#but speaking of boards i should probably study a bit now

[occamstfs]

Tenor Troubles

Masculinization spurred by a going from a Tenor to a Bass, bit of an odd one but hope you enjoy! -Occam

Max probably should have read his contract more closely. He knew that grad students across the board were getting shafted, but the agreement he has with the College of Fine Arts was some next level exploitation. He prided himself on his voice, being able to sing higher than even most of the Altos he has previously studied alongside. But his degree plan on the already signed contract suggests he is going to be enrolled as a Bass in the graduate program. Clearly there has been some misunderstanding that he’ll just need to work out with the department.

He knocks on the door of his advising professor and without waiting for a come in he bursts through the doors to see the man who is both his boss and professor staring at him less than pleased. Max’s face reddens in embarrassment and before he can even open his mouth to speak, Dr. Reyes addresses him.

“Maxwell is it. I trust you have a reason for barging into my office? I ask that you take more care towards decorum in the future.”

Max stumbles through an apology before getting to the matter at hand. “Y- yes of course I’m so sorry doctor it won't happen again, I swear.” He raises his eyes to his professor’s stern gaze, flinching back slightly as he goes on, “it’s just that, um, it looks like there was some kind of mix-up with my enrollment, I mean clearly you can tell I’m a Tenor right?” He raises his tone slightly and smiles awkwardly as he tries to make it clear to the man across from him that he certainly does not have the range.

Dr. Reyes rubs his beard, briefly covering his own mouth and wiping a smile from his face. “Well now Maxwell, there does seem to be a mismatch between your vocal training, and your preferred classes and yada yada,” waving his hands dismissively as Max’s face stains a deeper shade of scarlet by the second. Reyes goes on, “I'll see what I can do but all these changes take time If you must change your plan it’ll be at least a week. Until then if you could see to it that you fulfill the TA demands asked of you and attend your classes hm? You are under contract are you not?” The image of his signature at the bottom of contract feels burned into his retinas as he starts to reply, “well yes but-” An alarm goes off on the professor’s desk. “Very well Maxwell, if you would excuse me.”

Dr. Reyes makes his way to the next class smiling as he too thinks of the fine print of Maxwell's contract. ‘The student will become what the program asks of him.’ What a dunce one must be to sign that without an inquiry. Giving one last glance behind him to see the small student shaking with rage at the series of events, veins appearing to bulge out of his neck as he thinks about chasing after his professor, almost taking a step before grasping at his head. Max doubles over and grunts, after a painful second he rises once more and sees his advising professor enter a classroom. He exhales through his nose and walks to the concert hall with the undergraduate Bass students, the course he is, both legally and otherwise, compelled to assist with. 

The Next Week

Max is inches away from just dropping out. He was well-prepared to be constantly stressed from grad school but the wrench of working with students who don’t respect him and professors that are expecting him to sing alongside the rest of these professional bassists, it’s impossible! Dr. Reyes must be doing some sick joke on him, there is no reason it should be so difficult to fix this! He shouldn’t be graded for the university’s mistake. Beyond the looming threat of flunking these courses for his inaptitude he is also constantly hungry. His stomach rumbles and sends pangs through his body as he sits through each course on vocal instruction. He succumbs to stress-eating assuming one plate must fall and it may as well be his waistline.

Every time he indulges in his hunger he finds weight almost immediately piles on. Alongside his meticulously honed falsetto he has always enjoyed just how tight and small he kept his twinkish figure, though this begins to slip as he finds himself straining his tight pants and his stomach showing through his button ups.

The final issue lies precisely in his private vocal practice, in lieu of the training his program should guarantee. As he goes about practicing the arias and vocalizations that he typically uses as warmups he finds himself struggling to hit the highest notes. He works his way through them slowly and slips up, finding his range is peaking out much lower than it ever should. He grimaces and refuses to deign and see if his range has increased in the other direction. He goes note by note, taking his time to feel the stress and vibrations of his vocal chords. Reaching the pinnacle of the piece he strains to hit the high note and his voice promptly cracks. He feels a tear. He coughs and gasps for air concerned that he has truly injured himself. 

When no blood or further pain reveals itself Max finally clears his throat and drinks a glass of water. He tests his voice, “Uhhhh-” forcing his hand over his mouth before even getting a full syllable out. Eyes watering as he hears his voice is unmistakably deeper than it was not a minute ago. This spurs him to action as he storms to the college and bangs on the door of Dr. Reyes.

For his part Reyes is sitting at the desk finishing an email and grinning as he hears the banging grow only more fervent at his door. He finishes his email almost laughing at how effective he is at controlling the man at the door. Knock as he may he could not storm in if he wanted to, as he must desperately. Closing his laptop and reaching to grab a tea bag from within his desk he calls to allow Max entry, “Do come in Maxwell.”

Stomping into the room, unaccustomed to the new weight he carries, which Dr. Reyes is all too pleased to notice. He takes a deep breath as he prepares to shout at the professor, his chest growing as his already prodigious lungs expand. Before finishing though Reyes raises a finger and strikes him passive and mute. “Now Max, why don’t you have a seat.” He clenches his hands with a furor and sits, stewing in his mind while also rapt with attention. “How have you been liking your classes?” Max continues to sit silently watching as the prepare a pot of tea, beginning to forget his ire as he looks on in confusion at the man. Reyes turns once more and rolls his eyes, “Well go on.”

Shaking out of it Max finally starts clearing his throat a few times hoping the voice he has worked so hard to protect and train will return “I, ugh- Sorry it’s ugh!” Dr. Reyes leans against his desk and steeps the tea bag, eyebrows raised with a thin smile on his face. Failing to speak as he so wishes the rage returns to Max and he shouts out, “It’s my fucking voice! I came here to learn and all these classes are just a waste of my fucking time!”

Reyes pours the tea into a large mug and sets it in front of his student, “Now now, if you were having voice problems why didn’t you just say so Max. I am a professional after all! Have some of this and I’m sure it will set you right as rain.” The professor watches as Max grasps the mug and stares into it. He remembers that Reyes was already preparing it when he came in. But it’s not as if his advisor would do something truly untoward right? Sensing the hesitation Dr. Reyes’ eyes darken and he commands, “I did say to drink it did I not.”

Max quickly raises the glass and sips. His eyes remain dark and he continues, “what seems to be the problem with your voice young Maxwell?” Taking a break from drinking he starts to explain all of his troubles to the man who should be looking out for him. Gesturing to his clearly larger body, Reyes notices beyond the weight gain that the sitting man is adjusting himself as his pants begin to grow even tighter, his ankles growing exposed as if his legs were lengthening. 

He continues to stumble onward with his recollection, forgetting what exactly bothered him enough to storm in. Reyes half-listens and takes care to refill the tea cup as needed, taking in the physical changes to the man rambling and wondering just how far they will be able to go. Eventually Reyes speaks up, “you were having trouble with your voice, yes Maxwell?”

Max’s eyes glimmer with recognition and he almost jumps with a start, “Yes! That was it I couldn’t sing the part I auditioned with in Nessun Dorma and I was-” His professor interrupts as he takes a big swing at Max’s psyche, “Is that so? What were you doing singing that Maxwell, that’s for tenors.” As if a grenade went off in his mind Max struggles to reconcile and remember what his problem was, did he not audition as a Tenor? But he couldn’t sing high to save his life right? Or no. 

Reyes watches as Max’s brow grows sweaty in his inner struggle. He physically raises the cup to Max’s mouth helping him finish the entire pot of tea. Confident that the man before him is far enough gone to only latch on his words, Reyes offers him a bone, “which side of your range are you struggling with boy.” Feeling emasculated by the professor infantilizing him he feels an urge to test his lower range. Reyes sees the resolve in Max’s eyes and challenges him, “Go on, sing your lowest note, now.” Max takes a deep breath and produces a sonorous note sustaining it far better than he would have ever expected himself to. 

Reyes smiles and shoots to plant another seed, “Well now Maxwell, I’m not quite sure what the problem is then. Your range seems to be what any trained Baritone’s should be.” The word Baritone echoes through Max’s head as he once more grows paralyzed in his own mind. He ekes out a “B- Baritone?” his voice cracking even deeper as he freezes. Reyes watches as his eyebrows knit together in confusion, they seem to grow thicker as they near each other.

Vocal range and masculinity don’t inherently match one-to-one but the professor is more than happy to allow it, staring as the weight from Max’s stomach begins to slightly redistribute itself, it slides up his chest, straining the buttons near his collar. Reyes shifts to look at Max’s face, eyes lingering on the Adam's apple making itself unmissable on his neck. He sees peach fuzz growing on Max’s upper lip and sideburns. Thoroughly pleased with the acceleration he has achieved today an alarm once more goes off on his phone and he readies to send his protege off. 

“Maxwell dear, I thank you for your patience. Of course I know that you’d prefer to be with the other Baritone student’s though I am sure you are learning valuable information working outside your comfort zone hm? I’m sure we’ll have this snafu fixed by next week.” Max just stares in a stupor as he stares at his professor, the empty mug of tea still in his hand before he sets it down to scratch at his tighter shirt. Dr. Reyes offers him a kerchief to wipe the drool from his mouth as he leads him out of his office, “Why don’t you try your warm ups, I’m sure they’ll set you right as rain.” 

Just as he did last time he takes one last look at his growing student as he begins to wander down the hall, his pants swiftly turning from slacks to tight capris. He hears the echo of the man humming to himself as he walks down the hallway to his own office hours. He’ll need to be ready for whatever his Bass performance students need right? Can’t have them out showing him even if he’s still working outside his comfort zone. Just one more week of this and he’ll get to show off to the Baritones, once more with his choral cohort.

The Next Week

Dr. Reyes stays abreast of how his star pupil is doing this week. He visits during private lessons and checks into lectures on music theory and rehearsals. He hears the man force his voice to be stronger. After any challenge he hears the man force himself to be louder. When struggling with curriculum, surely impeded by the doctor’s manipulation, he clutches at his head as his body surges larger, tightening clothes that were already sizes too large when he started his education here.

He sees Max looking at his reflection in the mirror of a practice room. He checks his beard from every angle, tilting his head up to see his large Adam's apple and smirks watching it vibrate as he hums. He unbuttons yet another button of his shirt, allowing an even greater view of his pecs as thick chest hair spills outward. Reyes hears his voice power through the soundproofed room as he approaches. He has clearly decided to leave Baritone behind without any prodding as he endeavors to show off his talents despite ostensibly singing to himself. 

Dr. Reyes knocks on the door of the practice room and like an eager dog Max falls over himself to answer it. He now stands taller than his professor whose head now lies directly at the hairy pecs spilling from his opened shirt. Max’s eyes glimmer as he looks down to the smug face of the professor. He quickly sits down to lower himself below the doctor and eagerly awaits whatever is soon to spill from Reyes’ mouth.

“I must say Maxwell, you have truly outdone yourself. Truly you hold one of the most powerful Bass voices I have heard in my time.” Max sits quietly, his heart racing with excitement from such kind words. He struggles to stay silent, lest he speak out of turn, though he cannot hide the rumble in his chest as his deep breaths accelerate. The doctor struggles to keep it together as he sees a pulse in the unmistakable, currently growing, bulge in Max’s pants. He briefly wonders if he’s gone too far, before looking back to the man’s face, seeing his eyes still staring directly into him waiting.

Perhaps he can go farther. “Is it not a shame though, my dear Max, that you’re not a true Basso Profundo?” There is a loud tear in the room as Max’s body surges larger. He shoots up inches more in height revealing a hairy stomach and pubes that already spill beyond the bounds of his pants. Reyes hears a catch in his student’s breath and watches as his Adam's apple bulge even further from his throat. His cock bursts the zipper of his pants and Max moans loud and deep enough for the professor to feel it in his chest. Reyes can’t take his eyes from the hair covering his chest grows even darker, curling as each strand grows thicker.

Before losing control of himself and his desires Dr. Reyes forces one last statement through Max’s mind, “You know the department has always wanted a basso profundo coach. How would you feel about being an assistant professor, Max?” In response Max can only sit in awe as a look of what can only be described as pleasure stains his face, mouth lolling open as his eyes grow crossed. His hands clench the sides of his chair as he struggles to not lose control over himself and the professor. Thinking of staining the practice room only makes it more difficult to keep it together. 

Reyes feels a hunger within himself as he stares down at the massive man seconds away from cumming all over himself. In time he too will only know Max as the powerful man he is now. At this juncture however the doctor sneaks out of the practice room and heads to return to his office to prepare for office hours, what kind of a professor would he be if he wasn’t there for his pupils after all. 

Walking down the hallway he hears the man in the practice room lose control, his voice echoing down the hall before hearing him run out and to the nearest bathroom. He prioritizes increasing the soundproofing of the practice rooms before turning to see the new Assistant Professor sprint down the hallway towards the nearest restroom. Struggling to move swiftly or quietly in his far-too-strained clothing. Reyes returns to the desk and smiles once more to himself as he thinks of a future for himself, his program, and his new star Basso Profundo, before hearing yet another knock at the door. 

“Do come in.”

#male tf #masculinization #mental change #muscle tf #hair growth #male transformation

[moviecritc]

dreamer ⋆ carlos sainz

track 1 of my bewitched department

pairing: carlos sainz x old friend!reader

summary: you leave the city searching a meaning to your life, founding an old friends instead

word count: 2K

warnings: carlos isn't a driver, just a really rich guy with hobbies

a/n: here's the first track of my bewitched department <33 i love reader and carlos so so much tbh

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"I'm sick of all this, Natalie," Y/N declared, throwing her phone on the sofa. Her roommate diverted her gaze from the TV to her. "It's the fourth guy that ghosted me after I ask him out."

"Become a lesbian," said Natalie, turning her attention back to the movie.

Y/N let out a sigh. "I should. I'm tired of all men being assholes and manipulators."

She grimaced, thinking that maybe the problem wasn't men but her. She had studied Art History and had been the best in her class. Now, at 28, she was sharing an apartment and teaching preteens who called her 'ma'am.' Was she wasting her life?

"I need a change," she said to herself.

"The smell goes away with a shower, don't worry." Natalie looked at her, wrinkling her nose.

"No, damn it. A change in my routine," she explained. Nevertheless, she took a sniff at her armpit, regretting it. She'd shower later. "I need to get out of here."

She stood up, grabbed her phone, and headed to her room.

"Hey? And where are you going, if I may ask?" said Natalie, following her.

"Anywhere!" Y/N shrugged. She drank a glass of water and took out a couple of pieces of clothing. "I need to change the scenery as soon as possible, I'm stuck."

She pulled a small suitcase from her closet while her roommate rolled her eyes.

"Y/N, you can't just leave suddenly. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

Y/N paused for a moment and then shrugged again. "I'll ask for the day off. The week, actually."

"The week!" exclaimed Natalie. Y/N was already looking at flights on her phone when Natalie covered her screen. "Y/N, you don't have the financial or mental stability for this!"

Y/N swatted Natalie's hand away to see her phone screen.

"Madrid is very cheap this time of year," she said, with a small smile.

"But you don't even speak Spanish!"

Y/N boarded a plane to Madrid with the idea of not talking to any men that week. This trip was for her, to reconnect with herself, the Y/N she had lost over the years.

She still didn't have a place to stay, but she would resolve that on the go. The journey from the airport to central Madrid was tedious; she didn't know how the metro worked and people ignored her like she was nothing. Frustrated, she sat in a café. She looked up things to do in Madrid on her phone, but soon the battery died, and she was sure she had forgotten her charger at the apartment.

She let out a long sigh and ran her hands over her face. As she opened her eyes, she heard a voice.

"Y/N?"

She looked up immediately, surprised that someone knew who she was in Madrid. When she met the gaze of the individual, she recognized him instantly.

"Carlos?"

She stood up immediately, greeting him. Was he a man? Yes but Carlos and she had gone to university together; they had been friends for several years. Probably best friends, though they never talked about it. He hadn't changed much; he looked older but in a positive way, with a more flattering haircut and surprisingly stronger.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos asked, leaning in for a short hug.

"On vacation," Y/N nodded. Running into him had instantly lifted her spirits.

"Damn, I haven't seen you in… six years?" Carlos tilted his head a bit.

"Since graduation, right?"

They both nodded; it had been quite a while. Long enough to realize they had lost contact too soon.

"I didn't expect to see you in Madrid," commented Carlos, with a smile.

"It was a last-minute decision," explained Y/N, wrinkling her nose a bit. She formed a smile. "I'm glad to see you, really. Do you want to sit for a bit?" she suggested, pointing to the empty chair.

"I'd love to," Carlos accepted the invitation immediately, sitting down.

A waiter approached, and Carlos ordered a coffee to accompany Y/N's.

"Well, tell me, what have you been up to all these years?" Carlos asked, crossing one leg.

Y/N told him a bit of everything, very sweetened. That she was teaching Geography and History at a public school, that her family was fine, and they reminisced about the time Carlos practically crashed her Christmas party because Carlos Sainz Senior was mad at him for his grades and that she was happy living in her city.

Carlos told her that he now worked at his father's company as an executive.

"Oh, I thought you’d be doing something related to what we studied," Y/N pressed her lips a bit, somewhat disappointed that Carlos hadn't continued doing what they both loved.

"I would have loved to… but there were very few job opportunities. And I didn't want to be a teacher, so I played it safe," admitted Carlos, shrugging a bit. For a moment, he thought Y/N would judge him for it, but her sweet and calm expression told him otherwise.

"Understandable not wanting to be a teacher," agreed Y/N, before sipping her coffee.

"Is it tough?" Carlos mimicked her, lifting his cup too.

Y/N shook her head a bit. "I'm sure there are worse things. But having a twelve-year-old try to cut your hair because his dad is bald is rather curious."

Carlos almost choked on his coffee from the sudden laughter. "Really?" He tried to stifle the laughter as best as he could, but Y/N was already glaring at him.

"No, no. It's not funny, it happens every damn day," she nodded vigorously. Carlos let out a laugh that ended up being contagious for Y/N too.

The conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. It was like going back to university for a few hours, a time she missed a lot. When they decided to get up from the table, they had finished four coffees and at least one glass of wine. It was even starting to get cold outside.

"Shall I walk you to your hotel?" Carlos asked with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced, remembering she still hadn't sorted that out. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed. "I haven't booked a hotel room yet."

"Oh," he pursed his lips and quickly said, "You can stay at my place, I have a spare room."

Y/N, hearing him speak, was already shaking her head. "No, no, no. I don't want to bother you."

Carlos clicked his tongue, looking away for a moment.

"How are you going to bother me? Come on, bring your suitcase. My car is parked nearby."

Y/N was intrigued by Carlos's initiative but kept shaking her head.

"Really, it's not necessary, Carlos," Y/N extended her arms a bit for Carlos to return her suitcase, but he even moved it away from her hands. "I'll manage."

She said that last part to ease him a bit, but it only sounded like she needed more help.

"Y/N, I'm not going to leave you out on the street," Carlos put his hands on his hips and she let out a sigh. "That's not very gentlemanly of me."

"You were never a gentleman, you idiot," noted Y/N. Carlos smiled, knowing that if Y/N started to insult you, she was about to agree with you. "Alright, but just for one night. Then I'll find a hotel."

"Whatever you say, cariño," Carlos smiled triumphantly, and Y/N tried to hide her smile while he put her suitcase in the trunk.

His apartment was huge, truly huge. A dream kitchen, a large living room, and definitely more than one spare room. As they entered, a beautiful brown and white dog greeted them, heading straight for Carlos's legs.

"And who is this?" said Y/N, petting his head a bit, enough for the animal to focus all its attention on her. He sniffed Y/N's shoes and licked the hems of her pants.

"His name is Piñón," said Carlos with a smile, surprised that Piñón hadn't started barking because of a stranger's presence. "I adopted him almost after we graduated."

Y/N crouched, petting Piñón's neck and behind his ears. "Hi, Piñón. You're so pretty."

"I'll show you the room," Carlos said.

Y/N got up, giving Piñon one last pet. "Thank you, really. I feel like an abandoned cat, but thank you."

They both chuckled softly.

"It's nothing," Carlos said as they went to the room.

Y/N left her suitcase in a corner and turned to Carlos. "Do you have a charger?"

She felt like she was taking advantage of him too much, even if it was just for a charger, she felt bad.

"Of course, here," Carlos handed her the charger, their hands touched for a millisecond. She tried so hard not to feel anything. He kept a flirty smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Well, yes," Y/N nodded. "But give me a few minutes and I'll help you cook."

Y/N took a couple of things out of her suitcase and went back to the kitchen to help Carlos. They quickly cooked some pasta with burrata. Y/N noticed how Carlos would get close to her or brush his hands against hers casually.

While cutting some tomatoes, the knife slipped from Carlos’s hand. "Shit!" Carlos looked at the cut and put his finger in his mouth, letting out several whimpers.

"Did you cut yourself?" Y/N went over to him, Carlos took his finger out of his mouth, showing her a small cut. Y/N pursed her lips, remembering how dramatic he could be. "It's nothing, Carlos. It's barely bleeding."

Y/N cradled his hand, gently caressing his fingers almost unconsciously. The room went silent, Carlos looked into her eyes, he adored that look. Y/N lifted her eyes, connecting them with Carlos’s. He leaned toward her, listening to her breathing and matching his to it.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hung in the air. Y/N held her breath. This was the opposite of what she wanted. She blinked and slightly opened her mouth. To Carlos, it felt like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said in a faint voice. She looked at him with pity and Carlos stepped back, feeling more embarrassed than ever. "It's just… it's not the right time. I'm in a bit of a strange phase and things aren't going well for me, I don't want to mess things up for you." Y/N fidgeted with her rings as she said it.

"I understand," Carlos said, nodding slowly. "I shouldn't have asked you that, it was out of place."

"No, I should have told you before," she contradicted, with a grimace.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's just that…," Carlos hesitated a bit. "In college I had a huge crush on you and seeing you again brought everything back."

Y/N blinked, absorbing those words. She had always wondered why Carlos barely dated any girls during their time in college, it never crossed her mind it could be because of her.

"You had a crush on me?"

"You didn't know?"

"No…"

"Damn, we spent so much time together,"

"Because we were friends! That's what friends do!"

They both laughed and Carlos leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"So, you're not having a good time?" he inquired, with a calm look.

Y/N lowered her gaze. "I'm trying to sort out my life."

"I understand," he bit the inside of his cheek. "Anyway, if once you sort out your life you feel like going on a date, I haven't changed my number."

That felt so good in Y/N's chest, as if her heart expanded a little. She laughed like a fool, taking a few steps back.

"I'm going to go to sleep,"

"You're not having dinner with me?" Carlos extended his arms, with a sad look.

"Maybe tomorrow," Y/N turned around and smiled over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

#carlos sainz #my bewitched department #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz one shot #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x female reader #formula 1 #noraverse 🫧 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 one shot #f1 fluff #f1 fic #cs55 #cs55 fic #cs55 x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fluff #cs55 x you

[inmyheadimobsessed]

Your Spark Got Lazy

pairing: shuri ✘ plussize!black!fem!reader

summary: shuri misses your birthday dinner because she's too caught up in her work, things ensue

contains: hurt/comfort (if you squint), smut (18+), smidge of angst

word count: 1836

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: sooooo this turned into something i did not plan for it to turn into. i’m not mad at it though. i wrote this whilst sitting on the couch next to my family on thanksgiving, fun times man. also i don't speak xhosa, so thank you my mutual & @lehlehwrites for the corrections! hope you enjoy <33

updated translations: sthandwa - my love, bambo'lwami - my other half, mtuwam - my person

“Griot, I need you to run an analysis on this immediately.” Shuri called, and the AI complied. You stood watching her from behind as she worked on a new upgrade for the Sunbird. It was cute really, the way she was wrapped up in her work, scribbling angles and dimensions on her board.

Her curls bounced with the brisk movements of her hand, pulling your gaze on her in even further. Her gray jumpsuit clung to that frame you loved so much and you bit your lip. The smile fighting its way to your face was involuntary. Any sight of Shuri made your heart stutter and your insides melt, but you had to remember why you were here.

Irritation sizzled in your chest as you recounted the night’s events, and gone was your fond smile for your girlfriend.

Shuri had yet to notice your presence in her lab, which only amplified your annoyance.

“Panther, you have a‒” Griot’s attempt at alerting her of your being in the room was waved off by the newly crowned Queen. Your eye twitched at this, and you plastered on a vengeful grin. Still, you said nothing. Shuri’s ability to zone out on command would be a forever haunting act.

You leaned against the large white column in the center of the room, eyes following her twitching hands.

“You should continue those calculations as I instructed, instead of interrupting me. This is not what I designed you for.” She shifted over to her sand table and you tilted your head curiously at her. If your anger toward her weren’t molting into lava by the passing of every second she went without acknowledging you, you would probably be very turned on at the moment. Being around Shuri in work mode always did it for you.

She placed herself back in front of the board, letting her eyes dart around the lab long enough to spot you. Shuri froze then, and she stopped breathing. She still faced away from you, but you could tell by the way her back’s erratic rising and falling had halted.

It was easy to realize this would be her defense mechanism; avoiding your eyes, facing away from you for as long as you permitted. Normally you were not one for cruelty, but this was no normal circumstance. You let Shuri stand there, unmoving, holding her breath for a few beats. Her heart was thumping, it had to be, on the verge of leaping out her chest, in search of refuge from your impending rath.

“You may breathe now.” You rolled your eyes and she spun to face you. Shuri was at your side in seconds.

Sweaty palms clasped your beat face, “Bambo'lwami, forgive me.” You said nothing, a lone grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. She gulped, like actually gulped. It was audible, and it was a glorious sound. You wanted the sensation — Shuri bracing herself for her imminent demise — to blanket you in all its glory.

Remorseful cocoa eyes studied you, taking in your glamorous appearance. Your box braids hung down your back in a side part, draping your lavender sequined dress. Your Kimoyo earrings twinkled under the lights hung overhead. Plump, perfect lips glossed with precision. Your custom necklace, made by hers truly adorned your neck, and it's where her gaze decided to focus. Shuri was avoiding your eyeline at all costs.

“My love, I am sorry, truly.” Her voice was hushed and shy. Shuri, who usually commanded each room she was in, was reverting into herself. And you had yet to reprimand her for her actions. It was truly spectacular.

Grin still hanging loosely on your lips, growing with disdain as time ticked on, you stepped around the shorter woman. You strode to her sand table, dragging a manicured nail through the fine grains. Your feet placed you in front of her board and you began swiping through her designs.

“Say something.” You let a soft chuckle fly out of you at her words and you saw her reflection flinch on the screen.

“So. This is what my loving girlfriend has been up to all day. Hmm? Why she ignored my messages? Why she missed my birthday dinner?” You turned to face her then.

Hesitation was evident in her steps as she made her way towards you again, “I lost track of time. I planned to be there, I just-”

“Lost track of time.” You nodded, eyeing her and the forlorn on her face.

Shuri grabbed your hands, attempting to kiss them in apology, but you tugged them away harshly. The hurt in your stomach grew tall as it began stacking on top of itself. You were eager to forgive Shuri usually, aware of the turmoil that plagued her life as of late. You excused a lot of her actions without question, and accepted her apologies with ease. But this time it was different. It was your birthday and she promised she would show up. She was the one to pick your outfit and your jewelry. Your excitement about the night stemmed from her own.

“Shuri, I reminded you this morning, before you left. I know how you get so I made it a point to remind you. Yet you did not show.”

She reached for your hands again, and this time you allowed it. “Sthandwa, I know I’ve hurt you. I know you were counting on me and I let you down. I shouldn’t have missed your birthday.”

Tears stung your eyes and it was your turn to avert her gaze. Your irises focused on her tattoo, examining it as if it was a new discovery.

“Look at me please, my heart. I am so sorry.”

“Saying sorry will not fix it this time, Shuri.��� You pulled your hands out of her warm grip and a line snapped inside you. “You know, it’s not even about my birthday at this point, it's about your constant absence in my life, this relationship. I know you are hurting, mtuwam but you have to let me in.”

Shuri stayed silent as you spoke, letting your words wash over her. There was nothing about what you said to refute. She knew you were correct, and you could see the shame clouding her eyes.

You took your earrings out, gently placing them on the table beside you. Her eyes tracked you as you did, knowing what your action meant, accepting the finality of the moment. You felt it too and it was too cold to bear. You gave her a quick once over, committing her to memory. Breathtakingly beautiful and able to set your body ablaze just by existing.

Stepping around her to leave, she grabbed your wrist. Firm and swift, and demanding enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Give me a chance to fix us.” Shuri pleaded, eyes desperate.

You scoffed, “Our relationship is not one of your inventions. You cannot just tinker with it until you deem it fixed, Shuri.”

She leapt forward, cradling your jaw anxiously. “Let me try.”

Simple, tender words worked their way through your system and settled inside. You folded then. She pulled your forehead to meet hers and sparks flew. You felt it. Bast, you felt everything for this brilliant woman. She navigated all your emotions so delicately.

“Please, bambo'lwami.”

Shuri got on her tiptoes, planting her velvet lips on yours, working them in that magical way she does. You kissed her back immediately, without a beat of hesitation. Hunger climbed from your depths as you deepened the kiss. You swallowed each other's breaths greedily, moaning in sync. Shuri’s hands found your curves, caressing and squeezing whatever she could. She slammed your back against a wall violently, the strength of the Black Panther thrilling in her veins.

Your lips trailed her sharp jawline, licking and sucking desperately. Shuri’s hand slipped under your dress with haste and you whined when her finger trailed the outside of your panties.

You sucked in a breath, “Thought you said no sex in the lab.”

“This is different, it's your birthday.” She was on her knees before you could blink, hiking your dress up like an animal in heat. Her impatience was always a turn on. With your dress around your middle, Shuri peppered hot, ravenous kisses from the stretch marks decorating your stomach, to your large thighs. She took her time working to your core and you whined. She smirked up at you before licking the inside of your leg.

Shuri snaked her finger under the waistband of your lace panties, guiding them down excruciatingly slowly. She knew what she was doing and you did not enjoy it.

“You should pick up the pace, your majesty. Do not mistake my lust for forgiveness.”

Your underwear hit your ankles and you stepped out of them. Shuri dragged a thumb through your folds and the hiss that escaped your mouth was of the most sinful. Your wetness coated her fingers as she rubbed delicate circles on your clit, the way she knew you loved.

“You speak of not forgiving me my darling, but it seems as though your pretty little cunt did not get the memo. She is so drenched for me, dripping all over my lab.” Shuri purred.

