#also not me listing credentials as if anyone cares

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

klaus hargreeves hearing three (3) symptoms of a disorder from a child that he just met and coming to the conclusion that he definitely has it is a mentally ill mood

#klaus does not have odd #me and my psych degree and crisis counselor certification were sitting there like #hmmmmm #also not me listing credentials as if anyone cares #i can dream <3 #don’t get me wrong he has a shit ton of other stuff #he just really doesn’t fit the criterion for odd #like dsm 5 & textbook criterion #not him #adhd ptsd depression all that shit #substance abuse disorders obviously #addictive personality s*icidal ideation risky behaviour lack of impulse control self destructive tendencies opposition behaviour you name i #t #am a little scared of misinformation being spread about odd tbh #klaus hargreeves #it is a mood to just vaguely hear symptoms of something and be like “yes that is me #barnum effect babey #yeet my deet #tua s3 spoilers #the umbrella academy

[aicosu]

Guys, I hate to do this.

Any of you who know me in any circle know that I'm a very professional, very private lady who hates any sort of disc horse breeds that might give me a headache. But this one is important, and my goal here is the integrity and reputation of artists.

For my credentials: I have been a part of five zines in the past. Two I moderated, and one I ran, created, laid out, printed, and shipped in its entirety.

So anyway:

HELLCHEER ZINE BULLSHIT

I joined Hellcheer and the Kindred Freaks Zine very late. Well, after sign ups, check-ins, etc. I saw it was happening in april-ish and shot a DM to the twitter to join. I did both a full art page and a cosplay page.

At the time, the server was quiet but kind. We got updates on the number of orders and books being made.

@Lawless is the runner of the Zine. They created and organized it. They are in charge of the main emails, the selling website, the orders, the shipping, and the funds. (To be clear, this level of sole responsibility is not ABNORMAL in a zine. And is not always an issue.)

@Valerie is the 'social media' mod. They are in charge of managing announcements and answering questions on Twitter and Tumblr. Please keep in mind: No one wants anything but a fast and easy recovery for both Lawless and their mother. Medical emergencies, heck—LIFE happens. It's always okay to put a hiatus on anything, even product with money, in order to take care of yourself and family. Every single contributor only wants them to be clear in what they need and how we can help.

So lets break down what's happening.

Back in May, Lawless went radio silent on the status of books and merch coming in. Another contributor and I, @Toguchin, start dming Lawless to make sure everything is on track. They come back after a week and apologize for being MIA, explaining that their mom got sick. We thank them for all their hard work and wish them and their mom well.

On July 15th, after contributors and customers inquire on delays to meeting the announced shipping deadline, Lawless makes a twitter post saying shipping has started and contributor copies will be happening. They proceeded to go MIA from the server discord and have been since.

The following week, contributors and customers discover that shipping HAS NOT started. Labels have been created and printed, but nothing appears to be in transit at all.

Toguchin and I started getting reached out to by customers worrying their packages are lost. We report this to the zine server to NO RESPONSE. Except @Ashlee, the discord mod who also has heard nothing.

July 20th to 22nd with customers complaining and theorizing a scam in mind; Toguchin and I propose that PDFs be given out to assure and apologize for delays.

We as a server discover a few things: 1. We cannot access the list of buyers at all in order to email apology zines because Lawless did not share the account information with anyone. 2. We cannot access the main email for the same reason. 3. Valerie, the social media mod, deleted discord and distanced themselves from the Hellcheer fandom and has not been checking the Twitter or tumblr, or discord notifications since May.

Ashlee and Ichikun contact Valerie to sign on.

I made a new email and said fuck it, we need to do something to assuage fears, let them send receipts to honor their zines. Valerie didn't know what to post or say or how to answer everyone, so I gave them a copy paste.

Still no words from Lawless but hoping for the best knowing the have a medical emergency, Ashlee and I begin answering the new email for PDFs, but cant help people change addresses or give them any update!!!

Throughout the weeks mods and contributors ping Lawless constantly asking if they need any help! Any help at all, answering emails, changing order addresses, heck a few of us ask if we can pick up the books and packages and ship stuff for them so they can hands off the project and take care of their mom. No response.

We send message after message saying if Lawless can share picture proof, that would be great cause scam theories and chargebacks are starting. BUT ALSO, we let Lawless know we and customers will ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND delays if they just communicate it. That if they post in server and on Twitter that shipping needs to wait a month or two, no one will mind. No responses.

July 31, Lawless makes a Twitter update with comments disabled that they are shipping ALL packages that monday with a picture of packages. They also call Valerie privately and tell the issue that USPS refuses to pick up shipments from Lawless has, and they can't leave their mothers side from the post office. They also claim they can only deliver ten packages at a time at the post when they go. *USPS has no such rules. Me and other mutuals who run shops have never had such a problem.

A week later, we realize that customers and our packages are still not in transit. Labels printed only. Most of us assume all packages are just label printed and sitting at Lawless' house.

We beg for updates from Valerie or Lawless. Valerie doubles down on Lawless old reasonings and also officially goes MIA until present day.

Throughout August, USA packages get delivered. A few more updates are made straight to Twitter and Tumblr with comments off. Radio silence in server.

As packages arrive, we all become aware from people's posts and pictures that random Stranger Things Art Stickers are included. No credit to any artist is given? No contributor is responsible for this art. These are suspected to be BOUGHT from Amazon. STOLEN arts amazon sellers resell in packs. NO contributor is okay with this!!! Valerie responds with no response at all.

As of now:

No response to missing digital copies. Ashlee and I cannot give out any without receipts because we have no access to buyers list. Nor can we answer missing packages inquiries cause we have no info. International packages unaccounted for. SCRUNCHIES FREE OR OTHERWISE UNACCOUNTED FOR. Zero word on contributor copies. Zero word on donation status. Zero word on generated profit or book and shipping cost. No way to verify funds at all. No word from Lawless to contributors since July 15. From Valerie since the 31st.

Some notes:

Turning off twitter comments was NEVER what any one of us wanted. A ZINE LAYOUT was never shared. So until people had them in hand or in PDF none of us realized that the credits DO NOT POINT TO ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. All of our usernames are handle-less? This was extremely disappointing. This one matters to me: Our FanEdit artist was not aware their work was not getting a full page. Again no pre-layout was shared. So their work is tiny and in the margins of the front and back. That's not okay. All of us wanted to help in any way we could. NONE of us doubt Lawless intentions or emergencies. But lying, misleading, non-communicating and turning off comments are all things we did not consent to. All of us only wanted a cordial, honest response. None of us actually cared about delays as much as we did communications. There has been many noticeable times Lawless has been online, posting privately or otherwise, even active on Discord and has not reached out.

Why make a post:

Customers should know contributors fought for them. That we did everything we could and our reputation as artists in the fandom shouldn't be tarnished cause two creators decided to disappear. Contributors should get their copies. Many of us BOUGHT bundles. I've been in five zines and every single one gave out free contributor copies WITH merch!!

I'm also attaching all server screenshots for integrity. I'm in half a mind to release the zine PDF publicly, for free, for everyone at this point. I personally think it's only fair since many are still missing just that. But I do not want to insult anyone who paid for just the PDF regardless of the potential contribution to charity. But it's really up to customers, not me.

#hellcheer #hellcheer zine #kindred freaks #fucking sucky ass post to make

[hcneygemini]

sentence starters from my wip fics, pt. II

please do not add to this list nor repost the list as your own. tw: mentions of murder, violence, manipulation

What do you even want with [ name ]?

It's been a year.

I'm afraid I couldn't tell you.

Don't take anything anyone asks you to do at face value.

You need to be careful, [ name ].

This is strictly professional.

I was told I would have a visitor today.

May I see your credentials?

But you're not here to discuss times long past, are you?

Memory is all I have.

Is this about the recent string of serial killings?

I was sent to learn from you.

We both have plenty of time.

To receive, you must also give.

I'll tell you about me, if you'll tell me about you.

Do you believe in fate?

You have a brilliant mind.

I studied psychology extensively.

Do you enjoy tormenting people?

I would not torment you.

Whoa, you sound stressed.

You know working into the night won't do you any good.

Shouldn't you be focused on your classes?

You'll be graduating soon.

[ They're / she's / he's ] a master manipulator.

You're realizing something, aren't you?

Multiple people are going missing.

So, [ she's / he's / they're ] escalating. Why?

I don't decide who lives or dies.

I'm not taking interviews.

Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now.

You're staring.

I needed to stock up while I stay nearby for a few days.

Do you have dogs?

I can't help if I don't have the full picture.

I could give you the recipe for the sauce for the ribs. It really boosts the flavor.

Can't this wait until after dinner?

What's so funny?

I'm not here to discuss my mental state.

I'm afraid I've been too busy to catch up on news.

You're not what I expected.

Did you call only to accuse me of being manipulative?

You think I'm being paranoid.

It was a calculated risk, believe me.

I'm surprised you read the tabloids.

Being kind isn't always manipulation.

You're looking kinda queasy.

You didn't do anything wrong.

We both could be in danger.

Do you fear death?

That's what you want, isn't it? To be in control?

What do you gain by being here?

[ He's / they're / she's ] toying with you.

You're quite feisty.

Was it difficult to slip back into a fantasy? To return to playing a part?

To you, everyone is either a lamb doomed for slaughter or a play thing.

I'm going to get you out of here, okay?

You're tough as nails. You're going to be fine.

I told you not to do this alone.

Don't you think the hospital makes enough money without you buying their mediocre bouquets?

You saved my life.

I think we can be useful to each other.

You'll get a shiny new placard on your door to say that you faced down two serial killers and survived.

We're both haunted. I saw it the first time we met.

I'm not much the artistic type.

Every kill will cling to your mind. You just grow. . . accustomed.

Are you always this vague?

What's in it for you?

'Slaughter' is a strong word.

You're using yourself as bait.

It really claws its way into your brain.

You talk like I'm a burden.

My personal life isn't a story to be told.

I can have you out of here in minutes.

I can let you sink or swim.

You're not capable of that.

I can portray you as mysterious and intimidating or as charming and disarming.

That almost sounded like a compliment.

I haven't been getting much sleep.

Something's wrong here. This doesn't make sense.

You look like hell. What happened back there?

Some might say this is a conflict of interest.

I've been waiting so long.

How would you feel if I said your [ spouse / partner ] would be better off without you?

This is a trap.

What's the fun in that?

I've lived somewhere like this once.

How did you know that?

Your sense of justice has been warped.

It changed you, but you can still come back.

You're to be my masterpiece.

They don't understand me like you do.

I will be the perfect Psyche to your Cupid.

I can make it quick and painless.

Are you any good with stitches?

In this day and age, it's impossible to escape that kind of scrutiny.

I want to be witness to what comes from this.

How would your [ spouse ] feel about you feigning a marriage with someone else?

I can't tell in what way you're being rude, but I know it's rude.

I thought you of all people would be capable of improvising, [ name ].

You don't want to see me improvise, [ name ].

It seems you've been abandoned.

I would suggest keeping yours wits about you.

I let emotion get the better of me.

I can't just let you leave here.

I'm not easy to persuade. Apparently I'm stubborn.

I've never seen you bite your tongue before.

I always wanted to visit Berlin.

It's a lovely morning, isn't it?

Survival isn't what it's all cracked up to be.

#roleplay meme #rp meme #rp prompts #sentence starters

[lulubelle814]

Just Dizziness - Chapter 30

Together, we sifted through several recommendations sent over from not only Luke but ones provided by Dr. Shepherd as well.  Tom had a great idea to see if there were any crossovers from the lists which narrowed it down considerably.  That gave us 4 names to continue looking at to see if one stood out among the others.  We knew we had previously seen Dr. Day but wanted to start fresh with someone new.

“Oh, this one went to Oxford.  She’s obviously out,” he said as he tossed that one off to the side.

“Oi!  Just because you're a Cambridge boy doesn’t mean you get to be a snob about this.  It says right here that she’s had massive success helping people in my position, is highly rated, and even does house calls in some circumstances.”

Tom put on a pouty face which fell away quickly.  “You’re right, dear.  I shouldn’t let my school rivalry get in the way of your recovery.”  Placing a quick kiss to my temple, he moved on to another candidate.  

“You know what, I think I quite like the idea of a female therapist.  Just something about it feels safer, easier.”

“I say we go with your gut.  The therapist will be helping you more than anything, and we want to make sure you’re comfortable.”  Tom looked through the candidates and removed the men, leaving only two, the lady with the Oxford credentials and another one we hadn’t had a chance to look at.  Picking up the info sheets, something about her felt right.  She has an office and uses it for those who prefer a professional setting but also meets at people’s homes and alternate locations as needed for appointments with trauma and recovery, works pro-bono with battered women’s shelters, fantastic feedback from past patients, and a degree from…….

“Look, love.  She went to Cambridge!”

Pursing my lips, I wanted to select the other therapist just to spite him, but my intuition said this person was the one for me; however, nothing said I couldn’t mess with him first.

“I don’t know, hon.  I hear Cambridge is kind of chancy with things like this.  Finding you was one in a million, and I feel incredibly lucky, but I don’t think lightning strikes twice.  Maybe we should go with Oxford?  They are listed as one of the top programs for psychology.”

The look of shock on his face was priceless.  How dare anyone insult his alma mater!  I let him stew for a moment before dissolving into laughter.  “I’m just messing with you, love!  Cambridge here actually feels like the better fit.  I can’t really explain it, but she’s the one.  Oxford has all the right credentials as well, but there’s just something about Cambridge.”

Pulling out his phone, Tom looked at the info sheet for the number.  “Would you like me to schedule an appointment?  Or we can wait if you’d like to think about it?” “Probably better to go ahead and schedule rather than put it off.”

“Let's do it.”  Inputting the number, he called.  It rang two or three times before someone picked up.  “Good afternoon!  Yes, my wife and I would like to make an appointment with Dr. Natalie Bertram, please.”

Gripping his hand, I listened in as he answered their questions.  “That would be perfect.  Thank you very much.”  Hanging up the phone, he turned to me.  “They had a cancellation and have an opening in 2 days in the afternoon.  She’ll meet us here at the house for the initial visit and then take it from there.  Her office will be emailing us the paperwork shortly to fill out and send back to them which I can take care of if you’d like?”

“I can help with the paperwork.  You’ve done so much already.”

“I am beyond happy to help and take care of you.  We’re a team, partners. How about we tag team it then?”

“Sounds great!”

Sure enough, the paperwork came in about 20 minutes later.  With both of us working on it, it took roughly an hour to get it all filled out and sent back.  While he worked on the standard insurance forms, I started on the mental health and history questionnaires.  Once he finished the insurance forms, we worked on the questionnaires together.  By the time we finished, we were both famished and ordered Chinese take away.

The following morning, Tom called a company Luke recommended to him about coming to fix the garden fencing.  It was pure luck that they had someone nearby who had some time between projects and arrived roughly thirty minutes later.  He introduced himself as Keith and took a look at the back fencing Tom showed him as well as the other sections and the side gate. 

"Fixing those parts of the fence by the gate you showed me is definitely not a problem. We can have someone over early next week.”  

With that all set up, we looked at options to have a dog door installed, whether to have one built into the wall or simply have one placed into the sliding glass door.

“Well, that seems like an easy one.  It seems to be better to have one placed into the door.  Plus they have all sorts of techy ones so that only Bobbers can get in and out and none of those stray cats that like to antagonize him that I’ve seen.”  Tom quickly agreed.

We spent the evening looking at various options, eating take away, and watching telly.

I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, confused again. Unable to help myself, I began to shake and cry. As if sensing it, he woke up as well, embracing me from behind. I leaned into him, turning to face him and bury my head in the crook of his neck. 

He tried to ask if I wanted to talk about it, but words escaped me. So he rocked me back and forth, cooing in my ear that everything would be okay. 

It was a while before I was able to calm down. "Would you like some tea?" I nodded, and he left. Bobby wasted no time in taking his place. When he returned a few minutes later, Bobby refused to move, but once I finished my tea, I moved him to the other side so he could be the tiny spoon, me the middle spoon, and Tom the big spoon.  Although Tom fell asleep shortly after, sleep didn't come so easily to me, and I wasn't sure I wanted it to.

Chapter 31

#tom hiddleston #hiddles #hiddleston #thomas william hiddleston #twh #tomhiddleston #twhiddleston #hiddlestoners #damn hiddleston #hiddlesarmy #hiddleston daily #dammit hiddleston #tom hiddelson #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddleston x original female character #loki #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x plus size reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #just dizziness

[weber-carrier-boiczyk-chace]

Weber, Carrier, Boiczyk & Chace, LLP

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts to all of the real estate brokers and agents. Their wealth of experience in the industry makes them genuinely concerned about the satisfaction of their clients. By expediting the closing process, we prioritize our clients' demands in real estate transactions.

