx🌸
HELLO LOVELY!!!!! I would call you anon, but I know who you are 🤭
Thank you for being patient with me; today has been a crazy day!
First and foremost, thank you so much for your kind words about my fics. You're so fucking lovely, and I adore you, and you make me cry whenever you're nice to me.
As for writing dialog... gosh, bestie, the dialog is the easy part for me!
I think of conversations ALL day long. (I swear they're not voices in my head. I'm just plotting fics 24/7.) Every time I walk my dog, I'm just thinking of lestappen conversations.
Then I frantically write down some of that text into a word doc, or my notes app, and try to recreate what I saw in my mind. It's the describing and narration that is always hard for me! I feel like I could write millions of words of dialog but struggle immensely with The Rest of the things that make up a story.
I can't even imagine how hard it is to write in a language that is not your native one. I give you so many props for pushing yourself to do that! If you're stuck on the dialog, I would honestly just close your eyes and try and imagine the scene. What are they saying to each other? What do you WANT them to say? What are things you wish they'd say in real life? This is your world, baby. You can do whatever the hell you want with it.
Try not to get caught up in making it perfect. Just write what you feel, and fix it later. When all else fails, find yourself a beta to look over all your work and help you with the grammar!
Hope this helps!!!!
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I read a lot of fanfiction and I have a 1st degree in creative writing (also dyslexia, so sorry in advance for any spelling mistakes) so fuck it, here’s some writing advice for newbie writers that I wouldn’t have minded learning earlier:
(also sorry if some of this is incomphresnible, i am- not always good at explaining myself, ironically enough)
If you’re going to use a fancy word please for the love of god look it up and double-check it does in fact mean what you think it means. The same goes if you’re looking up a synonym of a word. Just because google says two words are close enough, doesn’t mean they actually are.
Spacing is your friend. Double spacing is best, but if you can’t do that, single will suffice. For example this:
Is much easier to read than this:
And for me personally, if I can see with a quick glance that a piece has bad spacing I will not even attempt to read it
Don’t use capitals after dialogue if it’s a speech tag. For example, “Don’t be stupid!” she said. You are, technically speaking, continuing the sentence, after all, punctuation be dammed. If you’re describing a different action though, eg - “Don’t be stupid.” She picked up the knife, thrusting it into the air. - then you can use capitals. It’s a separate action, unrelated to the dialogue, and therefore a separate sentence
And back to spacing, please use a new paragraph for every new speaker. Again, if the layout of a piece is good it will be way easier to read, and more poeple will be willing to read it
This doesn’t matter as much for fanfics, but I think it doesn’t hurt to keep it in mind: a very common way of writing fanfiction is in close third person, ie it’s in 3rd person, but you are focusing on one character only, focusing only on their thoughts, their feelings etc. It’s that one chararcter’s pov, but from a distance. And if that’s the case, you shouldn’t drift to another character’s pov halfway through the prose, then drift back to character a.
And I’m not talking about a purposeful change to a new character’s pov, I mean this:
If it was in true close 3rd close, I should not be able to know Blue’s thoughts, as they are not the primary character. You should treat close 3rd person in the exact same way you’d treate 1st person stories. Like I said, for fanfiction, it’s not the end of the world, but still
Make sure you’re not repeating any words too much. If it’s purposefully, then that’s another thing, but if it’s not, cut it down a bit (I literally just had to do that with the examples I showed earlier, as I used the word lighter in two sentences right next to each other).
In the same vein, don’t have characters say other characters' names too often in dialogue. I mean, think about conversations you have with friends/family/co-workers. Do you say their names a lot when talking to them? Probably not, because they know you’re addressing them, there’s no need for it.
Get the free version of Grammarly, if you can. Paid is…probably better but idk, haven’t tried it. Even just the free version is helpful, especially for me as a dyslexic person.
Said isn’t dead. As I mentioned, you don’t want to repeat words so do spice it up a bit, but sometimes, a good old-fashioned said is all you need. Also, don’t be afraid to forget speach tags altogether. If you want to make it clear a new chararcter is talking, you could instead do something like this:
This isn’t really a tip, but consider playing around with the layout. For example, whenever I’m writing a phone,
It’s a small thing, not necessarily at all, but I think it makes it a bit more fun to read if you can tell the writer’s also had fun playing around.
Keeping in mind what you’re characters are doing / where they are / any objects that they may holding etc. You don’t want to have character a start a scene holding a mug, only for it to miraculously disappear by the end of it, or do an action they should not be able to do while holding a mug.
This is one I still struggle with, but keeping track of all your characters in a scene - in the sense that if you have five characters, but only 3 are actively doing something it can make it seem like you forgot the other 2, like they’re just standing there like an NPC waiting to be addressed. That’s fine if the 2 characters are canonical quiet and preferred to keep out of the way, but still…I’d recommend giving them something to do.
For example, if I’m having my mc enter a scene with multiple characters, I’ll write a quick sentence describing what each character is doing ie ‘charracter b was reading, c was scoffing down a bowl of cereal, d was fast asleep on the sofa, and e was trying to clean up a stain’.
That way if a conversation does start between three characters and the focus is only on them, you know that the others aren’t just t-posing in the background, waiting, basically. It can help make things feel a bit more natural.
that’s all i have the energy for, i’m afraid. happy writing
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How to Build Location Pages Humans (and Search Engines) Will Love
Location pages are an important part of multi-location SEO for enterprises and SMBs alike, but they aren’t easy to get right. At best, they should give potential customers zero excuse to choose a competing business. Often, though, they struggle to provide unique value and offer essentially the same information as the home or service pages — but with a different city in the H1 and meta title.
This happens because unique content is hard to come by when every location does or sells the same thing.
The question isn’t, “How should I go about creating an awesome location page?”, but rather, “Am I giving customers enough unique value to even justify this page in the first place?”
If the answer is “no,” it’s time to find new opportunities for valuable content. Read on for ways to determine whether you’re offering unique value for your location pages, and how to make them better.
Is your content actually unique?
When it comes to building awesome location pages that will impress your customers and search engines, content is your most powerful tool. And I’m not just talking about words-on-a-page, paragraph-form content. Content is any information on your page, in any medium.
Regardless of the way you communicate to customers (text-based content, video, images, etc.), location page content will fall into one of three buckets:
1. Boilerplate
Boilerplate content can be copied and pasted across all locations and remain accurate. A brand’s mission statement falls into this category, for example. The good thing about boilerplate content is it doesn’t require much work to implement. It also doesn’t provide the unique value we’re looking for.
As a rule of thumb, use boilerplate content when it’s necessary (and it will be) but avoid creating pages where the majority of content falls into this category.
2. Technically “unique”
Let’s say you want to avoid duplicate content across location pages so you rewrite the same information (business description, services, etc.) over and over again. Voila! It’s unique, right?
Not exactly.
Technically, it’s unique — but it’s not saying anything new about that location. (Hence the quotation marks.) In other words, the content isn’t duplicative, but it’s also not that valuable. You’re simply using different words to relay the same message.
This type of content is, in my opinion, the worst of the three because it takes manual effort to create but isn't more helpful to customers than copy-and-pasting the source material.
3. Unique value
The third, final, and best type of content is “unique value.” This content only applies to the location the page is about. It can’t be copied and pasted anywhere else because the value of the content is tied to the value of the location itself.
While this type of content takes a lot of work to create, it’s also the most helpful and should account for the majority of the content on location pages.
What should a location page include?
Creating enough unique value on location pages to outweigh boilerplate content isn’t easy, but it’s not impossible either. The following list includes content features that can add new layers of unique value to your pages — or close to it.
1. Paragraph-form content
Paragraph-form content is a great way to provide information to users about your location. When writing location pages, focus on information that is specific to the storefront the page is about. Here’s an example:
Diluted Value - “All of our locations have great customer service and we’re super passionate about offering [product / service] to people like you!”
Unique Value - “We’re located at the corner of [Street] and [Avenue] and a five minute walk from [Landingmark].”
There is a time and a place for “diluted value” content, but your goal should be to provide as much unique information as possible.
2. Location attributes and features
If you’ve optimized a Google Business Profile (formerly Google My Business or GMB), you’re familiar with location attributes. In short, these are a list of features that help customers plan their visit to your location.
If you’re not sure what to include in your attribute list, check your GBP and carry over any boxes you checked there. That said, don’t limit yourself to those items — feel free to add as many attributes as are helpful to your customers.
3. Staff profiles
One of the things that is (almost) always unique to each business location is the people who work there. Highlighting notable staff members’ profiles is a great way to show humans and search engines what (and who) to expect when they arrive.
4. Hours & NAP
Hours of operation and NAP info (name, address, and phone number) are the most basic form of unique content, but don’t forget to add them to your location pages. Additionally, make this information easy for customers to find on the page so they can get in touch or get directions quickly. NAP information can also be accompanied by an embedded map.
5. Photos
Photos on your location page (and GBP for that matter). Should be of the location the page is about. Avoid generic, santistized storefront images that aren’t of the actual storefront. Instead, include photos that show customers what they’ll experience at the store (inside and out).
Both of your audiences (humans and search engines) are very good at detecting these types of patterns and, should a website visitor become foot traffic, customers are more likely to be disappointed, confused, or frustrated if the photos don’t match reality.
It goes without saying that stock photos shouldn’t show up on your location pages, either.
6. Reviews
Think of reviews as user-generated content for your location pages.
When you add them, make sure you’re including ones specific to the location the page is about, as opposed to one feed of every review for every location.
The goal is to provide a realistic look at what potential customers can expect based on the past experiences of others. Additionally, reviews about the location itself (and only that location) add another layer of unique value to the page.
7. Products and inventory
I recommend adding product information or an inventory feed to every location page, even if the products offered at each location are the same.
Your customers only care if a given product or service is in stock near them, so inventory information is, in a way, another form of unique value content.
8. Nearby locations
Nearby locations are great if you have multiple storefronts in close proximity. They’re also another opportunity to add unique information to your location pages.
These can be added as their own module on the page or integrated with an existing map. I personally prefer to dedicate an entire page section to them to avoid confusion for readers who land on the page to get directions.
9. Offers and specials
Specials and offers don’t have to be unique for every location. I just wouldn’t make sense. That said, coupons and offers that are geographically relevant can be an opportunity to build additional value for local customers. Coupons, offers, deals, etc. by state or metropolitan area are one way to accomplish this.
10. FAQs
Frequently asked questions are one of my favorite ways to create rich, in-depth and unique content on local landing pages. I’ve seen a lot of businesses add FAQ modules to their pages, but I’ve also seen a lot of businesses only add generic questions and answers to those modules.
When adding FAQs to your local landing pages, ask questions that will elicit a unique response. Also, try to avoid yes or no questions, unless you plan to expound on the answers.
Generic:
Question: “Do you have vegan options?”
Answer: “All of our locations have vegan and gluten-free options for you to enjoy!”
Unique Value:
Question: “Can I get to {Location} from public transportation?”
Answer: “You sure can! We’re a five minute walk from the {specific} bus stop. Just head toward {street} and take a left at {street} and you��ll find us on the right.”
11. Departments and services
Departments and services are another example of content that can be unique, but isn’t always. For some business types (automotive dealers, for example), departments are clear: Sales, Finance, Repairs, etc.
For other business types, this content type isn’t as obvious. A bakery chain, for example, could include services in their location pages to highlight which locations offer wedding cakes versus their typical inventory.
Like inventory, the value of these departments or services comes from the fact that as a customer, I only care if the location nearest me offers the specific thing I’m looking for.
A few words about structured data
Schema (also called structured data) is code that tells search engines about your website content. Often, your customers won’t even know the schema is there — it’s strictly for search engines, with the exception of rich results.
Schema is important for two reasons:
Context: It helps search engines understand how the “things” that make up your business form a larger entity.
Specificity: It removes the natural ambiguity caused by keywords (and language).
If a website mentions the word “Avocado,” for example, it could be talking about the fruit or the mattress brand. Language alone isn’t enough to clarify without context. Marking up your content with schema removes this margin for error when it comes to Google understanding your content.
Structured data can also help you qualify for rich results like FAQs or review snippets for products.
Location page Schema best practices
When it comes to location pages, there are a few things you should keep in mind regarding schema markup.
First, make sure you’re using as many relevant schema types as possible. If you’ve optimized your page with unique images, FAQs, and staff bios, don’t add LocalBusiness schema to the page and call it done. Mark up every available item on your page to give Google as much information as possible. After all, search engines have to understand your content in order to index and rank it.
Second, use the most specific schema type available. Within the “LocalBusiness” schema category, there are 145 types of schema for specific businesses. Dentists, for example, should use “Dentist” schema instead of “Local Business,” and restaurants should use (you guessed it!) “Restaurant” schema.
Conclusion
Creating valuable location landing pages takes time, effort, and a bit of creativity. As you review the elements above, don’t gloss over the ones that seem the most difficult or time-consuming. That’s what your competitors are already doing.
Instead, prioritize the value you’re providing to potential customers because strategies that don’t scale may be your competitive advantage.
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Text
How to Build Location Pages Humans (and Search Engines) Will Love
Location pages are an important part of multi-location SEO for enterprises and SMBs alike, but they aren’t easy to get right. At best, they should give potential customers zero excuse to choose a competing business. Often, though, they struggle to provide unique value and offer essentially the same information as the home or service pages — but with a different city in the H1 and meta title.
This happens because unique content is hard to come by when every location does or sells the same thing.
The question isn’t, “How should I go about creating an awesome location page?”, but rather, “Am I giving customers enough unique value to even justify this page in the first place?”
If the answer is “no,” it’s time to find new opportunities for valuable content. Read on for ways to determine whether you’re offering unique value for your location pages, and how to make them better.
Is your content actually unique?
When it comes to building awesome location pages that will impress your customers and search engines, content is your most powerful tool. And I’m not just talking about words-on-a-page, paragraph-form content. Content is any information on your page, in any medium.
Regardless of the way you communicate to customers (text-based content, video, images, etc.), location page content will fall into one of three buckets:
1. Boilerplate
Boilerplate content can be copied and pasted across all locations and remain accurate. A brand’s mission statement falls into this category, for example. The good thing about boilerplate content is it doesn’t require much work to implement. It also doesn’t provide the unique value we’re looking for.
As a rule of thumb, use boilerplate content when it’s necessary (and it will be) but avoid creating pages where the majority of content falls into this category.
2. Technically “unique”
Let’s say you want to avoid duplicate content across location pages so you rewrite the same information (business description, services, etc.) over and over again. Voila! It’s unique, right?
Not exactly.
Technically, it’s unique — but it’s not saying anything new about that location. (Hence the quotation marks.) In other words, the content isn’t duplicative, but it’s also not that valuable. You’re simply using different words to relay the same message.