She stood on her feet, bringing her damp fingers to your swollen lips. “Imagine if her royal subjects could hear the filth you utter.”

You sucked her fingers as instructed before she returned them to your pussy. Two fingers in your hole, thumb massaging your clit. Her thrusts were intense and sweet, coaxing your orgasm out of you. You moaned with abandon in her ear, letting her lips abuse your neck.

Your pleasure wrapped around itself, tightening to a snapping point. Shuri wanted you to snap, she wanted you to spill all over her fingers. Her fingers fucked you with unabashed starvation and you were a mess.

“Make a mess for me my love, I know you're close.” She pecked your neck, teeth grazing over the many bruises she’d created. Her words tipped, pushed, shoved you over angrily. Your whine of ecstasy bounced off the walls and rang in your ears. Pleasure rained down on you, traveling with hurricane level winds and waves.

Your knees buckled immediately, and you fell to the ground, Shuri right behind you. She pulled her fingers from within you and sucked them clean.

She let her hands find your sweaty face, tucking loose braids behind your ears. Her brown eyes fanned your exasperated form. She studied you, eyes twinkling before she smiled sadly. You glared back at her between your half lidded, heavy eyes and returned her smile.

Shuri bit her lip. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I lost sight of us, admitting that is hard. Admitting I caused you pain is hard, but I promise you this: It shall never happen again.” Shuri leaned in to kiss your forehead and you hummed, for it was the only response you could muster.

#shuri x black!reader #lyricswriting #shuri x fem!reader #shuri x reader #shuri x plus size!reader #shuri x f!reader #shuri #shuri x black!fem reader #myworks #shuri fic #shuri smut #wakanda forever #black panther #marvel #marvel fic #mcu #mcu fic #letitia wright fanfic #letitia wright #shuri x y/n

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Semantic Error | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter 4

Based off of Semantic Error (bl) by J Soori Summary: Jungkook asks to spent time with y/n as friends Pairing: Techie inexperienced fem!reader x Artist fuck boy Jungkook Word Count: 1.2k~ Warnings: Nothing really, Jungkook is just being annoying and flirty a/n: This is just a tiny bite of the story since I haven't updated it in almost 5 days... oops. I'm spending time at my sister's house for the next few days but I should be able to work on posting more on Monday :) Read from the beginning

Days after my reconciliation with Jungkook I find myself thinking of the possibility of asking him if he would consider working on the game with me again but that would require me to swallow my pride. I'm not really in favor of that option so I decide to wait until he brings it up... if he brings it up.

I could always put up a flyer in the visual arts department asking if anyone would be interested in joining. I'm saying it here and now, I will never crawl back to him, if he sees that I'm still looking for a designer and ends up being interested then he can beg me to be a part of the project again. 

Either way as long as I get a new one by the end of the week then I don't care who I work with. As long as they have a good work ethic and their character design doesn't suck and they can keep to deadlines and... well maybe it might be a bit harder to find someone to fit the bill than I thought it would, knowing that people tend to be very unreliable and unpredictable creatures. I don't want to go through what I went through with Hana cancelling on me again. I guess the only way to really try to find someone is let people know about it.

Calculating all the pros and cons of what the result might be depending on my methods I decide fliers with my contact information would be my best bet. I'll just place it on some sort of bulletin board and hope for the best. If that doesn't work I'll resort to some sort of digital announcement. Opening the program I plan to use I notice that I've received a friend request on sns. Pulling it up I'm greeted with a follow request from Jungkook which I find strange but I accept it nonetheless. Soon after I get a DM from him in my inbox. 

'Hey pretty, I didn't realize you had social media, I guess this means we're friends now that we're following each other :)' I roll my eyes at his pathetic excuse at flirting.

'Last I checked you followed me, I haven't followed you yet' I say putting him in his place.

'Yet ;)' shit I should've just ignored him. 

'Come on y/n just follow me, I promise my account isn't some narcissistic blog or anything, plus next time we see each other I want to take a picture with you and post it! I like posting pictures of my friends!' he says and I can feel his smile through the phone and I roll my eyes at the thought.

'You have to ask for my consent before posting anything' I reply ultimately giving into him since there's no harm done with clicking a single button. 

'Okay I got it. Hey can we meet up in the library tomorrow? I wanted to spend some time with you. I know you end up spending a lot of time in there anyways so I just thought that maybe we could study together, especially since we taking Chinese together' he says waiting for my permission to give him another place to annoy me in.

'What makes you think I would want to study with you?' I say hoping to brush him off.

'y/n I'm your TA , I've see all of the work you've turned in' he teases.

'What's that supposed to mean?' I ask offended at what he's implying.

 'It means that you write like a child. Plus your accent when you speak isn't the best either. I could tutor you if you'd like ;)' he responds, simultaneously offering his help while also insulting me. 

'Pass' I say frustrated with his attitude.

'I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I just like thinking about what you might look like while you're responding to me. You probably have your brows pinched together looking utterly offended and maybe even blushing from embarrassment' 

'I'm not embarrassed!' I retort.

'Why don't you look in the mirror pretty, I've got you blushing without even being there don't I' I get up frustrated, determined to prove him wrong but to my disgust I see my cheeks with a light dusting of pink. 

'Fuck you' I reply indirectly confirming his suspicions.

"Anyway do you want to meet after the class you have after Chinese?' he suggests.

'Aren't you in that class too?' I question annoyed by the memory of him taking my spot for the second time that day.

'No I dropped the class, there was no way I was gonna stay in it and bring down my gpa, I just wanted to annoy you for a bit' he admits.

'Do you have another class after Chinese?' I ask curious as to what he'll do while I'm in class.

'Oh no I'm done for the day after that :)' he sends

'So you're just gonna wait around for me until my hour and a half class ends and then spend even more time studying together? Don't you have something better to do with your life?' I question, confused as to why he would do that. 

'Not really, I just wanna spend some time with you. I wanna be friends remember?' he send with no hesitation.

Is this what friends do for each other? Waste a whole day waiting for your class to finish just to then tutor them afterwards just because you want to 'spend time with them'?

'You Jeon Jungkook are an enigma' I respond not bothering to acknowledge his continued efforts to establish a friendship with me for some odd reason. 

'Thank you? Anyways what's your answer pretty?' he prods, not satisfied with my evasion of his proposition. 

'First off stop calling me that, second I'll be there from 3-6 are you prepared to stay for that long?' I question trying to get him to rescind his invitation. 

'Yep, I'll make sure to clear my schedule, see you then pretty ;)'

I groan audibly at his antics and close out the app. I guess this whole flyer situation can wait until tomorrow since he's given me a splitting headache from all of this. Who knows maybe he'll bring up the game tomorrow so I won't have to make them or swallow my pride, therefore making him come crawling back to me since he seems so eager to spend time with me. 

Taking a deep breath to clear my mind I decide to go to bed early to prepare myself for the mystery this is to be my day tomorrow. My days used to be the same week to week, month to month through out my life with minor changes to my class schedules since I've been in college but ever since Jeon Jungkook decided to walk into my life it has been anything but ordinary.

I'm used to scheduling things down to the very minute and that has worked well for me. It's set me up for success in my schooling but also as an adult. My life is what some people might call boring but I find peace in my calculated existence. Whereas Jeon Jungkook rolls with the punches and lives in chaos. My world is in black and white and his is in color, my life is routine and his life is creative. Why has someone like him taken an interest in me when I'm the exact opposite. Why can't he just leave me alone? I guess the real question I should be asking is why can't I get him out of my head? 

prev / next

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @goddesofimortality @kaitieskidmore97 @coolbluedude @00frenchfries00 @marvelbun @coralmusicblaze @bangtans-momma @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater @j3nni-rs @evidive @beomieboi

Join my Taglist

Feel free to fill out the form or comment below to be added :)

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #park jimin #bts jimin #jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #semantic error

[goldenempyrean]

Under The Mistletoe

« Day 6: Mistletoe Misfortune »

« Pairing: Sanvers »

« Notes: Sorry this took a while to be posted! Had to get back to my computer to format it :p also this is criminally unedited too »

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Advent 2023 Masterlist! 〙

“It’s so chilly out here.” Maggie shivered, tucking herself further into her coat as the cold wintery breeze nipped at her features, “Seriously, how aren’t you freezing Al’?”

But Alex only shrugged in return, wearing the hint of a smug smile, “I don’t know, It just doesn’t feel too cold to me.” She shrugged nonchalantly before running her index finger beneath her nose giving a small sniffle, “If you’re still too cold, you can take my coat if you’d want. No point in you freezing out here when you don’t need too.” She added, beginning to unzip her coat, already ready to hand it to her.

The detective accepted the gesture with a small smile, pulling Alex’s coat ontop of her own. She knew it’d make the agent happy even if it wasn’t really necessary. They’d almost finished the short walk over to Lena’s apartment now anyway. The plan had been for them all to meet up there and enjoy a cosy little Christmas party together, it was a chance to unwind and spend some much needed quality time together - everyone’s life had been so busy recently, a break from the chaos from truly needed.

Before long, they arrived at Lena’s building and as the pair entered apartment, the festive atmosphere wrapped around them like a warm blanket. Twinkling lights adorned every corner, and the scent of freshly baked cookies hung sweetly in the air.

Kara jumped up excitedly as she rushed over to greet the two, "You made it! I’m so happy to see you both, Maggie! How’ve you been?” She babbled giddily, pulling the two inside to join herself and Lena where they’d been sitting on the sofa.

“It’s been good, work’s been busy for the both of us recently. So I’m just so glad we’re finally getting a bit of a break.” The detective sighed in relief at the idea of a break. It was true the pair of them hadn’t really had much time for themselves so she was more than glad for the time off.

Kara nodded, knowing how just busy things got this time of year. “Right! Can I get anybody a drink? I think Lena stocked them this time so you’ve got her to thank for buying the fancy brands.” She teased, causing her girlfriend to blush in return as she waved off the thanks.

Maggie nodded, giving her thanks to Lena before she asked, “I’ll have a cider if thats okay?”

She zipped to the fridge and called back, “Yup, got it! Al’, what are you fancying?”

“Alex?”

Alex blinked, her attention snapping back to the present. "Huh? Oh, yeah, just water for me," she mumbled, a faint frown creasing her forehead as she subtly rubbed her temples. Unbeknownst to the others, she was fighting off the beginnings of a headache. Maybe it was just the lights or just the change in temperature but she was determined not to let it spoil the festive evening.

That caught everyone’s attention. Alex was usually the first to drink at these events, claiming it helped the evening to flow better. She wasn’t one to skip a round.

Lena turned to study her face, her expression unreadable, “You alright Alex?”

“Yeah Danvers, what’s up baby?” Maggie added, wrapped her arm around the brunette.

Alex managed a weak smile, attempting to reassure them. "Just a bit of a headache. Probably nothing, don't worry about it." She accepted the glass of water from Kara, taking a sip as she tried to shake off the discomfort.

Lena exchanged a concerned glance with Kara before speaking, "Maybe you should try warm up a bit? It was freezing outside and you two walked here right?”

Despite the concern, the group decided to continue with their plans, moving on to games and laughter in an attempt to lift everyone's spirits. They gathered around the coffee table, where Lena had set up a selection of board games and card games.

As the night progressed, Alex's headache persisted, and she couldn't quite shake off the chill from the walk. She tried her best to engage in the games, but her usually sharp focus was dulled by the throbbing in her temples. She’d hidden it for the most part but her throat objected suddenly and she found herself coughing into her wrist, wheezing a little as she caught her breath.

“That doesn’t sound too good.” The detective’s worry deepened, and she reached out to feel her girlfriend’s forehead. The contact making Alex flinch in response.

The officer gasped, “God Alex, you’re on fire!” Her hands coming to cup her girlfriend’s cheeks as she finally realised that the subtle flush on her cheeks wasn’t from the change in room temperature but change in body temperature.

“Are you calling me hot?” The agent tried to sound flirty but the effect was truly lost when she ducked down into her elbow to sneeze moments later.

The detective only frowned further in response, her eyebrows knitting together, “Have you been this warm all day princess?” She asked, cursing herself for not noticing sooner as she raised the back of her hand to Alex’s warm cheek, “This might’ve been why you couldn’t feel that chill earlier.” Maggie sighed sympathetically, as she felt the agent sink into her gentle touch.

Lena and Kara exchanged a worried look and they both nodded, seemingly thinking the same thing as they got up and headed over the kitchen to give the two a little privacy.

Maggie sighed, “I think we should get you home sweetheart.” She murmured softly, “I’m guessing you haven’t felt well all day?”

“My throat was sore this morning, but that was it.” She admitted with a soft sniffle, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“Then you need an early night, come on. Your sister and Lena will understand,” She extended a hand, as she helped her up off the sofa.

The two headed in the kitchen and explained the situation. Of course Lena and Kara were more than understanding, Lena had even packed up some food and drinks for the two to take home with them.

Kara pouted as she kissed her sister’s forehead, “Feel better, okay? Call me in the morning?”

Alex nodded, in agreement as she mumbled a hoarse thank you.

“Take care of her.” Lena nodded to Maggie as she held the door open.

“Always.”

Just as the two were about to leave, Maggie looked up to see something above her, “Would you look at that.” The detective smiled a little as she noticed the small plant hanging above the doorframe, her arm slipped round her girlfriend’s waist with a giddy smile, “It’d be rude to ignore such a beloved Christmas tradition, wouldn’t it?” She teased as the mistletoe hung over them.”

“We shouldn’t-“ Alex mumbled sleepily as she let her forehead come to touch Maggie’s, the one leaning into one another as they shared their moment, “I’ll get you sick.” She rasped her concerns but her girlfriend only shook her head, reaching up to hold Alex’s cheek before leaning in to softly press a kiss to her lips.

Maggie smiled as she pulled away from the kiss, her eyes sparkling in the aftermath, “Like I care about that.”

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗 @natashamaximoff69 @lovelyy-moonlight @santana1437 @kljhsong @inluvwithfictionalwomen @shamelessbearunknown @kathleenmikaelson @bloomingflowersthings @observeowl @scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @scarlettssub nayarianna1302 @villaneve4life @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming

#maggie sawyer #alex danvers #sanvers #alex danvers x maggie sawyer #sanvers sickfic #sickfic #fluff #caretaking #DC #sanvers fanfic #empyrean’s advent 2023

[taeswolfie]

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝑭𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 : 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

☽︎𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒔☾︎

Ch.16 - Ch.18

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x fem!Reader

Word count: 3.8k

In class Y/n and Scott stare at the surprise return student. Stiles runs in and takes his seat behind Scott in a frenzy. Y/n kept her gaze forward while Scott turned to Stiles as he started to talk. "Guys, I just talked to my dad, who just talked to Jackson, and I got really terrible, horrible, very, very bad news."

"I think we already know." Scott gestures to the seat in front of Y/n where there is seated a very smug looking Isaac.

After class Stiles informs them what he found about the kanima. "All right, I only found one thing online called the Kanima. It's a werejaguar from South America that goes after murderers."

"That thing was not a jaguar."

"Yeah, and I'm not exactly a murderer."

"Yeah, but you did see it kill somebody, which is probably why it tried to kill you. And it's still trying to kill you, and it probably won't stop until you're dead."

Stiles pauses as he stares at Scott. "You know, sometimes I really begin to question this 'friendship'." Stiles makes quote marks in the air and Y/n chuckles as she pulls him along.

"I also looked through my grimoire." She said when they caught up to Scott. "I didn't find much and what I did find was pretty much everything Derek said. When you get the Bite the shape you take reflects who you are, if it doesn't kill you first. I had an ancestor who knew someone who turned into a kanima. They said that the Kanima shape was most likely derived, partially if not all, from the person's self image. Something like identity issues? They weren't very clear."

"Why can't it ever be 'this is this and this is how you take care of it'?" She just shrugged as they entered their next class together, this time the boys sitting next to each other with Y/n behind Stiles.

Jackson came in a minute later and sat behind Scott. "Hey, dick, and testicles left and right." He calls the three. "What the hell is a kanima?" The question is enough to make all three turn to him in shock. But they can't say anything more as Coach gets the class' attention.

"All right, listen up. Quick warning before we begin our review. Some of you, like McCall, might want to start their own study groups, because tomorrow's midterm is so profoundly difficult..." He chuckles a bit. "I'm not even too sure I could pass it. Okay, I need a volunteer at the board to answer the first question. Who's got it, huh?" A few hands go up, including Lydia. He waves someone up. "Let's go, buddy."

Jackson had quickly told them about his recent encounter with Derek and what he heard in the hall just before class. "Paralyzed from the neck down. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"I'm familiar with the sensation." Stiles says.

"Wait..." Scott speaks up. "Why would Derek test you? Why would he think that it's you?"

"How should I know?"

"Wait, do they think it's Lydia?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know, all I heard was her name and something about Chemistry."

"Jackson!" Coach yells as he's now standing near the group. "Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class?"

"Um..." He glances around. "Just an undying admiration for my- my Coach."

Coach smiles a bit. "That's really kind of you." Jackson gives a small 'modest' smile. "Now shut up! Shut it! Anybody else?" When no one else speaks he goes back up to the front of the class.

Scott then leans towards his friends. "How do we know it's not her?"

"Because I looked into the eyes of that thing, okay? And what I saw was pure evil."

"Then it's definitely not her." Y/n shakes her head. "Lydia's eyes are 50% evil, 60 on bad days, 40 on good."

"Y/n, that's not a very good argument."

"I'm aware of that, but it's not her. Whatever is happening it's not because of her." She looked down at her notebook then, shutting out any more argument about Lydia being the kanima. When she looked back up to maybe listen to what Coach was saying she found she was no longer in the classroom.

Y/n sits at her desk in the middle of the woods. Fog hugs the trees, diffusing any light that may have touched her. She slowly stood up from the seat and looked around. There was no one in sight. When she turned back the desk was gone and a trail of wolfsbane was left in its place. She followed it through the woods towards a house. The Hale house. It was quiet. She walked in and looked to her left. Her eyes widened in surprise with what she saw. She saw herself standing in the middle of the room, arm outstretched with a clenched fist, red trickling between her fingers and down the side of her hand as she squeezed blood onto the floor. The blood soaked into the wood leaving no trace behind and the other Y/n looked up at her with glowing eyes and a smirk.

"Y/n!" Someone whisper shouted at her and she shot her head up with a startled gasp. Stiles had been calling her name with no answer until right then. He looked at her with furrowed brows. "Are you okay?"

"Um... Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She brushed off. He didn't seem convinced.

Before he could say anything his eyes darted down to her notebook. "What's that?"

She looked down to see she had written something in another language. Mihi prohibere. She quickly shut her notebook with a snap. "It's nothing." She dismissed. But it wasn't actually nothing. It was Latin, it said 'stop me'.

"Lydia~" Coach calling her in a sing song caught everyone's attention. Lydia opened her eyes with a gasp as tears stained her cheeks. She was visibly shaken by something as she looked around with stuttering gasps. Coach looked at the board behind her. "Okay then, anybody else want to try answering? This time in English?" The class laughs and Lydia turns in confusion only to see she had written something seemingly in a foreign language several times.

"What is that, Greek?" Scott wondered.

"No, actually, I think it is English." Stiles had taken a picture of the board and reversed it to show them, but Y/n already knew what it said.

"'Someone help me'." She muttered, but they heard her. She looked at Lydia in worry.

"Derek is not gonna kill her without proof." The three walk into Chemistry, Scott assuring Y/n about Lydia.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." She huffed.

"All right, so he tests her like he did Jackson, right? But when and where?" Stiles wonders.

They look at Lydia flipping through a book at a station and then at the door where Isaac and Erica had just walked in. "I think here and now." Scott said. The five look at each other, glancing at Lydia for a moment until they all rush forward, each heading for Lydia. Scott sits next to Lydia on one side and Stiles pulls up a chair on her other. Y/n sits at the table next to Stiles while the Betas sit behind Lydia and Scott. Allison sits across from Scott and looks at him in question and he gestures to the two behind him.

"Einstein once said, 'two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe'." Mr. Harris starts off the class walking down an aisle. "I myself have encountered infinite stupidity." He claps Stiles on the shoulder at that. "So to combat the plague of ignorance in my class, you're going to combine efforts through a round of group experiments. Let's see if two heads are indeed better than one. Or in Mr. Stilinski's case, less than one. Erica, you take the first station. You'll start with-" All the guys (bar Scott, Stiles and Isaac) and a couple girls hold up their hands. "I didn't ask for volunteers. Put your hormonal little hands down. Start with Mr. McCall." He finished. Erica smiled amusedly at Scott and glanced at Allison. "All right, next two."

Y/n was sat next to someone she didn't know for the first round of the experiment and she had to watch Erica 'flirt' with Scott in the seat in front of her to try and get to Allison. Allison was sitting next to Lydia although when Mr. Harris rang his bell it was time to switch. She warned Lydia to not talk to Isaac or Erica before she had to move. Next Scott was with Lydia and Y/n had the great pleasure of being saddled with Isaac. She gave him a glance and he smirked at her. She rolled her eyes at him and turned to the appointed task.

"I'm only gonna tell you this once, pup. You touch even one hair on my ginger princess's head, I will burn your little werewolf ass to a crisp and turn your ashes into a crystal that I'll give to her as a birthday present."

He laughs. "Really?"

"It's a promise."

"I've never actually been to one of her big, invite-only birthday parties." He muses. "I did ask her out once though."

"I've heard this story before so I'm gonna pass."

"It was the first day of freshman year."

"Thought everything would be different for you in high school, but she said no." She feigned sadness.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, she even laughed. Told me to come back when the bike I rode to school had an engine, not a chain."

"Yeah, she's got a thing for motorcycles. You got turned down. Suck it up. It's not the only time you'll ever be said no to by anyone. Maybe you should learn to channel that negative energy into something productive, like writing."

"Nah, I was thinking I'd channel it into killing her. I'm not very good at writing." He looks at her and she glares daggers at him.

Mr. Harris rings his bell again. "And switch." Y/n was sat with someone else she didn't know and Scott and Stiles ended up together while Allison got put with Erica. Isaac slid into a seat next to Lydia and when Stiles tried to get up Mr. Harris slammed a stick in front of him making him sit back down with a jump. "If you're trying to test my patience, Mr. Stilinski, I guarantee it'll be a failing grade." He warns and goes back to his desk.

More time passes and Y/n is tense as she finishes. Mr. Harris rings the bell one last time. "Time. If you catalyzed the reaction correctly, you should now be looking at a crystal." Y/n looked and there was indeed a crystal. When she looked at Scott and Stiles they had some sort of beige sludge. Isaac picked up the crystal with tongs as he and Lydia admired it. "Now for the part of that last experiment I'm sure you'll all enjoy... You can eat it."

Y/n, Scott, and Stiles glanced at each other as they looked at the questionable thing in front of the boys. There was no way they could eat that. She thought. But then she and Scott looked at Lydia to see her taking the crystal Isaac offered. They could see a clear liquid dripping off of it. Kanima venom. She put it to her tongue. "Lydia!" Scott jumped up and everyone turned to look at him.

"What?" She asked.

"... Nothing." He sat back down. She turned away and took a bite of the crystal. They waited and… She was perfectly fine. The kanima venom had no effect on her. Scott looked out the window to see Derek had seen everything.

...

Scott, Allison, Stiles and Y/n walk into Coach's office and close the door to discuss what to do next. "Derek's outside waiting for Lydia." Scott points out.

"Waiting to kill her?" Allison asks.

"If he thinks she's the kanima, then yes, especially after what happened at the pool."

"It's not her." Y/n insists. "I was with her before that thing came out."

"Y/n, she didn't pass the test. Nothing happened."

"It's a stupid fucking test!" She throws her arms up. "She has some type of immunity to the supernatural. I don't know how yet but she does."

"It doesn't matter because Derek thinks it's her." Allison says. "So either we can convince him that he's wrong, or we've got to figure out a way to protect her."

"Well, I really don't think he's gonna do anything here, not at school." Scott says.

"What about after school?" Scott sighs. "Okay, well..." Allison sighs as well. "What if we can prove that Derek's wrong?"

"By 3:00?" Stiles asks.

"There could be something in the bestiary."

"Oh, you mean the 900-page book written in Archaic Latin that none of us can read? Good luck with that."

Allison thinks for a moment. "Actually, I think I know someone who can translate it."

"Uh, I can talk to Derek, maybe convince him to give us a chance to prove it's not her." Scott offers. "But if anything happens, you guys let me and Y/n handle it, okay?"

"What does that mean?" Allison asked him.

"It means you can't heal like we do. I just don't want you getting hurt."

Allison gives him a look and digs in her bag, pulling out a small crossbow. "I can protect myself."

"Again, that's why you're my friend." Y/n praises her and she smiles back.

Scott still looks worried and she puts down the weapon. "What? Did something else happen?"

"I just don't want you getting hurt. Seriously, if anything goes wrong, you call me, okay? I- I don't care if your dad finds out. Call, text, scream, yell, whatever. I'll hear you and I'll find you as fast as I can." Allison gives him a tiny nod. "We have until 3:00." She nods more this time. He turns and walks to the door when a whistle of an arrow sounds, quickly turning back and catching the small arrow that nearly went into his head.

Y/n sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Allison turns and holds her hand out to Stiles. "Uh..." He hands her back the crossbow he had been examining curiously. "Sorry. It's a sensitive trigger on that."

Y/n and Stiles went with Lydia to the library to keep an eye on her while Allison went to the school counselor to see if she could try and translate the kanima pages. Scott went to talk with Derek on the field. Boyd was there with him. As Scott talked to Derek Erica and Isaac were heading for Lydia. Scott was hoping he could change Derek's mind, but he wasn't counting on it. Erica and Isaac go to the library only to find no Lydia. Y/n, Stiles, Allison, and Jackson were walking with Lydia down the halls, taking her to Scott's house under the pretense of a study group.

"If we're doing a study group, why didn't we just stay in the library?" She asked.

"Because we're meeting up with somebody else." Stiles answered.

"Hmm, well, why don't they just meet us in the library?"

"Oh, that would've been a great idea! Too late now."

"Okay, hold on-"

Y/n put an arm over her shoulders. "Scott's a strange guy, you know this. He works better in more comfortable settings like his home." Lydia huffs, but doesn't argue any further. Stiles drives his Jeep with Y/n in the passenger, the other three managing to fit in the back.

When they get to Scott's house Lydia had more questions. "If we're studying at Scott's house, then where's Scott?"

"He'll be here. Just running an errand I think."

"Thanks." Allison muttered to Jackson in helping escort Lydia out of school.

"I needed to talk to her anyway."

When they get inside Stiles locks the handle, deadbolt, and the chain on the door. Lydia gives him a questioning look. "Uh, there's been a few break-ins around the neighborhood." And then he put a chair under the handle for good measure. Another questioning look. "And a murder! Yeah, it was bad." Y/n pats him on the arm while Allison gestures for Jackson to take Lydia upstairs.

"Lydia, follow me. I need to talk to you for a minute."

She sighs. "Seriously? What is going on with everyone?" She mutters before she follows him. While they go upstairs, Stiles and Allison keep watch out the front while Y/n sits on the steps, ready to jump up and go wherever to protect her friends.

Y/n had her head in her hands, fingers raking through her hair as she waited. The sun starts to set. She picks her head up suddenly. "They're here." Allison and Stiles look at her and then out the window. Sure enough, Derek and his Betas are standing across the street from the McCall house.

Allison dials Scott on Stiles' phone. "It's me."

"What's wrong?"

"You need to get here now. Right now."

"Okay, I'm leaving now. On my way."

More time passes and they keep checking to see where the werewolves are. Allison looks at her phone and taps a couple buttons. "What are you doing?" Stiles asks.

"I think... I think I have to call my dad."

"No, but if he finds you here-"

"You and Scott-" Y/n continues until Allison cuts them off.

"I know. But what are we supposed to do? They're not here to scare us, okay? They're here to kill Lydia."

Y/n gets up and stands next to her friend, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "Allison, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her, okay? We'll be fine." Allison sighs and puts her phone away. Y/n then hears Lydia cry a bit, that alone enough to make her brow draw together, but she frowned when she felt a spark of something. Something other. But it was only for a moment and then it was gone.

"I got an idea. Just shoot one of 'em." Stiles whispers to Allison.

"Are you serious?" She whispers back.

"We told Scott we could protect ourselves, so let's do it. Or at least give it a shot, right?"

"Okay."

"Stiles, you guys don't need to prove anything." Y/n also whispers. "Just shooting them now could actually have negative consequences."

"Look, they don't think we're gonna fight, so if one of them gets hit, I guarantee they'll take off."

"I doubt it."

"It's worth a try. Just shoot one of 'em."

Allison peeks out the window. "Which one?"

"Uh... Derek. Yeah, shoot him, preferably in the head."

"If Scott was able to catch an arrow, Derek definitely can."

"Okay, uh, just shoot one of the other three then."

"You mean two."

"No, he means three." Y/n and Stiles look through a window to see only Isaac missing.

"Where the hell is Isaac?" He wonders. The three back up, Allison holding her bow up to the door.

Y/n senses him a moment too late. She turns just as Isaac grabs her by the neck and tosses her back towards the steps. He then disarms and knocks Allison aside. Next he smacks Stiles aside. His eyes glow and fangs show as he stares down at Stiles and then he lunges with a growl. Y/n winced as she pushed herself up. For the moment Stiles and Allison were holding their own against Isaac. Y/n raced up the stairs to check on Lydia. She found her just as she turned the corner.

"Lydia, get back." She said quietly. "Someone is trying to get in, okay? Just go hide in Scott's bathroom. I'll come for you when it's safe. Go. Lydia, go." She said more firmly and Lydia finally listened, running back into Scott's room where she noticed Jackson was missing. But the noises downstairs prompted her to go to the bathroom and hide as instructed, calling the police as she did. Y/n ran back down to take care of Isaac. She scooped up Allison's crossbow and pushed it into her hands. "Go watch Lydia." Allison nodded and did as instructed. Y/n used her magic to give her an extra boost as she grabbed Isaac and threw him back from Stiles. Isaac quickly got back up and growled at her. "That doesn't scare me."

Allison closed the door behind her and noticed the open window with venom on the sill. "Guys, it's here!" She called for them to hear. Erica kicked down the door and Allison pointed the bow at her, the laser pointing at the blonde's chest.

She scoffs. "Hmm... This might make me sound like kind of a bitch, but I've always wondered what it feels like to steal someone's boyfriend. I bet it's a pretty sick rush of power. I think I might try it with Scott." She chuckles. "You know what... I don't think it's gonna be that hard. Because why would he be waiting around to steal ten minutes with you when he can have me anytime he wants?" Allison shoots her arrow and Erica catches it as swiftly as Scott did.

