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jimilter · 2 years

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on the borderline — 01 | pjm. (m)

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: humor | fluff | smut | friends to lovers!au

word count: 9.7 k

— warnings: swearing + alcohol consumption + unresolved sexual tension + mentions of therapy + really lame humor + some dark humor (a mention of n*crophilia) + sexual situations (mentioned m. receiving oral, explicit f. receiving oral) + a ton of secondhand embarrassment

— note: it is finally done, omfg. writer's block got me good with this one - literally made me crawl and mocked me for overestimating my abilities. but at least we are finally kicking this off, right? i hope you enjoy this messy ride, drop me a word, guys~ 💜

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

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𝐈 ⇢ 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 ♪ could it be i don’t know what’s good for me?

“Who even celebrates turning twenty-seven, dude?”

“Wha—”

“In this economy? Isn’t it better to just, I don’t know, wait till your thirtieth and then throw some grand party of the decade?”

“Hey, it’s—”

“I mean, sure, it’s a wonder Park Jimin survived another year without ending up in jail because he killed a co-worker, but—”

“Hey! They were not that bad!” he cuts you off with a protest. And then immediately sighs in resignation. "Okay, yeah, they were. That last month in that office was hell. Half the reason why I accepted this transfer was because I didn't want blood on my hands."

"Hold on," you raise your own protest. "I thought I was half the reason?"

"Uh… you're the other half?"

"Right, and the promotion had no influence on it, whatsoever.”

“Okay, this is a trap,” Jimin groans, finally giving up, and you break into laughter at his plight. “This is so unfair,” comes his disgruntled complaint. “Refuse to join my birthday celebrations and then find ways to laugh at me. You’ve got a way with ruining people’s day, babe, anyone ever tell you that?”

Rolling your eyes, you scan the cover page of the powerpoint presentation before you. “You do. Every other day.”

“And I’m right. Just come to the damn party, you big baby! I promise you’ll have a good time!”

“You don’t know that and you can’t promise that.”

Jimin releases a deep sigh on the other end of the phone and you purse your lips.

You’re kinda mean for testing his patience on his birthday. But, in your defense, it was him that threw you a curveball first by insisting that you – the most unsociable person in his life – come to this celebration he’s having at his place with his work friends. Which just translates to his entire office, because Park Jimin is a massive social butterfly. You sometimes wonder how you two even stay friends with such differently designed social batteries.

Case in point, you don’t wanna spend your Thursday evening trying to mingle with his coworkers and faking smiles. Not when you know you two could be having so much more fun with a chill night in, watching movies and sipping wine. Or, like, maybe sipping coffee because you have an important presentation to give tomorrow morning.

And that’s another reason why you don’t wanna freaking party – you have a Friday morning brainstorming session with your department about this workshop you’re in charge of organizing next week. You don’t have a keynote speaker yet and Rachel from Legal has refused to sit in as guest of honor so you kinda need a new guest, too.

“If you didn’t wanna party,” Jimin suddenly grumbles through the phone, breaking you out of your work-related thoughts, “why send me a birthday wish text full of balloons at midnight? You seemed more excited than me with your all caps party party and fifteen exclamation marks.”

Wincing, you close your eyes. You’d known you were overdoing it even as you typed that second text message. And now you’re gonna have to bullshit your way out of this.

You begin with a light scoff. “Well, I was obviously talking about the two of us having a party.” You weren’t. “Didn’t know you were so obsessed with the idea of turning twenty-seven you would invite your entire company.” You did.

Jimin’s groan spills with frustration. “Babe, for the last time, I’m doing this under pressure. My colleagues all self-invited themselves, okay? Like, I swear to you, if I could get out of hosting this thing, I would.”

He sounds kind of distressed now which indicates he’s being truthful. Not that Jimin is a compulsive liar, but he does have this tendency to withhold facts to benefit his cause, at times.

“My entire office has been on my ass ever since they found out my birthdate. And I have to have a big heart about it because the Director has to set a good example and all that dumb shit that nobody but the CEO cares about because the rest of us weren’t born with a silver spoon in our mouths and actually need to work to earn our paychecks.” He exhales loudly at the end of his outburst. “Do you understand, babe?”

A pout pulls on your lips because you do actually understand. You don't like that you understand because then you can't annoy him anymore which is always so much fun, but his reasoning is actually reasonable.

Jimin has been working as the Regional Director of his company for less than a year. Eight months, to be exact, ever since he moved here following his promotion. Here, as in the place you’ve been located in for the past three years. This is the first time the two of you have been in the same city for such a long period of time ever since high school, a matter of fact.

Sighing at your train of thoughts, you start the spell-checker program for your presentation and then push your laptop away to lay back on the carpeted floor, staring up at the ceiling.

"I do understand, I guess," you finally concede.

"Thank you!"

"Doesn't mean I support it, though."

"I know."

Chuckling, you lift your phone off the table to peek at the screen.

Ongoing call with Min 🌟73m 51s

“Jimin?”

“Hm?”

“Have you finalized a shirt yet? We've been on the call for over an hour. It’s past eight." You shut your eyes and exhale. "You'll be late to your own party…"

“What do you care?” he petulantly huffs in response. “I’ll be late if I want to. It’s not as if you will be kept waiting…”

Oh, God, this petty bitch.

“Jimin,” you groan in frustration, “don’t be catty, just tell me if you need my help!”

“I’m not being catty, you’re being a bad friend.” He pauses, and when you give another groan at his words, he clicks his tongue. “Fine, yeah, I need help…”

Rolling your eyes, you lift your phone up again. “How many are you confused among? Switch to video, show me.”

Within seconds, your best friend appears on the screen, raking his fingers through his hair like he is constantly doing, twenty-five hours a day. He has his reading glasses on beneath furrowed brows and squinted eyes – which he is yet to focus on the camera or at you – and his lips are pouted in either frustration or anger, or both.

Nonetheless, he looks as good as he always has. A bit mature with his slightly longer black hair which he has been growing out ever since he got here. This promotion has relieved him of some of the workplace rules he was made to adhere to previously – one of them being how he styled his hair. Given Jimin’s obsession with dyes during his college days, you can only imagine how badly he must be itching for some highlights. You’ve told him time and again that natural black suits him best, but the guy always has other ideas.

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Your hair looks nice.”

That grabs his attention, making his eyes snap up to focus a little below the camera. “Huh?”

“Your hair. It looks nice,” you repeat, this time clearing your throat because, well, rehashing the wayward compliment makes you cringe a bit. "Without, y'know, any crazy highlights or dyeing? It looks, uh, good."

The grimace on your face is mirrored by Jimin and you immediately regret opening your mouth. You and Jimin suck at giving or accepting compliments. Insistent teasing and insults are more your forte.

This is weird.

Jimin clears his throat and pats his head, looking unsure. “Does it?” His squinted eyes and pursed lips express discomfort as he adjusts the dark strands around his forehead again. “Uh, thanks…? I am gonna get a trim after Christmas.”

Jumping the opportunity to swerve the conversation, you frantically nod your head. “That's a good idea! But like, Christmas is more than two months away, dude… You’ll be halfway into your Rapunzel era by that time…”

Proud of yourself, you burst into giggles while Jimin scowls at you and stares you down wordlessly until you finally stop. "You're so fucking lame."

You solemnly nod your head. "Astute observation. Now. The shirts, please?”

He makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes but then finally moves the camera away, probably placing his phone on some shelf, and steps back to allow you a glimpse of the two hangers in his hands. You squint, bringing your own phone closer to take in the two apparels on the tiny screen. And you do see two shirts, but they just look… black to you. Like, legitimately just black.

Fuck, is this how guys feel when girls ask them to pick apart nail paint shades?

“You should’ve called me on Zoom,” you finally mumble, sitting up and frowning at the screen. “I can barely tell them apart on this small ass screen…”

“What?” Jimin looks kinda clueless and you realize he doesn’t have his earpods on him.

So you can’t see shit and he can’t hear shit. A wonderful pair.

“Nothing, just…” You trail off with a sigh when he raises his eyebrows, and try again, louder, “Can you describe them to me?”

“Describe? Wha…oh. You can’t see them on the small screen, can you?” At your pout, he breaks into a loud laugh, shaking his head. “A blind bitch, my God…”

In the middle of rolling your eyes, the serotonin emitting from the guy tugs your own lips up into a smile. He laughs with whole belly and smiles with his whole face, making everybody around him catch it too. Your best friend really deserves a life full of such happiness, you decide. He has a heart of gold, always so accepting and loving to all even if he ends up hurt at the end. Just endless happiness and smiles should be sent his way, and—

“Dude? You there? Your smile’s really creepy, please stop.”

Jimin’s words bring your attention back to your phone, instantly turning your – admittedly yeah, slightly creepy – smile into an irritated frown. Honestly, the contrast between you wanting him to always be happy and him literally asking you to stop smiling, though?

But also wow, what the fuck? Why’re you being an emotional sap out of nowhere? He is a good person but also a very annoying human being at times, did you forget? He can take a couple of falls. His life doesn’t have to be all smiles and giggles. What is wrong with you?

Shaking your head, you look at him. “Sorry, yeah. Kinda zoned out.”

“Will you focus now?”

At your morose nod, Jimin shoves one of the shirts closer to the camera. Oh, this one looks redder. Wait, it is red! How the fuck could you not see it before? A blind bitch, indeed.

“So this is dark red,” he informs you before swapping the shirt with the other one in which you can clearly detect a blue undertone. “And this one’s really, really dark navy. Both are silk because that’s what I wanna do for my birthday. Now. Pick one!”

You hum in thought, honestly caught in confusion. Jimin’s skin looks really good when he wears shades of red. But both yours and his favorite color forever has been blue.

“Maybe we should go for something different this time,” you begin, nodding to yourself, “and not pick blue, Min.”

He exhales at your words and then huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we don’t always pick blue…”

“We kinda do, dude. Always.”

“O–kay, then. Let’s begin the twenty-seventh year of my life with a lifestyle change, then? Picking red over blue, it is.”

You nod with a snort, peeking at your laptop to see if the spell-checker has finished its job yet. It hasn't, dumb slow fucker.

“Hey, uh,” Jimin continues to talk even as you have placed your phone flat on the table, with the camera now capturing half of your double chin and the ceiling, “this isn’t about Yoongi, is it?”

What?

Wide-eyed and panicked, you immediately pick the device back up to stare at your best friend in horror. Only to find him attempting to stifle his laughter. Your eyes narrow at him sharply.

“It wasn’t, but now it just might be…”

“Um—”

“Jimin, why is he invited?”

“My entire office is the reason why the party is even happening. Can’t skip Yoongi for you, dude, that’ll look bad.”

With his eyes sparkling and lips trembling with barely contained mirth, Jimin looks so giddy about this conversation, you wanna throw a brick at his head.

Ever since you met Min Yoongi at the godawful welcome dinner Jimin’s company threw for him, the guy has floated around you with hearts in eyes every occasion he gets. And Jimin, naturally, loves to drive you insane about it whenever he can. Which is basically all the time.

“Are you planning my murder in your head?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows as he walks around the store to get to the cash counter. “He’s not even that bad, you’re just stubborn…”

“Not bad?” You groan out loud, shaking your head in misery. “Jimin, that guy is scary.”

“He just likes you a lot, babe! And wants you to like him back!”

“Which is scary!”

He frowns at you. “That is a discussion for your therapist. All I want is for you to be there at the party. If you bump into Yoongi and he tries to ask you out again, just tell him you’re dating me.”

“No.” You roll your eyes. “That sort of a lie feels immoral, and outside of my social anxiety and commitment phobia, I’m actually a good person.”

“Please,” Jimin scoffs. “Half my office thinks you and I are a thing, anyways.”

In the middle of scoffing back at him, you stop and do a double take. “Hold the fuck up. Half your office thinks”—you pause to lean in closer to the screen and squint at him—“what?”

“That I’m dating you. And it usually works out in my favor. I can get out of a lot of awkward situations because people assume that I’m not single.”

He is smirking at you, while your head is about to explode.

“Park Jimin. Why have you not corrected the rumors?”

“I just told you! They don’t push me into unnecessary social stuff because they assume I’m not single.”

“Not single because of whom, though?” Your voice has turned pitchy and squeaky. “Me? Are you insane?” You vehemently shake your head. “I’m your best fucking friend, Park Jimin! How dare you?”

“Well, my best fucking friend,” he says around snorts, “it isn’t that serious! Sorry I triggered your existential crisis, jeez.”

“It’s not an existential crisis!”

“No? Well, I’m still sorry.”

Not with the grin on his face, he is not. “You’re clearly holding back laughter…”

A wheeze escapes him at your words, leading to loud, hurried giggles that he fruitlessly attempts to muffle with a hand before quickly clearing his throat. To annoy you more with his stuttered lies. “N–no. These are – these are just my tears of guilt.”

“Park Jimin, I—”

“Hey, stop with the government name!” he finally declares, looking slightly more attentive as he finally stops laughing. “Alright, sorry. I’ll tell my assistant to send out a memo about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Not funny…”

“Come on, it’s a little funny. I don’t get why you’re so bothered. It’s not like you're dating someone, right? Or will, in the near future.”

“Or the far future,” you add with a grumble. “But it’s still not cool to let people make the wrong assumptions, Min.”

“Hey, if I can’t set you up with guys, at least let me have this?”

“How is that the same thing?”

“It’s not.” He giggles. “But it’s equally as fun.”

“Not for me, it’s not. Make it stop.”

“Or,” he grins at you with his entire teeth, “you could make it stop by accepting Yoongi’s advances!”

Sometimes it’s pitiable how badly your best friend wants you to date someone. No, it’s actually always pitiable. He’s been on this agenda ever since you broke up with your last ex, and despite all the in-depth conversations you’ve had with Jimin about why you’re not ready for love yet, he always somehow reverts back to pushing you towards some or the other dude. Every other week.

You sometimes wonder if it’s because he wants to break out of the kinda dumb but very important pact you blackmailed him into, some three years back.

It was a simple set of rules you’d both agreed to, a few weeks after Jimin’s twenty-fourth birthday and a year after your break-up with your ex whom you never should have dated in the first place. You’d sworn off dating for the rest of your life, and because Jimin was hyper-focussed on his career at the time, he wasn’t too eager to find a girlfriend, either. So you both agreed to a mutual agreement of no dating – because it requires a shit ton of time and effort, only to cause a shit ton of emotional trauma in return – and made a promise to, instead, keep the other company, emotionally and intellectually. Completely platonically, of course, because both of you prefer hooking up with strangers instead of risking your friendship to scratch the itch.

Okay, so your words were kinda unhinged, something along the lines of, ‘If I’m not gonna date, you don’t need a girlfriend, either, dude. You’ve got me, and I’m easier to please.’

Ugh…

But it still somehow worked out in the end. Neither of you have dated in the past three years, leaning on each other for support.

So now, if Jimin wants to get back into the dating game, why not simply tell you that instead of trying to link you up with guys? Doesn’t make sense. Which probably means that this is not why he does it. Not to mention, that reasoning also doesn’t justify his supposedly harmless but also very meaningless flirting with you that never seems to cease. In his words, it’s because he needs to “cherish” the fact that you’re both single at the same time. Whatever the fuck that means.

Your best friend is a weirdo.

Right now, you just roll your eyes at his sly grin the way you usually do. “Fuck off with that, Jimin. My mind isn’t changing, when are you gonna stop?”

“Until it does change.” He gives a shrug. “Obviously.”

“Well, so then whatever it is that your co-workers see in us, why can Yoongi not see it too and leave me alone?”

Jimin laughs. “Oh, they think we act couple-y. And Yoongi’s blinded by his love for you, forgive him.”

You blink at his words. Couple-y? You and Jimin? When? Where?

What even are couple-y things, you wonder. You can bet you have barely kissed your best friend on the cheek, like, five times at most in your entire friendship of fifteen-something years. You and him aren’t too big on expressing emotions through…gestures. Sometimes, you even skip on hugs, instead fist-bumping as a greeting when you meet.

What about that sounds… couple-y? Nothing at all!

“Dude?” Jimin calls out to you, waving a hand in the front of the screen. “What is up with you today?”

You release an irritated huff. You both do not act like a couple. It’s a narrow-minded, backwards concept that people settle upon whenever a guy and a girl’s friendship doesn't meet the norms that the society has set up for them. Jimin’s co-workers are backwards.

“We don’t act couple-y, Min.” You look at him with determination.

“O—kay?” He raises his eyebrows and you nod.

“Of course we don’t! Clarify this with your co-workers, okay?” you remind him with a frown, a finger raised and pointed at the screen. “And if they still doubt you, just tell them we don’t have sex. Nobody dates without getting naked, these days.”

Jimin bursts into loud laughter. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna believe me if I just say it, babe. Also, I don’t think that’s true? People still save themselves for marriage.”

You just roll your eyes. “Well, they’re stupid if they do. If I were to ever date again, sex is what would probably be the most integral part of my relationship. No sex? No label, bro.” You make a disgusted face. “So much effort put into tolerating a man in my life and not even a decent orgasm received in return? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

Beginning with small chuckles, Jimin slowly dissolves into loud giggles as you speak further, his phone shaking every which way as he sways with loud laughter again. You’re slowly caught by his infectious cackles, joining in with your own wheezes while he wipes his eyes.

As he finally straightens, though, he’s got this tilted smirk on his face that makes you vary. Because you almost know what he’s gonna say before he even articulates the words. “Well, if sex is what will make you okay about being called my girlfriend at my office, I can amend that anytime you want, you know? Just gotta say the words, ma’am…”

“Yeah I'll say the words, alright,” you murmur with another, disinterested sounding exhale. “That you're a pervert, dear sir. And my ex, as of now.”

“Ooh, so you wanna show up at the party as my hot ex?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Fashionably late, dressed to kill and all that?” Then he quickly waves his fingers. “On the cash counter now, switching to audio.”

As his face disappears from the screen, you sigh. “No, bubs, I really can’t make it. I’ve gotta give this presentation tomorrow morning, real early.”

“Wow, your excuses just keep changing…”

“They’re all reasons and they all hold true, collectively, Min. It’s a goddamn list.” Placing your phone on the table, you tiredly rub your eyes. “It’s not even nine pm and I wanna go to bed already. How about I just see you tomorrow?"

There's silence on the line. A longer than normal silence, one where you can't even hear his breathing anymore, let alone the subtle rustle of his moving feet.

Ah, shit, you've upset him.

"I – I mean we see each other every weekend or so, anyway, so—"

"So you don’t wanna see me on my birthday?"

He sounds so gutted, your heart actually aches. But you still try, "We could have breakfast tomorrow, just you and I, and gossip about what all went down at the party?"

Jimin says your name in a small voice. "You can't not meet me on my birthday when we’re in the same city, dude… Do you remember the last time we celebrated any of our birthdays together? It’s been so long."

You do remember. It was his nineteenth birthday when you and two of your common, close friends had surprised Jimin with a visit to his college. He'd cried so much. You'd recorded it all on camera and uploaded it everywhere on social media, ruining his reputation – Park Jimin crying because he's not gonna be a teenager in a year. Wow, you guys were so lame. And also kinda cruel.

But damn, his last teenage year was… eight years ago, right? Holy shit, has it really been eight years?

Although it kinda makes sense because you and Jimin went to two different colleges in two different states. And yeah, you called and kept in touch but the visits were few and far between.

Wow. And you were gonna let go of the opportunity to meet up with him on his birthday because of – what? A dumb presentation? A dumb colleague of his that’s in love with you? Laziness?

Not anymore.

“No, you know what? You’re right.” You nod to yourself, smiling. “I’ll be there, Min.”

“Really?” Jimin sounds excited and hopeful, emphasizing how much he wanted you to be there. “Despite the Yoongi thing and your presentation?”

“Yep! I’ll steer clear of Yoongi or whatever, it’s cool. And I’ll bring an overnight bag to leave for work from your place, tomorrow.”

“Yes, that’s grea—wait…an overnight bag? You’ll stay the night? D–don’t you start work at, like, ten?”

Your eyes narrow at his stutter and the sudden awkwardness in his voice. “I actually have to give my presentation at eight, but… why do you sound like you don’t want me to stay? Look, if you’re planning on hooking up with someone tonight, let me remind you that your house is gigantic, Min. No one will bother no one.”

Jimin groans and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head. “Dude, you really need to work on your cockblocking tendencies. Remember that one time you stayed over and I had to cancel a threesome I’d planned? And now you’re interrupting my birthday sex? Not fair!”

You gasp loudly, thoroughly offended. “Hey! You’re literally the one that emotionally blackmailed me into coming!”

“Yeah, for the evening!”

“Hey, I—no. You know what? You’re a menace to humanity and I hate you, Park.”

Jimin just giggles in response to your claim. “I absolutely know that. But really, thank you for agreeing to come despite everything, babe. It means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, your birthday kinda means a lot to me too.”

Woah, that is way too much sappiness from you in one conversation. Jimin’s pleasant hum of acceptance doesn’t help the sudden mush you feel in your chest either, which is why you clear your throat and rush to set the balance right.

“Just make sure I don’t see your naked ass by the end of the night, and we’re good.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

“Yeah, one time too many!”

“Please,” he gives an affronted scoff, though you can hear a smile in his voice. “Don’t act like you didn’t actually enjoy the view…”

“I didn’t! Shut up! Asshole.” You scrunch your nose and squeeze your eyes shut to ward off the image of Jimin’s bubble butt from your mind. “I’ll see you in, like, an hour then?”

“You mean you’ll see my asshole in an—”

“Park Jimin, I will murder you—”

Foregoing a dress, you choose to wear a scallop trimmed, navy blue jumpsuit which is the perfect amount of dressy and practical – if a hassle to pee in, but you’re resolved to limit your liquid intake; you have an early morning meeting tomorrow! – and your feet are confidently nestled in a pair of sneakers to make things ultra comfy for yourself. A gift-wrapped wristwatch in your hand to add to your best friend's never-ending collection, you have barely stepped through the doors to his humongous townhouse when the bass booming from inside nearly shoves you back.

The place is buzzing like a nightclub with all the lights, crazy music and the horde of people. A well-ventilated, clean and fresh smelling nightclub. You’d honestly go clubbing a hell lot more if actual nightclubs were like this.

Just as you’ve handed your coat to the guy manning the coat closet – like they do at charity balls; good God, Park Jimin throws crazy parties – and taken a step into the foyer, the man of the night materializes before you out of thin air.

“Bestie~! Welcome!”

Wow, how many drinks in is he? Given the way he can’t stop smiling, it has to be at least five. Or maybe he's just running on an adrenaline and serotonin induced high. Won't be the first time.

Cheeks rosy and eyes glazed over, Jimin’s long hair falls into his eyebrows and diamond studs glint in his ears. The red shirt looks nearly black in the dim lights and fits him like a dream. Guy’s dressed to kill – literal sex on legs, and this is coming from someone that doesn’t even wanna have sex with him.

While you make a show of checking him out from bottom to top, wolf-whistling slowly, Jimin bashfully rolls his eyes and places an arm around your shoulders. He drags you into the house, nearly snatching the gift from you with his other hand to deposit it on the giant table full of presents, next to the coat closet.

“Looking good, Park,” you tell him loudly over the music, stumbling despite your shoes because he is literally not letting you use your legs with the way he is hauling you inside.

“I know!” The guy winks at you over his shoulder, which just makes you snort. “Thank you for coming, babe!” he then yells near you in a loud voice, pausing suddenly to turn to face you. “You’re my bestest friend in the world. I love you!”

Barely able to contain your laughter at the glee on his face, you return his hug with the same amount of zeal as him when he squeezes you to himself. In a completely out of character move, Jimin then plants a wet and sloppy mess of kiss to the apple of your cheek, making you flinch. And then cringe in irritation. Because at least five people around you witness it with a hand to their chest.

They're speculating and misunderstanding your relationship, aren't they? God, you need a drink.

Jimin, meanwhile, is grinning so wide, his happiness melts your ire away a little. His smiles have a way of always making your heart feel full.

"Happy birthday, bestie," you tell him while he loops an arm around your waist to drag you to the drinks table.

“Thank you, bestie! Now, because you don’t wanna be hammered, I’d recommend sticking to the champagne and pina colada fountain.”

“Wait, what fount—ohh.”

There’s definitely a fountain placed next to the champagne pyramid, and apparently it isn’t just an ornament.

“Jimin, this party looks insane,” you tell him when you’ve reached the makeshift bar in the corner of his huge living room, and settled onto a stool. “I thought you were forced into throwing this?”

Once he's gotten you a flute of champagne from the guy working the bar, Jimin finally leans against the counter and grins at you. You eye the bartending guy with raised eyebrows. That makes two hired helpers. How much has your best friend spent on this whole thing?

“Of course I was,” Jimin tells you with a shrug, still grinning. “But I won’t bludgeon my reputation just because of some reluctance. I want them to remember this night for the rest of their lives.”

Taking a sip from the glass – and wow, that drink is hella smooth – you squint at him. “Okay. Okay, that's on-brand for you. But what’s gonna be your escape plan when they end up liking it too much and bug you to throw more of these?”