This type of content is, in my opinion, the worst of the three because it takes manual effort to create but isn't more helpful to customers than copy-and-pasting the source material.
3. Unique value
The third, final, and best type of content is “unique value.” This content only applies to the location the page is about. It can’t be copied and pasted anywhere else because the value of the content is tied to the value of the location itself.
While this type of content takes a lot of work to create, it’s also the most helpful and should account for the majority of the content on location pages.
What should a location page include?
Creating enough unique value on location pages to outweigh boilerplate content isn’t easy, but it’s not impossible either. The following list includes content features that can add new layers of unique value to your pages — or close to it.
1. Paragraph-form content
Paragraph-form content is a great way to provide information to users about your location. When writing location pages, focus on information that is specific to the storefront the page is about. Here’s an example:
Diluted Value - “All of our locations have great customer service and we’re super passionate about offering [product / service] to people like you!”
Unique Value - “We’re located at the corner of [Street] and [Avenue] and a five minute walk from [Landingmark].”
There is a time and a place for “diluted value” content, but your goal should be to provide as much unique information as possible.
2. Location attributes and features
If you’ve optimized a Google Business Profile (formerly Google My Business or GMB), you’re familiar with location attributes. In short, these are a list of features that help customers plan their visit to your location.
If you’re not sure what to include in your attribute list, check your GBP and carry over any boxes you checked there. That said, don’t limit yourself to those items — feel free to add as many attributes as are helpful to your customers.
3. Staff profiles
One of the things that is (almost) always unique to each business location is the people who work there. Highlighting notable staff members’ profiles is a great way to show humans and search engines what (and who) to expect when they arrive.
4. Hours & NAP
Hours of operation and NAP info (name, address, and phone number) are the most basic form of unique content, but don’t forget to add them to your location pages. Additionally, make this information easy for customers to find on the page so they can get in touch or get directions quickly. NAP information can also be accompanied by an embedded map.
5. Photos
Photos on your location page (and GBP for that matter). Should be of the location the page is about. Avoid generic, santistized storefront images that aren’t of the actual storefront. Instead, include photos that show customers what they’ll experience at the store (inside and out).
Both of your audiences (humans and search engines) are very good at detecting these types of patterns and, should a website visitor become foot traffic, customers are more likely to be disappointed, confused, or frustrated if the photos don’t match reality.
It goes without saying that stock photos shouldn’t show up on your location pages, either.
6. Reviews
Think of reviews as user-generated content for your location pages.
When you add them, make sure you’re including ones specific to the location the page is about, as opposed to one feed of every review for every location.
The goal is to provide a realistic look at what potential customers can expect based on the past experiences of others. Additionally, reviews about the location itself (and only that location) add another layer of unique value to the page.
7. Products and inventory
I recommend adding product information or an inventory feed to every location page, even if the products offered at each location are the same.
Your customers only care if a given product or service is in stock near them, so inventory information is, in a way, another form of unique value content.
8. Nearby locations
Nearby locations are great if you have multiple storefronts in close proximity. They’re also another opportunity to add unique information to your location pages.
These can be added as their own module on the page or integrated with an existing map. I personally prefer to dedicate an entire page section to them to avoid confusion for readers who land on the page to get directions.
9. Offers and specials
Specials and offers don’t have to be unique for every location. I just wouldn’t make sense. That said, coupons and offers that are geographically relevant can be an opportunity to build additional value for local customers. Coupons, offers, deals, etc. by state or metropolitan area are one way to accomplish this.
10. FAQs
Frequently asked questions are one of my favorite ways to create rich, in-depth and unique content on local landing pages. I’ve seen a lot of businesses add FAQ modules to their pages, but I’ve also seen a lot of businesses only add generic questions and answers to those modules.
When adding FAQs to your local landing pages, ask questions that will elicit a unique response. Also, try to avoid yes or no questions, unless you plan to expound on the answers.
Generic:
Question: “Do you have vegan options?”
Answer: “All of our locations have vegan and gluten-free options for you to enjoy!”
Unique Value:
Question: “Can I get to {Location} from public transportation?”
Answer: “You sure can! We’re a five minute walk from the {specific} bus stop. Just head toward {street} and take a left at {street} and you’ll find us on the right.”
11. Departments and services
Departments and services are another example of content that can be unique, but isn’t always. For some business types (automotive dealers, for example), departments are clear: Sales, Finance, Repairs, etc.
For other business types, this content type isn’t as obvious. A bakery chain, for example, could include services in their location pages to highlight which locations offer wedding cakes versus their typical inventory.
Like inventory, the value of these departments or services comes from the fact that as a customer, I only care if the location nearest me offers the specific thing I’m looking for.
A few words about structured data
Schema (also called structured data) is code that tells search engines about your website content. Often, your customers won’t even know the schema is there — it’s strictly for search engines, with the exception of rich results.
Schema is important for two reasons:
Context: It helps search engines understand how the “things” that make up your business form a larger entity.
Specificity: It removes the natural ambiguity caused by keywords (and language).
If a website mentions the word “Avocado,” for example, it could be talking about the fruit or the mattress brand. Language alone isn’t enough to clarify without context. Marking up your content with schema removes this margin for error when it comes to Google understanding your content.
Structured data can also help you qualify for rich results like FAQs or review snippets for products.
Location page Schema best practices
When it comes to location pages, there are a few things you should keep in mind regarding schema markup.
First, make sure you’re using as many relevant schema types as possible. If you’ve optimized your page with unique images, FAQs, and staff bios, don’t add LocalBusiness schema to the page and call it done. Mark up every available item on your page to give Google as much information as possible. After all, search engines have to understand your content in order to index and rank it.
Second, use the most specific schema type available. Within the “LocalBusiness” schema category, there are 145 types of schema for specific businesses. Dentists, for example, should use “Dentist” schema instead of “Local Business,” and restaurants should use (you guessed it!) “Restaurant” schema.
Conclusion
Creating valuable location landing pages takes time, effort, and a bit of creativity. As you review the elements above, don’t gloss over the ones that seem the most difficult or time-consuming. That’s what your competitors are already doing.
Instead, prioritize the value you’re providing to potential customers because strategies that don’t scale may be your competitive advantage.
0 notes
Text
Haikyu Boys when they make you insecure PT 2(Atsumu,Suna)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
word count: 1.6K
Genre: angst,fluff
Masterlist
Atsumu:
You have been dating the great setter of the MSBY Jackals since your third year in highschool
You’ve always been okay with his profession
Even when it comes with the adoring fans he has (the ones that don’t necessarily like you..)
And the away games he goes to, that you can’t always go to because of your job.
You and Atsumu got to spend all of quarantine together, which was challenging at times. As you and Atsumu sometimes did have conflicting personalities but you loved being together for 8months + altogether.
But now with the restrictions being lifted, Atsumu got to go back to practice and playing some games although you still got to work from home. Over lockdown, you do feel like you gained a bit of weight (which you didn’t pay much attention to since didn’t everyone gain some weight?)
However, today you were scrolling through twitter, smiling fondly at the recent tweet ‘tsumu made about you;
@ ThebetterMiya: ‘Remember this @ *Insert your twitter handle here* ‘
It was a picture of the two of you in high school in your second year, with you giving Atsumu a hug just after his game against Karasuno. The memory made you smile, but your positive thoughts stopped after seeing a particular comment... “Y/N has definitely let herself go” it read.
To your surprise Atsumu even liked the comment, you didn’t want to overthink things as you know that Atsumu just unconsciously likes comments and tweets without thinking all the time. But you can’t lie and say you didn’t agree with the comment.
For the rest of the day, you spent your time googling and searching personal trainers and gyms that were open for you to go to and new healthy diet plans to try
.Atsumu came home a while later, tired and grumpy claiming that coach worked him extra hard in practice. Because of your newfound idea to start eating and being more healthy, you decided to have one last day of ‘letting go’ so your ordered yours and ‘tsumu’s favourite take out.
Whilst eating dinner, you were going INNN as you should because this is basically your ‘last meal’ you were going to have. ‘tsumu caught onto your cavemen-like way of eating which made him chuckle a bit. “Hey babe, woahh you’re really hungry aren’t ya?”
His comment threw you off, even though you know that he probably didn’t mean anything by it but from the comment on his twitter earlier and how you already feel about yourself it just didn’t help.
“Well what do you mean about that?” you say a little agressively “you think i’m getting bigger right?”
Your question threw him off guard since he didn’t mean that “well Y/N I know you’ve kinda let youself go a bit and you’re obviously not the weight you were when we 16 but-” before he could finish you get up out of your seat and rushed to your room with tears in your eyes, missing the end of his sentence which was “but I still think you’re beautiful” he murmurs.
He decided to give you some space for a bit, and before approaching he see’s your phone ringing (lets just say you and Atsumu have ultimate trust so you can answer eachothers phones :3) “Hello is this Y/N L/N” the person on the otherside of the phone asked
“No, this is Miya Atsumu” your boyfriend replied
“Oh! Miya-san i’m a big fan of you!” he started making Atsumu chuckle “I was just calling Y/N to say i’m available next week saturday to start training”
‘Training?’ Atsumu thought “Can I ask what training you’re preparing for with Y/N” he asks
“Oh I am a personal trainer.” he replied “ Well that’s all I can say, can you please tell Y/N-san to call me again so we can work out times.” he ended the call.
Atsumu goes into your shared-bedroom where he finds you on your laptop looking at ‘weight loss’ tips. He goes over to you and closes your laptop lid and pulls your hand to lead you to the mirror in the room. He stands you in front of it and puts his arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder.
“You’re beautiful Y/N” he says, sparking more tears in your eyes “I think you misunderstood what I said earlier, you. are. goregous. babe” he says punctuating every single word. “Even, if you feel like you gained weight, or lost weight or whatever I will always think your beautiful. If you feel like you want or need to change I will definitely support you along the way, but I think you’re amazing Y/N.”
“Thank you ‘tsumu” you start “ I do feel a bit insecure about the way I look right now, and I’m sorry for my abrupt leave at dinner but I do feel like my body is gross but I do want to try to see myself the way you see me.”
After many efforts from Atsumu, you definitely fell back in love with your body wether you were bigger or small you didn’t care cause you knew you were beautiful either way and so did Atsumu which he reminded you of that every single day.
AN: Can someone give me a synonym for beautfiul lmao cause that’s the only word I can think to use lol.
Suna:
You and Suna have always surprised people when they find out that you’re together.
Since your loud and talkative personality mixed with his quiet and nonchalantness is that a word? seems to not work well for other people
But opposites attract right?
You just finished the last episode of Kakegurui and were excited for your boyfriend to come home so you can tell him about it. You and Suna have been dating for a few years, after you confessed to him in front of all the boys in the gym in your 3rd year.
Suna enters the house mumbling a soft “Hi Y/N” to which you responded back with “Hi suna” rushing towards your boyfriend with a big hug.
He slightly recoiled back out of your hug making you frown, to which he used the excuse of ‘I smell bad from practice let me take a shower.’ Whilst he was in the shower you decided to make some dinner for you both since it seems that Suna is a bit ‘grumpy’ today.
Once he exits the shower, and gets changed, he sees the table set out with the delicious food you made. You exit the bathroom to see him sat down already eating his plate. “How do you like it ?” you ask him wanting to know his opinion on your food.
“It’s good” he mumbles, continuing to shove food in his mouth. A bit bothered by the lack of response, you decide to talk about the newest episode in the hopes of lighting the mood. “Last episode of Kakegurui was great Rin, you should’ve seen it I really love mary. She’s great, I am a Mary Saotome simp through and through I still didn’t get the game they played but who cares? I can’t wait for season 3 to come out, I’ve already ordered the first 3 volumes of the Kakegurui twin manga, do you think it’s as good as the manga since I do think it’ll probably be better since it is Mary-centric and who hates mary since she-” You ramble on not taking notice of the bubbling annoyance that Suna seemed to have.
“Can you just shut up Y/N” he shouted making you flinch “ You’re so fucking talktative gosh” he got up and left the house slamming the door shut making you jump again.
Instead of wallowing in your bed you decide on going out the library to go and read a good book (something that always makes you feel better) forgetting the harsh tone that Suna used with you. You were only trying to lighten the mood...
You got too engrossed with your books to notice how the sun is now gone and it was pitch black outside, the librarian notified you that it was time to go, you figure that if Suna was back at home he would’ve cooled down now so you can have a proper conversation which to be honest, you didn’t really want one.
Once you enter your house, Suna rushes towards you enveloping you in a big hug murmuring a “Oh thank god I was so worried” he tried to give you a kiss on the forehead but you recoil out of it, just as he did to you earlier.
“I think i’m going to go to bed Rin” you say quietly trudging towards your bedroom and getting immediately in your bed. Suna stood there in the spot you left him in feeling bad for what he said to you at dinner. He goes into you bedroom and see you on your bed and silently gets into it next to you.
“Y/N I know you probably don’t want to hear me right now, but I am sorry” You don’t respond but slowly move closer to him letting him put his arm around you. Because of your silence Suna continues to speak “Umm...I watched the last episode earlier and you were right Mary Saotome is the goat but.... yumeko is better” he said teasingly
This made you smile, as this is what you wanted a nice moment with your boyfriend talking about the last episode of your favourite show. You spend the rest of the night arguing over which character is better and decide to start Demon Slayer together, with Suna enjoying your after episode talks that you have.
AUTHOR NOTE: I was really excited to write for Suna and Atsumu but I have a fat migraine so i’m so sorry for it not being thattt gooood today :// but I hope you enjoy it regardless
#haikyu x reader#haikyuu x reader comfort#haikyuu fluff#haikyu angst#atsumu scenarios#atsumu x female reader#atsumu fluff#atsumu x reader#atsumu angst#suna x reader#suna angst#suna fluff#haikyuu suna#suna scenarios#signedwithane😌
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Pronoun Use in Vietnamese BL
Chào bạn! Hello! Welcome to ‘Don’t learn Vietnamese with Squeakygeeky.’ I am your host, an obsessed weirdo who does not actually speak Vietnamese. I’m trying, though. Please remember that this is intended to look at linguistics within the world of Vietnamese Boy’s Love Drama and not as actual language education for speaking to other humans. Specifically, we’re going to be looking at pronouns.
The best thing I ever did for myself was google ‘Vietnamese pronoun meme.’
[id: Meme with text ‘therapist: vietnamese pronouns aren’t real they cannot hurt you. vietnamese pronouns:’ followed various vietnamese pronouns superimposed on cats with creepy glowing eyes.]
The Vietnamese language doesn’t use pronouns so much as it avoids true pronouns and the way you refer to yourself and your conversational partner depends on the relationship between you. In this particular series of posts, I’m going to focus on the words used for ‘I’ and ‘you’ between friends and romantic partners in various BLs. It was inspired by @absolutebl‘s posts on the Thai language in BL. You can’t really think of ‘I’ and ‘you’ separately, you have to think of them as I - you pairs.