She laughs. "You didn't really think that would work, did you?"

"Actually, I did." Erica looks down at her hand and finds that Allison had coated the arrow with kanima venom. Allison smirks as Erica shouts and falls onto her stomach, completely paralyzed. She steps over and crouches to hover her face over the blonde's. She moves a bit of Erica's hair back. "I thought you were psychic... Bitch." She smiles and leaves Erica.

Derek and Boyd watch from outside, hearing furniture shifting and growling coming from inside. Derek smirks until the door opens and his Betas are tossed on the grass in front of him, knocked out and unable to move. He sighs and looks up when Scott steps onto his porch, Y/n, Allison, and Stiles with him. "I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott." Derek says. "You're not an Omega. You're already an Alpha of your own pack." He smiles. "But you know you can't beat me."

"Wanna test that?" Y/n glares, only backing down when Scott looks at her, silently telling her that he's got it.

"I can hold you off until the cops get here." Sirens are heard just after as the police draw near. Then hissing and scurrying footsteps are heard catching everyone's attention. The four run off the porch to see the kanima on the roof. It screeches at them and runs off.

"Lydia." Y/n runs into the house for her friend.

Derek glances down to the teens at his feet. "Get them out of here." Derek instructs Boyd. But then everyone looks back towards the door as Y/n brings out a very upset looking Lydia.

"Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Lydia sounds even more upset.

Scott looks towards where the kanima ran off. There was only one person left unaccounted for. "It's Jackson."

Ch.18

#taeswolfie #Just a Feeling #JaF #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x fem!reader #stiles stilinski x y/n #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #x female y/n #x you

[swiftfootedachilles]

i got tagged by @lupeloto @transmickey AND @mickeysgaymom ‼️‼️

tag game tuesday except im doing this weeks and last weeks bc i forgor to do it last week

name: achilles or smth idk

age: 23

pronouns: idk he/him or whateva idk

tell me about one of your hobbies: not a hobby but i study classical music. or at least i should be studying it

what languages do you speak? from most to least fluent: english absolutely nothing else. i know tiny bits and pieces in french, german, and italian. supposed to be learning german right now but yknow. ich bin ein berliner or whateva

one of your comfort movies: finding nemo, monsters inc, and mean girls bc they remind me of my cousin💛 also ratatouille bc its the best ever

do you have any kids? do you want any? NO!!!!!

cold weather or hot weather? ❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

you’re at an amusement park. what ride are you going on first? none of them im terrified of rollercoasters and i get made fun of when i go on the "little kids rides." im heading directly to the waterpark 🚶

what’s your go-to hairstyle/how do you wear your hair most days? i dont do shit to my hair other than make sure i dont look like i stuck a fork in an outlet

Artist in your spotify wrapped/apple music replay in 2022? top .5 listeners of sufjan stevens lets goooooo babey

you’ve just been handed $1000 but you have to spend it on clothes. where are you shopping? idk fuckin jc penney probably

wireless or corded headphones? both bc they each play a specific role in my life and cannot be substituted for the other

finally, tell me something that sparks joy: my dawgy. and gay

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

i was tagged last week by @creepkinginc @sirrudo @mickeysgaymom and @lupeloto 🤪🤪🤪

name: see above

when is your birthday? january

favorite social media platform outside of tumblr?

do you wear makeup? not unless i absolutely have to for a performance

favorite board game? does secret hitler count as a board game? that ones fun

do you have any tattoos? no :(

which of the seven deadly sins would you say you struggle with the most? sloth cuz im a lazy narcoleptic fuck or gluttony bc i cant stop eating

best vacation you’ve ever been on? vermont several years ago. it wasnt really a vacation bc it was an institute. but i learn a lot and met some cool people. also italy last year was pretty nice :') learned sooo much and ate gelato every day for 2.5 weeks

how do you get around town? (car/bus/train/on foot/etc): my gay little car

describe your vibe in three words: gay, goofy, rizzy

share a song rec: Boat Song by Ludo :)

#tagged #a.txt #long post

[chezzachopsticks]

2024 updates: Cleaning up + Married Life + House

'ello, it's cher~ just back and hang a bit, not that I care if anyone see this, maybe future me Currently unfollowing all those old folks who last updated years ago, I still remember those tumblr-train thingy where I mass followed strangers during 2009/2010~ Well done 2009 me, now I have 800+ blogs to go through Married life is great, love my husband everyday tho he still doesn't know where things are at home why are they like that tho? All the wives out there are literally tour guide of their homes

I probably write up a mini-rant post about married later, if I remember ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Current status: Got a house to renovate

Just want to thank Tumblr Being studied aboard in a boarding school, and lived with parent while I paid rent with my mental health etc, signing up tumblr is probably the best decision I made while being jobless, money-less asian girl with no goals in life (and I'm really glad I'm still using it now) all these time reblogging all these home interior pics, was well spent.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

Also as a Simmer, it feels surreal to actually get to do it irl~ (yeah i wish i can "motherload" my bank account too)

Speaking of build/decorating I thought spending days on a Sims household build was extreme but irl, it will take up to months😩

Why can't Sims 4 teach people how to be a electrician and plumber in games

if there is washing machine death, why can't we have mini games to prevent that

Why are doctors in Get To Work DLC, but no electrician and plumber?

I would paid for that DLC to connect wires and fix broken locks like in Hogwart Legacy

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

At first, I was going for a themed bedroom, but now I just couldn't be bothered, bc the progress of choosing and budgeting is really overwhelming plus knowing the fact most pics on the internet might be fake, so I'm just going to keep it functional and cozy~

few things for sure:

We are going for the Japandi style, it gives a calming nature vibe~

we need peace and want to chill in the nature without going outside (we lazy madafaaca)

Living, Dining Room + Kitchen walls will be different shades of earthy-tone green (I'm a Slytherin and green is good for the eyes)

My own bedroom wall will be in purple (inspirated by being a BTS ARMY Borahae🤟🏻 and a big fan of Sailor Saturn, Kuromi.)

Wanted black paint wall, but thinking about heatwave, I might die from the heat absorbing black so never mind~

Husband room is going to be in blue (he is a Ravenclaw, he loves dolphin and water~ he literally shower whenever he feels heated up, I should called him Poseidon

We both cook Asian food the most, so there will be tons of sauce bottles, therefore MORE STORAGE and COUNTER~

That's about it.

#millennials #me #personal #blog

[fromreid29]

Elemental Journey

It has the perfect combination of terrain, climate and precipitation. heli skiing trip canada is house to nearly all of heli skiing and heliboarding operations on earth (90%). Within British Columbia there are totally different areas with different benefits and drawbacks. The best time to go skiing in New Zealand is through the peak season from July to September when the snow conditions are at their greatest. However, if you’re in search of a more budget-friendly option, contemplate going in early or late season when there are sometimes offers on lodging and lift tickets. Sadly, I am not a snowboarder, and I’ll defer to our snowboard reviewers here, however most of our friends appear to have probably the most enjoyable on powder-specific snowboards. If you may have any questions about what board(s) to convey to CPG, ship me a message, and I’ll put you in touch with guides who can help you. Paul and I have been speaking about this trip for over a decade now, and I can’t imagine that it’s finally happening. After you’ve bagged all of the dream traces your legs can deal with, settle into world-class lodging at Alyeska Resort. The days are a bit longer, and you’ll nonetheless see constant snowfall within the mountains. Here, you may be striking the proper stability between daylight, situations, and stability to maximize your ski days. As the later season arrives in April, the size of day is now the largest profit. However, you’ll have terrific ski climate with much less extremes. CMH Heli-Skiing is the world’s oldest and largest heli-skiing tour operator, with over 50 years of experience and providing private entry to over 3,000,000 acres of terrain. The quick perception is that heli skiing is difficult, particularly should you imagine that you have to bounce off a helicopter. But opposite to this perception, heli skiing isn’t that onerous should you already know the fundamentals. As talked about above, you don’t even have to be an professional skier, but you do need to have intermediate abilities. Attending trade occasions, conferences, and workshops provides a wonderful platform for aspiring heli-ski guides to network with professionals in the subject. By exploring multiple destinations, you can identify those that align along with your interests and goals as a heli ski information. When embarking on the journey to turn out to be a heli ski information, it is essential to thoroughly research and understand the sphere. They present an thrilling and unforgettable heli-ski experience while making certain client safety at all times. Let heli skiing trip canada take you into the heart of the Southern Alps to take pleasure in unique backcountry terrain. Set in the coronary heart of the expansive Wasatch and Uinta Mountains, Powderbird is the only clothing store in Utah permitted to helicopter ski on United States Forest Service land. His perfectionist, problem-solving strategy and dedication to arduous work paid off. It’s been an abnormal yr for outside tourism in Vermont between the summer time floods, late fall foliage season, and lack of snow firstly of the winter. It seemed the unhealthy conditions were going to affect winter recreation but ski resorts said Thursday their on tempo for report seasons. That afternoon, in thick fog and stormy circumstances, our guides led us via tree runs and gladed slopes. Some of one of the best heli skiing areas on the earth embrace Canada, Alaska, and the Swiss Alps. Consider elements like snowfall, terrain, and worth when choosing where to go. Keep studying to study extra in regards to the ultimate information to heli skiing. It’s certainly attainable (and surprisingly common) to return here and have one of the best skiing of your life with a pair days’ bookings. But should you ask any skilled heli skier, they'll inform you that the longer you may be right here, the better your probabilities of scoring those special moments. Before descending down the slope, the pilot drops off the group on the peak, where they'll survey their surroundings and choose the proper line to navigate down. Without any crowds or lift strains, it’s just the skiers and riders carving up the pristine slopes. With heli skiing, however, your information will work with you and your group to discover out the best terrain and runs based mostly in your skill stage and preferences. This signifies that whether or not you’re a beginner in search of gentler slopes or an professional on the lookout for steep, difficult terrain, there’s one thing for everyone on a heli skiing trip. You will want skis or snowboards with powder-friendly shapes that may handle deep snow. Want to avoid skiing with strangers and have a extra intimate expertise with one of our skilled guides? Each guided skiing group of approximately eight people can count on to hike anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour for every run, although you might also drop straight from the carry. Hiking quarter-hour to an hour permits access to giant open bowls and steep, tight chutes. After every run you will return to the carry by shuttle or foot. With its ease of entry and placement within the heart of the Alps, Switzerland is the right place to get a style for heli-skiing. From bases in Verbier, Zermatt, Arolla and Chamonix, we offer a variety of different adventures, including a variation of the Classic Chamonix to Zermatt, Haute Route. Extreme sports activities or activities are often done by consultants, but on this case, you don’t need to be one to heli ski. So even should you can think about heli skiing as an extreme sport, it’s not as extreme compared to skydiving and bungee jumping. So sure, people can die whereas heli skiing, however it’s largely because of pure hazards or accidents.

#heli skiing trip canada #heli skiing canada #planning heli skiing trip canada #what is helicopter skiing #heli-skiing #heli skiing trip british columbia #heli-skiing season #heli ski season #heli boarding #heli skiing and heli boarding #heli skiing safety

[evokersapprentice]

A wizard's initial studies of the martial classes

First off, a disclaimer. I am a relative novice to DnD, and part of a table of relative novices. Our DM is a little more seasoned (paprika, mostly), but I know he goes easy on us in some areas, given our inexperience. None of our builds are particularly optimised, and I'm fairly sure they started out as off-the-rack starter character sheets. I speak from a place of profound ignorance, and my future options are limited by my ignorance so far.

But I'm just about starting to learn. It's been too long, far too long, feeling our way without actually knowing what we're doing. We went from just trying it out and not being sure we would like it, to not knowing how long it would continue for, and now we're hooked but well behind on our reading. There's a lot of information for a newcomer at a table of newcomers, and I'm finally trying to swot up on the details beyond the immediate 'what do I do now' in each situation.

A lot of that has been learning about other classes. I feel like for half of our campaign I've barely remembered the extent of my own capabilities, let alone the rest of the party. They just have their turn and move in mysterious ways. Dice are rolled on the other side of the table, numbers are called out, and hit points move around whilst I'm trying to think about my next move. I play a wizard, and the others tend to grumble if we're still shuffling through our spells by our turn. It seems a lot easier when you only have a sword and one thing to do with it.

That's the sort of dismissive attitude that it's easy for a wizard to have. It's in character, too. When you're a genius who can reshape reality with the sheer power of your intellect, a big guy with a blade seems a little primitive. At relatively low levels, I gain the ability to fly, or turn invisible, or reanimate the dead, or whatever. You get to hit the goblin with your sword a second time per turn? Good for you.

But as I said, I'm learning. We've had a bit of time between sessions, and I've had the chance to read up on some guidance on other classes. It's useful for considering multiclassing, but mostly it's given me a real appreciation for the work the others do. There's obviously a practical relevance in being able to strategise around them, and it's appalling that none of us have really taken the time to ask what the others do so far, but it also makes me admire them.

We have a fairly standard party. Human fighter, halfling rogue, gnome druid (replacing our original cleric), high elf wizard. The druid I still need to work on. As a spellcaster she should be the easiest to understand, but then her strategy is probably the most complicated. She's a pacifist who focuses on healing, battlefield control and summoning, which for me is great because it frees me up for setting people on fire (my subclass is also evocation, which fits that nicely). But I don't really know her choices for that big concentration spell, and certainly don't know what her options are for each turn afterwards.

It's the martial characters I've been reading up about. First, the fighter. He just runs up to the bad guy and starts hitting them. I didn't even know how melee damage worked, but it doesn't seem like much. He's wielding one-handed with a shield ('sword and board', I'm learning), so a normal rapier does 1d8 + DEX or STR modifier. As the party tank he's had to spread across DEX, CON and STR ('MAD' as I think they say) but manages a +4 to DEX.

At Level 9, he's therefore doing 8.5 (4.5 + 4) damage per attack. He has the extra attack ability, which takes him up to 17 per turn on two hits. He can double it again once per rest, which is fun, but otherwise that seems... fine. When I got fireball at Level 5 I could do 28 damage to a whole pack of enemies from 150 ft away. At Level 9 I can summon a swarm of flying daggers which can do 65 damage per turn (again assuming hits) plus my action. I can do a whole host of things.

There seem to be a lot of snobbish wizards out there. I see them on the forums. One of the more commonly referenced resources is a guide by a guy called treatmonk which purposely plays up to this, with wizards as gods, the tank as a 'Big Stupid Fighter' putting himself in harm's way, the rogue as the 'Corpse' who stupidly has to scout ahead and put himself in danger. I suppose I previously just found them a bit basic.

Since I gained access to fourth level spells (i.e. Polymorph), I've had a simple test for the strength of my martial colleagues. As I can turn any of them into a Giant Ape to do their melee attacks (two attacks of 22 damage each for 44 per turn on two hits, with far more HP to absorb hits), they effectively need to justify why they are a better tank or damage dealer than a big gorilla, which feels a bit condescending, but there you are.

Even more damningly, it's usually felt like an obvious choice. The longsword doesn't do 22 damage per hit. The Giant Ape has more power and more health. So for the first few combats, I've been benching one of my party and replacing them with an animal. It's only now that I've looked into what else they can actually do, and learning more has made me appreciate all the wonderful things about their builds.

So, the fighter. Ours has focused on maximising his AC, which has been simple but effective. Whilst I try my hardest to avoid being targeted, thanks to the combination of low AC, low HP, and the need to maintain concentration, he actively courts the danger. Whether one big bad or a whole group of minions, he does his best to draw all the fire to him, because he can take it: attacks very rarely hit him, and when they do he can usually suck it up (or even heal himself, in case of emergency). He's our human shield.

That alone is incredibly effective, and probably more so than any buff or healing spell we mages could provide. He'll save me and the rest of the party dozens of HP per encounter, and sometimes per round. Just as importantly, he preserves concentration on my spell and whatever the druid is doing for another round. The 17 damage he does is just a bonus.

Except it also isn't just 17, because if any of the enemies do decide to run for a softer target he gets another 'opportunity attack' as a reaction. On top of that, our fighter has taken the Sentinel feat, which may not be necessarily the best thing in terms of optimising his output, but makes him even better in this role. Even slippery enemies who disengage can be stabbed in the back. Those who try to run lose their movement speed and are left in range for another attack next turn. If they don't run and just happen to reach one of us in range, they also get stuck. He's fairly consistently able to do another 8.5 damage per round and keep the rest of us safe from the minion wanting to break the front line.

Oh, and in flanking the target he gives anyone else advantage if we want it (more relevant when we have smaller summons/allies), and certainly lets the rogue sneak attack on every turn. Just as a bonus. Finally, all of this is just factoring in a bog-standard lump of metal. He actually has a couple of magical swords which let him do far more damage (per attack, i.e. three times a round), whereas the items I've found as a wizard don't really let me augment my spells to the same degree.

The rogue has been a similar revelation. He was previously my main target to be polymorphed, purely because he's so unassuming: this is just the little halfling we send to scout ahead of us, I always thought. A non-combat lock-picker and skill merchant. He's not meant for the heat of battle. Let's put him somewhere safe, like inside a massive gorilla suit. I didn't ever realise that he can hit as hard as any of us, and is one of the hardest to hit.

I don't think I'm actually alone in this one. When I look at rankings of the best or most powerful classes, rogues (or 'rouge', as it is spelt with alarming frequency) are consistently towards the bottom. It may be that they just don't scale too well to other levels, but my experience is that he's been plenty helpful thus far. A lot of early adventures need somebody who can sneak or get us through locked doors, and he can do that, whilst having the charisma and dexterity skills to get out of various other sticky situations. I suppose that spells make a lot of that redundant, but they're a precious resource in a combat heavy day. Out of combat, he's probably been the most competent amongst us.

I never really noticed him in combat. He just seems to dash around, occasionally stabbing someone, and I assumed he'd be doing far less damage than our main fighter. This was when I though the fighter's purpose was to be a sword, rather than a shield. The rogue is the sword. With a rapier, he can do the same damage as the fighter per attack, or better: 1d8 + 5, as he could afford to focus on DEX. That's 9.5 per attack, which was just about in line with my expectations.

But then he gets to sneak attack. Rather than attacking twice, he can do a bonus 5d6 damage on a hit where he has advantage or an ally in play, which is virtually always the case with our tank up front. That transforms a hit to 27 damage, each and every turn. More than the fighter's two attacks. As much as my third level fireball, per target, and that's something I can only do a few times per short rest. He can do this all day. This is just with a normal sword, of course. In reality, he has magic weapons that let him do even more.

On the other side of things, he's incredibly slippery. As a rogue, he can dash, disengage or hide as a bonus action. In the early game, he would therefore duck in and out of melee each turn. He then took the Mobile feat, which means he doesn't provoke opportunity attacks anyway. I first thought this was a wasteful choice, a bit of duplication with a slight bonus to speed, but he's now free to run much further in and out (dashing with double that bonus) or hide after attacking (and as a halfling, he can hide behind the fighter). He's a melee attacker who almost never gets hit.

I'm assuming that the sneak attack scaling doesn't keep up with the extra attacks, which is why the rogue isn't generally rated highly overall. But in this stage of the game, he seems to have it made for someone who just wants to stab people: do lots of damage, dodge the response, repeat. I'm now wondering if I can get him a ring of spell storing to cast a concentration spell for me, because he might be less likely than me to get hit.

In fact, I've even caught myself wondering if he's better off turning me into a giant ape for the start of a fight, so I can conserve my spell slots and help the party better with a bit of tanking: doing more damage and shielding them better than I'd do with most of my actual spells. With the druid having left me as the designated blaster, I'm honestly not always sure I'm any better than a gorilla under my own test. The tables have well and truly turned.

This is how far the mighty have fallen. Ape punching does seem to be better than fireball, unless there's a nice group of targets lined up. I could give the fighter advantage by flanking, give him constant opportunity attacks by making me the target for attacks, and soak up 157 HP of damage from a big bad (protecting him, the rogue and the druid whilst she pins them in place with concentration) before reverting and doing something wizardy to finish them off. It's a scary thought, and I try not to dwell on it too much. I have my own concentration spells, I say to myself. Shiny new fifth level ones. They'll keep me relevant.

Don't get me wrong: I'm still a wizard supremacist. When I see takes that go the other way, pushing martial classes as stronger overall, it makes me laugh. From the little I've read about higher levels, a wizard definitely has the ceiling to enter god-like territory. A fighter gets four attacks per turn and the wizard gets Wish and True Polymorph and Simulacrum and almost limitless power. There are any number of avenues to complete domination of that match-up. But here and now, with a monster up ahead? I'm grateful to have such powerful friends here by my side.

[sennaleee]

this ain’t omo but I have a lot of random things to say and no Friends(tm) to say them to, so here’s an info dump/update on my Super Exciting life. Read the tags for a summary I suppose. Also this is really long so sorry. Kudos to anyone who reads all of it, lol.

So y’all know (unless you’re a newer follower, I guess) that the reason I’m MIA basically all the time is because I’m in school. I’m in my last year currently, and while it is absolutely the best year so far, it’s also super isolating. Every 2 weeks I’m doing something different and dealing with different people, and while this is absolutely the greatest thing in the world for me (I tend to get annoyed being around the same people 24/7, which is why the first three years of grad school were probably such a nightmare, haha), it’s also cementing how much of an outcast I am in my class. Like, most people are super nice, and I like getting to know people I haven’t had a chance to talk to much over the time here (my class is essentially high school with how many cliques there are, I stg it’s ridiculous we’re all 23+ years old and have a “don’t sit with us” attitude), but there are also random instances where someone I considered a friend is actually kind of a bitch and acts in a way that makes it very obvious that me speaking in her presence is the worst part of the day.

There are also people I have to work with who are legit working in my school - they are getting PAID to help teach me - and they very clearly do not want students around, which is so frustrating. I got a bad grade for one of my 2 week classes just because I wouldn’t take shit from them and stood up for myself. I was literally graded on my personality and was done so in a way that my feedback contradicted itself so like how could it even be trusted? This probably makes no sense. I’m trying to be somewhat vague and it’s just making everything confusing sorry. >.<

And then there’s the random superior who just does not give a frick about your time and thinks that what they want should be your #1 priority, but you’re also doing things for 3 other superiors simultaneously that are more time sensitive than what the first superior wants and then you lose an ENTIRE LETTER GRADE for that class because you “didn’t ask for help when you were overwhelmed” except for the fact that I DID ask for help from the first superior and was promptly shut down because she “has her own things to do.” God, I’m bitter.

I have all this stuff to complain about, but I have to emphasize that I am seriously having the time of my life. Some classes are better than others, but this year is for working out what we want for our future, and if nothing else, the classes I hate are helping me learn not to go into those specialties. And for every not-so-great mentor/superior, there are least 5 that are absolutely amazing, so there’s that. The bad ones are just the ones that stick in my head.

Despite being great though, everything is so mentally and emotionally draining. LIke, my recent class had a section where we had to handle parr/ots (yeah, if this doesn’t give away my school program, I don’t know what will...and yes I’m literally censoring the word ‘parr/ot’ don’t judge me.) and I was perfectly fine one minute and the second I’m just freaking sobbing over this bird and my partner is trying to draw blood from it and I can’t even see through my own tears so I had to make her stop and the instructor had to come over and try to calm me down and take the bird from me and I still don’t know why I cried? Literally the only thing I can think of is that maybe the bird was stressed and I somehow subconsciously realized that before I consciously did and my body’s way to get my attention was to just go “it is time to sob” and so I did. We did have to put that particular bird back immediately afterward because she was getting too warm, but normally I’m able to, you know, use my words to warn people about things like that instead of having an emotional breakdown out of nowhere.

Anyway. This is getting super long, and I also want to throw in - on a totally unrelated and very random note - that I saw It Cha/pter 2 today and I won’t spoil it but wow if anyone else wants to talk to me about that hit me up. I’ll probably be writing “normal” stuff about that for awhile because it made me angry and sad (and to think that I absolutely spoiled the entire thing for myself prior to even going to see it and that still wasn’t enough to keep me from crying in the theater, jfc I’m a disaster) and I don’t feel much of an urge to write omo for it but still want to write /something/ so I guess if anyone’s interested in reading that from me message me and I can let you know if I ever write it and post it somewhere.

K if you can believe it I actually had even more to say in regards to school and general social issues, but this is already hella long, so maybe I’ll come back to do another “Senn is a disaster” info dump in a few months or something.

Hope you all are doing well. <3

#school stuff #this is almost all venting #but there's also a random paragraph about 'it chapter 2' so like #that's near the end and there's no spoilers #hello and goodbye friends one day i will be out of school and i've been assured living as an actual Adult is a lot easier #and i'll supposedly be less exhausted and so will have time for my hobbies lol #also i take boards in 2 months so once that's over i'll be less stressed overall #that'll also help immensely #but speaking of boards i should probably study a bit now #later friendos <3 #also i did not reread through this essay of a post so pardon any typos

[ahundredtimesover]

Hold Me Close | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader, ex Namjoon x Reader (ft. brother Jimin)

Genre/Tags: brother’s best friends au; (dash of) angst, fluff (sort of), smut

Warnings: foul language, feelings of insecurity, minor accident caused by inebriation, getting drunk, sexual content (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!), JK has a hip tattoo and at some point has grey hair (18+)

Word count: 22k

Summary:  When Jimin hits a crisis, he enlists the help of his older sister - you - and his best friend, Jungkook, to put the pieces back again. That proves to be difficult when 1) Jimin’s a brat and a certified pain in the ass, and 2) Jungkook has grown and suddenly, you can’t keep your eyes off him.

A/N: I wanted to write something fun for a change and saw @ladyartemesia‘s brother’s best friend list and thought it would be a nice trope to explore because if there would be an ideal bratty younger brother, it would be Jimin. This was sooo much fun to write but also reminded me again of why I love my baby sister more than anyone in this world. Hope you all enjoy! 

##

Three - the number of missed calls you probably now have just in the last 5 minutes, the vibrations piercing through your pocket and onto your thigh. It might be important, but so is keeping your attention on the department Director to your right, who is complimenting the man to your left, over a proposal that you spent weeks working on. 

You force a smile because in front of your entire department isn’t really the time and place to refute and complain. It doesn’t help that Chul accepts the credit because anything to get ahead, right? 

Just another reason why you dislike this job. Perhaps your boss telling you that you’re too emotional or too soft to be in this industry has gotten to you, but then again, there’s not a bone in you that’s ambitious and competition-craved, unlike your parents. But you try, at least. It’s the least you can do for something that’s expected of their eldest child.

The Director flips a page and turns to you. “Glad you could contribute to this, Ms. Park.” 

He did assign it to you but you suppose your name just flew off his head, but you remind him anyway. 

“Thank you for the opportunity to work on it, Mr. Yoon. I’m truly learning a lot,” you fake a smile and wish for this to end.

Soon enough it does and you bow towards the managers present, one of them giving you the compliment you needed to hear, and excuse yourself before another call comes in. 

Best brother ever, the screen announces, and you curse yourself for still not changing his contact name and for having an easy-enough password to guess. 

“I swear to god, Jimin, this better be an emergency,” you cuss to the person on the other end, already boiling at the thought of him possibly calling to ask how to fix a broken toilet or what kind of oil he’s supposed to buy for frying because he’d done both too many times for you to count.

“___!” The sound of a relieved huff is what greets you, the voice familiar.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah, hi,” he says. “Uh, we’re at the hospital.”

Your eyes widen and you scold yourself for missing the calls, but then again, you wouldn’t have known because Jimin’s wolf cries precede this moment of an actual emergency. 

“What? Why! Is my brother okay?” You cry out, hands already working on collecting your files and feet rushing towards your desk to pack up.

“Yeah,” Jungkook affirms. “He’s fine. He just—“

“I AM NOT FINE!” You hear your brother shriek in the background, sound a little soft due to distance but you don’t miss the farcical tone of his statement.

“Dude, it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ll live,” Jungkook tells him calmly, away from the phone.

You sigh in relief because Jungkook is definitely the person to believe in times like this.

“From 1 to Jimin, how dramatic is he?” You ask.

“Jimin. Times two.”

“Damn, okay. That actually seems worse than the injury itself huh?” 

Jungkook laughs in agreement. 

“I’m just packing. I’ll go to you guys right after.”

“Alright. General Hospital, emergency room. Just follow the tone of the weeping man-child.”

“I feel so empty. What am I gonna do with my life now!” You hear in the background.

You laugh at your brother’s antics because you’ve heard that exact line not long ago after his building owner told him again that he can’t have a pet in the apartment. But who knows with Jimin this time around?

“Got it. See you in a bit,” you say, then head out to hail a cab.

**

You arrive in the emergency room and follow the sound of the weeping man-child and true enough, you see your baby brother lying on the bed with his right leg nestled on pillows, ice taped on the swollen ankle.

You rush to his side and assess if there’s any other part that’s being treated. “What the hell happened to you?” You worriedly ask. “Is this because of work? God, Jimin. I told you that company overworks you! You don’t even get enough rest.”

Behind you, you could hear muffled laughter, and paired with your brother’s sheepish smile, you could already tell he got it over something silly. He’s avoiding your gaze, causing your worry to turn to frustration. 

You cross your arms and you give him a stern look. “Park Jimin, look at me and tell me what happened.”

He plays with the hem of the blanket draped over him and with a sickly sweet smile, the one he uses on you to get himself out of trouble, he says, “I may have drank and perhaps had my foot stuck in a gutter and I may also have moved about when Jungkook told me to stay still and well…” Arms laid out before him as if in presentation, “here I am!” 

He’s beaming, as if it’s something to be proud of. You know it’s his tactic but still, your brother’s ability to go from one reaction to another astounds you.

You turn to Jungkook for confirmation and he nods at the accuracy and absurdity of the situation, causing a worried feeling in the pit of your stomach because how the hell are you going to explain this to your parents? 

“You forgot the part about you screaming that you hate men and you don’t want to love anymore,” Jungkook adds. It’s classic Jimin that it actually makes you laugh. 

You, as his older sister and Jungkook, as his best friend of 15 years, should be used to this already but your brother is plucked from a classic romcom as the hot mess character and that carries with it amusement and predictability.

You're about to ask for an elaboration to put more context in the scene that’s playing in your head of a crying Jimin flailing his arms and a bemused but laughing Jungkook trying to shut him up, when the doctor comes in. 

She checks the clipboard then on Jimin. 

