enemies to lovers one shots

bandages

"Come on," she said irritatedly, tugging on the arm that was slightly less bloody. Her hand was careful to avoid the sensitive spots with the cuts and bruises, but her grip was hard.

Strong, like her.

"I'm fine, really," I lied to her for the millionth time, "I'll just clean up and we'll be good to go."

The glare she sent my way was deadly.

I bit my tongue, holding in the many protests I knew would be useless against her stubbornness. 

There was no beating her - I knew that very well by now. 

Even after a brutal battle, where both of us, me especially, had been hit and struck endlessly, she looked flawless. 

The look in her dark brown eyes was piercing and deadly as always, her sharp cheeks streaked with dirt, her pink lips pulled taut into a frown. 

God, how I wished I could make them smile. 

She sat me down in the scruffy room and left to gather our medical supplies. The exhaustion finally had a chance to set in. 

I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept, eaten, had a bath. 

I sighed, grunting in pain after accidentally shifting my right arm. 

Our plan had gone into the dumps after being ambushed, and I'd kept the chasseurs away from her as best as I could. It was why she was being so stubborn with fixing me up.

She was mad that I had protected her. She didn't need it - we both knew that - but I wasn't about to let another drop of her blood spill on my watch.

She'd suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes. 

I knew she blamed herself for my injuries, and I knew I couldn't change her mind. It was torture sometimes, knowing her so well but not being able to do anything about it. 

We had been on the run together for a while, but even calling what we had a partnership felt like a stretch. 

She was always so distant. 

"Alright," she said, walking back into the room, "I've got some alcohol and some bandages. This is going to hurt."

I grimaced at the sight but nodded anyway. We couldn't risk an infection to slow us down, especially not now. 

"You know, if you give them to me I can clean myself up?"

She ignored me and set the bandages on the armrest of the chair. I watched her carefully as she grabbed a tissue and poured some alcohol on it. 

Her long and dainty hand reached out, and pushed my left knee out, so that they were spread apart, and I looked at her in confusion.

Her eyes were completely focused on the tissue and the blood, her small frame stepped inside the space between my knees, and began patting the dirty cuts to rid them of the blood and gunk. 

I was too distracted by her close prescence to be aware of the stinging pain. Everything about her had me competely enraptured. And as I watched the woman I'd grown to understand and care for after days and nights full of fear and determination, I realized I would die for her. 

Gladly, happily, peacefully. 

Her eyes were slightly narrowed, thoroughly focused on the task at hand, and I yearned to just pull her in, closer. 

Even closer than this.

She glanced up to meet my face. "What?" she asked, her voice painfully soft, painfully beautiful, "Does it hurt?"