I used a lot of sources when trying to learn Vietnamese pronouns, but here I’m relying heavily on 3 posts about pronouns on the blog ‘Learn Vietnamese With Linh!’ I would link them, but apparently tumblr hates when you cite your sources and will hide you from the tags.
Textbook Pronouns:
Tôi = I
Bạn = You
These are the most neutral possible pronouns. They don’t really imply superiority, inferiority, or equality. They don’t really imply anything about the relationship between the people speaking. They are what Duolingo will teach you. They are also not that common in real conversation, or in fictional conversations intended for a Vietnamese-speaking audience, which is all we care about here.
‘Tôi’ is used for ‘I’ when writing a novel in the first person. It’s used when you don’t know enough about the person you’re talking about to be able to choose a more appropriate pronoun, including with colleagues and acquaintances. Apparently if your spouse suddenly starts dropping ‘tôi’ to refer to themselves it means they're mad at you. It’s not rude but it can be distant. There’s a sense of disconnect from the person you’re talking to. You can pair ‘tôi’ with other versions of ‘you’ besides ‘bạn.’
‘Bạn’ is also the word for ‘friend.’ ‘Bạn’ is the ‘you’ you use for the unknown reader which is why I used it to say hi to you at the beginning of this post. It’s a little too friendly for government forms, but otherwise it’s the most neutral you. It wouldn’t really make sense to pair ‘bạn’ with anything except ‘tôi’ and our next vocab word ‘mình.’
Mình:
‘Mình’ gets its own category because it does a few things. ‘Mình’ is like ‘tôi’ but also functions a little more like ‘self’ (the literal meaning being ‘self/body’). When posting to social media it’s common to use ‘mình’ for I. If I were writing this post in Vietnamese I’d refer to myself using ‘mình.’ ‘Mình’ is also used when talking to yourself. ‘Mình’ can be ‘we’ but I’m just not ready to face plural pronouns yet. Oh, and you can use it as ‘you’ for your beloved who is like your own self, but I think that’s an old-fashioned thing?
Names:
Real names and pet names can be used for ‘I - you.’ This is totally normal and not the equivalent of talking about yourself in the third person. It’s respectful and maybe a little cute to use your own name for ‘I.’ But if someone is a lot older/higher status than you, you should use their kinship term as a title followed by their name. Celebrities tend to use their own name for ‘I.’ I’ve noticed Bá Vinh, that one actor from every Vietnamese BL, refer to himself using Vinh (Vinh being his given name, not family name. Family names go first, but don’t really get used. Bá is his middle name).
Friend Pronouns:
Tớ - cậu = a nice thing to use with friends. Unisex, but favored by girls.
Tao - mày = a rude thing to use with friends. Unisex, but favored by boys. If used with someone who’s not your friend, it will cause a fight.
Ta - mi/ngươi = for close friends, kind of teasing and just weird in any other context because it’s other use is by royalty in historical dramas
In all these cases they don’t switch around, both people use the same thing for I and the same thing for you.
Kinship Terms:
This means you use words for actual family relationships as pronouns for people you're not related to, based on age (sort of). These words can also be used as third person pronouns for he/she but we won’t worry about that. There are A LOT, but all I’m going to cover are:
Anh = older brother
Chị = older sister
Em = younger sibling
This can be used with your actual siblings, but also people around the age to be a younger or older sibling. So a man who is older than you, but not old enough to be your uncle, is ‘Anh’ and a woman who is older, but not auntie-old, is ‘chị.’ You would be ‘em.’ Anh/chị might imply that they’re like a sibling to you, but it might be like using ‘Mr./Ms.’ Context is key. Unlike with friends, the words for ‘I’ and ‘you’ switch depending on who is speaking.
Technically you can use ‘tôi’ (or less formally ‘em’) with ‘anh/chị’ in a way that functions like the friend pronouns with no switching, where you call the other person ‘anh/chị’ even if they call you ‘anh/chị’ in return. This is respectful, and means you don’t have to find out the other person’s age, but kind of makes it sound like you work in an office together. ‘Anh/chị’ is definitely functioning as ‘Mr./Ms.’ here.
Further complicating the situation, a man may be ‘anh’ to a woman’s ‘em’ even if the woman is technically older because, well, the patriarchy, but let’s just go with the fact that it’s cuter to go by ‘em.’ A heterosexual couple will definitely go by ‘anh’ for the man and ‘em’ for the woman. ‘Anh yêu em’ means ‘I love you’ if a man is speaking, but ‘you love me’ if a woman is speaking. Here ‘Anh - em’ has the added connotation of an exchange of endearments, and will occasionally get translated as things like ‘honey’ or ‘dear.’
Okay, you’re thinking, but this was supposed to be a post about BL?!?! The whole point of the genre is that the boy loves another boy! Welp, here we go. Buckle up.
The Use of Anh - Em Pronouns in BL:
Let’s start by acknowledging that masculine/top/dominant and feminine/bottom/submissive gets conflated in general. It especially gets conflated in Vietnamese media (I’m trying to avoid touching the real world with a 10 foot pole except I kind of can’t), because there is no way in the Vietnamese language to discuss biological sex, gender, and sexual orientation as separate concepts unless you use loan words, directly translate concepts from the English term, or are very, very, very careful in how you explain things. (See comments.) Combine that with the linguistic expectation that in a romantic relationship someone has to be the ‘anh’ and someone has to be the ‘em,’ and you get ‘anh - em’ being used in Vietnamese media between fictional male couples in a way that tracks with stereotypical expectations.
(See: Black, Joshua James Croft (2017) Queer male identities in modern Vietnamese literature. PhD Thesis. SOAS, University of London. )
The creators of any BL have to wrestle with the degree to which their choices will conform to the audience’s stereotypical expectations of a male couple as well as their expectations for who will get seme/uke tropes within the narrative. And if you don’t understand what I mean by seme/uke you sure are on the wrong tumblr post, but I’m basically using the same definition @absolutebl does in that the seme is the active pursuer in a romantic narrative, who wants to be the protector and who gets similar tropes that the male would in a heterosexual romantic narrative. For example, the seme will save the uke from physical danger.
The creators of a Vietnamese BL also have to decide who will be ‘anh’ and who will be ‘em.’ For reasons that I hope are obvious at this point, the use of ‘anh - em’ can be expected to track with seme/uke tropes. When all of this stops tracking together it’s time to sit up and take notice. I suspect that in some cases no one really thought about ‘anh - em’ usage because it just seemed obvious, but in others very deliberate choices were made. I suspect all of this also ties into the modern Vietnamese LGBT+ community’s activism and conceptualization of identity (as well as that of the international target audience) combined with the general genre-savviness of the Vietnamese BL industry and the close attention it pays to Thai BL.
But wait, there’s a wrinkle! A magical get out of jail free card! Younger men always call older (but not too much older) men ‘anh.’ So make one character older, or at least make it possible that he could be older, and then that can be the full explanation for ‘anh - em’ assignment and you can act like it doesn’t have broader implications. Just don’t make the uke older or then you’ll really have problems.
The funniest example of this is Minh Anh, the main character of Nation’s Brother (Anh Trai Quốc Dân, ‘anh trai’ is for when you need to make it clear you’re referring to a biological brother). Yes, Anh can also be a name, and for added confusion it can be part of a man’s name or a woman’s name. He’s ‘anh’ to his actual younger sister and to his love interest, Tâm, who is also clearly younger than him. He’s also shown on top in bed. He is ‘anh’ in every possible way you can be ‘anh,’ truly the nation’s brother.
The thing is, BL loves a classmate romance, so you can’t always count on an age difference. Phùc and Tùng in The Most Peaceful Place have a friends to lovers arc and as friends they use ‘tao - mày.’ There is an actual pronoun-based scene. Just before this scene, they get back together, put their couple bracelets back on, and sleep together with Phùc being shown on top. In the scene in question, they are still in bed and start their conversation using ‘tao - mày.’ Phùc tells Tùng to refer to himself as ‘em.’ Tùng laughs and refuses until Phùc playfully wrestles him into submission. They do actually stick to ‘anh - em’ after that. This is Phùc asserting linguistic dominance, but also getting them out of the linguistic friendzone. The friends to lovers arc is both narrative and linguistic.
https://youtu.be/krrk48ixqHQ?t=847
The translator made the smart decision not to even try to translate ‘em’ here. It’s just not possible. The translator makes a note that ‘em’ is how a wife or uke would address themselves. Of course uke is a BL/yaoi trope term not a real world thing, so that makes me think the translator wanted to get their point across without touching the masculine/top/dominant and feminine/bottom/submissive conflation with a 10 foot pole.
In The Most Peaceful Place, the use of ‘anh’ and ‘em’ tracks perfectly with the audience expectations for that use the narrative just set up and the physical appearance of the actors cast in these roles. The anomalous thing about The Most Peaceful Place compared to other BLs is that the switch to ‘anh - em’ is very directly initiated by one character, so I think it’s pretty clear the creators know they were making A Choice and went ahead and put a lampshade on it.
I’m planning to do more posts looking at pronoun use in specific BLs, beyond just ‘anh - em.’ Feel free to suggest what you want me to cover next or to guess who is ‘anh’ and who is ‘em.’ I will definitely post about Hey Rival, I Love You, My Lascivious Boss and eventually Mr. Cinderella. I want to post about Stupid Boys, Stupid Love but there are no Vietnamese subs and I’m struggling with the accents and the sheer number of characters interacting with other characters. Tagging @heretherebedork because who knows if I fixed truly fixed the issue and whether anyone can even see this, I love tumblr but I hate tumblr.
[id: Gia Lam, the sister from Nation’s Brother, saying, ‘I watch them to learn foreign languages...’]
Pronoun use by drama:
Hey Rival, I Love You!
My Lascivious Boss
Mr. Cinderella
Hey! First Love
Want to See You
Other BL linguistics:
Husband/wife language
Coming out/identity
#vietnamese#vietnamese language#vietnamese bl#vietnamese drama#vdrama#nation's brother#the most peaceful place#anh trai quốc dân#nơi bình yên nhất là về bên em#don't learn vietnamese with squeakygeeky
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NFWMB (boxer!harry)
Warnings: language, nsfw content, alcohol, violence
Pairing: boxer!Harry x reader
Word Count: 30k (I got carried away)
A/N: So this got a little out of hand!! I will admit!! I did not mean to make this so long!! but 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.
#feedback is appreciated!!#boxer!harry#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagines#harry styles preference#harry styles#one direction imagine#one direction preference#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction smut#harry styles smut#boxer!harry styles#watermelon sugar#watermelon sugar music video#fine line#fine line album#writing
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some quotes from the first hour and a half of wilburs stream today
⁃ “dONT LAUGH AT THAT RANBOO SEX IS NOT FUNNY” “sex is only funny if you’re age thirty two or over”
⁃ “IM A FEMININE EMINEM”
⁃ “ranboo if we win will you say a swear word” “....yes” “which one will you say wil you say piss or shit or fuck or wanker or what about cum is cum a swear word” “that was a beautiful verse”
⁃ “COME ON KING GO KING BLOW UP KING”
⁃ “PHIL I DONT KNOW YOU ANYMORE youareaghostotme”
⁃ “phil as the rookie around here you are impressive”
⁃ “RANBOO IN EXACTLY TEN SECONDS TUBBO IS GONNA SLAP YOU IN THE HEAD DUCK” “.....phil”
⁃ “we’re gonna make this the worst bestseller ever even bigger than the bible”
⁃ “tubbo approves this book” “and the next page is a page of awful quotes and it’s ‘tubbo approves of all these quotes’”
⁃ “if i hit space bar harder will i jump further” “phil if i click faster will i fly?”
⁃ “sALLY WAS A SALMON CHAT- sorry carry on”
⁃ “WILL DID U HAVE THE HOTS FOR MILO”
⁃ “all i’m saying is you found milo and a year later you’re messing around with a fish”
⁃ “everytime i see more and more fanart i like the idea of a shapeshifter more” “yeahhhhh less cursed”
⁃ “i still like the salmon thing.....phil you got down and dirty with a fridge” “NO”
⁃ “why is tom cruise your favorite minecraft content creator” “i love thomas cruise”
⁃ “his tooth is in the middle of his face” “.......what”
⁃ “that’s so cool :D how do i do that”
⁃ “when you enjoy scientology your face becomes symmetrical”
⁃ “phil how do you feel about scientology in front of hundreds of thousands of people-“ “i fucking HATE it” “phil this is how you get assassinated king”
⁃ “heaven premium. heaven plus. heaven prime.”
⁃ “yOULL GO TO HEAVEN IF YOU PRIME IN TOM-ISM”
⁃ “iM GOiNg tO wRiTe A pEaCefUL sOnG aBoUt yOu”
⁃ “he told me i couldn’t swear that much in chat and then i saw the tier list and i thought ‘nah’”
⁃ “for ever second that i don’t have op in saying another swear word”
⁃ “you can swear in chat it’ll just be censored” “wHY WOULD I WANT THAT”
⁃ “WHY IS PENIS BANNED” “what game would you-“ “BATTLE BOX IS PENIS SHAPED”
⁃ “OH BUT YOU CAN SAY VERJINA THIS IS MODERN DAY SEXIsm”
⁃ “woman are always right but that doesn’t mean i shouldn’t be able to say penis in chat”
⁃ “i just googled old fashioned swear words and snails is one”
⁃ “tommy flash bangs hermit craft whenever he had to swear in chat”
⁃ “gosh dang it tommy stop flash banging me”
⁃ “it’s respectful to the creators who are pg” “yeah but it’s disrespectful to me” “you will never be in a team with grian”
⁃ “ this conversation is really going by the double-barrel-jumping-jimothy if you ask me”
⁃ “it’s because i fancy wil-“ “oooooooohohoho” “but you wONT GIVE ME OP”
⁃ “tommy being a chat moderator is like a nun being a stripper”
⁃ “do you think theres scientologist nuns?” “what i wouldnt do to take a scientolognun”
⁃ “i love scientology i love scientology so much and the thing i like about religion is the amount of money i give to it”
⁃ “i’m gonna make the bible two”
⁃ “you can write the new testament two” “i’m gonna make jesus go through an angst arc”
⁃ “the bible ends with a bunch of deleted scenes” “it ends with a dreamXD video”
⁃ “i’ve still never heard georgenotfound swear” “i have.” “....sorry everyone”
⁃ “someone in my chat said ‘where’s heaven’ i’m sorry i cant help you” “...i can. in my new and upcoming book”
⁃ “32° 35° is probably not heaven it’s on the contested border of israel and palestine so.....yeah.”