“Thankfully, there’s nothing broken,” she says, jotting down on a pad. She starts instructing how to properly wrap the ankle, prompting Jungkook to stand next to you and Jimin to nip at his fingernails because the brat won’t even pay attention to how to care for his own injured foot. 

After handing you the prescription, the doctor tells Jimin, “We’ll just wrap you up with a cast and give you the crutches then you can head home.”

“So I’m not staying?” He asks.

“No need,” the doctor clarifies. “It’s just sprained but it will take several weeks to properly heal and it will be sore for a while,” she states, then calls a nurse and instructs him to prepare the supplies. 

“You said you’re a dance instructor? The injury was aggravated by previous mild sprains so I require complete rest. You absolutely cannot move. Just stay in bed and follow the instructions I’ve written down.”

You and Jungkook release a sigh of relief, thankful that it’s nothing serious, the concern over what prompted his outburst temporarily at the back of your mind, until Jimin speaks up.

“But, something else feels broken.”

“What is it?” The doctor asks, suddenly worried and checks the board for anything she might’ve missed.

“My heart.”

“Yah!” You smack Jimin’s arm in embarrassment, which he returns with a smack on yours, a common sight for you both and Jungkook who’s bared witness to the violence you and your brother inflicted upon each other growing up.

The doctor rolls her eyes. “She’ll come back,” she says, then heads towards the door.

Jimin scrunches his nose in annoyance. “She’s a he, by the way!” He shouts, causing the others present to turn to him, as if such a situation is scandalous. 

“Do… you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?” You nervously ask. 

While your 3-year gap sibling relationship is rooted in violence that’s caused bruises, buckets of tears, timeouts, and your parents almost giving up on making you two get along at many points of your lives, you and Jimin have somehow grown up and have found the right balance of telling each other important things while also staying out of each other’s business. 

The “growing up” only happened midway through his college life, when he realized that even with his best friend next to him, you were still his lifeline in the big city of Seoul and the only other reminder of home. 

Because even with him knowing what it takes to make it in the competitive entertainment industry as a choreographer, in his heart, he’s still the younger child who’s used to being taken care of. That meant regularly demanding your presence in his dorm when he was still studying and then crashing your place when he’d started working. For food, mostly. The ranting about things just came naturally after.

“It’s Tae,” he shyly reveals, meeting your eyes for the first time and suddenly, he’s your little brother again, the one whose snacks you used to prepare or whose wounds you used to treat when your parents weren’t home or were too tired from work.

“Your roommate?”

“Yeah. He left today because he got this photography gig where he gets to travel the world.”

“I didn’t know you had a thing,” you say.

“We didn’t,” he huffs out in frustration. “I didn’t know I liked him until he said he booked a one-way ticket and didn’t know when he'd be coming back. And he was so excited and I was really happy for him but also felt like it was too late. Like should I have said anything? What if he felt the same way? Would he have stayed?” He sighs, looking sullen this time.

“He may have, or he would still be taking the trip. Regardless, no one should be giving up on dreams for anybody, Chim. That’s not how it’s supposed to work,” you say, not meaning to sound as if you’re reprimanding him, but the look he gives is enough to tell you that he understands. He’s heard variations of that same sentiment before, anyway. 

Jungkook feels the tension in the air and breaks it by stating that he’ll be driving everybody home.

“I’ll be staying with my sister,” Jimin announces, his annoying smile now back, and he knows you can’t say no; by obligation or by choice, you won’t tell.

“There goes my weekend,” you gripe. 

“I won’t be a nuisance, I promise,” he says then crosses his heart, like it actually means anything.

“You’re a nuisance even when you’re not injured, what more now?”

“I’m not that bad,” he defends.

“Oh, but you are.” You turn to Jungkook. “You know, I actually tried to push him back in our mom’s vagina but even her uterus didn’t want him anymore.”

“Ouch okay, I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” and you all laugh as Jimin is transferred to the wheel chair and pushed by the nurse, signaling Jungkook to go ahead and retrieve his car.

**

You arrive at your apartment with a Jimin-clad Jungkook in tow, the worry of not having cleaned up quickly dissipating because this is your brother, and he shouldn’t complain. 

Jungkook assists Jimin in the bathroom while you set up your bed by piling up pillows for his foot. 

“I don’t have clean sheets for the sofa bed in the other room,” you say, “and it’s not cleaned up, as I didn’t expect to house an injured child this weekend. Just sleep on my bed first.”

Jungkook guides Jimin to your bed and helps him settle in, with your brother looking all smug with the treatment he’s getting because he knows you don’t give up your bed that easily.

“What about you?” Jungkook asks, seemingly more worried about your inconvenience than the actual cause of it.

“I’m fine with the couch. Wouldn’t wanna sleep here with him and accidentally hit his foot. He might murder me or something.”

“Thanks, Sis. I’m very comfortable here. I think I’ll be sleeping well tonight,” Jimin states, then yawns, drowsiness kicking in from the medication.

You roll your eyes and close the door. You lead Jungkook to your kitchen and offer him a drink.  

“I’m sorry for him, Kook. Did he drag you out of work?” You ask. 

“Just had to call the tattoo parlor and reschedule my Friday appointments,” he says, downing the glass of water. “He was pretty emotional over the phone and wanted to drink at 4PM and well, you know the rest.”

“Ugh, such a pain in the ass,” you mutter, massaging your temples. “But was he serious about the whole Tae thing?”

“Seemed like it. I think it just took an abrupt change for him to realize what he felt,” he explains. “But you know him - falls fast, moves on faster. He’ll be okay. You’re here,” he continues, flashing you his bunny smile, the one that used to cause you to pinch his puffy cheeks out of cuteness. 

But that’s when he was a lanky 10-year old with his awkward front bangs. The man in front of you now sports long dark locks and a sharp jawline, tattooed arms and probably a built figure, if the way he carried your brother as if he’s a feather is any indication of his strength. His bambi eyes, usually scrunched large nose, and child-like smile are the only things that remain from that memory of him. 

“You know I can’t stand my brother for long periods of time, Kook,” you pout, earning you an amused laugh.

“He actually already invited me over the weekend, asked me to bring my PS4 so we could play.”

“That bitch has to rest, what is he talking about?” 

“Same thing I told him. I’ll just make up some reason that my player caught fire or that I dropped it while running or something.”

You give him a straight face. “The hell would he buy that? You can just not bring it.”

“I’m just gonna match his drama,” Jungkook shrugs, earning him your laugh, which for him is all tones of sweet and soothing. 

A smile forms on his face at the thought of making you laugh like this, something he secretly enjoys. This particular sound would most likely be etched in his mind, among the several others that he caused. 

There was that time when you caught him doing chubby bunny as a consequence and seeing him stuffed with marshmallows made you secretly giggle because 15-year old you didn’t want to indulge in their silly antics; Jungkook heard it though. 

There was that other time during Jimin’s 14th birthday at an arcade, Jungkook went over the basketball game’s railing to get the highest score and you alternated between scolding him and laughing your butt off. He snuck the tickets he won in your pile though so you would have enough to get the Tinkerbell tea set because he knew your obsession with fairies.

When you visited home for their high school graduation, you all cooked dinner and he overdid the glazed sweet potatoes, causing them to get stuck on the plate. You tried to hold your laugh but gave up once he started dancing; he was so embarrassed but that’s when he knew he’d willingly make a fool of himself to hear you laugh like that. 

And 3 years ago, your large group of friends went on a ski trip. He was attempting to run up the slope but kept sliding, and even from a distance, he could pick out which laughter was yours; it was probably the only remedy to an otherwise heartbreaking weekend, considering that you were there with your then-boyfriend, Namjoon. 

Reminiscing those causes his heart to feel like floating, like always, then the words “nobody dates my sister” pulls that heart down to crash into reality, like always, too, the reality being that you’re his best friend’s older sibling. 

You’ve been off-limits since Jimin threatened Jungkook and their other friends about cutting off their dicks if anybody tried to date you when they were 16, but you were probably off-limits even before that. Jungkook mentally shakes his head. 

He doesn’t like being told what to do but then again, Jimin is his best friend, the tiny feisty 10-year old who fought off the bullies who tried to take Jungkook’s snacks. It had been them against the world since then, and so far, the only person he thinks who’d ever come between them is you.

Jungkook is pulled out of his thoughts at your call of his name, prompting you to repeat what you just said.

“I said, thanks again for being there for my brother like, ever since. If it was just me I would’ve disowned him a long time ago.”

Jungkook giggles, already used to the drama that is your sibling relationship. He’d witnessed too many wrestling matches, scream fests, and pulled pranks in the last 15 years. While you’ve both gone past those, your complaints about each other is something you haven’t really outgrown yet. 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t disown him,” Jungkook chuckles, the words ‘he’s the only link I have to you’ quickly dissipating in his mind. 

“You know he just craves your attention and riling you up is the way he does it, younger sibling and all. I would’ve done that if my brother wasn’t 7 years older. Jimin tends to be immature around you but he’s the best person I know. I wouldn’t have survived anything if it weren’t for him.”

This brings a smile to your face, their origin story warming your heart more than you care to admit. Your brother is fierce and a fighter, you’d give him that.

“Well, he’s just as lucky to have you, Kook.”

It’s the tenderness in your voice that makes him feel like he’d just won a prize, and he wishes you don’t notice the flush of his cheeks. If you do, you don’t mention it, because not long after, you say that you’ll wash up, signaling him that it’s time to go. 

Jungkook drives home that night feeling like his pre-adolescent self, the giddy feeling of when you first pinched his cheeks the same one he feels right now. It’s when he first developed his crush on you - you’d been arguing with Jimin and said you wished he was as behaved and as adorable as Jungkook, prompting your brother to point out Jungkook’s large nose, which you responded with by saying it adds to his charm. 

Petty fights, like always, but it’s when you told him to not listen to what other people say if they’re out to put him down did Jungkook realize that you and Jimin were cut from the same cloth. 

Soon after, every little moment with you, every glimpse of your life outside of being his best friend’s sister became more and more enthralling to him. The fact that you were getting prettier each year just served to solidify his affection for you. And also made it difficult to hide his hard-on every time you’d show up for breakfast in your cloth shorts when he’d sleep over your parents’ house, or when he’d see you in your pretty outfits in the bars you all frequented once he was in Seoul for college. 

He’d let himself think of you during the times he wasn’t in a relationship, and he’d slowly let go of the bit of hope he’d have every time you were in one, partly because your relationships were usually long-term, compared to his, and also because your ex-boyfriends were nothing like him, which is safe to say that he wasn’t your type. 

Maybe it was the age, the level of maturity, maybe it was the sense of security, maybe he’s just not the kind of guy who could give you what you want, although honestly he doesn’t know exactly what that is. 

But if Namjoon - your intelligent, upstanding, businessman ex-boyfriend who was also really handsome and kind - and your subsequent heartbreak are anything to go by, then Jungkook is clearly reaching for the stars with you. Not that you’re out of his league, but he’s more like in the outskirts, just lying in the edges, the border between what’s possible and what isn’t, but definitely far from the center of action. Even tonight, the most time you’d spent together in years that wasn’t in a party, was because Jimin had been hurt. 

If anything, though, his long standing admiration for you hadn’t really gone away. And he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

**

The weekend with Jimin staying with you wasn’t that unbearable, primarily because he was rendered immobile on your bed and was usually sleepy. You were thankful that Jungkook dropped by to keep your brother company while you caught up on errands and chores. 

With another work week coming filled with meetings and events, you had Jimin stay with Jungkook first. He insisted it wasn’t a bother; his work as a freelance artist and a part-time tattooist gives him control of his time.

It’s the weekend after the incident when you hear a knock on the door, not expecting to see Jimin with his casted ankle and crunches; behind him are 3 large luggages and a few boxes. 

You’re just about to process the sight before you when he says, “I got sacked from the company when I said I couldn’t get back to work next week. And I can’t afford to pay rent anymore, even if I get a roommate and I…” he turns to you, almost shameful, “I have nowhere else to go.”

You sigh because really, your relationship with your brother is hinged on fights you don’t really mean, pettiness that drives you crazy, and an unconditional love that you both deny but undeniably share. So you open the door wider and laugh at his “you’re the best sister in the world” claim and your usual response of “you only have one.”

Jungkook arrives with the last box and you help bring in all the stuff that seems never-ending, making you wonder how these fit in his car and how he managed to bring everything, including your brother.

“Park Jimin, you have so much stuff! You might as well have hired a mover,” you cry out.

“Oh I did,” Jimin answers, pointing to Jungkook.

You cock an eyebrow because obviously, movers get paid. 

“I told him you said you’re gonna make us dinner.”

“Except I didn’t,” you scrunch your eyebrows and turn to Jungkook, amused at his sudden change of expression, bambi eyes widening at his innocence. 

“I swear, he seemed so convincing,” Jungkook claims, hands held up as if in surrender. He bites his lips and looks at the ground. “I can just go, really. I’ll just force him to treat me to lunch when he’s healed and I can wrestle him if he doesn’t.”

“Don’t be silly, Kook. Stay for dinner,” you crack a smile. You walk to your kitchen and take out the pork belly to thaw. “I won’t make you steak though. That’s reserved for my wine nights when I want to bask in my singleness,” you call out. 

“Also,” you turn to Jimin, “you don’t deserve my steak.”

Your brother laughs, knowing that it’s your way to mask the kindness you’re showing. 

Later that night, with dinner out of the way and your spare bedroom set up for Jimin to stay, you guide him to the sofa bed and make sure his foot is elevated, bell just within his reach that you instructed him to ring when he needs you. 

“Thanks, ___. You—”

“Are the best sister in the world, I know,” you cut him off.

“I was gonna say you should get some rest and to not worry about me. I’ll be fine,” he smiles.

You nod and head out the room, the worried look on your face not going unnoticed by Jungkook, who’d just finished wiping the dishes.

“Everything okay, ___?” 

You heave out a sigh.

“What the fuck am I gonna do with him, Kook?” You ask, the reality of your injured and now unemployed brother dawning on you. “What am I gonna tell my parents?” 

Oddly enough, it’s when you and Jimin were finally adults did your parents think to check up on you both. Perhaps living under the same roof didn’t warrant that, but with both children now living independently hundreds of miles away from them, they’ve ensured to call every week. Your conversations mostly revolve around Jimin, though, the words “take care of your brother” not having an expiration date, apparently. 

You know the weight of the words - it’s not just because you’re older but because by your parents’ standards, you’re also the more stable and financially secure one by nature of your 9-5 corporate job in a fancy building that requires you to wear corporate attires, in contrast to Jimin’s late-nights in a dance studio busting moves in sweats. 

Your parents are partial to your kind of work, given that they’ve spent more than half their lives in the same field and always wished you’d both do the same, even if you promised yourself you wouldn’t give in to the world that took so much of your parents’ time from you. 

Much as you want to believe you’re just doing your job as the older child by entering the industry, you were too much of a people-pleaser who just wanted to make her parents proud. 

Jimin, on the other hand, was smart enough to only apply to the performing arts programs of prestigious universities in Seoul and was good enough to actually land a scholarship in the same school as you; your parents were backed in a corner and couldn’t do anything. 

You’d never tell Jimin but you always admired him for that; it takes a lot to stand up to your parents without actually standing up to them. You’re just glad that between the both of you, someone was brave enough to go for what they genuinely wanted.

“Tell them the truth?” Jungkook shrugs. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You act like you don’t know what my parents are like.”

True, Jungkook thinks, but he also knows things have improved on their end. “Well, if anything, they’re more receptive now. They would congratulate Jimin on the choreographies they’d see those idol groups dance. They ask him about work, too.”

You smile at the thought, something your brother never mentioned, but you can imagine how happy that might’ve made him. Jimin, as you’ve found out, is a sweetheart to his friends - affectionate in all ways and very expressive - something he isn’t to you and your parents. The same can be said about you, and you soften at the thought that you and Jimin really aren’t that much different from each other. 

Jungkook picks up on the thoughts going through your head. “He probably didn’t tell you because you know him, he’d go all soft if he does, and Jimin has this persona when it comes to you. And it isn’t the soft one.”

“Goes both ways, I guess.”

“It’s not the end of the world, and he doesn’t seem to think so. He’s going to be fine.”

**

Jimin, in all sense of the word, is not fine. It took a few days until he cracked. He went from being an obedient patient who followed the doctor’s order of staying in bed, to one who constantly walked around and complained that he had nothing to do. 

Going on dating apps makes him sad, looking at job openings makes him sad, not being able to move and dance makes him sad. And your heart breaks for him, knowing what it’s like to lose your sense of direction and motivation at the loss of something or someone important. You allow him to let out his frustrations, though, listen to him when he rants, feed him his favorite food, and call Jungkook over with his PS4 that isn’t actually broken.

In fact, calling Jungkook has been your go-to, especially when you’re running out of things to say to comfort Jimin. Most times it’s really just so they could play PS4 together, prompting Jungkook to leave it at your place so Jimin could stay preoccupied and not feel too down when the job lists come up empty. He tires easily though, and it’s after he’s been tucked in bed that you usually settle for a cup of tea in the kitchen, Jungkook now the one listening to you talk.

It usually starts with the topic of Jimin, followed by some memory from your childhood that you and Jungkook get hysterical over, followed by a story about your work, and then a story about his. His stories are more interesting though. He shows you the paintings and digital pieces he makes for clients, and tells you amusing bits about his tattooing gig like amusing patterns and memorable customers. 

Hearing all this sends warmth through you because of how much he’s grown. While you’re only 3 years older, you met Jungkook when he was a shy 10 year-old, a complete opposite to you and Jimin’s naturally sociable selves. He went from smiling sheepishly to joking around and giving you high-fives in the 5 years before you went to Seoul to study.

Of course he’s grown when he followed your brother to the same university, having seen him with different girls, going to the same parties because your friends had taken a liking to him, and attending his art exhibitions. He went from greeting you under his breath to calling out to you at a bar while he’s surrounded by his peers. 

This was the kid who used to follow your brother around - even joined the dance club in high school - and would dunk his head in water if you asked him to, but now he’s forged his own path, doing what he loves, and enjoying every bit of his time that he controls. 

Personally, you’re also just happy that he can be available for your brother and for you, too, seeing that the nights you used to spend forcing yourself to sleep are now spent in good conversation with him. 

He’s also gotten way more attractive in the past few years, something you’ve only noticed now. Perhaps it has much to do with the physical closeness when you talk - your kitchen bar isn’t that long, anyway - where you’re able to pay more attention to his defined jawline, his dark eyes that anybody could get lost in, the curve of his nose, and the perfectly-placed beauty marks on his face. Come to think of it, maybe Jungkook has always been handsome, but you stop your thoughts before they go anywhere restricted.

It’s one Saturday night when you arrive home, after having drinks with your friends, to a very drunk Jimin and a tipsy Jungkook, gorging on fried chicken. Just thinking of cleaning up is already giving you a headache, which is aggravated by your brother’s drunk singing of classic yet cringey sad love songs. 

“Yah! Look at the mess you’ve made,” you smack Jimin’s arm, pointing to the chicken crumbs on the floor. “And alcohol, seriously? You can barely walk properly and now you’re drinking?”

“I’m injured, unemployed, homeless, and heartbroken. Leave me alone,” is all he says, then proceeds to belt out an insanely high note that pierces your ears and which causes Jungkook to laugh, used to this already and may have been enduring this the past hour or so. 

“He’s been like this for the past 4 hours,” Jungkook says. 

“And you let him?”

At the final high note, Jimin passes out on the couch, body limp over the empty space to his left.

“He wanted to drink his frustrations away, thought it might help,” Jungkook responds.

You sigh in annoyance but think he’s right, too. Jimin was out drinking his frustrations the night he got injured but at least now he’s doing it in the safety of your home. 

“I guess,” you shrug. “Can you take him to his room before he severs his neck?”

Jungkook laughs but follows. He carries Jimin over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and you pretend to not look hot and bothered at how easily he could carry your dead-weight brother. 

You follow to the room shortly and place an aspirin and orange juice on the side table, knowing it’s Jimin’s hangover drink. You remove the strands of hair that have stuck to his forehead and tuck him under the covers. 

Jungkook looks at you fondly; for someone who always claims you should’ve disowned her brother, you sure have a very affectionate way of showing it.

You step out of the room and take in Jungkook’s tipsy state, red cheeks and glassy eyes giving him away. 

“You should stay,” you tell him. “You drank and I doubt you’d sober up anytime soon, but try anyway.”

He nervously accepts but not for the reasons you think. He’s nervous because aside from those sleepovers at your house when you were younger, this is the first time he’s sleeping under the same roof as you, and that makes him giddy but anxious at the same time. He hopes you don’t catch him mid-dream saying your name; that would be too awkward to explain.

He goes back to the living room post-shower, a blanket and large pillow on the couch and you, tucked in the corner with a glass of juice. 

“Did you want to sleep already? I can go to my room if you are.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not that sleepy yet, you can stay.” 

He refuses your offer of a drink. Unsure of the appropriate distance from you now that there’s space to go around, he settles on the other end of the couch. You smile at him as he sinks on the corner and he smiles back as you take baby sips from the glass. You both settle in comfortable silence, appreciating the quiet as a reprieve from the mind-numbing noise from earlier. 

You take a big gulp and he couldn’t hold the chuckle at your wide eyes hidden behind the glass. 

“So I’m guessing your hangover drink is apple juice?” He asks, not missing the similarity with your brother.

“Yeah. Jimin hates it so I’m sure he’ll never take it. He used to finish all the orange juice at home and I was mad because I wanted orange juice, too,” you say with a pout. Jungkook’s heart skips a beat at how adorable you look and goes for an ah, that’s why face because he remembers you fighting Jimin over it before.

“So you just switched to apple juice?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s really good. I thought he’d switch too just to annoy me but he said he really doesn’t like it.”

“Look at you two, being all civilized for once,” Jungkook teases. You throw a pillow at him and laugh at his comment, but you don’t disagree.

“Yah! We’ve always been civilized, okay?” 

“Now that is a lie. May I remind you of the time you two wrestled in front of me over a piece of pop tart. How you tackled him to the ground and he pulled your hair and the innocent treat was crushed in the process.”

“Hey, I was 15 and I called dibs on the strawberry!”

“Or that time you both wanted to watch different movies and had me choose and I felt like I was signing a death sentence either way? But it didn’t matter because you still got into a pillow fight?”

“His choices were always so boring!”

“Or that time when…”  You throw him another pillow. 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. We weren’t always civilized,” you give up, laughing so hard with him at the memories. “You witnessed the worst parts of us, huh?”

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. 

“Well, you were the only one who stayed. The rest of your friends would run out once Jimin and I started going at it.” 

He laughs at this because if only you knew why he always stayed. He actually liked that you’d let him referee you two, he felt wanted. 

“Hmm, it takes a lot to handle the Park siblings, I don’t blame them.”

“Wow, Jeon Jungkook. Calling out your elder. Where is this bravery coming from?” You tease.

“I drank, remember?”

“Not much though.”

He shrugs. He doesn’t know, too, but he likes seeing you look flustered. “Enough liquid courage, I guess.”

You deem his answer satisfactory but it does make you recall all those petty fights growing up. 

“Sorry you had to witness all that,” you say, giving him a shy smile. “Our personalities were always just clashing and it was harder not to fight each other.”

“I think you two are just so similar, that’s why.” 

You look at Jungkook, eyes wide at the statement you’d only ever thought to yourself. 

“He thinks the world of you, you know?” He continues, sensing your now serious demeanor. “He used to tell the mean older kids that you’re his sister and you’ll fight them if they hurt him because he just knows you’d protect him no matter what.” 

You laugh and roll your eyes but Jungkook knows you agree.

“For schoolwork, he would always write about you as his role model or the person he looks up to.” Jungkook doesn’t miss how your eyes soften at this. “He never found out that I knew but I’ve read parts, how he wanted to be strong and kind like you, to be independent and smart and hardworking like you.”

Maybe it’s the remnants of alcohol, or this apple juice is just fucking delicious but you’re getting emotional.

“And honestly, I don’t think that’s changed. He’ll always look up to you, whether he’ll say it or not.”

And there goes the water works, causing panic in Jungkook and he immediately goes to you. Noticing your non-movement, he uses the edges of his hoodie to wipe the tears that have begun flowing from your eyes. He stills for a moment but seeing how you haven’t pushed him away, he continues. 

You look up at him with watery eyes and quivering lips. Somehow you should be embarrassed but something about Jungkook having seen the worst of you and being nothing but a huge help these past few weeks, you feel safe. No judgment whatsoever, just an air of understanding and care.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask, and Jungkook feels weak at how you look. He didn’t mean to make you sad but all he wants to do now is hug you until you feel better.

“Because you’ve been so worried and so hard on yourself, as if it’s only your burden to carry.”

You try to object but he cuts you. “Jimin’s an adult. He’s crying and drinking and sulking but that’s normal. He’ll be fine and get himself together. I know that. Even he knows that. You know why? Because it’s what he’s seen you do.” Jungkook wipes another stray tear.

“Whether it’s a breakup or a work thing, he’s seen you take hits but never back down, never let anybody walk all over you, never let them take away the best parts of you. He’s struggled before, too, but he always got back up.”

“He’s good and strong that way,” you reply softly.

“Like I said, he has a good role model,” he smiles, nudging your shoulder. 

It’s meant to be playful but it’s comforting for you, and you’re leaning on his shoulder before you know it, ignoring the way he briefly stills at your action. 

“You’re a good person, Kook. We’re lucky to have you.”

You’re so close to him and he can feel the heat radiate from you. It’s too quiet that he’s afraid you’d hear the thrumming of his heart, from your words and the affection behind your still head on his shoulder. The situation calls for it, he thinks, so he lays his hand on your back and rubs circles on it.

He’ll chalk it up to liquid courage again if you ask, but you don’t. Instead you snuggle closer, chasing his warmth. He swears he could pass out with just this, but he tortures himself more by holding you even closer and he swears, even with his thick hoodie, he could feel your smile.

**

Over a month since the gutter incident - as you like to call it - you, Jimin, and Jungkook have found a pattern of cohabitation, and yes, that includes Jungkook, seeing as how he’s become a staple in your household and your life. 

At some point, Jimin had sulked less and would spend his time watching dance videos to remind himself of the feeling, even if it was just virtual. He’d even expanded his choice of employment by checking job openings as a fitness instructor and a ballet teacher for children. 

He’d also done his regular foot exercise once the pain became bearable. Still unemployed and heartbroken though, he’s been shameless in making your place his own home, with most of his belongings now removed from their boxes, and inviting Jungkook over any time, any day. Not that you minded though, since he’s been nothing but a literal angel.

Living in a studio on his own, Jungkook usually has ramen or street food as dinner, which is why Jimin used to invite him over his shared apartment with Taehyung so that Jungkook could at least have home cooked meals every once in a while. 

It’s why he’s often over your place on weeknights he doesn’t have a shift at the tattoo parlor. That and because Jimin still wants him over to play video games. Jungkook brings food over or pays for delivery though, and you welcome the initiative. 

On weekends, you’re all busy doing your own thing in the living room together, which carries over to movie nights. The young ones pass up on their friends’ invites to a party while you, well, your friends would rather spend their weeknights with their partners instead. So your night of basking in your singleness now means doing so with your brat of a brother and his dependable best friend.

It’s a Saturday afternoon when you get home from doing errands and you find both men in your living room, with Jimin reading a book on some dancer’s biography and Jungkook busy on his laptop. Your brother’s face pops on the screen and you decide it’s not a personal matter so you plop next to Jungkook on the floor and softly rest your chin on his shoulder, something you’ve maybe done once or twice before.

“What you up to?” You ask, an impressed look on your face at the snippets of Jimin dancing, some of which you’ve never seen before. 

“I’m working on his application video,” he says, pointing to your brother. “Since he’s not able to dance when he tries for jobs, he thinks sending them a video to show his skills will help.”

“Oh, like a visual CV of some sort?”

“Yes!” Jimin states. “Want them to know what they’re missing out on, and that’s a lot.”

You roll your eyes but mentally agree; your brother is the most talented person you know. 

“Kookie’s been kind enough to work on it for me although he’s been on it for hours,” he continues, a playful smile on his face.

“Give him a break, Chim. He’s done so much for you already,” you say, getting your own laptop and setting it up on the table.

“Nah, it’s the least I can do. He’s helped me so much, ___.”

“He fought off your bullies 15 years ago…” You cock an eyebrow.

Jungkook chuckles. “Yes. And more. Helped me with school work, my confidence, my social skills…”

“Gave him tips to woo girls because he was too shy to ask them on dates,” Jimin adds.

“Hmm,” you mumble. “What you gotta be shy for? Just flash them your smile or show them your toned arms, they’ll probably jump on you right there,” you say nonchalantly, unaware of the way Jungkook’s heart stills at your comment.

“He doesn’t want them to jump on him, ___. He wants them to actually like him, or love, whatever. He’s a romantic, you know,” Jimin teases. “Would travel to the ends of the earth or fight to the death for the woman he loves, whoever she is,” he says matter-of-factly, unaware of the way Jungkook’s breath hitches because if Jimin only knew.

“Aww, Kook. That’s cute,” is all you say, smile genuine though, he wishes he could see it everyday. But cute, really? That’s it?

He chooses not to dwell on it and instead asks you what you’re up to, to which you respond that it’s a presentation you have to work on. You’re frustrated at your lack of design eye and it looks so bare; you want it to look professional but still eye-catching.

“Maybe I can help!” Jungkook states.

But of course, you think. You’ve been accommodating an actual graphic designer in your home, surely it’s fair that he help you out, right?

“Yes please, Kook. I need to blow these people away with my smarts and my non-existent creativity,” you laugh. 

Jungkook sets aside his laptop, adoringly quick to prioritize helping you, and works on your presentation. He knows just the right color and font combo, even helping out on which details to include, what visuals to add, and how to make it exactly how you want. 

You’re amused at how easily he works on it. He's meticulous, working on the size of the texts and the angles of the patterns. Jimin chides him for his perfectionism but unbeknownst to both of you, Jungkook’s laser focus is a means of distraction with how physically close you’ve been to him the past hour, eyes flicking from him to the screen.

He wants this to last but also can’t wait for it to be over because of how nervous he is, especially with your constant praises for something really basic, but which he finds so charming all the same. 

Pretty soon he finishes and returns your laptop to you and retrieves his, quick to get back to work and focus on something else, which still proves futile once you remove your sweater to reveal a camisole underneath, and tie your hair on a high bun, thus exposing more of your shoulders and neck. 