That makes his smile vanish. “Hey, I’m not gonna let myself be convinced every time.”

“You’re a people pleaser, buddy.”

“I’m working on changing that!”

"Which isn’t really working out, Min.”

Jimin scowls at you and you throw your head back in laughter. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing your outfit with raised eyebrows.

“You look good.”

And you look down at yourself as if you didn’t know what you were wearing, which is kinda stupid. Why do you always do this when people compliment your looks?

“Yeah? Thanks, dude.”

Looking up, you try to smile. Try, because Jimin is smirking at you. And not a friendly, teasing smirk either.

No, he's giving you the smirk. The rare and deadlier one. Gaze full of mischief, head tilted as if in contemplation, eyebrows lowered to turn on the smolder. Yeah. That smirk.

This is the exact same smirk he gave you at age twenty-five, when he tried to convince you that if the two of you were still single and lonely when you turned forty, you could get into a lifelong friends-with-benefits relationship.

This is the exact same smirk he gave you at age twenty-one, when he told you about the crush he had on you when you guys were sixteen.

This is the exact same smirk he gave you at age nineteen, when you told him about the crush you had on him when you guys were thirteen.

Yeah, those are some bits from yours and his cherishable but embarrassing and kinda funky past. Also, you still can’t figure out why he waited two years before confessing his side of the said embarrassing past.

Anyways, reverting back to his smirk – this is the kind of smirk Jimin flashes at people when he wants to flirt with them. You’ve been on the receiving end of it for more times than should be normal between two friends. But in his own terms, “flirting is good for health,” so it is what it is.

You’re used to this behavior, too. But – like. Park Jimin is an attractive man. A really attractive man. It’s a basic, known fact to you. He is also a massive flirt, capable of charming the pants off of anybody without trying hard. And though the fact that you two have been friends for a decade and half does make you a lot immune to his looks and his wiles – at the end of the day, you’re only human.

Proven by the uncharacteristic and completely unnecessary flush that overtakes your cheeks when his gaze makes a sweep of your outfit from bottom to top.

Which is why you are biting your tongue and ducking your head to take a sip of the champagne again. It's something you've practiced over the years – if you pretend he's not doing it, he can't force a reaction out of you.

When you meet his challenging gaze again, you’re ready with your smile and wink. "I know."

Jimin's eyebrows raise at that, and the sultry weight lifts off his eyelids. His posture shifts and the seductive veil draped over him leaves. Phew. Attack averted.

"What? I've been practicing self love lately."

“Yeah.” He nods, chuckling. “That’s the reason for your lack of gratitude. And not the fact that I said ‘I know’ when you complimented me earlier, right?”

You put a hand to your chest and widen your eyes. “Why, of course not. I’m not the petty one, Min, it’s you.”

Rolling his eyes, Jimin steals your glass for a sip. You’re about to protest, but a presence on his other side distracts you. He follows your gaze to – a gorgeous, olive skinned woman. Damn, she is stunning.

“Hey, guys. Happy birthday, Jimin,” she wishes Jimin in her melodious voice, but only after flashing you a full smile.

It’s rare for you to receive genuine smiles from women around Jimin. You wanna befriend this woman.

“Avni, hey! Thanks for coming!” Jimin accepts her hug and moves to her other side, offering her a seat between you and him. “Tara said she’d bring her sister.”

The woman nods with a smile, before turning to you with her hand forwarded. “You're the girlfriend, right…?”

Didn't Jimin say she's someone's sister? His colleagues' family members gossip about you two too, then. How wonderful. Your deadpan stare cuts to the guy – causing him to clear his throat with a grimace and step in.

“Avni, meet my best friend.” He tells her your name, and recognition lights her eyes up.

“Oh! Of course! It’s nice to finally meet you! Wait, are you – are you two just friends and not…?”

Okay, now you’re pissed. And wanna hit Jimin. But you can’t do that on his birthday, so you pull on a fake smile and bat your lashes as you shake Avni’s hand. “Oh, no, we’re just friends. But, uh, I’d suggest not going after him regardless.” You lean closer to her, eyeing Jimin’s confused face with a smirk, and lower your voice, “He doesn’t date women, only fucks and chucks them.”

Avni’s jaw drops and Jimin slowly slides off his seat with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen him wear. Your smirk widens to match.

“So if you’re looking for a night full of wild, explosive sex and nothing more? He’s just your guy.”

“O~kay, that’s my cue to go say hi to Tara!” Jimin jumps a foot away from you two, shuffling away before Avni has had a chance to respond.

Barely stifling your laugh, you wave at his hastily retreating back.

Avni still looks a little lost. “What was that about?”

A snort escapes you at her confusion. “Ah, just a joke, sorry about that. It’s just that everyone at his office apparently thinks we’re together when we’re not. Just wanted to fluster him.”

“Oh, I see. You’re not a couple.”

You blink. What was with that emphasis? “I’m sorry… What do you see, exactly?”

She waves a hand. “I mean, I get it. It’s no one’s business whether you’re just fooling around, or whatever. Your labels are your private matter. I apologize for prying.”

Exhaling, you down the remainder of the drink and close your eyes. “I don't know how else to say this, Avni, but we’re not fooling around. Jimin and I are just friends. Platonic ones. We don’t like each other romantically. Or sexually.”

“Really?” Avni gives you a look of disbelief, which feels kinda offensive, to be honest.

You squint at her. “Yes.”

“Sure. I don’t get it, but sure.” She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to sipping at her pina colada.

But you’re left gaping at the woman because what is up with her reactions of disbelief? “What does that mean?”

Rolling her eyes, she gives you a little smirk with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, what's the point of having a best friend as sexy as him if you don't even get off to his face? Not sexually attracted to that piece of ass? Yeah, right.”

Woah, what?

Woah… woah. And now there’s a slideshow of HD pictures of Jimin’s lips in your head. Attached to your body. The thought of him kissing your bare shoulder is sending tingles down your back, what the hell?

Are you sexually attracted to him?

Sure, his flirting flusters you sometimes but that's just objective, right? Right? It has to be. You’d never actually want Jimin, even physically, for Jimin. That’s right. You could appreciate particulars because he’s a good looking guy, but he is your best friend and you would never ever want him for that reason.

No matter how many shivers the mental slideshow continues to send down your spine, and oh—he wears rings doesn't he? And his hands must have veins because he gyms like a freak, right? Interesting.

“You’re thinking about him naked, aren't you?"

“No!” you yelp your way out of your thoughts, deeply disturbed by how quickly they escalated. And also kinda spooked by Avni’s spot-on deduction. “I’m – I’m thinking that I don’t like him sexually, Avni.”

"It's okay, hun. It's perfectly normal to fantasize. Whether you act upon it or not is completely up to you, but all that you think about? No one has to know." Avni looks at you with a very knowing smile, pats your shoulder, and steps away from the bar.

Even as she has disappeared from your sight, lost in the crowd of partying people, her words stick with you. It's definitely not okay or perfectly normal to fantasize about a person you call a friend. It's deception and a breach of their trust in you. It's dishonesty.

Isn't it?

Damn, and now you're second guessing yourself? Just who the hell is this Avni woman for her words to affect you so much? A motivational speaker? A witch?

You can’t let her get to your head.

No. This isn't you and this isn't the kind of friendship you have with Jimin. He's not just a friend of yours, he's your best friend. The bond you share isn't dispensable. The friendship you share isn't something you want to experiment upon.

But then again, Avni did say no one has to know what you think about—

Okay, enough! You shake your head to physically knock the inappropriate pictures out of it, and scowl to yourself in disappointment.

You know what you're thinking about even if no one else does, and you know why it is wrong. Jimin trusts you. He is honest, open and vulnerable with you because he knows you’re his well-wisher, first and foremost. And you will always honor that.

Nevermind the fact this reminds you a bit too much of the beginning of middle school when you barely knew Jimin and had this huge crush on him. That was when you thought up scenarios of kissing him and got butterflies in your stomach about it. No sane twenty-seven year old wants to feel like their thirteen year old self. You need to get a fucking grip on this.

Exhaling, you’re contemplating asking for a refill, when you make a scan of the people near you, and – shit, Min Yoongi is headed this way.

All other thoughts are wiped right off your head as the need to disappear mounts up. This is the only guy in the entire world that terrifies you. More than your dad does, more than your ex ever could. And though he looks like he hasn’t seen you yet, he is heading straight towards the bar which means he’s gonna see you, any minute now.

Quickly vacating your stool, you hurriedly walk away, shooting off into a random direction to mix up in the crowd of people and allow their drunken, dancing bodies to guide you to another end of the room.

When you finally exit the sea of human bodies with a sigh of relief, you look around to find yourself at the mouth of a prettily decorated hallway. Is this the one that leads to your favorite bathroom in Jimin’s entire house, the one with the clawfoot tub? Yeah, it is! It looks so different with all the fairy lights. Really majestic, too. You're gonna ask Jimin to keep it this way.

Walking down the few steps to the bathroom's door, you shrug off the last remaining inappropriate thoughts about Jimin from your head and, deciding upon washing your face, push open the door—

"Fuck, baby, just like that…"

—only to walk in on a naked, male ass bent over the gorgeous ceramic of your beloved clawfoot. While some girl, seated in the bathtub for some ungodly reason, is sucking his soul out of his dick. Who the heck is getting head in your precious bathtub?

Wait…

The shirt on the guy’s back is so dark red, it looks almost black. It’s gorgeous, it compliments the guy’s skin, it fits him like a dream. It’s perfect. It’s also the shirt you helped your best friend buy today.

“What the fuck? Jimin!” you shriek, slapping a hand over your eyes and turning on your heels.

A loud yelp and a feminine gasp echo around the space, after which Jimin yells out your name. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“No – no, what the hell are you doing here?” you complain to him in a louder yell.

Some shuffling and whispers later, a girl scrambles past you. Then a hand grips onto your forearm to spin you around. Jimin’s angry face is looming over yours, cheeks tomato red and hair a mess. If you could be objective about his looks without wanting to pummel him to death, right now, you would say he looks really good. But you’re not.

Because how dare he flash his naked ass to you when you were going through your very bizarre crisis with all these indecent thoughts about his hands and lips? What if you start to think about his ass, too?

“Why didn’t you just leave?” he hisses at you, eyes narrowed and body so close to yours, his citrusy fragrance saturates your lungs.

“Because you thrive on being an exhibitionist, you whore.” You scowl at him, leaning away and crossing your arms against your chest to avoid inhaling more of the citrus that is making your head spin. “This huge of a house and you had to get it on in the one bathroom that I love?”

“Hey, this is my house and it’s my birthday. And this area was off-limits for the party people.”

Was it? You have no idea because you’re not party people; ‘co-host’ describes you better. “You’re still a whore.”

“What?”

“Yes! I specifically asked you to ensure I don’t stumble upon your naked ass, didn’t I? Seriously, the disrespect, Min?”

Jimin rolls his eyes and rakes a hand through his hair, which – woah, he wears a ring in each finger, then. Okay, no, your mind needs to chill the fuck down, because this is getting crazily out of hand.

“I didn't know someone would come running in here! I left you peacefully drinking at the bar, how was I to know…hey, speaking of – what the fuck was that with Avni?”

Grimacing, you hold both your hands up in a placating gesture. “One mess at a time, Min.”

“You know what?” He grunts and pushes you against the wall with a hand on your shoulder. “Sometimes you annoy me so much, I wanna physically shut you up…”

What – the holy hell?

His lips are in front of your face, parted and wet, and his gaze is so fucking dark, you cannot tell his pupils apart from his irises. And he has a hand resting next to your face, forearm and ringed fingers lewdly on display. All of that accompanied with the cologne you are inhaling with every ragged breath? A throb begins to build up between your legs.

And yet you manage to whisper, “Fantasize about fucking my throat often, Park?”

He freezes, eyes slightly widened and brows slightly lifted, but his gaze falls straight to your lips. Wait… is he fantasizing about it now?

With that, all the images you'd worked hard to burn off your brain are back with vengeance. Fuck, and now you also know how he moans during a blowjob?

Fuck fuck fuck, you’re about to ruin your friendship with him forever if you don’t reel this in.

Why couldn’t he have just taken the damn girl up to his bedroom?!

“Or slitting it…?” you add in a conspiratorial whisper, doing your best to wiggle your eyebrows and pull up the cheekiest grin you can muster, even if you secretly struggle with regulating your breathing.

Jimin’s rounded eyes snap up to meet yours, and then fill up with humor. He pulls his lips together in a line, eyebrows furrowed in faux anger. “How about the former… followed by the latter?”

And just like that, everything is back to normal and you’re slapping him away from you. “I won’t even put necrophilia past you, you demented horny mess…”

“What? I take offense to that!” He is laughing, though, facing the mirror to adjust his hair. “While we’re on it, let’s not forget about the hidden voyeur in you.”

“Yeah, because voyeurism is the same as necrophilia.” When he raises an alarmed eyebrow at you in the mirror, you roll your eyes. “Not that I intended to watch you! It was an honest mistake. I didn’t know you’d be in here. Or that you’d be naked with the door unlocked.” You give an incredulous laugh. “What in the name of exhibitionism was that about, Min?”

“I was in a hurry, she was unbuttoning me in the hallway!” He scrunches his nose for a moment before narrowing his eyes at you. “But you could have silently left?”

“I saw your butt, my corneas were incinerated. I couldn’t let you orgasm in peace after that, could I?”

A snort escapes him, and you join him in the laughter.

This is good. This is normal. This is what the two of you are about – no matter how tense or uncomfortable things get for you, you both always revert back to being two idiots that care about each other. Because you are friends. The best of friends who have no romantic or sexual attraction between them, but would still die for one another. You’re homies. Bros. For life.

When Jimin is done adjusting his hair and you have actually washed your face and touched up some of your makeup, he drapes a hand over your shoulders and walks out. Classic homie behavior, right?

You look up at his grinning face and sigh. “Sorry about the girl, by the way. You think she’ll come back if you call her?”

“Improbable,” Jimin gives a snort, but then he shrugs. “But someone else will. I’m a catch, babe. Don’t worry about me.”

He gives your shoulder a squeeze – and as you feel the metal of his rings press innocently into your skin, you realize it’s not him you’re worried about.

A pair of lips is traveling up your thighs, hot against your cold skin, lighting a fire up that burns in the depths of your stomach.

You've never felt these lips before, but you know them – they are Jimin’s.

The cloud-like softness and plush plumpness could belong to no one but your best friend's God given cupid's bow. You've spent fifteen years looking at them, sometimes to concentrate on his words, sometimes because they had a milkshake mustache above them, sometimes because they looked suspiciously kiss-swollen, and sometimes just…because you wanted to.

Which is why even though you've never felt them before, you know them. You know how they would feel.

This is exactly how you imagined they would feel.

Your best friend is kissing his way up your thighs, and it's the best feeling in the world.

Your eyelids slowly part to peer down at the guy, a hand reaching out towards his head to grip onto his tuft of golden, overgrown hair.

“Jimin?” you whisper.

“Hm?” comes a murmur back, making you shiver.

“Please…”

He wordlessly moves his mouth to the center of your thighs. Parting your legs, with his warm fingers adorned with cold rings, he runs his tongue up and down your opening twice, before latching onto your bundle of nerves. Your hands tug at his hair, back arching off the bed, and a broken whine escapes you.

“You like that?” he speaks into your pussy, dirty promises in his voice.

“Yes,” you whimper, widening your legs and pushing his face further into you. “More…”

“Mm hm,” he murmurs, now pushing two of his fingers into you and fuck, that feels so fucking good, you’re gonna explode. “Are you close, sweetums?”

The pet name stuns you for a moment, but you recover quickly and moan out a yes, unwilling to let the momentum of your build-up drop.

“I’ll let you come if you promise me one teeny, tiny thing…”

Why is he talking like that? You never pegged Jimin for someone that would struggle with dirty talk.

Your peak has been disturbed again, but you indulge him with a, “Anything, baby…”

“Anything?”

“Yeah…”

And then he lifts his head up to flash a wide, toothy grin at you from between your legs. His mouth is coated in your juices, eyes are dark, cheeks are rosy, but that smile? Is kinda creeping you out. You hesitantly swallow.

“Uh, Jimin, what—”

“Go out with Yoongi!”

What? “No!”

“Yes! I literally only agreed to do this with you to convince you to go out with him!” He’s pouting now, sitting between your legs shirtless, with his hands crossed.

What the fuck is going on…?

“What am I gonna tell him now?”

“He knows you’re here?”

“He’s right outside!” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he looks towards the door to the bedroom, and before you can stop him, he yells out, “Come in here, Yoongs!”

You shake your head vigorously, but can’t formulate any words. Something is lodged in your throat, and you keep mouthing the word no, but it just doesn’t fucking come out, no matter how much you repeat it –

No! No!

NO!

“Nooo~!”

You sit up in bed, ready to cover yourself up with a pillow, but – find yourself to be alone.

Where is Jimin? Are you… clothed? You’re still dripping wet, thought, but—

Hey, you remember going to bed alone. You’d gathered your bag from your car, grabbed some dinner, and slipped into this guest room that you have claimed as yours in Jimin’s house ever since he moved in. The last you saw of the guy was in the living room, sandwiched between two girls and somehow humping them both.

He never visited your room.

Does that mean you were having… a dream?

That was a fucking dream?

Jimin went down on you and then tried to convince you to date Yoongi in the middle of it? He called you sweetums? And used words like ‘teeny-tiny’?

What the fuck is wrong with your brain?

You collapse back onto the soft mattress of Jimin’s spare bedroom – that has basically been turned into your second address over the months – and cover your face with both your hands. You’ve got a presentation to give tomorrow morning and this is what your subconscious mind is thinking about?

The next meeting with your therapist is gonna be wild.

After the kind of evening and night you have had, the morning feels anticlimactic when your alarm shrills in your ear at six am. You barely got four hours of sleep and that too was riddled with dreams that you’d rather not try to recall.

You enter the kitchen, still in your pajamas, to find Jimin dressed in a formal shirt and pants, reading something on his tablet with a cup of coffee in his other hand. This feels so shockingly normal. Mundane, even.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Jimin laughs at your state, holding a fist out for you. “You look minutes away from death. Sleepless night?"

To say the least. “Morning,” you mumble in response, rubbing at an eye, and lazily drag your feet up to the guy to bump your fist against his.

"I left some coffee in the pot for you," he tells you with a smile.

He’s literally the best best friend in the world. You flash a dopey smile back at him, nodding in gratitude as you begin to move your feet again – but then your gaze really catches your best friend’s appearance. And decides to stay there for a while.

The white shirt Jimin has on is folded up to his elbows, and damn, his forearms have veins too? You never noticed before. His hair is styled away from his forehead, giving him a clean look that you can’t stop staring at. Has he always looked this good with his forehead on display? Has he always worn these hoops in his ears? You’re pretty sure he has. To both of those.

And yet you cannot stop looking at him in maniacal fascination, because scenes from that dumb fucking dream you had last night keep popping up in your head, uninvited. Ugh.

Jimin eventually notices your unhinged staring, glancing down at himself and then back up at you with a wary gaze. “Um, what?”

“What?”

“What’s with that look?” He puts his tablet aside. “You okay? Did I do something?”

You rest your chin on a palm and frown at him. “Kinda. I had a wet dream about you last night.”

Jimin spits coffee out his mouth and nostrils, sending the liquid spraying across the table. “What the—what?"

"I dreamt about you. It was sexual and—"

"You ever think – you ever think we need some filters between us?" His voice comes out high pitched. "What the hell, dude?"

“Unconditional friendships come with unfiltered confessions, shut the fuck up,” you murmur and finally move to pour yourself some coffee.

When you return to your seat across the breakfast table from him, Jimin is still staring at you, almost unblinkingly. You look at your mug and take a sip of the delicious brew, humming in satisfaction when the liquid immediately starts to supply the tired veins of your brain with some much needed energy. Which also makes you recall that Jimin’s hair was blonde in your dream. Damn. You haven’t seen him with that hair in so long.

This is when the said guy clears his throat. You look up to find him squinting at you, and narrow your eyes back at him. “What?”

“Did we have sex?”

Your face scrunches up in a scowl. “Why do you wanna know?”

“It’s my body, I wanna know what you imagined!” he states with his eyes widened and brows curved.

You groan at his words, shutting your eyes to shake your head. “Firstly, I didn’t imagine you naked, it was a dream. And secondly, I don’t even have to imagine because I already know what you look like, dude. You’ve given me a full-frontal numerous times in the past.”

Jimin gapes at your words. “Hey, the last time that happened was at least five years ago, when we all went skinny dipping. And everyone was high as a kite, I’m sure you remember nothing about my body!”

Drawing another sip from the warm drink, you blink at him. “What is your point?”

“Well, I–I’ve built way better thigh muscles and more pronounced abs, recently.” He frowns at his leg, knocking at the muscle near his knee. Then he looks up and grins at you. “Oh, and I also have an Adonis belt now!”

He looks so proud of himself for that, it’s as endearing as it is funny. You nod with a hum. “You’ve always had the Adonis belt, though.”

“Yeah, well, it’s more defined now.”

Your mug pauses near your mouth. Why the hell is he trying to endorse his muscles to you? As tempting as the mental imagery is, you put a firm lock on it and instead tilt your head at your best friend. “Jimin. Do you want me to see you naked?”

Removing his hands from his abdomen, he stares at you, wide-eyed, looking horrified. “What? No! What—”

“Then what the hell is this conversation? Why’re you bragging about your body to me when I just told you I had a wet dream about you?”

“I…” He trails off with a frown, looking into space. Then he nods at you with a grimace, one hand raised up in surrender. “I see your point.”

You shake your head with a snort, draining the rest of the mug. The clock on Jimin’s fridge tells you it’s twelve past seven. You step off the chair with a sigh. “Hey, I gotta get ready soon. You’ll drop me off?”

Jimin breaks out of his thoughts and looks at the clock above his shoulder. “If we leave in the next eighteen minutes.”

Nodding, you rush out of the kitchen. “I only need fifteen!”

links to be updated at a later date!

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danwhobrowses · 7 months

Text

One Piece Chapter 1095 - Initial Thoughts

We are back

and the big guns have come out to play

Luffy's down, Kizaru's down, Bonney's dangling off a demon And it's been 6 weeks since we last saw Nico Robin, we just want her back safe

TCB has been slow and tumblr's already showing panels so I had to use mangaspurs today, translations are a bit more wonky on that side so sorry if a bit of context is lost.

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release too

Another monkey thief cover page this time with Buggy's nose

Marines naturally panic, those who don't want the upper part of their face removed are heading for the hills in confusion

Those allowed to see are of course ready for action as Bonney has stabbed a Gorosei

Saturn however stops them 'If I didn't want to get stabbed I would've dodged'

Whatever Saturn is doing it seems to be sourced from his eyes, as he fires a projectile (still thinking Haki) to knock Bonney off and grab her

Sanji tries the same but he also gets headstruck

The sword wound heals as well when removed, as anticipated

The Vice Admirals circle Vegapunk and the pirates, but again Saturn wards them off, very confident about the situation

He also reprimands Kizaru for taking so long

Kizaru is conscious, but he admits that he cannot move, which Luffy all deflated and wrinkly understands, so I'd say that counts as Luffy defeating an Admiral

Saturn though quickly goes to stamp the life outta Luffy

Franky for the save with a Strong Right to get him out of trouble

Saturn exudes his confidence by reminding that even though Luffy and Bonney's appearances are unexpected, they are massively surrounded

I wouldn't challenge fate in finding a way to escape Saturn, there's a giant leaving its slumber...

He thanks Vegapunk for his contributions, but then asks him - in order of most painful - who he should kill first? As they want him to suffer for opposing the World Government

It seems like Saturn also has some kinda pressure that's keeping Sanji, Franky and Vegapunk from approaching him

Bonney however stares daggers at Saturn claiming he killed her father

Not only was Kuma a slave before, he was also apparently from a tribe that 'committed a great crime', the Buccaneer people

I'm guessing it's Buccaneer because they translate it like 3 different ways in this chapter

That knowledge has surprised Vegapunk, either he was sure they didn't know or he didn't know

Surrounded by Marines and held up by Saturn as he orders them to shoot her head, Bonney remembers the words of her father, words about his young desires to bring freedom, and be like the Sun God Nika

Sanji and Vegapunk protest her execution, but they're still held down

Bonney asking Kuma if Nika will set her free is telling too, was Bonney also once a slave?

Kuma Flashback Time, right into his birth in the Sorbet Kingdom 47 years ago

Nani? Gentle, caring parents who unconditionally love their child? I can hear the death bells already

It seems the father was known as Klap, Bartholomew Klap, and he had the Buccaneer blood passed down to Kuma

The WG seemed intent about erasing it since they had spies in the hospital when Kuma was born, who leaked the information

Naturally the dragons took Klap back as a slave, along with Kuma and his mother despite Klap's protests

Kuma was strong as a kid, but abused

While in slavery the mother did die, Klap had to tell Kuma so I'd guess the Dragons killed her

Klap also tells Kuma about Nika, the same way Kuma would tell Bonney

But that would be his last tale to tell, as the Dragons shoot him in front of Kuma for being 'too noisy'

38 years ago in the West Blue we skip ahead

The Celestial Dragons are literally culling people in a non-WG country, and they do it every 3 years!?