Tell me about a typical day in your life as a lone proprietor. If we could just figure out how to avoid making the same mistakes twice, we'd be far further ahead real estate attorney connecticut At this time, we are not accepting new clients at Weber, Carrier, Boiczyk & Chace. Please don't hesitate to contact them at your earliest convenience should you require any additional information. Check the lawyer's credentials, client list, and experience before you hire them. Get in touch with them later on. Please don't hesitate to contact them at any time. Is fear gripping you? Persist in conversing with them. You may unwind now that you have the top lawyer in town advocating for you. Three exceptional local attorneys accepted my case, and I will be forever grateful to them. It is an honor to learn from these three brilliant legal brains.   It is a great relief to know that three attorneys with extensive experience are handling my case. Marina says you should tell them immediately. No need to look for a new practice just yet because everything is taken care of. You shouldn't put too much emphasis on finding a healthcare center that can meet all of your requirements. Perhaps you will find peace and quiet here.

The mental and emotional toll of completing a real estate deal can be heavy for many. This will serve as a pick-me-up whenever you're feeling low. It is critical to find a lawyer with the right mix of education and experience when dealing with cases like this. Every step of the way, the customers' interests are prioritized at Weber, Carrier, Boiczyk & Chace, LLP while dealing with real estate transactions. This has the full support of our company's upper management. The year 1968 saw a similar pledge. It is an honor to function as a client's representative in real estate transactions in Connecticut. They are unparalleled as real estate mediators due to their exceptional blend of knowledge and imagination. The process will also deal with issues related to the property.

Seek the advice of an experienced attorney whenever you are unsure. At your earliest convenience, please contact our law office. From vendors to consumers, everyone is involved. At this point, no ethical company can afford to turn a blind eye to this problem. This is so regardless of their intentions.

They are experts at handling real estate deals. Some examples of such parties are buyers, sellers, and lenders.

The doggedness and dedication of the lawyers at Weber, Carrier, Boiczyk & Chace, LLP have earned the firm an impeccable reputation. This department has been crucial in the success of our business. They are genuinely happy and fulfilled as a result of this. Using a real estate mediator is beneficial for everyone concerned. Vendors and buyers alike congregate here. The bulk of these deals involve the purchase and sale of single-family homes. Any and all real estate transactions involving houses should be conducted here. This site accepts a variety of secure payment methods. Our real estate lawyers will fight tooth and nail to protect your interests if you take us up on our offer. The following are just a few of the numerous agreements that could use these services. Settlements, property inspections, and debt payments are just a few of the many topics addressed by this pile of documentation. Property lines, zoning restrictions, contract approval, and land use are all potential sources of contention. You hear the term "commercial transactions" used when a company's assets are on the line.

Is anyone willing to provide some guidance, considering how serious this is?

Before signing any paperwork associated with a home purchase, it is advisable to get legal advice. Contact an attorney immediately. Many different types of assets could be involved in a real estate transaction. This information has absolutely nothing to do with the type of house you're interested in buying. In my opinion, that is correct. This method is capable of fixing any problem. Lenders, consumers, and vendors have all put their trust in our company for a long time. For some time now, this has been the situation. The general consensus seems to be that this pattern will probably not change. In order to stay abreast of the ever-changing real estate regulations, our legal staff conducts field studies on a regular basis. Customer happiness is our number one priority. Customer satisfaction is the yardstick by which we evaluate our work.

Please do not hesitate to contact our group of outstanding attorneys if you need any type of assistance with a real estate issue. Their willingness to lend a hand is unwavering no matter what.

Feel free to reach out to us at any time if you require assistance with a home-related real estate transaction. Please get in touch with us so that we can set up a complimentary consultation if you're interested. Feel free to get in touch with us at any time if you require assistance or have any inquiries regarding these transactions. Feel free to reach out to us at any time; we're here to help around the clock.

#real estate attorney connecticut

[sunflowervolvimp3]

NFWMB (boxer!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, alcohol, violence

Pairing: boxer!Harry x reader

Word Count: 30k (I got carried away)

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

{masterlist}

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

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

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

WANTED:

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

Complete medical degree not required.

For all inquiries, contact Patrick Lawson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ever stitched somebody up before?”

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

“What about set broken bones?  Noses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not!  I’m just saying—”

“She’s trying to help you—”

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“So how’s the new job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every boxer except Harry, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He was, until two weeks ago.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

The line clicks dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With the boxers? Yeah—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t stay—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

Thanks again for the help. -H

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And here it is.  The fall of Harry Styles.

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

That’s where Y/N decides to start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one contradicts her.

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.  There’s that.”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.  You can.”

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she looks at Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who decides if it works like that?”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know—”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

And then she sees Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My dad left when I was a kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, you’re so much—we’ll never be—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N laughs into the kiss, tugging on the hem of his shirt again. “Mhmm. Just take it off, will you?”

Harry’s hands replace her own as he tugs his shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor before attempting to kiss Y/N again.  Y/N, however, has other plans, and begins to run her hands down Harry’s chest.

“I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” She murmurs, tracing her fingers over his tattoos. “So handsome…” She scratches her nail over Harry’s butterfly tattoo, adoring how his eyelids flutter at the feeling.

“That feels so…” Harry closes his eyes completely, letting his head rest on the back of the couch to fully lose himself in Y/N’s touches. “Keep going.”

Y/N leans in and kisses his neck again, spreading the pecks all along his collar bones and shoulders while her fingers continue to trace the contours of Harry’s body.  She works them over his chest, grazing over his nipples just enough to make his body jump beneath her.

“Is that…?” She begins, trailing off as she touches them again.  Harry doesn’t jump as much this time, but there’s an undeniable hitch in his breath.

“Feels good.” He says thickly, his fingers digging into her back in the best way possible. “Yeah.  Really good.”

Y/N nods, tweaking them one last time before she continues her exploration down his abdomen.  She runs one finger lightly around his belly button, and feels the shiver that runs through Harry as she continues down the light trail of hair situated between his two vine tattoos.

“I love these.” She whispers, her fingers taking their time as they touch them. “They’re some of my favourite tattoos of yours.”

Harry’s eyes open, and the tenderness in his green eyes is unmistakable. “You have favourites?”

Y/N flushes as she nods. “I-I do.  I like your cross tattoo.  And your mermaid.  And these…” Y/N raises one hand to touch over his collar bones again. “What does this year mean?”

“It’s my mum’s birth year.” Harry admits as one of his hands begins to play with Y/N’s hair. “I got it last year.”

Y/N knows that her eyes match the tenderness in Harry’s, and she kisses him once more before continuing to move her hand lower.  She traces her finger over the buckle of his belt as her teeth tug on Harry’s lip lightly.

“Can I?” She asks gently, her breath blowing across his lips. “Please?”

Harry strokes her cheek, letting the back of his knuckles drag across her skin. Y/N leans into his touch wholeheartedly, wanting Harry to know that she’s never once been afraid of his hands and what they can do.

“Is it the Doctor’s orders?” Harry asks, his teasing tone disguising the need in his voice.

Y/N lets out a light laugh, and it’s then that she knows that she and Harry are meant to be.  When two people can be so intimate together while still laughing and giggling and teasing each other…Y/N knows that’s something good, despite never having it before.  

“Yes.” She works her hand over his belt, and the only sounds in the room are their laboured breathing and the gentle clinking of the metal buckle.  When it’s finally free, Y/N busies herself with the button and zipper of his jeans.

“Wait.” Harry grasps her wrist carefully, stopping her before she can attempt to pull his jeans down. “I didn’t—I came here to take care of you.” He murmurs as he pushes her hands away.  His own hands move to Y/N’s thighs, grasping them tightly before picking her up with ease. Y/N gasps, her hands flying to his shoulders as Harry carries her to her bed, laying her down gently on the mussed sheets.

“Let me take care of you.” He repeats the sentiment as his hands move to the hem of her hoodie, slowly and carefully removing the article of clothing, along with the tank top underneath.  Y/N knows that his pace is intentional, giving her plenty of time to refuse, but stopping Harry is the last thing she wants to do.

When her top is off, the first thing Harry does is kiss her.  He moves her carefully as he does, so her head is supported by her pillows.  Y/N doesn’t notice his hands moving from her waist until—

“Why don’t we just move this guy until we’re done, hm?” There’s a trace of laughter in Harry’s voice as he holds up the teddy bear. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look him in the eye after if he watches.”

Y/N clears her throat as an embarrassed flush quickly works its way up her neck. “Alright, just—here—” She takes the teddy bear from Harry, dropping it to the side of the bed. “And he has a name, you know.  It’s Paddington.”

“Paddington?” Harry’s laughter is obvious now, and he buries his head in her neck as he attempts to stifle it. “That is so fucking adorable—”

“Can you not laugh at my teddy bear when you’re about to fuck me?” Y/N asks, voice exasperated and strained.

Harry’s laughter dies off as he pulls his face back up, his eyes darker than they were a minute ago. “I’m about to fuck you, am I?”

Y/N clears her throat, and as Harry’s gaze finally sweeps down her body, she gets the overwhelming urge to cross her arms and cover her exposed self. “You are.  At least, you were, until you got distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” Harry traces a single finger down Y/N’s sternum, and Y/N can’t hold back the choked gasp in her throat.

“I’m completely focused.” Harry adds on, and before Y/N can gather herself enough to give a retort, his mouth is on her breast.

With her hands immediately tangling in Harry’s long curls, Y/N lets out another whine in sync with her tugging. “Harry—!”

Although Y/N doesn’t have her eyes on the boxer, she can feel the smirk that’s on his face, and just knows that he’s adoring the way that she’s reacting to him.  While there’s a small part of Y/N that’s irritated at his smugness, there’s a bigger part of her telling her to react more.  Moan more.  Pull his hair more.  Anything to make him happy.

Y/N wants to make him happy.

While his mouth works over one breast, his hand works over the other.  Harry’s ring covered fingers tweak her nipple, tugging and twisting just enough to work more whimpers out of her.  When his teeth graze one nipple at the same time that he tugs on the other, Y/N drags the nails of one hand down Harry’s warm back, and it quickly becomes her turn to delight in the whine that leaves his mouth.

It almost becomes a competition then, with both of them working to see who can make the other moan more.  Harry switches his mouth to Y/N’s other breast while Y/N alternates between tugging on his hair and pushing her hand down the waistband of his jeans, her fingers rubbing over his defined hip bones.  The competition, however, yields no winners, and is quickly forgotten in the pursuit of pulling the other closer, touching them harder, dragging them deeper into the safe space they’ve created on Y/N’s bed.

When Harry lets Y/N’s nipple fall out of his mouth, his lips are bright red, shining with saliva almost as much as his eyes are shining with lust.  Y/N quickly pulls him up to kiss her, and fingers one of his curls as she takes a shaking breath.

“I’ve never felt so good from just…” Her voice wavers for a moment, and a new wave of blush heats her cheeks.  “Just…you know.”

Harry brushes a thumb over her cheekbone, delighting in the heat he feels beneath his fingers. “Yeah?” His accent is thick. “Then you’re going to love what I’m going to do next.”

Y/N knows exactly what Harry means, but a surprised gasp still leaves her as he quickly pulls himself down her body, situating himself easily between her legs.  Within a moment, her pajama shorts are tossed to the side, and Harry is directing her movements.

“Bend your knees for me, love, just—yeah.  Just like that.  And spread them wider.” He coaxes her gently, helping to guide her body into the position he wants.  The pleasure on his face at the sight of Y/N’s uncovered cunt is evident as he inhales deeply, laying his stubbled cheek onto one of her thighs as he just stares at her.

Y/N’s chest heaves as she glances down at the sight.  Harry hasn’t even touched her core, and yet she’s never been more turned on in her entire life.  Something about the look in his eyes as he stares at her bare cunt drives her insane, and Y/N knows that she’ll never experience this with anyone else.  No one else will ever compare to Harry, and she doesn’t want them to.  She just wants him.

Harry’s breath is hot on her wet core when he lets out a sigh, his hands continuously rubbing her thighs, up to her pelvis, and back down again. “Don’t even want to touch you.” He murmurs. “Just want to keep staring…”

“That—that’s sweet, but—” Y/N swallows hard as she shifts on the bed. “I need you to touch me, Harry.  I need it.”

“Yeah?” Harry cocks an eyebrow at her, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Good.  I need it, too.”

And then his mouth is on her, and Y/N loses herself completely.

It’s not even that Harry is so wonderfully talented at cunnilingus that drives Y/N insane—although, honestly, that’s definitely a significant factor.  No, the thing that makes Y/N fall apart is how obvious it is that Harry loves doing it.

From the moment Harry’s tongue flicks over her clit, he’s making as many sounds as she is.  Moans and whimpers fall out of his mouth in abundance while his lips and tongue work Y/N over, and while most of it is incoherent sounds of pleasure, Y/N can decipher the occasional phrase.

“Taste so fucking good—”

“Fuck, Y/N—”

“So bloody sweet—”

“Tug on my hair harder—”

Y/N does as he requests, gripping his curls by the roots as she pulls harder in response to his tongue dipping into her entrance.  It briefly occurs to her that Harry may have a pain kink, which explains a lot about him and his career choice, she thinks, but then Harry’s fingers begin to aid his mouth, and Y/N can’t think at all.

While one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of Y/N slowly, and while his mouth is still firmly suctioned over her clit, Harry’s other hand moves up to her pelvis, pressing down on top of it to keep her in place. “You’re a squirmer, aren’t you?” Harry mutters, and the flat of his tongue licks over her clit just to prove the point.

Y/N’s body jumps again as another guttural moan leaves her lips. “Harry, I—fuck—”

Harry hums against her. “I know.  You’re alright, love.  You can let go.”

And when Harry sucks on her clit again, crooking his fingers inside of her, she does as he says.

Incoherent whimpers and whines fall from Y/N’s mouth as she squirms on the bed, held only in place by Harry’s firm hand on her tummy.  Something in the pressure is comforting, and it’s the only thing that keeps her grounded to her bed as waves of pleasure roll over her.

Harry’s mouth moves from her clit to her thigh, pressing gentle kisses along the tender skin, which is red from his stubble scraping against it. Although his fingers have stilled inside her, he doesn’t pull them out just yet.

“I can feel you squeezing me.” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s soaked cunt to her heaving chest. “’S nice.”

Another flood of warmth passes through Y/N’s core when he says that, and she pants out what’s meant to be a laugh, but instead turns into a whimper. “Fuck, H…”

Harry’s eyes brighten from between her thighs as he presses another kiss to her thigh. “You’ve never called me that before.” He comments quietly. “I like it.”

“We’ve never done a lot of this before.” Y/N squirms again, “This is all new.”

“It’ll take some time to get used to it.” Harry presses on her tummy again, a reminder to keep still as he slowly pulls his fingers out of her.  Y/N bites her lip to hold back the whine that threatens to leave her mouth, and watches with heavy eyelids as Harry sucks his own fingers into his mouth.

Despite the trembling from her orgasm, Y/N manages to sit up on her elbows to look at Harry between her legs.  He seems quite content there, his black eye a stark contrast against the red of his cheeks and lips, one hand holding her as the other runs over his own lips.  Y/N snaps a picture in her mind to remember later on, when Harry has someone else’s blood dripping from his fingertips.  A reminder that this man lives within the fighter, underneath every wall and safeguard that he had to build to be able to protect and provide for his family.

Y/N reaches down and cups Harry’s cheek in her hand.  Although there’s a tenderness growing in the pit of her stomach, the need is still there alongside it. “Lay down for me.” She murmurs, gently grazing her fingers along the edge of his black eye.

Harry doesn’t speak as he moves, and the room falls quiet again, a brief break between the symphony of pleasure that they composed only a moment earlier. He takes his place on the pillows next to Y/N, and she kisses him again before moving down the bed.

Y/N sits on her knees by his side, allowing her fingers to run over his vine tattoos and down his pelvic bones.  She loves the way Harry’s breath flutters, how it hitches when she uses her nails, and delights in how a quiet moan leaves his lips when she wraps her hand around his warm cock.

He’s already so hard from eating her out, with precum dripping from his flushed tip.  Y/N pumps him a few times with her hand, adjusting to his size and weight before leaning her head down and licking over his slit.

“Christ—” The word falls out of Harry’s mouth involuntarily, and his cheeks redden more at the outburst.  Y/N rubs his tummy with her free hand, assuring him that it’s alright without actually saying the words.  

While one of Harry’s hands is running through his own curls, he brings the other down to play with Y/N’s hair, helping to guide her mouth as she takes him more and more.  Her tongue runs up and down his length, tracing the veins that throb beneath his skin, and Y/N loves how Harry tugs on her hair harder when she does it.

Y/N pulls up from his cock to give her jaw a break, continuing to pump him as she looks up with him.  His arm is thrown over his eyes now, and his chest is rising and falling in rapid succession.  Y/N can tell he’s close, so she slows down her movements until her hand is just lazily pumping him.