He shakes off the tingles he feels, pretends to be completely unbothered by his attraction towards you that seems to intensify day-by-day. He looks forward to seeing you, and when he doesn’t, he yearns to. He’d been used to admiring you from afar but these past weeks showed that he has all the reasons to admire you even up close. 

You’re just as brilliant, feisty, and funny; sassy too like Jimin but in a captivating way, yet so kind-hearted just the same. 

The three of you settle in a comfortable silence, each busy with your own task at hand. With your knees touching Jungkook’s, your questions on any additions you make on the presentation, and him asking for your approval on the video (which he seeks, oddly enough from you and not from Jimin), your eventual quick agreement on dinner and your teamwork in preparing it, it all feels so familiar, like it’s home.

**

The next evening, you find yourself sandwiched between Jungkook to your right and Jimin to your left, who moved from his center seat to lie down, with half of his tiny body settled comfortably on top of you and Jungkook. Your brother insisted on watching “How to Be Single” tonight, like a slap to all your faces.

It’s during one of the scenes with the protagonist’s ex when Jimin randomly asks, “___, do you regret breaking up with Namjoon?”

It may seem like a question out of left field, but with everything that’s happened, Jimin has been quite reflective lately, particularly about love. He’s had his fair share of partners but unlike you, is more a feeler than a thinker; gets out of relationships as fast as he gets into them; takes it one day at a time whereas you always have to consider the future. 

You don’t need to ponder on the question; you’ve gone through this multiple times with your best friends but never really with your brother. 

“Sometimes. But there was too much on the line and it was unfair to both of us if we carried on.” You sigh, recalling the moment you both decided it wouldn’t work. “It was something we had to do but doesn’t mean it hurt any less.”

Jimin hums, thinking back to the days he’d barge in your apartment and ask for leftovers when really, he just wanted to be near you so you had someone to cry to, just in case. That was over 2 years ago and it took you a year to finally say that you were over the relationship. He used to note your choice of words - “I’m over us,” never “I’m over him.” 

Next to you, Jungkook is picking on his nails, unsure if he should be part of the conversation. He’d heard about the break up since you had common friends. It was quite the shock, knowing how you and Namjoon were. 

You pick up this nervous habit, aware that he might not know what really happened. It wasn’t a secret but there was more to the story. 

“We just wanted different things,” you say then turning to both of them, “so you two better make sure you’re on the same page with the person you date, talk about what lies ahead, what you want, what you’re willing to compromise and what you aren’t.”

“That’s good advice, yeah Kookie?” Jimin says. 

“Why you focusing on me?” Jungkook asks. 

“You’re the one focused on the dating, not the settling. You avoid those conversations.”

“You don’t want to settle?” You ask, now curious. You’ve seen him with girlfriends but thinking back now, his relationships never really lasted.

“It’s not that,” he glares at Jimin. “I’m more of a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. Thinking about the future is great, I mean, any mature individual does that, it’s just…” 

He heaves out a sigh, hoping he’s not shooting himself in the foot with his statement. “What good is the future if you don’t take care of what you have right now? Isn’t the present more important because it’s what’s assured? The future is literally dependent on that, so the now is what I want to focus on.” 

He rests his head on the couch, nervous of your reaction. He knows you’re a planner, needs to see things far ahead to know what to do. 

There’s no one way to go about life, he acknowledges that. He just doesn’t want you to think he’s not a serious guy. With his developing feelings for you, not seeing him as a potential partner is literally the worst thing that could happen.

Jimin continues with the movie he paused but in your mind, all you could think about was what Jungkook said. If you and Namjoon hadn’t obsessed about the future, would things have been different? Would you still be together? 

The sinking feeling comes at the realization that maybe they still wouldn’t. What if your ‘present’ with him then wasn’t good enough in the first place? That the “could be” was more exciting than the “what is”? Suddenly there’s clarity, you just don’t know if it’s the good kind. 

Still, it doesn’t keep you from sinking further down the couch until you’re leaning on Jungkook’s shoulder. And like the few times that you have, there’s a comforting feeling in the act. 

“You must’ve made your ex-girlfriends really happy, huh Kook?” You ask, head shuffling near his upper arm. “Focusing on the present and the moments and all that.” 

You wish it was something you did, but Namjoon was just like you. 

“I guess you could say that,” he answers shyly. 

“But that was just it though, right Kook?” Jimin says. “Made them happy but not enough to fall in love.”

This prompts you to look at him, wide eyes full of questions. “How come?”

He turns to you and if he tried enough, Jimin right behind you would blur and there’s just you, overhead light illuminating the best parts of your face which is, well, everything. You’re absolutely breathtaking. 

And at your question - how come he never fell in love - comes his own realization. For all of his talk of living in the moment, tucked in the corner of his mind is the thought of the future he’s only ever dreamed about, the one that he’s always wanted, well, with you. 

“I - I actually don’t know.”

**

Adopting your brother, and by extension Jungkook, isn’t as bad as you expected. Sure, Jimin is still a diva and annoys you just because he wants to, but he makes you laugh more, compliments your cooking more, and encourages you to go out and have fun. Most times you do, but if you’re being honest, you’ve been enjoying time spent with him and Jungkook more.

Your movie and PS4 nights are chaotic and only egos are harmed. You and Jungkook help Jimin with job hunting, monitor his practice dancing, and watch dance videos with him. Two months since the gutter incident, you’ve gone to the park, the beach, and the river, perfected making choco-walnut cookies, and built fairy houses. 

Your days are more tiring yet satisfying, as if your apartment actually feels like a sanctuary, save for Jimin’s provocation leading to your bickering, but even that has become a welcome addition in your daily life as well.

Jungkook though is altogether a different story. You two have gone grocery shopping together more than once, had spent some mornings on a run, and some weeknights he even picks you up from work then you both grab some of Jimin’s favorite food for dinner. Those are on top of the many nights you’ve spent drinking whatever in the living room, bidding him goodnight either out the door or on your couch. You’re not exactly sure what to make of the giddiness but you shut down whatever unusual feeling there is before they start to mean anything more.

**

It started with a missed deadline, then an oversight of a risk, then your workmate Chul getting the last laugh. Sometimes, no matter how good you think things are going, all it takes is an extremely bad week, made up of extremely bad moments, to make you doubt yourself. You think some more, then you end up doubting everything else.

Am I good enough for this job? Can I really make a career here? Is this what I really want? Is this going to make me happy? Why the fuck am I still single? It’s the sudden feeling of uncertainty that overwhelms you, makes you second-guess, and suddenly you’re not as stable and secure as you thought you were. 

It’s this feeling that you carry over the day after at your friend Jin’s and his wife’s baby shower. Between their growing family, Yoongi’s hit-making record label, Hoseok’s renewed contract as a travel show host, Yuri’s PhD, and Na-eun’s engagement to her college boyfriend, you feel so… lost. Like you’re just getting by, just letting time pass until there’s something big and meaningful to look forward to again, whatever that is. 

Of course your friends would never make you feel any less; that’s really on you, which is probably worse.

The party is on full swing; gifts have been given and time has come for full-on socializing where you all get to talk about how great your individual lives are. Except for you. And maybe Eun-ha on the corner who doesn’t seem to be happy being here, but that’s not your problem. 

Somewhere near the bar is Jungkook, beer in hand and clearly enjoying himself. He’s a staple in events like this and he fits right in with everyone else - self-assured, content, in control, and may be on his way to a date, seeing as how that pretty girl hasn’t left his side all afternoon. Not that you were monitoring, though. 

For once, you’re actually hoping Jimin was here so you can whine together, but the group he used to choreograph for invited him to their concert, so there’s that. 

You’re on your third glass of champagne when you head inside Jin’s enormous house, away from the laughter and obvious put-together lives of your friends, when you see him, the man who was once your embodiment of stability, of a “good and secure life,” as your parents had said. 

He sees you, flashes his dimple-bearing smile, and walks towards you, looking extremely good in a white polo and denim jacket, brown hair slicked back. 

“___!” He greets, his arms immediately engulfing you in a tight hug, providing you the physical warmth that you haven’t felt in a while. You sigh into him, your head on his firm chest, his now sturdier frame but a reminder of the time that's passed.

You linger, prompting him to gently stroke your back like he used to after a long day at work. 

“You needed this, huh?” He observes, voice low and comforting. 

You release yourself from his hold and look up at him, his sweet smile a contrast to his commanding presence. 

“Unfortunately,” you sigh.

“Boss still not giving you due credit? Colleagues still not making it any easier? Stress still at an all-time high?” He asks, and it’s either he still reads you so well or your problems - or you - haven’t changed one bit. 

“You’re just not your usual energetic self,” he continues. “I mean, I haven’t seen your genuine smile since you arrived.”

He’s been watching you? Somehow that sends heat to your cheeks and quickens your heartbeat. 

“Just tired, is all. Plus, Jimin’s been living at home after a little accident,” you finally respond.

His face makes this charming worried expression. “House already a makeshift wrestling ring?” He laughs.

“You’d be surprised at how little damage there is in my apartment. Safe to say we’ve grown up,” you say, wide smile finally adorning your face, which he returns. You haven’t felt this light the whole week. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Joonie.”

**

You and Namjoon find a spot in the large living room, with the 2-seater couch being the only one available, the physical closeness making it difficult not to be mesmerized by his gorgeous face. His laugh is still the same, the feel of his hand under yours is still the same; the attention he gives, his thoughtful and wise words, and ability to make you feel cared for haven’t changed. 

You’re smiling more, eyes sparkling for sure, and you can’t help the way your body reacts the way it does - knees chasing his, hand tucking your hair behind your ear, voice going a key higher.

He’s still the same confident and self-assured man that you fell in love with, that you once saw a life with. It’s almost intoxicating, the way he speaks, sees the world, sees himself. You could easily fall into this again, into the ideal, the safe and secure, the expected, the could be. You think of the reasons why it didn’t work out, of what you chose when you decided to call it quits. His phone rings. He excuses himself but you still hear him. And you’re reminded why.

“I’m sure the gown looks beautiful, love. I’ll leave the party soon and meet you and our parents at the wedding planners’ office. See you in a bit.”

Your heart should be breaking but it’s just your pride that does. 

“I’m sorry, it was my uh—“ he says, unsure.

“Your fiancé,” you smile, as if reminding him.

“Yeah it’s… it’s pretty recent and we uh… we’re planning to have it in 3 months,” he explains, eyes turning sullen, lips curling into an apologetic smile.

“Congratulations, Namjoon. I’m so glad you’re happy,” you say, hoping he picks up the sincerity in your voice. 

He sits across from you again, hand on top of yours, his smile hopeful, and for the first time, you see him struggle with what to say. So you don’t give him a chance to.

“What are you still doing here?” You playfully nudge him. “You have somewhere else to be.”

“You’ll be okay?” 

“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

He lingers this time. Maybe in another life you would’ve worked out, you would’ve loved each other better, you would’ve fought for each other. But not in this. 

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your forehead and you shut your eyes, absorbing all the words he wishes he could say. I’m sorry. I will always care about you. I hope you find your happiness, too. 

Your eyes follow him as he walks out the door, out to the woman who could definitely give him what you couldn’t. From across the room, a pair of eyes follows your movement too, the way it has since you entered the party four hours ago. 

**

Whatever worry you initially had about getting drunk at your friend’s baby shower is out the window. You don’t mind anymore, not with your 5th glass of champagne and your 3 shots of vodka because of course, it’s Jin. You laugh along with your friends although you’re too dazed to process what they’re saying. 

Your jaw is sore from laughing over things you don’t understand so you decide to head inside, maybe call it a night and take the drinking back to your place; at least you’d be in your pjs and not in a tight dress and heels.

You’re pulling open a door that just won’t budge and you exert what little energy you have, causing you to trip on yourself only to be held steady by strong hands on your waist.

“That’s a sliding door, ___,” the familiar voice says, tone low but still teasing. 

You turn around and meet chocolate eyes looking down at you and you stare back even in your embarrassment.

“I… I think I’m drunk,” you stutter. 

You’re met with laughter. “No shit, ___. Think I didn’t notice that?”

“I…” You say, looking down at the hands still holding onto you. 

He quickly removes them, worry painting his face and you wave him off before he could apologize.

“Let’s go to a bar, Jungkook.”

**

You reasoned your decreased alcohol tolerance to your friends, which they didn’t buy but waved you off without much fanfare. They probably sensed you were out of it for a while. Or probably saw the exchange with Namjoon, who knows. 

But you’re now at a bar eating chicken wings and fries like you’re about to run out of food, the guy next to you chuckling and reminding you to breathe every once in a while. 

You finish your meal quickly and pout when you realize he’s barely touched his food. 

“You’re not eating,” you state the obvious.

“Sorry, too entertained,” he laughs, the child-like sound now so familiar, you’d recognize it anywhere.

He’s just smiling at you and you feel so small under his gaze. He saw you talking with Namjoon, taking shots, and almost tripping earlier. He’s probably wondering who this person is; definitely not the one who’s been semi-housing him the past few months.

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed,” you cry out.

“Hey now,” he says, hands gently removing yours from your face. He stops the one tear before it falls off.

“God, how many times have I cried in front of you, Kook? This is humiliating.”

“No one’s counting though,” he states. “It’s your drinks I’m counting and I’m thinking maybe you’ve had enough.”

You nod and he orders a can of soda and a glass of water. With light chatter and glasses clinking in the background, you two fall in comfortable silence. He’s quietly picking on his food, eyes roaming the bar while yours flit from him to the space between you, somehow wishing it isn’t as wide as it is right now. 

“I had a bad week,” you finally say. He nods.

“My friends are all accomplishing so many things, achieving their dreams and I’ve been stuck in the same company for 5 years.” 

He nods again.

“I’m a 28 year-old who got drunk at a baby shower and flirted with her ex only to find out he’s engaged.” 

Jungkook pretends not to be affected at the confirmation that you were indeed flirting with Namjoon but he nods just the same.

“And?” He asks.

“And? I’m in a bar with you, and I cried, and I’m acting like a baby because I had a terrible week and ended up doubting everything and now think I can’t get my life together. I mean, between my brother I can’t properly help, a job I can’t seem to stand out in no matter how hard I try…” You release a deep breath. “And a relationship I couldn’t keep because I wasn’t enough and I…”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he says angrily. “You’re none of those things.”

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have kids. And Namjoon always wanted to be a father,” you blurt, the words not stinging as they used to.

This stuns Jungkook. Jimin had always mentioned it was a mutual breakup but never said anything more. Jungkook didn’t think it was because of this. 

“I thought I wanted a family, too. It was so easy to fall into the idea of that kind of life with him because he was the perfect person to have it with. But then one day I just started doubting it,” you sigh, recalling how hard you used to be on yourself for suddenly wanting something different.

“Sometimes I think, what if I gave myself more time, what if eventually I’d be sure?” You take a long breath. “But the uncertainty was too much and it wasn’t fair to him,” you huff. There was no blame game; you both knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“Quite the dealbreaker, huh?” Jungkook wonders.

“Yeah but looking back, the other issues were just bubbling under the surface. The future was so enticing and we talked about it all the time, it seemed much more important than well, us,” you explain. 

“It was Jimin who made me realize that I hung onto Namjoon for the relationship, the potential, what it meant. He was the epitome of stability and I was the same for him but at some point, even that wasn’t enough.”

“So, earlier. Why did you, uhm,” he starts, hoping it doesn’t come out wrong.

“Flirt with him?”

Jungkook nods.

“Being with him used to make me feel like I had it together, you know? Like I had it figured out because he did and it was silly but I don’t know, maybe I wanted to trick myself into thinking that by being close to him in any way, I had it together.”

“You don’t need to have it together all the time. You just need to have it together enough.” His whole body turns to you.

“You had one bad week, we all do. But it’s over now, isn’t it? Your friends doing well in their careers? So are you. You know what not to compromise on, what to stand up for, which battles to fight. I’ve heard enough of your stories to know that there are people at work who respect you, look up to you. The way your friends, your brother, and I look up to you.”

Your lips are quivering, forcing yourself not to cry again tonight. He just always knows what to say. “That’s really sweet, Jungkook.”

“Thanks, but I wasn’t trying to be sweet. I was just being honest. You’re a lot of good things to people, ___. Isn’t that what matters? Being a little off at work and drinking then flirting with an ex don’t make you any less of a person. Okay? You’re allowed to slip up every once in a while.”

You let this sink in.

“Look at you, Jeon Jungkook. When did you get this wise? It’s like I just blinked then you’re all of a sudden so grown up.” You tease to keep yourself from breaking down.

“Like I told you, much of what I know, I got from Jimin. And what he knows, he got from you. Maybe try listening to yourself, yeah?” He smirks.

You nod, smile creeping on your face the same way all the heat is rushing to your cheeks. You feel comfortable like this, being vulnerable and sad and doubtful but he’s holding you close without touching you, making you feel safe with just his presence. In the now noisy bar, your bodies angling towards each other, and with his tender smile, you feel a type of intimacy you’ve never felt before. It’s reassuring yet enticing at the same time. And this scares you.

You both stay for another hour until you decide it’s time to head home. Jungkook had taken a cab, too in anticipation of drinking so you both decided to walk back to your apartment, knowing the couple of blocks would be enough to sober you up.

The streets are still alive with the nightlife just starting but the noise starts to tone down once you reach your neighborhood. The long walk is soothing, as Jungkook leaves you to your thoughts, except for the times he has to steady you because, well, your vodka shots are still in your system and a walk isn’t enough to flush them down. Still, you’re calm, a feeling of acceptance overtaking you.

“Thanks for tonight, Jungkook. I hope I didn’t ruin any potential date or anything just because I couldn’t get the door open,” you laugh. 

He raises an eyebrow.

“That, uh, girl seemed really into you,” you stammer. 

He chuckles, hands in his pockets and cheeks flushed at the implication of your observation. 

“That wasn't much, we were just chatting.” He turns to you. “I could see your scrunched eyebrows from where I was and thought you needed help,” he shrugs.

You sigh. He was always helpful, ever since he was a kid. 

“You know, you were always the good guy. Jimin’s other friends were so rowdy and immature. Yugyeom was always sprawled on the couch with his feet up like he owned the place; Sejun was always finishing our ice cream, and Sunghoon was such a flirt.” 

Jungkook laughs, recalling the times you were scolding all of them for messing up the house and being so annoyingly noisy and eating your snacks.

“You were always the well-behaved and mature one. Like, you barely engaged in their pranks and stupid boy talk. You’d rather watch it all unfold until it was too much and you’d help me in the kitchen always. I remember your glazed potatoes. God, that was so hilarious.”

“That was embarrassing.”

“It was funny! And adorable. You were always so kind.”

“Thanks but uh, I wasn’t trying to be kind. Well, sort of. I wanted to impress you. And I—” He doesn’t know where this is coming from but it’s like word vomit, especially now that you’ve started to walk more slowly and are looking at him. 

“It was an opportunity to be near you. Kinda wanted a lot of that back then. Even now, actually.”

You gulp, unsure of what to feel or how to react. You thought you were imagining his lingering looks, or how his eyes shone a tad brighter and his smile was a bit wider when you were around. But he’s not saying what he’s saying, right?

“I, uh. Well, maybe you look up to me like an older—“

“Don’t say sister because I never saw you as one,” he interrupts you, frustration laced in his voice as if the word is venom. “Not when I was a teenager, not in the years after, and especially not now.”

You hesitantly turn to him, his nervous face a contrast to the offended tone of his voice just seconds ago. He nibbles on his lips, a mannerism you noticed when he was a teenager who always seemed shy around you and would only relax after you talked to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. I didn’t mean to sound angry. I just—“ 

“That was your angry tone?” You tease, your laugh affirming him that you’re not upset one bit, just… unsure. You’re flattered, definitely; he is a very attractive man. Still your brother’s best friend, though.

This eases him, but prompts him to test the waters.

“I’m a gentle boy, what can I say? Most times, at least,” he says, and you don’t miss the playful tone of this voice, his eyes peering down at you, making your breath hitch and your hands clammy.

You wrap yourself with your arms - really to wipe the sweat off because you’re feeling nervous - but Jungkook takes this differently, as anyone would, and immediately unzips his jacket and puts it on you.

You slow on your tracks and you feel even warmer. He follows your pace but urges you to speed up once he feels a droplet on his cheek. You’re glad you opted to wear low heels today, tiring your calves only a little but allowing you to walk fast enough until you’re on the steps of your apartment in time to miss the sudden downpour.

Well, Jungkook doesn’t because as he enters, a portion of his torso is wet, his black shirt sticking on his skin to tease you of his toned abs that you definitely will be thinking about tonight. Between that, his damp hair, and soaked veiny arm, you curse your mind for the images it’s currently making up. 

All he did was indirectly tell you he has a crush on you, right? Or did he? He doesn’t seem as bothered as you expected him to be if that was the case so maybe you misinterpreted? 

You can’t stand this wet version of him so you say you’ll get him a towel but are too flustered so you hit the wall as you turn towards the bathroom, eliciting a loud “ow!” 

“You okay?” He asks worriedly.

“Yeah, still drunk I guess,” you lie. He smirks and probably knows you’re lying. 

“I’ll take care of myself, don’t worry. Go wash up and get ready for bed.” 

“Are you ordering me around?” You ask, trying your best to reestablish yourself as the one in authority because you can’t take how this man is making you feel nervous and unsettled and not in control. 

“Do you want me to?” He simpers, flustering you even more. What is with him? 

You roll your eyes and trudge to your bathroom. You’re technically sober but with Jungkook’s looks, the sudden flirty tone of his voice, and his innuendos, you might as well be drunk again. 

You open the door and seconds later he’s by your bedroom, a glass of water in one hand and apple juice in the other. The bottle of aspirin is tucked under his arm by his rib and he asks you to get it and you think he's evil for testing you but you take it, acting unbothered. He follows you to your room and you don’t stop him. 

Glasses now on your bedside, you tuck yourself in. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

“For what?”

“For staying with me? Listening to me?” You test the waters, too. “For caring for me?” And his smugness disappears. Before you is a man, all strong and tough yet his smile is the tiniest, softest you’ve ever seen on him, and even from where you are, you could see the tips of his ears turn red. 

“I really appreciate everything,” you conclude, and you mean it.

He gathers himself before he looks you in the eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Anything you need, just tell me.” You nod. 

“Sleep well, ___.”

**

You don’t sleep well. In fact, even with the rain pouring outside, you feel so hot, you end up shedding your shorts. 

The closeness with Jungkook has been gradual and if anything, it’s been comfortable. You convince yourself what he has is probably just a little crush; convincing your heart to still is a different story. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, can’t stop smiling. He was testing the waters tonight, gauging how you would react to his flirtation and teasing. It was partly the alcohol but then you’d gone all shy and flustered; he thought it was worth a shot.

He was half expecting you to scold him like you used to do with Sunghoon, or berate him like those guys at work but you did neither. You don’t seem to hate him, even with his indirect confession to you, and that’s really better than what he’d hoped. 

**

You wake up dissatisfied with your sleep and take your hangover necessities; dealing with Jungkook last night did add to your inebriation. 

You head out to the kitchen to prepare some beef bone soup to help with the headache, hands trying to remove the sleep from your eyes. You move like you’re on autopilot like most post-night out mornings and then you hear someone gasp.

“Shit, woman. Learn your manners and put some clothes on,” Jimin shouts. 

It wouldn’t have been bothersome had Jungkook not been here but of course, he is. Next to your brother, eyes wide and definitely trying not to look at your bare legs. It dawns on you that you indeed removed your shorts because of that very man and your face contorts in shock and embarrassment.

“Fuck. Jimin! Grab me my shorts on my bed, please!!!” You cry out and stand behind the counter.

He’s too scandalized to complain so he rushes to your room and you feel so hot all over. You avoid Jungkook’s face at all costs, which apparently is what he’s also doing.

Jimin throws your shorts on your face. “Get yourself together, jeez,” he scowls.

“You’re the one invading my space, okay, both of you,” you bite back. 

Jimin’s making faces like he always does when you scold him and Jungkook sits next to him, chuckling. 

“I shouldn’t have welcomed you, you brats. I’m used to walking around my apartment in my underwear so this is a lifestyle change.”

“Oh god, shut it. Nobody wants to imagine you without clothes on,” he cringes.

For some reason, your eyes find Jungkook, who visibly gulps. You glare at both men, and Jimin responds with an evil smile.

You return to what you were meant to do and start getting ingredients. Jungkook starts to feel bad and approaches you, mumbles to Jimin that he’ll just help. 

Jungkook appears next to you. “Did you mean that?”

You sigh. “I didn’t. Of course you two are welcome here.”

“I was referring to the other one,” he says with a low voice.

Your eyes widen and you smack his arm. “What is wrong with you? Stop teasing,” you loud-whisper, but he doesn’t miss the way you try to hide your laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he smirks, and you get flustered even more. 

You’re a 28-year old getting scandalized over playful comments by this ridiculously good-looking man and you feel so pathetic but you can’t deny that it’s exciting you. It’s been a while since you’ve had someone flirt with you and pay attention to you like this, make you all giddy and entranced as if you’re an adolescent getting her first love letter or being told by her crush that she’s pretty.

There’s playfulness there but affection, too. You see it in the way he stops the teasing and smiles to himself, then proceeds to help you cook, looks at you with fondness while you eat, then forces Jimin to clean up with him. 

This continues for the next few weeks. His lingering looks on you are more flirty now and he smirks when you look away and try to hide your flushed face. His tone of voice when Jimin is nearby is lower, as if he’s telling you a secret. 

He no longer stiffens when Jimin moves to the corner of the couch and kicks you closer to Jungkook so that your brother can make space for himself. In fact, it’s the opposite now, with Jungkook finding ways to be near you - when the three of you are on a grocery run, when you’re all on the couch for movie night, and especially when Jimin opts to sit on the floor - shuffling closer, knees grazing each other’s.

You’ve kept your head to yourself, fighting the urge to rest it on his shoulder and he definitely noticed this, so he’s started to edge you, in a way. The once lingering finger touches when he hands you something are no more, so are the “accidental” elbow brushes. 

He stands close to you just enough for you to feel the heat off him but not enough to feel him. His arm over your chair leaves his hand thisclose to your shoulder and you swear you can feel the sensation even then. 

You’d stopped smacking him after this one time he flexed his bicep and you started to imagine how good those arms must look.

You found out shortly after when he and Jimin convinced you to join them in the gym because Jungkook had a voucher to a free yoga class since a client of his is a teacher; safe to say she wasn’t happy when he popped in the studio to say you were taking his slot. Jungkook and Jimin did a workout, your brother now in a better condition.

After the session, they made you wait as they finished and Jungkook really had to remove his red jacket to reveal his stupidly gorgeous toned and tattooed arms in a black fit sleeveless top. He caught you ogling and the devil crossed his arms to fucking flex and smirk when the conversation he was having with one of the trainers didn’t even seem that amusing. 

Of course, his outfit just sent your mind into another dimension with the images of what could be underneath that black top and again, you find out one morning exactly how glorious it is. 

It’s one of those post-bar night mornings - you’ve allowed Jimin to enjoy the nightlife again as long as he had chaperones, which essentially were you and Jungkook. You’d woken up and stopped by the hallway at the sound of someone gasping and you look up from the hallway, slack jawed as you watch Jungkook pull his shirt off from the back of his neck with one hand, coffee-stained clothing lying on the counter.

His black sweatpants are hanging low on his hips and does he not have any boxers on?? His tiny waist spreads out to his muscular back, and when he turns, his sculpted chest almost blinds you; pecs just the right perk and torso so taut but not intimidating at all. It’s... beautiful. It looks so smooth and captivating; your eyes can’t help but trail down south and is that black ink that’s peeking underneath the waistband? You gulp at the thought of Jungkook having a hip tattoo because what the fuck? Is he trying to kill you? And his…

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” He asks, and you jerk from where you’re standing. 

Your eyes turn to the appropriate body part they should be focused on and he’s smiling like he’s an angel, as if he literally didn’t just try to murder you with his exquisite bare body. 

His smile is so sweet and you know he’s playing you because he totally caught you drooling at the sight of him. Your throat is dry and suddenly you can’t speak, which really isn’t surprising by now because he’s also taken away your ability to form coherent sentences. 

“I, uhm. I’ll get one of Jimin’s.” 

“I don’t fit in his clothes. Don’t you have large ones?”

He knows you do, and you nod, unclench the thighs you didn’t even realize had betrayed you, and retrieve one of your oversized Disney t-shirts and approach him. You stay at a safe distance because any closer you might fall into temptation and you throw him the shirt. 

He chuckles and turns to his side to slowly put it on because of course there’s a fucking dent down there that he wants to show off.

You turn and trip on your foot because god knows how dizzy you feel from the show he just put on.

“Careful,” he calls out and even with your back turned, you just know he’s smirking.

He beats you to the bathroom shortly after and he took his time. 

You decide to wait with your brother who’d been so ecstatic over an audition he landed for a fairly new and small entertainment company as a choreographer for a hip-hop group. 

They told him his contemporary dance background and versatility are just what they need and you soften at his joyful face; he says he feels like a new person again. You listen to him excitedly and give encouragement.

You perk at the sound of the bathroom door opening because you really need to clean the wetness down there and you trudge out of the room so you could finally shower, slightly upset at Jungkook’s clothed form. 

You groan. “Ugh that was so long,” you mindlessly say.

“Oh it is.” His smirk is back and you are pissed. You bang the door and pull your hair out of frustration. 

He doesn’t even need to touch you for you to be a whimpering mess. He knows it. And you’re in trouble.

**

Jungkook is busy for the next two weeks, having shared that he has a couple of on-site art installations outside of the city and a tattoo piece that will need more than one 5-hour shift. You tried not to seem affected when Jimin teased him since it was going to be on a woman’s breast this time. 

“This the same one who had her vagina tattooed? The one who asked you out after?” Jimin asked.

Your eyes were burning your phone screen because you absolutely cannot be affected. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook laughed. “That was fun.”

Jin calling you was your saving grace and you spent the next half hour in your room, talking to him over nursery room ideas because Hoseok couldn’t make up his mind over a neon green or a fuschia pink wall and Yoongi wanted dark grey because “babies can’t even identify colors,” which is true but Jin needed you as the one with a more palatable taste.

Jungkook had knocked to say goodbye, which is more than his usual yelling, and you noticed him linger before you heard the steps away from your door. 

**

It was day 5 when you realized why you’d been so grumpy and you hated the moment you did - you miss Jungkook. You’d gotten so used to seeing him every few days - picking you up from work, playing rock-paper-scissors to determine who’ll choose dinner, laughing at his high-pitched child-like laughter, talking to him about work and other things… you even miss his flirting and teasing. 

