all I needed was you — king kenny x reader
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prompt – your boyfriend loses his match and all he wants is you warnings – mentions of boxing injuries (bruises, cuts, etc.), light swearing word count – ~1.9k note – since my account is new I don't have any requests yet so here's a soft kenny fic <3
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You don't watch the end.
You try—you really do—but the second his head snaps back from a hit that sounds way too loud, something in your chest twists so sharply you have to look away.
The crowd doesn't.
They lean forward, shouting, reacting, living for it.
You shrink back.
Your hands are clasped so tightly in your lap your knuckles ache, but you barely notice. All you can think is—
he's tired.
You've seen him tired before. After training, after long days, after filming.
This is different.
This is the kind of tired that sits in his bones.
"Come on, Ken..." you whisper, voice barely there.
Another hit.
You flinch.
That's it.
You're done.
You push yourself up before your brain can catch up, weaving through people, ignoring the noise, the lights, everything.
You don't need to see the result.
You already know.
—
Kenny hears it before he feels it.
The shift.
The moment the crowd changes.
It's subtle, but he knows. He always knows.
He's lost.
The referee's voice is somewhere above him, hands pulling him back, people talking—but it all sounds distant, like it's underwater.
His chest rises and falls too fast. His jaw throbs. His ribs feel like they've been split open.
But none of that sticks.
Because the only thing he's thinking is—
Where are you?
He turns his head slightly, scanning the crowd.
Nothing.
No sign of you.
His stomach drops.
"She dipped," Aj says somewhere to his right. "Think she felt sick."
Kenny's brows pull together.
Of course you did.
You hate this shit.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face, wincing when it brushes over a cut.
He should go to the boys.
Celebrate anyway.
Shake it off.
That's what he usually does.
But today—
nah.
"I'm gonna go change," he mutters.
And before anyone can say anything else, he's already walking off.
—
You're pacing outside the building when he finds you.
You didn't mean to stay this close—you told yourself you'd give him space, let him be with the boys—but your feet didn't listen.
They never do when it comes to him.
The door behind you swings open.
You turn instantly.
Kenny steps out, hoodie thrown on, hood half up, head slightly lowered. Even from here, you can see it—the swelling, the way he's holding himself just a little too carefully.
Your chest tightens.
"Ken."
He looks up.
And just like that—
something in his shoulders drops.
"Hey, baby."
Your heart does that stupid little flip it always does when he says that.
Even now.
Especially now.
You walk over to him quickly, stopping just in front of him. For a second, you don't know where to look—his eye, his lip, the bruises already darkening under his skin.
"Why didn't you text me?" you ask softly.
He shrugs, like it's nothing. "Didn't need to."
You frown. "Didn't need to?"
"Yeah." His gaze settles on you, steady, tired but warm. "Knew you'd be here anyway."
Your throat tightens.
He says it so simply. Like it's obvious.
Like there was never another option.
"Idiot," you mumble, but there's no bite to it.
"Your idiot," he corrects, a small grin pulling at his split lip.
You wince. "Don't smile like that."
"Why?"
"It looks painful."
"It is."
You sigh, shaking your head slightly before reaching up, your fingers hovering near his face.
"Can I—?"
"Yeah," he says immediately.
Always.
You touch him gently, brushing just under his eye. He sucks in a quiet breath but doesn't pull away.
Your chest aches.
"Let's sit," you murmur.
He nods.
You guide him over to a low step nearby, sitting beside him. You pull a small pack of wipes and plasters from your bag—something you started carrying after his second fight.
Just in case.
"Prepared as always," he mutters.
"Someone has to be," you reply, glancing at him.
He watches you as you work.
Not even trying to hide it.
You clean the cut on his lip first, your touch careful, slow.
He hisses slightly.
"Sorry," you whisper.
"It's calm, baby."
Your hands still for a second.
Baby.
He says it like it's nothing.
Like it doesn't completely undo you every time.
"Stop moving," you say quietly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.
"I'm not moving."
"You are."
"I'm literally sitting still."
You glance up at him.
He's smiling.
Of course he is.
"You're so annoying," you mumble.
"And you love it."
You don't respond.
You don't need to.
He already knows.
There's a small pause as you press a plaster over the cut, smoothing it down carefully.
Your fingers linger for just a second too long.
You don't pull away immediately.
Neither does he.
It's quiet.
Not awkward.
Just... soft.
"You left," he says suddenly.
Your hand drops slightly. "I couldn't—"
"I know," he cuts in gently. "I know you couldn't."
You look at him.
There's no accusation there.
Just understanding.
"I hate it," you admit quietly. "Watching you get hurt like that."
"I know."
"But I still come."
His lips twitch. "Yeah. You do."
You shrug, looking down at your hands. "Where else would I be?"
He doesn't answer straight away.
When you look up again, he's already looking at you.
Something in his expression shifts.
Softer.
Deeper.
"I was looking for you," he says.
Your breath catches.
"After," he adds, like he needs to clarify. "Didn't care about anything else. Just—"
He exhales, shaking his head slightly.
"Just needed my girl."
Your heart stumbles over itself.
"Kenny..."
"I'm serious," he says, quieter now. "I lost, yeah, whatever. It happens. But not seeing you there after? That felt worse."
You blink, caught off guard.
"I was outside," you say quickly. "I didn't go far, I just—"
"I know." His hand finds yours, fingers curling around it easily. "I found you, didn't I?"
Your chest tightens.
His grip is gentle.
Careful.
Like even now, he's thinking about you.
"You did," you murmur.
He hums softly, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
There's that warmth again.
That quiet, steady feeling that only ever comes with him.
You squeeze his hand lightly. "You still did good, you know."
He snorts. "I lost."
"So?"
"So that means I didn't win."
You roll your eyes slightly. "Shut up."
He laughs, then winces immediately after.
"See?" you say. "Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Being stupid."
"Can't help it."
You shake your head, but you're smiling now.
Soft.
Fond.
You reach up again, brushing lightly over the bruise forming on his cheek. This time, he leans into your touch just a little.
Barely noticeable.
But you feel it.
"You'll be fine," you say quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He tilts his head slightly, eyes still on you. "You gonna take care of me then?"
You raise an eyebrow. "I already am."
"Not properly."
You blink. "Not properly?"
"Nah." His lips curve again, slow, teasing despite everything. "You missed a step."
You narrow your eyes. "What step?"
He leans closer, just slightly.
Close enough that you can feel his breath.
"You're meant to kiss it better, innit."
Your heart stutters.
"Kenny—"
"I'm serious," he says, but there's a smile in his voice. "Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor."
"I could be."
"You definitely couldn't."
"Alright, rude."
You laugh softly, shaking your head.
But you don't move away.
Not when he's this close.
Not when he's looking at you like that.
"...you're actually so annoying," you whisper.
"And you're still here."
He's right.
You always are.
You hesitate for a second—
then lean in.
Just enough.
A soft kiss against his cheek, right over the forming bruise.
Gentle.
Careful.
He goes still.
Completely.
When you pull back, he's staring at you.
"...again," he says quietly.
You huff a small laugh. "You're so unserious."
"Baby," he murmurs, voice softer now, "I just got punched in the face for ten minutes straight. Let me have this."
You roll your eyes—but you lean in again anyway.
And yeah.
Maybe he lost the match.
But sitting there, with you in front of him, your hand in his, your lips brushing over his bruises like they don't matter—
Kenny thinks he might've still won.