Sensing the change in momentum (and his orgasm slipping away), Harry removes his arm, looking down at Y/N with lustful eyes. “Why’d you stop?” He asks, his voice cracking in the middle of the question that he knows the answer to.

“Because I want you.” Y/N presses one last kiss to the top of his cock before letting go.  She crawls up the bed again and reaches over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom.  Her fingers pause over the lube, remembering the last time that she had used it with Harry, and she can’t help the smile that flickers over her face as she holds up the bottle. “Remember this?”

Harry laughs breathlessly as he rubs his eyes. “Bloody hell, don’t remind me. I was a fucking mess that night.”

“A bit, but I didn’t mind.” Y/N sets the lube back in the drawer before shutting it. “That was the night that I knew I wanted you.”

“Was it?” Harry raises an eyebrow, the teasing grin back on his face as pushes his sweaty curls out of his face. “Took you that long, hm?”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she rips the condom packaging with her teeth, retrieving the latex disc from inside.  She pumps Harry once more before sliding the condom on, making sure that it’s positioned correctly. “Shut up.”

“Are you really telling me to shut up while you’ve got your hand on my cock?” Harry laugh again, and while Y/N’s heart flutters at the sound, she does her best to keep her face from showing it.

“I am.” Y/N throws her leg over him, straddling his lower stomach as she leans down to kiss him.  The teasing tone between them fades into one of lust and affection and need as Harry’s lips move against hers, and they’re both panting when Y/N pulls away to press her forehead against his.

“Are you comfortable like this?” She asks, worry seeping into her tone. “I know your ribs are still bothering you a bit, so I figured that this would be—”

Harry cuts her off with another kiss, this one wilder and more passionate than the last. “I’m fine, love.  You don’t need to worry about me.” He says, despite the flutter in his stomach at the idea of Y/N worrying about him.

“I always worry, H.” Y/N reaches underneath to grip his cock, rubbing the tip of it over her slit as she balances herself with one hand on his pelvis. Harry’s hands grip her hips to give her more stability. “You’re so—fuck—reckless that it drives me—” Y/N gasps loudly as she begins to sink down on Harry’s cock. “Insane.”

Harry’s first instinct at the feeling of Y/N’s warm walls hugging his cock is to throw his head back, close his eyes, and let the pleasure take over. However, he uses every ounce of willpower he has to do the opposite, and thanks God that he does, because he gets to see Y/N take his cock for the first time.

Y/N’s entire body is flushed, and she knows that the heat practically rolling off of her is because of Harry.  Everything that she’s feeling, from the fullness in her core that extends to her stomach, to the fluttering of her body, to the overwhelming sense of something just being right, is all because of Harry.  

After giving herself a moment to adjust to his size, Y/N begins to move. Harry helps guide her hips up and down slowly, and she decides from the first moment that she’s going to take her time building up her speed.  She wants this to last.

Y/N knows that Harry has the capacity to fuck her.  She knows that, if she asked, he’d flip her over and bend her over the edge of the bed and fuck her as fast as he possibly could until she screamed his name.  But, as much as the thought intrigues her, that’s not what she wants right now.  There will be time for fucking later, she thinks. There will be time for loud moans and teeth clicking together and bruises in the shape of a lover’s hand left on thighs and necks.  Right now, all she wants is to feel every inch of Harry inside of her, and to listen to his quiet yet desperate moans as she gradually increases her pace.  

With one of his hands still guiding her hips, Harry gently grips the back of Y/N’s neck, pulling her chest down to press against his.  Their lips find each other quickly, kissing and nipping as Y/N feels herself beginning to fall apart.

“H.” She breathes against his lips. “I’m so close…” A choked moan stumbles out of her mouth as Harry’s hand shifts from her neck to her clit, rubbing small circles with two nimble fingers.

“I can feel it.” Harry’s breath is hot on her ear as he presses open mouthed kisses to her neck. “Can feel you squeezing me, love…being so good for me…”

Y/N bites her lip hard, almost enough to draw blood as the movement of her hips begins to stutter. “I-I want you to—Harry—” she digs her nails into his shoulder when Harry’s fingers speed up, and within a moment, another orgasm is sending shockwaves through her body.

Harry can tell the moment it happens, and a grunt leaves his throat as he begins to lift his hips to meet her movements. “That’s a good girl, love—breathe through it, that’s it…” Harry buries his face into Y/N’s neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume and sweat that’s more intoxicating than anything else he’s ever smelled. “Fuck, Y/N—” His words cut off in a strangled moan as her walls squeeze his sensitive member.

Although she’s barely come down from her high, Y/N takes it upon herself to guide Harry through his orgasm like he’s done for her.  One of her hands moves from his marked shoulder to his hair, pushing the sweaty curls back from his eyes in a repeated motion as she murmurs in his ear. “Let go, H…feels so good…” She can feel the jerking of his hips as he finishes inside the condom, and for a split second, she wishes that there wasn’t a barrier of latex between the two of them, despite knowing that protection is mandatory.

Y/N waits until Harry’s managed to catch his breath before she carefully climbs down from him, missing the feeling of him inside her the moment she’s empty.  She lays down on her rumpled sheets next to his exhausted body, and hopes that she looks just as pretty in her post-sex haze as Harry.  

Now that she’s begun to touch him, she can’t stop.  Y/N’s hands continue to rub tenderly over his sweat-soaked chest, feeling the thumping beat of his heart beneath her as Harry carefully removes and ties off the used condom.  Although a small grumble leaves her when he gets up to throw it away, she can’t help but smile when he returns with two glasses of water in his hands.

“Here.” Harry hands her a glass before getting back on the bed, situating his naked form back into the position he was in a moment ago. “You need to hydrate. Doctor’s orders.”

Y/N lets out a breathless laugh before taking a sip of the cool liquid. “So you’re the doctor now, huh?”

“God, no.  I’m not nearly as smart as you.  I’m just smart enough to remember what you tell me.” Harry gulps down his own glass, setting it on the bedside table once it’s empty.  His arms then move to encircle Y/N’s body, pulling their chests together so her weight lies on top of him.

Y/N doesn’t miss the small wince that the movement causes, and she sets her own glass down before moving back to her position next to him. “You need to be more careful.” She murmurs, resuming her motion of rubbing over his chest.  She’s not sure why the motion is so soothing, but she doesn’t fight it, loving the feeling of Harry’s warm skin beneath her hand. “Patrick won’t forgive me if I put his best fighter out of commission.”

“No, he probably won’t.” Harry muses, settling for wrapping one arm around Y/N’s body. “He might fire you.”

“And then who will clean up your messes?” She cocks an eyebrow teasingly. “Or clean you up, when you’re a mess?”

“I’d just have to stumble my way to your apartment in the middle of the night again.” A laugh rumbles deep in Harry’s chest. “And then after you bandage me up, we can have a quick shag.  It’ll be a nice routine.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Mhmm.  Nice try.”

Harry’s laughter trails off after a moment as his fingers begin to trace shapes on Y/N’s back. “Seriously, though…” His eyes grow sober. “How do you want to…handle this?”

Y/N bites her lip. “How do you want to handle this?”

A sigh leaves Harry’s lips. “I want…you.  I want you to be mine.  And I don’t want to hide it, but if you feel like that’s best, then…”

“It’s just—I don’t know.  It’s complicated.” Y/N’s eyes focus on the G tattoo on Harry’s shoulder.  She wonders if it’s for Harry’s sister, and then wonders if Harry would ever tattoo her initial on his body. “Yeah.  Complicated.”

“You’re nervous about Patrick knowing.” Harry states simply.

Y/N nods. “He specifically told me not to get involved with any boxers. He said that…no good men come there.”

Harry’s hand moves over his jaw, scratching at his stubble. “Yeah.  He wasn’t wrong.”

His answer bothers Y/N, and she moves to sit up more in bed, making him look her in the eyes. “You’re a good man, Harry.  I know that.”

“I’m not.” Harry shakes his head once, his voice growing rougher. “I have a lot of shit that I’m…trying to work through.  I’m not that good.” When he sees how Y/N’s face shifts at his words, his tone changes. “But I’d never…that has nothing to do with you.  Any of my issues, my pride, my anger, anything like that, it’s all—it’s separate from you.” He cups her cheek gently. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know that, Harry.” Y/N repeats as she places her hand over his, weaving their fingers together. “I trust you.  I just wish you’d trust yourself.”

“I trust myself more when I’m with you.” Harry admits. “I’ve never really felt…regret for what I’ve done.  The ring is an equal playing field, right?  But that night when you said you thought I was too harsh…”

Y/N bites her lip. “Did that bother you?”

“I was worried I scared you off.” His eyes close for a moment as he remembers. “I thought…I don’t know.  I thought you already disliked me just for being a boxer, and now I’m the boxer that breaks bones, and there’s no way you’d ever want to be around me.”

“I probably shouldn’t want it.” Y/N admits. “When you phrase it like that.  But I’ve told you before…you’re different when you’re with me.”

“Only with you.  Only for you.” Harry’s voice grows tender as he holds her close to him. “So if you want to keep it private, I understand.  I just want you to be mine.”

Y/N’s finger brushes over one of Harry’s rings.  It’s a beautifully sculpted silver rose, and there’s something so wonderful to her in how Harry chooses to wear flowers on the hands that have done so much damage.

She twists the ring around his finger before pulling it off.  It’s too big to fit on her ring or middle finger, so after a moment of consideration, she slips it onto her thumb. “Then I’m yours.”

Harry’s eyes darken at the sight of Y/N with his ring on her finger. “Yeah. You’re mine.”

The feeling of Harry’s ring on her finger makes Y/N feel so complete, and she wants to share it with him, so she ignores Harry’s whine of protest as she climbs out of bed to walk to her dresser.  A little ceramic dish with her jewelry in it sits on top, and she sorts through the rings and bracelets before setting on something that he can wear while in the ring.  She cups it in her palms before returning to bed, an excited but shy smile on her face.

“Here.” She places it in Harry’s hand. “You can put this on your chain with your cross.”

The silver caduceus looks small in Harry’s palm, and he brings it closer to his eyes to examine it. “What is it?”

“It’s a caduceus.  It’s the medical symbol, the one I wear on my jacket to the ring.” Y/N explains, her cheeks reddening at her words. “It’s from Greek mythology, but doctors adopted it, and—yeah.  Just something to show that…you’re mine, too.”

A small smile plays on the corner of Harry’s lips. “Will you put it on me?”

Y/N nods, and although her fingers are shaking a bit, she manages to undo the clasp on Harry’s chain, and slips the pendant on before refastening it around his neck.  She settles the caduceus and cross pendants on his chest, just between his two swallow tattoos.

“It looks pretty on you.” She murmurs, her hand brushing down his abdomen. “Really nice.”

“It’ll be my good luck charm in the ring.” Harry brings her hand to his mouth, kissing over the rose ring. “I won’t take it off, as long as you don’t take my ring off.  Deal?”

“Deal.” Y/N lays her head back down on Harry’s chest. “Now get some sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

A playful groan falls out of Harry’s mouth. “Is that going to be a new thing?  Are you going to get me to do everything by saying it’s doctor’s orders?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you took better care of yourself.” Y/N matches his playful tone. “But we both know that you have a tendency to ignore your instincts—”

“My instincts are good!”

“Like your instinct to fight with a sprained hand was good?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitches. “Fine.  Let’s go to sleep.”

Sunlight is beginning to spill through the curtains as Harry closes his eyes, bathing his entire face in a golden glow.  His pale skin glows under the light, save for the purplish bruise that rings one of his eyes.  Y/N presses a gentle kiss to the darkened area before settling herself down in Harry’s arms.

#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

[writing-in-april]

Spooks

Raymond Wadsworth X Female Reader

Summary: Raymond starts sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong at the next haunting he’s investigating.

A/N: Hey heyyy- here’s my second fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April 2021!!! I had this spur of the moment idea in the middle of the night and ended up writing a pretty long fic for it (at least long for me lol) I had a lot of fun writing it and really liked the idea- I hope you all enjoy it too! Drop something in my ask box here if you’d like!! I’m always looking for feedback and my requests are open as well! Thanks for reading!!!

Warnings: 18+, Ghosts & poltergeists, Smut, Sub Raymond, Unprotected sex, Sex in a car, Slight cum play

Main Masterlist Word count: 3.2k

Your job description wasn’t an easy one to describe, you could say Mulder and Scully would be the most accurate equivalent. Though as with all tv shows it was portrayed with a set of rose tinted glasses, giving a filter to any realities you faced on the job.

You and your department preferred to call yourselves spooks, truthfully only because the pun was funny. In reality your 8 person department were called agents just like the rest of the FBI, you guys were just more secretive than the others.

Most of the time you ended up getting handed the short straw when getting new cases as you were still the newest on the team, despite being there for several years already. Unlike most professionals in law enforcement you did not have a partner, it only slowed you down. Every place that you were scheduled to decontaminate was an in and out procedure streamlined for effectiveness, adding another body to be hyper vigilant about was a hassle. You operated alone.

Any type of paranormal phenomena that you could think of was thrown in front of you. In your opinion the cases you had the most fun on were the ones that dealt with aliens, though some ghosts could be fun on occasion. The most recent case I had to deal with was a nasty poltergeist, the worst type of ghost. They always wreaked the most havoc on whatever house or place they occupied.

The family in this house had moved out a while ago, the request to decontaminate the home had been sitting on one of your supervisors for a while. It was an old house, built around the late 1800s. Old enough that it had a bunch of unnecessary rooms, like the parlor room that you found yourself trapped in.

And, you weren’t on your own either. Trapped with you was a man with fluffy brown hair flying in any direction, his eyes a darker shade of brown that were filled with fear- yet also curiosity. He was wearing a blue romper, it looked good on him, from what you had seen while you were frantic. But, you highly doubted that it would be effective clothes for a paranormal investigation, maybe he had just stumbled across this place out of curiosity. Either that or he was the type of an inexperienced investigator who had probably had one encounter with a ghost. It did not change that he was cute though.

“I’m a paranormal investigator- uhh technically a supernatural detective! My name’s Raymond! Who are you?!” He sputtered out, ranting probably to try to push aside his fear. You were standing side by side holding the double doors of the entrance to the parlor room, pushing them down to prevent the poltergeist from ramming it down and attacking us.

“Not important!” You snapped back at him, throwing a glare at him. Even if it wasn’t such a tense situation, you weren’t supposed to give away your identity or your job description to just anyone.

With another gasping breath he asked another question, even though you hadn’t answered his first inquiry, “I came with a girl, her name’s Becca- did you see her?”

This one you would bother to answer as he was quite obviously worried about the well being of his companion, “I may have seen her speed away in a red car after she was thrown out of the house. Was that your car she took?”

Not that you really cared all that much, but if he had been stripped of his transportation by his partner you’d have to take him in your own car. Not that you really wanted to, you still would have to help him even though he was seriously hindering your decontamination. “No, I came in my own car.” He answered which made you breathe a sigh of relief, you wouldn’t have to deal with another issue after you escaped, “I don’t blame her honestly, if I could leave I would.”

You were about to answer when your pressure on the doors wasn’t enough, making you both stumble forward. When you stumbled forward your keys, along with your badge, fell out of your pocket. Your badge flipped open front and center to reveal your name, plus the exact agency you worked for in a bold logo.

“You’re an FBI agent?!” You could not confirm or deny what he had asked, you were firmly focused on scrambling to get your things and avoid the ghost that was now throwing furniture at the two of you.

When Raymond finally took notice of the being that was pelting heavy objects around you, a ghostly shape in the form of a woman with a tortured look on her face, he screamed bloody murder. It was not unlike that of a scooby doo cartoon, him obviously resembling Shaggy almost perfectly. If only he had a dog to jump into his arms before he comically zoomed away while remarking “zoinks!”

His frazzled response to the ghosts giving a rather mediocre jump scare made you wonder whether he had the credentials to back up his job title as a paranormal investigator- or as he called it a supernatural detective. You racked your brain to try and recall anytime you had seen a Raymond or a Becca on the long lists of people that were being monitored for potential involvement, coming up with nothing. Well, maybe they were new, as his reaction seemed to indicate.

Your own reaction was stoic as usual, your nerves no longer jumped and your heart no longer quickened to the visage of a ghost trying to spook you. It was in no doubt for some arcane reason probably linked to revenge towards people that no longer existed. One would normally say don’t assume anything about people, that it might offend them to assume, but dead people in your view also had dead opinions- plus relying on precedent was usually a good option when a ghost might be trying to kill you. Despite the absence of fear from you there would be no call out of “Let’s split up gang!” either. It was you mostly not wanting to explain to your employer how you lost a citizen in the middle of this place and- besides that you couldn’t deny that you didn’t want him to die no matter how much undeniable extra trouble he was causing.

“Let’s go.” Your voice was firm, no discernible room for argument or questions.

Raymond somehow found a way to wriggle in to asking yet another question, “Where are we going?”