He’d been such a staple in your life the past months, and not just to referee between you and Jimin. Jungkook, with his listening ear, his heartwarming passion for his work, and ability to soothe and comfort you in the silence, just feels so stable. And not in the way you used to think. He’s so laid-back and just there, always dependable, like you’re sure whatever it is you’re feeling, he’ll know what to do and say. 

Jimin used to say that Jungkook was always the person he needed for anything and now you understand why. He emits a certain calmness, joy, and consistency, like whether you’re flying or drowning, he’s the pillar grounding you or keeping you afloat. 

You’re always tempted to send him a message but you two don’t text and it’d be weird to just start now, although it doesn’t help that he doesn’t text you, too. You shrug it off and convince yourself that it really might just be a silly crush, one he acts on when he’s around you but probably forgets when he isn’t. Or maybe he went out with that girl, who knows?

On the day that he arrives, he's set to drive Jimin to the audition and watch him, too, while you’re just happy to be able to do errands and clean the house on your own. 

The doorbell rings and Jimin, whom you’ve reminded to shower so he won’t be late, answers the door and you try not to look intrigued when you hear him rambling about how good Jungkook apparently looks because how else can he look better?

With ash-grey hair, that’s how. You couldn’t help it. You peeked and turned your head before he could turn to look at you.

You’re currently by the kitchen counter, tiptoeing to try to get the cereal box on the top shelf to check if you need to buy another or if it would suffice. Or if it’s even still edible. You’ll be off for a quick grocery run if only you can get this stupid box out.

Then a large hand is touching your lower back and the fresh scent of detergent fills your nose. You stiffen as an arm is raised to easily grab the cereal box you’ve spent the past 5 minutes trying to get and fuck do you miss his touch, his scent that you realize is just as comforting as his soft sweatshirts, and the way you feel a jolt of electricity even at the slightest brush of his body on yours.

He places the box on the counter. “You should’ve asked,” he says, voice low.

“I can do it,” you respond, gaining the courage to look at him and your lips betray you at how they part because he looks so good with his new hair. 

“I know. I just like it when you ask.” He tries to keep his eyes on you but they keep falling to your lips, the one he’d been imagining the feel and taste of. But your eyes lock on his, letting yourself be hypnotized. 

You feel his touch drift away from you and you stop him, as your hand finds his and keeps it on your waist, and it signals him to grip tighter and pull you closer. And you let him. You angle yourself so you’re standing chest to chest, you could almost feel his heart beat just as fast as yours.

“What else?” You indulge yourself because you just wanna know. You've missed him and you can’t reconcile the flirting with his recent silence.

Jungkook bites his lip, knowing it’s his signal to tell you how he feels.

“I like it when you say my name, when you listen to me talk and take me seriously. When you don’t make me feel bad about the things I do, the things I choose.”

His hand that isn’t on your waist glides through your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It settles on your cheek and you hope he doesn’t notice just how hot it is.

“I like it when you pout and when you smile with your eyes,” he continues. “And I like it when you need me because then I know I’m not the only one, because fuck do I need you,” he continues, both hands pulling you closer to him until his breath grazes your mouth. 

“Want you so much,” he mumbles, before he eliminates the distance and you feel his soft lips on yours, moving tenderly, carefully, as if the purpose is to seek validation that you feel the same way, to ask your acceptance of the overwhelming affection he has for you. 

Your lips move gently like his, languid yet electrifying and euphoric and you hold onto him for support, just so you won’t lose yourself even more than you already are.

This now feels surreal. You’re not thinking about anything else - not the before or the after - just the feel of him at this very moment and how it’s making you feel alive, carefree, unbound. And you wonder if all your other kisses had felt this good before. Or maybe just different. 

You and Jungkook keep your steady pace, focusing on the soothing feel of each other’s lips, of the sensation of something sensuous and tender.

The aggressive pull of the bathroom door jolts you awake from a dream it seems, and you’re ducking down and crouching on the floor behind the counter before your brother notices anything amiss. Jungkook’s surprised but holds his laugh at how scared you look, the first time he’d seen you be afraid of your brother.

“Kook, has my sister left for the grocery?” He calls out from his open room, probably dressing as he speaks.

Jungkook looks up to check on Jimin. “Yeah, she just left,” he answers after deciphering your hand gestures from underneath him.

“Ugh, I forgot to tell her to buy my cereal. I think the one on the top shelf isn’t edible anymore.”

Jungkook smirks, thanking the heavens that Jimin didn’t tell you, otherwise Jungkook wouldn’t have had the best kiss of his life. He felt you; you moved with him, you felt him. And he can’t be happier.

He has a chance with you. He really has a chance with you, and even at the risk of being caught, he’d do this with you over and over again.

“Let’s go,” Jimin calls out. “I’ll just text her.”

“I’m sure she knows,” Jungkook smirks then heads out, leaving you with a dazed feeling and a heart that won’t slow its beating. 

**

Your time alone with your thoughts only served to confuse you even more. It felt nice. He felt nice. You’d never really considered Jungkook as anything more than, well, your brother’s best friend, even if he’d been the one you preferred out of all of Jimin’s friends dating back to middle school. 

His well-behaved nature and boyish charms were always endearing to you and even when he grew up, his confidence and compassion just amazed you. But it was always from afar. You think it’s the same with him; his affection may just be a little infatuation borne out of his idea of you growing up. You’ve learned enough that the idea of a person, of a relationship, of a could be isn’t always enough.

Another thing you think about is that Jimin is very protective of his friendships. You know that more than anyone, when you dated Taemin in high school. 

You were both seniors and had gotten close because he was Jimin’s dance captain and mentor, someone whom your brother looked up to and admired. Your relationship ended during your first year of college, with both of you saying things you eventually regretted. Safe to say it was your first heartbreak, one that resulted to Jimin’s as well, as his friendship with your ex was also affected.

You and Jimin barely talked about it, seeing his own disappointment because of the resulting strained relationship with Taemin. You thought that the elder would at least maintain a friendship, but he didn’t. 

The most Jimin said about it was when he told you, eyes downcast but tone quite angry, to “keep off my friends and don’t date any of them, please.” You were home for a break and he stormed out of your room before you could apologize. You realized later on that his heartbreak was worse than yours; you told yourself you don’t want to be the cause of that pained look on his face ever again.

His friends are off-limits, he made it pretty clear. Taemin was a mentor but one Jimin eventually did without. But Jungkook is his best friend, his brother. They’ve looked out for each other for more than half of their lives; you can’t even imagine what would happen if you and Jungkook get together and then fight, or break up. 

You wouldn’t want Jimin to have to give up a friendship that means more to him than anything. Or more accurately, you wouldn’t want to lose Jimin over something that might not mean as much anyway. 

You stick to the latter thought, especially when both men arrive home and Jimin is beaming, his smile something you’d never admit actually makes your heart feel all sorts of fuzziness and pride. He’s so excited and you feel it, too, moreso because he informs you that he got the job.

“They really liked me! They said I can really mentor the group and their team is so creative and passionate…” Jimin goes on, narrating every single thing that happened right as he entered the studio. You’ve never seen him this elated, not even with his previous company that was at the top of their game. 

“And they said I don’t have to work right away! They’ll wait for my doctor’s clearance but I can go to work to observe and get to know them more.”

Your eyes moisten because not long ago, you saw the joy in your brother wither away, his passion deteriorate, and his plans go on a standstill. But now, it’s like he didn’t go through a slump or moments of weakness, like he didn’t go through a depressive mode when he thought he’d lost everything. He’s really a fighter, and you truly look up to him. 

“I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for you two,” Jimin continues, pulling both of you in a three-way hug because of course your brother wouldn’t hug just you.

This prompts Jungkook to wrap his arm around you, hand gripping your waist while yours settles for mere pats on his lower back. He tries not to dwell on this minimal contact, or on the way you purposely avoid his gaze. He tries not to think too much when you actively lean towards your brother more during your dinner out, or how you jerk away when any of Jungkook’s body parts comes in close contact with yours.

He’s thinking maybe you’re not in the mood for his playful antics or maybe, he really pushed too far with the kiss from earlier, and it sends him in an internal panic mode because just as his hope of starting something more with you was blooming, it quickly gets shot down just like that. 

It’s when you pass up on games and drinks in your living room when you get back so you could just stay in your room did Jungkook think that he may really have blown his chance.

**

You try to be subtle in your avoidance of Jungkook but it’s harder than expected, especially since Jimin still invites him over. With the excitement of the new job now steadying, Jimin announces his checklist for getting through a crisis - healed foot, check; new job, check. That’s pretty much it, really. “But I still need you two,” he says.

Jungkook comes over and at the start, you notice how he still tries. He attempts to catch your gaze, goes near you, engages you in conversation, makes jokes, lingers before leaving… only to be met with eyes that don’t seek him, short answers, forced laughter, and cold goodbyes. And you absolutely hate it. 

He’s around yet you miss him even more than when he was away, but you can’t fall into the things that made you feel something for him in the first place. 

Living with Jimin made you appreciate him so much more, and you’re glad you get to be this close with him for the first time, and you don’t want to jeopardize that. 

Jungkook had much to do with the newfound attachment with your brother, yet it’s exactly why you’re hesitant to give Jungkook a chance. Their relationship is sacred, similar to how yours with Jimin is. What you and Jungkook have is a by-product of those, and it’s not the priority. Somehow you think all three can’t coexist; you can’t have it all, really.

Whenever Jungkook makes an effort, Jimin’s plea to keep off his friends rings in your head. You know, too, that Jimin gave his friends an ultimatum - date my sister or keep your dicks, something like that. It was funny when you heard of it, but it’s definitely not a laughing matter now. 

Those words were said years ago yet they still hang above your head. You wish Jungkook would just make it easier for you, but why is it that when he stopped trying did you feel your heart break, as if you’re losing something you never had in the first place?

**

It’s easy to reason you feel sick and tired; you’ve been spending later hours at work so spending more time in your room and asking the boys to make dinner instead seem reasonable. But tonight, Jimin isn’t having it.

“We’re celebrating, stay here,” he says, pulling you to the couch next to him. Jungkook is on his right, his once tendency to stiffen around you back again, and you sadden at the thought because he looks so uncomfortable.

“Celebrating what?” You ask, grabbing the beer being handed to you. 

“I’ve been working for 2 weeks and I haven’t reinjured my foot,” he says, his smile blinding you.

Normally you’d roll your eyes at his shallowness but you just agree and mindlessly sip the beer, eyes veering off in the distance.

“Is it a guy?” Jimin asks out of nowhere and you try not to choke. “You only ever get this sulky when it’s about a guy. Is it someone from work?” Jimin states with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Oh! Is it one of the managers who’s been trying to ask you out but he’s the ex of your close friend?” 

You try to remember when you told him that but it was definitely a months-ago issue. 

“Or did you have an epiphany and realized you actually like Yoongi? Or Hoseok? Or maybe Jin but he’s married?”

“What the hell, Jimin!” You say, smacking his arm. Your eyes flit to Jungkook who’s focused on the TV.

“The first one,” you lie to satisfy your brother. 

“It’s kind of a code, you know? He’s Yuri’s ex and she really loved him and I don’t want to ruin my friendship over something I’m not sure is worth it anyway.” And with that, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench. He knows about Yuri and the manager; they were merely a fling, so he knows you’re lying.

“How do you know it’s not worth it if you haven’t even tried?” Jimin asks, incredulous.

“I don’t know, it’s just… Yuri’s my friend and I don’t wanna mess up a friendship.”

“Seems like you don’t trust your friendship with Yuri enough, then,” Jimin states like it’s a fact. This hits your more than it should. Do you really not trust in your relationship with your own brother? Surely you have a basis to be hesitant, but if it only it were that simple.

Jimin picks up on your silence and asks again. “How are you and the guy like? Do you have moments with him?”

“Lots of them,” you say, your eyes finding Jungkook just on the other side of the couch and he’s never felt farther away. 

“And for the first time it’s like I get to savor them. Whether it’s something sweet that he does, or if we’re just together in silence, or when he’s being flirty,” and you don’t see it but Jungkook catches you smiling at the thought and god does he wish you’re lying about this one unless it’s about him. He wishes it is.

“Sounds like a keeper if he gets you to enjoy moments, don’t you think? For someone like you?” Jimin says, cocking an eyebrow.

“Like me?”

“You think too much, you know? You plan, you analyze, you manage risks… I mean, yeah sure they help I guess but this isn’t a job, ___. There’s no profit to be earned here, no losses,” he points out. 

“The only loss is you missing out on something good because you’re too focused on what could happen, and not what’s actually happening, right now.” He's told you a variation of this before, but somehow this hits differently, and more than it should.

“Did you teach that to Jungkook, too?” You ask, a smile creeping up and you digress because you need anything to stop you from walking to Jungkook and holding him close to you.

“No, he taught me that,” Jimin states. “I know it seems like I teach him a lot - well, all I really told him was to never let anybody dictate what he wants and deserves in life, and I stand by that, but to be clear,” Jimin turns to you, “I learn just as much from him. He’s his own self; nobody tells him what to do.”

It’s all meant to be assuring, comforting even, if only Jimin knew. And if only it were that simple. The tension is suffocating but your brother breathes easy. You love him more than you can ever say and his happiness has meant more to you than you ever imagined. You just wish your own didn’t come at a cost.

**

A few days later, Jungkook is back at your place and you had quite the reflective week and opted to stay in your room. 

Some days you just want to bask in your own thoughts; absorbing yourself in your own emotions helps in figuring out what to do, you’ve realized. You’re still a thinker and a planner - that’s probably never gonna change - but you’re starting to at least let yourself feel and enjoy the now, or something like it. You just wish the person you want to spend your now with hasn’t changed his mind.

It’s almost midnight when you decide to head out, your early dinner long digested and you feel hunger creeping in.

You exit your room and stop in your tracks at the sight of Jungkook in your kitchen, all alone. You definitely weren’t ready for this.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were still here,” and you regret it immediately, not wanting to sound disappointed.

He looks up, alarmed at your presence because he wasn’t expecting this, too.

“Jimin fell asleep on me but don’t worry, I was just about to leave,” he responds, eyes not meeting yours. 

“He’s also gonna be coming over my place now since he’s able. Don’t want you to feel like a prisoner in your own home,” he says, motioning to your room where you’ve been hiding recently. 

“Since you’re avoiding me and all,” he continues, and you don’t miss the hurt look on his face. 

You mentally give yourself a pep talk because you definitely want him to still come around and you’re definitely being stupid. 

“I… I wasn’t avoiding you,” you say, blocking his way by the couch as he’s about to reach for his jacket.

He stops in front of you, ensuring some distance. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, you were just not minding me and making sure you stayed as far away from me as possible.” He’s trying to sound bitter but you’re his weakness and he will always go soft on you because his tender eyes are definitely not a match to his bitter words.

“I just didn’t know what to do. You didn’t exactly say what you felt and—“

“I kissed you, ___,” he says, tone suppressing frustration.

“I told you I needed you, wanted you. And you kissed me back. The way you looked at me that day, the way you held me… it meant more, I could feel it. So I don’t know how you could just act like none of that happened, like it didn’t matter,” he continues.

“Jungkook… you’re my brother’s bestest friend. And he’s very protective of his friends, of you.” 

And it’s ironic, Jungkook thinks, how Jimin is the reason why you two had met, got close; how Jimin’s what got you together but is also who’s keeping you apart.

“He’s also the one who constantly reminds me to go for what I want, to never let anybody tell me what to do,” Jungkook says.

“Yeah but this is different. I don’t want anything to come in between you two, the same way I don’t want anything to come in between him and me.”

“So it’s okay for him to come in between us? You really think he’d be okay with that? That he’d keep the two people he loves the most from being together? From being happy?”

And you hate that he’s right.

“What Jimin is to us is out of our control,” he states. “But that shouldn’t be why we can’t try, right? Because god I’ve wanted you since I was 15 and and I’ve waited too long for this and I’d either fight for us or keep us a secret, I don’t care. Just don’t lie to me, please.”

By now he’s standing in front of you and he could pin you against the armrest if he wanted to but he’s keeping his hands to himself, fists clenched at the control he’s trying to maintain because of his intense feelings for you. He’d make you feel it all too, if you just let him.

You can move away if you wanted; there’s space for it. But you don’t. Jungkook bared everything to you, braving through just to be with you; the least you could do is be honest. So with your own strength, you look up at him. 

“You made me fall for the moments, Jungkook. You made me fall for you, and there were so many things to consider and I—“

Your rear hits the armrest, as you’d reflexively walked back as he started to move towards you, slowly eliminating the distance. His arms, sandwiching you, are propped on the couch to support his spread out frame, his face now level with yours. You’re burning with how he’s looking at you with so much hope and yearning.

“Go on,” he says, voice low, his eyes wandering all over your face and you feel your heat dampen with just his gaze. 

“I didn’t know what to do with what I’d started to feel for you because you were off-limits but that didn’t keep me from wanting you and—“

His lips graze the side of your neck and with your breath hitching, he proceeds. Open-mouth kisses trail your neck, with just enough wetness and just enough heat to leave you wanting more. You angle your neck for more access and he smirks at this. 

“And what?” He urges you, mouth focusing on the other side of your neck now, head nudging yours to adjust. 

“And I avoided you because—“ 

You grip the couch for support, as you unravel with his hot breath on your skin.

“That seemed easier than to keep at what we were doing knowing that—“ 

He licks a sensitive part by your ear and your strangled moan spurs him on. 

“I couldn’t have you the way I wanted to.” 

At this, he stops. 

He focuses his gaze on you again. Jungkook holds onto the tiniest shred of self-control he has left just so he can savor you like this, emotions unraveling and your body falling apart before him. 

“How exactly do you want me?”

You steady your breath and as much as you want to give in to your carnal desire and attack his lips, you want him to know how much this means to you. You’re still scared but being with Jungkook steadies you, makes it all feel worth it.

You’re crossing this line now, and you’ll stick with him whether you’ll both come clean or keep it a secret. He wants you enough right now; you’ll figure out what to do eventually. 

Your hand finds his face and fingers trace the scar on his cheek. You let yourself drown in his beautiful eyes, knowing on clear nights you could see galaxies like this. 

“I want you close, Jungkook. I want you to hold me, when I’m sad, happy, confused. I want to hold you that way, too. I want to savor every moment, let you know everyday what you mean to me.”

Your featherlight touches on his jaw send shivers all over his body and he hums at the sensation. You caress his lips before he could bite them again, palming him with your thumb and feeling its softness.

“I want you to fall apart under my touch, want to make you feel good, kiss you like it’s always the last time.”

Jungkook thinks he deserves a prize for how well he’s keeping himself together and not yet taking you on this couch like his dick is telling him to. But he needed to hear all that, needed to look in your eyes while you said them.

Then you smile at him, eyes filled with desire, and that’s all it takes for him to lose his resolve and plunge into you, your plush lips against his soft ones, melding together again like a literal dream. He straightens his stance so his hands can cup your face and he feels you smile in the kiss, relishing in the care and attention he’s giving.

It starts tenderly then quickly turns heated, his eager hands trailing down your arms and waist, and your own entangling his hair, pulling the strands as he nips your lips, prompting them to open. 

Your tongues explore each other’s mouths, his lingering taste of rootbeer somehow making him more addictive. You swallow each other’s sounds, both of you still having half a mind to tone down, knowing that only a wall separates your wanton moans and your sleeping brother.

His grip around you tightens and you pull him closer, your hands now around his neck, fingers thumbing his cheeks and you’re losing yourself to him, as the past few months of undeniable attraction and sexual tension climaxing at this moment where you finally give in to what you’ve been trying to suppress.

Jungkook, on the other hand, feels a sense of calm even with his hard dick and his thumping heart because he’s dreamed of this, dreamed of you, and you’re here wanting him, too. All the memories of watching you from afar, blushing at how beautiful you are, missing you when you were away, heart breaking at how happy you were with someone else, fly by him like a movie because he’s got his ending - you. 

He’s lived for moments most of his life and always knew to savor them, to bask in them because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to have those again. But nothing comes close to right now with you and he decides to make sure he’ll have you like this everyday. 

Both your actions continue, hands stationary but mouths eagerly moving against each other, stopping momentarily for air but smiling, laughing in the kiss.

You give in first, fingers slowly trailing down to graze at his chest and he shivers, curses mid-kiss and you giggle, and he’s on cloud 9 again, realizing he can hear the beautiful sound that is your laughter everyday. 

Suddenly it’s all thoughts of what’s ahead for both of you, imagining what that would be like - feeling, holding, touching each other. You’re both so lost in your little world, minds traveling from now to tomorrow and it’s exciting, so incredibly alluring to be savoring this moment but also thinking about the next. 

You’re light-headed now because kissing him is like a drug, soothing yet exhilarating at the same time and you’re aching to feel him. “Jungkook…” You whine. 

And then.

“HOLY SHIT,” you hear a gasp.

Your eyes burst open and you feel Jungkook stiffen before you try to push him away. You both stull, looking at each other, some distance now between you, and you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it is, the tension so thick that you’re afraid to move. 

You knew at one point you’re gonna have to tell Jimin but not now and definitely not in the middle of a fucking make-out session.

“Is this a hookup or are you both finally out of your asses and would actually like to properly date because god knows it’s about time?”

You and Jungkook slowly turn to the side, eyes wide at your brother who’s leaning by the wall, checking his nails as if he didn’t just give you a heart attack.

“WHAT?” You ask.

“Jungkook’s been into you since forever but never had the fucking guts to do anything.” Jimin sighs and rolls his eyes at the man. “You’re not exactly subtle with your staring.”

Jungkook can’t seem to wrap his head around what's happening because his mouth keeps moving but no sound comes out.

“Neither are you,” Jimin eyes you this time. “You forget I’m good with reading people. And also, I’m friends with Yuri. She doesn’t even remember that guy,” he laughs because of course they’re friends. You feel so stupid; you should’ve known he was trying to catch you in a lie when he asked if your sulking was because of a “guy.”

“So you’ve always known?” Jungkook finally finds his voice.

“About you, duh. She’s recent,” Jimin points to you. “It’s like, one moment you’re friendly then you’re flirty then it’s like you can’t stand each other. Get your shit together, people. I’m literally right here.”

God, you and Jungkook were definitely not subtle. And underestimated your brother, too.

“So you’re not mad?” You confirm.

“No.”

“But… you said you were gonna cut my dick off,” Jungkook stammers.

“And you told me to keep off your friends because of Taemin,” you add. “You stopped being friends because of me,” you remind him, voice almost a whisper.

Jimin takes a deep breath because now he has to come clean.

“We stopped being friends because of him. He hurt you, ___, and you didn’t deserve that,” he admits, avoiding your questioning gaze. “I heard you crying to Jin about what happened and I got angry and wanted you to stay away from my friends because they were all assholes.” He continues, jaw clenched at the memory. “Well, except for him,” he cocks his head towards Jungkook. 

“He was the only good guy. I never really minded if he went for you because... iknowhe’lltreatyouwellandyoudeservethat,” Jimin says.

And you’re not gonna lie, you feel like crying. Jimin’s been trying to protect you all this time. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, isn’t taking this all too well.

“You said you were gonna cut my dick off…” He says again, tone low and unbelieving.

“That didn’t stop you, did it?” Jimin counters, earning him a sigh of defeat because he has a point. 

“I just wanted it to happen naturally,” he explains. “I mean, I didn’t plan on getting heartbroken, injured, unemployed, then homeless all at once but it happened and you both helped me and that unintentionally brought you together and I…” 

He turns to you both. “I realized how good you are together. Not just in taking care of me but in taking care of each other, too.”

By this time, Jungkook has found his feet and is back to standing in front of you, his hand intertwining with yours. You let out a laugh because this whole time, Jimin wasn’t in the dark. But then again, he’s a smart ass too and would’ve figured it out.

And would also push it. “I actually got over Taehyung months ago so like, I’ve been okay for a while,” he shrugs.

And just like that, he gets on your nerves again because that’s how he’s been getting his way, by reminding you of his “broken heart that’s still hurting.” 

“You little bitch! Do you also have a new apartment now and you’re not telling me?!” You shriek, and Jungkook next to you is finally laughing. 

“Oh no,” Jimin responds. “I’m really still homeless.”

And he smiles his sickly sweet smile and you can’t help but mirror it. Your brother is really something, and you don’t know what you’d do without him.

Some seconds pass and you’re just all basking in this moment because for the first time in months, it really feels like things are looking out for all of you.

“So in that case,” Jungkook turns to you. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” Hopeful eyes staring at you, a weight off his shoulder now that he doesn’t need to hide anything from his best friend. He can just focus on falling in love with you and making you do the same. 

“Yes,” you excitedly reply, hand trailing down his chest again. “And in that case, would you like to continue this in my bedroom?”

Jungkook feels his dick twitch. “Fuck, yes.”

“Guess I’m gonna have to sleep on the couch now,” Jimin groans, but you don’t miss his playful tone. “You’re both welcome, idiots.”

**

You’re pushed to the wall right as the door closes and Jungkook’s lips meet yours immediately. It tastes much sweeter knowing there’s no need to hide, to be careful. It’s liberating and it’s making you feel more.

He kisses you harshly as his hands make quick work of your shirt, pulling them off then slowly kneeling down in tandem with his mouth sucking, licking, and kissing down to your breasts, then your torso, causing your chest to heave at the pleasure from just his mouth.

His hands aggressively pull down your bottoms and his tongue finds your clit before you can even process his action. He’s nibbling your bud and laving at your lips and pumping his fingers in you all at once, you don’t know where to focus. 

You feel the desperation and intensity with every move, the sensation overwhelming and eliciting lewd sounds from you. He alternates between moaning and cursing on your cunt and that just adds to the pleasure.

“Eager, aren’t we?” You ask with a smirk.

“You have no idea,” he responds, head buried between your thighs, one of which is currently resting on his shoulder. “Some of my wet dreams may have been because of you.”

“What the fuck Jungkook!”

“I was a growing boy with raging teen hormones!” He says in between breaths. But he doesn’t relent. Fingers curling in your hole, tongue swirling on your clit, and hand squeezing your ass, he’s determined to make you cum now, and with a hard suck, you do. 

You jerk away at the oversensitivity with his mouth still on you and you pull him up to give him a kiss, tasting yourself on him.

At the sight of you bare, eyes half-lidded and steadying breath, he stills.

“Is everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah I just…” He starts, stepping back a bit, and his eyes roam your body, smile creeping up his face. “I never thought I’d get to have you like this. I always admired you from afar and you always felt so out of reach and I…”

“Jungkook,” you stop him. 

“I’m here with you right now, barely any distance. I’m not your best friend’s sister, okay?” Your hand reaches out to him and he takes it, let’s you pull him closer. “I’m the girl you like whom you’ll take out on a date after you fuck her senseless. Got it?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, a shy laugh escaping him. 

You kiss him softly. “No need to admire me from a distance anymore. You have me, right here.”

“Okay.”

And before he can attack you again, you lead him towards your bed. Your fingers pull the waistband of his sweats as you sit on the edge and look up at him, wide eyes eager for something.

“Shirt off,” you say, and he follows.

Your eyes meet your hands that are slowly ridding him of his remaining clothing and you swear you could come again at the sight of the tiger lily tattoo resting on his hip. It curves with his semi-defined v-line, the stem trailing downward, like some pathway to his throbbing dick that’s leaking with some pre-cum.

You take him in your hands and he bucks at the feel of your soft skin around his length that’s aching to be inside you. Your eyes stay on the tattoo; something about it is so hot and you kiss it, lips then exploring the expanse of his hip and up to the part of his torso that you can reach, feeling the ridges of his definitely smooth abs, now tensing at the sensation. 

All the while, your hand is stroking his member, up and down as you continue kissing and licking his pelvis and just like this, he already tastes so good. He grunts with your ministrations, head falling back at the intense pleasure. His hands fall to your hair as you take him in, tongue traversing his dick and your heat clenches at the salty taste of cum and the feel of his veins as his shaft twitches in your mouth.

At the vibration caused by your moan, he stops you, removes himself from you and then lays half your body down on the edge of the bed. 

“My turn,” he says smugly.

You’re about to protest but he swirls his tongue all over your cunt again, the pad of his thumb flicking your nub and you moan his name instead. You haven’t fully recovered from your first orgasm yet but he seems determined to give you another one. He’s eating you like a man starved, as if he plans to slurp you dry.

“More, Jungkook,” you breathe out, then he’s pumping his dick and thrusting into you, the stretch just a tad bit painful but so, so good. 

He quickly adjusts, spreads your legs open for his easy access and the view, and he growls at the supple flesh that's taking him so well. It’s so erotic, watching himself go in and out of you like this, then hearing your deliciously hypnotic moans louden as his hands start kneading your breasts like it’s some dough he’s molding to his liking, his fingers flicking the hardened nipples.

“You feel so fucking heavenly, ___,” he pants. “Fuck, fuck. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“All yours, Kook,” you respond, delirious now because his movements are really sending you to another dimension. “Fuck me harder,” you beg, and he follows. 

He adjusts again, flushing your legs against you and the angle in which his dick hits your sweet spot causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. 

You’re screaming expletives and it’s just urging him to go harder, deeper, faster, his sweat trickling down his temples and forming on his chest.

“Cum for me, baby. I need to feel you,” he huffs. 

He’s in a frenzied state and he’s losing himself in you, his mouth now parted and he joins your filthy wails, which are in tune with the sound of skin slapping on skin. 

You feel your body spasm and you call out his name before you give in, heart stopping for a moment and he feels the stream of your cum coat his dick that’s just savoring this a bit more.

But you clench and it’s all it takes, his own seed spurting in you and your back arches as he comes down from his high by languidly kissing your breasts, one hand around your lifted waist and the other, intertwining your hand. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So much better than I imagined,” he utters, sounding so winded at the intensity of his orgasm.

He’s too tired to even move, body now resting on top of you, chest heaving and bated breaths escaping him. You massage his head and he moans even at that and you laugh but soften at the intimacy of it all.

He finally gets himself off you and you chuckle as he sneakily opens the door and tiptoes to the bathroom, careful not to be caught naked by your brother. He returns with a wet towel, wipes you, then lays next to you, his arm secured around your waist.

He’s smiling so fondly, lips now peppering kisses all over your face. “You’re stuck with me,” he states.

“Nowhere I'd rather be,” you reply, your own soft kiss now turning greedy again, and you think it’s gonna be a long night.