This time it's God Valley!

God Valley wasn't even a Celestial Dragon place, they just wanted its resources and are killing the natives...how colonial

The King of God Valley doth protest, and protest until his swift death

Young Figarland Garling is the culprit, he's popular with the ladies and seemed unfazed by getting deducted 10,000 points for killing someone before the start

This time they're also sending out problematic slaves into the cull

And Saturn was there, completely unchanged in age

This is the field we saw in Kuma's memory bubble with Bonney, he was trying to escape God Valley and was being dragged back

Someone from the top notices that Kuma has Buccaneer blood

Buccaneers apparently have giant's blood too, maybe furthering the whole theory of Joy Boy being a giant before

There's only one person in the world with a laugh like that though

Young Ivankov was a slave too, and had a sister, Jinny, who looks like she'd be Bonney's mother given her looks and the fact that she's already eating meat

And now a break? Oda c'mon man, that means it'll be at least 8 weeks since we last saw Nico Robin

Well it looks like we will be delving into that Kuma flashback after all.

Not much else to tell I don't think, good to verify that Kizaru is defeated, and that Saturn is more than just talk I mean he did floor Sanji with a glare.

Given the build up I feel like Luffy is gonna - pun intended - bounce back to save Bonney, since he is Nika, but then the Sleeping Giant may assist with the rest. I am still hoping that Franky can get some shine in this arc but not as hopeful. We didn't get any of Zoro vs Lucci either so unclear how that's going, it should've been over before this anyway.

The Kuma flashback is already hitting us with surprises though; God Valley didn't belong to the Celestial Dragons, but then what does that make of the incident? Ivankov and Kuma were there so will we see it? Roger and Garp had to defend the Celestial Dragons, but were they more defending the slaves the Dragons had already planned to slaughter? We also have to wonder how baby Shanks ended up in a treasure chest. The introduction of Jinny being potentially Bonney's mother adds more implications, since that'd mean that Bonney is also Ivankov's niece, unless the clone theory on Bonney is that Bonney is in fact a clone of Jinny raised as Kuma's daughter. There's also the matter of Buccaneer races, if Bonney is biologically Kuma's daughter shouldn't she have those genes too that the WG would wanna erase? A new chapter of questions has opened and unravelled.

But seriously where is Nico Robin???

#one piece #one piece spoilers #op spoilers #monkey d luffy #franky one piece #vinsmoke sanji #egghead island arc #egghead island #future island arc #dr vegapunk #jewelry bonney #bartholomew kuma #figarland garling #saint jay garcia saturn #gorosei #celestial dragons #emporio ivankov #sun god nika

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veritable-trash · 2 years

Text

You Know The Rules

look at that stupid slutty mustache... god please answer my prayers just this once

Pairing: Finnegan(Everybody Wants Some!!) x Fem!Reader

Summary: God you hate him.

Word Count: 2K

Rating: M - mainly for drugs babayyyyy, weed, that good, otherwise it's pretty clean in these sheets(this time around)

A/N: haha. no one asked for this. but listen! all my glen powell sloots we need to remember the original. sweet daddy finnegan. mustached, shaggy haired, 80s baseball player i mean i couldn't have written a sluttier man if i tried. this movie isn't the greatest, but the music is dope, the outfits are cute, and it serves as a public service announcement that men need to start wearing crop tops IMMEDIATELY. this is a petition for men to start dressing like sluts again so i can finally be at peace. anyways this is completely and utterly self serving but the glen powell top gun resurgence just kept reminding me that this is peak glen to me. give me mustaches or give me death!

sorry that i haven't written... or literally done anything of value in an eon. my brain has given up and also i moved and am currently unemployed and am about to go travel for three months and want to write but have zero inspiration and tumblr makes me sad because everyone is so good at writing and i am a troll under a bridge. this is me trying to release the need to produce things of "value" because does that even mean anymore? i hope someone finds this a little fun because honestly i kinda did :) hugs and kisses <;33333

tell me what you think! i'm literally begging! on my hands and knees! the desperation is palpable yeesh

masterlist yay yay!!!

~~~~~

College.

What a fucking heinous place. Filled with suffocating expectations, the constant need to pretend you’re someone you’re not because of everyone else’s supposed opinions of you.

It made you want to vomit.

And yet here you were, cowering in the corner of the kitchen at this stupid, lame, awful college party. A baseball party no less. Those absolute heathens. Probably the worst category of men on this campus by about 20 miles and you were definitely counting.

The joint you haphazardly rolled in the absolutely disgusting bathroom crackles between your lips as you try to tune out every single person here and catch the steady baseline of the song playing hoping that that will somehow lull you into a state of calm.

This new weed sucked shit. All stems, all seeds, and got you high for about 30 seconds. You were going to kill Willoughby when you saw him. Honestly the only baseball player in this house you liked and even he was about to get moved right onto the shit list with the rest of the men of this house.

Your friends had badgered you endlessly all week to ask Willoughby for the invite, not that you really need to even ask him. Girls? More than one? The baseball boys were already salivating like it was their last meal on death row.

The standards in this place were in the fucking basement.

Some would call you a pessimist. Angry, bitchy, snippy, negative, the whole gambit and they might be right. But college was a fucking weird ass place that made your skin crawl and your anxiety spike and all you wanted to do was smoke your green, pass your classes, and watch your cartoons in peace, please and thank you.

And then his voice cut through your slow building haze like a serrated knife on a chalkboard. Made of sandpaper.

“Sweetheart! I thought Willoughby mentioned you’d be here, and why am I not surprised you’re toking it up alone in our kitchen, my favorite little stoner weirdo.”

Finnegan.

The absolute ultimate fuck.

Mustached, wide shoulders, shaggy blonde, crisp baby blues, he was everything your vagina yearned for until he opened his stupid mouth. And of course that was just as pretty as the rest of him too.

You’d met him for the first time freshman year. Fresh faced and thinking the world was truly your oyster, he’d popped into your life in intro to philosophy and swept you away with his silky, fancy words and the fact that he looked like that.

He’d invited you to the first baseball party you’d ever gone to and made you a special promise that he would be your knight in shining armor for the night. That he’d be waiting for your arrival, was counting down the minutes till you showed up at his door and he could dance the night away with you.

That was until you saw him sucking face with Tracy. Who was also in your intro to philosophy class.

Obviously, you’d hated him to his core ever since.

But for some reason he’d stuck around. Always kept tabs on you, always had a class with you, always found you at any party, bar, disco, literally fucking anywhere and it made you want to tear your hair out.

He was your pretty boy kryptonite and you needed him to leave you the fuck alone.

“Oh Finny. Finny, Finnegan, fuckhead. You know I thought I’d somehow be able to avoid you tonight but it seems like my stalker persists no matter the obstacles.”

Smoke trickles from between your clenched teeth and he has the audacity to stare at your lips and grin.

Fucking grin!!!

“You wound me princess. Ain’t even gonna share that little pinner of yours, I mean the absolute cruelty of it all.”

The grins still blazing on his lips but in Finn fashion he has to play up his part.

Clutching at his pearls, leaning against the kitchen counter like you’d just stabbed him straight through. Your eyes roll so far back in your head they almost launch themselves out of your skull.

“No Finn, I’m not gonna share with the likes of you. Go find Will and get him to roll you one, he’s the one I got the weed from anyways. Or maybe go find some other poor unsuspecting girl to do the deed for you, but you ain’t getting shit from me. You know the rules sweet Finny: ass, cash, or grass and god only knows I ain’t taking any of those three from you.”

You regret those last few words the second they enter the air between you.

Because Finnegan’s eyes drop straight to your mouth again and now he’s crowding you into the corner of the counter.

“Oh sweetheart if you just let me show you what this ass can do I think you would be singing quite a different tune. You think I’m all bravado and show but you and I both know the two of us could be quite a duo. I just know you’re absolutely unreal beneath that veneer of hatred you slap on.”

He’s still staring at your lips, the joint hanging limply between them as you try and control your breath and not cough up a lung.

Two can play this fucking game.

You take a thick drag, the tip burning bright orange and crackling like cinders and his eyes only deepen in shade. The smoke curls out and up into your nose and he stares at you his jaw dropping a little slack as you play him like the fucking fiddle he is.

“Finn.” Your index finger trails up his arm as you ash the joint in the sink, and you can feel the muscles of his bicep twitch with the contact. “If you think I’m gonna let you touch me you’ve lost your god damn mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find some peace and quiet. Away from you.”

Your voice is sticky sweet and he barely registers that you’re telling him off for the millionth time tonight until you’re traipsing out of the kitchen at lightning speed before you do something else you’ll regret.

He got too fucking close this time around. You let him get too fucking close.

Your feet stomp quick up the stairs to the only safe place you’d ever been able to find in this house.

The roof. That blissful open space, like the crispest breath of fresh air it tasted almost minty. Your hands dig into your pockets looking for your weed, your lighter, and your rolling papers-

Fuck.

Of course you’d forgotten papers, predicable as always and fucking annoying as hell and you’re about to turn back down the stairs when your eyes land on something sitting on the windowsill.

Finn’s wood pipe.

You loved to hate it but it was his calling card. Stupid and quirky and so perfectly him that the sight of it made you heart twist just a little.

Not that you would ever fucking admit that.

Well beggars can’t be chooser as they say.

It’s deceptively crisp out on the roof as you shuffle around other groups till you get to your super secret corner on the far side of the house. No one ever seems to want to venture this far and you could smoke in peace and tranquility as the rest of the party raged somewhere far, far away.

The bowls packed, green just catching a smolder and you have to admit the stupid Sherlock Holmes pipe is kinda fun. Maybe you’d leave a fresh bowl packed for sweet Finn as a secret thank you gift.

Maybe this weed was stronger than you thought.

“Alrighty first you don’t share your joint, then you verbally assault me in my own house, and now you’re smoking out of my pipe? You really are trying to start a fight with me this evening now aren’t ya?”

Your eyes are red rimmed and your brain has that pleasant haze coating every synapse and you can’t find it in you anymore to really fight Finn right now. The stars look too damn good and the tree has hit too damn deep to let your hackles rise.

“You know maybe I’ve been giving you a bit of a hard time, but you damn well deserve it.” You smile around the pipe as you take another drag, but this time you pass it to Finn as he sits down just a little closer than usual.

His fingers snag against yours as you pass it and you both flinch a bit at the contact, sparkles zipping up your arms.

He stays quiet this time around, pulling puffs as you both watch people flit around the grass below you, the party continuing into this seemingly never ending night.

Friday’s, they really were something.

Your knees knock, fingers catching again as he passes the pipe back to you. Another pull fills your lungs and you lean back, back, back until your back presses down on the cool paneling of the roof and you let the smoke drift up and away among those pretty little stars.

“Finn you can just be so fucking annoying sometimes, I just wanna shut you up for like five seconds so we can all take a fucking breather.”

He laughs at that. Real and deep, curling around the base of your spine as he turns to stare down at you and the feeling spreads all the way to your fingertips. All the way to your toes.

“I’m well aware, but it’s sorta a part of my charm. I’m just waiting for it to final start charming you.”

Your eyes click to his, haze lifting for a split moment, and his eyes twinkle almost brighter than the stars.

“That’s such a fucking line and you know that shit doesn’t work on me. Fool me once and all of that jazz.” But you can’t stop staring at him and now his eyes color puzzled, a little hazy as he tries to decipher your words. “Oh come on, freshman year? You invited me to the party with all your fancy little words that you love to spin for me to only find you eating Tracy’s lips straight off her face? Honestly she still talks about that night to this day so I guess in a weird way kudos to you but man that did sting a bit.”

You chuckle around another pull and you go to pass it back but he’s clearly no longer interested in that. He seems very intent on memorizing every detail of your face under the stars and you can’t help but wiggle a little under his hyper focused gaze.

“I-I didn’t know that you were there that night. McReynolds told me you’d left with some dude and Tracy was more than willing to fill in that blank.”

Oh fuck.

You’re both just staring at each other as moment after moment click like puzzles pieces. Every snippy comment, every lingering glance, every class, every time you just happened to run into each other all no longer strange coincidences and some secret hatred. Every little moment stitching itself together till it left just you and Finn.

And there’s that fucking grin again.

But it’s softer this time, a little less sleazy and a little more lovely and now you’re sure his eyes are brighter than any star.

Your own lips tick up with a soft, nervous smile.

His fingers card between yours and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, stupid mustache tickling your skin in ways that make you shiver.

“I feel like nows the time to return to my earlier question since you finally shared some of that green with me, so what do I owe ya? Ass, cash, or more grass?”

You snort into the air between you and his grin splits into a megawatt smile and you finally let yourself tumble head first into kissing stupid, idiot, fuckhead Finnegan.

“Ass, 100%.”

~~~~~

tell me what you think if anyone is actually reading this because i'm bored and this site is lonely and i just want some weirdo friends who also think mustaches are peak sexiness. alright i need to go to sleep the psychosis is taking over :P

#finnegan x reader #finnegan #glen powell #glen powell fanfiction #everybody wants some #walt finnegan #walt finn finnegan #everybody wants some!!#finnegan x you #walt finnegan x reader #walt finnegan x you #jake seresin x you #and yes i am faking you top gun bitches out because you need to convert #to the church of glen powell with a stache and scruffy hair #this is the way #everybody wants some fanfiction #i don't even know what else to tag nobody is looking for this shit this is literally just for me

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 2 years

Text

Whispers of a Ghost

Summary: You were Billy Hargrove's twin sister.

After recently being released from jail for a crime you didn't commit, your family moves to Hawkins wanting a fresh start.

However, you never imagined that your fresh start would involve monsters and alternate dimensions. But, the most surprising thing of all was finding yourself falling for popular, rich boy, Steve Harrington.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: implied reference to sexual assault, ptsd, nightmares

Previous Chapter

Chapter 5-

That night as you laid in bed, you found yourself thinking about Steve Harrington.

He was different from most the guys you've met. In a good way.

Steve was cute, and funny, and had a heart of gold. He was also a little cocky too, like, he knew how attractive he was, and he might not be the smartest guy in Hawkins, but he was a sweetheart and you liked him.

You had literally just met, but you really liked him. What was wrong with you?

Eventually, you must have managed to fall asleep, but it didn't last very long. The next thing you knew, you were waking up screaming. Cold sweat was clinging to your body, and you frantically sat up in utter panic.

A second later, your bedroom door slammed open, and Billy rushed inside with a knife in his hand.

He looked around your room for any signs of danger, but it only took one glance at you for him to realise what happened. He lowered the knife, dropping it on your dresser before he rushed across the room to your side.

He was talking. His lips were moving and you knew he was trying to talk, but you couldn't hear anything above the blood rushing in your ears.

You were safe. You were in your own room, not at the party with those guys back in California. You were safe, but you couldn't stop your body from shaking and it wasn't until you felt the coolness of tears trickling down your face that you realised you were crying.

Billy's hands hovered over your own, hesitant to touch you, not wanting to scare or hurt you. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to take in a couple deep breaths trying to calm yourself down.

"You're safe. Y/N, you're safe. It's okay. Nobody is going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise." Billy whispered over and over again, until your breathing slowly started to even out. "You with me, sis?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice in the slightest as you buried your face with your hands and let out a shaky breath.

"Is she okay?" You heard Max ask from the doorway, her voice so small and concerned, it broke your heart.

"Yeah, she just had a bad dream. Go back to bed, Maxine, I got her."

To your relief, Max actually listened to her step-brother and left the room, not commenting about Billy using her proper name like she usually would and instead left him kneeling beside your bed watching you worriedly.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, barely recognising your own voice.

Billy shook his head, reaching out and resting his hand on your arm causing you to flinch at the touch and he quickly let go.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. I'm sorry." You replied, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"No, don't apologise. You have nothing to apologise for." He said softly, resting his hand back down on your arm and squeezing it gently. "You okay?"

You nodded, but it was clear Billy knew that was total bullshit. He didn't call you out on it though, but you knew he wanted to.

"It's been- it's been over a year... I should be fine and I thought I was. It's been weeks since I last had a nightmare about it, but..." You trailed off, staring at the wall opposite you, not wanting to see the pity in your twins’ eyes.

"But I wouldn't stop punching Harrington and it reminded you of that night." He said, finishing what you had been trying to say and you nodded causing Billy to sigh, running his fingers through his hair. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to trigger this or-"

"It's not your fault."

Billy raised his eyebrow, "it kinda is my fault."

"The Harrington thing, yeah. You shouldn't have done that to, Steve. But, that night last year, if you didn't come in when you did... I don't even want to think about what would've happened." You admitted.

Billy nodded, his jaw clenched as he thought back to that night before shaking his head, getting rid of that memory.

"I'm wide awake now. Do you wanna come watch some tv or something?" He suggested, standing up from beside your bed as you nodded.

"Well, I'm definitely not sleeping anytime soon, so yeah."

It had been a month since that nightmare and to your relief, you hadn't had another that bad since. But, it had activated Billy's protective big brother mode.

Billy had always been protective over you, but now it was just a whole new level and it was driving you crazy.

Billy was graduating in a few weeks, but you never bothered going back to school after you got released and it wasn't like your father gave a shit about it either.

"Keys." You said, holding your hand out towards Billy. "Hey, you told me I could drive it tonight."

He sighed before tossing you the Camaro keys which you caught with one hand and grinned.

"If I find a scratch on her-" He started to warn before you rolled your eyes.

"Relax, I'm just driving to the school and then back home."

Billy opened his mouth to argue, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat when Max walked around the corner in her Snow Ball dress with Susan trailing behind with a bright smile.

"Holy shit, you look stunning." You gasped, taking in the gorgeous purple dress she was wearing.

Max didn't look happy though and squirmed a little in the dress.

"C'mon, I wanna get a photo of the three of you together." Susan said, pulling out her camera.

Billy grumbled from beside you and you elbowed him in the stomach before wrapping your arm around his shoulders. Max walked over to the two of you and you wrapped your free arm around her too.

"Smile or I swear to God, I'm gonna chip the paint work." You threatened softly, leaning towards your brother.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He sighed before turning back to Susan and smiled brightly for the camera as she counted down and took the photo.

"I hate this stupid dress." Max muttered under her breath.

Max was far from a girly girl and although you thought she looked beautiful, it was clear that she wasn't happy or comfortable wearing a dress.

You quickly ducked into your bedroom, grabbing clothes from your cupboard and shoving them into a bag before you called out to Max that it was time to go, and you both walked out the house.

"My lady." You said dramatically, opening the passenger door of the Camaro for her causing Max to roll her eyes as she climbed inside.

"I look ridiculous." She commented once you pulled out the driveway and started driving down the road. "I hate dresses, but mum made me wear it."

"Ridiculous? No way, you look amazing." You responded, glancing over at her before reaching back behind you and pulling out the bag of clothes you grabbed. "But, if you want. I grabbed some of my old clothes that might fit you. Some nice shirts and pants if you don't want to wear a dress."

Her blue eyes lit up as she took the bag and started to go through the clothes.

You kept your eyes on the road while Max undid her seatbelt and got changed from her dress and into a nice-looking long sleeve shirt and pants.

"Isn't it going to be weird wearing this and not a dress? All the other girls will be wearing dresses and-"

You glanced over at her, taking in the new outfit with a smile.

"Screw all the other girls. You look amazing! Man, Lucas is going to fall out of his chair when he sees you."

That caused Max to smile softly as she fiddled with her hair nervously. "You really think so?"

"Oh, I know so." You replied, glancing over at her with a reassuring smile. "How about a little bit of music for the drive?"

Max nodded as you pressed play and your brothers rock music started to blast through the speakers. The two of you jammed out to Metallica in the car all the way to school before you pulled up to the front of the gym where the ball was being held.

"You're still picking me up, right?" She asked, climbing out the car.

"Of course. Now, go knock 'em dead." You said over the music causing Max to smile before she closed the car door and walked towards the hall.

You sat in the car and watched her disappear inside when suddenly someone knocked on your window, startling the absolute shit out of you. You jumped only to find Steve fucking Harrington standing by your car door.

He had the audacity to look guilty as you glared at him before lowering the music and rolling the window down.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in confusion, and he pointed at something over his shoulder and you looked past him to find Dustin walking into the gym. "Aww you're such a mother to these kids."

Steve huffed out a soft chuckle as you turned the car off and climbed out, adjusting your leather jacket and leaning your back against the door.

"How are you doing? I mean, finding out about, well, everything, wouldn't have been easy." He said, leaning against the car beside you as you both stared at the gym, watching all the kids go inside.

"Let’s just say I've been sleeping with the Chief's gun under my pillow ever since." You replied causing Steve's eyes to widen.

"You still have his gun?"

You held your hands up in defence, "hey, he never asked for it back. That's his fault."

If you were being honest, you probably should drop by the station and give it back to him. But knowing what you did now about the Upside Down, you wanted that gun with you. Sure, the gate was closed, but knowing that it existed, it was enough to make you wary.

"Speaking of the devil."

Steve was looking at something to the left and you followed his line of sight to find the Chief standing by his car with Joyce watching El walk into the hall. You looked back at Steve who was already looking at you and the two of you burst out laughing.

"You think he'll see me and remember I have his gun?" You asked quietly, glancing back at the Chief. "Wait, I thought he said El wasn't allowed out yet? It wasn't safe."

"I guess a couple hours out won't hurt." Steve shrugged.

The two of you fell into comfortable silence for a few minutes as you watched the Ball through the large glass doors, and you smiled softly when you spotted Max dancing with Lucas.

"I haven't seen you since we fought those demo-dogs. I thought I would've seen you at school with Billy." He suddenly said, breaking the silence.

"There was no point going back to school for just a semester. If I'm being honest, I didn't want to be confronted with the entire school staring at me and asking jail questions. I got enough of that from those kids let alone a whole school."

Steve nodded in understanding before looking back at the Ball, but you could tell he wanted to ask about it. When you first met him, he hadn't bought the topic up even though he definitely knew about it. Even after the kids started talking about it, Steve never did. Hell, he even stopped the kids from asking so many questions.

Most people would ask, not caring how uncomfortable it made the person because they were too curious, but not Steve.

"I'm surprised Billy let you take his car. I've seen you drive, I wouldn't want you taking my baby for a spin." Steve suddenly said, changing the topic like he somehow knew what you were thinking.

Your jaw dropped at the joke before you bumped shoulders with him softly and you both laughed.

"My driving isn't that bad."

"You were driving so fast on the way to the tunnels. I thought we were going to die." He said dramatically, using his hands to empathises his point.

"Well, it's hard to concentrate with someone screaming like a little girl in the backseat."

"I think that's an offence to little girls." He chuckled causing you to snort softly. "Also remind me to never get on your bad side by the way. You were a badass that day."

"Don't worry, your face is too pretty to punch. But, if you annoy me, I might put the Chiefs gun to use." You joked causing Steve to laugh before he quickly stopped and looked at you in surprise.

"Wait, did you just call me pretty?"

"I also threatened to shoot you, but sure, focus on that part." You said, rolling your eyes and looking away from him, feeling the tips of your ears turning pink.

"You think I'm pretty." He said, a proud grin forming across his face.

"Don't let it go to your head, Harrington."

"Too late." He responded, still smiling as he stared at you. "We got like two-three hours before these little shits need a ride home, wanna get out of here?"

You had no idea what Steve had in mind, but anything would be better than going back home, so you nodded.

"Sure, I'll drive." You said with a grin, but Steve shook his head.

"Not a chance, Hargrove. My cars parked around back."

You left the Camaro at the school and climbed into Steve's Beemer as he looked over at you. "You ever been to Skull Rock?"

"Nope, but if it's not a rock shaped like a skull then I'll be disappointed."

Steve snorted, "it's a little walk from the main road. You cool with going for a stroll through the woods?"

The thought of going for a walk through the woods after what you now knew wasn't comforting. But, the gate was closed, there were no more monsters. It would be fine, right?

"It's dark and the middle of the night, so yeah, what could go wrong?" You responded sarcastically causing Steve to roll his eyes.

"I have flashlights in the back, it'll be fine."

You nodded, trusting him blindly as he turned the key in the ignition and bought the car to life. A second later, Bohemian Rhapsody started to blast through the speakers causing Steve to frantically reach forward and turn down the dial.

"Queen, really?" You asked raising your eyebrow in amusement.

"Oh, come on, Queen are great! Let me guess you listen to that same shit your brother does? The heavy metal where they just scream and you can't even understand the lyrics?"

"Hey, don't diss rock music." You responded, whacking his shoulder playfully.

Steve laughed softly as he drove down the road and it didn't take long before he pulled over, grabbing the two flashlights from the back before climbing out.

He handed you one of the flashlights before the two of you started to walk through the woods.

It was a little eerie trekking through the woods in the dark. The full moon above you was shining through the treetops which helped a little, but you still couldn't help but feel a little nervous about this.