⁃ “according to my book: why i’m right” “why i’m right according to tommyinnit”
⁃ “what i wouldnt do to go to space with tubbo” “next vlog” “if i could go to space with anyone it would be tubbo” “he’d have such a humble grin. he’s be content” “and then he’d die. he’d burst”
⁃ “dude. phil. i- stay safe. cuz- cuz i know we joke but you- you ARE old”
⁃ “scott to you ever worry that you’ll die alone” “every. day.” “i don’t”
⁃ “so you think i’m gonna die alone?” “.....i don’t wanna talk about this”
⁃ “....so, in conclusion, scott...he’ll marry anyone” “.......i’ve really sat here just trying to process the last few things tommy has said”
⁃ “scott you won’t die alone i’ll zoom you on your death bed”
⁃ “you can’t live cast your death bed it’s again twitch TOS” “wHAT DOES IT MATTER IM DEAD”
⁃ “i am not going to die” “i just will not die i am a god” “you are an idiot you do not believe in tom cruise”
⁃ “one of the higher things in scientology is you can revive things-“ “pPPPPPPHAAAAA”
⁃ “toooommm this is the third time this week you’ve just stood there and not called an ambulance and just. hummed in a high pitch”
⁃ “i love my fans like i love my crypto”
⁃ “time is a social construct king”
⁃ “grian told me THINK FAST and then SHOT MY FATHER”
#some of these are slightly paraphrased#because i was speed typing while watching live#so#deal with it#tommyinnit#wilbur#wilbur soot#scott smajor#smajor#philza#philza minecraft#mcc#mcyt#1011.speaks#tubbo#dream#dreamwastaken#dsmp#ranboo
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Hooked On Your Feelings - Chapter Two (FWB! Tom Holland x Reader)
SERIES MASTERLIST
Warnings: Some angst, language, eventual smut in future chapters, fluff
Word Count: 5255
Summary: After a bad breakup, making an agreement with your womanizing neighbor, Tom to be friends with added benefits and no strings attached seemed like the perfect idea. Until things become messy, emotions caused your agreement to crumble.
A/N: I am HYPE to post this new chapter! Omg I just love writing this series so much its so fun writing Tom like this lol. Also low key...this chapter has an easter egg to a pervious series of mine and I’m v curious if anyone catches it but probably not because its superrr tiny but either way I hope you guys like this one! Obviously, smut is in this chapter! DM me to be tagged and I cannot wait to hear everyone’s thoughts! (Also .gif is not mine. DM me for credit please, I found on google!) Thank you xx -N
“What happened to that girl you took home the other night from The Lace Rabbit?” Harrison asked as he ordered his lunch before he took a seat at the table with Tom. It was typical for them to meet up during the week on their lunch breaks and catch up when they were not busy being wingmen for the other while bar hopping on the weekends.
Tom shrugged off Harrison’s question as he took a bite of his sandwich, “She got a little clingy so I had Y/N help me get rid of her,” he smiled as he said your name out loud. His friends knew of you as the hot girl who lived next door who bailed him out of sticky situations. Always teasing Tom how he could never actually get you. The irony made it all too funny for him, “How’d it go with that blonde girl?” he asked to change the subject off of him.
He didn’t know if he should bring up the two of you sleeping together with Harrison. Harrison was his best friend and wouldn’t judge but he knew he’d give Tom shit for it. He’d want to know details of your arrangement or how it came about, if you were really that good and Tom didn’t feel comfortable answering that. Not if it was about you. He didn’t want his other friends knowing about you in the way he did. That was personal between you both and he wanted to show you he respected you.
“It didn’t,” Harrison admitted while taking a sip of his water. He let out a chuckle as he felt himself blushing, “Forgot her name and she spilt her drink on me. Can’t say I didn’t deserve that one,” he at least knew when he was in the wrong.
Tom cringed into his sandwich as he let out a cackle, “You definitely deserved it, mate,” he laughed with another bite. His phone vibrated in his pocket but he chose to ignore it, knowing like clock work what it probably was. It was going to ruin the rest of his day and he at least wanted to enjoy lunch with his friend before getting pissed off for the day.
“She’d probably love you,” Harrison teased.
“Fuck off,” Tom rolled his eyes with a laugh. “I’m not taking your angry seconds.”
“Don’t knock angry sex til you try it,” Harrison smirked knowingly.
Tom shook his head as he once again ignored the phone ringing, “I think I’m good, thanks,” he brushed it off with another eyeroll.
He didn’t know why he suddenly felt weird talking about their last venture out at the club. Maybe it was because Tom knew where he ended up after that girl had left and he knew what that meant for the both of you. But Tom wasn’t done with his bachelor days, and even you knew that. Hell, you practically insisted since this was a no strings attached deal.
It just felt strange not telling Harrison about you. Like it was a weird secret. But at the same time, he felt oddly protective of you. Not wanting his friends to see you as some girl he was getting laid with. Or worse, a potential love interest. He knew it wasn’t going to happen. Hell would be freezing over before Tom decided on any sort of long term obligation. But he knew his friends and he knew they wouldn’t see this is a simple agreement between two friends. And he didn’t want to deal with that conversation.
Staying quiet was the better option. For his own sanity. And...well, would you care if he told anyone about this? Tom figured that was another rule he’d have to ask about. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries and he knew you had a list of rules as well that he was happy to follow. As long as that meant one thing and one thing only: non-exclusive.
Harrison noticed Tom’s phone buzzing for the third time. And Tom ignored it for the third time. He checked the message with a huff of his breath before turning the screen face down on the table, going back to his lunch before he had to get back to work.
“Clingy girl?” Harrison nodded towards Tom’s phone.
Tom shook his head, “My mother was supposed to visit this weekend but you know the routine,” he mumbled into his food, not even wanting to respond to her.
“Let me guess,” Harrison began, knowing exactly where this was going since he knew Tom’s whole story inside and out. Including the bits he hated to discuss which was mainly his family, “Going skiing with Clint in Veil instead?” he questioned knowingly.
Tom scoffed out a laugh at his guess, “Surfing with Clint in Malibu but same shit,” he corrected as he tried not to let it get to him. But even Harrison could tell he was getting bothered by it once again and who could honestly blame him.
Always the same story every time no matter what and Tom grew tired of her antics. He couldn’t even blame Clint for it anymore considering she’d been this way since he was a kid before he was even in the picture. Only now she would just use him as the perfect excuse to get out of coming to visit.
He knew he shouldn’t care anymore but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t something easy for him to simply let go of. It was his mother. And no matter how many times he’d try she would always give him back the bare minimum and it always made him upset. She was his one final connection to him and she could care less about any of it, so why did Tom? It always got under his skin and he loathed that it did.
But he would still invite her. No matter how miserable it made him.
“Well at least now you’re free this weekend,” Harrison broke his thought while he gathered their garbage before they headed back to work, “The usual at The Lace Rabbit this Saturday then?” he suggested with a knowing smile to try and get Tom out of his mood.
Grabbing his phone, Tom clutched it tightly as he inhaled sharply. Knowing his change of plans meant doing his normal routine even though he was looking forward to the slight change this weekend, which now just seemed bleak to him
.
“Yeah,” Tom agreed as he tapped your name on his phone but hesitated when he saw his mother trying to call for a fourth time, “The usual this weekend.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Your chest tensed as you got into your car after your extremely long day in the office. Everything around you felt heavy and you couldn’t wait to get home as soon as you could but you found yourself still frozen in your car. Unable to move as the moments from earlier this afternoon invaded your thoughts once again while you tried your best to move in. Even though you knew you were completely grief stricken and didn’t know what the hell to do.
The promotion was yours, at least you had thought it was by the way your boss would constantly hint at it. You knew it was never a definite thing, but you were confident in the hard work you had put into your job and knew you were a top contender for the spot. You worked longer hours, took on extra tasks, you even worked on the occasional weekend to get your work done. Taking every precaution necessary to prove that you were the best fit for the role.
Everything felt like it was lining up for you. Co-workers were giving you a pat on the back for your work accomplishments, your boss was taking note of everything you were doing, and you overall felt really good about where you stood for the potential position. So imagine your surprise when you attended the big luncheon and your boss announced his undeserving son was getting the spot instead of you.
It was both nepotism and misogyny rolled into one and it made your stomach turn the longer you had thought about it. None of it made any sense and it was far from fair. You knew you were the one more deserving of the position, the whole office knew it. Even your damn boss knew but he chose his damn son over you and it felt like a stab right to your gut.
You felt so betrayed and beside yourself as you finally decided to head home. Tears streamed down your cheeks while you tried to focus on the road but you just couldn’t ignore the facts. How were you going to be able to show up and take orders now from your boss’ son? You knew the job more than he did and it felt like a huge screw you.
On your drive home, you tried to make yourself feel better by putting on some music to distract yourself but nothing helped. You felt beyond defeated and frustrated right now you didn’t know what was going to make you feel better at the moment. It felt like the world was against you. Between finding Justin with another woman and your job, you were really batting one thousand lately and you weren’t sure when you would catch a break.
Things were not going how you planned at all. The thought of just quitting your job and starting all over again crossed your mind but the fear of the unknown kept haunting you. You didn’t know which direction to go in or who to turn to for advice anymore. You were slowly drowning and you needed someone to throw you a goddamn life jacket already.
You were relieved to finally be home. Maybe some peace and quiet would make you feel a little better, you thought to yourself while you kicked your shoes off and turned some music on for yourself. Trying to put the day behind you and focus on the present moment while you got changed into more comfortable clothes to unwind.
You jumped out of your skin when you heard a knock at your door, not expecting anybody to come by right now. Pulling your hair up into a bun, you headed back towards the door and looked through the peephole. To your surprise, you weren’t really surprised at all. You were actually sort of relieved when you opened the door and saw Tom standing there holding a pizza box.
“That better have extra cheese,” you asked with a narrowed expression while you invited him inside with the pizza that he would always bring you even in normal times.
Placing the box on the kitchen table, Tom opened it with a grin as he showed you the pizza pie with cheese practically oozing from the crusts, “Figured it was an extra toppings sort of day,” he admitted, knowing he really needed the escape from reality. Even if it was just a pizza.
“Tell me about it,” you sighed as you grabbed a piece closest to you as Tom handed you a paper plate. You headed over towards your refrigerator to grab you both a few beers while Tom leaned up against your kitchen counter as he devoured his slice, “I’m guessing you had a bad day judging by your pizza presentation?” knowing there wasn’t really any particular reason he’d be coming over with it today. Unless if he wanted something?
You slowed your pace back from the fridge wondering if he was going to pick up on how you were feeling. You weren’t entirely sure if you wanted him to notice. Whenever you and Tom had a pizza night it was merely to gossip about your lunatic neighbors or watch a game together. You talked about casual things but never really gone into depth or prying into each other’s lives. Why did it feel like suddenly you wanted something different? Would sex change that much in your friendship?
“We can just ignore that...we don’t have to talk about unimportant stuff,” you waved it off. Tom didn’t need to hear about your miserable day. And you didn’t want to pry into his.
He swallowed the last bite of his slice, “If something makes you upset, it’s not unimportant,” he noted. But when he noticed you just looking at him, he raised his hands in surrender. “Ignore my philosophical ass. But I’d like to hear about your day, you know,” he laughed it off.
What the hell was he doing? He thought to himself. Don’t let personal shit ruin this. Enjoy her company. That’s it.
“I didn’t get the promotion,” you told him. You had mentioned to Tom a while ago that your boss was hinting at it but you never went into detail with him about it. You weren’t used to Tom actually wanting to be open or the other way around. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly surprised Tom even gave a crap about stuff like this.
Tom frowned at your answer and he felt his heart sink a bit when you told him the truth about your bad day. He didn’t know much about your job but he was sure you were a hard worker. He saw how much you loved your job and how passionate you were about it when it would come up. You would share upcoming projects with him from time to time and he would see the look on your face whenever you explained them to him. So hearing that you were passed by for a promotion was upsetting to him.
“I...shit, Y/N,” he put his pizza down as he walked over towards to give you a hug. Sliding his hands around your waist he pulled you into him as he felt you relax against his chest, “You didn’t deserve that,” he added softly.
You allowed Tom to embrace you, his warmness comforting you a bit before you pulled away and started crying when telling him about your boss’ son getting the job instead of you. Making you laugh by calling him every name in the book, you and Tom finally found a common ground as you kept venting to him.
Tom pulled away slowly, his hand resting at your chin while he licked his lips, “You’re boss sounds like a fucking prick, I hope you know that,” he told you reassuringly. The small smile you formed when he spoke made him want to keep making you feel better, “I’m glad you’re smiling,” he blushed at his confession.
Stretching your mouth wider, you flashed Tom a playful yet overly wide grin to deflect the attention he gave to you. The two of you laughed as Tom pulled away with a loud chuckle, shaking his head at your sudden silliness, “That has to be the most hideous smile. But we’ll work on it,” he told you through his laughter.
You rolled your eyes before going back to your pizza, giving Tom a look as you nudged him, “Not gonna tell me about what happened to you?” you finally asked.
Tom tensed as he tried to brush it off with a simple shrug into his pizza. The thought of his mother’s texts and ridiculous apologies and excuses continued to drive him crazy as he mumbled into his bite, “It’s stupid shit,” he told you as he swallowed the crust he was chewing, “Mom stuff, not important,” he added bluntly.
You could see the look on his face and could tell it was important to him but you didn’t want to force him to talk about it. Tom was never one to bring up his family ever to you and that was the first time you had ever heard him even mention his mother. He never spoke of his father, at least to you, so you just assumed both were out of his life for whatever reason and it was none of your business to ask.
And Tom refused to admit it but he wanted you to ask about him. Spending hours upon hours at bars, turning his focus always onto the girl; because he knew no girl would ever want to go home with a self righteous, egotistical guy. It was never something Tom minded to do, especially with complete strangers who he would never open up to in a million years. It might have been the recent development he had with you but there was something refreshing he felt around you and as much as it freaked him out, he didn’t seem to mind.
But diving into his mommy issues with you now seemed too much to deal with right now. You were dealing with more than enough problems with your job and your miserable ex-boyfriend, he figured you didn’t need to hear his bitching right now anyway. He came here to get away from those shitty thoughts, not open those wounds further.
Tom came here for a distraction.
Licking his lips, Tom perked up as he looked at you fervidly, “Wanna have sex?” he asked matter of factly. He figured he didn’t need to beat around the bush since you had your arrangement but maybe he was a bit too direct with his request. Tom cleared his throat as he tried to save the night, “I-I mean, I just figured since we both had shitty days that maybe we could uhm-”
“Thought you’d never ask,” you cut him off with a smirk and you perked up as well, nodding as you smoothed out your hair. Standing back up as you turned your back towards him, removing your shirt in the process, “Let’s go,” you called over your shoulder as you headed towards your room.