You yanked his hand out of the room that you think might’ve been a parlor room back in it’s day. You shouldn’t have bothered to answer as it would breed more questions from him, you already gave away too much about who you are and what you do. Any extra questions you answer from him was just creating a bigger breach in your security. Yet you found yourself justifying an answer, his eyes that were probably pulled into an adorable curious look laced with fear bored into the back of your skull as you dragged him out of the room and to the nearest exit. It was only a harmless question, it didn’t even have a satisfying answer, “Anywhere but here!”

Weaving my way through the house that was better characterized as a maze was hard to navigate through. At every turn some sort of iteration of the poltergeist tried to capture us, to pull us into death with it.

The two of us did eventually find the front door, only to find that we could not pull it open, the handle was stuck.

“Step back!” You shouted at Raymond to get him to move out of the way while you prepared to kick the door down. He skittered over to be right behind you, looking over his shoulder in paranoia. You used your right foot to kick the door, using all the leg strength you could muster. After three kicks, the door burst open, letting you both free.

Scurrying quickly to your government given work vehicle, looking back for a second to make sure that Raymond was following you. You couldn’t let a civilian die here, no matter how much of a nuisance he was, and he was cute of course.

Pulling out the last resort from the trunk of your car, gasoline, you then shoved a container of it to your unexpected companion.

“Cover as much of the house as you can!” He made no argument with your plan, running right behind you back up to the house to cover it all in gasoline. Once you had both covered it as much as possible you made sure Raymond was standing back before you lit your lighter and chucked it into the wood wet with the accelerant.

As soon as you could confirm with your eyes that the house had sparked with fire, you grabbed Raymond’s arm again to drag him to your car, not even caring about the one he had come here in. You basically threw yourself into the driver's seat, starting to drive away immediately after Raymond had sat down, before he had even shut the side door.

Adrenaline was coursing through your veins, causing your heart to pound hard enough that it felt like it could burst out of your chest. It was not unusual in your field of work, to feel death brush right by you.

“My car?!” Raymond screamed, his body turned so he was looking out of your back window.

“Sorry no time to go back! The U.S government will reimburse you for that- maybe…” You said quickly, while trying to step harder down on the gas pedal to speed away.

The house behind you was burning so bright from you could hear the crackling from the house turning to ash. You imagined that the flames and smoke were big enough to be seen for miles, considering how much accelerant you poured on it. So much for being subtle, your boss was definitely going to chew you out for that.

When you had gained a sufficient enough distance away from the flames you pulled off into a parking lot adjacent to a park. Pulling into the parking space fast you then hit the brakes hard, jostling you two a bit.

Taking a deep breath you slumped forward to rest your head on your steering wheel, just for a moment of relaxation.

“You know burning it down won’t necessarily get rid of it.” You only grunted in response to his matter of fact statement. Your lack of response seemed to make him even more anxious, tapping his fingers on any surface that was around him to preoccupy his mind while you took your breather. He tried to fill the silence that was making him uncomfortable, “So what do you actually do?”

You sighed deeply against the steering wheel one last time, then leaning off of it to sit back in the seat. You decided that you might as well give him a small morsel of information that may satiate his curiosity, “That’s highly classified, but you could probably figure it out.”

His insistence to bring up what your job is was making your insides twist with anxiety. You were already dreading what would happen when you got back to the office. It would be a lot of paperwork to explain everything that happened, plus you’d have to submit an application on behalf of Raymond to get his car reimbursed.

The adrenaline that had spiked in your veins born out of fear was still present. It was overwhelming, and you felt the need to use it for something different than wallowing in your fear.

You redirected your gaze to fixate on Raymond, who could surely help you redirect your adrenaline. He was an attractive man, who’s personality did help make him even more desirable. Even though he was a pain in your ass, he was a cute and funny one.

His own eyes were fixated on yours as well, with a different look than what you had seen earlier. His eyes were deepened with lust, not fear, though there was still an ounce of curiosity in them- probably still wondering who exactly I was.

Grabbing the hairs at the back of his neck you then pulled him forward to crush your lips onto his. He reciprocated immediately, though did not try to challenge your dominance over the kiss. He let you slip your tongue into his mouth, exploring him with diligence.

You wanted him closer to you, feeling every inch of him. So you swung your legs over his lap as best you could with the space you had to straddle him. When you did so you barely let his lips come off your own, too greedy to let them separate from yours.

A thought however was nagging you in the back of your head as you continued to melt yourself into the kiss, he had mentioned a companion that he had been worried about earlier. You did not want to step on any toes, nor endorse any type of cheating. You separated your lips from his own, even though you wanted nothing more than to envelop him in another kiss.

“This ok with you?” Your words were said right into his lips, mingling your breath with his, “You’re not with that Becca girl are you?”

“Not anymore- and yes I’m totally ok with this.” He confirmed before surging up to meet his lips with your own again. You wasted no time in starting to grind your hips onto his cock that was swiftly growing underneath his shorts. Just from grinding you could feel how large he was, even through a couple of layers.

He moved his hands to the button of your pants when you moved your lips to start nipping and sucking on his neck and jaw. You tried to kick off the articles of clothing on your lower half, panties included, without removing your lips from him. Unfortunately you had to do so because of the amount of space. You cursed under your breath, wishing that the government had paid to give you a larger vehicle.

You were already slick with arousal, also aided by sticking your fingers into his mouth to get them sufficiently wet. He bobbed his head up and down on them eagerly until you were satisfied. Removing them from his mouth you ran them up and down along your slit, getting you even more wet.

You guided his length to your entrance, not sinking down immediately. You undulated your hips so his length was coated with your arousal as well. When he bucked his hips in impatience you just pushed them down back into the seat. Then you leaned down to whisper into the shell of his ear to be patient- he’d get what he wanted.

“Fuck me.” Was all Raymond could muster up to whimper when you sunk down onto his cock, his head falling back to hit the headrest. You wasted no time in starting a fast pace, bouncing up and down on him with vigor. Raymond grabbed onto your hips when he couldn’t find anything else to hold onto, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

His large cock bumped up against your cervix in the most pleasurable way possible as you swivel your hips over him. Your own head tilted back, your mouth opened wide to let out a loud moan when his cock hit a particularly pleasurable spot inside you. You also felt the need to hold onto something as your release began to build inside you, getting ready to snap. So you grabbed onto the best thing you could find, running your hands through his hair and pulling on his strands.

One of his hands then moved to toy with your clit,his movements were a bit fumbled, but it swiftly made your orgasm start to crest. You were almost disappointed about how quickly this was going to be over, you however couldn’t deny that it felt amazing even with the frantic pace. In the back of your mind you couldn’t help but imagine all the other things you could do to Raymond if you were given the chance.

You fell apart above him, your eyes rolling back into your head. The adrenaline still coursed through your veins, and it felt good to have it redirected to a pleasurable experience instead of fear. You kept yourself impaled on his cock for a bit after your orgasm had finished, relishing at the feeling of him inside you.

Slipping out of him was a little bit awkward because of how cramped the space was. Once his cock slipped out of you, both of you groaning at the loss of him inside of you, you wrapped your hand around his length. You started to pump him slowly in your hands, taking your time compared to earlier. Your adrenaline had abated a bit and now you wanted to see how long you could drag this out, in case you never got the chance to again.

However, It still didn’t take much movement from your hands for him to get close, he was already close to the edge from being inside you. His hips bucked up into your hands a bit before he begged, “C-can you put- your hands- around my throat?”

“Should’ve known you’d be into that.” You snarked back a bit in response to his plea. Your tone had no sympathy for him, making him obviously think that you weren’t going to oblige him by the look in his eyes. That look of pure desperation in his eyes, with his kiss swollen lips, and his curls disheveled made you buckle. He groaned loudly when you put your free hand around his neck. You only applied a small amount of pressure, but that was all Raymond needed for him to cum all over your hand.

Once you had helped him ride out his own orgasm you removed your hand from his neck and his cock. You did need to clean up the hand that was covered in his thick ropes of cum, so you brought it up to your mouth to lick it clean.

“Fuck me…” Echoing his previous words, this time with an even bigger whimper. After you had cleaned yourself and him up enough to be decent you flung yourself back to sit in the driver’s seat again.

Raymond was silent for a minute, which seemed odd if you were going off of what little experience you had with him so far. Though maybe he was still going through his post orgasm relaxation just as you were. He then broke the silence, by asking the same question again, even though you had wanted to answer it just about 30 minutes ago. You’d bet money on the reason that he kept asking, being that each time that you answered you gave him a small hint, “Will you tell me now what you actually do?”

“Maybe- if you get to know me better.” You turned the key to start the engine again then asking with another hint as to what your job was, “Consider this your lucky day, you’ve got a spook as your chauffeur. Now, where next Raymond?”

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

#raymond wadsworth x reader #raymond wadsworth #matthew gray gubler x reader #suburban gothic fanfic #matthew gray gubler #suburban gothic #raymond wadsworth smut #matthew gray gubler smut #mgg #mgg x reader #30 fics in 30 days

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

Some very important things for anyone on the internet

Hey I know I reblog a lot of cybersecurity stuff about being safe on the internet, and this isn’t one of those “don’t give out personal info” things. This is things I’ve learned from a class from a guy who has worked in cybersecurity for many years and has “jokingly” told us how to hack Amazon. so. please read if you want some good info :)

1. USE MULTIFACTOR AUTHENTICATION.

That thing that sends you a text or an email can stop almost any hack in its tracks. If everyone did this, we would have WAY fewer problems with hacks, so uh. Please do it. If you ignore everything else on this list, do this.

2. Google the 100 most common passwords, and if yours is there, change it.

Apparently about 50% of people have a password on that list, and that makes this thing called “credential stuffing” really easy. It’s basically where a hacker plugs in a bunch of passwords and crosses their fingers. A lot of times, it works.

3. USE DIFFERENT PASSWORDS FOR DIFFERENT ACCOUNTS.

This one is big, because if a password gets out from one place (which unfortunately happens often. looking at you reddit), credential stuffing (see above) just got a lot easier. Just try the known usernames and passwords from one location on other websites, and you’re in. Use different passwords, and you don’t have to worry about this.

4. For the people who looked at the last one and snorted because they use exactly two passwords for everything, I’ll amend that.

USE DIFFERENT PASSWORDS FOR IMPORTANT ACCOUNTS.

If it has your credit card info, your address, or anything you would care a lot about if someone else had, it should have its own unique password. This is especially for emails. Which brings me to my next one...

5. If you’re only going to care about security for one thing, care about your email.

It’s super valuable. Password changes go through your email. Purchase confirmations go through your email. How much is there that someone could use or sell? Protect your email.

6. Most passwords follow patterns. For a better password, break the pattern.

The most common number in passwords is 1. The most common letter to capitalize when a capital is required? First letter. It’s easy to remember, but it’s also easy to hack. In general, if your password is longer than 10 characters, you’re doing good. If you’re adding a 1 to the end of it... that’s not super helpful. Pick a date you like, or maybe just a fun favorite number, but don’t just add a 1.

That’s all I have for now, but seriously, these are easy ways to protect your accounts. You’re way more vulnerable than you think, and your info is very valuable. Protect it!

#dawn speaks #cybersecurity #yes im a nerd please reap the benefits of my many hours spent in lectures #i'm a beep boop kid #<< that's going to be my CS tag if i talk more about this #if this was annoying and just cluttered your dash lmk and i won't do it again :)

[winterscaptain]

fear itself.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: part two of the 100 arc! this installment covers the events of faceless, nameless. i am living for the feedback! please keep it coming. i can’t wait to hear what you think as we go through this (very emotionally wrought) section.

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.5k warnings: canon-typical violence, language, hospital setting

summary: four hours of sleep and aaron’s missing. what else could go wrong?

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

4:02am “Just got home, so I’m calling like you asked. Shoot me a text when you get back to the apartment, if you aren’t already asleep. Call me when you’re up and we can work on that Nebraska consult, maybe in the early afternoon? Goodnight. Sleep well.”

8:13am “Hey, it’s me. I know I’m not supposed to be worried about you, but we were called in a half hour ago and you’re still not here...so...give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

8:48am “Hey, it’s me, checking in again. You’re probably still asleep, but I’ve never known you to sleep more than seven hours...so if I don’t hear from you by eleven I’ll drag you out of bed myself.”

9:51am “We’re headed to the crime scene. Garcia’s sent you the address. I know JJ’s been calling you too, so just...I dunno? Call us back? Bye.”

10:20am “If you’re getting these and ignoring me, I hope you know you’re taking years off my life right now.”

11:08am “Um...Call me back. I’m starting to worry. Well...not starting. I’ve been worried. But I’m getting...really worried.” 

11:37am “Aaron please call me and let me know you’re alright. You’re scaring me.”

+++

Needless to say, it’s been a weird day. Why you expected anything else after that wretched Canada case and four hours of sleep, you have no idea. 

You had a horrible dream last night, on top of everything else. The image of Aaron broken and bleeding beside you hadn’t left your mind since it first appeared in Foyet’s kitchen. You tried to shake it off every time, but it was persistent. 

We’ll worry about that later. 

You check the time again, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your gut. 

Where is he? 

Your phone rings and your heart leaps. Guilt (and a little bit of embarrassment) pricks at you when you’re disappointed to see Emily’s name on your phone. You answer. 

“You have to get down here.” Her voice isn’t frantic, per se, but the urgency is undeniable. 

“What’s going on?” 

She takes a breath. “I just got off the phone with Garcia - I have crime scene techs and SWAT on the way to Hotch’s apartment, and I need you here.” 

All the blood in your body seems to rush into your head, and you lean heavily on the nearest object - the dining room table. “What?”

“I - I don’t know. All his stuff is here and there's -” She stutters for a second. “There’s blood on the carpet, broken glass, and a bullet hole in the wall by the kitchen. No Hotch.” 

An eerie kind of calm washes over you, and you straighten, making eye contact with Derek. “Okay. Let me just -”

Derek gets a call, but keeps his eyes on you. “What’s goin’ on, Baby Girl?...What do you mean ‘Emily just called SWAT to Hotch’s apartment’ what -“

You break his gaze as he nods at you and turns to the rest of the team. “Emily, I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.” 

+++

You make it to the hospital with Emily. You flash your credentials and it gets you exactly where you want to go. 

When you see him, your breath catches. He looks awful - drawn and small and wrapped in what seems like miles of gauze. Emily grabs your arm, but you’re not sure if it's for her benefit or yours. 

This is, after all, your worst nightmare come to life. A little chill crawls up your spine. This whole thing has you feeling six different kinds of scared. 

The nurse lets you into his room, telling you he’ll be out for another hour, at least. “He needs the rest.”

Emily leaves you to retrieve coffee. You take the opportunity to sit beside him and slide your hand under his, careful not to disturb the IV. Your hand shakes - whether from anxiety, fear, fury, or all of the above, you’re not sure. 

“If you die, Aaron Hotchner, I’ll kill you.”

You hear a little laugh from the doorway and you pull your hand from him. Emily shakes her head, two cups of coffee in her hands. “You’re fine. I'm not going to tattle.”

You squint. “Tattle?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so clueless it’s almost cute, but he’s worse.” She throws her head toward Hotch with a fond smile, handing you your cup of coffee.

+++

The rest of the team arrives in a flurry a little while later, and the nurse has to warn them off as Aaron starts to wake. 

They quiet down, surrounding his bedside. You haven’t moved, making it your mission to keep your eyes on him at all times. 

His eyes flutter before closing again. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” you say, keeping your voice quiet and steady despite the tightness in your chest. 

“How did I get here?”

Derek gets that one. “Foyet drove you.” 

Aaron takes a breath. It’s shaky, and you imagine he’s in a lot of pain. Emily leans forward, looking for his eyes. “Can you remember what happened?”

He tells you, slowly, about how Foyet broke into the apartment, waited until he was home with his guard down, fired a shot, and then...He trails off. A heavy breath leaves him. “What did he take?”

You have an answer. “There was a page missing from your day planner, the Bs from the address section.” 

He closes his eyes and his breath grows faster, his heart rate increasing. After a moment, he collects himself and asks Emily, “What did he leave?”

“I don’t know.” 

“He also leaves something with his victims.”

Emily shakes her head. “I looked through your entire apartment. Nothing felt out of place.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Right here.” You reach over, grabbing the bag and removing his bloody shirt with only the barest moment of hesitation. He reaches for the envelope of his personal effects and you press it into his hand, saving him the effort. 

Tears prick at your eyes as you watch his hands shake, opening his wallet. He’s eerily quiet, and you catch a glimpse of a photo, tucked into the fold. 

Haley and Jack. There’s blood on it. You recognize it from the desk in his home office space. 

No. 

Aaron’s come to the same conclusion, falling back on the pillows with a look you can only describe as defeated. It scares you. You swallow, pushing your tears back. 

That’s the last thing he needs right now. 

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” Your hand, like JJ’s, has fallen over your mouth. 