You'd feel better if you had the Chief's gun with you. The only thing you had was the pocketknife in your jeans pocket that you never left the house without, but a small knife was not exactly reassuring.

"You know, if you plan on, like, murdering me, it would've been easier to do it in the car rather than walking all this way." You said, breaking the silence as you followed him.

Steve quickly stopped in his tracks and turned towards you with wide panicked eyes, "that's not what I'm doing-"

"Harrington, relax. I'm messing with you."

"Oh, that's a relief then. If you want to go back, we can." He replied, motioning back the way you came.

"Hell no. I wanna see this rock!" You exclaimed, walking past him to prove a point before stopping. "I have no idea which direction I'm walking. Lead the way."

Steve smiled before pointing his thumb to the left and you continued walking.

It only took a few more minutes before you reached a clearing in the middle of the woods and even without the torches pointed at it, you could see the large rocks under the moonlight. One of them shaped exactly like a giant skull.

"Ha! I knew it was gonna be a giant rock shaped like a skull." You said, pointing your flashlight up at it.

"It's literally in the name, don't give yourself too much credit." Steve commented sarcastically causing you to roll your eyes.

"Fuck off."

There was no heat in your voice though as you walked past Steve towards the giant rock. How were there these random boulders in the middle of the woods? Better yet, how did Steve even know it was here?

"It's cool, right? I remember the first time I came out here."

You lifted your hand against the side of the rock, shocked with how smooth it was before you turned around to find Steve now standing beside you.

"It's very random, but yeah, it's pretty cool." You replied, glancing around realising just how alone the two of you were. "What are we going to do for the next hour?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders and rested his hand against the rock beside you, leaning closer. "I can think of a few things."

Butterflies started to flutter in your stomach as you stared into those beautiful brown eyes that were shining under the moonlight.

He wasn't implying what you thought he was implying, right? Popular, handsome, rich boy, Steve Harrington wouldn't be implying that with you... right?

"Steve..."

There was no end to your sentence as he glanced down at your lips before his eyes locked with yours.

"If I'm reading this wrong then tell me to stop."

That was all he said before he leant forward and captured your lips with his.

Steve Harrington was kissing you.

He was actually kissing you. Holy shit.

You froze for a split second before you started to kiss him back. His hands cupping the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours both of you breathing heavily.

"You take all the girls here to make out?"

"Only the special ones." He whispered breathlessly before he leant forward and started to kiss you again.

You stumbled back a step as he kissed you, your back hitting the rock behind you as you continued to kiss him.

He rested one hand against the rock beside your head stabilising the both of you, the other still on the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he kissed you tenderly.

"You're beautiful." He whispered against your lips.

You could feel your cheeks starting to blush at the compliment. Suddenly wishing the moonlight wasn't lighting everything up before Steve pulled away and threw his red jumper to the ground and suddenly you were grateful for the moonlight again.

He kissed you again before he unzipped your leather jacket slowly, giving you a chance to tell him to stop, but you remained silent and helped him get your jacket off, leaving you in your jeans and tank top.

Steve's eyes glanced down taking in your body and you quickly realised that he had never seen you without the jacket on. Suddenly, you started to feel a little self-conscious.

His ex had the perfect body and you knew you were far from perfect, especially compared to Nancy Wheeler.

"God, you're stunning." He said, his eyes raking over your body before he started to kiss you again.

Your hands went to his hips, pulling him closer, his chest practically against yours.

Steve made a soft moan of pleasure against your lips at the contact and continued to kiss you before he lowered his hand from your cheek to your neck and your body instantly turned tense.

Memories of that party in California flashed through your mind as Steve's hand held your neck while he kissed you.

Suddenly it felt like you were back at that party. Back in that bedroom. Back on that bed with those drunk guys. Back with that man on top of you, pinning you to the bed.

The others were all laughing, getting off on the sight before them while the guy held you down, his hand wrapped tight enough around your throat to bruise.

You remembered being so scared. So terrified. You had tried to get them to stop, you had tried to tell them to stop, but they didn't listen.

"Y/N?"

Suddenly the hand was gone from your neck. You blinked away the tears that you didn't even realise had started to rise in your eyes to find a very panicked looking Steve standing in front of you.

"Y/N? What's wrong?"

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you stared at him, your hands now trembling by your side.

You silently told yourself to toughen up. You were fine. It was just Steve. You weren't back at that party. You were safe, but you couldn't get yourself to move or say anything.

"Hey, Y/N, can you hear me?"

You felt yourself nod at the question because you could hear him. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that you couldn't stop thinking about it, you couldn't stop imagining it. The memories washing over you in endless waves.

"Y/N-" Steve reached out for you, but quickly removed his hand when you violently flinched. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

You lowered your head, staring at the ground, your eyes barely blinking and heart beating too fast as you tried to steady your breathing.

"Did I do something? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, refusing to look at him, hating the worried tone to Steve's voice as tears burned in the back of your eyes.

"Y/N, please, you're starting to scare me. What's wrong?" He asked his voice coming out a lot softer as he went to lift his hand, but thought better of it and lowered it. "Hey, talk to me. Please."

You lifted your head and met Steve's concerned eyes for a second before averting your gaze and rubbing your face with the palm of your hands, hating how much you were shaking.

"I-I, uh, shit." You sighed, not knowing how to tell him. "When you... when you put your hand on my neck, I sorta- I sorta... I don't know, had a flashback or... I don't know what it was." You quickly explained, thinking it would be easier to get it out as fast as possible, but it wasn't.

"A flashback?" Steve asked in confusion.

"Back in California... I, uh, I went to a party. It was stupid. I shouldn't have went. Billy warned me not too. He knew that crowd was bad, but I went anyway." You said, inhaling sharply as you stared at the ground. "A group of guys took a liking to me... I was drunk. I didn't really know what was happening. The next thing I knew, they had me in a bedroom and were pinning me to the bed and..."

You didn't finish your sentence, you didn't have to. Steve's face had turned pale, his eyes widening. He wasn't stupid, he had figured out what you were trying to say.

Your voice had turned shaky as you continued to talk because you knew if you stopped now, you wouldn't say it at all.

"Billy realised I snuck out the house. I don't know how... but, he found me. He burst into the bedroom and-and saw what was happening and completely lost it. He grabbed the guy on me and threw him into the wall, beat the shit out of him. The other guys tried to stop him, one guy got him in a headlock so, I-I hit him in the back of the head with a golf club that I found beside the bed. It split his head open, knocked him out and Billy took care of the rest... I-I thought he was going to kill them. He just kept punching them and punching them and... I had to stop him because he would have killed them. Then the cops showed due to a noise complain from the music. Billy and I were in the bedroom with three unconscious men, two beaten to a pulp and the other bleeding heavily from his head... it was bad. I told Billy to leave, he would've got arrested on the spot for it. He didn't want to leave though, I begged him to and said I'd tell the cops it was self-defence, but I think we both knew it wouldn't cut it for self-defence..."

Silent tears were falling down your face as you spoke and Steve stood there silently listening to every word before realisation washed over him.

"That's why you were in jail."

It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer, so you just nodded.

"That-that's why I freaked out when you grabbed my neck... it's what they did." You added softly, still refusing to look at him.

"God, I'm so sorry." He apologised. "If I had known, I wouldn't-"

"It's okay." You quickly said, wiping the tears from your face. "You didn't know... nobody knows, except for Billy."

Steve nodded in understanding, but seemed unsure of what to do now.

"I'm sorry. This was perfect and then I just ruined it." You mumbled, lowering yourself to the ground, your back against the rock as you hugged your knees to your chest.

"Hey, that's not true."

You lifted your head and gave him a look, I did ruin it.

Steve sighed and sat down beside you, leaving a small gap between you as he rested his head back against the rock.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that." He said after a few minutes of silence. "Next time, I promise I won't touch your neck."

Next time?

He still wanted to hook up with you even after what just happened? Why?

"Of course, I do." He answered and you realised that you must have said that out loud. "I mean, if you want too obviously. If you don't, that's cool. I'm not gonna, like, force you or anything. I might be an asshole sometimes, but I'm not like that."

"I don't think you're an asshole." You replied, tilting your head towards him.

"If you met me a year ago, you definitely would."

"Maybe. But my brother can be an asshole sometimes and I still like him. So, you got nothing to worry about, Harrington."

Steve chuckled softly at that, shaking his head.

"You're so similar to Billy, yet polar opposites at the same time. I mean, you are both literally the only people who call me, Harrington."

"What do you want me to call you?" You asked, thinking maybe he didn't like it.

Steve shrugged his shoulders, "I don't mind it. Just reminds me of Billy every time you say it."

You made a disgusted face causing Steve to snort, "well, we don't want you thinking about Billy around me. You'd never kiss me again otherwise."

"Oh, I don't know. Your brother is a rather attractive guy." Steve joked causing you to laugh as you bumped your shoulder into his playfully. "What? We have gym together. It's not my fault that Billy is, like, allergic to wearing shirts or something."

You snorted softly and glanced back at Steve who was laughing at himself and you smiled.

Laughing looked good on him.

"We still have some time to kill before the kids need chauffeuring. There's a McDonalds just outta town and I'd kill for one of their soft serves. Wanna come for a drive?" He asked once he finally stopped laughing.

You knew he was trying to distract you from what just happened and you smiled softly with a nod.

"That's if the ice-cream machine isn't broken."

"Oh, don't even joke about that. It better be working." He said seriously causing you to chuckle.

Steve jumped to his feet and held his hand out towards you which you took, allowing him to help you up before he grabbed his jumper and your jacket from the ground.

He draped your jacket back over your shoulders and picked up the flashlights you didn't even realise had been dropped before the two of you started to walk back through the woods.

"Hey, Steve?"

He glanced over at you as you reached his car, pausing by his door and looking over the roof at you.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He smiled softly, "anytime."

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

Next Chapter

A/N- Well Vol 2 seriously fucked me up.

Not going to say any spoilers, but I am still trying to recover and can't stop crying every time I think about certain parts... like I literally cannot stop thinking about it.

Anyway, this fic will eventually reach the events of season 4 so just a fair warning there will be major S4 spoilers in future chapters.

I hope you are all still enjoying this fic and I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below, until next time stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

#steve harrington #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove #eddie munson #joe keery #dacre montgomery #joseph quinn

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authoroftwwm · 8 months

Text

AAAAAAAAAAAAA BRO I NEED IT

tl;dr is that Professor layton helped w trauma, listed is the journey through the games and future hype for PLWoS

So, I recently got into professor layton (a year ago, to be specific) and I must say, It has helped me SO FUCKIN MUCH WITH SO MUCH TRAUMA--

I have schizoeffective disorder. I have severe PTSD from years of mental and physical abuse from my parents. I have ADHD and may also be autistic, getting tested at 25 years is difficult.

When I started Professor Layton, I decided to play in release order--"I want to experience what long time fans experienced." I felt it would be more genuine. So, I downloaded an emulator (yeah i know, bad Vero) and started to play. I wrote down my reactions to each game after i beat them:

PLCB: THIS MAN GOT CHASED BY A FERRIS WHEEL!!!! THATS COOL AF! It was a really fun game, cool story with neat puzzles tHaT wErE hArD aF (i was kind of nonchalant about the games, just getting into them)

PLPB: ayo he got a box OH WAIT HE DED--i enjoyed the gameplay and watching the bad guy be the bad guy. interesting sequel, hopefully luke stays with the professor a long time lol (I jinxed it lol, also felt a bit more connected to Luke as a character and his admiration for Hershel)

(I took a long break after this one due to college lol but now i just play after my homework is done)

PLLF: I didnt write anything after this one. i just sat in silence for about a week, and I didnt eat for a few days. This was when my foster dad died, and i felt strangely as if i had healed a lot. After that week. I guess I just kinda took the time to process the loss of someone who i consider my true father. It was at this point I realized that playing the games had helped. I also didnt mentally process that luke left the professor lol until i watched someones playthrough of the last part of the game again

PLSC: BRO ITS LUKE AGAIN BUT HES YOUNGER AND HAS TRUST ISSUES WTF ITS MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE except luke didnt go through massive trauma (unless you count the ghost stuff and the witch stuff and the house stuff as trauma) yeah i like it very good

PLMM: RANDALL IS WAY TOO FUCKIN HOT FOR MY LIKING I JUST NNNNNGGGUHHUHUHUH also SIBLING BINDING WOOOOOOOOOOO

I am currently playing through Azran Legacy, and I must say it lives up to the hype. Havent reached the ending tho so im trying to not run into spoilers. also I know descole is sycamore im not dumb THEY LITERALLY LOOK ALIKE AND THE BUTLER IS THE SAME WTF if theyre not the same person im gonna spazzzzzzzz

All in all, I plan on figuring out how to a b s o r b all the content from the spin offs (in order to do this i also want to play all the phoenix wright games, wish me luck lol) and will eventually get the Katrielle game.

I have a lot to do in preparation for New World of Steam! I hope im able to do it in time, and also that its just as good as the previous games. I know Quizknock will do a good job, its just whether i will enjoy it or not.

Thank you for reading, sorry for the long post; i have no potatoes to offer but nevertheless have a good day~!

-Vero

#professor layton #new world of steam #pl nwos #hershel layton #he isnt my savior but MY GOD I GOT SO ATTATCHED TO THE SERIES #rant post #self healing #self love #healingjourney #rip dad i miss you and love you #i wish i couldve said goodbye but i know youre doing alright #nintendo #nintendo switch #ill be okay #tldr #puzzle games

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bklynmusicnerd · 6 months

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I love Sprina so much. I just really need them to address that literally almost everyone is Spencer’s orbit has emotionally or physically traumatized Trina. From Esme to Victor to Cyrus. And Laura occasionally facilitates it? I loathe Trina’s narcissistic boundary-less momma, but I’m starting to understand her point. Trina keeps getting retraumatized almost every week and has to suck it up. I wish someone on the show would acknowledge that. Maybe only Ava understands it. But SOMEONE, my lawd!

I actually think from the post-nyc "five year plan" discussion to the Cyrus confrontation, and now this last, blowout fight, this element of their dynamic is being addressed because it's at the core of Trina's perspective. I love your use of the word "retraumatized" to describe Trina's experience in this whole demon spawn situation because that's exactly what happened.

She watched Spencer become a team again with the girl who drugged and framed her. And she forced herself to grin and smile through all of it and pretend to be okay because that's what Spencer and his family needed from her. This is why she has concerns about him switching up on her when it comes to Cyrus too.

While Spencer was blissfully hiding from his daddy issues, Trina was put back in the mental space of being the girl walking into a trap that almost destroyed her life while trying to support a guy who barely supported her in return. This is why I'm kind of defensive of Trina's "finally" that pissed Spencer off. Yes, it was insensitive. It was also a completely human moment for a girl who, up until that point, put herself to unreasonably high "understanding girlfriend" standards.

I would honestly describe Trina in this relationship, from the moment that sociopathic mooch moves into Laura's, as holding her breath. She's enduring. But between all the milestones they experience in the NYC trip and being retraumatized by Cyrus' release, I think that "finally" is an example of her losing her martyr resolve and just letting go. Letting herself breathe and be human and be relieved at the idea of having one less trigger perpetually in her orbit. She just did not have it in her to be the perfect support system to Spencer in that moment.

She's been sacrificing to be the perfect support system to Spencer all year. Spencer got used to her being the fixer, but Trina is in self-preservation mode over all the reminders of her being endangered surrounding their relationship. And he's still asking her for more and honestly, for indefinite sacrifice or else. It's all very absurd and trauma-based on his end as well.

The one thing I will push back on in your q is the idea that Trina "has to suck it up". That's what Trina convinces herself, that it's always her obligation to endure for the betterment of the people around her. That it's her obligation to keep her pain as quiet as possible so as to not be a burden. That she needs to be the one to "fix" things. But uh, that's not actually true. That's her savior complex talking and it's her character flaw. People admire her for it, but it's a self-destructive behavior. She never has to do any of it. It's a choice she makes. It's her (kinda unhealthy) way of expressing she cares.

And on the Portia having a point end, that is why I was disappointed by the decision to have Portia be one of the props for the sociopathic mooch. There was something really compelling about Portia being hypocritical, judgmental, manipulative, toxic, and yet still not entirely wrong about the situation her daughter landed herself in.

There was some justification, however warped, for protectiveness as her motivation. This all got undermined when they had her bond with the drugger of her daughter. Now she's just another person Trina can't count on to be on her side.

#gh #trina robinson #spencer cassadine #portia robinson #thanks for the q anon #sorry for the late response #i wanted to be sure about trina's archetype before i responded

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moodywyrm · 2 years

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you know it’s not the same as it was - e.m. fic

hi!! this is a repost from my ao3 account (moodeymoone), which is usually where I post my fics first :) this was the first Eddie fic I wrote a few weeks ago when I watched volume one and I still think it’s kinda cute

pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

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Y/N meandered through the Hawkins Bookstore with a small stack already in their arms, eyes searching for any new sci-fi releases. The shelves were stocked with books they had already read or had no interest in, so new releases seemed their only option.

Too caught up in their search, Y/N barely noticed that they were crossing into the fantasy section until they bumped into a familiar metalhead. Literally.

“Woah, hey there bud, you should be more careful,” Eddie Munson chastised as he steadied Y/N, hands on their shoulders to stop them from tipping backward. He took his hands off Y’N’s shoulders, checking to make sure they were okay. Y/N paused as they looked at Eddie, registering who had stopped them from falling on their ass before spinning around and speeding to the next shelf over. Their attempt to put some space between them and Eddie failed as he followed them into the next aisle, already peering at the books in their hands.

“Dune? Haven’t you already read that, like, a thousand times?” Eddie trailed behind them, close enough to almost be directly next to them.

“I have, my copy got dropped in the bath so I need a new one,” Y/N said, readjusting their grip on their small stack of books and turning to look at Eddie, “Why are you following me?”

Eddie smiled at them and stepped next to them before answering, “Am I not allowed to talk to you anymore? Last time I checked, we were still friends before you stopped coming back.” There was a sadness in his voice, but Y/N chalked it up to Eddie’s general speech patterns.

“If you wanted to hang out you could’ve called, you know?” They snapped, but even then they knew it wasn’t fair to blame Eddie for their crumbling friendship. Y/N hadn’t contacted him either, partially because of their full schedule and partially out of guilt.

Y/N kept walking down the aisle, scanning for new releases but not intaking any information. Eddie’s sudden appearance had completely short-circuited their brain. The pain of their waning friendship and lingering feelings had hit them like a truck when he caught them. Once, Eddie and Y/N had been incredibly close. In their middle school years, Eddie would explain DND to them as he learned, bouncing ideas for campaigns and characters off of them. In turn, Y/N would help work out details in his campaigns, reading through manuals to help Eddie. They spent hours upon hours together in libraries, diners, the woods, and this very bookstore. They’d been as thick as thieves, completely integrated into each other's lives. Until high school graduation came around, and Y/N graduated and Eddie didn’t, and almost instantly everything seemed to fall apart. Y/N went off to university and Eddie started his second senior year at Hawkins High, leaving the two with completely mismatched schedules and few opportunities to see each other. Once a week became once a month, became once every few months, until finally they stopped contacting each other all together.

It wasn’t that they didn’t miss each other or that whatever they had together didn’t matter, life had just caught up to them so quickly. Their once inseparable bond was pulled apart by classes and shifts, graduation attempts and Hellfire. The ache of that connection lingered in their chests every day, especially now that it was summer and Y/N was back for the break. Eddie had been feeling the ache particularly strong, having heard from Harrington that they had returned the night before. So, in an attempt to ease the hurt, he went to their favorite bookstore to look for the new Dungeoneer’s Survival Guide. How was he supposed to know that they would be there, standing in the sci-fi section like an absolute vision from the past?

Eddie spun into their path, stopping them from going any further, ducking a bit to look into their eyes with his hands held up in a stop. “I’m sorry for not calling, really, I can explain myself better but I don’t think you want to do this in a bookstore,” He kept his gaze focused on Y/N’s face, watching for any sign that they were uncomfortable with this.

“Okay, we can go somewhere else to talk, just let me buy these real quick,” Y/N said slowly, but before they could go any further, Eddie has eased the books out of their grasp and made his way to the counter. He’d done it so uncharacteristically gently, by the time Y/N had registered what just happened, Eddie was already standing at the register and pulling out his wallet for their books.

“Eddie what the hell, you can’t just do that anymore,” They hissed at him, watching as the cashier finished processing Eddie’s transaction and handed him the receipt on top of the haul.

He handed them the books as he pocketed his wallet, leading Y/N to his van. “I just did, sorry bud, and don’t even think about pulling out your wallet because I won’t accept it,” He said, glancing at Y/N’s hands which were already creeping toward their pockets, “Now c’mon, let me take you to our favorite spot and I can explain.”

“You can’t just pay for my things anymore Eddie, I do have my own job, with my own income,” Y/N rolled their eyes at their old friend, reluctantly climbing into the familiar old van that reeked of smoke and other things. They set their books in their lap as they buckled up, elbowing Eddie just a bit to remind him to put on his seatbelt. Eddie, who had already buckled his seatbelt when he realized he would be driving them, sent them the faintest of smiles before backing out of the parking lot.

“So, fill me in. How has college been?” Eddie asked as he back out and onto the main street, heading towards the trailer park. Y/N glanced over at him with wary eyes, at the way he placed his hand behind their seat to back out, before talking telling him about their second year of university. Eddie was there for the first year, sparsely, but still there. So Y/N filled him in on shitty professors and the classes they took, on how much they loved the library at school, and their apathy for their roommate who didn’t seem to understand that they lived with another person. They went through every notable event that happened, and when that was done they filled him in on their favorite things about college and the things they hated about it so far. Like the distance. Y/N’s college was a good two and a half hours away, too far to come home every weekend and most definitely too far to see their friends as often as they wanted. At that, Eddie glanced over for a second, hope and sadness milling in his face before he turned back to the road.

“Well, it seems as though it hasn’t entirely sucked, I’m glad you like it, always knew you would,” He said, smiling at Y/N as he pulled up in front of his trailer. Y/N looked at him, the same hope and confusion entering their eyes as they hopped out of Eddie’s van and followed him to the door.

“I thought you said we were going to our favorite spot?” Their brows furrowed as they followed Eddie into the trailer, seeing his uncle sitting on the couch. Wayne Munson sat up, eyebrows lifting at Y/N’s sudden appearance.

“Hey there kiddo, haven’t seen you around in a while, how’ve you been?” Wayne asked, standing up to hug them.

Y/N hugged back, missing Eddie’s uncle just as much as they missed Eddie. “It’s good to see you too Wayne, I’ve been good,” They answered as the hug split, smiling at Wayne before asking how he’d been. Y/N talked with Wayne while Eddie shuffled around the kitchen, placing the books in his room before grabbing a bag and his keys.

“You ready to go?” Eddie threw his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, sending his uncle an apologetic look as the duo excused themselves. Eddie trailed after Y/N, unlocking the van so they could get situated while he tossed his bag into the back.

When they finally drove out of the trailer park and Eddie finally started driving in the direction of the woods near Lover’s Lake, Y/N spoke. “It was nice to see your uncle again, it seems like he’s doing well,” Their voice was tentative and quiet, but Eddie clung to every word.

“Yeah, he’s been doing a lot better. Doesn’t like the night shifts but what can you do,” Eddie glanced at them, tension leaving his body at how familiar it all felt. How right it was, even after two years.

“Ugh, night shifts are the worst. I’ve only had to work a few, I can’t imagine what it’s like working them every week,” Y/N groaned, sympathy flowing into their voice. The drive went on like that, trailing into Y/N’s work schedule and Eddie’s dealing, which he began in their sophomore year, and finally into Eddie’s graduation.

“I had no clue you graduated, I’m so sorry, I would’ve come back for it,” Y/N gasped, turning to look at Eddie. Eddie saw the genuine regret in their face, his entire expression softening, melting at the sheer warmth in Y/N’s expression.

“That’s okay, it was two weeks ago and besides, you didn’t miss much,” He was clearly downplaying this achievement, because Y/N picked up on the underlying disappointment in his voice.

“Eddie, that’s huge. I hope you know I’m so proud of you, even if I didn’t know,” They twisted in their seat as Eddie parked near the woods, looking as though they were about to cry. Eddie took one look at them and his heart twisted.

He held is hand out to them, twisting in his sit to mirror them. “Thank you, I should’ve called you, I just wish we hadn’t drifted apart,” Eddie whispered, looking down at where their hands connected, their fingers tracing along his rings.

“Me either,” Y/N said, voice softening to match Eddie, “but maybe we can fix that now, if you want.” Their lifted their gaze to Eddie’s face, eyes shaking a bit as they waited for his response.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” Eddie’s voice was jovial but the words dropped like a weight in Y/N’s stomach before he continued, “Y/N, I’m never letting you go again, you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

At that, Y/N cackled and launched both them and Eddie into a fit of laughter so intense it hurt. They laughed until their stomachs ached, Eddie cursing as they stumbled out of the van to their favorite spot in the woods. Y/N looked over at Eddie as they walked, listening to him recount his most recent campaign and the kids he’d played with, grateful for the sense of normalcy returning between them. The past two years weren’t suddenly fixed by the last hour, but it was definitely the start to something both old and new. Something different and better than before, and this time, they were determined to never let it go.