“Oh, we’re jumping right in,” Tom mumbled to himself as he practically fell off his chair to follow you into your room, tossing his shirt beside yours as he practically froze already seeing you completely undressed, “Christ…” he breathed out while taking you in.
You rolled your eyes as you walked over to him, bringing your lips to his now bare shoulder, “You’re really acting like you haven’t seen me like this the other day?” You laughed against his skin while you began to suck a bruise against him, hearing him let out a gasp while your hand snaked into his pants sneakily, “Beginning to really like this whole friends with benefits thing we have,” you laughed as you found Tom’s lips.
Practically growling into your kiss, Tom lifted you up and lowered you onto your back on your bed. His lips traveled from yours, to your stomach, dipping his tongue into your belly button as you moaned quietly before he brought himself down between your thighs. His lips peppering your inner thigh before he got straight to the point because this whole arrangement meant no foreplay. Another plus for Tom.
“Darling, I think you may be the best friend I’ve ever had,” Tom breathed out a laugh as he pressed his tongue flatly against your clit. Sliding two of his fingers into your core while he slowly pumped in and out of you, “This is what got me through my day today,” he told you before he brought his mouth back to your core.
You arched your back while your fingers went towards Tom’s curls. His name began to fall from your lips while he lapped his tongue carefully, letting it slip inside of you as he continued to tease you with his mouth. His fingers sliding into you again, adding a third as he moaned against your center; allowing the vibrations to roll throughout your entire body.
“Mmm, oh, fuck...!” you cried out, yanking gently against Tom’s hair as you felt the coil beginning to burn from inside of you. Biting your lip to stifle another moan, “Fuck...yo-you’re really good at that,” you breathed out with a small laugh which turned into a whimper.
With his head peering up at you, Tom flashed you a cocky smile with a playful wink as he licked your folds teasingly, “Did you seriously doubt my abilities to make you cum with my mouth, Y/N?” he raised his eyebrow while pumping his fingers now tantalizingly slow, “You’re gonna pay for that comment,” he said to you.
“Just...shut up and make me cum, Tom,” you told him through another gasp as you felt his teeth drag teasingly against your already throbbing bud. His lips wrapped around it as he sucked more harshly, doing exactly as you had asked him to do, “Ungh...oh god, okay. Yeah, keep doing that,” you instructed as you began to grind your hips against his mouth.
Tom took it as a challenge and picked up his pace, beginning to flick your clit faster while he continuously sucked on it. His three fingers now entirely coated in your warmth as he felt you clenching around them. His pants feeling tighter from his hard on while he knelt at the end of your bed trying to bring you to where he wanted.
His free hand splayed against your stomach, holding you in place while he felt you trying to squirm around from the way he was making you feel. Rubbing your clit in between his breaths, Tom looked up at you as he licked a solid stripe down your center, “Let out how you’re feeling from today and cum for me, Y/N,” Tom commanded.
Your eyes shut as you did exactly what Tom had suggested. Completely coming undone from beneath him while you released as much of the tension from earlier as you possibly could but in the most amazing way. Your eyes rolled back into your head while your back arched as Tom’s tongue continued to work you up while you were at your highest point.
Letting out a breathy laugh as you started to come down from it, feeling Tom begin to kiss his way back up your stomach with a smug look, “Don’t give me that look,” you rolled your eyes at his cockiness as his tongue traced along your neck, “I could do what you just did to myself, you know,” you tried to knock him off his high horse a bit while he pretended to be wounded from your words.
“Ah, but you didn’t. Did you?” Tom reminded you as his lips found yours. His hands still in between your thighs as he brought them between you both, showing you his coated fingers while he tasted you off of them, “Tastes like I made you cum because you wanted me to,” his smugness only elevated as he pushed himself off of you as he laid on his back on your bed.
“Need I remind you that you came to my place like a porno with a pizza looking to get laid,” you retaliated as you shifted so you were now hovering over him. Your hands guiding towards his belt buckle to get him out of his restraintive pants. The pleading look on his face made you just as smug, “Sounds like you want me to do just about the same thing, am I right or am I right?” you sang in his ear.
Tom helped you get the rest of his pants and boxers off, feeling himself spring out as he stared back at you with uncertainty, “Did you...just call me a porn star?” he questioned as the two of you let out a laugh.
“You wish, Tommy,” you teased as you ran your tongue down his abs, placing small and open kisses against his stomach as you made your way down to his legs while your hand carefully gripped his hardened length, your thumb running the pre-cum around his tip while you already heard him gasping for you.
Gripping your bedsheets with one hand, Tom reached around to create a makeshift ponytail to hold your hair. Cussing under his breath as he watched your mouth wrap around his tip, swirling your tongue around it while your eyes searched for his. He was really trying to hold it together but you were already driving him crazy.
“Let’s see what you got, Y/N,” Tom challenged you with a heavy breath as he tightened his grip around your hair, “Sometimes, girls think they know exactly what to do but-OH FUCK!”
His words were lost as soon as your mouth went straight down to his base. Suctioning as hard as you could before coming back up his cock painfully slow. Moaning your name as his chest began to heave, Tom felt his thighs start to quiver from under you. Even just watching the way you were working on him was enough to make him whimper right now.
“Fuck...okay, yeah I take that back,” Tom gasped as his nose crinkled up while his other hand white knuckled the sheets, “God, your mouth is fucking perfect. Why haven’t we done any of this shit before?” he was in such a fucked out haze, he wasn’t even sure if anything he was saying made any sense at all. But he felt his stress from earlier going away finally. Even if this was just a short state of bliss, he was grateful for it anyway.
“You really want me to answer that or would you just prefer me to keep sucking your dick?” you sassed while you kitten licked his tip. You watched from the end of the bed as Tom bucked his hips into your mouth to try and get more contact from your lips but you pulled away from him and just kept licking his tip.
God, you were good, Tom thought to himself.
‘K-keep going,” Tom finally breathed out, flinging his head against the pillow to brace for the impact.
Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed yourself all the way down his cock. Your tongue flicking the base in between as you began to feel him throb inside of your mouth. You could tell he was close so you moaned softly into his cock, watching as Tom shuddered from the sensation you just sent through him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Tom cried out, moaning your name as he rutted his hips into your mouth. His pupils blacked as he felt the heat rising in his body, “Shit...I’m gonna cum, Y/N,” he warned as you pulled away, running your hand down his shaft as he began to come undone for you.
His warmth spilled out into your hand and down his cock while he let go finally. The stress somewhat leaving his body as it did yours while the euphoric high peaked for him. Your lips crashed against his while his tongue parted your lips to find yours, tangling them together as he moaned against your mouth while riding out his high finally.
You waited for Tom to catch his breath before you smiled against his lips, placing a small peck against them as you pulled away with an even bigger grin, “Yeah, you’re welcome,” you gave him the same arrogant tone he gave to you moments earlier before you pecked his lips again.
After taking some time to get yourselves together mixed with the continuous fooling around underneath the sheets, you and Tom finally decided to get up and end the night. Even though he didn’t want to leave, he knew he probably shouldn’t overstay. Primarily, Tom was adamant about never spending the night at a girl’s place that he slept with. That made things complicated and he didn’t want complicated. But since you and him had rules to not make things messy, he wasn’t sure if that applied to you. For now, he wanted to play it safe so he got himself dressed again.
You pulled on an oversized t-shirt, realizing both of your hair looked a mess. Luckily you were already home and Tom was down the hall so it didn’t really matter. You wanted to say something to Tom, that you were thankful he came by tonight. You were thankful even before sex was on the table. It felt nice to have him as an ally to swing by with a pizza when he didn’t even know you needed that.
“...is it weird to say I’m glad you came by?” you gestured towards your bedroom while you walked with him out into the kitchen where the half eaten pizza was left, “I know we haven’t really made too many rules about it but…” you trailed off with a nervous laugh as you smiled at him awkwardly.
“Like we said, zero weirdness,” Tom reminded you as he padded his way over to you. He grabbed a leftover crust from the box and shoved it in his mouth, clearly starving already from the workout you had just given him. He smiled while he chewed lazily, his mouth still filled with pizza crumbs, “But I’m happy to come by when we have shit days...and make you cum as well,” he smirked deviously.
The door opened as you smiled back, “Doesn’t have to be just bad days, you know. We could...screw whenever we feel like it,” you told him, hoping that it wasn’t too much.
“Did you just say screw?” he whipped his head towards you with a loud laugh.
“Alright then, I guess I’ll just leave you to the girls who leave you unsatisfied then,” you fought back.
Tom leaned against the door with his mouth gaped open, “They do not...leave me...unsatisfied?” he questioned himself, knowing that that was true, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
“Then why are you here?” you placed a hand on your hip, feeling the smile pulling at your lips while you messed around with him. You certainly weren’t in this mood earlier before Tom came around.
Pressing his lips together, Tom rolled his eye at you, “Fine...we can screw...whenever,” he leaned in closer to you with his eyes big as he mimicked your voice when you said it, “As long as we keep this thing strictly what we intended, you can use me whenever you need, Y/N,” and he meant it.
You didn’t back away when he sealed his words with a soft kiss, paired with his trademark grin. Tom pulled away slowly, taking in the moment as he wished you a goodnight quietly before kissing you against the cheek, “Like I said, best friend I ever had,” he said softly once again.
“Am I interrupting something?” A voice broke from behind the two of you. Both of your eyes widened towards each other as you both simultaneously pivoted your heads towards the staircase where the voice was coming from.
Tom closed his eyes with a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to ignore Harrison staring at the two of you with a crooked grin. Making it known to Tom that explaining this was going to be a lot tougher than he had imagined.
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Heyyyyyy, I bet you were DYING to know stuff about that Google v. Oracle decision, huh?
You may have heard recently about a big deal Supreme Court decision called Google v. Oracle, a litigation that has dragged on for many, many, many years and focuses on Google having copied some pieces of computer programming owned by Oracle and known as APIs. Most of the write-ups I’ve seen about it have focused on its enormous repercussions for the technology sector, which makes sense since it’s a case about computer programming and APIs and other tech-y things.
But the thing about the decision is that it’s a fair use decision. The Supreme Court could have found that the APIs weren’t even protected by copyright. But instead, the Supreme Court used the doctrine of fair use, and this means that the case potentially has ramifications for all fair use situations, including fanfiction!
So, if you don’t know, fair use is a main defense to copyright infringement. Basically, you can use somebody else’s copyrighted work without their permission as long as what you’re doing with it is considered a “fair use.” E.g., you can write a story in somebody else’s fictional universe or draw art of somebody else’s fictional copyrighted characters without their permission as long as your use is a “fair use.”
“What’s a fair use?” is an incredibly complicated question. The long and tortured history of Google v. Oracle illustrates this: a jury found Google’s use was a fair use; an appellate court found that it wasn’t and basically said the jury was wrong; and now the Supreme Court says no, no, the jury was right and the appellate court was wrong. Like, this is not unusual, fair case rulings are historically full of disagreements over the same set of facts. All of the cases reiterate over and over that it’s a question that can’t really be simplified: every fair use depends on the particular circumstances of that use. So, in a way, Google v. Oracle, like every fair use case, is a very specific story about a very specific situation where Google used very specific APIs in a very specific way.
However, while every fair use case is always its own special thing, they all always debate the same four fair use factors (these are written into the law itself as being the bare minimum of what should be considered), and especially what’s known as the first and fourth factors. The first factor is formally “the purpose and character of the alleged fair use,” although over the decades of fair use jurisprudence this has come to be shorthanded as “transformativeness,” and the fourth factor is “effect on the market.”
Most of the energy and verve of a fair use case is usually in the transformativeness analysis; the more transformative your use is, the more likely it is to be fair (this is why AO3’s parent organization is called the Organization for *Transformative* Works – “transformative” is a term of art in copyright law). To “transform” a work, btw, for purposes of copyright fair use doesn’t necessarily mean that you have edited the work somehow; you can copy a work verbatim and still be found transformative if you have added some new commentary to it by placing it in a new context (Google Image Search thumbnails, while being exact reproductions of the image in question, have been found to be fair use because they’re recontextualizing the images for the different purpose of search results). The point is, transformativeness is, like fair use itself, built to be flexible.
Why? Because the purpose of copyright is to promote creativity, and sometimes we promote creativity by giving people a copyright, but sometimes giving someone a copyright that would block someone else’s use is the opposite of promoting creativity; that’s why we need fair use, for THAT, for when letting the copyright holder block the use would cause more harm to the general creative progress than good. Google v. Oracle recommits U.S. copyright to the idea that all this is not about protecting the profits of the copyright monopolist; we need to make sure that copyright functions to keep our society full of as much creativity as possible. Google copied Oracle’s APIs to make new things: create new products, better smartphones, a platform for other programmers to jump in and give us even more new functionality. The APIs themselves were created used preexisting stuff in the first place, so it’s not like anyone was working in a vacuum with a wholly original work. And, in fact, executives had thought that, the more people they could get using the programming, the better off they would be.
Which brings us to the fourth fair use factor, effect on the market (meaning the copyright holder’s market and ability to reap profits from the original work). There’s a lot of tech stuff going on in this part of the opinion but one of the points I find interesting from that discussion is that the court thought that Google’s use of the APIs was not a market substitute for the original programming, meaning that Google used the APIs “on very different devices,” an entirely new mobile platform that was “a very different type of product.”
But also. What I find most interesting in this part is the court’s explicit acknowledgment that sometimes things are good because they are superior, and sometimes things are good because people “are just used to it. They have already learned how to work with it.” Now, this obviously has special resonance in the tech industry (is your smartphone good because it’s the best it could be, or because you’re just really used to the way it’s set up?), but there’s also something interesting being said here about how not all of the value of a copyrighted work belongs *to the copyright holder* but comes *from consumers.* Forgive the long quote but I think the Court’s words are important here:
“This source of Android’s profitability has much to do with third parties’ (say, programmers’) investment in Sun Java programs. It has correspondingly less to do with Sun’s investment in creating the Sun Java API. . . . [G]iven programmers’ investment in learning the Sun Java API, to allow enforcement of Oracle’s copyright here would risk harm to the public. . . . [A]llowing enforcement here would make of the Sun Java API’s declaring code a lock limiting the future creativity of new programs. Oracle alone would hold the key. The result could well prove highly profitable to Oracle . . . . But those profits could well flow from creative improvements, new applications, and new uses developed by users who have learned to work with that interface. To that extent, the lock would interfere with, not further, copyright’s basic creativity objectives.”
This is picking up on reasoning in some older computer cases (like Lotus v. Borland, a First Circuit case from decades ago), but I think it’s so important we got this in a Supreme Court case: if WE bring some value to the copyrighted work through our investment in it, why should the copyright holder get to collect ALL the rewards by locking up further creativity involving that work? Which, incidentally, the Court explicitly notes is to the public detriment because more creativity is good for the public? This is such an important idea to the Supreme Court’s reasoning here that it’s the first part of the fair use test that it decides: that the value of the work at issue here “in significant part derives from the value that those who do not hold copyrights . . . invest of their own time and effort . . . .”