Oh. 

Of course. 

Of course, he keeps her under Brooks. All he wants to do is keep her safe. 

You hope, one day, that someone will love you that much, will want to protect you with the same ferocity, will think of you before anything else. 

You could only be so lucky. 

He swallows and continues. “He knows where they live.”

Derek makes assignments. You’re to stay right where you are, while the rest focus on locating Haley and Jack. 

When it’s just the two of you, he closes his eyes again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if -”

“They’ll find her. They’ll find Jack. They’ll be safe.”

You have to believe it, too. They’re too important to you, to central to your life, now 

He shakes his head, his eyes cracking open. “Why didn’t I just take the deal?” Clearing his throat, he continues, his voice a little stronger, but still rough. “He told me I should have. I never thought -” He cuts himself off.

You hand him a cup of water, and he takes it gratefully. Idly, you note he hasn’t looked you in the eye yet. 

“Do you want an answer to your question?”

He doesn’t answer you, looking across the room. 

You lean into his eye line. “You didn’t take the deal because you have the most integrity of anyone I’ve ever known. Anything he does is on him. It’s not on you.” 

“But,” his voice breaks and the smallest of tears falls out of his eye. It tracks down his temple until you gently wipe it away with your thumb. “But I could have stopped all of this.” 

“No,” you whisper. Your hand lingers on the side of his face. “No. He’ll be this way wherever he goes. The only way you change that is by catching him, Hotch.” 

He finally looks at you, his brown eyes exhausted, hurting, and bloodshot. You card your fingers through the hair at his temple, putting the oxygen cannula back over his ear. Soon, he closes his eyes again, his vitals evening out as he falls asleep. 

“We’ll get him, Aaron.”

A few tense minutes later, your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you see the caller ID, a shot of adrenaline zings around your body. “Haley?”

Your name is a sigh of relief in her mouth. “SWAT scared the hell out of me and I just - I don’t know.”

“Oh, Haley I’m so sorry. I should have gone over there with the team but -“ Derek knew my stress wouldn’t be useful. 

“No, no. It’s fine. They’re getting Jack from a friend’s house, but they told me what’s going on. I’ll see you when I get to the hospital. I just -“ She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I just freaked out.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

Your heart pulls. “I love you, too.” 

She hangs up, and you stuff your phone back in your pocket. 

Aaron wakes again when you pull a case file from your bag, but you’re not sure it’s your doing.

Shit. 

He looks around a little frantically for a moment, still disoriented. You rise and cross the room, finding one of his hands. 

“Hotch, it’s okay. You’re still in the hospital.” 

“Haley?”

You nod. “They got her. She’s safe and she’s on her way with Jack.” 

He finally relaxes, sinking back down into the pillows. “Thank you.”

You nod and resume your place on the other side of the room, patting the back of his hand as you let him go. He’s quiet, if not a little fidgety. You look at him for a minute. He takes a talking breath. 

“After the first one, it kind of goes blank.” His breath is still a little unsteady, and you take your chair next to his bed again. “There were nine, apparently.” 

Your breath catches. It’s not new information, but it’s still raw, sharp-edged. 

Awful.

He swallows. “He taunted me.” His eyes beg you to understand, to keep him from flying off the rails. 

“He’s a bastard, Aaron.”

He levels you with a withering stare. No shit. 

“I know you know that, but it’s worth repeating.”

“I don’t want -“

You interrupt him, knowing exactly where he’s going. “You’re not going to become a victim. You aren’t a victim.”

“I don’t want Haley to -“ 

You press a hand to his arm, mindful of his bandages. “One day at a time. They’re safe today.”

His lip quivers and his voice leaves him in a whisper. “That’s not good enough.”

+++

Eventually, Haley arrives looking a little worse for wear. 

Her haircut’s really cute. 

The thought almost makes you laugh. 

Of all the things to notice...

You startle a little as you remember where you are and rise, ready to give them space. She waves you off, giving you permission to stay. 

“How do you feel?” She asks. 

Aaron sits up a little more, not without effort, and says, “I’m gonna be okay.” 

That’s not what she asked, stupid. 

He continues. “Did they explain to you what’s happening?”

She nods. “They said the marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody.” Her eyes meet yours, and you dip your chin. She’s right. 

Aaron apologizes to Haley for the first of what you imagine will be many times. 

Her lower lip disappears between her teeth. “Do you know where they’re gonna take us?”

“No,” you answer. “We don’t. And that’s the point.” 

“I can’t know where you’re going,” Aaron adds. “If you have any contact with anyone, he can track you.”

That shocks her a little, and you can see she’s getting upset. “Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now. I have -” She cuts herself off. 

“I know.” He levels a steady, solemn gaze upon her. “And I’m sorry. We will catch him and you’ll come back.”

She looks at you again. “Are you sure we’re in danger?” 

You nod, almost imperceptibly, and Hotch answers. “Yes.” 

“And what about you? Are you gonna be safe?”

There it is. 

She does love him. 

You knew that, of course. Seeing them together during visits at home or out to dinner or otherwise in the presence of that other, that was never in question.

Your heart tugs. 

Twenty-five years... 

“He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can’t see him is better than killing me.”

Haley wets her lips and swallows. 

That’s her tell. 

You figure she’ll burst into tears pretty soon. It was only a matter of time, and you don’t blame her in the least. You’ve had tears threatening you all afternoon, and this wasn’t even happening to you. 

“Jack wants to see you.”

Aaron’s jaw gets a little tight. “I want to see him, too. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

You hear what he can’t say, too. I don’t want to scare him. I don’t want him to see me like this. 

“Look,” she says, exasperated. “I know you’re trying to protect him, but you both need this. Please.”

He nods, resigned. “Okay.”

Haley looks over and offers you a shaky smile, trying to break the tension. “He also asked me if you’d be here. He’ll be thrilled.” 

That almost does you in. “So will I,” you tell her, meaning every syllable. 

With another brisk nod and wipe of her face, she leaves the room to retrieve Jack. Aaron sits up a little straighter and you help him. He tries to suppress his wince, but fails. 

“Do you need another round?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just let me know.” You settle back into the corner, the case file in your lap. 

Haley and Jack return, and she brings him to Aaron’s side, lifting him up onto the bed. 

Aaron meets his eyes and tells him that he’s okay, giving him a little preparing for what’s about to happen. “But, what do I tell you whenever I go away?”

“That you love me.” 

You hide your face, looking out the window as tears finally fall from your eyes. Haley’s eyes are on you and you know it. You wipe at your face and take a quiet breath before turning back, pretending to pay attention to the case in your lap. 

In your periphery, you can see Aaron looking over Jack’s face as if to memorize it, as if he doesn’t already know every plane, every curve, every angle of his son’s face. “More than anything in the world.” 

They exchange a few more words before he brings him close and kisses his forehead. You glance up, and they look so alike in their profiles it almost makes you smile. Haley’s crying, too, and she meets your eyes. 

Something passes between you, but you don’t have a name for it. 

You don’t need one. 

Haley takes a breath and tucks her hair behind her ears. She redirects Jack’s attention to you, and his eyes light up. She helps him scramble off the bed and he books it around the bed to you. 

You close the case file and open your arms to him. “Hi, bud.” It’s hard not to scare him with the feverish way you hold him close, your fingers wound in his hair. 

There’s a failed attempt to avoid thinking about the uncertainty of the future, when you’ll see him again. 

If ever.

Stop. 

The pair of you lean back for a minute, and you brush his hair away from his forehead. 

“Are you going away, too?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “I’m gonna stay here with your dad.” 

“Are you going to keep my dad safe? I’m going to keep Mom safe.”

It’s Aaron who looks away this time. 

“Of course, my love.” You offer him something you hope looks like a smile. “We always keep each other safe. We’re a team, like you and your momma. I’m so proud of you.” You check in with Haley, who’s looking away, the back of her hand swiping at her cheek. When she turns back to you, you tilt your head a little. 

Want a minute? 

She nods. 

You stand, Jack still tucked against your chest. “I think,” you say, as he sits back in your arms, “Miss Emily and Miss JJ are back and might have something fun for you over there.” You tip your head toward the waiting room. “Wanna go see?”

He nods, leaning back into you and playing with your collar. You pat Aaron’s knee and squeeze Haley’s shoulder with your free hand as you pass. 

Aaron watches you go, your low murmuring comforts to Jack lost in the ambient hospital noise. When you find JJ and look back, giving him a small (if not a little watery) smile, he looks over at Haley, guilt closing up his throat. 

“I’m so sorry, Haley. I promise, when this is all over, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” 

She gives him a half-smile and sits on the edge of his bed. She reaches for him, and he takes both of her hands in his. There’s silence for a moment as they sit together. She studies him. 

While it doesn’t bother him (she has been looking at him for nearly twenty-five years, after all), he does feel more exposed under her gaze than he’s used to. 

“You should do something about that, one of these days,” she says, looking over her shoulder. You’re still visible in the window, talking to JJ while Jack is still glued to you. His little arms are tight around your neck, his head tucked under your chin.

Aaron’s brow furrows, but the EKG picks up the increase in his heart rate, much to his embarrassment. “What are you talking about?”

Haley laughs, a light, watery, delicate thing, and turns back to him. It almost brings a smile to his face. “Do you think I don’t know what you look like when you’re head over heels, Aaron Hotchner? After eighteen years of marriage and twenty-five years knowing you? Give me a break.”

His jaw grows tight, but he holds her gaze. 

“You used to look at me like that, you know.” A little smile plays at her lips and she looks down, almost shy. “Still do, sometimes.” 

“I love you, Haley.” 

She squeezes his hand. “I know you do.” A sigh leaves her and she looks over her shoulder again, just catching a glimpse of you and JJ out in the hall with Jack as you go scavenging for something sweet. There’s a little smile at the corner of her mouth when she turns back to him. “You are so loved, Aaron.” 

“I don't…” He huffs, frustrated. “I don’t feel -”

“I’m not saying you have to do anything, but it might do you some good to just…” She sighs, throwing a hand up in a kind of searching gesture. “I don’t know, be honest with yourself. Think for a minute.” 

His teeth worry the inside of his lower lip as he thinks about it. He does care about you. But love? 

He thinks of the way his chest feels too small whenever you laugh, the way he always goes above and beyond to make sure you’re safe in the field, how he looks for you when you’re out of the room, how he looks for you when you’re in the room. 

The way you are with Jack brings him to his knees every time. The sound of his son’s laughter under your tickling fingers never fails to bring a smile to his face. 

You’ve helped him heal what seemed like an insurmountable chasm between him and Haley, and though it’s not perfect, it’s better than it would ever be without you. 

You always take a second to straighten his tie and ensure his suit jacket lays flat across his shoulders before leaving the plane, just like he always takes time to count the rounds in your magazines or tuck your tag back into your shirt collar. 

He always feels so warm under your fond and attentive touch. With a little bit of alarm, he hopes you feel the same under his. Safe. Cared-for. 

Loved. 

Oh. 

Oh no.

He knows the realization is clear on his face when Haley laughs again, surprising them both. She swipes at her eyes again, clearing any remaining tears. “You know, I can’t say I’m surprised you didn’t know, but it’s still funny, even with all this.” She shakes her head. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

His face breaks out into a little smile as he looks back at her. “Oh, quit.” 

“I’ll never quit giving you hell, as long as we live.” Haley reaches out, pushing gently against his shoulder. He takes the shove like a champ, even through the ache in his chest and abdomen, thankful she’s not treating him like he’s made of glass. 

“Don’t I know it.” 

They look at each other for a minute before Aaron sobers, the mirth evaporating between them. He already misses her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m hoping it’ll be...temporary.” 

“I do have a life, Aaron. And Jack…” She sighs and her eyes fill with tears again. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was another way to keep you safe, but -” He cuts himself off, knowing there’s nothing he can say. 

She swallows again. She already misses him. “How am I supposed to keep him safe when there’s nobody I know to help me?”

He sighs, but speaks with conviction. “Haley, you’re strong. You lived with me in this job and you’ve practically raised Jack all by yourself. You’re a great mother.” 

Haley’s actively crying now, trying to stem the tears with her fingers. It’s not working. After a moment, she collects herself. “Can you catch this man?”

“I will catch this man.”

+++

When she leaves Aaron’s room, you bring Jack to her. You take a moment to lightly fuss over them both. 

Her blue eyes find yours. “Take care of him, please?”

You nod. “I will.” 

“He needs you.” 

She says it with a simple kind of conviction that makes your chest pull. You put a hand on her shoulder, trying to communicate everything you can’t say into your touch. “He needs you more.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” Her lips twist in an odd sort of smile and she wraps you in a hug and kisses your cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” 

You hold her tight, Jack trapped (and whining a little) between you. “See you soon, Hales.” You pull back, looking deeply into her eyes. “We’ll get him.” 

The U.S. Marshals arrive, and you have to let go of each other. You press a kiss to Jack’s forehead and tell him you love him one more time, and wait until they’re in the car and out of sight before you break down. 

You don’t know where he came from, but Derek wraps around you, catching you before your knees hit the ground. You don't know what you’re crying about, really. 

It could be the overwhelming task of catching Foyet.

It could be Hotch in the room down the hall with nine stab wounds to his chest and abdomen. 

It could be the indefinite absence of your dear friend and her son - a boy you love more than anyone except maybe -

Nope. Don’t go there. Not now. 

Sobs wrack your chest, and your head hurts and your throat is sore by the time your body lets you breathe. 

Derek’s there the whole time, rubbing your back and keeping your face hidden in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo. It’ll be okay. He’s okay. We’re gonna catch this son of a bitch.” 

“It’s just so much, Derek.” 

He sighs. “I know. I know.”

+++

“Did you hear what happened this morning?”

You’re woken by Dave’s voice, coming from the doorway. Cramped and crunched into the corner of an uncomfortable chair, you stretch and what feels like every joint in your body cracks. 

“No.”

When did Aaron wake up? 

You look over at him and he glances at you before returning to Dave, who’s leaning on the door frame. 

“We had a situation. Unsub had already killed two people. Said he was gonna keep killing unless a man used his son as bait.”

“What happened?”

Good question. 

Belatedly, you realize you’ve neglected your case duties all day in favor of holding vigil over Aaron’s bedside. The weirdest part about it? The rest of the team let you. 

Why? 

“We kept the boy safe. Worked the profile. It was a happy ending.” 

That’s good, at least. One fucking happy ending today. 

It’s like Dave’s reading your mind as he asks Aaron, “Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“Yes.” Aaron’s gaze is impassive, but there are universes behind his eyes. 

“No other group in the world could have pulled off what yours did in a matter of hours.” Dave checks in with you, and the corner of your mouth lifts. 

Sorry. 

He shakes his head just a little. No sweat, kid. You did your job.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Dave, but -”

Dave cuts him off. “We’ll get Foyet.”

“I promised Haley I would get him. But the truth is, if he stops killing we have no way of tracking him. He stopped killing for ten years just for the pleasure of watching Shaunessy’s life fall apart.” 

He’s crying again, and your heart breaks. You’re surprised Dave can’t hear it crack all the way across the room. 

“What’s Jack going to remember about me in ten years?”

No. 

“Hotch, look at me.” You rise from your chair and sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his position. He turns his head just so, his brown eyes locking onto yours. “We’ll get him. We will get him.”

We have to. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless​ @jdougl-love​ @sageellsworth05​ @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

[op-sheepy]

ok so I'm particularly interested in

Bellamy Law

Law and Bible stuff

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

shichibukai applications

reverse hanahaki disease (?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

if you feel like elaborating on any of these!

This is gonna get long and I actually contemplated posting them separately but would that have been more work? Yeah, that felt like more work so for anyone interested, check under the cut. :D

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

Bellamy Law

Hm… This would be an attempt to explore the parallels and contrasts between Bellamy and Law. I've always found it fascinating that the former was a foil to the latter.

They both come from well-off  towns in the North Blue.

Bellamy left because of boredom. Law had no choice because Flevance.

Both ended up seeking Doflamingo  because of  his notoriety as a pirate. Both admired him initially

Doffy favored one over the other though. Bellamy always sought his approval but was never really part of the inner circle Doflamingo cared about.

Law got the dubious privilege of being part of the family despite being absent for so long. Even offered one of the highest seats by Doffy's side for seemingly nothing.

Law had no trouble turning his back on Doffy once he realized the man's nature. Bellamy tried to stick to his principles until the end despite admitting that he new he was wrong.

Bellamy can (and did) quit piracy after his ordeal with Doflamingo. Having the option to live peacefully, perhaps a return to his previous life (the one he considered boring). Law can't do that quite as easily what with his Devil fruit and his reputation.

I thought it would be interesting trying to explore what Bellamy was thinking. Did he hear the Donquixote Pirates talk about their missing 'family'? Did he get to see Doffy be amused at Law's rise as a Supernova while he kept being reminded of his own status? Did Law save Bellamy partially because he also saw what he could have been had Corazon not saved him?