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

#stranger things #stranger things season four #eddie munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fluff

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galaxythreads · 2 years

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Lore for Black, white, and grey all over pls. read it recently and loved it very VERY MUCH

Your wish is my command, Anon!!

LORE FOR BLACK, WHITE, AND GREY ALL OVER <- LINK TO STORY

Pinterest Board

The title is a nod to old prison uniforms in the U.S. that were black and white which when mixed together make grey.

It's also a nod toward this horrible joke that traumatized me a bit as a kid (I was very sensitive) "What's black, white, and red all over?" "A penguin that just fell down the stairs."

Yes, it did take me a year to write this stupid thing

I wrote the first scene completely by hand

(Hold while I go try to find that. update: Could not. Moving on.)

I did a lot of research on being released from prison before writing this and I still feel i fell short in many aspects

TOTAL PAGE COUNT: 91

^^^ final finish time. (yes, i do always put this into the actual documents for the fics and have done this for years)

---

"This is their fault, and she hates them for it.

Forgiveness is a dream, and acceptance a joke.

That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."

this was added after the final edit when I wrote the last few sentences and realized that I needed a tie-in

---

^^^

hello hi, my boy my beloved. (CBS Elementary, detective Marcus bell)

---

"'I'm so sorry we're late!' her stepmother exclaims, coming to stop in front of her. Her father's gripping a walking stick, though she has her doubts that he really needs it. His steal blue eye settles on her face, and Hela pointedly flicks her gaze away from him."

Fun fact, this sequence is actually based off of one of the openings for a draft of Igniting Fire (one where for some reason Isabella was an angry french lady. The draft had problems from the start)

---

"A locked up animal, put away until she might offer further use."

''So I am know more then another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me?'' (Thor 1)

---

"Thor is what? Twenty now? Twenty-one? Loki seventeen or sixteen. She has lost so much time to these walls. Ten years. Years. Not months, not weeks, but years. Oh, how she can't wait to get off of the U.S.'s soil. She hates it here."

The big time mess was a huge part of Hela's trauma response. She doesn't know how old her brothers are anymore and isn't aware that there's a war going on with her home country, this is the cost of her incarceration and the fact her parents weren't inclined to share this with her is what caused a lot of the friction.

---

At least, it is amusing until he turns to her and says, in what she's certain is without much thought: "You're the foreign princess that killed all those people ten years ago—Lady Death? That's you?"

This. *deep sigh*

I am christian and have been since birth, and one of the things in my sect of christiandom is that we have this really weird...thing against calling anyone a god, even if it's just as a title. (I now find that stupid and silly and am perfectly fine using god as a title/description for a being). I had the hardest time coming to terms with the fact that it could be goddess of death. This wasn't so much a modern adaption of the title -- although it certainly works great -- and more so me being too afraid to step outside of the comfort zone of my religion. it literally felt like I was endorsing the devil. Which is also why a lot of my older works are kinda. Weird sometimes about language. (I tell people that reading my older fics to now is watching me graduate high school and grow up and yeah. still true.)

MOVING ON.

---

"His yellow eyes settle on her, and she feels some relief in the familiarity of that. The infection that took his eyesight before she was born left his irises a sickly yellow color;"

I sincerely doubt that this is possible medically but I'll give it a pass for the Aesthetic TM.

---

Thor looks up at their mother, blowing out a breath, "It's freezing. Can we go?"

I will always defend Thor and Loki not throwing themselves at Hela with hugs and gratitude in this scene until the day I die. Hela is a stranger to them. A stranger who, according to their parents, is a mass murderer.

(Who somehow only served ten years in prison????????????????????)

---

Her stepmother gives her shoulder a quick squeeze—can she stop doing that!?—and smiles reassuringly, "I'm sorry, it's been a long day. They really are glad to see you, I promise."

^^^

Personal note (these stories are riddled with my life, ha, it's always personal), my dad has this habit of always engaging in physical contact whenever he sees me, a touch on the shoulder, pat on the back, etc, and i'm not much of a physical touch person. So that's where this is from.

---

Odin inserts the key into the house and twists it, pushing open the door to the home and steps inside without any restraint. He leans against his walking cane again, but Hela can clearly see nothing is wrong with his leg. It's for show.

I haven't read this story in years, so I can't remember if this made it in there, but Odin's cane is a direct reference to this from BBC's Sherlock.

(update: It did NOT in fact, make it in there)

where you just carry weapons around in your umbrella. Like a normal person.

---

"Six months. Six. And no one bothered to mention this to her before then!? Hela's eyes narrow with frustration and she clenches her fists deeply, "You've been in the US for half a year and didn't think it important to mention to me?" she doesn't bother with keeping her voice calm."

^^^

Yknow. I'm beginning to realize just how terrible odin and frigga are in this. Huh. Half a year and they didn't tell Hela anything or visit her. Pro parenting technique.

---

But really, that's all Odin's good at, isn't it? Abandoning people when they need him.

^^^

HELA.

(but also. TRUE.)

---

"Aunt Freya and Uncle Buri agreed to rule before we left. The citizens are those that forced us out." Frigga explains, rubbing at her forehead softly. "Given a choice, I'm certain that all of us would gladly return to help fend off Laufey, but we can't.

^^^

I do not mean to poke holes in my own story, but this...makes about as much sense as Anna from Frozen dumping the kingdom onto Hans, whom she'd known for about 3 hours.

---

"You claimed him just as much as I." Frigga's voice is ice. "You would do well to remember that it wasn't my decision to keep the adoption a secret from him."

^^^

also beginning to realize this is where my portrayal of Frigga and Odin being a couple that fight all the time started. Depending on my mood, Odin and Frigga CAN strike me as a couple who argue 99% of the time and make you wonder why they don't just get a divorce. But then the 1% of the time makes you realize why they're married.

---

Hela blinks. "You are an idiot."

Odin draws back, "Beg pardon?"

^^^

I love her, your honor.

---

Hela has shifted to sitting on the porch, varying between moodily glaring into the trees or tracing shapes on the cement padding at the bottom of the steps with a bark chip she found two hours ago. She was never much of an artist before she left Asgard, and that hasn't changed since her prison sentence.

^^^

bark-chip drawing on cement was a very serious thing when I was a kid. It was kinda like chalk. Pretty fun. If you ever get the chance to try it, would recommend.

---

She picks up the plastic fork with her left hand, balancing the paper plate on her knees. If she grips anything with her swollen fingers, she doesn't think it will end well. She stuffs in mouthful of salad and once she's swallowed, asks, "And who sent you out to feed the monster?"

^^^

this is a reference to that one post about a girl whose dad slid chocolate underneath her door when she was having her period (or could also have been a person who menstruates, but I think it was a female) and then loudly screeched "I fed the monster" and ran off.

(90% of my sense of humor is tumblr posts on Pinterest, okay?)

---

"Is there a day that you won't forget this?"

Thor grabs the device and offers a sheepish smile, "I don't think so."

Her youngest brother sighs, "You're hopeless."

"Overbearingly." Thor agrees and manages to shove the laptop into the backpack with considerable strain. "Thank you again, brother."

^^^

Guess who intentionally forgot their laptop every day to have some form of an interaction with their distressed sibling???

---

Frigga's gentle face falls some, but she nods anyway with a plastered smile. "That's alright. If you get hungry just grab whatever's available. Except the peanut butter, because Thor hoards it. Sometimes I fear he'll start a war for it."

^^^

THIS. (my fics are FILLED with inside jokes, I'm realizing) is a reference to a fic I read where Thor shoved a peanut butter jar(? unclear) down the drain and clogged the sink and flooded an apartment. Can't remember the exact fic and I am too lazy to look.

---

When Hela was eleven and war was still spoken of quietly and ignored in favor of happier times? No, not then, because Hela's birth mother was murdered in the streets of Serenity, their capital, when she was eleven.

A slaughter worthy of history books. There was so much blood, enough to drown a building in. People often forget that Hela was there, and she saw everything. Odin wasn't. He only saw the aftermath, but Hela...Hela watched Laufey's blade swing and her mother give out that ragged gasp and her own voice crying out "mama!" before it all went south.

^^^

Reference to Porcelain where the same thing happens to Hela.

---

Outside is hot, but it's better. There's noise. Cars in the distance, children screaming as they play, lawnmowers (what is it with people's perpetual desire to care for their lawns at all hours of the day?), and basic white noise. It's disorienting after hearing nothing but the prison for so long, but not unwelcome.

^^^

I will NEVER EVER EVER EVER cease to make angry commentary about lawns and lawnmowing.

---

Ten years of her life wasted for those deaths.

^^^

I am now realizing that Hela probably would have had diplomatic immunity for the deaths. Which means Odin really did leave her there. That's nice.

---

"No husband? At this age?" Mrs. Debar's hold on her rose cutters has loosened. She's not as wary. Something in Hela gives a hollow snapping noise as the question. She'd wanted marriage, but Odin had insisted that it wait until after the war cooled down. She didn't have a particular man in mind, anyway, but she'd wanted it. To start a family, to have a partner that would be hers—and she couldn't. Because she got stuck here, and who would want to marry the insane, murderous, Lady Death? She's been in prison now. No one will want her.

^^^

Two things:

-I will die on the hill that Hela is lesbian -Mrs. Debar is the embodiment of conservative, I think. Or a Karen.

---

I am really enjoying movie dialog woven into this. It's well done.

*pats myself on the back* you're doing amazing sweetie.

---

"Alright, well, I'll be back around six to check on you." Frigga says with a tight smile. "I'll go see if Loki will help me with the cooking. I'm trying to make this meal called lasagna. It's apparently a type of pasta-soup, I've heard of it before and wanted to try it."

^^^

.....i am so confused. They live in Europe somewhere and they're royalty and they've apparently never heard of Italy. Or met Italians?

Europe, according to how Asgard apparently teaches it in this 'verse:

---

"Six-twenty-three, AM." Thor answers without looking up at her, and then adds: "Wednesday. You slept for thirty-six hours straight."

^^^

CBS elementary

In every single one of these, I tell you not to under estimate my love of Elementary but here i am again reminding you to NOT underestimate my love for this stupid little show.

---

Natasha stays until Hela finishes and takes the paperwork from her, assuring Hela that she'll give it to Ms. Hill, the owner of the building.

^^^

I find this endlessly hilarious that Maria Freaking Hill owns a star bucks in this. Like. What was I thinking?

---

"It's Jane." Thor corrects. "Jane Foster." He looks up from his hands and sighs deeply. He's still staring at her strangely. "She's...we are courting, yes, but not with Father's approval. Or Mother's. They don't think I should be making permanent attachments in the U.S., but I just…" Thor looks towards where Jane disappeared to.

^^^

the person Thor was on the phone with at the beginning of this fic was Jane.

----

Hela shrugs. "I'd've told them just to watch the explosion."

^^^

*deep sigh* I'm sorry. The accent of my people shows horribly sometimes.

(WHO PUTS I'D'VE in a sentence like it's all casual---)

---

"YOU LEFT ME HERE!" Hela screams, and grabs a book off of the coffee table and throws it. It smashes against the far wall, pages fluttering as they hit the ground. "I spent TEN YEARS in hell because you refused to help! You didn't even TRY to save me!"

^^^

waiting for this all fic. :)

---

Oh. Whoops. The lies have become a scattered mess in the last few weeks. "I'm—" Hela pauses, trying to come up with a believable excuse. If she went to all the work of getting to the U.S., why would she be leaving?

^^^

*coughs into hand* because it's the U.S.?

---

A ripple of hurt washes through her, strong enough to make tears form on the edges of her eyes. She sets her teeth and forces herself to focus. Sharp tongue. Sharp words. Sharp. "Alright, get out. You're in my Starbucks."

"Your Starbucks?" Thor repeats. "You don't own anything. All you've done is make our parents worry and driven our mother to tears, why should I listen to anything you have to say?"

^^^

THIS. ENTIRE. SCENE.

I am SO impressed with myself for managing to get nearly ALL of thor and Hela's dialog from Ragnarok into this and fit it around STARBUCKS. Like.

*more back patting*

(AND also captured the emotion of the actual scene in the movie, like????????)

---

"I've failed you as a father," Odin starts slowly, carefully, as if he says the wrong thing she'll fall apart before him. Hela only gawks at him. Odin exhales deeply. "I can see that now. I'm a different man today than I was when you were imprisoned, and I am filled with regrets."

"Proud have it, ashamed of how you got it." Hela mutters under her breath, resisting the urge to hug her knees closer.

^^^

ODIN DIDN'T ACTUALLY APOLOGIZE??????? like. DUDE.

asdflkajsd;flkjasdf

----

"Come now," one of the male teens taunts, his nose looks flat and his hair is plastered against his forehead. "tell me honestly what you're thinking you lying freak."

Loki stumbles, landing on one of his elbows hard, but looks up at him. "I don't think you'd like my answer if I did."

^^^

this was one of the first scenes I wrote for the fic. (maybe THE first scene? it's fuzzy now)

---

"I think that Principal Gauntlet is biased."

LOKI'S PRINCIPAL IS THANOS?

---

"You little—" the teen, Ebony apparently, starts before releasing her brother and punching him across the face.

LOKI'S BULLIES ARE THE BLACK ORDER????

---

At the time you were in New York, the gang the police claimed you killed had completely different territory

^^^

and we all know that gangs can't go outside of their assigned territory *clicks tongue* what WOULD we do if they were like normal people and wandered around?

---

An FBI agent walks towards them and wields a badge for her to see Agent Phil Coulson written out in fine print. "Hi. I'm with the FBI, I was part of the team assigned to your case." He glances towards the police woman. "Would you mind giving us a few minutes?"

^^^

COULSON is an FBI agent but MARIA FREAKING HILL Isn't??

---

Agent Coulson sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "Fine, but this could get ugly.

Hela smiles, but it venomous. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

^^^

this entire kidnapping sequence was planned to be much much longer, but I was losing steam toward the end and decided to cut about 80% of it because it helped the flow of the story.

---

She rests a hand on the cold stone, wiping some of the snow away with her pale fingers. She stares at the names for a long time, just breathing, thinking. Then, she pulls the letter she wrote several hours ago out and rests it next to the flowers. Her voice cracks when she speaks, but she still gets the words out. "Rest in peace, Papa, Amma...I forgive you."

^^^

this is the reason that "forgiveness is a joke" is the second line in the story and a lesson on why editing is so important. XD

---

Anyway. okay. That was long. I was basically reading and just commenting as I went. Solid story. Weird bits, as per usual for me, but generally enjoyable.

Link to story again

#answered #black white and grey all over #bwagao #my fics #hela #thor #loki #modern au

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defiantdreemurrs · 2 years

Text

bussyween, part two: halloween ii (1981)

im writing this about a week or so after actually watching it because i had attempted to start writing and didnt get more than half a paragraph in. ill follow it up with part three shortly since i watched the next one today. for now, heres part two of bussyween, covering halloween ii (1981), directed by rick rosenthal.

for starters im greatly impressed by the cinematography on several fronts. dean cundey outdid himself with a lot of the shots, and the hospital setting that most of the movie takes place in is shot with a beautifully claustrophobic feel. somehow they managed to make a tiny little hospital in the late 70s (more on that later) look good.

the other main reason im impressed with the cinematography is that while this was definitely shot and released three years after the original, it takes place literally on the exact same halloween night as the original. it picks up exactly where halloween leaves off and almost feels like more of a part two rather than just a sequel, and honestly aside from the obvious wig jamie lee curtis wears, it looks like it takes place on the exact same night. were it not for the wig and the drastically sonically different score i feel like you could edit these films together into one giant, 2.5 hour long cut, and someone who wasnt intimately familiar with these movies would probably be fooled into thinking it was one film.

speaking of the score, it leaves me with very mixed feelings. there arent a lot of particularly new compositions, most of it is comprised of newly recorded, much more synth heavy arrangements of the same themes composed for the original film. conceptually this doesnt bother me in the slightest but in terms of execution i think it could have been handled better. the classic theme sounds kinda goofy now that the piano has been replaced with a weirdly brassy sounding synth. its a sound design decision i dont really understand but if thats what carpenter and newcomer to the halloween series alan howarth (carpenters musical partner in the studio for most of the 80s) really wanted then good for them. the main exception is "the shape stalks again", which is a rearrangement of the stalking cue from the original, that is far more tense than its predecessor.

a notable difference between this film and the previous is that of the level of violence and gore featured. whereas the original is paced more like a thriller and uses that to its advantage instead of relying on extremely gory deaths, carpenter decided to reshoot some of the kills in this movie to make them more violent to compete with all of the clones that were popping up in the emerging slasher genre, most notably 1980s friday the 13th. i dont think this really detracts that much from the film, i think for the most part it ratchets up the tension nicely compared to the original. that said, i think some of them are somewhat unnecessary solely because of pacing reasons.

ive saved my thoughts on the films pacing and narrative for last because i wanted to get my more positive feelings out of the way up front. where i think this movie falls apart is in its pacing. scenes are drawn out far beyond where they need to be length wise and the whole film feels padded to hell. it isnt really until the last act that everything starts to flow really really well. the first act feels alright and sets things up well enough, even if i feel like the way they repeatedly have characters talk about how "that kid who killed his parents 15 years ago? yeah i heard he escaped" kinda cheapens things and just generally feels unnecessary.

the first act also sets up probably the least interesting part of the film: its new characters. mostly the trio of nurses who clearly only exist to pad out the films kill count. jimmy, the shy boy who develops a crush on laurie, is the only one with any real importance to the plot, and even he ends up being mostly irrelevant. the other two literally only exist to be killed off in admittedly a somewhat interesting and gruesome way.

the second act is easily the low point of the film, however. pointless scene after pointless scene attempting to flesh out characters that just arent anywhere near as interesting as the original films side cast. not to mention an arguably useless dr loomis, one of the standouts of the original, now reduced to wandering around town like an idiot looking for michael and giving exposition that leads to the eventual twist reveal in act three.

skip this paragraph if you dont want to be spoiled for a 40 year old movie, but this films main contribution to the series is the reveal that laurie is michaels long lost sister. i have to spoil this here because almost the entire rest of the series until the 2018 sequel is built off of this revelation, but i can imagine if youre reading this and have an interest in these movies already then you probably already know this. it is a central plot feature in seven other films including the two rob zombie-directed remake/reboot films, and is referenced extensively in those films, and it all started with this film when a bored john carpenter struggling with writers block decided "what if michael and laurie were siblings?"

aside from all these issues the last 40 or so minutes of the film improve drastically on the weaker middle, and from the moment laurie gets out of bed and starts running it is tense as fuck and i feel it almost outdoes the finale of the first film. the final few scenes are incredibly shot, and the last shot of the film in particular is such an effective shot to end a film on.

overall halloween ii is a good 60 minute part two to the original halloween, stretched out a bit too far to a 90 minute feature film. it clearly has almost as big a legacy as the original does, considering the only continuity in the series that does not acknowledge it in some way is the 2018 reboot timeline. were it tightened up just a bit i honestly think i might prefer it to the original as a standalone film, but as it stands i think the two work better together, as its sequel nature makes the less interesting parts marginally more tolerable.

join me next time on bussyween for a look at the franchises first and only attempt at branching out from the story of michael myers, halloween iii: season of the witch.

#halloween #michael myers #bussyween #john carpenter #rick rosenthal #jamie lee curtis #alan howarth

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duskholland · 3 years

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Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around... word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni. a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3 —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #hockey!tomfic #tblr....please let me in the tags...? please?

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havin-a-wee · 3 years

Text

Doctor's Orders

pairing: gynecologist!harry x reader/doctor!harry x reader

word count: 2.3k+

warnings: smut, fingering

this is so long overdue i apologize but this is a request! i kinda love this piece so i hope you guys do too!

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY

You sucked in a harsh breath as you heard your name being called from the front desk, the smiley old lady gesturing for you to follow her. You timidly walked behind her, your feet shuffling on the obnoxiously patterned carpet that lined the hallways.

You aren’t one to fear doctor’s appointments, in fact, you have never been apprehensive about going to one until right now. This appointment was something you’ve been avoiding for a while since you had moved to London, but there came a point where you couldn’t put it off for any longer. Back in the states, you were comfortable with your gynecologist, and you had no issue talking to her about problems you were having regarding your genitalia. But now that you were in a new city, you didn’t have the comfort that came with visiting a long-term doctor and faced new ones for the first time since you were a child. The rest of the doctor’s visits were pretty standard, but your private parts were something you struggled with understanding, Sure, you have seen porn and had sex, but it was never a fulfilling experience. In fact, you have never reached an orgasm. About a year ago you gave up on looking for men to help you and made it a mission to bring yourself to a climax. But alas, none of your efforts seemed to work. At this point, you were convinced that something was wrong with you, hence the gynecologist visit. Male gynecologist, that is.

Over the past month, you have spent a lot of time researching gynecologists in your area. The first one that came up was the one you are at now, but considering his gender you continued your hunt. But it kept leading you back to this one doctor, Dr. Styles, and that was why you are currently sitting in an exam room in his office.

You reassured yourself by looking up his name on your smartphone, scrolling through the 5-star reviews. The number of people who seemed to absolutely love this guy helped settle your nerves, so you read through them as you waited for a knock on the door.

That knock finally arrived a few minutes later, and you picked your head up and looked at the wooden door. “Come in!”

A head popped inside from behind the door as it was pushed open, and the doctor’s eyes found yours while he made his way into the small room. He’s tall, with a mop of chocolate brown curls on his head and bright green eyes accompanied by a friendly smile. He sat down, eyes never leaving yours until he placed his computer down and the screen lit up.

“‘Ello Darlin, m’Dr. Styles, but y’can call me Harry if you’d like.” He stuck out a hand, and your palm swiftly met his, the two of you looking at one another as you shook hands. His hands were enormous, and the rings placed on his fingers were cold to the touch. “Considering you’re a new patient, I took a peek at y’records and such, and I saw that y’ve always had a female gyno.”

You nodded your head slowly, opening your mouth to respond but getting cut off by Dr. Styles. “So I just wanted t’let y’know tha’ theres nothing t’be ashamed off, and I know what I’m doin’ so I promise you’re in expert hands.”

“Yeah, I was nervous, but I couldn’t ignore the amazing reviews people have given you, so I made an appointment.” You appreciated his reassurance a lot, and it really helped in the easing of your jitters. He turned back to his computer after nodding in response to you, clicking on a few keys before diverting his attention back to you.

“So what seems t’be the problem today Y/N?” An initial wave of shock hit you when he said your name, but it quickly dissolved when you remembered that he literally has access to all your medical information, so of course, he knows your name.

“This is a bit of an odd thing to come in for on my first appointment with you, but I think my vagina doesn’t work.” You let out a breathy chuckle at your own words. Dr. Styles seemed unphased by your forwardness, and you assumed he had heard a lot more abrasive things than that. “I’m a 22-year-old woman, but I’ve never had an orgasm. For the past year I’ve been focusing on doing it without a partner, but no matter how much time I spent or how many fancy toys I buy, I just end up feeling unsatisfied and disappointed.” He nodded along as you explained your issue, placing his chin in his hand while his elbow was placed on the desk.

“Have y’had any STD tests recently?”

“Yes, I had one last week, I’m clean and I’ve never had one in the past.”

“Is there any possibility tha’ you’re pregnant?”

“No, I haven’t slept with anyone in over a year.” You knew what questions he would ask, so to avoid wasting time you were giving him all the information he would need.

“When y’are sleeping with someone, do y’feel any sort of pleasure?”

“Yeah, but it’s just never enough, I guess.” His lips curled into an expression of concentration, and he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. The room was silent for all of around 30 seconds, but soon enough Dr. Styles spoke up.

“Based on yeh’ history and what y’telling me, it seems that y’just haven’t found the right bloke.” Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at his simple answer. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? “M’guessing y’can’t get y’self off cause’ y’tense and not fully relaxed. And the guys y’ve been with ave’all been doin’ a rubbish job.” He chuckled along with you, and you couldn’t help but agree with him. There was no one you could think of that had actually made you feel good the entire time and had actually focused on your pleasure and theirs. Most of the hookups you took part in were with frat boys who would stick their dick into anything with a hole. “But just in case, lemme’ check y’out just to make sure.”

He stood up from his chair and you swung your legs up on the cot, laying down on it. While you had waited for the doctor, you changed into the gown you were provided with, so there was only a thin piece of fabric between you and the curly-headed man that had taken a seat at the end of the seat.

It was now that you were faced with a dilemma that your anxious brain hadn’t even thought of prior to the appointment.

Dr. Styles was attractive. Like, really, really attractive.

Dr. Styles was attractive. Like, really, really attractive. And probably because of the nature of your discussion (and the fact that your body is severely desperate for sexual release), your core had been heating up since he first stepped into the room. So now, he would lift the skirt of the gown and see a pool of velvety wetness coating the inside of your thighs.