This case is, as we say in the law, distinguishable from fanfiction and fanart. APIs are different from television shows, and this case is very much a decision about technology and computer programming and smartphones and how old law gets applied to new things. Like, fair use is an old doctrine dating from the early nineteenth-century, and here we are figuring out how to apply it to the Android mobile phone platform. That, in and of itself, is pretty cool, and it’s rightly what most of the articles you’ll see out there about this case are focusing on.
But this case isn’t just a technology case; it’s also a fair use case that places itself in the lineage of all the fair use cases we look at when we think about what makes a use fair. And, to that end, this has some interesting things to say, about how much value consumers bring to copyrighted works and where a copyright holder’s rights might have to acknowledge that; about the fact that there are in fact limits to how much a copyright holder can control when it comes to holding the “lock” to future creativity building on what came before; about what part of the market a copyright holder is entitled to and what it isn’t. Think about the analogy you could make here: Given the investment of fans in learning canon, which is what makes the creative work valuable in the first place, allowing enforcement against fanfic or fanart would allow the canon creators to have a lock limiting future creativity, which would be highly profitable to the original creator (or, let’s be real, to Disney lol), but wouldn’t further copyright’s goals of promoting creativity because it would stifle all of that creativity instead. And just like Google with the APIs, what fandom is doing is not a market substitute for the original work: they’re “very different products.”
This is not to say, like, ANYTHING GOES NOW. Like I said, fanfic and fanart are very different from APIs. Fictional works get more protection than a functional work like the APIs at issue in this case. And there’s still a whole thing about commercial vs. non-commercial in fair use analysis which I didn’t really touch here (but which obviously has limits, since it’s not like Google isn’t making tons of money, and their use was a fair use). But this decision could kind of remind a big media world that maybe had forgotten that the copyright monopoly they enjoy is supposed to have the point of encouraging creativity; we grant a copyright because we think people won’t create without a financial incentive. (Tbh, there’s a lot of doubt that that is actually a true thing to believe, given all the free fic and art that gets produced daily, but anyway, it’s what the law decided several centuries ago before the internet was a thing.) Copyright is a balance, between those who hold the copyright and the rest of us, and the rest of us aren’t just passive consumers, we have creative powers of our own, and we might also want to do some cool things. And this case sees that. None of us are starting in a creative vacuum, after all; we’re all in this playground together.
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Mother’s Day Drabbles
Pairing: Angel Reyes x Black!Reader, Miguel Galindo x Black!Reader, EZ Reyes x Black!Reader, Obispo Losa x Black!Reader
Summary: Four drabbles with my four favorite men from Mayans MC commemorating Mother’s Day with their loves.
Warning(s): Grief, loss of a child in the last drabble (sorry to my bishop girls) but the other ones are all fluffy goodness
Word count: 1,545
AN: It’s almost Father’s Day so y’know what sounds good? Reading some EXTREMELY late Mother’s Day drabbles!! lol. I haven’t posted anything in so long and these were in the drafts so here we are. Enjoy these random ideas that popped into my head. Trying to force myself to get into shorter form writing like drabbles and headcanons. As always, questions, comments, and concerns are welcomed. Happy reading! xo
Breakfast in bed - Angel (fluff)
“Daddy shhh! You gots ta be quiet.”
“Lo siento princesa.”
You fought to keep your eyes shut and not smile as they tried and failed at surprising you. You wouldn’t ruin their efforts so you just listened as they came into the bedroom and something was set on your nightstand.
It was silent for a moment before a ball of energy landed firmly on top of you, knocking the wind out of you and fully waking you up.
“Good morning mommy. I made you breakfast in bed.” Your beautiful little girl told you once she saw your eyes open.
A throat cleared and your eyes connected with your husband’s.
“Oh, Daddy helped too.” She added, getting comfortable in your lap as you sat up against your headboard and adjusted the bonnet on your head.
“Oh he did? Well thanks for helping Daddy.” You teased, as he took a seat on the bed next to you.
“Anything for you. Happy Mother’s Day.” Angel leaned in and kissed you on the lips once, twice, three times. The last peck lingered a little too long and the princess was not amused.
“Let her eat! The food is gonna get cold.” She grumbled, and you broke down in giggles. That daughter of yours was a sass machine and she stayed on her daddy’s head. He loved every bit of it.
“Okay, okay.” He relented, a grin on his face. Anything for his girls.
Coming home to a spotless clean house - Miguel (fluff)
As your driver pulled into the driveway of your large home, she sighed knowing your day had only just become. After a full day of work, she knew as soon as you stepped foot in the house you would need to pick up after the kids from their time running the nanny ragged. Then, you’d have to get dinner cooked before wrangling the kids to eat, bathe, and then sleep. No clue if you’d see your husband or if he was having a late night.
You loved your life. You loved your family. Sometimes things could just be a little tiring. But you put that smile on your face and you made your way into the house.
The quiet was the first thing to hit and surprise you. Your home was never this quiet at this time of day. You slowly walked further into the house, your nose guiding you to the kitchen where a delicious aroma caught your attention. As you rounded the corner, you were shocked to see your husband standing at the stove.
“Miguel?” You asked, confused at his presence and the state of the house. Everything was clean and put away. He was at home at a decent time and not off somewhere handling business. Something was going on.
“Hello mi amor.” He walked closer to you before grabbing your face and kissing your lips. You’d missed him today so you added a little pressure to the kiss, but it didn’t last long as there was a burning question on your mind.
“What’s going on? Where are the kids?” You asked, head swiveling, as soon as you ended the kiss, to see if you could spot them. You didn’t even notice Miguel maneuvering you onto one of the kitchen stools.
“The kids are in their rooms, dinner is cooking, the house is clean and you are going to enjoy this chardonnay I bought for you.” He handed you a glass and you took it without complaint. A sweet smile spread across your lips as you realized he did all of this for you.
“You do so many wonderful things for this family. I want you to enjoy your night to yourself. I will handle putting the children to bed and you will relax for the night. Your dinner should be done by the time I get back downstairs but in the meantime, I know you’ve been wanting to catch up on the new season of A Black Lady Sketch Show. It’s queued up in the living room.”
A kid wrangling free night? Your favorite tv show and wine? He already bought you everything you could ask for but this? This is so much better than any present he could have come up with. “How did I get so lucky?” You pondered, a dreamy smile on your face.
“I ask myself the same question every day. Happy Mother’s Day.” He replied, kissing you again before going to fulfill his promise.
Spa day for expectant mom - EZ (fluff)
Knowing what comes with being pregnant and actually experiencing the symptoms are two very different things. You don’t wanna say you underestimated things, but you were in the middle of your third trimester and you weren’t handling things very well.
“EZ!! EZEKIEL!” You hollered for him, from where you sat propped up on the couch. Your back was killing you, you couldn’t see your feet but you knew they were a hot mess, and you just generally felt uncomfortable. You knew it would all be worth it in the end, but the end was taking too damn long to get here.
Your boyfriend had been incredibly understanding of your constant mood swings. When you first told him you were pregnant, he went out and bought a bunch of pregnancy books. He was always reading one that first trimester. Angel would tease him and say he could just google everything, but EZ had always preferred having physical copies of text. He wanted to know everything you’d go through so he could help you deal with it.
You call him now and he doesn’t respond. You grow annoyed, but also slightly concerned because he never doesn’t answer you.
It took several tries but you manage to get yourself off the couch and head back towards your bedroom. When you push the door open, a wide smile breaks out on your face. The lights in the room were dimmed and your favorite candles were lit, bathing the room in a soothing scent. Songs from your ‘self care day’ playlist filled the otherwise silent air. On the bed was the biggest, fluffiest robe you’d ever seen in your life. There was also a basket filled with goodies including face masks, different color nail polish, massage oil, and your favorite snacks.
“What is all of this?” You asked your boyfriend who had almost as big a smile on his face as you did.
“You didn’t seriously think I’d just let your first Mother's Day go by with no acknowledgment, did you?”
You blinked somewhat in surprise. “I...I mean yeah I guess. My first Mother’s Day is next year. Baby Reyes isn’t even here yet.”
“So? You’re carrying our child. You gonna let me spoil you or you gonna keep making excuses why I can’t?” He asked, his eyebrow raised and a sly smirk on his face.
“Spoil away then.” You grinned, holding out a hand for him to take before pampering you for the rest of the night.
Cuddles - Bishop (angst, heed the tw up top please)
The ray from the television was the only light source illuminating the living room. You were laying on your side on the couch, eyes on the tv but not truly paying attention to it. The light from the tv reflected off the tear stains left in her cheeks.
Bishop came back from dealing with club stuff and leaned on the doorway just watching you. He knew it was a rough day for you. Everyday was hard, but today was especially hurtful. He’d be feeling the same way just next month.
He placed his kutte onto the armchair and slipped off his shoes before climbing over you. You jumped a little at his presence but he just gently nudged you up so he could squeeze between you and the back of the couch.
One arm slid under your head and the other rested on your waist as he settled in. The hand on your waist reached out and gently ran a thumb over the little face in the picture frame you held tightly in your hands.
“Our sweet boy.” He whispered, a sad smile on his face.
Your breath hitched and your shoulders began to shake as you silently cried. You missed him so much. The whole day you stayed inside hoping to avoid all the mother celebrations, but that didn’t help. The hurt ran deep and no amount of avoidance could stop it. This day was a special slap in the face and every year the last three years have been spent like this.
Bishop curled the arm under your head until his elbow laid on your clavicle. He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you tight against him.
“You’ll always be his mother. That love is forever.” He softly but firmly stated before pecking your shoulder over and over.
You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in at the feel of him squeezing you tightly. It was comforting. He was always holding you together. He understood your pain and even though it hurt worse some days than others, you knew you had to continue on.
But for right now, you would cry in your man’s arms and hope next year went better.
#mother's day drabbles#angel reyes#ez reyes#miguel galindo#bishop losa#obispo losa#black reader#hhgbyebruh fics
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dumb jokes- b. barnes
pairings: bucky barnes x reader, platonic!sam wilson x reader, platonic!bruce banner x reader, mentions of other avengers
warnings: language but pure pure fluff
about: prompt generator: bucky telling y/n a dumb joke just to see her smile.
bucky is surprised at the ugly feeling that fills his stomach when he sees you laughing at sam. your hand is on his forearm, lightly squeezing as your sweet laughter makes his senses go into overdrive. seeing you so happy usually raises his spirits, but, he realizes, he doesn’t like it all that much when it is provoked by anyone other than him.
possessive and irrational, yes, but bucky is set on the next time you laugh, it’ll be at something clever he’s said. he rolls his eyes when sam says something- probably stupid- else and you laugh harder, promising himself you’ll laugh even more when he’s the one causing it.
unfortunately for him, he completely underestimated your beauty, because the next time he sees you, every joke he asked friday to tell him disappears from his mind, only one, ridiculously dumb one left. his brain can’t seem to work when your eyes and kind smile are directed at him. when there’s a pause in what you’re saying, he blurts the beginning of his joke, “talking about pigs-” you were definitely not talking about pigs, “what do you call a pig that does karate?”
your head tilts in confusion at his random addition, but you play along anyways, “i don’t know, what do you call a pig that does karate?” bucky swallows, “a pork chop.” the joke is even more absurd when he hears himself say it, about to cringe when your lips break out in a grin and you begin to laugh. “oh god, bucky,” you manage, catching your bottom lip between your teeth to try and calm yourself down. bucky wants to tell you to not- to please, please never stop laughing. “i think my nephew would appreciate that one,” you say, still chuckling. tony calls you over, and you look back at bucky with an apologetic look, remnants of your laugh still shown on your face through your small smile and crinkled eyes. “thank you for that, bucky,” you say, then press a kiss to his cheek, lighting him up bright red.
sam suddenly claps his back while he stares at you walk away, still snickering softly. “you’ve got it bad. a pork chop? seriously?”
bucky can’t find it in himself to care.
-
the next time, he swears he had an actually smart joke, not at bruce-level, and not pork-chop level, enough to not make him sound like he spends most of his time with three year olds. he searched it up on google, next to other ones he didn’t particularly prefer.
he repeated it to himself enough to make him forget about his current mission, but he considers it worth it if he’ll get to hear you laugh again. however, the moment your tired self leans your head against his shoulder, he blanks. “tell me something, bucky,” you request softly, the effects of the mission clear in every way. “uh- what do you call a fake noodle?”
“what?”
“an ‘im-pasta,” he replies sheepishly, pleased to hear you laugh when he does. “like imposter, that’s funny,” you say, still blessing him with light giggles. “you have the best jokes, bucky,” you compliment, pushing yourself closer to him while you yawn, smile still on your face while you drift to sleep, “im-pasta,” you mutter softly, chuckling quietly.
sam shakes his head in front of bucky, exasperated look in his eyes.
-
bruce is with you the third time, easy look on his usually stressed features when you push him gently with your shoulder, talking to him about some fancy equation. bruce says something else to you that bucky can’t understand, the sentence too jumbled with gamma radiation jargon for him to completely understand. it’s a joke that you chortle at anyways, making that jealous feeling crawl into his gut again.
bucky is smart. he knows that, but every time your pretty eyes look up at him, he feels every ounce of that fall out of his ears. he has his bearings enough to call you, though. “y/n?” he starts. you look up at him, “hey buck; yeah?”
“why can’t you trust an atom?” he asks, barely noticing the flicker of recognition on banner’s face while he shakes his head, tiny smirk still on his lips. “why?” you question, “because they make up everything.”
you laugh loudly, as expected, and a lovesick smile spreads on bucky’s face. bruce remains quiet, silently observing a frustrated sam behind bucky.
-
sam decides he’s had enough after bucky tells you a joke about a used tissue and you actually laugh, sick with both the reciprocated pining neither of you seem to grasp and the horrendous jokes bucky is pulling out of the internet.
as easy as it should be to get two people who are very clearly in love with each other- bucky, who tells you moronic jokes just to see you smile and hear your laughter, and you, who laughs at said moronic jokes because anything that comes from bucky is akin to a priceless, precious diamond to you (because there is no way anybody older than ten actually enjoys them)- it really is not, considering your whole “love from a distance” thing that drives absolutely everyone insane.
well, insane no longer, because sam wilson, as always, is to the rescue.
he finds himself looking up “cheesiest pick up lines,” making himself cringe immediately when he realizes those words will end up in his history and available to stark. he finds a suitable list of lines he can imagine coming out of bucky’s mouth, even if those occurrences are in his nightmares, and writes a couple of them down, leaving the choice of which one to bucky.
the super soldier is horrified when sam shoves the small piece of paper into his chest, jamming a finger in his flesh arm while he threatens to hurt him if he doesn’t end the dumbassery and just asks the girl out already.
sam will take full credit at your wedding, you’re sure of it, when you see him smile and nod proudly from his place in the doorway when you accept bucky’s offer of a date.