**

You wake up tired but you’re not complaining. It was quite the evening, after all, and you’re reminded by the fluff of grey hair adorning your chest. Jungkook likes to cuddle, you’ve learned, and he couldn’t sleep without a part of his body touching you. 

You release from his hold and head to the kitchen after washing up, not expecting your brother to already be eating his cereal.

“Oh my god, can you wear shorts?” He huffs. 

“Bitch, you’re in my apartment,” you bite back, laughing at the face he makes. 

Your front is to the counter when Jungkook approaches and unlike before, heads to you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind and places a kiss on your cheek. “Good morning.”

His voice is hoarse and you hold back a moan because it just brings you back to last night when after you came the second time, he fucked you softly for your third, then fucked you hard for your fourth, then softly again this morning for your (extended) fifth. God, this man will be the death of you. 

He nuzzles your neck and you giggle.

“Manners, you two. You’re like teenagers,” Jimin scowls.

“Well, I am living my teenage dream,” Jungkook announces. 

Jimin grimaces but softens at the look of his two favorite people looking so happy. “Okay, this is gonna take some getting used to.”

You and Jungkook playfully nod in agreement.

“Also,” he turns to Jungkook who’s now managed to tear away from you. “Are you gonna be here again tonight because you know, I kinda wanna sleep on a bed and all. Couch is great but like, no.”

“You better find your own place soon if you don’t want to keep sleeping there every night,” you reply smugly.

“Okay, now gross!” Jimin, dramatic as always, pretend-gags at the implication. “I’m gonna look for places. Jungkook, you’re still my best friend. We’re going apartment hunting tomorrow.”

“But…” You start.

“No. Nuh-uh. You had him last night and you’re going out on a date today. You need to share my best friend.”

And you all laugh at him throwing a tantrum. He and Jungkook start to bicker and you walk towards your room to grab shorts because it really is awkward when your brother is there. 

The doorbell rings as you’re about to walk back and you open the door, a surprised look on your face.

“Hi, is Jimin there?” The person asks.

**

You head back to the kitchen, your guest in tow and you call out to your brother.

“Chim, someone’s looking for you.”

Jimin looks up and almost falls off the chair.

“Taehyung?” He says, trying to mask the nervous tone of his voice. “I…”

“I have something to confess,” Taehyung cuts him off, eyes nervous but hopeful. “Can we, uhm, maybe talk somewhere else?” 

Jimin nods and quickly follows him out.

You walk back to Jungkook and he tugs you close, hands back to your waist. “What’s that about?” 

You bite back an excited squeal as you think back to what Taehyung told you at the door. 

“Let’s just say, you might not need to help Jimin look for an apartment anymore,” you respond. 

Jungkook smiles and pulls you in for a hug, reveling in this absolutely perfect moment. 

“You Park siblings drive me crazy, you know that? And you two make me so damn happy.”

##

masterlist

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #brother's best friend #hold me close #oneshot #mine

[nobodyfamousposts]

Chloe’s Lament Part 3

She didn’t know how long she spent ruminating. What drew her out of those thoughts was the sudden shouting from behind her and the exclamation of Bustier ordering Ivan to go to the Principal’s.

…wait…

Yes! Yes, this was it! This was the start of Stoneheart, the first akuma!

This was the start of the previous Ladybug’s debut!

And it would be the beginning of her own!

Chloe was almost squirming in her seat as Ivan was ordered to go to the Principal’s office. She watched eagerly as he stormed out of the room.

Soon, she reminded herself.

Soon…

So caught up in her own plans and imagining all the things she would do with the Miraculous, she didn’t even notice when class was over until everyone was leaving.

That’s right! She had to go, too! Her Miraculous awaited!

Sure, she didn’t know where it would be, but it was supposed to show up when Stoneheart appeared, right?

All the more reason to head out now to start looking!

Or she would if it weren’t for Bustier calling her before she could get out the door.

“Chloe. Do you have a minute?”

No, she didn’t! She had a Miraculous to receive and a city to adore her!

But at Bustier’s expectant look, she turned back with a sigh and walked up to her teacher’s desk. This was just a minor and temporary obstacle. Surely her Miraculous would wait! It wasn’t like there was anyone else fit for the hero role.

Her thoughts shifted to Marinette briefly before she waved them off. Certainly not!

“Did you need something?” She asked. As much of a rush as she was to get her Miraculous, Bustier was her favorite teacher and had always been on her side. The least she could do was allow her a bit of her time.

“I wanted to check in with you before school, but it seemed you had gotten here before I did.” Bustier smiled but her expression seemed tense. “I heard there had been an argument before class started?” She asked gently.

Perfect! Just the opening she needed.

Chloe fixed a hurt expression. “It was awful! Marinette was dictating the roles for the work study and she was going to make Adrien work in the kitchen!”

There! Let’s see how that wannabe responds when the school calls her out on this!

Bustier listened to her cries and nodded in sympathy, so Chloe was sure she had this set.

“What did Adrien say?”

…except for that.

“Pardon?”

“Did Adrien say he didn’t want to work the kitchen?” Bustier asked curiously.

Did he?

“Marinette didn’t give him a chance!” She argued, though truthfully she didn’t remember how he responded at the time. She had just been focusing on calling out Marinette and getting back at her for everything.

“Did you ask Adrien what he wanted?” Bustier asked.

A long pause followed.

The teacher looked at Chloe almost pityingly.

What? What was that look for?!

“I already knew!” Chloe defended. Because she did! Of course she did! She didn’t have to ask! He was her best friend! Of course she knew him better than anyone! So of course she knew what he wanted! “I was just looking out for him!”

It was just to help him! It wasn’t about herself! Wasn’t that good? Didn’t that make her the good guy here? Where was the outrage at Marinette?

“Were you looking out for him or against Marinette?”

Silence.

Bustier sighed.

“Chloe, I know it’s difficult coming back after what happened. And I know you want your feelings to be justified.”

Because they were. Chloe’s feelings were justified, but no one could possibly understand why. She was the only one who knew about the previous reality. 

“—don’t know what you were doing in her locker, though I’m sure you had a reason, you know that wasn’t the right way to go about it—”

How could she even begin to explain what had happened? Of everything she had suffered while Marinette had gotten to play the hero and deny her what was rightfully hers?

“—though I’m sure it was an accident, but the things you said before and afterwards gave everyone the wrong idea—”

No. There was no point trying to explain. Even Bustier wouldn’t get it. Especially not at a time before magic was shown to be real.

“—really tried to argue on your behalf, but you were caught on camera—”

Though it seems like she at least is still on Chloe’s side. Plus there was that time she believed Marinette cheated on the test and did whatever, so clearly her trust in the girl wasn’t that great.

“—have already talked to Marinette about it and she’s willing to try to forgive—”

Plus Bustier was a bleeding heart. She never punished her for anything. Even looking the other way with some of Chloe’s plans. Getting bi-colored hair out of the way so she could be in the class photo next to her Adrikens. Her methods to win the Class Rep position. She never even made her do anything as the Rep. Surely that meant she was on her side, right?

“—but her parents are still very upset. It took a lot of effort to get them to agree to—”

Whatever this ‘probation’ was, it wasn’t like she’d be held to it.

“—advocated to keep you in my class along with her to prove you can do it. I have faith in you—”

Chloe nodded, not really listening, her mind busy formulating new plans.

It didn’t matter that Chloe was starting at a slight disadvantage. She could work around this.

“—so I hope you can understand—”

It meant that she just had to keep under the radar as Chloe.

And complete her revenge through the mask of Ladybug.

All the better.

After all, what better irony would it be than to ruin Marinette by using her own former hero persona against her?

“—what your counselor has been telling you—”

Chloe shook her head, realizing she had missed out on what Bustier was saying. And one word in particular stuck out to her.

“Counselor?”

Bustier looked surprised at Chloe’s own surprise, then worried. “Please tell me you haven’t been skipping your sessions, Chloe. Those are part of the requirements per the agreement for you to continue coming to school here.”

Chloe blinked in shock.

“What?!”

“I was able to argue for you to stay in my classes, and the administration agreed to keep you on a probationary period, but these are part of the conditions, Chloe.” Bustier explained. She sounded particularly anxious about it, causing it to really hit Chloe just how serious this was. “You need to see your counselor weekly and you need to not antagonize any of the other students, especially Marinette. Her parents were willing to accept the arrangement and not demand a hearing with the school board to have you expelled, but there is only so much the school can accommodate.”

No…no way…

How could she start off with things this bad for her already?

Wait…was this Marinette’s fault, too? Had she framed Chloe somehow?

Bustier rested a hand on Chloe’s shoulder in some attempt at reassurance.

“I want to continue to work with you, Chloe. But please…you need to at least try.” She said more than asked, but was still pleading. “Marinette has been willing to forgive, but if her parents hear anything more about you antagonizing her, this will be your last strike and they may very well demand your expulsion. Maybe even press charges.”

“Press charges?!”

But no one had ever pressed charges against her! She had never even had a detention before! And now she was facing this immediately?

“They aren’t going to!” Bustier assured her. “Believe me, no one wants that!”

Clearly Marinette did, the evil bit—

Bustier crouched, just enough to be eye level with her.

“Chloe, things aren’t over yet. We want you to have the best chance for your future. That’s why I’m working with you this year and why you have a counselor to help you with all these feelings you’re having a hard time with. And that’s why you need to take this as a new chance and do your best with it.”

Bustier looked at her hopefully.

“Do you understand?”

Yes, she understood clearly.

She understood that this world was ridiculous, UTTERLY RIDICULOUS!

This was not at all what she had wished for and she would be having words with that little kwami as soon as she got the Miraculous!

But as she couldn’t exactly explain any of that to Bustier, she simply nodded numbly and returned to her seat. There, she looked over her notebooks. And when Bustier wasn’t focusing on her, she glanced over her phone. Really, she should have done that first thing as soon as she woke up, and she regretted not doing so sooner.

What she found was…illuminating…

Chloe had gotten it completely wrong.

It wasn’t that Marinette was a threat. Or that she was abusing her power to bully Chloe. Or just doing any of the things that Chloe had assumed she would.

It was that Chloe herself was on thin ice for a history of bullying and harassment. And this time around, as a normal girl without her former clout, people were not as inclined to overlook her behavior. Especially when the girl in question being targeted was the daughter of the Mayor and also unexpectedly well regarded (not loved, because surely it had to be the position that made people hate Chloe originally, right?)

Marinette may not have been willing to demand punishment for whatever reason--probably to look good to the peons, but the school administration, being the cronies that they were, would hardly risk the liability of something happening to the child of an official under their care.

She left the class but honestly didn’t know where she was going. She was running on autopilot at this point as everything finally started to sink in about the new reality she was in. Nothing was as she expected. If anything, it was worse!

She just needed her Miraculous! Everything would be fine when—

“Chloe?”

Speak of the devil…

She had nearly bumped into the very girl her thoughts were raging against.

“Chloe?” Marinette asked. “Are you okay?”

No! No, she wasn’t! Everything was wrong and nothing was how it was supposed to be and it was all her fault!

“What do you want?” Chloe demanded sourly.

Marinette held out a hand but hesitated. She drew back but instead pressed on verbally. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed confused earlier, and—

Yeah, cutting that nonsense off right now! If she thought pretending to care would spare her once Chloe became the Ladybug hero, she had another thing coming! And there was no way she was going to let the traitor use her to try and make herself look better by acting nice.

Chloe sharply cut her off. If Marinette hadn’t pulled her own hand back, it would have been slapped away with Chloe’s motion.

“Stop faking! There’s no way a spoiled brat who is given everything by her parents would help others! You’re just as crooked as they are!” She shouted.

Because that’s what Marinette had to be! What she always must have been! Why else would she hoard all the Miraculous to herself and not give Chloe what was hers?!

Marinette looked at Chloe almost…pityingly.

That witch was looking down on her!

“I don’t know what is upsetting you, Chloe. But I’m not responsible for your problems. You can lash out for as little as it actually makes you feel better, but I don’t have to take it.”

Don’t have to—DON’T HAVE TO—!!!

Chloe pointed at her angrily. “It’s because of you that I’m having to see a counselor!”

And Marinette sighed! Sighed! Like she was the one being put upon here! Bad enough she stole Chloe’s life, but now she was trying to act like she was the wronged party, here!

“Chloe, the alternative was a restraining order and another fine. And I’m pretty sure your dad can’t keep paying them. All things considered, I think you got off lucky.”

Chloe broke off sputtering, wanting nothing more than to put the other girl in her place but having no way to do so without revealing anything.

Marinette stared her straight on, unperturbed.

“Whatever you’re facing now is a result of your own actions.”

How dare she?! Like she knows anything!

Who was she to talk?!

“Oooh!” Chloe stomped her foot before storming off.

She’d show her!

Just wait! Once she got her Miraculous, she would tear her down in every way possible and she would enjoy it! And THEN Ladybug would be sorry! She would regret ever denying Chloe!

She just needed—

From a distance, she could hear crashing and the sound of screams echoing through the school. Many people ran past her in terror. And peeking out, she caught sight of what could only be Stoneheart rampaging through the school. 

“No doubt looking for what’s-his-name.” She muttered. She hadn’t really cared to know the details of that first akuma attack aside from her involvement in it.

But still, there was an akuma, just as expected! Which signaled the first appearance of the heroes!

She smirked.

This was it! That meant she should be getting her Miraculous at any time now! She just had to wait for whoever to deliver it to her!

So she waited in place, grinning with excitement the entire time.

And waited.

And waited.

And…waited.

Waiting…

…

…

…

…but nobody came.

“WHAT GIVES?!”

How was she supposed to become a hero if her power-granting jewelry didn’t show up? How did Marinette get it originally anyway? She seemed close to that old guy…wasn’t he supposed to show up by now? She hasn’t seen any old guy!

“Where is it already?!”

Well, someone had to deliver it, right? Maybe they just didn’t know where she was and left it somewhere she could find…which meant she had to be the one to search.

“I can’t believe this!”

Nothing in her locker.

“What kind of service is this anyway?”

Her desk was empty.

“Is this how you treat your hero?”

With little other options, she stormed home in a huff—not like classes would happen anyway with a giant stone monster running around. She didn’t even need to bother checking, as it was what happened last time. And if the way everyone was running around was any indication, it would no doubt be the same now.

She couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. Her moment had come! And that meant her Miraculous was here!

She flung open the door to her room.

…somewhere.

“Where is it?”

Not on her desk.

“Where is it?!”

Not on or under her bed.

“Why would they make it so hard to find?!”

Really, she should be handed it on a golden platter as everyone begs her to save them! It shouldn’t be this difficult! And she shouldn’t be having to actually have to search herself!

That’s what the servants were for! Or Sabrina.

She was determined, however! Nothing would stop her, even a messy room! So she continued her search, throwing this or that aside—they weren’t a Miraculous, they didn’t matter.

She didn’t even notice that one of the items she tossed was a remove, which landed in such a way that it turned on the nearby TV.

“Maybe it’s in my closet?” She wondered.

That made sense. After all, once she got all the Miraculous, she’d be able to switch them out as easily as a pair of shoes. She would probably need to leave them in the closet when she’s not using them.

She opened the closet doors, giving a grimace at the small space and her much more limited wardrobe. It was so much smaller than her old one!

She briefly mourned the loss of the space and all of her top-brand designers as she forced herself to dig through the various clothes and accessories.

Not this.

Not that.

Ew! She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that!

“—stone monster has been defeated!”

Chloe froze.

What?!

But she hadn’t even made her appearance yet!

Chloe spun around, nearly tripping over some shoes in her escape from the closet. All to get a closer look at the screen because clearly it was some cartoon or show or something. It was a mistake! It had to be a mistake!

But no, there was that news anchor—whatever-her-name-was. And behind her was a video of her classmate—Jim? Ryan? Whatever the rock monster had been, now back to normal—or as normal as anyone could be in THAT tacky shirt and getup!

And next to him…

A boy in black—blond but in a distinctly different getup from her Adrikens.

And a girl.

In red.

Red and black.

Ladybug!

It wasn’t the Ladybug she knew. It couldn’t be. She had just seen the now Ex-Ladybug in the halls!

The new hero’s hair was as red as her suit with a black headband—almost like a tiara. Her mask was a mix of red and black. Her suit was a black bodysuit with red accents—with her hands covered in gloves that seemed to be red and red boots that reached just above her shin. And the collar of the suit seemed to expand into a sort of dress that lengthened in the back, which when she turned appeared more like a cape that was red in color. Like a Ladybug’s shell.

And of course, the outfit was sparse with spots of differing colors, with multiple black spots on her red cape and single red dots center on her gloves and the peaks of her boots.

And looking closely—to the point she was literally pressed up against the screen, she could swear that the spots were all…in the shape of hearts, of all things? How juvenile!

But there was no mistaking it!

That was Ladybug. Maybe not the same Ladybug as before, but still the Ladybug Miraculous! It hadn’t been waiting for her like it was supposed to. It had gone to—been stolen by someone else!

They had made her tear up her room for nothing!

“—day has been saved thanks to the combined efforts of Red Queen and Cheshire! Paris’s new heroes!”

Chloe felt something crack. It may have been her TV.

Not only did this upstart steal her place as the city’s hero. And her rightful victory over the Ex-Ladybug by taking her place…

She took her title as Queen!

“How dare she?!”

Bad enough to injure her this way, but to insult her, too?!

At this point, she didn’t even know whether she was more angry with this faker or with Marinette!

She froze at that as the realization hit her…

Chloe didn’t have the Ladybug.

She wouldn’t be able to fix anything.

Her Wish had switched her with Marinette so she could make the other girl experience the burdens of her life while she could become the hero and make her suffer for her past life’s crimes.

But rather than hated, Marinette was actually well liked by their classmates and just in general. A few internet searches had pulled up Marinette using her power over others much as Chloe had in the past, so it wasn’t like they were any different! But apparently cancelling talks to make a new building for a corporate gym chain in order to keep a lame old skating rink open was good somehow! And forcing people to do backbreaking labor to plant trees on a Saturday! And that work study program at her Dad’s hotel! That was just free child labor!

The fact that Chloe had done the same thing in the previous timeline only with putting people in the suckier jobs had no bearing on this!

Chloe growled, clenching her fists and shaking at the injustice of it all.

And while Marinette was getting to live it up, meanwhile, poor Chloe herself was despised and about two steps away from a criminal record for things that weren’t even her fault! She couldn’t even enjoy the one nice thing about Marinette’s original position of becoming a hero and being popular! And any attempts to call out Marinette for her evils only made HER look like the bad guy!

Becoming Ladybug had been her only chance to fix this. She could have used it to promote herself. To tear down Marinette. Even to go back to the previous reality where she could still be Miracle Queen if nothing else! But now she didn’t even have that! Whatever stupid power in charge of this must be broken somehow!

This meant…

Marinette had won before Chloe even had a chance to do anything.

And now there was nothing Chloe could do about it.

She didn’t have the Ladybug. She was going to need a new TV. She didn’t have any of her previous life’s accommodations or riches to replace them. Nobody liked her. Her Daddykins had no influence to help her. Her Mother was still in New York.

There was only one thing she could count on, she realized as she picked up a picture frame.

“At least I always have you.”

The picture of Adrien stared back at her, flat and unblinking.

________________

Once upon a timeline, son of a fashion mogul, Adrien Agreste, was a popular model who was sad and cut off from the world, being isolated except for his only friend: daughter of the Mayor and the Style Queen, Chloe Bourgeois.

But someone didn’t like that story, so they changed it.

So once upon a timeline, son of a fashion mogul, Adrien Agreste, who only sometimes took part in his fathers business had two friends: daughter of the Mayor, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and daughter of the Style Queen, Chloe Bourgeois.

He was sad and cut off from the world for a time, true. But the current Mayor was a big believer of children having normal healthy childhoods and was not as inclined to ignore child labor laws. And her daughter, while happy to be his friend, was similarly a big believer of healthy childhoods and not as inclined to be Adrien’s only friend.

Being on good terms with the family, Sabine and Tom convinced Gabriel and Emilie to cut down on the modeling and activities for their son to let him go to school and spend time around kids his age. And being on good terms with Adrien himself, Marinette convinced him to interact with his various classmates and introduced him to a number of peers.

What followed was the beginning of beautiful—if not headache-inducing friendships.

A couple of years made all the difference. So much so that by the time that particularly Miraculous school year started, Adrien had already been going to school for a good couple of years. Long enough to become settled, join clubs, and make his own friends. Ones outside of Marinette and Chloe and their social circles.

Adrien Agreste was popular. Not the kind of popularity that comes with hundreds of fans chasing him down the street, thankfully, which he would certainly appreciate if he knew about. But rather, his popularity was the general school variety that came with a guy who was good looking and kind to everyone.

Adrien was, to put it simply, quite happy. And not at all alone.

He would play sports with Kim and Alix. Study with Max and Sabrina. Geek out over books and anime with Marc and Jean. Play games with Max and Nino. Blabber on about heroes and comics with Nathaniel and Mirelle. 

And of course, there was Marinette.

Adrien would be lying if he said he never had…some feelings for Marinette.

She was the one who had helped to convince his father to let him join public school three years ago. While it may have been possible for the man to argue with an hour long presentation complete with a fifty slide PowerPoint explaining why public school was beneficial for children including statistics and psychological studies, it was substantially more difficult for him to argue with the girl’s mother when she was both the Mayor and a close enough family friend. It couldn’t be sure which of the two had been the final push that had convinced Emilie, but once she was on board, Gabriel couldn’t help but cave soon after.

Either way, Adrien was grateful to his friend.

…and a bit smitten. Not that he could tell her that. Especially the way she would stick her tongue out when she was so focused on a drawing. Or how beautiful she looked when she took charge of a project. Or how cute she was the way she would get annoyed when she’d catch him wearing the worst possible combination from his closet, which was made all the better partly because it made his Father look ready to have a coronary as well. Plus it helped that she’d drag him to her house at the first opportunity to salvage his outfit into something bearable. He didn’t have to, but he let her every time.

She was adorable like that. And at least he wasn’t alone since it seemed many of his other friends had admitted a crush on her at some point that never went anywhere. He doubted he’d be different.

After all, he was admittedly a sucker for the childhood friend to lovers trope in anime—which made him all the more bummed that they hardly ever worked out.

And since he was apparently the equivalent of an anime protagonist now if his new little companion was any indication…

He looked down at his bag, where his new little friend smirked up at him.

…yeah, he didn’t want to risk it.

Especially given some of the things the little cat-god had told him.

“What do you mean we’ve done this before?” Adrien asked, rather confused to say the least.

“Yeah, it didn’t work out last time.” The creature—Plagg, replied. Though not actually answering his question in any way.

He looked up at Adrien with a smirk.

“But things will be different this go around. We’ve made sure of it.” He then turned away, muttering darkly something Adrien couldn’t hear about some “brat” and a “surprise”.

“O…kay?” He didn’t get it, but okay?

Plagg shook his head before turning back and floating up to eye level with him. “Just change up your suit, ditch the bell, and don’t call yourself Chat Noir and things will be fine.” It told him.

“But why?” Admittedly, his first thought had been “Wild Pussycat” due to his current favorite fandom, but Chat Noir actually sounded really cool.

“Trust me, kid. It’ll help.”

And apparently it had, since he’d met his partner and they’d defeated that monster easily enough.

Plus Adrien did rather like the Wonderland theme they agreed on.

He had been excited about the adventure—what teenage boy wouldn’t be? Still, it was a relief to return to the school the next day and find everyone safe and sound.

Mostly.

Ivan admittedly wasn’t having the best time, unfortunately. He was being crowded by everyone and questioned about the incident by the time Adrien had arrived. Everyone was clearly worried and no one knew for sure what had happened. Marinette in particular was being supportive.

Chloe was…not.

“—monster!”

“He’s not a monster!” Marinette countered defensively. “He doesn’t even remember what happened!”

“He could just be saying that!” Chloe yelled, pointing at Ivan. “Once a monster, always a monster!”

“Hey, back off, Chloe.” Alya said, stepping in front of her. “It’d not like Ivan asked to become a stone golem, and besides, any damage was erased and he’s back to normal.”

Adrien sighed. He was going to have to play mediator again, wasn’t he?

“Hey, Chloe?” He asked benignly, stepping up to her. “If you’re worried he’ll transform again, maybe upsetting him isn’t a good idea? We don’t know what caused it or if it was a one time thing.”

Actually, he did know. But given what Plagg had told him about how the akumas worked, he didn’t want to risk Ivan getting reakumatized. And he couldn’t very well come out and say any of that until this Hawk Moth guy revealed himself and the city as a whole had a better idea how his powers worked.

“Of course, it—” She suddenly cut off, as if realizing something. “Whatever!”

With that, she turned and stomped off.

What was her deal?

Still, everyone else was uncertain of what else to do and with class about to start, several other classmates chose to leave as well. Soon, the previously larger crowd had only a couple people left. Adrien, for his part, figured he should step back and give Ivan some space.

Marinette took advantage of the opportunity the lack of crowd gave to push Kim forward. The taller boy began nervously apologizing while Marinette sat by Ivan as support.

Adrien sighed in relief as he walked away.

Marinette was a wonderful friend. 

Chloe, on the other hand…

___________________

Speaking of Chloe, the girl in question had realized a few minutes after she had stormed off that in her anger, she hadn’t kept track of where she was going and had apparently gone the complete opposite direction of her next class.

Seriously! She knew more than anyone! They should be flocking to her for answers and instead, everyone was focusing on Kim! Or what’s his-name! Rocker boy! Sure, he was only going to be the first of many akumas, but nobody else knew that! She thought she could use that to boost her status by confronting the “threat”!

Last time, she had led the crowd by calling him out for what he had done. Yet much like many things, that had gone wrong this time as well! Instead of rallying behind her against the clear threat only she knew about, most of the people were giving her the side-eye. And of course Marinette freaking Chang had to be the one to act against her!

Really! She was the victim here and nobody even knew it! Thanks to that new Red Queen stealing her rightful place, Chloe had lost everything! And she couldn’t even TELL anyone! Now what was she supposed to do?

She growled, smacking a wall with her fist.

And now she would have to walk all the way back! And she couldn’t just skip classes for the day to make them suffer without her presence for siding against her; the school wouldn’t allow it. Which meant she would have to face everyone again. And walk in these old shoes that were murder on her poor feet!

Oh, the life of suffering she lived!

She trudged back through the hallway the way she came, taking a slightly different route—just in case the others were still where she left them. She didn’t want it to seem like she was intentionally coming back or anything. That would just be letting them think they were right.

“That was something earlier, huh?”

“Yeah. Poor Ivan.”

She paused. Up ahead was a connecting hallway that led to another path to her classroom. And she could hear voices from around the corner.

One of them was Adrikens!

She almost felt herself floating forward, her feet no longer in pain and her shoes no longer a trouble to her. Adrikens always made things better! And surely he of all people would understand her misery!

She peaked. Sure enough, there he was. Her precious friend! The only one she could count on!

But she didn’t recognize the other boy with him. It wasn’t Nino. She couldn’t not know if it was him due to how his name was engraved upon her psyche with how much Adrikens would talk about him.

The other boy grumbled, though Chloe barely took notice of what he had to say. Not until he started talking about her.

“I can’t believe Chloe. Well, I can, because that’s nothing new for her. What a…”

Gasp! How rude! Who did he think he was? He was luck he cut off or she would have had his parents’ jobs!

She winced, remembering that she couldn’t do that anymore.

…well, she’d cause him some repercussions, anyway.

But unaware of her, he kept going, turning to Adrien.

“Dude, why do you even put up with her?” The loser asked.

How rude! She wasn’t someone he had to ‘put up with’, she was a joy to be around! Of course her Adrikens adored her! And he would no doubt admonish that low class nobody for talking about her in such a way!

‘Because I’m his best friend,’ Chloe thought smugly.

Of course Adrien would be on her side.

Because she was his best friend.

Because they were each other’s only friends for years.

Because they’re the only ones who understand each other.

Because even if everything else changed, that was one thing that would remain true.

He would never abandon her.

Chloe Bourgeois and Adrien Agreste—them against the world!

“Honestly, I don’t even know anymore.”

She froze.

"I mean, we used to be friends, but that was more because her parents were friends with mine. Right now her Mom is my Dad's business associate and I kind of have to be nice to her or she could complain or something."

"Oh yeah. She did threaten to run to 'Daddy' earlier. Stands to reason she'd use 'Mommy' the same. But do you really think her Mom would care that much?"

"I don't want to risk it. Being in school the past three years has been like a dream. The last thing I want is to lose it all because Chloe threw a tantrum."

He sighed.

“Besides, I do feel bad for her. I mean…she’s alienated pretty much everyone she’s ever been in a class with and I’m the only one who will even talk to her.”

“The only one who can, you mean.” The other said snarkily. “She insults anyone else who even looks at her.”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t have any friends. And it’s just…sad.”

“Dude, that’s not your fault.”

“I know that now. She was always a...” He hesitated for a moment before spitting it out, “well...a brat. I’m honestly not sure I ever liked her. I just hung out with her at the time because she was the first kid my age to interact with and I was told to. Back then, I thought that was enough to make us friends. That that was what friendship was supposed to be.”

“Thank God for Mari and her mom.”

“Tell me about it!”

His words were like a blade piercing her heart from behind.

One after another, they stabbed her.

And he—her only friend, completely unaware, he just kept going.

“When we were kids, neither of us knew better. But while I grew up, she…didn’t.”

That…that wasn’t right!

None of that was right!

Adrien sighed. “And I really wish she would.”

Chloe didn’t even realize she had lost all feeling in her legs until she had slumped to the ground.

He…

He really thought that?

About her?

“I try to step in and help her when I can. Partly because I feel obligated to since we were close once, but mostly because I know she would just make things worse if I didn’t. I mean, you know what she did with Mari when she got mad. But honestly…I’m really tired of it. Of having to pacify her, the way she grabs me, her stupid ‘Adrikens’ nickname, and just…dealing with her. All of it.”

He sighed again.

“But who knows how much worse she’d be otherwise?”

“Dude, you’re not some sacrificial lamb here.” The other boy assured him. “And besides, you heard, didn’t you? Chloe’s been reprimanded and she’s only still in school on a trial period. If she does anything and people complain, she’ll be out of here and you won’t have to deal with her anymore.”

A weak chuckle. Her Adrikens—Adrien actually laughed at that.

“I’d feel bad if I said I was looking forward to it.”

The other boy laughed at that. “Y’know, I had a dream last night where she announced she was leaving Paris.”

“Sounds like a good dream.” Adrien replied, not even missing a beat.