The back of the seat was propped up, allowing you to see him. This was a good thing for him because he could talk to you while he does his job, but it means you will have to look at him after he sees the mess you’ve made.

“May I?” His fingers gripped onto the edges of the gown, and you swallowed hoarsely before nodding your approval. While you know that he probably has witnessed much more embarrassing situations than the one you were in right now, it didn’t make the predicament any better. As you suspected, he kept a straight face when he lifted the flimsy material from your legs. Without taking a second glance, he turned to a bottle on his desk and pumped a dollop of lube onto his glove-clad fingertips. He used his other gloved hand to spread the lubricant, only turning back to you when his two fingers were both well coated in the substance. “Y’alright?” Once again, you nodded at his question. “Tell me with words darlin’, wanna make sure y’comfortable.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What kind of exam are you doing exactly?” That question popped into your mind right before it rolled off your tongue because you noticed he had never specified exactly what he was looking for.

“M’just gonna use m’finger,” he held his lube-covered fingers, “and feel around, just t’make sure everythins’ fine.”

“Ok, sounds good.”

“M’gonna start now, s’gonna be cold at first.”

You hissed when his fingers met your sopping hole, and you had to resist the urge to kick your legs while he slowly pushed his fingers inside of you. The feeling was strange, but definitely not unwelcome. The contrast from his icy fingers to your warm center was sending a tingling sensation down your spine. You could feel his fingers push around inside of you, caressing your walls. And you know you shouldn’t. But his fingers were hitting all the right nerves, and you couldn’t help but find the experience immensely pleasurable.

Despite your best efforts, a small moan of satisfaction escaped your lips. Immediately, you went stiff, and you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. You just moaned while your doctor had his fingers inside you. For a moment you thought he would ignore the sexual noise that you had just made. But he suddenly looked up at you, his eyes previously locked on his fingers.

“Well, if y’moanin’ just from that, y’more sexually deprived than I thought.” He chuckled, and you cracked a small smile, but that was before his words actually hit you.

Was he, hitting on you?

Maybe not flirting, but that definitely wasn’t something that doctors say to their patients very often. His smirk was also giving you the idea that he had certain intentions.

“Everything seem good down’ere, so I think tha’ problem is with the guys y’gettin with, not you. What type of people do y’usually sleep with.”

“When I was sexually active, it was usually frat boys, so I guess I should’ve known I wasn’t the problem.” You let out a small laugh, Dr. Styles seems to have found it much more amusing, as his chuckle came from deep within his chest. A small movement came with the laugh, which also reminded you that his fingers were still very much inside of you.

“It seems y’need someone who knows his way around,” he cleared his throat, and you smiled as you realized what he was hinting at. “and y’my last paitent of the day, so m’more than happy t’help y’out.” He looked down at his feet shyly, and you found it adorable how he was nervous about what he was proposing. But you were on the verge of tears from how hard it was to hold back your physical response to his touches. Your body relaxed when the words came out of his mouth, and you let out the whine that had been building up in your throat.

“Yes-Harry, god yes.” It was the first time you were using his first name, but the smirk on his face showed his approval.

He quickly removed his fingers from your heat, and you whined again, this time in frustration. Losing contact left you feeling cold, but that feeling only lasted a fleeting moment, as soon as he was pushing his fingers into you again, this time bare.

“Y’already so wet love, what got y’this worked up hmm?”

“Y-you, Harry, I want you.” You tripped over your words, but they came out clear enough for him to understand because he began moving his fingers at the encouragement. His fingers began to pump in and out of you, and you knew he must have been right about not being with the right guys before, because the simple movements left you as putty in his hands. You barely got any pleasure from fingering in your other sexual encounters, but you were already a moaning mess underneath the man. He lifted his other hand, which had also had the glove on it removed, and placed the pad of his finger on your puffy clit. You mewled loudly and his smirk widened.

“Any o’those boys ever make y’feel this good darlin’?” You shook your head furiously, and he smiled, rubbing circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were already seeing stars, and you could feel an unfamiliar knot forming in your stomach. “Y’so pretty, did y’know tha’?”

You couldn’t muster up enough strength to respond to his second question, but the loud moan that you let out was enough of an answer for him. His movements sped up, fingers pumping in and out of you and his other thumb pressing circles on your button.

“Harry-”

“Think y’close darlin’? Ready t’come fo’ the first time?”

“Yes, yes..” Your voice trailed off when a guttural moan rumbled through your throat. Although you haven’t had one before, you were sure that he was about to bring you to an orgasm. There was a tight feeling in your stomach and you knew it was just about to burst.

“Fuck-”

The knot burst and your orgasm rolled through your body, reaching every nerve inside of you. The feeling was euphoric, and your senses were heightened as your body experienced this new feeling.

“Thas’ it, good girl,” he cooed, slowing his movements and removing his fingers from your now overly sensitive clit. He worked you through your orgasm until fully removing his fingers from you, and you let out a sigh as he did so. “Definitely not somethin’ wrong with ya’, I can tell y’that.”

He smiled up at you and you returned the gesture, your smile only faltering when he turned away to write something down. You took the opportunity to get up and change, quickly dressing while his back was turned.

He turned in his chair to face you once again, handing you a small piece of paper. You took it from between his fingers to see a phone number scribbled on it in black ink.

“Is Doctor Styles giving me his number?” You said it in a cheeky way, smirking back at him.

“Yes, and he’s telling you to text him when you get home. Doctor’s orders.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #blurb #one shot #request #harrys styles request #harry styles fic #one direction #smut #fluff

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years

Text

Daddy Issues | Draco Malfoy

Wow I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disappear like that Lovelies! Sometimes I forget depression and writers block are a thing until they punch me in the face and force me to go MIA for a hundred years! I guess I’m back? I hope? Fingers crossed? Anyway, I’m sorry this isn’t a TVD fic but I figured Y’all would appreciate something over nothing. I missed you all more than I can say! I hope you enjoy, I love you all!

Description: Draco and y/n are best friends until Draco’s father threatens y/n. She avoids Draco until he confronts her.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: Like none, it’s kinda sad but not really, the only flaw is bad writing

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

(not my gif, I just love it lol)

Your heart stings from across the courtyard, the gap between you and the blonde boy tangible. For a second you don't know whether or not your heart is even in your chest anymore or if it’s in his hands. In that case your heart is sitting on a bench, sandwiched between Blaise Zabini and Vincent Crabbe. Maybe he isn’t holding your heart, though, maybe he is your heart, in which case you’re avoiding your heart’s piercing gaze.

Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to grab his or to twist through his silky hair or do anything other than lay idle when he is only mere steps away from you. Your hands ache to touch him and usually you would be doing just that: clinging to his robes or twisting the rings around on his fingers or simply tangling your own fingers with his slender ones. Your hands feel painfully empty without him to hold on to.

That makes sense though, he’s your best friend after all. You’re rarely ever spotted less than five feet away from each other. Everyone at Hogwarts can see how utterly entwined you are, every part of him wrapped around your finger and every part of you sitting precisely in the palm of his hand. You orbit each other, drawn in by a gravity that the rest of the student body can’t deny.

Right now, though, that gravity is being tested and everyone feels a little bit like they’re floating away.

Draco sits exactly seventeen feet and four inches away from you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, like lasers, searing into your black and gold jumper and refusing to look away. It burns but you embrace it, taking any contact, even imagined, that you can get from him. Even if it hurts. You would gladly burn for the blonde Slytherin if it made him happy. This doesn’t make him happy, though, being ignored by the girl that commands his entire life. You know that, but you also know that it’s for the best.

You run your hands through your hair, tugging on the strands relentlessly and closing your eyes. You see his father, the tall, grim man, and replay the conversation you had in your head.

“He has a bright future ahead of him, y/n.”

Lucious had backed you into a corner, both metaphorically and literally, the stone of the castle biting harshly into your skin, “I know that, sir.”

He stood tall, menacingly, like he was bigger than the castle itself, “he doesn’t have time for nonsense, y/n.”

Your hands trembled, the cold of the dungeon nipping at them fiercely, “he’s very bright, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t think I’m slowing him down.”

The neutral, if not cold, expression on his face switched then to one of red hot anger, “did I ask what you think? It’s time the two of you separate. He is to be married next year and not to some silly Hufflepuff girl.”

“We’re just friends, sir,” your eyes had long since found the floor.

“Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. If I catch you near him from this day on I will not hesitate to destroy you, do you understand me? Do not speak to him again.”

That was two weeks ago and you haven’t dared to go near him since, spending every waking moment of your spare time in the Hufflepuff common room. You aren’t brave, you didn’t march up to your best friend and tell him that his father threatened to destroy you. You would be lying if you said you even thought about it. The reality of it is that you’re a coward and have iced Draco out in fear of having his father hurt either of you.

His father’s words still ring in your head. Don’t be daft, my son is infatuated with you. Your heart flutters hard in your chest, your rib cage the only barrier keeping it from finding him across the courtyard. Draco is infatuated with you. Apparently. He hasn’t said so, only his father. Still, you can’t help but hope that it’s true.

But then that makes your chest burn and palms sting again. You aren’t allowed to hope that Draco wants you. You aren’t even allowed to hope that he wants to be your friend. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, let alone allowed to kiss him. Would he even kiss you? Probably not. You tug even harder on your hair, as if pulling each strand out will somehow take the pain away. Don’t be daft.

“Y/n,” gentle hands wrap around your tight fists, “you’re hurting yourself.”

You forgot Luna was there, sitting next to you on the bench, the bench that is seventeen feet and four inches away from Draco. You let the airy Ravenclaw unravel your fingers and hold one of your hands, rubbing circles on the back of your palm. It doesn’t feel the same, her grip is too soft, her fingers too short. Draco’s fingers are longer.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of him from your senses, “sorry, I know I’m not the best company right now.”

Luna only smiles at you and rolls her eyes gently, “I know it’s hard for you right now.”

Of course you told her. You weren’t able to tell Draco so you turned to Luna, your other best friend. You nod your head at the blonde girl, too tired to speak.

“I think you should tell him though, he looks bloody miserable without you,” your eyes widen as if on their own accord.

You feel dizzy at the thought and not the good kind like when Draco spins you around. No, this is the bad kind of ‘I’m definitely going to throw up’ dizzy. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears rapidly. Thump, thump, thump. It almost sounds like footsteps, angry ones, pounding towards you. That can’t be right.

“I can’t tell him, Luna, you know that.”

A hand lands on your shoulder, warmth spreading through your jumper. You open your mouth, ready to thank Luna for relentlessly comforting you, but close it quickly when a thought hits you. You glance down to your lap, just to double check. There, on your lap rests your hand carefully wrapped up in both of Luna’s. Crap.

“What can’t you tell me?” It takes everything in you to not let his familiar voice curl around you and pull you further into his touch.

You shift out of his hold, not turning to look at him yet, afraid to see the expression on his face. Would it be anger? Sadness? Disgust? The last one makes your heart drop, the thought of the blonde boy being repulsed by you causing you to curl into yourself slightly. You would take anything from him but that.

You stand curtly, turning to face Draco, all too aware of the lack of space between you and him. Six inches at the most, every breath he takes makes his chest brush yours. You still don’t look up at him, not anywhere ready to meet the eyes of the boy you’ve been avoiding.

You lock your eyes on his silver and green tie, mumbling to it instead of him, “What makes you think I was talking about you, Draco?”

You finally glance up at him and wish you hadn’t. His eyes, usually a bright blue, are dull and rimmed with red. The bruises under his eyes stand out against his cheeks. He’s always had dark circles but this is extreme. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like he hasn’t eaten in days. It’s almost garish, but then again nothing could ever make the Slytherin Prince look anything less than perfect. He looks destroyed, almost as if his father had gotten to him too. You have to stop yourself from reaching out, choosing instead to look away again.

“Are you serious right now? Tell me this is all a joke y/n!” The courtyard goes silent when Draco raises his voice.

You squeeze your fists, the tone of his voice a punch in the gut. He never shouts at you. Draco is never anything but soft around you. Right now, however, he’s seething. No one around you dares to make a sound.

You close your eyes, trying desperately to stop a traitorous flood of tears, “Draco, please don’t do this right now.”

Draco takes a step back, as if your words had shoved him, “if not now then when? You’ve given me no choice! You run every time you see me, you don’t answer my notes. Do you even read them anymore? Can you just explain why you bloody hate me?”

His voice cracks when he says hate, like its acid in his mouth. In any way it’s acid to your ears. You could never hate Draco, it’s very much the opposite actually. You’re painfully in love with him.

“I don’t,” you have to pause to clear your throat, trying to rid the lump, “I could never hate you.”

His hand grasps you chin gently, his rings cold against your skin as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes, “then tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You squeeze your eyes close, sinking into the warmth of his palm for a moment. You can’t remember a time you’ve gone this long without the blonde boy touching you. You can’t stop the tears from trailing down your cheeks and into his palm. You can feel the hitch in his breath as if it had come from your own lungs. You wrap your own hands around his, squeezing his fingers gently before pulling them away from you.

“I can’t, Dra. We can’t do this anymore. I’m,” your voice trembles, your eyes still closed, his hand still locked in yours, “I’m not good for you. We can’t be friends.”

You release his hand, taking a few steps back from the love of your life. This time, though, he doesn’t let you get as far, taking two steps towards you for every step you take away from him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s in front of you again, closer and even more determined. His eyes burn into yours, his hands restless. You know he wants to touch you. At least, you hope he does. You want to.

“Don’t say that,” there’s a strength behind his words, one you have yet to hear until now, “don’t you dare say that! Tell me what’s going on y/n, you need to tell me! I can fix it. I can make it better whatever it is just please tell me. Please, love.”

Love. That’s new. Your heart cracks even more when he says it and maybe that’s because you know you won’t get to hear it again. You wish you could grab the word from his lips and hold on to it. You want to put it in your pocket so at least you can have a part of him, the very best part of him, for when he walked away. But you can’t, so there’s no use in trying.

“You can’t fix it this time, Draco,” you take another step back and your back hits the rough surface of a tree.

He fills the space between the two of you once more and this time you’re stuck. Your palms continue to sting, reminding you relentlessly how much you need to touch him. You scrunch the hem of your jumper, trying desperately to quell the pain. Your wrists feel like they’re on fire, something you’ve come to realise that means you’re about to have a panic attack. He can't see that happen, you refuse to fall apart in front of him.

Of course he notices, though. That’s your Draco, he notices everything about you. That’s his job.

He grabs your face again, stopping you from frantically looking everywhere but him, “of course I can. When have I not fixed your problems? Remember when those Ravenclaws’ were messing with you? I took care of that, didn’t I? And Parkinson? Zabini? I took care of them too. Remember when Snape wouldn’t let you hand in your assignment because you had the flu? And the time you passed out in the stairwell? I fixed those too because I can. Because I wanted to and I do what I want. Now, all I’ve wanted for days is you so if someone said something to you I need you to tell me so I can sort them out and get my best friend back. Now.”

He stares into your eyes the entire time, daring you to turn away. You feel like you can’t breathe, your hands once again wrapped around his but this time clinging for dear life. You’ve been terrified for two weeks and the exhaustion hits you in one, whopping punch to your stomach, the second punch of the day. Without warning your legs give out, all of your weight falling into the blonde who seems to expect it. His arms wrap around you, holding you against his chest for the first time in what feels like ages.

You don’t realise that you’re sobbing until you try to speak, “Dra, I’m so scared. I’m tired,” you grip his robes in your fists, your head falling against his chest, “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling apart.”

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against him. You can feel the sigh of relief he releases and his heartbeat slowing as if it’s your own. Maybe that’s because yours does the same. For the first time in weeks you’re engulfed in Draco and you cling to him, circling your arms around his waist and pulling yourself impossibly close. He wastes no time either, wrapping his cloak around you and burying his face in your neck.

Your body shakes furiously in his arms, everything you’ve been bottling up comes pouring out in a torrent of sobs and hiccups. Draco presses closer to you, towering over you and shielding you from the rest of the world. You let his peppermint scent engulf you completely,

“For Salazar’s sake y/n I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I need to fix it, love. Please tell me,” his voice is low and choked.

He’s right, you know he’s right. You squeeze your eyes tighter and grip his back, savouring the muscles under his dress shirt for a few more seconds before you know you’ll have to let go.

“Your father told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. He told me,” you pull out of his arms, leaning back against the tree, “he said, well, it doesn’t matter what he said. We just can’t be together.” Draco’s eyes widen and your cheeks heat up, your words ringing through your ears, “I mean we can’t be friends.”

Draco steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear but you’re almost positive that it’s a curse. When he opens his eyes, your heart stops. His blue eyes burn into yours, glassy and angry but with something else too, something hot and fierce. Your heart restarts when he places his arms against the tree, caging you between it and him. You can’t resist placing your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up as well.

“What did my father say, y/n.” He isn’t asking you, he’s telling you.

You lower your eyes, not bothering to fight him anymore, “he told me he would destroy me if I kept being friends with you. He said you were getting married and that you could never marry a Hufflepuff and that he would destroy me if he had to.”

He staggers back with each word, like each one shoves him more than the last. He squeezes his fists before straightening his fingers, shoving them once more through his hair. His shoulders are tense, his back straight. His eyes are screwed shut again.

“Bloody hell,” he pulls at his hair, biting his lip, “he’s lost his damn mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, tugging at your jumper, suddenly hot all over. Now is not the time to be getting riled up over Draco but you can’t help it, he looks exquisite. Messy hair and an un-tucked shirt, the veins in his hand prominent and his rings glittering in the afternoon sun. He’s absolutely and undeniably perfect.

“It’s ok, Dra, you’ll be ok,” you try your best to comfort him but he snaps his eyes open, looking at you like you’ve gone mad as well.

“My dad threatened to kill you! No I am not okay!”

This time you walk to him, pulling him into your chest again and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sweeps his arms around your waist, pulling you so close that you have to stand on your tiptoes to keep your arms around him. His hands grasp your hips tight and you immediately know what he wants. You oblige, wanting it just as much if not more, jumping up and wrapping your legs around his stomach. You tuck your face into his neck this time, breathing in the slightest hint of apples, green ones.

You don’t speak, practically feeling the words bubbling in his chest, “My dad told you he was going to kill you, love. He threatened you and he didn’t even tell me. I am definitely not okay. I need to do something. I need to talk to him. And he told you I was getting married? He’s lucky he isn’t here. I don’t care if he’s my father, nobody talks to my girl like that.”

He’s rambling, something he does when he’s at his end. His words wrap around you, tangling with every part of you and sinking into your skin. They lull you into a daze of sorts, almost nodding off on your best friends shoulder. You don’t realise how tired you are until you’re in his arms, safe. And then it hits you, and you’re wide awake again.

“Your girl?”

You cut him off mid sentence, squeezing your legs tighter around him to bring his attention back to you.

“What did you say, love?” Draco hikes you further up his body, readjusting his grip on you.

Your cheeks flame, your neck hot. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something that you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give. His lips are so close to yours, his breath hitting your lips with every exhale. The courtyard around you fades away and Hogwarts itself holds its breath.

“Did you call me your girl, Draco?”

He doesn’t blush like you thought he would, “yes, I did. That’s what you are. Mine. And Merlin help my father for trying to take you away from me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, letting his words sink into your flesh. They curl around your bones, laying down a warmth that you’ve been craving for longer than you can remember. He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Draco. You are his and you always have been. His arm around your back tightens, jostling you enough to make you cling harder to him. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair. He leans his head back, giving in to your touch willingly.

He holds your gaze as your fingers weave through his silky hair, capturing you with his eyes and refusing to let go, “I’m yours, Draco. Please don’t let me go.”

He leans his forehead against yours, “never, love.”

Hogwarts releases the breath it had been holding, the noise of the courtyard once more fluttering around you. You go to get down from Draco but he stops you, tightening his arms. You only shake your head and smile, letting the sunshine warm your face.

Your heart aches slightly still though, “what are we going to do about your father, Dra?

He starts walking, the sudden movement causing you to tug his hair a little harder.

His voice is strained when he finally answers, leaning down to rub his cheek against your head, “just let me handle that, ok?”

You give in, for now, laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes for the final time, “where are we going, Dra?”

“We, my love, are going to take a very much needed nap.”

#draco malfoy #draco #malfoy #draco x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x female reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter #hufflepuff #slytherpuff #slytherin

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havethetimeofyourstyles · 3 years

Text

in which harry joins a new gym and you’re a trainer there.

a/n: happy new years loves! wishing you all a lovely and happy 2021! first fic of 2021 and im so excited to write more stories this year! to start the new year, here is boxer!harry for you, and this is for my very own timetravelathon fic challenge! if you’d like to join, please let me know, I’d love to have you on board! this story takes place in the 1990, and i know some of the songs mentioned weren’t released specifically in 1990 (just a few years after), but just pretend it was lol because they’re too good to not mention in this story hehe, but happy reading and pls reblog and leave feedback <3

thank you to @sunflowers-styles for beta reading this for me, love you always!

WORD COUNT: 22.6k of (kinda) boxer!harry x trainer!yn filled with angst and smut

WARNINGS: mentions of abandonment and blood

COME INTO MY INBOX AND LETS TALK ABOUT ‘143’ i’d love to know your thoughts!

pls rb to share! <3

16 August 1990

With every move he made, Harry felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face, down his back, and trailing down his chest. Small huffs of breath were released from his mouth, trying not to make it known that he was exhausted, but he continued until all of his energy was used up through the very end.

“C’mon,” he muttered to himself, anticipating the certain words to be yelled out.

He’d been going at it for a while now, muscles aching as he felt like he was about to collapse any minute. But he was determined to finish, to feel the satisfaction running through his veins, knowing that this was his best round.

“And time!” His trainer yelled at him, clicking the stop button on his timer.

Harry got in one last punch before putting his arms down, the soreness made his limbs feel like jello as he shook them out. The black leather punching bag was swinging back and forth, the chain that held up the speed bag rattled and slid against the metal bar. Harry loved that sound because it indicated that he was going his hardest to where the chain couldn’t keep up.

“Nice one, kid.” Henson, his trainer said as he fist-bumped Harry’s red glove.

Harry simply nodded in appreciation, too exhausted to speak as he placed his gloves onto his knees, leaning down as beads of sweat dripped down onto the matted floor. Several harsh breaths came out of his mouth as he sniffed in the fresh oxygen that was mixed with the musky scent of the gym.

Benny, Harry’s best friend, exited the ring, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm before walking towards Harry, who was still leaning on his knees. Benny tapped Harry’s glove, making him stand up straighter, and Harry patted Benny’s back.

“Good job out there, mate,” Harry told his best friend. Benny was in the ring with one of the other trainers, Mike, doing one of the nonstop routines. Harry liked training with Mike in the ring, but not when it was for cardio and timed rounds; he liked when it was chill, so he knew how hard he had to hit the target, which were the pads. But for the timed rounds they did, Harry was usually by the speed bags and Mike was in the ring.

“You too, man,” Benny breathed out with a smile.

They headed over to the bench to take their gloves off and catch a breather. The pair would do a cardio day every Thursday to get a good, sweaty workout in, and it always left them exhausted, but definitely much stronger.

“Hey, I’m not gonna be able to workout next Thursday,” Benny mentioned. Harry furrowed his brows as he put the end of the strap between his teeth to pull it off from the velcro, taking one glove off.

“What? Why not?” Harry asked confusingly. They never really had to call off a workout, especially Thursdays, unless one of them was sick, but other than that, neither of them missed any workout days.

“I’m taking the wife on a date,” Benny smirked, clearly very excited to spend some time with his wife, but Harry wasn’t amused.

“On a Thursday? Why can’t you do that on Friday?”

Benny rolled his eyes. “Because we both called off Friday, so we’re having a four day weekend to ourselves,” he explained.

Harry huffed, clearly not entertained. “Guess so…”

Benny knew Harry was always like this, ever since they were younger. The two had been so close ever since they met, now that Benny had a wife, Harry always felt like the third wheel and that he rarely saw Benny, however, that wasn’t entirely true Benny exercised with Harry every night during the weekdays, and sometimes they even grabbed a bite to eat afterward when Benny could use that time to be with his wife, Marianne.

Harry had an overwhelming fear of abandonment, it led him to have anxieties about how Benny could just get up and walk out of his life, even though he wouldn’t. Maybe it was why Harry is so attached to him; he’s the closest to Harry and it would completely destroy him if Benny ever decided that he didn’t want to be his friend anymore. That fear only grew based on an unfortunate turn of events that happened in college, four years ago, and it left Harry to pieces. Benny had never seen Harry so broken where he literally had to pick him up and take care of him. He never wanted to see his best friend like that ever again because it absolutely crushed him.

“It’s two days that we’re not going to be seeing each other, chill out. Didn’t know you were that in love with me,” Benny joked, hoping to lighten up Harry’s mood. Luckily, it worked because Harry breathed out a chuckle, throwing his towel at Benny’s face.