#bucky barnes x reader#fluffy bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#cute bucky barnes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fluff fanfic#fluffy bucky barnes#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#fluffy bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x you fluff#fluffy bucky barnes x y/n#platonic!sam wilson x bucky barnes#sam wilson#bruce banner#tony stark#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#fluffy bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes imagine#fluffy bucky barnes fic#fluffy bucky barnes fanfic
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*gregorian chant* breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink bree
In another universe pups is the ABO fic I never wrote HJDHJDSHJDSHJHJFHJFSD OK so anyway I won’t lie I had to google what cum inflation was and when I saw what I saw.... yes. Ok. It got my brain gears going *rusty noise of gears turning* U know what I mean??? So i was thinking..... ***NSFW WARNING
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You see hentai on Namjoon’s laptop one day. You’ve mastered the art of nonchalance, though. So when he comes back from the bathroom and gives you a smile—as if you haven’t gotten a peek into Things That Turn Namjoon On That Don’t Include You—you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Safe.
Except you’ve stopped taking notes and now all you can think about is Namjoon watching porn so brazenly on his laptop. Where he does schoolwork of all places! He could at least just use his phone. Also you’re just a teensy bit wet because cartoon boobs and dick is still conducive to horny hours, even if you are doing something as unsexy as critical writing.
Your study date ends with a simple kiss on the lips because Hoseok’s home this time and you’d rather not taint the living room space while he’s occupying the apartment too. Namjoon slips in a little bit of tongue though, because he’s cheeky like that.
You text Namjoon right when you get home. You lie and say you’re going to sleep early, with the excuse that you have to wake up early for a meeting with your advisor. And when he sends you his good night text, you get to it. Getting ready for bed, turning your night light to the colour red once you’ve settled in.
You have sleuthing to do.
Because the hentai wasn’t just... well there’s no regular hentai, is there? It’s just. There. Being hentai. And what’s Namjoon without an inclination for messy pussies because of—because of—
You close your eyes tight because you can’t believe what you’re about to type into the search bar on your phone.
But first!
Incognito. Whew. The shame of clearing your history would be too much to bear. So when you press enter on cum inflation it isn’t so bad. Especially when all the X-rated websites pop up and your screen just becomes Anime Boobies Galore when you click the first link.
You can’t believe Namjoon had the gall to just leave that website up there on his screen. You’re scrolling down the page and already you’re feeling hot. And it isn’t even because of the fact that you’re skimming through videos of perfect girls getting so cummed up their stomachs literally become distended. Nor is it the thought of Namjoon watching it and enjoying it, either. Rather...
Was he thinking of you when he was watching these videos? Bending your knees up over your shoulders and promising you that he’s saved up all his cum for you? Getting you to drool down your chin, cross-eyed?
(Your hand is down your panties at the third video you come across. You come pretty hard when you see the girl’s pussy literally spew semen from how hard the guy comes inside her. And when you reach post-orgasm clarity you immediately exit the browser, chuck your phone onto the floor, and hope to god sleep overtakes you within twenty seconds.)
The next time you meet up for another study date with Namjoon is the weekend. That’s a good three nights of jacking it off to the same video of a huge dongle fucking a good five buckets of semen inside his girlfriend. And when you settle all your notebooks and laptop down, you immediately go for the kill.
“Do you like anime boobs?”
Namjoon chokes on the water he’s drinking from his bottle. “I—ahem. What, uh... what brought this on?”
“I’ve been watching a lot of hentai so I thought I’d ask,” you clarify.
“Uh-huh,” he says incredulously.
“And you know, it’s just—I liked it. A lot. You know. Just for your information.”
Namjoon blinks. “Are you trying to get at something here?”
“Because I don’t really mind, you know. Porn is porn. And you can like whatever you want. Like as long as it’s nice and consensual,” you ignore him.
“Babe.”
“Like I would never make fun of you because I’m—well I’ve watched Grinch porn before but that was against my own will—“
“Baby,” Namjoon laughs, squishing your cheeks to stop your rambling. “What’s going on?”
“I like h’ntai,” you try to articulate with his hands still keeping your lips pressed in like this.
“I get that. But why?”
Oh god. You don’t even know what you want from this conversation. Maybe the guilt of catching him has caught up to you. Or maybe you also just want to have a distended stomach from having Namjoon bust a fat load inside you.
You take his hands from your face, clutch at them for support. “I saw... Um. What you were watching. The other day.”
“Ah.” You watch Namjoon’s ears turn red. He squeezes your hands right back. “You—damn. I’m sorry.”
“No—!” You clear your throat when it warbles. “N-No... it’s... well I...”
You feel his thumb rub comfort into your skin. He looks like he’s getting ready for a scolding. So when you say, “I actually really liked it and I’ve been watching it every night,” in one breath, Namjoon blinks.
And blinks.
After a solid sixteen seconds of silence, he says: “That’s really hot.”
You both stare at each other. The notebook you laid out for notes sits quietly, waiting.
“You wanna go to your bed—?”
Namjoon nearly dislodges your shoulder when he pulls you up to stand. “Yes we’re going right now.”
Something you’re really thankful for when it comes to Namjoon is how compatible you two are. You can’t count how many times you’ve both just looked at each other, no words to say, but somehow still completely on the same page. It’s like you both have the instinct of the other person ingrained in the part of your brain that deals with intuition.
You’re pretty keen on foreplay most days, but even Namjoon sees you’d rather rip your hair out than not immediately go for the feeling of his dick ramming inside you right at this very second. He laughs when you strip in record time, laying supine on the bed while he undresses.
“What’s gotten into you?” As if he’s not hard himself. He crawls over you with kisses warm on your belly, your breasts. “I have to admit. I really just wanted to fuck today.”
“Oh thank god,” you sigh. You knew something was up the second you realized Hoseok wasn’t home. He probably sexiled himself. You remind yourself to buy him dinner one day for his noble deed. “Just—I’m wet. I think. I just want you inside me, please.”
Namjoon groans. “You’re dangerous.”
“I watched hentai for three nights straight, I’m horny,” you whine in correction.
“You wanna know something? Please don’t laugh.”
“What?” Oh you’re wet alright. Namjoon lines his cock at your hole, slides tight inside. “O-Oh—what?”
“I kind of. I haven’t jacked off since the last time we met,” he says, voice tight. “Thank god you watched that shit because I probably sound crazed right now.”
“Huh?”
He grinds up till his hips meet your ass, and you shiver when the tip of his cock hits just right. “I—I wanted to save my cum for you,” he admits, sweating at his neck, and something clicks inside you, because you were right.
“I thought—about that too—ngh!”
Namjoon fucks you steady now. No more shy thrusts like he always starts off with to gauge your mood. He knows you want it. “Shit. About what, baby?”
“You. A-And... making me full... of you.”
“Oh my god.” He grabs your thighs, opening you wide. Takes a thumb to your clit like he’s on a mission. “Will you come with me? Can you do that?”
Holy fuck you’d do anything for him. So you nod, moaning with every hard thrust he gives you. Your legs threaten to close when he rubs you raw, but he commands with a low voice:
“Open, pups.”
Embarrassingly, that does it. He’s never one to order you around. And knowing he’s purposefully saved you his cum like it’s Christmas come early, you know better than to hinder the process.
Your legs shake when you open wider, feeling the warmth of his cock tenfold. “I’m close,” you cry when he slams into you.
“Feel it here?” He slides a sweaty palm to your abdomen. “Gonna give it to you right there. Make you so full. So pretty. All—mine—!”
You don’t even know if that was your signal. But the thought of him swelling you up like that girl on your screen, her womb so full with cum and promise—
“Joonie!” You shriek, toppling right into red-hot pleasure, clutching at the sheets because it’s too much. You come in waves, and Namjoon rides it with you, bucks into you with one last groan. You feel it, feel his excess warmth coat your insides just like he’d told you, and you pretend you feel your stomach balloon for more space. He rubs a grateful hand on your stomach.
“My little cum dump,” he coos tiredly, and you slap his arm with a laugh.
“Don’t pull out yet.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, bringing his tired form onto you. “Keep me plugged in.”
He laves at your neck. “Oh so now I’m out of line when I say weird shit.”
“I never said it was weird,” you whisper. “I’ll happily house all your semen.”
“Oh my—pfft. Ok. You know what? Show me that video you were watching, I need to know what’s got you like this,” he snorts, and you promise to do it later. You’ll just keep him like this for a little while.
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Sleep Deprivation - Spencer Reid x Reader
Writing Prompt: Spencer Reid is so sleep deprived he doesn’t notice his actions and accidentally crosses a line with reader. Reader ends up being abducted by unsub and Spencer has to make a choice towards his feelings to reader.
POV: Third Person POV but following certain characters.
Spencer Reid with they/them Reader
Type: angst with fluff at the end
warnings / trigger warnings: abduction, mentions of killing, subtle mentions of some sort of mental illness, reader gets hurt physically (punching, etc.), mild cursing.
*author note* Hi, this is my first story and I just wanted to get it out of my google drive page. I didn’t proofread this at all so there’s probably plenty of mistakes (if there is just tell me). I promise future stories will be a lot better than this.
*word count: 4,100*
To the outside world, Spencer Reid was the perfect person in control of all aspects of his life.
The problem with Spencer Reid was that he was too smart and active for his own safety. He struggled with sleep deprivation among other things that made it hard for him to keep track of himself. At this exact moment he was struggling with holding six hours of sleep in the last three days. He knows the dangers, he sees statistics, but when he closes his eyes all he can do is see Y/N in danger like in their last case and he can’t go through that. Not again, not when he was the one that found them all bloodied and almost unconscious. This was Spencer’s third cup of coffee in just that morning and the clock hadn’t turned to seven thirty, yet. He finished the last sip and rushed out the door to head to the subway, his hatred for driving now a good thing with his exhaustion getting in the way. A buzzing came from his satchel as he got on his seat, the subway less full than usual. SSA Hotchner Calling
“Good morning.” Reid’s husky voice shone through the speaker.
“Good morning, Reid, we have a new case in California, how far away are you?” Hotch said anxiously.
“Twenty five minutes away, including the walk.” Reid says confidently.
“Okay, head straight to the bullpen on your way in. We have no time to waste.” Hotch says before hanging up the phone. Reid finished reading the book he started that same morning and moved on to the second book he had stashed in his bag on his way out.
“Platform-.” He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings as he got off the cart and walked towards his job. The smell of the station made his nose hurt as he remembered previous cases of ill intent people doing foul things to their surroundings.
Get it together, Reid. You can’t walk in there distracted, they’ll know something is wrong. You can’t have Penelope and JJ worried all over you. You especially can’t have Y/N worried for you, you need to keep your head leveled around them.
It was probably easy to guess that their last case had taken the hardest toll on Spencer. His feelings for Y/N making it difficult to concentrate when the unsub had taken them as a means to keep the FBI scared. Spencer had spent most of his time away in a small office hunched over papers and profiles trying to get them back.
“Good morning, Doctor Reid.” The receptionist greeted the young doctor.
“Good morning!” Spencer said in a matched tone. He walked to the elevator, hitting the familiar key without looking at it at all.
Okay, you need to wake up and be alert. No dozing off like you’ve been doing today. You have a job to do, people are counting on you. Spencer repeated the same words to himself like a mantra until he saw the clear doors to the BAU main office.
Penelope Garcia POV
We have a tablet for Hotch, Rossi, JJ, Emily, of course, Chocolate Thunder, and using paper we have Spencer Reid and Y/N Y/L/N. They would be so cute together, those two. I know I could find a way for Hotch to let them be together if only they would admit their feelings for each other, this is ridiculous. It’s very obvious to everyone but those two that they’re the perfect match made. Ironic how the two smartest people to enter this building are too oblivious to notice this. If I had a nickel for every time-
“How we looking, Baby Girl?” Morgan interrupted Garcia from her ramble.
“Like I’d rather be watching something where someone doesn’t die.” She answered annoyed.
“Don’t we all?” He shook his head as he took his tablet, scanning some of the images, the flash of hurt running through his facial features like a marathon.
“Okay, we’re just waiting for Reid but he should be here any second.” Hotch says stressed while sitting down. The rest of the team, sans Reid, pile into the room taking their respective seats. Everyone opens their files on their tablets while Y/N scans through their paper folder.
“Where is Pretty Boy?” Morgan asked looking directly at Y/N as if they would know anything; thankfully Y/N was too focused on the case in front of them to pay any attention.
“Stop it.” Garcia whispered to him. Morgan looked at her and laughed while shaking his head.
It’s safe to say that the entire team knew that those two were crushing on each other, they had that energy about them.
Garcia got up from her seat, ready to direct the team along JJ on their latest case when the Boy Genius walked into the room in a hurry, his satchel already in his hands ready to be removed from his body.
“I’m sorry, there was a minor mishap and- not important, sorry.” He said while moving towards his seat which was conveniently next to Y/N’s. He stopped next to them, giving them a light kiss on the head before moving to his seat, the small action causing everyone in the room to fall into a heavy silence. He didn’t seem to notice this small movement as he continued on with his regular routine of taking everything off to focus on the file in front of him. “What’s going on in California?” He asked looking up at Garcia, only to notice her stunned expression. “What?” He asked looking at the rest of the team, noticing their silence and awkward glances at each other. The only one not looking at anyone in particular was Y/N.
“Nothing.” Garcia said while turning around to look at the slide show.
“Family in California was brutally murdered in their home. Father was moved away from them, from the shows of it, it seems to have been postmortem.” Garcia says while looking at JJ frantically.
“Two children were left in the closet- I’m sorry, I can’t do this. Reid, what was that?” Hotch asked while he asked JJ to pause the slideshow and turned to look at one of the two younger members of the team.
“Hotch, no.” Garcia whispered. He’s going to ruin everything! No! We FINALLY have something that officially indicates one of them feels something.
“I-I don’t understand?” Reid says confused.
“Pretty Boy coming out of his shell.” Morgan chuckles.
“What?” Reid asks, still confused.
“You just kissed Y/N.” Emily says sliding closer to him.
“I did what?” Reid asked with a raised tone.
“Reid, what’s going on?” Rossi asks.
“I don’t- I don’t know.” Reid said genuinely concerned.
“You look tired.” Emily said, “well, I mean, more than usual.” She says worried.
“I mean, I haven’t really slept but it’s not that bad.”
“How much is ‘not that bad’?” Hotch asks.
“Six.” Reid whispered.
“Six hours daily?” Hotch presses.
“The last three days.” Reid finishes.
“Reid, no.” Emily says sadly.