On principle, Bellamy should have hated Trafalgar Law. Does. Bastard even saved him without him wanting it. But there was something about the shadows haunting those eyes and Bellamy started to wonder.

He had heard the family talk about Law before. The child personally taught by Doflamingo, chosen to be his right hand. Never was he compared to the man because Law was just obviously better. Smarter. Stronger. Bellamy was ever just an uncouth thug.

He was allowed to 'borrow' Doflamingo's symbol while Law had an empty seat waiting for his return–a seat Bellamy had wanted enough to risk everything for.

Maybe he had resented, Trafalgar Law for carelessly rejecting the things he had that Bellamy had always desired. In the end too, Trafalgar Law did prove to be better. He'd done as a child what Bellamy had trouble doing even as he was now.

But having been given the chance to observe the other man as they all recovered, he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether despite Law being better than Bellamy, Bellamy had had it better–barring the poor life choices.

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

Law and Bible stuff

This is just me wanting to know how many biblical parallels and themes I can draw from Law, the Donquixote brothers, the characters associated with them, and his backstory. Honestly not sure whether this would become a fic and in what style or I'm gonna give up and just make it a post.

Not gonna elaborate on them much but here are the ideas in more bullet points (yay):

Law gets familiar with all four horsemen of the apocalypse: conquest, war, famine, and death. He even survives them.

Law is like the son in the parable of the prodigal son to the Donquixote pirates. Except the themes are inverted.

Doflamingo and Rocinante -> Cain and Abel

Ope Ope no Mi -> Granting eternal life by sacrificing one's own life

Gods descending or living among humans. Also, Homing and his family being prosecuted for other people's sins.

That scene where they were hanged by their arms outstretched looks like a crucifixion. Also, Rocinante was on the right while Doflamingo was on the left. Similar to how the penitent thief was on the right and the unrepentant one to the left.

Flevance being considered a paradise with walls/fences/gates and somewhere Law cannot return to.

In the panel where the Donquixote pirates are seated at the table, there were thirteen of them with Doffy at the center. Same as The Last Supper

There are a lot more of these (David and Goliath, Solomon, Jonah, Job, etc.) but I kinda lost the notes and some are more visual so I can't really explain it too well. This would is a drabble series to emphasize or highlight the parallels so no proper snippet for this one.

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

Originally an idea to get around most of the Heart Pirates being nameless but evolved to include other characters as kids. Chopper is a kindergarten teacher and he convinces Law to take over his class for a week because somehow Law has the qualifications to and free time. Naturally, he wasn't able to say no.

Unfortunately, despite not being terrible at handling children, Chopper's class is filled with menaces. Also, despite not being terrible, Law can still be awkward so...

"Mr. Trofao–fargar—"

"Trafalgar."

The kid—which one was this one again? Shit, he should really get them name plates or something—scrunched up his face and tried harder, "Tar-pal—"

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Mr. Low"—eh, close enough—"can I go to the bathroom?" Wide imploring eyes stared up at him.

"Sure, go ahead." Law gestured towards the exit of the classroom with his head.

The kid just stared expectantly at him and he tried to suppress the need to narrow his eyes.

"Is there… anything else?"

"Mr. Chopper always comes with me to hold my hand."

Really?

"Mr. Chopper isn't here. You should practice doing it on your own now." He said after a deep inhale.

"But the monsters might get me…"

"No, they won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Before the kid could open his mouth again to argue, he added, "Besides, children taste terrible so you're safe."

The kid looked stricken and took a step back from him. Uh oh. Glistening eyes, wobbling lower lip… "Alright! I'll go with you." The kid did not look reassured. In fact he looked like going alone with Law was the last thing he wanted to do. Guess, he kinda implied that he ate children didn't he? Oops.

Well, the kid needs to go and he's not going to be cleaning up after him if he wets himself.

Law glanced at the rest of the children. It was Arts and Craft time and they seemed preoccupied enough. Still, Law doubted Chopper ever left these kids alone–already he could see some of them glancing up at him, waiting for him to leave no doubt to cause trouble. That Monkey kid in particular looked extremely suspicious.

He stood up from his crouch and clapped twice to get everyone's attention.

"Alright. Fall in line. Single file."

There was some grumbling and questioning directed at him. "What's going on?"

Law shrugged. "You're all going to the bathroom."

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

Shichibukai Application Forms

Crackfic where the World Government and relevant parties review various Shichbukai Applications. Most submitted by the pirates applying themselves, some produced by their own staff. They discuss and debate. As well as judge pirate resumes.

She scanned the document. Terrible format, really. If you fail to impress within the first page, you've failed entirely. There just wasn't anyone promising enough in this batch of applications or any of the other ones before. The last one had been that clown. "Apprentice to the Pirate King," was a pretty hefty credential.

"Oh, how about this one? Three years experience pillaging, and they even listed all the towns they looted." One of the newly transferred administrative staff said.

"None of these are worth considering at all. You know, when Mihawk was asked to submit his application, he hadn't bothered with all of this. He just sent us a card with his name on it and the title "World's Strongest Swordsman," underneath."

The staff perked up. "Oh, there was an application like that." There was scramble and some shuffling before a plain white card was produced. "Here."

"'From Trafalgar Law'. What does this even mean?"

"Well, it did come with a big box..."

---------------------------------o

---------------------------------o

Reverse Hanahaki Disease

(?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

Haha. At first it was going to be that way (because it is hilarious) but the inflicted would probably choke to death too soon. Or if both enemies had it, they'd end up just coughing flowers at each other until they stopped being enemies.

The version I ended up going with was that this variant of Hanahaki, instead of afflicting those with unrequited love, affected those in denial instead. The reverse part comes from the original idea that this would usually happen if you somehow fell in love with your nemesis (someone you originally hated). So it's not the thought that the other person can't love you, it's that you can't accept that you love that other person. You get cured by confessing to the person sincerely.

This is actually another KidLaw (surprise!). And the flower coughed up directly represents the person they're in love with (I went with Oda's flower representation for them because I found it funny for plot)

So the idea is that, you get sick but you don't automatically know (maybe) who it is because that's part of being in denial. Kid and Law have many enemies after all. In this story they both get it though not exactly at the same time and not known to the other.

He survived Amber Lead Syndrome only to be killed off by a stupid flower disease that apparently knows more about his own feelings than he does.

He glared at the petals. Tulips. Red.

An image of a cocky grin and a shock of red hair flashed through his mind and—nope. That's not right.

He coughed harder, tears stinging his eyes with the effort. More flowers. Now he has enough for a bouquet.

Alright, he was a doctor. He could do this. Differential time.

First, which variant does he have. He doesn't particularly feel unloved or hopeless. There wasn't anyone he wanted in particular to love him. Ok, nothing. It was maybe safe to say he had that other variant.

Which was stupid because Law had many enemies and he hated all of them.

And cue the racking coughs. More red. He was very familiar with that particular shade.

New theory. This was a new variant that somehow makes you sick when you think of the person you hated the most.

Yes, that had to be it. He thought as he all but collapsed on the floor from the sudden paroxysm.

I knew this was gonna get long. :) Oh well...

Thank you for playing. :D

#One Piece #One piece fanfiction #wip game #trafalgar law #donquixote brothers #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote roci #donquixote homing #donquixote pirates #one piece bellamy #bellamy the hyena #eustass kid #kidlaw #trafalgar d water law

[thebibliomancer]

Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance #10

The Journey into the Mondo Levidian Part 2

The true untold tale of All-Maudra Mayrin’s inaugural adventure!

Well, untold in the show. Comic is telling plenty.

In part one, Mayrin becomes All-Maudra and has plenty of unresolved mother issues and insecurity about it. Her first crisis is the growing Sifan separatist movement which threatens to shatter Gelfling solidarity and make her more of a Most-Maudra. She charters a ride with Captain Kam’Lu to go speak to the separatist leader Fenth but the ship goes and sinks.

So far we’ve had a journey so far but not into or Mondo Levidian. We probably should get around to that soon. There’s only three issues left.

So let’s get started!

When the ship sank, Mayrin jumped overboard to save Kam’Lu. Now they’re stranded in the middle of the ocean on a raft.

Mayrin is insistent that they try to find and save the crew of the Scalene Anchor and also Dot. Kam’Lu is equally insistent that No That’s A Terrible Idea. They have no food, no water, and no hope of survival unless they’re lucky enough to find land. They’re in no position to rescue anyone else. Plus...

There are political considerations.

Kam’Lu: “If the other clans believe the Sifans killed the All-Maudra, we’ll never be trusted again.”

He also mentions that Fenth predicted that THIS EXACT SITUATION might happen if the All-Maudra intervened in the Sifan separatist movement.

Huh.

Speaking of Fenth, the plot cuts over to him for a bit.

He learns of the sinking the Scalene Anchor and the presumed death of the New-All-Maudra and thinks hey, its free real estate.

High Councilor Fenth: “That means... There’s no one in line for the All-Maudra’s throne! The seat is vacant!”

skekSa: “How... fortunate! Haha! Ha! Haha! You wanted autonomy for the Sifans! Freedom from the greedy hands of the Vapra clan, yes? That is why honored me with this grand tithing -- to enlist my immortal aid? I am the only one who is sympathetic to your cause. That is why the Skeksis are here. To help Gelfling lead...!”

Call it a shot in the dark but I feel like skekSa was involved in the suspicious sea monster sinking of the Scalene Anchor.

Of course, she’ll probably get away with it. It’d spoil the surprise too early if a Skeksis was caught doing an evil scheme.

Also, look at the ambition on Fenth. Grows up in a matriarchy where clan leaders are always women, where the word for clan leader means ‘clan mother’ and thinks to himself ‘psssh i can do that.’ Good on him. Dream big, guy.

Back over with our mismatched comedy duo, as all Dark Crystal stories must have, Mayrin and Kam’Lu have some mismatched comedy duo banter.

Like her criticizing him for not being able to find land despite being a captain of a ship. And then immediately spotting land while he’s indignantly defending his credentials.

Or her maligning his swimming abilities since he fell off a boat and got knocked unconscious and had to be saved from drowning by her.

So he decides to turn this into a swimming contest, winner gets to be All-Maudra.

Good fun.

Just how I like my Gelfling buddy comedies.

Of course, its all fun and games until the island turns out to be a sea monster that eats them.

And it turns out that the island is a sea monster that eats them.

A mondo levidian, if I had to guess.

Giant turtles passing as landscape. Giant monsters being mistaken for islands. This comic series is too good to me.

So the two slide down the mondo levidian’s throat (gross) MANAGING TO BICKER ON THE WAY DOWN!

Kam’Lu: “Don’t you have wings?!”

Mayrin: “They don’t work well when they’re wet!”

Amazing.

They slide and slorp and flump all the way down to presumably the stomach.

But as they stop to rest, they realize they’re not alone.

Sulub: “Yer some kinda fishie-fish I ain’t ever seen! Betchur tasty! Anyway! No wrigglin’ while I kill ya good!”

OH MY GOD

This comic series is too good to me.

Look at this delightful podling crabtaur.

Once Kam’Lu proves immune to Sulub’s “advanced technology” (ie Sulub stabs Kam’Lu in the foot with a spear), the podcrab agrees to take the two Gelfling to see his village elder.

Sulub actually assumes that Mayrin and Kam’Lu are married and here on honeymoon at the thriving fish digestive system tourism industry I guess. Mayrin claims that Kam’Lu is just a fool and her servant (and Kam’Lu doesn’t speak Podling very well so has no idea about this) and introduces herself as the All-Maudra.

Sulub: “ALL-MAUDRA! The legendary All-Maudra! Well, why didn’t ya say so! Sulub is gilltickled and downright honored to lead ‘the all-powerful and all-knowing’ All-Maudra to our home. You’ll be enjoyin’ to know we’ve kept care of your most regal gifts! Still in pristine condition for havin’ come in a while ago!”

The gut city of Bajula has a statue of the previous All-Maudra, one apparently commissioned when Mayrin was baby.

Huh.

Well. Its helpful to Mayrin that they know about the All-Maudra and are excited to have her here. And that they’re assuming that she sent the statue ahead of herself, like luggage.

Sulub tours Mayrin and Kam’Lu around Bajula. Showing them the goo farms, the visitor center, the fermented... milk wine bar.

The king shows up and is disappointed that the Gelfling want to leave so soon into their visit and asks if Sulub even bothered to show them the goo farms!

But since Mayrin insists that they have important outside stuff to do outside, the king decides to rush through some exposition.

These podling crabs? They’re called Boblings.

Bobling King: “Thousands of trine ago, my tribe set out to explore the Silver Sea as proud, stalwart Podlings! Our regal forefathers were not known to swim, but their bravery was unmatched, and they set out to conquer everything they discovered! All those who would get in their way would be destroyed by the might of the Podlings! Yet there are creatures in this world that are mightier, and the Mondo Leviadin emerged from the Silver Sea and devoured their ships. Thousands of digestive cycles passed as we changed to better suit our new home. Our new world.”

An unstoppable army of Podlings sounds funny until you remember how awesome Hup is. The Mono Levidian may have spared the peoples of Thra a tragic fate.

Also, I’m a big impressed at the lack of linguistic drift. Thousands of trine and Bobling language is indistinguishable from Podling and Gelfling is still recognizable.

Kam’Lu gets fed up with the Bobling King and starts yelling that he’s cold, he’s hungry, he doesn’t want to be in a fish’s guts! Mayrin manages to convince the king by speaking of duty.

Bobling King: “You speak of duty. I know it well. As a leader of my kind, I would do anything for their survival. So yes, I will help you and your servant. Why you married him, I will never know.”

Kam’Lu: “Her what? We’re what?!”

Hah, that misunderstanding is paying dividends.

The king explains that the levidian only surfaces to feed once per trine and that it stays near the surface for a time after feeding.

So if Mayrin and Kam’Lu don’t get to the porticol (blowhole) within eight or so intestinal groans (.... hours??), they’ll be stuck until next trine.

WHICH IS GOING TO BE REAL BAD FOR MAYRIN’S CAREER.

Even though the Boblings are but a simple goo-farming people, the king sends his daughter Gunda, the most skilled hunter in Bajula, to escort them.

Gunda: “But father, the journey as never been done by a single Bobling. You send me into certain danger!”

King: “And do you not crave danger?! My daughter, you are the only one capable and brave enough to undertake such a quest! Please! A duty for your king!”

Gunda: “So be it. I will guide you to the porticol, but know that it is dangerous and uncharted. There are many creatures that call this place home. We must be vigilant. Stalwart. Like my podling ancestors!”

This is a fun little bit because it implies a life and experiences and that these Boblings haven’t just been sitting waiting for protagonists to show up. I mean, they also have been doing that. They have a visitor center set up. But they’ve been living their own dramas.

And off they go! Mayrin, Kam’Lu, and Gunda! On a grand journey to a giant sea monster’s blowhole!

Wait, is this thing a mammal?

So that’s issue 2.

We’re finally in the Mondo Levidian. And now all the protagonists want is to get out. So we’ve got the title, we’ve got an objective, we’ve got some fun side cast, we’ve got a ticking clock before Mayrin and Kam’Lu have to look at the sea monster gut apartment listings, and we’ve got some outside stakes!

Mayrin continues to impress. There’s even a moment right when Kam’Lu rouses after the shipwreck where he seems in awe of her confidence in a crisis.

Kam’Lu has his own personality now that’s not parroting Fenth. Its being a butt monkey, with a slight shade of being a little shit. Between Mayrin giving him shit for supposedly being bad at sailor stuff to getting stabbed in the foot by Boblings twice to being mistaken for Mayrin’s servant-husband, Kam’Lu is having a trying adventure. Plus his ship sank and all of his friends may be dead and if they fail to escape the Mondo Levidian, he’ll go down in history as the idiot that got an All-Maudra killed.

Poor guy.

Gunda has only had two pages to shine and she seems endearing! But it feels weird that Sulub isn’t coming along. He’s the introductory Bobling and all. But I guess speaking only Podling would be an impediment to interacting with Kam’Lu. Still, its weird that he just seems to fade out of the story once the king shows up.

Farewell, Sulub, you funky crab potato.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #dark crystal age of resistance #Archaia's dark crystal #a prequel to a prequel #All Maudra Mayrin #Captain Kam'Lu #skekSa #the Mariner #Sulub the Bobling #Gunda the Bobling #Bobling King the Bobling

[kittehkwrites-backup]

Out of Time (Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Summary:

The team goes back to the compound to debrief and find out the two super soliders may not be the only ones out of their time.

Warnings: mentions of death (but not major)

Gifs & images aren’t mine.

The team had made into the new facility and agreed they’d meet back in the conference room, after having cleaned up and had some nourishment, to debrief and discuss the findings from the intel Nat and Tony got a hold of.