The two collected their belongings and walked over to the trainers as they always do at the end of every workout to have a light chat with them. Henson and Mike told them they did a great job and asked to confirm if they were still on for tomorrow, which Benny and Harry both agreed to. Benny also mentioned about not being able to work out next Thursday and Friday, including the reason why he wasn’t able to.

Henson and Mike looked at each other as if they were keeping something from the two. Harry titled his head and looked at Benny as if he was asking if he knew the reason why they were looking at each other weirdly, but Benny just shrugged his shoulders, just as clueless as Harry.

“Are you gonna tell us why you’re acting suspiciously?” Harry asked. The two trainers both sighed defeatedly.

“About that…” Henson started. “Next Friday…we’re closing,” he added.

“Like, closing for the day?” Benny asked innocently, hoping they didn’t mean what he really thought.

“No…for good,” Mike stated. Harry and Benny’s eyes both widened, words coming out of both of their mouths profusely. They were both talking over each other, disagreeing and not accepting the fact that the gym was shutting down.

“You can’t just do that-”

“-No, we refuse to let you close down-”

“Alright, guys! Settle down. You’re starting to act like kids, for god's sake,” Henson interrupted the tantrum that was about to start.

“You guys can’t just do that!” Benny exclaimed.

“Why are you guys even doing that?” Harry asked.

Mike sighed. “We mutually decided that it was best to close down because…we really need the money. My rent has been skyrocketing crazy high because more people have just decided that moving to Los Angeles is fun.” He rolled his eyes, and Harry slightly chuckled because it was true. Hollywood was the place to be and people from out of state had just figured out their new profound dream to move to one of the busiest cities.

“Fight Night will never be forgotten, alright? We’re just ready to let this place go. Plus, the roof is leaking and the wall is tearing apart, and that’s gonna be a pain to fix,” Henson added.

Mike and Henson were brothers and built Fight Night when they were in college. With the help of their father, they decided to build a place to gain strength and power, all while helping others defend themselves. Harry and Benny had been frequenting it ever since college, and it felt like home to them. Aside from the yelling and stuffy scent, it was a place for them to release any type of anger or stress.

Benny introduced Fight Night to Harry when he had physically picked Harry up from the ground on, what possibly was, the worst night of his life. It was something Harry looked forward to after classes, anxiously bouncing his leg up and down, waiting to get to the gym. Fight Night helped rebuild him, and now, he was in disbelief that the gym was closing.

“We’re old as fuck now. We wanna live our lives freely. Time to retire now, don’t you think?” Mike said with a sad chuckle. They were both in their late fifties, so Harry and Benny understood why they wanted to be free of work.

The four of them hugged it out, a very emotional and sentimental hug that was heartwarming but sad. Eyes were slightly watered before Henson pushed them and said, “We’re closing the gym next week, not fucking dying! We have time for this bullshit for an entire week.”

Harry and Benny left the gym with bittersweet hearts, but they kept Fight Night close to them, knowing that they owed a lot to the gym and the two men who built the facility. Mike had recommended some gyms that were close by if they were still interested in boxing, which they definitely were, so they were planning to check them out first before signing up.

“Do you wanna get something to eat?” Harry asked once they were outside of the gym. The air was humid, nothing different from inside the gym since it was summer and the sun was beginning to go down.

“Nah, I’m good. Gonna get home to Marianne. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Benny pat Harry’s back, nodding.

Harry waved. “See you.” He watched Benny walk away before getting into his silver 1990 BMW 5 series, sighing. He always hated going home, and he always tried staying out for as long as he possibly could.

As he drove home, he anxiously tapped his hands on the steering wheel as he couldn’t quite keep them still. It’d been happening for a while, a lot more often than he’d like, but he couldn’t help it.

Walking into the darkness and emptiness of his home, he sighed sadly as he sulked all the way to the restroom to shower. The hot steam relieved his achy and sore muscles, but he was hoping for this shower to also release any occurring and bad thoughts he had in his head.

He couldn’t help but think about the gym closing down. After going there for years, he couldn’t imagine going to a new gym; he’d adapted and adjusted to Fight Night that it would take him forever to find a gym that truly made him feel wanted. He was scared, to say the least.

Harry was never a big fan of change. He liked being comfortable and stable and didn't like to move around a lot. So, the thought of going to a different gym that wasn’t Fight Night, terrified him. It only added to the list of things that had abandoned him.

Once he was out of the shower, white towel secured lowly on his hips, showcasing his beautiful toned torso that was filled and inked with tattoos, his pager beeped. He wondered who it was as he walked over to his nightstand, considering that it was nearing nine in the evening.

He deeply sighed when he saw the pager read ‘345987,’ immediately knowing who it was. The pager code meaning ‘I’m horny’ could only mean it’s coming from Lizette.

Deciding not to answer the page, Harry set his pager down before walking back to the restroom, only for his home phone to ring, causing him to stop in his steps and answer the phone.

“Hello?” Harry answered.

“Hey, baby,” Lizette said seductively. His brows furrowed, holding the towel to his waist as it had loosened up a bit.

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want…” He knew exactly what she wanted. If she hadn’t paged him, he would still know what she wanted from him since all he provided to her was sex. “Isn’t it such a coincidence that I’m outside of your door right now?” Harry didn’t say anything but pinch the bridge of his nose before hanging up.

He walked towards his front door, sighing before opening the door that revealed Lizette on the other side, wearing a low cut top, cleavage clearly showing, and high waisted denim shorts. She leaned on the doorframe, smirking as she looked Harry up and down, noticing that he wasn’t wearing anything but a towel. Harry gulped as she stepped forward, placing her hands on his stomach before completely taking the towel off, and a smug smile plastered on her face.

Harry lets her take over like he always did. The feel of someone else’s body holding his, and lips kissing his own and his skin was something he couldn’t compare to anything else. Harry simply only did this to have some companionship, and Lizette made him feel a lot less lonely even if she was only there to have sex with him. He enjoys it twenty-five percent of the time—the other seventy-five percent was him actually wallowing in wanting someone to love him for him.

After they were done, Harry immediately covered himself with the blanket as Lizette got out of the bed to change back into her clothes. Even though they had sex multiple times and she’s seen him naked, there was something about the vulnerability after the sex that he didn’t want her to see because she didn’t quite deserve that if he was being honest.

“I had fun. Call you next time,” Lizette bid him goodbye before smacking a big kiss to his cheek, leaving a lipstick stain on his skin. She walked herself out, and once Harry heard the slam of the front door closing, he cringed slightly, wiping the lipstick off.

He turned onto his side, deeply exhaling. He didn’t feel anything but numbness—it was always like this. He used sex to cope with how he felt, but it only made it worse. Honestly, he didn’t know what else to do, so it was the only thing he turned to, other than boxing.

Harry fell asleep in his lonely room by himself. His heart was empty and felt like an isolated building that only carried his sadness.

The entire week had gone by in a flash — Fight Night was officially closed down for good.

Harry and Benny helped clean the space out as they reminisced and talked about the memories that were made in that gym. A lot of the stories had to do with girls walking by the gym, glancing through the window to see men working out, and then promptly walking into the gym to try and hit on the guys.

Harry had tried convincing Henson that he could run the gym, but he shot down the idea before Harry could convince him.

“Kid, look. If you want to run your own gym, do it. I want you to own a gym under your name. Not mine or Mike’s. You deserve to have something of your own, and whatever that may be, work for it. Work hard for it. I know you got it in you because you’re a hard worker, determined. You need to see that for yourself.”

A conversation that was supposed to convince Henson to let Harry run the gym turned into a sentimental series of words that Harry really needed to hear. Harry didn’t say anything else and nodded as he took in Henson’s words to his heart. Henson was someone Harry looked up to. He was an old man with wise words, and everything he said was either meaningful or mean, in a way to show tough love. So, his words were something Harry lived by.

The following Monday after Fight Night closed, Benny and Harry were on the search for their new gym. They didn’t plan on quitting the gym after their favorite one had closed down, and Henson and Mike made them swear they wouldn’t stop working out.

Now, the two were walking into a gym that was up the same amount of time Fight Night was. ‘Don’s Box’ was what the gym was called. The building was newly reconstructed, making the place seem more modern and a little less dingy. The space was quite big, able to fit two rings, six punching bags spread throughout, eight-speed bags, and a weight rack. The walls were painted black, but the amount of natural light from the window was plentiful enough to make the gym feel bigger and brighter.

A decent amount of people were at the gym, sectioned off with a few kids from eight to twelve on one side, and the rest of the adults on the other. There was a good mix between women and men, and everyone hyped everyone up with motivating words and claps over the music that was playing through two speakers that were hung in the corner.

“Can I help you?” An older man with gray hair had asked the two. He looked quite intimidating; wearing nylon sweatpants and a black long-sleeved shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, showing his gold watch. The look he had on his face was stern as he crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, yeah. We’re interested in joining your gym,” Benny told the man. The man looked the two up and down and scoffed.

“Sure you guys are ready for that?”

“We’ve been boxing for years, so yeah, we are.” Harry chimed in, a slightly defensive tone added to his words.

The man glared at Harry, stepping towards him. Harry was slightly taller than him, but he knew the man could definitely take him at any given moment, but Harry wasn’t looking to fight the man, honestly. He wanted to act and look tough in front of him, so the guy wouldn’t give him any crap for it later down the road during his workouts.

“Alright, alright. Take it easy, pa.” You interrupted, placing a hand on the man’s shoulders, making him turn his head. You raised your brows at him before tilting your head a bit, telling him to step back. The man backed off, giving Harry a snarly glance before huffing.

“I’m just messing. Gotta know how tough my athletes are to be here,” he spoke in a lighter tone than he was to the man in front of him, putting his arm around you.

“Thought you were gonna ‘stay on the sidelines’ and let me handle it?” You quoted your father’s words back to him, and he chuckled, putting his hands up, surrendering as he knew he couldn’t win against you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll let you handle it.” Don, your father, quickly looked at Harry up and down, and you rolled your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t do anything to potential customers. He walked away and you breathed out a chuckle, scratching your head.

“Sorry about that. You two are interested in joining?” You asked the two men in front of you. They were rather…attractive, you noticed. The one on the left was gorgeous with beautiful brown skin that looked so smooth. He was wearing a pair of red short-shorts and a white muscle tee. You noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring, so you averted your eyes off of him. The man next to him, however, was absolutely stunning. His left arm carried a sleeve-full of tattoos, and you wanted so badly to examine and look at every single one. With chocolate brown curls, his green eyes had a tad bit of a glimmer to them, not too much though, because if you were being honest, they were a bit dull, like he was exhausted and needed to let off some of the stress that he held based on how tense he looked.

You tried not to observe and think about it too much as your ability to read individuals thrived while meeting new people. You shook it off the thought, not wanting to assume things about their lives and seem too creepy in front of new and potential members.

“Yeah, we are. I’m Benny, by the way.” He shook your hand, smiling.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. I run this place.” You offered the same smile back. Your eyes looked over at his friend, and he gave you a soft smile. “Y/N,” you repeated, taking your hand out for him to shake.

“I’m Harry. Harry Styles,” he introduced fully. A beautiful name for a beautiful man, you thought. He shook your hand as you felt the softness of his skin mixed with a tad bit of roughness from the callouses, probably from heavy-lifting.

Something about Harry introducing his full name had made you a bit weak in the knees. His deep and accented voice had made you a bit flustered as chills ran up your body. You’re acting like a fool, your subconscious told you. You were never one to show your obvious attraction for men, you were more into watching them from the side. But once Harry walked in, it seemed like you didn’t know how to keep your chill.

“Perfect. Nice to meet you both. Signing up shouldn’t be too long—don’t want to keep you two from working out.” You led the two men to one of the offices, knocking on the wooden door to greet Jamie. “Hi. These two are looking to sign up. Do you mind helping them out?”

“Of course! Come on in, guys,” Jamie greeted them, offering them to take a seat along with some water, which they both said yes to.

“I have to get back to my session, but you both are in great hands. Jamie is one of our best,” you told the two. You sent an innocent wink at Jamie, which he sent one back while Harry watched the entire interaction, feeling uneasy.

It was quite obvious how attractive and pretty you were. The moment he first saw you, his breath had immediately hitched in his throat. You had the most gorgeous face he’d ever seen, and when you spoke, your voice was soft and gentle, making Harry a bit more safe in a place he’s new to.

Jamie had gotten their details and credit card information down before asking them if they needed a tour of the place. They both had said no, seeing as things were pretty self-explanatory and they’d been to a boxing gym before.

They headed out of Jamie’s office and to the main floor, walking over to the heavy bags since the section was less crowded to start stretching. Harry rolled his shoulders and neck around, swinging his arms forwards and backward as he looked around the gym.

This was something he had to get used to—being in a new place, surrounded by new people. At Fight Night, he was around the same people for four years, and he was comfortable — he was fine with it. But now, he had to go through the same process all over again. Nerves and anxiety crept up his skin as he tried to jump around lightly, warming up a bit but also trying to shake off the unwanted feelings.

“Hey, you okay?” Benny asked concerningly as he stretched.

Harry’s brows raised, covering up his anxiousness. “Hmm, yeah, I am. Y’know, just a, uh, new place, that’s all,” he brushed him off.

“Okay. Well, whenever you’re ready to go, just tell me,” Benny told him before going into his bag to grab the wrapping tape.

Harry nodded, smiling in appreciation. Benny had always been a great friend to him, and Harry was a great friend to Benny as well. They always took each other’s feelings and concerns into consideration—always making sure the other is okay. They both really appreciated it because some friends weren’t lucky enough to talk about their feelings and be that vulnerable with one another. They trusted each other; they were like brothers.

Harry grabbed his jump rope, deciding to do a little five-minute warm-up to get his heart rate going. He faced the boxing ring to the left of him, noticing that you were in the ring, so he decided to casually watch you box. He then noticed that you had boxing pads on instead of gloves, and the people you were training were the kids that he had seen earlier.

He watched you instruct the excited kids who were prancing around with their boxing gloves on, in every color imagined. You helped them fix their form, their stance, and their punch; telling them that they had to be quick with their hit to bring their glove back to the side of their face quickly, so their opponent doesn’t have a chance to take a hit. The kids demonstrated for you, punching your right hand that was covered with the pad. You praised all of them, of course, correcting a few things, but overall, everyone was a natural fighter.

Harry’s heart rate definitely started to pick up, and he didn’t know if it was how fast he was jumping rope or because of the flutter he felt as he watched you interact with the kids. He truly never felt this kind of feeling where his heart picked up from the simple act of looking at someone.

You had definitely noticed Harry staring at you from your peripheral view, and you had thought it was a simple glance, but he never looked away. So, you took the opportunity to take a quick look at him while the kids were practicing.

Your eyes met him and you sent him a small smile, along with a wave with your boxing pads. Harry’s eyes widened, realizing that you were waving at him, and what happened next had embarrassed him even more. With how fast he was jumping, he suddenly got tangled with the rope, causing him to trip against it. Luckily, he caught his fall, but he was already embarrassed enough.

Harry’s heart completely dropped, cheeks flushed. He couldn’t believe he had made a complete fool of himself, especially at his new gym. He so badly wanted to tell Benny that he was ready to leave, but when he looked over at his friend, he had already started his workout, being so focused and in the zone that Harry didn’t want to be a burden.

When he turned back around to see if you were still looking, he jolted back a bit as you were behind him.

“Are you okay?” You asked concerningly.

“Uh, yeah. I…yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” He cleared his throat, trying to cover up the fact that his voice almost cracked. He was so stunned by you. The way you made sure he was okay was possibly the nicest thing someone had done for him as you looked at him with your sweet eyes, and your posture was giving him your full attention. His heart pounded through his chest; the simple action and effort that was being put into this was making him overwhelmed.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” You told him as you looked at him intently. He simply nodded, knowing that he couldn’t process any more words.

You gave him one last smile before quickly going back to your students. He watched you climb into the ring so effortlessly before continuing your training class.

Harry took a deep breath before walking over to one of the speed bags that was in the corner, hoping to hide away from the embarrassment that he felt. Wrapping his hands up, he anxiously scanned the room, noticing that everyone was doing their own thing. There was a possibility that no one else had seen him almost fall on his face, except you, which he really wished that it was the entire gym who saw him instead, not you. He lazily hit the speed bag, trying to warm up and shake off his mortification. Harry continued hitting the bag, eventually getting into a rhythm as his fists alternated between one another, along with the rhythm of the music of Montrell Jordan’s ‘This Is How We Do It.’

Soon enough, all the worry and stress that was in Harry’s head and body was shaken off and completely forgotten about as he focused on his strong punches, making sure to connect his mind to his muscles, so he could feel his muscles working.

And for the time being, life wasn’t all that bad.

A month had passed since being at Don’s Box, and Harry and Benny quite liked it. They had newer equipment and their music was always on point, playing the best of 90s R&B and Hip-Hop. It was their favorite music to listen to, especially while working out. The people there were nice and cool, never getting in each other’s way and letting everyone do their own thing while still having fun, keeping the space safe and comfortable.

Harry found himself walking into the gym at nine at night, an hour and a half before it closed. Usually, he wouldn’t work out this late, but during the day, he had felt so unmotivated and lazy to even get out of bed. He could put the blame on Lizette because she had gone to his house the night prior, doing the same thing they always do, but he knew she wasn’t the one to blame. Something about saying no to her and having her not talk to him had physically pained him. They were in a specific arrangement, he knew that. But having someone leave him again was something he couldn’t go through.

‘What’s Luv?’ by Fat Joe, Ja Rule, and Ashanti was playing when he set his bag down onto the ground against the wall, next to the heavy bag. He started to stretch as he took a look around; not many people were working out at this time, which he liked.

His eyes continued to search the gym, in hopes he would find you still here. Before the slightest bit of disappointment could settle, he saw you walk out of the hallway with Jamie, smiling and laughing at something he had said. He made a face as a hint of jealousy rushed through as he saw you with Jamie. He knew that there was no point in being jealous because he barely even knew you. But for the past month that he’s been at Don’s Box, you always had this look of excitement on your face when you saw and greeted Harry. It made his stomach flutter every time you would flash him your beautiful smile as you would carry the conversation, asking him about his day and if the music was good, which he commends you for putting his favorite songs on.

Looking away, he decided to just focus on the quick workout he could get in before the gym closed, so he retained his attention back to stretching before bending down to grab the tape from his bag to wrap his hands.

“Uh, hi, Harry,” you smiled as you greeted him. He looked up at you. The way the light was positioned behind your head made you look like an actual angel; you were ethereal.

He stood up and smiled softly. “Hi. How are you?” He asked, trying to contain his nerves from just looking at you. You were gorgeous, as you always are every day. You were wearing a pair of black leggings and a light pink t-shirt that was tied into a knot with the word ‘angel’ that was surrounded by wings printed in the middle. Kind of a coincidence, he thought, thinking back to when he called you an angel in his head.

“Good, good. You’re here later than usual—without Benny too,” you pointed out, but immediately cursed at yourself for making such an odd observation and telling it to his face as if you were keeping track of the times he’s gone into the gym.

“Yeah, I was pretty…tired during the day, so the only time I got a burst of energy was right now. And Benny is with his wife and in-laws tonight, so it’s just me tonight,” he explained with a soft chuckle.

“Well, glad you got the chance to make it in,” you said genuinely. He simply nodded, not knowing what else to say but instead he captured himself into you as you stared at him with your captivating eyes that spoke right through him. What was happening to him? He thought. This hadn’t really happened before, and he was good at letting his walls go up and guarding his precious heart.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out,” Jamie said, greeting you goodbye, and taking Harry out of his thoughts. “Hey, man. Have a good workout.” He shook Harry’s hand, and Harry smiled, nodding.

“See you tomorrow,” you told Jamie, smiling a bit as you waved. Jamie left the gym, and it was just you and Harry, along with a few other people who were wrapping up their workout.

“Are you not gonna go with him?” Harry asked, and you raised your brows in confusion.

“Why would I go with him?” You wondered.

“Oh, I just thought you would leave with him, y’know, your boyfriend…” he trailed off, slyly slipping in the word boyfriend in that sentence.

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, no. Jamie isn't my boyfriend. I’ve known him since I was ten, but nothing’s ever happened between us. Besides, he has a boyfriend of his own.” Harry raised his brows in shock as his shoulders visibly relaxed. “No need to worry, Harry. I’m all yours,” you flirted a bit. You normally wouldn’t flirt so easily with someone, especially if they were a member of your gym, but something about Harry had made you release all the stress you had once you saw and talked to him.

Harry blushed, grinning as his dimple popped out on his cheek. Your eyes lightened once you noticed that feature, making you think that he was ten times cuter than he already is.

“You’ve been in the ring, right?” You asked curiously. Harry nodded, and the corner of your lips turned up. “Great! We have about a little less than an hour and a half, so if you’re looking for some intense cardio, I could do it with you—y’know, train you and guide you, and whatnot,” you suggested.

If Harry’s being honest, he wasn’t planning on doing cardio today—just a few routines to get his muscles warm, but the way you’re looking at him and how you spoke to him so softly and effortlessly, he couldn’t say no.

“Yeah, I’m up for it,” he responded. Your eye brightened, resisting the urge to squeal from excitement, telling him that you were going to get the mitts and to meet you in the ring. He chuckled slightly as you walked over to the equipment room to get the mitts. Harry quickly hit the speed bag to warm up until he saw you walk out of the room.

He put on his gray sweater and a green packers beanie, so he could sweat more before he met you in the ring with his gloves pressed between his arm and the side of his body. You put the mitts in between your legs as Harry handed you one of the gloves. Holding onto the end of it, he put his hand inside as you pushed the glove towards him, so it would sit on his hand tightly before strapping it securely for him before proceeding to the next one. The proximity between you two was quite close as you helped him put on the gloves, and you could smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with the slightest bit of sweat, giving him that unique musk; the one that doesn’t smell horrible at all but lured you in.

You quickly snapped out of your thoughts and looked up at Harry. “Good?” He nodded, punching the gloves together to make sure they felt comfortable. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this,” Harry said, skipping in place to warm his body up before getting into his stance. His left leg was a few feet away from his right leg as he bounced around a bit, waiting for you.

You faintly smirked, nodding your head before you put on the mitts. Since Harry was very familiar with the mitt workouts, you figured that you didn’t need to explain what each number represented since mostly all trainers and coaches use the same numbers for the same punch.

“Okay, let’s warm up a bit. Give me one,” you instructed. Harry put his gloves up to protect his face as you held your right mitt up. With his left hand, he punched your mitt, not giving his full strength. “Is that all you got?” You challenged, knowing that he had more power in him.

“I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he said honestly with a small pout, standing straight from his boxing stance. Usually, you would take offense to that statement, barking back a comment saying that just because you were a girl it didn’t mean you couldn’t take a hit, but you didn’t go that far into it, knowing Harry didn’t mean it that way whatsoever.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Harry. I’ve trained so many people—all with different body types and strengths. My hand has felt all different types of power, so hit the mitt like you mean it.” You hit his shoulder, building up his motivation. He nodded, getting back into his stance as did you. “Now, give me one.”

This time, Harry’s glove met your mitt with full potential and force, and you took the hit well—not moving back or being stunned.

“There you go! Keep going,” you told him, and he continued giving you jabs. ‘In Da Club’ by 50 Cent was blaring through the speakers as Harry breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Several huffs of breath came out loudly as he punched, moving and dancing around the ring with you as the two of you occasionally shifted and switched positions.

Harry got in a few more punches before you switched it up, telling him, “1-2.” Harry jabbed with his left hand and crossed jabbed with his right hand, putting his full range of motion into his right punch. He did that combination five times as he started to feel sweat dripping down his back and the sides of his forehead.

You were yelling out words of encouragement and motivation, praising him for his punches, to which he responded back with a better and solid punch to your mitts.

“Nice!” You took a step back to move around the ring to take advantage of the space as Harry jumped and skipped around to wherever you directed him to. “Wanna take a break?” You asked. He shook his head no, determined to finish this workout that he couldn’t even think about wanting to take a break because he really didn’t want to. “Okay, 1-4-3,” you told him. With force, he jabbed, hooked with his left hand, and hooked with his right hand.

This feeling that he had felt—being in the ring with you—was something entirely different than when he was in the ring with Henson or Mike. The stress that he physically carried onto his shoulder had washed away into nothingness, leaving him with a drive that didn’t include overthinking and fear. The fear that had left him worried and depressed, that his life would amount to nothing—that fear disappeared inside him once he threw the first punch. It was exhilarating and fun, and he didn’t know he could have this much fun in the ring. But this was the most pleasure he’s ever felt while boxing.

You ordered him to do some different combinations, such as ‘1-2-3-5,’ which was a jab, cross jab, leading hook, and rear uppercut. You also included moments when he had to duck because you were swinging at him. He definitely had gotten into a rhythm, punching and moving faster. You were the trainer, the person that was supposed to instruct him, but you matched his rhythm and energy and moved quicker with him as well.

You were starting to get a sweat in as well, and that was mostly because of the adrenaline rushing through your blood as you moved excitedly around the ring.