“Can we get back to the case?” Reid asks, the entire room shifting energy. Y/N staying quiet as possible. It didn’t slip anyone’s notice that Y/N didn’t try to move from Reid, it was almost like they were shifting closer to him.
“Okay, uhm, two children were left in the closet, their hands tied behind their back and their mouths covered with electrical tape. It seems like most of the extra things the unsub did were postmortem because the children were tied and silenced after this unsub killed them.” Garcia said.
“The mom seems to have had the most anger targeted. She had leisure wounds around her neck and wrists, but that’s not what killed her. She was drowned in the bathtub, and it seems he may have stabbed her multiple times postmortem, too.” Y/N says as they go through their own file.
“Maybe they had a bad relationship with a maternal figure and they’re looking for ways to get back at her.” Rossi says.
“Any reason why the unsub may have targeted this family?” Hotch asks.
“None that I’ve found yet, sir.” Garcia answers.
“Okay, wheels up in thirty. Reid, I need to talk to you privately.” Hotch says as he dismisses the team.
Arron Hotchner I will have a word with you.
Spencer Reid POV
“I need you to stay at the base for this one.” Hotch says automatically.
“What? No, I can’t.” Reid replies.
“Yes. What happened there is only a glimpse of what can happen in the future, Reid. I cannot take the risk with the rest of the team. You stay here, work the case, and rest up. Sleep deprivation can cause memory loss and you’re already seeing the side effect. I can’t put you or others in danger.”
“Hotch, please.” Reid whispers.
“Y/N will be okay, I promise Reid.” Hotch said sternly.
“That’s not-.” Reid cut himself short.
“Your job now is to stay here and look at everything we can’t. Come up with theories. I have to go.” Hotch starts to walk away, “and I want you to get home at a reasonable time to sleep. I need you in future cases.” He finishes, walking towards the last of his paperwork and walks out of the room. Reid looks around the room and spots Penelope at the door, trying (and failing) to look inconspicuous.
“Let’s go Pen.” Reid calls out to her and picks up his own file.
“Reid, I don’t think Y/N-.”
“Pen, please.” Reid stops mid track, “I’m not allowed to go and I’m already exhausted as it is. Please, let’s just focus on this.” He says to her as he turns around and comes face to face with Y/N. “Hi.” He whispers.
“Hi.”
“Are you- is everything okay?” He hushes.
“Yeah, I just came to say bye to you both. We’re on our way out.” Y/N replies looking at Reid like a fragile doll, if they moved too fast, he may break.
“Be safe.” He says, almost so quiet they miss it.
“Always am.” Y/N replied with a smile, “see you, Pen.” They waved at each other before Y/N finally walked away from them.
“Oh you’re smitten to the T.” Penelope teased.
“Penelope Garcia, there’s a room we need to get to and have no time to talk nonsense.” Reid said frustrated.
“Oh, we can most definitely talk while we’re in there mister Doctor Genius.” She giggled walking away from him.
“No, Penelope.” He says in a rushed tone as he jogs behind her.
————————
“Hello my furry friends, what can I do ya for?” Penelope asked in an enthusiastic tone.
“I need you to give me any and all financial statements about this family. Down to what they spent money on leisurely.” Hotch said not bothering to comment on her strange wording.
“Anything I should be looking for?” She asked.
“Yes, anything that may have been spent on from time to time. No cycle, something that if anyone looking wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow.” Emily pipes in.
“Reid?” Y/N called out, Reid’s cheeks automatically turning a bright red, he’s ears matching.
“Yeah?” He asked in a high pitched tone before clearing his throat, calling out to them again, “how can I help?” He asked.
“I found some letters and cards and they look like different people wrote them but I need you to read in between the lines and assign who wrote which letter.” Y/N said picking up the different notes and holding them to the camera, “I’m going to have JJ scan these and send them to Pen, if she could please do the rest so I can have a detailed explanation of the potential unsub.” They finished explaining.
“Yeah, I’ll have them finished for you as soon as I can.” Reid said confidently.
“Thanks Spence.” The team said their goodbyes.
“Oh you’ve got it bad, Lover Boy.” Penelope said through giggles.
“I don’t know what that means.” Reid said uncomfortably.
“That Y/N called you ‘Spence’ and you just about melted.” She teased.
“That’s not true.”
“Oh come on! When are you going to just get it over with and ask them out?” Penelope asked in a serious tone.
“Never, they don’t like me and I probably made them uncomfortable today with something I don’t even remember doing.” He fiddled with his pencil.
“Have you asked them?”
“No.”
“Then, you don’t know.” Penelope finished turning back to her computers seeing the files JJ sent, “Come on Boy Genius, your future significant other has work for you.” She said excitedly.
—————————
“Reid, another family was murdered twenty minutes ago, do you have anything that could lead us?” Hotch stressed.
“Yes, it seems all these families have in common is their religious beliefs and where they do grocery shopping.” He said going through his own paperwork.
“Those are two completely different things.” Emily said.
“No, because all three families come from the same neighborhood, down to the same economic standard. That means they all went to the same place of prayer and they all shop from the same places. It goes down to us having already interviewed the unsub.” Y/N says, paper shuffling is heard by Garcia and Reid as Y/N moves around the room with the rest of the team.
“They’re right. We concluded that the unsub is a white male in their mid twenties who comes from a household deprived of a mother figure or a divorce household. From the way the murders are being done, it shows they have a previous criminal record with small crimes, maybe petty theft or something big like sexual assault.” Reid goes on.
“In that case, we have only interviewed twenty people. Garcia, can you narrow down the list?” Hotch asked.
“You must be new here.” She says with an eye roll.
“Keep us updated.” Emily smiles.
“Stay safe.” Reid says, everyone knowing he’s truly directing it to one person, “all of you, stay safe.” He covers up before hanging up.
Jennifer Jareau’s POV
“Hey, Y/N?” JJ had wanted to speak with Y/N since they got out of the bullpen but for one reason or the other never got the chance.
“Hey, JJ.” Y/N smiled at the blonde.
“I know what Spencer did today was out of norm. Are you okay?” She asked. JJ knew neither of the Doctors were big on being touched unless they initiated it.
“I’m okay.” The young Doctor assured her.
“Can I ask you something?” JJ started, “I’m probably way out of line and you don’t have to answer but…” She started off testing the water, she kept an eye on Y/N making sure they weren’t uncomfortable at any moment, “do you like Spencer?” JJ finished.
The words coming out of their mouth wasn’t what gave them away, it was the way their cheeks and neck flared up in red pigmentation as their hands dropped the small cup of coffee they were holding, which had thankfully been empty.
“What? No, that’s- JJ, I do not like anyone.” Y/N stammered and failed to control their movements.
“Oh, I’m so glad to have asked you instead of Penelope.” JJ started laughing.
“I do not like… JJ it is wrong to make assumptions of others. It’s- JJ, no.” Y/N continued.
“Babe, it’s okay. Everyone and their mom’s can see that you and Spencer have a thing. For being the two smartest people I know… you’re both very daft.” JJ said sweetly.
“I actually don’t think he likes me, JJ. I noticed that his behavior towards me changed into a more protective one after we finished the case. I think he’s guilty because he was meant to stay with me and we got separated.” Y/N said sadly.
“You cannot possibly be serious.” JJ questioned.
“I am.” Y/N retorted.
“That man is in love with you.”
“No.” Y/N said as they picked up the empty cup they’d previously dropped. “Anyway, we need to finish this before anyone else dies.”
“Y/N…”
“Hotch is waiting.” Y/N left the small room.
When JJ walked outside, the rest of the team was doing a video call with Garcia and Reid. Y/N was busy looking through a stack of papers while Garcia gave more information about the possible unsub.
“Hey Y/N?” Spencer spoke up once Garcia finished.
“I’m here.” Y/N left the stack of papers next to them as they paid close attention to Reid.
Reid cleared his throat twice before he started detailing the information he’d found, “it seems like three people wrote those letters. It wasn’t easy to figure out because the same person switched through hand writings quite easily. So, unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t have seen it.” Reid finished while holding up the letters now filled with side notes.
“Thanks, Spence.” Y/N smiled at him before picking up the stacks, “that actually narrows down the unsub to four different people.” They picked up a folder one by one and handed it off to others.
“Garcia, tell us anything on Tony Carter.” Hotch asks.
While Garcia was telling them all the smallest details she could find to Tony Carter, Spencer and Y/N both went over the notes again.
“It’s Jared Tall.” They said in unison.
“Babies, you can’t just bring out the genius in the middle of my genius.” Garcia said annoyed.
“How do you know?” Hotch asks the both of them.
“The notes.” Spencer said like it was obvious.
“It did catch me off guard how this one was written, but it says Jared Tall.” Y/N said like it was no big deal as they pointed at the small details that brought out the name Jared Tall.
Y/N’s POV
“Hotch, I’m by the south exit. There’s fresh tracks. I think he’s here.” Y/N told their supervisor.
“Don’t go in without backup. He’s incredibly dangerous and will take out anyone in his place.” Hotch directed.
“Copy.” Y/N finished replying when they felt a sharp pain come across their temple making them crash against the ground. The cold surrounded them as did darkness.
Morgan’s POV
“Morgan, I need you to go to the south exit with Y/L/N. They said there’s fresh tracks and that’s dangerous.” Hotch directed. Morgan didn’t answer and just moved to the exit his supervisor had appointed him to.
“Hotch, Y/L/N isn’t here.” Morgan said through the radio.
“What?” Hotch asked. Derek didn’t need the radio to hear his directions towards the rest of the team.
“Their radio is here, Hotch.” Morgan turned around to face him.
“They couldn’t have gone too far. I gave them directions two minutes ago.” Hotch said while looking around. He turned his radio on and directed everyone to meet at the front of the abandoned cabin. “I need everyone in a group of three. Dogs need to go with you. Y/L/N has intensive knowledge on how to get out of hostage situations but there’s blood on the floor and they may be unconscious now. There’s a likelihood that the unsub took Y/L/N to the same location he has the rest of his victims, if that’s the case he’ll have two children. You need to be extremely careful and vigilant. We have until sundown.” Hotch dismissed everyone Morgan staying behind with him as Hotch called Garcia.
“Genie in a lap. You have three wishes.” Garcia said in her usual chirpy voice.
“Is Reid with you?” Hotch asked.
“No. He went out to get us lunch.” Garcia said as the blood ran cold through her veins, “sir, please don’t tell me that I have to tell Boy Wonder that the person he’s in love with and he doesn’t even realize loves him back, has been kidnapped again.”
“Y/L/N what?” Hotch and Morgan could hear Reid from the other end of the line.
“He knows.” Garcia whispered on the line.
“Reid, I’ve got every agent and officer looking for them. They’ll be okay.” Hotch promised.
“I’ve heard that before.” Reid said darkly.
“I’ll call with any updates.” Hotch hung up.
Y/N POV
I’ve got a concussion for sure. Okay, and one broken rib. I can’t open my eyes or move, definitely blindfolded and hands are tied. Probably underground. By the voices near me there’s two children here as well.
“The fucking FBI. Fuck.” There was pacing around the room. Only one set of feet were moving around. “If you scream, I kill them.” The unsub said. Not knowing what to do, Y/L/N just nodded. “This wouldn’t have happened if that bitch had just ran away with me.” He continues.
“Who, Jared?” Y/N asked calmly.
“Patty!” Jared shouted. “She had to stay with her stupid perfect family. What about me?” He kept shouting uncontrollably.
“This isn’t your fault Jared. She didn’t deserve you.”
“You’re right. She had to pay.” Jared kept pacing.
“Jared, I need you to do me a favour.” Y/N approached. “You need to let the children go. They’re innocent in all of this, just as much as you are.” The added in the end.
“They’re right, Jared. The children are innocent.” Y/N heard Morgan say evenly. “They’re just as innocent as you. They’d never hurt anyone, just like you.” Morgan approached. Y/L/N could now hear him walking near them. Something must have happened in the ten seconds that there was complete silence, because all Y/N heard after that were three gunshots and suddenly they were being untied. “It’s Morgan, you’re okay, Y/N.” Morgan whispers to them.
“The children.” Y/N whispers.
“JJ’s got them.” Morgan replies.
“I’ve got a broken rib.” Y/N tells him.
“Anything else?” Morgan asks as he lifts them from the entrance.
“Nothing I can feel as of now.” They reply surely, “Morgan, Reid is-.”
“He knows you were taken. He’s not happy at the moment.” Morgan replies.
“Where’s Hotch?”
“We found another child near here and he’s been assisting on that.”
“This wasn’t his fault. None of us could have known.” They tell Morgan.
“Tell that to your lover boy. He’s pissed.” Morgan laughs as he sets them on the bed of the ambulance.
“He’s not my-.” Y/N starts saying before getting interrupted.
“He’s in love with you. That makes him Lover Boy.”
Morgan teases.
“I cannot wait for you to no longer be single.” Y/N teases him.
“Right back at ya, Pretty Face.” Morgan flicks his finger against their chin and walks away; allowing the first responder to assess their wounds.
Y/N had to get checked at the local hospital, the rib that had fractured was making it painful for them to breathe and couldn’t wait to get checked in Quantico.
To say the ride back was long and uncomfortable was an understatement. They’d spend two extra days in California and that was two days too long.
“You get to see your mans today.” Morgan teased.
“Hotch, Morgan is being annoying.” Y/N said loudly.
“Did you just tattle on me?” Morgan asked in mocked surprise.
“And I’ll do it again.” Y/N said confidently.
“Behave or I’ll ground you both.” JJ said sternly. Once the jet landed, all their teasing suddenly vanished. Garcia and Spencer were waiting for them at the entrance of the BAU floor. No one said anything as they all hugged each other, Y/N keeping their distance from the team as Spencer gave the rest of the team a small half hug trying not to be rude as his family came in contact with his arms. The all unsubtly excused themselves, giving Spencer and Y/N some privacy.
Something changed inside Spencer when he found out that Y/N had been abducted. Something shifted, it was like he finally understood he could no longer pretend and show a façade every time he was around them.
Gravity was working differently now, or maybe it was their legs, neither of them were sure which it was. They crossed the small space between them as Y/N crashed against Spencer’s arms; the world just that much lighter now that neither of them were holding anything in. Spencer held them so tightly he was sure he was going to turn them into dust.
“Wait, your rib-.” Spencer started.
“Shh.” Y/N pulled away further from him as they grabbed him by his sweater vest and their lips finally met.
There was cheering in the near distance but they both pretended they didn’t know what was going on behind them.
Spencer pulled away for a second causing Y/N to give him a slight pout, “go on a date with me?” Spencer finally asked.
“Only if you go back to kissing me.” Y/N replied, Spencer attaching their lips together before Y/N could even finish the sentence.
#reidisreading#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x reader#Criminal Minds#criminal minds spencer#criminal minds spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction
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