Steve was currently sitting on the edge of his bed when he pulled out a small letter box, containing copious amounts of envelopes, cards, a few small passport sized photos and some smaller scrap paper with sketches on them.

He had ran his finger over the sorted envelopes and plucked one out at random.

Steven Grant Rogers

He looked at his name and brushed his thumb over the cursive writing.

He hadn’t looked through this box often since being out of the ice and since the death of Peggy.

But today made him do it. The shocking revelation that someone else from his past may still be living and still in her youth, like he and Bucky, made him question how and why he hadn’t even looked into finding out what happened.

Shaking his head at the thought he opened the aged envelope carefully and saw the small note in her handwriting.

Thank you for your service Capt.

You got our boy back, along with many others.

I knew you’d do great things, didn’t I?

Steve could almost hear her let out a giggle as she was writing this. He remembered she said he’d be great.

She always believed in me. He thought as he finished the letter

Don’t ever think I’ve forgotten about you two.

Hope you haven’t forgotten about lil ole me.

I do recall you boys saying you wouldn’t, so I’m expecting a response this time “Cap.”

Stay safe, take care of eachother and remember,

We’re routing for you here in Brooklyn.

Go be the man I knew you’d be.

Love,

Vi

She was the only one that knew who he was, outside of those he fought alongside with, the scientists who conducted the experiment and the government officials who had access to his files at the time.

Wow he thought.

All this time and he still felt warm after reading one of her letters.

She always showed kindness to the skinny boy from Brooklyn. Never once did she treat him any differently, or favour Bucky over him. She was always fair and she always had faith in them.

He flipped the paper over to see if anything else had been written and he almost broke down

P.s.

When you come back, make sure you bring Miss Carter with you.

I’d love to meet the woman you’re so head over heels for.

xooo

Steve had forgotten he made the promise to always come back and see you. It didn’t matter if he and Bucky were sick and dying. They made that promise but not even they could’ve prepared for the events which had took place many decades ago.

He had also forgotten that he mentioned Peggy to her and so reading the letter brought so many emotions he wasn’t ready to face yet.

This was sent before Bucky fell off the train, before he went under yet he didn’t even have any recollection of getting anymore letters from her after.

He had placed it back in its envelope and was going to open another when F.R.I.D.A.Y come over the houses system

Captain, Mr Stark has asked that I send out a reminder to everyone to make way to the debriefing room.

“Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’ll be on my way”

I shall notify mr stark and the others who are already in the room.

And with that, Steve closed the box and put it under his bed before releasing a gust of air and exiting his room.

“Ok. Lay it on me.” Nick had come in to hear the mission report once the team had returned.

“Well we all know Taskmaster and his goons have been making headway over the last few months” Said Natasha as she placed the image of the man on the holographic projector.

“Well there’s been talk of him opening a training institution.” Tony took over as he stood to meet agent Romanoff on the opposite side of the table.

“Taskmaster?” This was visions turn to ask who this character was. The other members had encountered him or heard about the man from previous missions and various connections on the ground. Vision hadn’t been present for those times and had accompanied Wanda to this particular meeting since they may need their help in the future.

“He’s a bit of an oddball, I’d say. Sometimes good, sometimes bad but it’s now just mostly bad.” Shrugged Nat as she thought about saying he was a double agent of some sort but that might be hypocritical to her and he also favoured committing crimes, receiving rewards, instead of helping others like she is now doing.

“He basically caters to the highest bidder and seeing as the bad guys are the ones with the most capital, why not market to them?” Came Nick’s summary. He had been sitting back in his chair and watching the holographs each time they changed, soaking it in.

“Anyways, the intel we gathered showed locations of some of these institutions and some even had how many were enrolled and names.” Tony said as he made the map bigger and began singling out the known locations they were able to retrieve from the mission.

“There was also a list of which of those students have been traded, or their services sold to other evil organisations.” Nat spoke up as she pointed to another list tony had shared infront of everyone.

"What we’re slightly more interested in is his accomplice.”

“They call her mainly things...”

“There’s Countess V, Lady Lila, or Commander V.”

Tony and Natasha were going back and forth explaining the basics of the accomplice in question.

“How’s it gone from V to Lila? And what’s the V stand for” Sam asked raising his finger slightly to indicate he had a question. He wasn’t the only one confused on the name change.

“From what we gathered, Lila is German for purple and it seems that people that have encountered her always mention seeing her eyes turn purple. They would draw people in and put them in hypnotic trance”

“and there had been mentions in some old compromised S.H.I.E.L.D record of a “project v” where the patient also had the visible mutation of purple irises.”

“Does that answer your question Mr Wilson?” Tony’s voice came out a bit snippy causing Sam to put his hands up in surrender. Tony caught on his attitude wasn’t needed and gave Sam a look which said sorry. Sam gave back a slight nod, acknowledging the silent apology. They were all tired and wanted to be done with this so he understood it came out harsher than intended.

“We can only assume that means she possesses the ability to manipulate others which is threatening to the government and other officials if she’s deciding on which jobs to take like Taskmaster makes his decisions.” Being able to access codes and data only to give them to an enemy of the nation or state for some cash was enough to put anyone on edge, especially sine they’ve only go found out about this woman, and that she’s working for an entitled criminal.

“She was last time-stamped back in the 40’s, around the same time Mr Barnes was presumed dead, as a missing person, yet here she is now” The team knew that it was tough to mention that period in Bucky’s life but Nick knew it was important for emphasis.

“What does this person look like?” Wanda sounded. She had heard of the project back when sh was being tested on along with her brother, yet no one had an image in their heads of who project V was or the full extent of their powers, just that they were using the same methods and the serum they extracted from her at some point to test on others.

Only problem was that everyone was different and so everyone present different powers or enhancements that didn’t seem to be fully connected with all of hers.

Nick stood from his chair and made way to where agent Romanoff and Stark were standing.“May I?” He asked Tony when referring to using the device to retrieve the photo.

“By all means” Tony has stepped back as Nick put in his credentials for the database.

“We found this image under a file left open from a hydra agent working undercover.” He pushed the holographic image to the rest of the team, it rotating in the center of the table

At the sight of the image, both Steve and Bucky stiffened and the team turned to look at the two

It’s her, they both thought.

“I can assume you know this face?” The team kept watching the two men and wondered if the person that caused them to freeze on the roof during the mission was her.

“She was a friend.” Uttered Bucky. He had turned his head down at the thought of seeing her face again. Hs doesn’t know why, but he’s felt like he’s seen her before. Maybe his memory was still foggy. He was probably hallucinating is what he thought when he attempted to recall whether or not it was a true memory or false.

Even with the help of Shuri and the Wakandan doctors, they just weren’t able to unlock certain areas of his momery like they were able to get rid of the trigger words he was once controlled by.

They had suggested getting help from Wanda but he was apprehensive until now. Maybe this was the push he needed to try and fill in more gaps.

“She lived in the same building as me before they injected me with the serum when I got enlisted... I thought she’d be much older, or dead.” Steve face was scrunched up in confusion at the revelation that his first lo- well the first person he’s felt deeply for, was still alive, or at least he thought she was the same person as he remembered.

“Well it seemed that the same doctor that experimented on Steve, Dr Erskine, had a hand in this but stopped once he realised they were doing this for the wrong reasons.”Nick was leaning over the table and bring up more documents they had found or were able to retrieve.

The more documents brought up, the more the two soldiers figured the person they thought they knew probably wasn’t all she had been. This was something big to Nick also, it seemed he was deeply invested if he was willing to look for all these documents and translations that he was providing.

“So this was before Steve?” Clint asked looking at Natasha who had kept her head down.

“Not exactly. The project was a round the same time as Steve and from what we gathered, she was one of the few that passed all the tests they had set out.” Tony explained.

Nick watched as Natasha remained with her eyes down. She was playing it off as if she was looking at the files. She knew something. Nick thought as he moved his eyes off of her to look around the room.

This was something that they hadn’t expected or accounted for since they thought they had dealt with the remaining hydra super soldiers and had gotten the twins. There were no other mentions of past experiments dating back before (or during) Steve or Bucky that they were aware of, yet here she was.

Hydra was good at keeping secrets and it seemed once they exposed their infiltration in government agencies, that all hell broke loose.

“My thing is how was she able to stay under the radar for so long? Surely she would’ve made a mistake along the way.” Tony said. His posture straightened and hand under chin, contemplating how it was possible they’d have another enhanced that was supposedly younger than Steve and Bucky, yet they’re only just discovering her existence.

“And that’s why it’s concerning” Nicks voice was still monotonous but his body language displayed different.

He was tense and confused. The others were as well.

“Seems like you two weren’t the only ones that made it into the 21st century then.” Came from Sam as he kept looking at the woman on the screen. He and everyone else were at a loss for words.

The two soldiers looked at eachother and back at the picture of the woman they once knew.

How? Was the main question running through everyone’s head.

Hey everyone:)))

Hope you’re all doing good.

Love y’all ❤️

-Kai

#black reader #marvel #black!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers #avengers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #out of time

[tornrose24]

I recently got the color editions of the third and fourth Captain Underpants books for my eldest nephew. I looked through them for fun (and because I remembered reading these books specifically in 4th grade). Here are random things I picked up or thought about:

Book 3

-According to the book, Fyde isn’t evil its just that he’s pretty boring as a teacher. I’d have to agree because the information he teaches feels like its more for middle/high school students.

-Good thing Ree didn’t have to clean up the green mess all by himself.

-According to the original lunch ladies, the school as about 1000 students and staff. If you do some math, that means there should be around 950 students (Assuming that the staff is around 20 or more members). Now in my experience working at a school, you need additional staff depending on how big the school is, but you especially need Assistant Principals if the count is too large.

I don’t know if 950-ish students is normal for a regular elementary school or not, but you’d think Krupp would hire an AP to help him out. (However I’m sure he’d hate sharing even a fraction of his position with anyone).

-While Edith was created for the movie, its very clear how much of this book played a role in her creation. The way the original lunch ladies are dressed is almost similar to her, but there is an outfit that Anthrope is wearing that not only nearly resembles key elements of Edith’s attire, but the way Pilkey describes the outfit is almost exactly like it. (Not sure about the ‘ugly loafers’ bit). By the way, you see the outfit in question when she’s eating Krupp’s desk.

-Speaking of which, why did the colorist make her look like a zombie when she’s NOT a zombie?

-In the in-verse CU comic books, the principal looks like George’s dad, but isn’t presented as smart. Was this a way for the boys to avoid using Krupp’s likeness and avoid getting in further trouble?

-This was weird, but the lunch ladies present the comic as proof that the boys were behind their recent prank, but then Krupp is all ‘well this isn’t actual proof even though I know you’re right.’ 

-As I’m reading this book, I’m wondering ‘how did they get the idea for Krupp to be stupid in the cartoon?’ Because I can’t recall him EVER being that dumb in the books. Also, I think this is the first time he’s briefly forced to team up with the boys.

-The boys eating the gross food combos in front of Krupp is a lot funnier now when you know that in the cartoon Krupp has worse eating habits than them, in addition to that shout out in the choice-o-rama.

–While there are similarities, the aliens in the book aren’t an exact match to the ones in the cartoons (or at least the ones we THOUGHT were going to be important for season 4).

-When the boys and CU are falling from the spaceship, Harold yells “Hallelujah!” Ironically, he and George (and CU!) would sing the famous ‘Hallelujah’ song in the movie.

-Personal Trivia: This was the first CU book I read as a ten year old eying the books in my fourth grade classroom. I was wondering why CU wasn’t showing up for much of it and I didn’t realize that Mr. Krupp was CU’s other half OR realize that he looked like CU until the finger snap happens.

Book 4

-Something I picked up was that Poopypants wasn’t a pleasant fellow to begin with, even before he became an official bad guy. He doesn’t treat his assistant that well and is full of himself when we first meet him.

-The annual field trip to the Piqua Pizza Place (Palace?) is awfully generous (and almost out of character) of the school, considering its track record of field trips across all three incarnations.

-Before Krupp catches the boys arranging the sign, we see that he’s waiting in the bushes nearby even before they get to it as if he was anticipating it. I think he knows the boys more than he’d care to admit.

-Also, how the HELL could he not see that forcing the boys to clean the teachers’ lounge would backfire horribly on him when he should have known better?

-When Fyde is listing off his reasons as to why he’s quitting, Krupp doesn’t believe him at first. But then is all “Holy cow, you ARE crazy!” when Fyde specifically mentions CU. As if THAT’S the craziest thing imaginable and not talking toilets. (Not to mention the irony).

-If you read the add for the science teacher position, it comes off as especially bitter and lazy (Want a low paying job with lots of red tape? Hate children? etc.) And there’s also a ‘no need for credential, experience, etc.’ It really paints a poor picture of the school and especially shows Krupp’s lack of caring.

-It makes me wonder how the interview in the movie would have gone down with Krupp instead of CU since Krupp was more competent/intelligent in the film. (And I don’t think the flyer was as lazy as the add in the book).

-For their next comic, the boys are inspired title wise by a story Ribble is reading. The story is ‘The Pied Piper of Hammelin.’ The title character uses his music to drive the rats out of town and when the townsfolk refuse to pay up, he gets revenge by having their children follow him out of town via that same music. I can see how it influenced the in-comic story, but its interesting how George and Harold didn’t realize that the piper took his revenge on others for not respecting him enough much like Poopypants does. Also there’s the connection of hypnotism in that story to the hypnotism in Captain Underpants.

-I wonder how Cher thought about getting dissed in this book.

-This is the first time we hear Krupp’s first name, but he calls himself ‘Benny’ instead of ‘Benjamin.’ I find that odd that he used his nickname instead of the full name since he was clearly reluctant to reveal it. (‘Benny’ does sound more friendly/childish than ‘Benjamin.’)

-Speaking of which, I think this is the first time we see him in a slightly more human light/in a moment of cowardice. Sure he’s being a coward and hiding under his desk when the school is shrunk, but its kind of a normal reaction.

-The second half of the book shows Harold wearing what would soon be his signature green and white stripped shirt which he’d be wearing in the movie.

-I think not only is this where we especially see CU in papa wolf mode, but the boys are more appreciative of him here. And the school cheers for all three of them when the day is saved.

–Dav makes it a point to show that the boys have the Shrinky Pig and the super power juice in their tree house at the end of the book. The latter becomes important for the next book.

-In the original first edition of the book, the cover teases ‘Romance! (Just kidding!’) Years later, when this book was among the books to be used for the film, they actually meant it.

-Also in the original first edition of the book, Dav had a drawing teasing the fifth book (I think it had the boys trapped in underwear and a hand is lifting it up).

#captain underpants #read through these books again #things I picked up on

[merakimousumi]

Re-introduce yourself

Our introduction is extremely structured and the flow has always a format irrespective of Nationality , culture or race.

As a child you are taught to say your name . Every time someone visits home or you are meeting someone, the excitement is to share your name. Yay ... joyous moment. Soon another step would be added once you are getting prepared for the schooling, your name, parents name and the place you live. Phew!! you must have been asked millions of times to master it . The game has just begun. Every-time another dimension will be added . Your school , standard, in case you are captain in sports , drama , magazine etc etc. Then by the age of 18 years, you will start mentioning your percentage of marks , your parents background, the certificates you hold . By the time you are being interviewed for your career, you are a bunch of certifications and degrees and nothing else.

Remember your first visiting card , that had your name, designation with that Company logo . Even in social functions you carry it and distribute them like toffees .

In case, you choose to become self employed you will put up website, your office board with your name, educational qualifications, credentials and the skills that you have and you would offer !!

Oh , if someone who choose to be a family person like my mother or my aunts then observe how they introduce themselves. I am so and so wife , my husband is so and so . Soon will get graduated to be the mother then she will add that she is mother of xyz kids .

No worries, I have done all . Here I am not going to ask to read Robert Adams , Ramanan Maharshi or Nisargadatta Maharaj . In very ordinary way let me prick you to get the momentary taste of the teachings of these beings.

I was in Singapore, it must be some eight years back or little more. After long day at work wanted to carry my dinner from the nearby Indian food joint which served nice vegetarian meals. I ordered and was waiting in the lobby there. Those days my phone addiction was not there , was looking around to the hustle and bustle of the night life of the place. It was my first visit alone in that city , the curiosity level was higher. The man sitting across seems to be waiting like me for his food pick up. When the eyes met , he bowed gently and smiled. I reciprocated, out of courtesy. My order came, he made a wave to me and I waved back . Simple over.