“I know! I almost didn’t want to wake up!”

The two left, with Adrien just…continuing to chat and laugh and joke like they were best friends and like they weren’t making fun of Chloe who was supposed to be his best friend whose side he was supposed to be on no matter what…

But…

Where was he just then? Where was his defense of her? Where was his declaration that he was still her friend no matter what? Where was his insistence that she wasn’t as bad as people think? Where was his lecture of that boy for speaking ill of her? Where was his disappointment of the others for being mean and wanting her gone? Where was his promise?

...Where was her Adrien?

That was what finally broke through.

Chloe sobbed.

It wasn’t just Adrien. That was simply the last straw.

Marinette had Chloe’s life and was apparently happier than she ever was in the previous life—happier than Chloe had been even! Someone else was the Ladybug hero and had taken her title as ‘Queen’. She didn’t have a Miraculous. She didn’t have Pollen. Her Father wasn’t the Mayor. Her Mother was still in New York. And everything was…

Everything that had made Chloe Bourgeois who she was was gone. 

What was she, after all?

Chloe Bourgeois was rich.

She was the Daughter of the Mayor.

She was the Princess of Paris.

Without that…who was she?

Who was this new Chloe Bourgeois she had become?

She wasn’t feared. She wasn’t respected. She wasn't in any way liked. She was an annoyance at best. An irritant. A bug to them. Someone to be avoided.

And in Adrien’s case…pitied.

That, more than anything, was what hurt the most.

Adrien didn’t love her. He didn’t even like her.

And maybe…

“…I hate you, Chloe.”

…he never had.

…

“You’re the sort of person who is never satisfied with anything.”

…did he ever care about her at all?

“Whatever you do. Whatever world you create. My feelings won’t change.”

Had he…been trying to warn her?

“It won’t be real, Chloe. Whatever we had…whatever you would call it is already gone.”

She slowly pulled herself up. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going at this point, but she didn’t want to be there anymore. She was deaf to everything but the pounding of her own heart and the memory of Adrien’s words.

“Chloe, you don’t know what friends are!”

…

“And I didn’t know better before because I only ever had you. But since I’ve started school, I’ve learned what friendship is!”

…

 “I wish I had learned it sooner.”

Well…it looked like he had gotten his wish. Seeing him now, surrounded by people in a way he had never been before. Not even just Nino this time, but others from other classes.

He looked happy.

…had he ever looked that happy when he was with her?

She bit her lip.

That liar.

He…he was a traitor!

Just like Ladybug!

Just like all of them!

She looked up to the sound of cheers.

From the angle she was at, she could see her classmates gathered close to the doorway of the classroom. Apparently rocker boy and rainbow-haired girl were together now? Oh yeah, that had happened around this time like time, hadn’t it? Wasn’t he supposed to have been akumatized a second time first, though?

It didn’t seem to matter. They were holding hands. And the others were going on about how great it was. And Adrien was congratulating them just as much as everyone else. And they were all just so damn happy.

And there was Marinette, in the middle of it all. Smiling.

And not once did she even look at her.

Chloe could only watch on as they ignored her. As Marinette brushed her off like it didn’t matter while she got to carry on with what had been Chloe’s life. Still kind. Still friendly. Still popular. And somehow even more despicably perfect than before now that she had taken Chloe’s place.

All that…having everything that made Chloe who she was, and somehow, she was still so…disgustingly happy.

Not despised. Not unloved. Not a hateful, selfish person. Not…anything like Chloe.

“Marinette is a better Ladybug—a better person than you ever will be. And that’s because she chooses to be kind! Regardless of the circumstances!”

 …

 “Even if your positions were switched, that wouldn’t change.”

It…

It wasn’t fair.

IT WASN’T FAIR!

_________________________

The Universe is a director. It doesn’t alter the script, merely the parts. When someone demands a different role, the most it will do is swap people around to put them in places that best fulfill the demand. And if the ones who saw fit to make demands didn’t like their new roles...well...

The Universe didn’t particularly like critics.

So the critic wanted the baker girl’s life? That was fine.

After all, the critic’s father had two roles.

One for two. Two in one.

Why not split the difference and see what comes of it?

At least, that was what it figured. And it turned out pretty well in its not so humble opinion.

The city had a steadfast leader. The hotel had a caring manager. The bakery had a decent owner. The heroes were both the same and different. The sad male lead would get to display greater range. The former hero got to take a break after carrying the entire production previously. And the invisible actor would get a chance to step out of a shadow and finally shine.

And if the little critic didn’t like it, maybe she shouldn’t have complained?

Some people just didn’t appreciate what they were given.

The Universe nodded to itself and turned its attention to the new heroic duo, curious as to what would come of this new dynamic.

It was getting bored of the old love square anyway...

#chloe's lament #chloe salt #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #plagg #kwami swap #sabrina raincomprix #sabrina deserves better #marinette gets a break #chloe has a hard time #Be Careful What You Wish For #chloe is not careful #chloe is a horrible person #miracle queen

[cerinefalls]

One Bed {A Shoto Todoroki xReader Trope-Fic}

This work is the first of a series.

3290 words

MHA/BNHA trope fic

fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On this lovely night, an unexpected stop had UA in a tizzy. Of course, something had gone wrong. You were on a trip with the hero course, after all. The bus came to a screeching halt in the darkness, which woke most of the students aboard.

"Is everyone alright?" Aizawa stood groggily from his bus seat and turned to face the body of students behind him. It looked like students weren't the only ones awoken by the unexpected stop.

"We're fine, Mr. Aizawa." Denki shot a thumbs up in the direction of his teacher, letting him know that his group had been fine.

"Yep, looking good on this side of the bus!" Kirishima seconded. The two boys were right. 1A's side of the bus was hardly affected by the whiplash-inducing pause in their trip.

The same could not be said for Class B. Due to the direction of the bus, Class B's student body had ended up halfway on the floor. Aizawa could clearly see this when he turned to ask for a status update, but he accepted the 'I'm fine' from his students and sat down long before anyone addressed it.

"I'm sorry, kids. Somethin's wrong with the engine." The bus driver hopped up out of his seat and bowed at the front of the aisle. It was some form of apology, though no one believed it was needed.

"It's fine," Shouta grumbled from his seat. "Vlad will get us rooms somewhere so we can wait out the night. It's unsafe to stay here with villains roaming around." After a few moments of back and forth between the hero-course teachers, Vlad cracked and began searching for hotels nearby.

Soon enough, classes 1A and 1B had walked to a nearby hotel. You'd arrived safely! What a feat for this school. As soon as you walked in, though, you could tell why arriving safely wasn't the worst of your concerns. Immediately whispers began floating amongst students.

"Enough." Aizawa progressed to the front of the group and shushed them, which with his demeanor worked quickly. Everyone turned their attention to him and listened to what he had to say. "They have been kind enough to let us bring all of you here. Be respectful."

"Yeah, because all their rooms were empty..." One student joked from the back. They instantaneously regretted their decision.

"Go to the front and get your room keys." Vlad pointed in the direction of the check-in desk while Aizawa dealt with the problem-child.

What a time! Staying in a hotel with unknown reviews on a night you were meant to be safe in your dorms. This had to be the safest, most organized thing UA had ever allowed to happen, right? It was no surprise at this point. You let your annoyed thoughts sink to the back of your mind as you walked to the room you were assigned and swiped your key.

Wait- what was that? Something brushed your hand as you reached for the door. You snatched your hand back, fight or flight switched on in your unfamiliar surroundings, but when you turned around, all you saw was a puzzled face on one of your classmates.

"Shoto?" You questioned, startled but settling down. He nodded in response.

"The woman at the desk gave me a key to this room," he explained.

"She gave me a key to this room," you elaborated, matching the confusion he was displaying.

"Maybe we are meant to share it," he suggested. You hadn't thought about that. The hotel was housing forty-one students and two teachers, so it'd make sense if you were supposed to share rooms. You nodded.

"It isn't impossible." You wanted to make sure, though. Reaching your hand over again, you placed the black bar on the back of your card against the lock. With a click, it opened. "Hm, now you try." You stepped back to give him room.

Todoroki took a few moments to realize what you were trying to do, but once he did, he stood to attention. Shoto placed the bar of his own card onto the lock, and just as it had with yours, the lock opened. He stepped forward with a hum, pushing open the door and waiting for you to enter.

"Oh? Thank you." You tried not to sound worried as you carried yourself as well as your bag into the room. It was separated! How lovely. For a ditsy-looking hotel, the room sure seemed nice. You sat your bag next to the couch and put your exhausted body to rest right above it, falling on the furniture with a thud.

Todoroki wasn't far behind you, closing the door when he walked in and placing his bag next to the armchair. He took a seat on the chair and turned in your direction.

"You should shower," He said plainly.

"Are you calling me stinky?" You joked, attempting to make light of the soon-to-be awkward situation. It appeared your humor was completely lost on this one, though, because instead of a laugh, you saw a dull face and slow-shaking head.

"No, not like that." Todoroki denied your claim. "I'm saying we were doing field training, and you should clean up. I'll let you go first." He was keen on giving you the first chance at things. It was sweet of him, no matter how bland he was while doing it. Kindness was kindness, and you weren't about to turn kindness down.

"Right," you agreed, not surprised your joke had flown over this boy's head. For someone half cold-half hot, his personality sure took after one side at a time.

You slowly stood off the couch and grabbed your bag, walking towards the washroom. After addressing him with a final nod of thanks, you disappeared past the doorframe. Once steam began to seep past the crack underneath, Shoto reached for his bag and took out his phone, knowing you were comfortable in the shower.

40 Missed Calls from "Father."

Shoto swiped the notifications away and went to text endeavor with an update. By the time he'd passive-aggressively responded to his father's concerns and beat three levels of his 'brain games,' you'd emerged from the shower and opened the door.

"I only had my casual clothes as spares, so I'll be sleeping in a t-shirt tonight. I hope you brought something." You spoke embarrassedly as Todoroki stared you down. It was odd how long his eyes were fixed on your wet hair, almost as if he was trying to figure something out. Even as you walked back to the couch and sat down- his eyes followed the upper half of your body and studied you.

After this prolonged experience, he went right back to normal without speaking a word. All he did was nod at you as you had him, walking into the washroom and shutting the door. You didn't see any steam after he turned the water on, which you thought was mildly confusing. Had he stepped in already? Apparently so, though you didn't figure this out until fifteen minutes later when he finally emerged.

"Go use the restroom before bed." A half-dressed Shoto Todoroki walked back into the 'living room' with completely dry hair. While you'd covered your upper body, he'd covered his lower. Had that been why he'd stared at you before? He was even making a point to fluff his hair with his hands, taking his seat back on the armchair.

"Good idea." You replied, quickly scurrying to the washroom once again. You hadn't realized it, but you needed to pee. You'd first noticed on the bus, but since the stress of the situation got to you, you'd completely forgotten.

When you approached the toilet, you saw the handle of the shower through your peripheral vision. It was turned completely towards the cold setting. Todoroki washed up in that? No wonder his mood was as cold as his right side.

After washing and drying your hands, you joined Todoroki once again. It was nearing time for the two of you to go to sleep, and neither of you checked the bedroom yet. That gave you an idea.

"Hey, Todoroki, let's look around the room before bed." You suggested.

"But, your hair?" He sounded confused.

"What about my hair?" You questioned him, patting your head in an attempt to find what he was talking about.

"You shouldn't go to bed with wet hair. It can make you sick." Todoroki stated quietly. For someone so brief in speaking, his attention to detail was uncanny. "Aizawa would be annoyed if you got sick." He reminded you, and he was probably right. That, as well as the fact that being sick sounded rather unappealing with recovery girl hours away.

"You're right." You nodded in agreeance with him. "Let me go dry it-"

"Let me." Shoto Todoroki just offered to dry your hair. Something about the idea seemed... unsafe.

"Why you?" You questioned, intrigued.

"You didn't do it the first time and I know where the hairdryer is." He stood up and walked towards the room again, opening the door and waiting for you. "Unless you don't want me to."

"Hairdryer?" You were unsure of that. The last thing you wanted was for your hair to get damaged in some way. You thought about it, though. Todoroki's hair was well-kept and looked healthy. It was unlikely he'd do anything wrong, even if your hair was a bit different. "I... trust you." You nodded, following him and standing in front of the sink.

"Okay, stand still." He reached behind the door and took out a cloth bag. From the bag, he pulled out a white, clunky hairdryer. When Shoto plugged it in, the lights in the washroom flickered, startling you.

"You used that on your head!?" You expressed your concern openly.

"No. I don't use hairdryers. I just know how to because Fuyumi taught me. This one doesn't seem safe, though." Todoroki unplugged the hairdryer and sat it on the ironing board, far away from any water sources. " I could dry your hair how I dry my own if you're okay with that."

"Oh, you towel dry? Or does your hair air-dry fast?" You had to admit, you were slightly interested.

"Neither," he shook his head.

"Then..."

"I use my flames."

"What?"

"Midoriya suggested I practice using smaller flames for simple tasks. It helps me." Todoroki demonstrated, a small blaze lighting from his palm. It was interesting to watch such a controlled flame come from him when he'd been a walking inferno during training. "I started using it to dry things because it was safer with water around."

"So you haven't been doing this for very long?" You were skeptical of this method, though as you'd noted before, his hair was still healthy. Clearly, he was doing something right.

"No, I have not, but I've accumulated a skill for it. I'm comfortable containing a flame this size for a long time now." Todoroki explained

It took you a few minutes to consider, time he spent sitting on the edge of the tub and playing with his fire. It was refreshing to see him using it so comfortably when it was clearly not his strongest point. Not trusting him with it seemed almost rude now. "I've made my decision," you turned his way, earning a look of interest. "I still trust you. Show me how you dry your hair." Though you were not sure, you could almost swear you saw a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was hard to tell, though, because it lasted only a moment before he stood and walked behind you again.

"Stand still." He requested, raising his right hand just next to the edge of your silhouette. He carefully guided a warm flame around your head. It quickly evaporated the water nearest the air around the two of you but did nothing for the soaked roots. After a thoughtful hum, Todoroki made a tactical decision. He started to section your hair, slowly but surely getting to the root without burning you. After he was done, he fluffed your hair like he had fluffed his own and took a step back.

"Thank you." You smiled, looking over your shoulder in the mirror. In the reflection, you saw a well-contented Shoto Todoroki, looking at his righthand proudly. You dare not mention it for fear of embarrassing him, but it made you smile.

"Thank you for the opportunity." He nodded respectfully, opening the door fully and waiting for you to step out. Once you did, he followed.

The two of you stood in the makeshift hallway until someone yawned, making you giggle. It was time to check out the bedroom, a unanimous decision you'd made. With a loud creak, the door opened and the two of you stepped in.

It wasn't what you expected, to say the very least. You walked into what looked like a beautiful bedroom! It was minimalistically styled, a good choice for a hotel. It was even spacious enough for multiple beds! But... there weren't. You walked into a bedroom that only housed four pieces of furniture; a console table, a dresser, a nightstand, and a California king-sized bed.

"Did we miss something?" You asked, walking around and checking each of the walls. Nothing seemed out of place, and you didn't see any buttons.

"No. The woman told me there would be one bed located in the bedroom area." Shoto explained, placing his bag down by the door. He'd brought your bag as well and placed it on the opposite side of the door. "I was planning on sleeping in the opposite room had I gotten a roommate. I want you to take the bed." It would of course make sense to have the stronger student by the front in the event of an attack, but he did not tell you that.

"There are windows in this room. I think it's safer if we stick together." You suggested, trying to think of ways the two of you could share the space comfortably. The bed looked big enough to fit two full-sized Fatgums, so it wasn't impossible.

"Are you comfortable with me staying here? There's plenty of room in the front if you're worried about me falling off." He reassured you of his safety. Todoroki knew it'd be better to cover both potential entrances, but he also considered your mental well-being. If it made you feel safer with another person, he'd stay.

"I..." You thought for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed. The all too familiar coolness of the hotel bedspread made up your mind for you. "I'd prefer if you stayed with me." You couldn't possibly make him stay on the couch. He was well-mannered and respectful. It wasn't like you'd struck out and gotten stuck with Bakugo. Keeping Shoto away from the comfort of a hotel bed simply wasn't an option- or at least, not one you were considering.

"Thank you." He nodded. "What side of the bed do you want?" Once again, he was giving you the first pick. You couldn't tell if this instance was him being polite or indecisive, nor did you truly care. His offer allowed you to pick the side of the bed you were most comfortable with, and you did.

Todoroki closed the door and climbed into bed next to you, keeping to his edge. You didn't notice until you rolled over. You thought you'd hit his leg and went to apologize, but he wasn't next to you. The poor boy was barely hugging the edge of the bed.

"Todoroki-" You called out quietly, at a loss for what to say, really.

"Yes?" He answered without a hint of tiredness in his voice. How could he be? Hugging the corner had to be taking some serious effort.

"I'm not scared of you or anything. You can lay down on the bed if you want to." You reminded him you were allowing him near you despite his previous offer. It almost felt like he was scared of you.

"Oh." Hesitantly he rolled back onto the mattress.

"Have you never shared a bed with anyone?" You questioned, unaware of the can you just opened.

Todoroki sat up and turned on the lamp, shaking his head 'no.' Then, and you weren't sure for how long, he went on a tangent about his home life. Shoto explained calmly that until recently, he hadn't had a chance to make friends and enjoy people for who they were. It was far from the simple answer you wanted, but it was enlightening, to say the least.

"So, I do not have much experience in this sort of thing. I do most things alone." He concluded, turning to face you in the dimly lit room. He hadn't looked at you the whole time, appearing lost in his own mind for most of the conversation. It was almost as though you were just an outlet for him at the moment.

"I see," you nodded. There wasn't much you could do. From the way he described it, you didn't pity him. On the contrary, you thought he was strong for enduring after having been dealt such a foul hand in life. None of his stories surprised you, either. They all fit together, woven into one silent-loathing UA first-year. "Can I ask you something?"  You asked, hoping he'd allow your next question.

"Yes," he replied with no visual facial cues.

"Could I help you learn to do things... not alone? As a hero, you'll need to be comfortable around your peers." At least, that was the reason you gave him. It was not why you'd asked, though. You did not pity him, but you did feel as though a support system was what he needed. If that had to start with you and  Midoriya, it was fine by you.

"That would be nice." Shoto laid down in the bed, turning the lamp out once more. It was silent for a while- a peaceful silence that you rather enjoyed. It definitely did not remain that way, though. You broke the silence with a shocked gasp when you felt something come behind you and wrap around your waist. You knew what it was even though you could hardly believe it.

"Shoto?" You called him by name. He only hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for you to ask your question. "Why are you..?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" His hold loosened and he backed up, fearing he'd done something wrong. "Natsuo told me that if I was ever put in this situation I should make sure they feel warm and protected. Are you too warm? Or do you feel unsafe?" Shoto had clearly taken his brother's joking advice a bit too seriously.

"Oh? No, no." You figured there was no harm in it, it'd just shocked you. "You can practice on me, but next time it's Midoriya's turn."

Todoroki nodded against your neck, scooted in closer than he had been before. Thank the heavens above for the air conditioning unit, because otherwise, you might have actually been 'too hot.' His quirks weren't the only thing half cold-half hot- his whole body was. Maybe it was some offset of his determination, but you surely felt the difference across your skin.

You had no time to critique his temporal settings.  Before you could get out another word, you heard a soft snore from behind you. Shoto Todoroki had fallen asleep already. It was looking like those cuddle-puddles Ochako tried to set up may have actually been a good idea. Even you felt tired now.

The two of you slept under odd circumstances that night, close and comfy. It was a mighty good thing no one checked for a pullout sofa.

#bnha x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #mha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #mha imagines #mha fanfiction #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha fluff #mha scenarios #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #bnha todoroki #todoroki imagines #fluff #fanfiction #todoroki fanfiction

[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

[mrsmaybank]

Crushing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.”

A/N: I love baby genius, season one Reid so much. I wanted to give him a soulmate. Soulmate is you: shy and also a baby genius. Okay, thanks for reading. This was honestly just for me. 

CW: Implied Smut, Mild Cursing, shitty writing 

“Who...Who is that?” Dr. Spencer Reid, debatably the wordiest boy Derek Morgan had ever met, was suddenly at a loss for words. Maybe it was your perfectly sculpted face, your shoes, the copy of The Kreutzer Sonata held to your chest, your chest, or maybe a mix of it all.  Whatever it was, at sight of you walking through the office doors, he was stripped of his ability to speak. 

“That’s JJ’s new intern.” Morgan said plainly, before noticing the completely enamored look on his friend’s face. “What, pretty boy?” Reid couldn’t even be bothered to reply. He was too busy studying every detail of your frame. 

“You think she’s cute or something kid?” Morgan playfully jabbed his shoulder, Spencer’s face instantly flushing an embarrassing shade of red. 

“What?!” He shrieked, “I-no! That’s not..No!” That’s a lie. 

“I just..I didn’t know JJ was getting an intern.” That though, was true. 

“She’s supposed to be pretty impressive. Let’s go meet her.” he started in the direction of the coffee stand, where you and JJ had begun chatting. Before Spencer could protest out of his shyness, he was being dragged along. 

“Morgan,” JJ smiled, “Spence,” she nodded in his direction, “This is Y/N Y/L/N. My godsent savior.” JJ beamed in your direction.

You smiled more sheepishly then you would’ve liked, muttering a “Hopefully.” that got a laugh from Morgan and a “Oh, please.” from JJ, but nothing from the man in the glasses. You did your best not to read into it. 

“Derek Morgan.” the muscular agent extended his hand to shake yours, an offer you timidly but happily accepted. 

The taller, lankier, younger, incredibly cute man next to him stuffed one of his hands in his pocket and shifted uncomfortably with a small wave, “I’m uh, Doctor Spencer Reid, oh! Uh, you don’t have to, uh call me Doctor. No..” He shook his head, “Just Spencer is fine.” He looked at you with wide eyes that sent butterflies berserk in your stomach and swiped his tongue in between his lips that only made them go crazier. JJ had told you all about the team. About the magnificently brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, his 3 PhDs and eidetic memory, and all the other quirks you’d have to know in order to work with him, but had failed to mention how utterly hot he was. You felt a crush hijacking your system already. Dear god. 

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Your hands gripped your book tighter as you shifted onto your tiptoes, “I’ve heard really exceptional things.” 

The conversation was set to continue, but Morgan and JJ were summoned by Hotch to the closed doors of his office. Leaving the resident genius and you starting at each other with tight lip smiles. 

Spencer started first, “The Kreutzer Sonata is great.” He excitedly continued, “It uh, it actually used to be a pretty bold book to carry around. After the work had been forbidden in Russia by censors, there was actually a mimeographed version that was widely circulated. Then in 1890, the United States Post Office Department prohibited the mailing of newspapers containing serialized installments of it too. Theodore Roosevelt even called Tolstoy a-” 

His enthusiasm was beyond endearing. You finished for him with a soft smile, "Sexual moral pervert.”

Spencer’s lips upturned in a smile. It was rare somebody in the office could finish his sentences. And he couldn’t help but replay the crass words being said in your soft voice. He felt a crush hijacking his system already. Dear god.  

“Most people don’t recognize it in the original Russian.”  Spencer heard you say. 

“Most people probably wouldn’t recognize it in English.” he retorted.

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Spencer wasn’t even kidding. “I’m not joking.” He shook his head. “It’s unfortunate how many people aren’t even vaguely familiar with Tolstoy.” 

“It is.” you agreed. “You went to Caltech, correct?” 

He smiled, “Yes.” 

“I almost did too. Decided last minute on Columbia.” 

“You went to Columbia?” he asked. 

“I just graduated.” 

“How old are you?” he asked before quickly correcting himself,  “I’m sorry! That was forward! I am not...I’m not trying to undermine your studies with your age, I promise. I’m just curious.” 

“No! It’s okay!” You got out fast. “I’m 19. I graduated high school a little bit early.” 

“Me too.” He smiled. “12, actually.” 

Your eyes went wide, “12?” 

“Yes, um, in a Las Vegas public high school.” He winced, but the self-deprecation somehow came out charming, “I uh,” His eyes narrowed, “didn’t go to a lot of parties.” 

That made you wholeheartedly laugh. “Me neither! I graduated at 15, which you know is the age everybody else starts. It created a really weird dynamic because the older kids in my grade didn’t like me, but the underclassmen my age really didn’t like me.” 

Instead of the laugh you were expecting, Spencer just gave you a pensive stare. 

“Um..I can’t see why. I think you’re very likeable.” The compliment would’ve been strange exchanged by anybody other than Spencer to you.

  “Wait till you get to know me.” You said it through a smile but so softly you were afraid he might not be able to hear it, but he did. 

And that was confirmed when he flashed you the most incredible, toothy grin you’d ever seen. “I uh, I doubt there will be any change in opinion.” 

“Well, um, I’m sure- I think! You’re very likeable as well Dr. Reid.” you said. 

“That’s what you say now.” He retorted in the same coy tone you had earlier. 

You shook your head, “You’ll find I can be insufferably stubborn.” 

-----------------------------------

After two weeks, there was little Spencer could do to hide his massive crush affinity for you from the team. 

In the bullpen: 

You guys had locked eyes and were mouthing out exchanged of No’s and Yes’s from across the room. There was an ongoing half-serious dispute about whether or not Xanthippe slept with Plato. 

Morgan glided in his wheeled chair to whisper into Spencer’s ear. 

“Reid, stop giving JJ’s intern bedroom eyes. It fuckin’ weirds me out.” He said, shoving files into the cabinet below Reid’s desk. 

“I’m..I’m not.. I--what? Bedr--No!” Reid whisper-shouted back. 

On the jet: 

“Reid?” Gideon called Spencer, “Chess?” He motioned towards the board. 

“Yes, sure. Just give me a second. I’m almost done. I’m reading Infinite Jest. I don’t usually enjoy literature if it isn’t classic, even less so if it’s American. But..” Spencer smiled, “Y/N likes the author.”  He continued his fast-paced reading of the third-to-last chapter of the book. 

Morgan and Gideon exchanged glances. 

Even in front of you: 

You opened a sugar packet and began stirring. 

“De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium is still some of the best work on  heliocentric theory out there, I think. Copernicus knew what he was talking about!” You spun on your heels to see Reid’s face contorted in disagreement. You giggled, “Don’t give me that face! I’m right!” 

He took a sip of his coffee as to keep himself quiet. “Listen, cosmological theory is for…” 

But the pair of you were interrupted, it was Elle, standing behind you and in front of Spencer. 

“New skirt?” Elle asked as you turned, back now facing Reid.  She was pouring herself a cup of coffee too.

“Yes!” You excitedly nodded. “You like it?” 

Elle looked up and down, but not at you. The judgmental eyes were for the man behind you. She pursed her lips, “Not just me.” 

The only face redder than yours was Reid’s.

-----------------------------------

Nights spent in a bar after a case that had dragged on far too long was nothing new, but the energy tonight was especially light. Gideon had refused, but everybody else was just relaxed, even Hotch, and the team just got happier at each other's happiness. It was great, really. As Hotch and Morgan sipped on whiskey, JJ and Penelope had already downed four sugary, colorful cocktails and were in a whispered fit of giggles. Elle and Spencer settled on a tamer option of an IPA Spencer couldn’t name. 

“SPENCER!” Penelope excitedly shouted, “Y/N is literally you! You’re both adorable! You’re both geniuses! You’re both young!” She drew on her rant, “And if you have a crush on her you should just tell her!” JJ’s eyes widened in embarrassment as she tried to cover Penelope’s mouth. 

Morgan and Elle erupted in soft laughter while Hotch cracked an uncharacteristically amused smile. 

“Spence, I swear, I didn’t say that! I just...I may have mentioned how happy you get every time she’s around! And how you guys can talk for literally hours!” JJ defended, her words slurring in silly drunkenness. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time they teased him about you, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time either. 

“I don’t have a crush on her! We just….we like the same things! It gives us a lot to talk about.” 

“Yeah?” Morgan said through a laugh, “And what is it that boy and girl wonder talk about so much?” 

“Well, uh.. a lot of things. But I find she gets the most excited when we are discussing the theories of postmodernism, in that apparent realities are actually just social constructs and veritable realities are subject to change, and uh... we like to talk about linguistics….political philosophy….history... mathematic theory...and uh, oh! Doctor Who.” 

Spencer was blushing and spoke about you like a teenage girl did their boyband crush, and the team noticed. They didn’t even need to say it out loud. Spencer gathered from the way they looked back at him. 

“I heard she lent you a book too, Reid.” Hotch said before taking a sip from his glass. 

“Yes! She did!” He smiled, “It was her copy of Pale Fire. She has an impressive collection of 19th century Russian literature. All in its original dialect! Some of it’s even annotated, which usually would annoy me but since it’s her thoughts and notes I sort of find it endearing.” 

“Dr. Reid is endeared!” Greenaway shrieked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, pushing his glasses up a little higher on his nose, “I find her incredibly endearing.” 

“Y’all that sounded like a dorky love confession.” Morgan said as the team erupted in laughter and Reid’s head fell in a smile. There was no point in denying it anymore: He really, really liked you.

--------------------------------------

Within two months, you and Spencer had finally put your shyness aside, and spent a very lovely evening at watching an orchestra at the Smithsonian Music,  and sharing noodles at your favorite Thai restaurant. And then you guys spent some time on your couch. And then in your bed. And then in the shower. And then in the kitchen. You were both very sexually frustrated. 

For the following two months, as soon as you both stepped out of the office, it was very, very hard to keep your hands off each other. Could either of you help it though? Teenage geniuses don’t experience parties, or football games, or clumsy sex. The time was perfect to make up for it. 

And you guys did. The sex part at least. “Football involves a lot of dirt. And germs. And sweat.”

“Oh my god!” you shrieked. His hands were in a place they found themselves more and more often: Your pants. 

“Does it feel good?” he asked, continuing his pattern of small circles on that particular bundle of nerves. 

“It feels great.” You nodded. 

“I uh, I’ve been researching the female anatomy.” 

You closed your eyes and nodded your head, but trying to focus on your boyfriends newfound intellect. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” 

He watched your undoing with boyish adoration and curiosity before swallowing, “Very.” 

“Oh fuck!” Your legs began to shake, “Spencee...I’m gonn--” 

--------------------------------------------

You and Spencer just understood each other. 

#drspencerreid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #criminalminds #reid criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #Spencerreid #spencer reid reader insert #spencer x y/n #reid x reader #spencer reid #professor reid x reader #professor reid #season1 reid