Next morning at the breakfast table in my hotel , suddenly someone knocks my table and I look up to see the familiar face of the last night . He smiled and asked if he can join the table, again out of courtesy I nodded. I prefer not to speak with anyone in the morning as ritual, my way of energy management for the upcoming day. Nonetheless here is a day where breaking the norm is all you have . He seem to me from south east Asia so was not sure of his age, their skin and overall structure camouflage the age process well . Still went ahead and predicted, must be in his late fifties or more. Soon he mentioned he is from Malaysia and is here on a conference. I quickly pasted my trademark smile on my face and nodded. When he asked what bought me in Singapore, I had to make an effort to say a word. I uttered ‘Work’ . He immediately mentioned by Company’s name, that was a surprise for me. Quickly noticed from my laptop bag hanged my ID card the logo peeping out. I smiled again. He mentioned how he has travelled worldwide and learnt so many things from different cultures. I heard all of them , nodding my head and occasionally saying few words ( read mumble). When his breakfast was over he was a fast eater or I was slow , he handed me his card. It just had his name, contact number and email. A golden shining card and in black ink those three things appeared . No logo , no designation, no company. This was different!! I must have been looking at the card with some astonishing manner that Mr Kheo ( Yes that was his name) came closer to my ears and said , I am not even those written words on the card. I was a while ago a person who spent a great time with you . Next moment I shall be one with someone else. My identity cannot be contained in a small piece . He winked , waved and was gone!!

I had no clue whatsoever he said and shocked with what happened at that moment. Yet I never got over the statement. Every time since then whenever there was an introduction, I always remembered Mr Kheo , because his introduction bought a discomfort yet I saw something, unexplainable joy in his eyes.

The thought that kept appearing within me , is it possible of being stripped of all the accomplishments and identities which he would have invested and acquired in lifetime, he was completely okay not to highlight. In the world when we are all looking to grab every bit of spotlight, he wants to be invisible. Did not make sense to me. He spoke perfect sense in his narrative in the breakfast, his articulation was impressive, well choosen words and sentences of expression, he was no ordinary. Yet and Yet !!

Much later in my years or rather recently the fragment of the introduction was becoming clearer in my life. Books , teachers explained the I AM. Who Am I !!

Here is a point , after reading hearing how do I implement . Unless I understand deeper within all those are simply intellectual. Who Am I ? The name appeared, my position, my relationship, my freaking everything appeared. I had to start from scratch. I started my introduction rather re-introduction and I could not , it was a struggle. Here Stubbornness nature comes handy, I do not easily give up.

It was like when you have invested a lot of time in making a something and you thought that its great, suddenly you realise all was a mistake, you keep doing the same mistake thinking that it will miraculously change to magic and success. It is not easy to erase it, too much ego is attached. My identity.....

I wrote my introduction the one which was taught, started writing my name , names of parents, my educational qualifications, my jobs that I did so far , positions I held , Cities I lived , the relationship I have and had , the houses that I own , the finance that I built so on , I made a list .

Then I took every line and questioned Am I that ? Paused, looked within, on the surface I was , waited soon it dissolved. I strike the moment I felt I was not . Every time I was striking I noticed the tremor in my hand and fingers, even there was a refusal. Striking my qualifications was tough followed by my relationships. I sensed my investment there . After few period all was canceled, I felt empty, naked as if someone has just robbed me of everything that I had ever gathered in my life so far. Tears rolled down , uncontrollably crying like a child gripped with the fear was being invisible. So much effort has been made to make myself visible and here I am erasing it all .

Mr Kheo and I stood at same space in that moment. I closed my eyes , experienced what could be the oneness the great teacher spoke about or is it much deeper, I am not sure yet I knew the joy within me. Who Am I ? I see the I and the I sees me. I am one .

Being empty is also being full. Empty of fear full of joy , the gift that we are all born with sometime lost in transit.

Even today when asked to introduce myself, I begin by saying my name is so and so and to earn my living I extend my service to xyz Company, I play the role of a daughter, sister, mother and friend along being colleague to many . Once you have understanding of that I AM , the framing of your sentences changes forever. In my corporate life I do sometimes have to follow the framework, yet I know my awareness is enough to make it impersonal. Once one has been in that rabbit hole, life is never be the same.

I know Mr Kheo would never know that what he offered on that breakfast table and here I am, forever grateful. A regret I carry that I was not careful of keeping that card that eventually transformed me, I could have written him my story too. The only was to give back is to share here and if anyone can find themselves, that would be my offering.

Today, start by reintroducing yourself.

#new to blogging #writer introspection #excerpt from a story i'll never write #write your feelings #gratitute #follow my blog #self care #writeundertheinfluence #lifeisbeautiful #introduces #who am i #robert adams #sri nisargadatta maharaj #maharishi #alan watts

[sp00kymulderr]

In Aurélia (Ezra x Reader)

Warnings: None

Pairing: Ezra x Reader

Word Count: 1,399

Request: Prompt - Seeking comfort from the wrong person. From this prompt list, requested by @huliabitch​ for Ezra, and also by @amarvelousmandalorian with whoever I chose. Thank you both!

A/N: Remember how I cannot stick to prompts to save my life? Yeah.

It shouldn’t be him. It should not be Ezra who you go to the minute you need a kind smile and a comforting word. Ezra, someone you barely know, someone who has a reputation and a murky past. And yet even knowing this the moment you feel fear and sadness overwhelming you; Ezra seems to call to you silently through the cold metal body of the ship which you are both crew on.

So here you are, at the door of his cabin with a heavy heart and tears in your eyes. And somehow you know he won’t deny you even if you both know he should. The connection you feel to him, it’s futile and impractical and has no hope of a future outside of this ship. It is not something to be encouraged.

There’s a low beep from your communication tablet, a message from Dax.‘Where are you?’ the message reads but you ignore it, instead transfixed the moment he answers your knocks and speaks.

“Sweet songbird” Ezra murmurs opening the door, using the moniker he gave you after listening to you sing on the harvest. You feel a creeping heat on your face, the way he says it makes you feel so contented. He steps aside, inviting you inside the small cabin which is somehow a mess of objects despite the reasonably small bag you saw him bring on to the ship when the crew had boarded at Jiaxyon. You step inside and stand sheepishly, blinking rapidly to try and stop more tears from falling.

You peer at Ezra as he tries to subtly smooth down his mess of hair with his one hand, the odd blonde patch at the front as intriguing as ever. You must’ve woken him, there’s still sleep obvious in his eyes. You should apologise and leave, you really should, but he gives you that gentle smile – the one that you could believe he reserves only for you – and you could melt in to him. Ezra clears a space and sits on the side of the bunk, patting the space besides him asking you to sit.

Seeing him like this: half-awake, oddly quiet, soft and comfortable in his own space; you can’t imagine how anyone could ever see him as anything other than kind and calm. It’s almost impossible to believe any of those rumours you heard about him during the dig from the rest of the team could ever be true. They had said he was dangerous, a criminal. ‘Murderer’ some muttered behind his back. His credentials had got him on to the job so you don’t put stock in to what the others say, but even if it is true who are you to judge what others do to survive this harsh, merciless way of life?

You and Dax had joined the dig with some knowledge of harvesting and a desperate need of money; living off of credits from the factory in Jiaxyon seemed to be impossible when the wage was so small for such exhausting work. The two of you had meet four years ago and it was quickly understood you were two parts of a whole; sisters despite no blood relation, she was your family. But Dax didn’t understand the need you felt, the desperation for feet on the ground, hands in the soil, breathing fresh air and feeling life radiate from a planet. This long journey, two months each way for a week long dig, wasn’t an issue for Dax who was born on a station and belonged to the vast darkness of space in a way you simply didn’t.

“What’s troubling you, songbird?” Ezra draws you back to now, gently placing his hand over yours on your knee. He offers you another smile; gentle and trying to draw the words from you.

“Do you ever miss home?” you ask, feeling foolish as soon as you say it and realise you don’t know if Ezra even has a home. So many don’t these days.

“My days of wistful yearning for the locale I sprouted from are far behind me, I’ll confess, but I am  certainly able to recollect the strain of longing for it. I have not always been a drifter” he answers, breaking eye contact to watch his hand retreat from yours. He doesn’t want to talk about it, you can tell, likely doesn’t want to divulge any information about his past to a complete stranger.

Nodding, you wipe the stray tears with your sleeve and stand.

“I’m sorry for prying, I don’t know why I came to you. I don’t know...” It’s a lie, you know exactly why.

“Please” Ezra reaches out to you “Stay. For as long as you wish. I could not possibly let you depart in such a melancholic state. I can be your confidant, if that is what you need” he entreats, a pleading look in his deep, brown eyes.

He watches as you hesitate; you’re torn between spilling the very ache in your soul to this congenial stranger who somehow makes you feel at ease, or returning to your caring but not entirely sympathetic friend who you often think knows you too well for your own good.

“That is what I need” you whisper after a moment, finally giving in to the urge you feel somewhere deep inside yourself to let him in. You sit again, letting the words you’ve been keeping to yourself flow forth.

“I come from a place of paradise...it’s...that’s what it feels like to me, anyway. When I had to leave it was like my heart was being torn from me, but I always said I would go back as soon I could. I never imagined I’d be gone from it for so long. It’s been five years... and I miss it so much more than I can say. I know I can’t go back, not yet, I just wish I didn’t have to think about it all the time”

“I’m sorry, songbird. I cannot pretend to understand the feeling fully, although I may have some way of equating.” he indicates the missing arm in passing. “I can see it is a thing you love, a place you will always be rooted to and so it is par for the course that you will pine for it for as long as you’re away from it. My hope for you is that you return to it sooner than you expect.” He stops, considering his words for a moment. “I think, at the very least, I may be able to offer you some diversion from those feelings while we are aboard this ship. If you would like.” He hums out, in that pleasing cadence, while tentatively reaching up to wipe one stray tear that has made its way down your cheek.

“I would like that” you confide in response. “Thank you, Ezra”. You take hold of his hand before he pulls it away again, keeping it held cupping your cheek. He lets out the sweetest, quietest sigh when you turn your head and lay a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, lips barely brushing his skin before you let go. The way he looks at his palm then, like it has been blessed, makes your heart swell.

“I don’t know how to explain this but the reason I came to you...well...when I’m around you there’s this feeling. This beautiful warmth, serenity. It’s like summer days at home, when the ocean breeze washes over me and I feel like I can breathe again. It’s like you’re someone I’ve always known” you offer the words in earnest, and he listens so intently.

He’s kissing you in an instant; mellow, unhurried, as your lips meet and you let the tenderness of it encompass you. It’s wrong, you know it still, to seek this out from a person you will inevitably part ways with once the ship docks and you have to seek out new work. It will hurt you, leave you with a twice broken heart, and maybe hurt him to. But for now you let him enchant you with his lips, his touch. You let him occupy your thoughts with pleasure and affection, distracting you just as he had offered.

Ezra freely gives you solace from your woe and perhaps it will devastate you in the end, but for now he is the truest comfort you have ever known.

Taglist:

@pascalisthepunkest​ @immundusspiritu​ @mylifefallingupthestairs @rzrcrst​

#Ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect) #prospect movie #pedro pascal #fic #fanfic #x reader #prompt #sorry it was gonna be angst but then it just turned in to whatever this is

[tog-centre]

10 Things to Look for When Searching for a Gynecologist

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. True for doctors in different fields. But a gynaecologist is one doctor that every woman wants to visit atleast once in her lifetime. For a good reason of course. One of your first steps as you prepare for this exciting and pivotal time in your life, pregnancy, you should be choosing the correct gynecologist in Jamaica. You must feel completely at ease with a gynaecologist, since he or she will accompany you throughout your exciting nine-month adventure, culminating in the birth of your bundle of joy.

What do they check for at the gynaecologist

Other than pregnancy or childbirth, if you're having problems with your reproductive system, such as heavy bleeding, severe cramping, or other troubling symptoms, you should see a gynecologist. Even if you're in ideal health, you should get frequent checks to make sure your reproductive organs are in good shape and stay that way.

How do I choose a good gynaecologist

Well there are two fields interwoven with this. A gynecologist is a doctor who focuses on the reproductive health of women. Obstetricians provide treatment to women during pregnancy and shortly after the birth of their child. They also give birth to children. All of these are things that an ob-gyn is trained to do. It would be ideal to visit obstetrics and gynaecology care centre Jamaica.

What should I know before going to the gynaecologist

Your ob-gyn will take care of some of your most essential health concerns, such as birth control, childbirth, and menopause. An ob-gyn can also conduct surgery for pelvic organ or urinary tract disorders, as well as screen for cancer and cure infections.

Because ob-gyns deal with such personal and delicate health matters, some women may be apprehensive about seeing one for the first time. You may be apprehensive or ashamed about allowing a doctor to examine the most intimate portions of your body. You might be hesitant to communicate your most personal concerns with an ob-gyn. In this article we will be discussing about few tips to help you choose your best gynecologist in Mandeville Jamaica.

How to find a good Gynecologist near me

Location

Considering the aspect of location is more a point of necessity than comfort. You will have to make  a monthly visit or two to your gynaecologist, so its wise to choose one which has offices at various locations in town. Obstetrics and gynaecology care centre Jamaica has offices at Spalding, Mandeville and Santa Cruz.Also consider:

Does her clinic/hospital have facilities for conducting various tests and investigations?

Does it have a pharmacy nearby?

Trust is imperative

You'll want to select someone with experience who you can trust because you'll be discussing your most private and sensitive health issues with this doctor. You wouldn't put your most private portions of your body in the hands of just anyone. That's why you should choose your ob-gyn with care.

Don't just pick a doctor's name at random from your health insurance provider list. Obtain a recommendation from a friend or family member. Find out about essential variables including the doctor's skills, experience, and bedside manner when you ask for recommendations.

Gynaecologist reviews

Read internet reviews to find out what other people have to say about your possible OB-GYN. Patient satisfaction surveys can reveal a lot about what to expect in terms of scheduling, availability, office environment, doctor approachability, and bedside manner, among other things.

A collection of patient comments and starred ratings is also available. A few negative reviews among many positive ones are probably unimportant, but hundreds of unfavorable reviews should be a major red flag.

Experience counts

Check out the credentials of the gynecologist in Jamaica while you're browsing online. You should be able to find the doctor's bio on the same websites that offer reviews, as well as on their practice's website. You should be able to see where the doctor went to medical school, how many years they've practiced, which hospital(s) they're affiliated with, and what their specialties are.

Personality:

During some of your most vulnerable moments, your gynecologist will be by your side. His or her bedside manners are really important. Is the doctor a nice guy? Is he or she upbeat and responsive? Is he/she approachable and friendly? Is he/she a good fit for you?

Every consultation takes time.

This is an essential factor since you don't want a doctor who rushes from one patient to the next without pausing. Always go for the person who is relaxed and patiently answers all of your questions.

Regardless of how busy she is, she should answer all of your questions and perform all of the necessary examinations.

Does the gynaecologist accept your insurance

When it comes to choosing a doctor, price is a major factor. If your gynecologist isn't in your network, you'll have to pay for your care out of cash, which can rapidly add up. To begin your search, check with your health plan to discover which gynecologists in your area are part of their network.

A comfortable communication

You want a doctor who will listen to you and take your concerns seriously. The best doctors don't give orders or preach to their patients; instead, they communicate with them in a two-way manner. This is the doctor who will perform your gynecologic exam and quiz you about your reproductive health in great detail. For the relationship to work, you must be entirely at ease with this individual.

Your gynecologist should be able to talk with you in simple terms. She should be able to answer all of your questions in layman's terms rather than medical jargon. She should be pleasant, kind, and attentive to your issues.

She should also keep you informed about how your pregnancy is progressing, any difficulties, and any further precautions or preparations you may require. Going to a doctor who does not communicate well with her patients is pointless.

What kind of additional access do you think you'll require?

During the week, most OB-GYN practices have conventional business hours. Is that sufficient for you, or do you require additional flexibility?

If seeing an OB-GYN during regular hours is difficult, investigate whether:

When the clinic is closed, you can reach out to an on-call doctor. When the clinic is closed, the doctor offers telemedicine services that allow you to have virtual appointments.

The doctor provides you with an online patient portal through which you can contact with them.

It saves them time and money on travel, increases communication with gynecologist in Jamaica , and aids in better health outcomes.

What are your thoughts on the practice as a whole?

Nurse practitioners and physician assistants are used by many practices to offer primary care. How well do you get along with the other doctors and nurses in the practice?

It's also important to see how the front and back office workers interact with you. They'll be the ones to contact most of the time, whether it's for arranging appointments, billing problems, or medication refills.

You might also wish to consider the practice's physical environment. Is the waiting room tidy and welcoming? Do the patient rooms appear to be well-organized and stocked? Is the equipment in good condition and appears to be reasonably new?

Where can I find a gynaecologist?

Though the clinic's appearance may appear to be trivial, it may be an indicator of how effectively the healthcare team will treat you. Finding the best gynecologist in Mandeville, Jamaica doesn't have to be stressful now that you have such a variety of information at your fingertips. And with these pointers in hand, choosing the right OB-GYN for you could be a lot easier than you think.

#gynecologist in jamaica #gynecologist in mandeville #gynaecologist near me #best gynecologist in mandeville #obstetrics and gynaecology care centre jamaica #obstetrician and gynaecologist #best obgyn clinics near me