After a while, a timer had gone off, telling you that it was time to close up as Harry’s focus was cut off—the sound making him look up hastily. Throughout the time you were working out with Harry, people were slowly starting to make their way out, but the two of you were too focused on working out that you hadn’t even noticed that it was just the two of you left in the gym.

“Oh, guess we’re closing.” You stood up straighter, wiping the sweat on your forehead with your forearm. “Feelin’ good?” You asked Harry with a proud smile.

“Feelin’ great,” he smirked.

“Good, I’m glad. You did great!” You complimented, ripping the velcro strap with your teeth as you took off the mitts. Harry did the same, shaking out his arms as he clenched and unclenched his fists to relieve the ache from making a fist for more than an hour.

“Thank you. You’re a really great trainer, by the way. This was…the first time I had fun in the ring,” he told you honestly, and without knowing, the slightest bit of him had opened up to you.

Your eyes brightened, a glimpse of shimmer reflected on your eyes. “Really? Thank you, that makes me really happy, actually.” You felt like you were going to cry on the spot. No one, except your younger students, had ever told you that they had fun in the ring since most people used boxing as a way to get stronger and improve their punches. But fun? That was the first, and you would definitely keep that with you forever.

You and Harry walked to one end of the ring as Harry held open the top two ropes with his hand as he stepped on the bottom two ropes with his foot, holding it open for you to get out. You blushed, thanking him before you got out of the ring as he followed you out.

Once you two were on the ground, you turned around to face him. You watched as he took off his beanie, shaking his hair out as they bounced; curls were now formed into waves because of the heat and the sweat that had produced in his beanie. He looked…extra good right now. With his cheeks flushed, hair messy, and sweat dripping down his forehead, you couldn’t put into words how incredibly sexy he looked.

You cleared your throat, not wanting to get caught for ogling him. “I, uh, have to check on some things before closing. Take your time! And I’ll see you on Monday?” You raised your brows and curled your lips in as you looked up at him. A sense of flustered-ness settled in you as you waited for his answer.

He breathed out a chuckle as he looked down briefly before looking back into your eyes again. “Yeah, I’ll see you.” You nodded your head, waving at him before you headed over to the office. Harry smiled as he watched you walk into the hallway until he couldn’t see you anymore.

A small blush formed onto his cheeks as he contained himself from smiling too big and too wide. He put all of his stuff back into his bag, grabbing his towel, ridding the sweat off his skin. Grabbing his belongings, he took another glance at the hallway, hoping to get another look at you before he took off, but you were occupied with closing the gym, so he didn’t bother staying any longer.

With a small smile on his face, he walked out of the gym, taking in this new profound feeling that he’d never felt before, hoping this feeling would last.

The next morning, Harry had a sudden urge to go back to the gym. His upper body was quite sore, but he figured he could do some leg exercises to balance the soreness he felt. He normally wouldn’t workout on the weekends since those were his rest days, but despite being sore, he didn’t feel tired. It could also do with the fact that he wanted to see you again, not wanting to wait until Monday to do that again.

When he walked into the gym, ‘Ride Wit Me’ by Nelly was playing and his head slightly bopped to the music, walking over to the corner of the gym to warm up. He scanned the gym, looking for a particular person, but couldn’t find you. There were a decent amount of people, not too crowded or too little, so it should’ve been easy to find you. Thinking that you were probably in your office, he shook off the slight disappointment and got ready to workout.

Throughout his workout, his head wasn’t in it. He kept glancing through the mirror to see if you had shown up, but you hadn’t. His eyes were always looking over at the front door every time someone would walk in, but a small frown settled onto his face when he realized it wasn’t you.

He wrapped up his workout an hour later, thinking that he somewhat still got a good workout in. He walked out of the gym, saying bye to some of the guys that had caught him before he left.

It was nearing noon when his stomach had growled, urging him to consume some food. There was a Mediterranean hole-in-the-wall restaurant right across Don’s Box, and his mouth watered at the thought of it. He walked to his car that was parked on the side of the street to drop his bag off before walking across the street to the restaurant.

He scanned the menu, standing on the side since he didn’t know what he was ordering yet. The sound of the door ringing and a voice that was speaking to him brought him out of his thoughts.

“Are you in line?” Harry turned his head towards the voice, and his heart nearly beating ten times faster when he saw you. He had a shocked expression on his face, not expecting to see you, especially when you were wearing the complete opposite of what he normally sees you in. You were wearing a pair of blue denim overalls with a black t-shirt underneath, along with white Reebok sneakers. You had a bit of makeup on; an orange sparkly eyeshadow look with some mascara that made your eyelashes look full and natural. Your lips were painted in a red-orange lipstick stain, bringing out more of your natural lip color.

The beauty that Harry’s eyes were blessed with made his knees weak, sending shivers to his skin. Your angelic appearance had struck him so hard that he was sure he would see the light of day, hoping to meet you up there since you were a real-life angel.

“Y/N…hi,” he managed to spit out.

“Hi, Harry. Did you just workout?” You asked.

He nodded, feeling a bit nervous. “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“You don’t usually go in on Saturdays…” you noticed, only seeing him during the weekdays. You’re off on Saturdays, but there was one Saturday that you had gone into the gym briefly, and you didn’t see him there.

“Yeah, I felt like going in today,” he said, obviously leaving out the part that he only went to the gym to see you again, but you didn’t need to know that bit. There was a moment of silence between you two until Harry remembered that he was probably holding up the line for you. “Oh, you could go ahead. I’m not ready to order yet.”

You smiled, nodding your head as you stepped forward in the line. “Have you ever been here before?”

“No, I haven’t. Do you have any suggestions?”

You slightly squinted your eyes at him. “Do you trust me?” You asked.

That was a difficult question for him, and somewhat vague. Did you mean overall, at the moment, or for his food order? Either way, he nodded because he knew that it didn’t matter what you meant--he had this sense of security with you that he would trust you with his life, and that said a lot, considering that he’d only known you for a month.

“Yeah, I do trust you,” he stated honestly.

His words brought a grin to your face, looking at him appreciatively. Based on your observations of him, you noticed that he was a bit closed off; he didn’t open himself up, and if he did, it took a lot in him to do just that. So, hearing him tell you that he trusts you made you grateful, and you would never do anything to take advantage of that trust because he didn’t just give it out easily.

“I got you,” you simply said before turning back around towards the cashier. Harry softly smirked as he took a step forward to stand next to you. You looked at him, flashing him a toothy grin before quickly facing forward.

You ordered your favorite dish from the restaurant, which was a beef kabab plate, for the both of you. Harry quickly got his wallet out, offering to pay, but you told him that you got it this time, hoping your words conveyed that you wanted there to be a next time. He shyly thanked you for the lunch, keeping your words in mind because he would definitely be up for a ‘next time.’

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long for your order to come out, which was fortunate for Harry because he was starving. You suggested eating outside since it was a beautiful day out and Harry agreed, following you out of the restaurant.

You two sat on the metal chairs, digging into your dishes. Harry’s mouth watered as he ate, his stomach being satisfied. There was a comfortable silence that settled between you two, only making small conversation when you asked if he liked the food, which you were glad to hear that he loved.

“So, how long have you been running Don’s Box?” He suddenly asked, wanting to get to know you better.

You raised your brows at his question. “For about two years now. My father, Don, opened the gym when he was twenty-five, that’s when he had me as well. But when he opened the gym, it practically changed his life. He’d boxed all of his life, and he was happy training other people when he started getting more people to come into his gym. When I was about six, he told me that he wanted me to run the gym when I turned twenty-five, only if I wanted to. But of course, I did. I looked up to him all of my life, and the gym made me happy as well,” you explained, smiling at the memory of when you were younger, being excited to turn twenty-five to do the same thing your father did.

A soft smile appeared on Harry’s face as you reminisce on the memory.

“How long have you been boxing?”

“Since I was eight. Don showed me the ropes when I told him I was ready. There used to be a seating area on the side of the ring because when I was younger, I used to sit there and watch him work and train people. So, I was pretty interested and intrigued about fighting to get myself stronger, even at the young age of eight,” you chuckled.

You were a daddy’s girl, always had been since you were born. Don had always set a pretty amazing example of how you should go about living your life. He would always say ‘Live your life with a strong punch. Keep your head up, and don’t let anything get to you because you’re so much more than what other people say. But if you need to cry, you can—there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.’

As your eyes watered from the thought of your father’s words, Harry watched as you got emotional and he couldn’t help but think that you’ve crossed a line in asking too many questions.

“Sorry, I always get emotional-”

“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped—I should’ve kept the questions to myself-”

“Oh, no! You didn’t overstep whatsoever. I’m glad you asked me those questions, I just get soft and emotional over my dad, so hence, I’m tearing up,” you let out a somewhat pathetic chuckle as you couldn’t believe that you almost cried in front of this gorgeous man. You dabbed the corners of your eyes with your napkin, stopping the tears from falling out.

Harry nodded understandingly, waiting for you to regroup yourself. You kept apologizing, but he kept telling you that you had nothing to be sorry for.

“Really, if you need to cry, you can…” he told you. Your eyes widened; you were just thinking about your dad’s words two minutes ago, and for Harry to say the exact same thing Don had always told you without even knowing that Don had said those words.

Not wanting to cry in front of him, you simply nodded your head, holding the napkin on the outer corner of your eye, so the napkin would catch your tears.

Harry quickly changed the subject, sensing that you needed it, and you really did, so you were grateful for that. He busied himself by telling you what his favorite ice cream flavor was since he was suddenly reminded that there was a shop just down the street. He kept you occupied by talking about all the sweet treats that he used to eat with his mom back home, and how much he missed walking down the streets in the city to eat some ice cream.

“My mum used to make this really great chocolate mousse pie, and we would eat it every weekend. It was extremely sweet, but it was delicious. I really miss it…” he told you. That had been a while ago, but it was like he could still taste the dessert as if he just ate it yesterday.

“Is your mom back home in England?” You asked, figuring that there wasn’t any harm in asking to get to know him since he asked you some questions as well.

“Uh…actually, I don’t know where she is…” he said honestly, and you knitted your brows in confusion. “I mean, honestly. I don’t know where she is. Ever since I went to uni, she’s been all over the place, taking vacations and barely calling. I-I feel like she’s forgotten about me,” he spoke ever so softly as he was fragile.

You listened to him intently, giving him your full attention as he was opening up a part of his life that you knew he doesn’t tell a lot of people. A part of him that he’s kept in for so long and just the passing sense of relief he felt saying those words and speaking up about this subject had made him feel so much better.

“I’m sure she didn’t forget about you.”

“Seemed like it. We inherited my grandfather’s will—left us a generous amount for each of us that’ll take care of us for the rest of our lives. And she took that and ran with it. I mean, I get it—she wants to live her life, and now’s the time to do that because she’s got the money for it, but I feel…abandoned. She got up, said goodbye, and just…left. It just makes me think that I’m not good enough—that I wasn’t good enough to stay.” Harry opened a can of worms that he can’t take back anymore. But the trust that he had in you already made him want to talk about everything with you; to open up about all of his stresses and insecurities.

Boldly, you reached your arm across the table but immediately pulled away because you didn’t want to touch him without asking. But before you could open your mouth and ask, Harry had reached forward, meeting your hand halfway as his palm was facing up as if it was a way of saying ‘you can hold my hand if you want.’ Blushing, you reached forward again and took your hand into his.

The touch was sweet and tender as you two held hands; the want to hold each other tighter was present, wanting to take away Harry’s pain.

“Harry, you will always be good enough. I know we just met a month ago, but I already know that you’re the sweetest, kindest person. Please know that. You are enough, and I’m grateful that you’re here and that I’m sitting across from you, eating lunch,” you declared. Harry sniffled, not knowing what to say as he put his head down, so you continued. “For as long as we’re friends, I’m gonna stay.” You spoke with complete honesty as you caressed the back of his hand with your thumb.

Harry’s head lifted up at your last statement in disbelief as if this was the first time someone had ever said that to him.

“Really?”

You squeezed his hand, making his heart flutter. “Yeah. As long as you want me to,” you reassured, nodding.

Harry gave you a soft and appreciating smile as he took a deep breath. The breath that he held in throughout the entirety of the conversation was finally let out in relief. He shrunk back into his seat, still holding your hand as you continued rubbing it, and he breathed out a chuckle. It was an overwhelming feeling that was riddled with happiness and a sense of security washed over him.

It was like he had been waiting for you; someone new that unexpectedly came into his life was scary because it was change, but it was a good change. A change for the better. He had been vulnerable enough to open himself up, and it all led to the tight bond and trust you two had with one another, sealing your friendship and relationship.

And you both knew this moment was going to change everything.

Time had passed by rather quickly as it was nearing the end of October. The weather was getting chillier as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds earlier. There was something about the fall weather that Harry adored. It may have to do with the fact that the gloomy sky had occurred more often, or how he got to call it a night early. Whatever it may be, he liked it, or he used to.

In recent times, he wanted the sun to stay out until it was time to go to bed. He wanted warm days instead of gloomy. His new changed attitude towards life had to do with you.

You and Harry had been hanging out quite a lot; getting to know one another, getting a bite or drink, and working out together, it definitely gave Harry the chance to let go of his past. He was happier, smiled more, and laughed a lot which he didn’t know he was capable of doing those things again until he met you.

Benny loved it, though. He sure cherished it because seeing his best friend happy again was something he was afraid he wouldn’t see again. But that didn’t stop him from having a little talk with you, trying to protect Harry and set you straight.

When Harry was occupied with hitting the speed bag, Benny walked over to the ring, where you had just finished another class with your younger students.

“Hey, Benny!” You greeted him once you saw him walk towards you.

“Hey, do you mind chatting for a minute?” You raised your brows, nodding your head. Benny usually didn’t talk to you privately nor was it anything serious, but by the look on his face, it seemed pretty serious. “So, you’ve been hanging out with Harry a lot, hmm?”

You smiled softly. “Yeah! Hope you don’t mind that? Know I’m taking your best friend and all…”

“No, I don’t mind. I’m actually glad you are. He seems quite taken by you, and I haven’t seen him like that in a very long time,” Benny said honestly. You seemed to know where this conversation was going now, and now that you thought about it, you expected this from Benny because they were like brothers and Benny would do anything to protect Harry. “What I’m trying to say is…if you’re only hanging out with him to fuck with him, don’t bother. He’s been through enough, and I know he can’t handle anymore of that and I can’t stand to see him like that again.”

“Like what?” You hesitatingly asked.

“Like…just know that he was a mess. He couldn’t get up, eat, drink, shower, or anything. I had to physically help him. I don’t want to see him like that ever again.” Benny shook his head as if he was reliving the horrible nightmare that he went through a few years ago.

“Is this about his mom?”

“He told you that?” He asked, just to make sure, and you nodded. “Kind of. But that’s only half of it. He’ll tell you when he’s ready, but I’ve already said too much. Just…take care of him, okay? He tries to act tough sometimes, but he’s trying his best to not break down. Although, I haven’t seen that kind of look on him since he’s been hanging out with you, so you’re probably doing something right.”

You nodded understandingly. “Thanks for talking to me. I don’t plan on breaking his heart at all, and I’m quite taken with him myself,” you admitted.

“Good. I’m glad you are. He’s a great guy.” Benny smiled, and you agreed.

Benny didn’t talk to you for much longer before he started getting cold from standing around, so he ended the conversation and went back to working out.

Meanwhile, as you and Benny were talking, Don took the chance himself to talk to Harry, seeing as you were occupied.

“Harry.” Don made himself present around him.

Harry immediately stopped his workout, greeting your father. “What’s up, Don?”

“So, I’ve noticed that you’ve been hanging around Y/N a lot.” Don’s stance changed as he crossed his arms, sporting a slight frown. Harry gulped; he always found Don to be quite intimidating, ever since he joined the gym, but Harry didn’t want to seem like he couldn’t have a serious conversation with the father of the woman that he’s slowly falling for--no, he couldn’t act like that. “What’s that all about?” Don added.

“I’m just…we’re friends, so we’re just hanging out. Nothing more,” he told Don honestly. Although he would like there to be more, he didn’t know how you felt about him or if you even felt anything for him at all.

Don nodded. He could tell that Harry was holding back on something he wanted to say, and he had an idea of what that was. So, he let loose of the intimidating and protective act, knowing that wasn’t really him anyway, and his expression softened as he uncrossed his arms. He placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“You have this look of wanting to say more and you don’t have to tell me, but I will tell you this…if you want to date her and go out with her, you can. This isn’t approval and a ‘yes’ for you to take her out because I don’t need to do that--she can make her own decisions. All I’m saying is that if you want to, go for it. Life is too fuckin’ short to not do anything, to not say anything.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled in appreciation at Don’s words. “Thanks, Don. I definitely want to take her out, but I just don’t know how she feels about me.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure she feels something for you--she hasn’t told me, but I just know. You’re the first guy in a while that she’s been hanging around with consistently, and that comforts me, in a way. Knowing that she’s living her life and not holding back anymore.” Harry stayed silent, taking his words in. He tried not to overanalyze what Don had said because you’ll tell him and open up to him when you want to, just like how you’re patiently waiting for Harry to open up fully as well. “Just…don’t break her heart, okay? She’s been through enough and I just want her to be happy.”

Harry nodded understandingly, saying a soft ‘okay’ before Don changed the subject and talked about how Harry should train with him one of these days, which Harry immediately said yes to and they planned for the following week to train. Don left him to finish his workout, telling him to have a nice night as you and Harry were going out to dinner.

Benny and Harry finished up their workout, and before they were able to head out the front door, Harry stopped, telling Benny to give him a minute. Harry fast-walked towards you, lugging his bag on his shoulder. You were coming out of your office, which was why Harry couldn’t say goodbye to you after his workout.

“Hey, we’re heading out,” he said, wiping the bit of sweat on the back of his neck with his towel.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up,” Harry suggested, pursing his lips into his mouth as he contained his smile. You nodded, eyes sparkling as you looked up at him. “I’ll, uh, page you,” he slightly smirked.

“Okay,” you mindlessly responded as you were getting quite lost in his green eyes that looked at you intently with a gleam that sat so perfectly against his irises, making his eyes glimmer brightly.

He gave you one last smile and a little wave before walking out of the gym with Benny. You were left stunned as you stood there, completely drifted away from reality as you were in a dream about Harry. You felt a small nudge on your shoulder, causing you to snap out of your thoughts and dream as you turned around to see your father laughing.

“Get back to work.” A smug plastered on his face.

A breathy chuckle was released from your mouth as a hint of embarrassment emerged onto your face with wide eyes. You got back to work, focusing your attention on training your next client, but your mind was racing at the thought of Harry.

As he promised, Harry paged you when he was outside of your apartment complex. He wanted to knock on your door like the proper gentleman that he is, but the buzzer machine to let people in wasn’t working, so paging you would have to do for now. He waited for you outside of his newly washed car, making sure it was nice and clean for you as he leaned against the passenger door.

You walked out of your building, and Harry was immediately blown away. You were wearing a black skirt with stockings that hugged your legs, and a white knitted sweater since it was on the chillier side.

Every time he saw you, his heart would beat incredibly fast, pulse pounding through his veins. His stomach was in flits of butterflies, soaring in his heart and stomach, making him extremely nervous. Every time he saw you, everything would stop, like you were the only person in the world and everything was okay.

“Hey, H,” you flashed him your smile, one that he looked forward to every time he saw you.

“H-Hi,” he stuttered, clearing his throat to start over. “Hi. You look really nice.”

You blushed. “Thank you! You look great as well. Love this top.” You reached forward, lightly tugging at his red-orange knitted long-sleeve. He paired it with blue jeans that flared at the bottom with white sneakers. His fingers were covered in beautiful silver rings, making his hands look quite gorgeous.

“Thank you, shall we?”

“Yeah, oh, I got you something.” You reached into your bag to take out the cased CD, and before Harry was about to protest, you handed it to him. “I made you this mixtape. Just some songs that I think you’ll like—I’m sure you know all of them, but they just made me think of you,” you said shyly.

You weren’t normally shy and you would call yourself a pretty strong and confident person, but you had been so nervous to give this to him—even making the tape left you anxious and shaking.

“Wow, this is…very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much.” Harry looked at the CD with the songs written in your handwriting. There were 10 songs, and Harry knew all of them. They were all…romantic songs.

“That’s not weird, right? Y’know, making you a mixtape?” You asked unsurely. The odd feeling had popped into your mind at the last second as you watched Harry observe the CD, not giving a bad nor good reaction to your gift.

“No, not at all! I really appreciate this. No one has ever made a mixtape for me before, so this is really nice and special. Thank you again.” He reached forward, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as both of your arms found their way around his waist. You somewhat weren’t convinced that he liked it, and he could tell just by how you were looking at him--looking for some more reassurance--that it seemed like he didn’t like it. When he pulled away, he looked at you before saying, “Really, it makes me happy that you took the time to make this for me. It’s so sweet and thoughtful of you, and I already love all the songs on here, so I’m one-hundred-percent going to enjoy this.”

You nodded, smiling softly as he opened the door for you and you thanked him, blushing as you got in. It seemed very much like a date and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of that.

Harry drove to the sandwich shop that waited for you both. It was twenty minutes away on the other side of the town, but Harry had been raving about it so much to you that you told him that you two should go, which Harry was more than happy to take you.

The sound of Boyz II Men filled the speakers of Harry’s car as the two of you sang your hearts out to ‘On Bended Knees,’ putting full emotion and passion into singing. You held up your water bottle, pretending that it was a microphone, and Harry kept shifting his gaze on you, trying to keep his eyes on the road, but also wanting to look at you as you sang. He smiled to himself, absolutely loving how you were so carefree--something that he admired about you.

His heart fluttered, curling his lips into his mouth before he did something that was quite bold of him to do. Reaching over, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together. Your body was frozen, but you continued to sing, covering up the fact that Harry was holding your hand so casually. You were stiff as a board, so you tried loosening up, swaying your body from side to side, slightly averting your eyes towards him as he continued to drive.

The moonlight cast through the car window, giving him a dim glow, accentuating his features; jawline prominent, his lashes shadowed down onto his cheeks, and his eyes were calm; the light reflecting against his glassy green eyes. Your heartbeat a million miles a minute as you looked at him. You had this appreciation and admiration for him--that you were lucky and grateful that you have him and that there was nothing more beautiful than the man sitting beside you.

With your face on fire, you smiled as you carried on, singing with the warmth of Harry’s hand connected with yours.

You were sitting across Harry, munching on your sandwich as you listened to him talk about how he wanted to actually find a job. He’s been sitting around, living quite wealthy as his inheritance sat safely. But he’d been getting bored. Every day was a routine for him and it was a pretty boring routine, he would say. The only places he really went to were the gym and the places that the two of you went together, but that was it. He needed a hobby, something that he could escape to that doesn’t require breaking a sweat from punching bags and mitts.

“You said you like books, so maybe you could see if the bookstore down the street from the gym is hiring. That would be a nice little place to work at,” you suggested.

Harry’s eyes lightened up, apart from thinking that was a great idea and the other part from being surprised that you remembered such a small detail about him when he’d talked about books briefly with you.

“I should definitely do that, thank you. I love that bookstore, it’s-”

“Y/N?” Harry was interrupted by a man who had walked over to your table. Harry looked up, observing the guy as he was looking at you so intently. He quickly looked at you as you were looking up at the man with a shocked expression on your face, wide eyes and mouth slightly opened.

“Uh, hi,” you said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Your eyes glanced at Harry and he had a worried expression on his face, eyes asking if you were okay. You nodded softly, bringing your attention back to him.

“I-I’ve been calling the gym and paging you, but you haven’t been answering any of them…” the man mentioned slyly. You were quite speechless, not expecting him to be here and not knowing what to say.

“I, uh-”

“Can we talk right now?” He asked. You were flickering your eyes between Harry, someone that you were completely infatuated with, and the man that you were completely irritated with. But if you didn’t talk to him right now, he wouldn’t leave you alone and wouldn’t stop calling you, so you made the mistake of saying a soft ‘okay’ as you got up, looking over at Harry, giving a subtle smile.

Just by the way he was looking at you, you knew you had regretted your decision and you wished that you hadn’t given in so easily.

Once you were outside, you crossed your arms, in a way to seem reserved and closed off, but in reality, you really were. The uncomfortableness you felt was something you haven’t felt in a while as it felt like your stomach was boiling as bile salivated your mouth. Your fists were hidden underneath your arms, clenching, and your lips were curled into your mouth to immediately spew inappropriate sayings and vile remarks.

“What do you want to talk about?” You asked, brows pinched together.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for quite a while now, but I just wanted to talk. I hate how we ended things…” he said remorsefully. You tried not to fall for the pouty look he was giving you as if he knew quite well you would fall for it.

“It’s been six months, Max,” you reminded him. You and Max had an ugly breakup, and you had been picking up your own pieces yourself. You two had been together for nearly a year until he started to act differently. Noticing that he was going home late, staying at the bars until the early hours of the morning, and being quite rude and dismissive towards you, it ended in a screaming match where he ended up spitting out rude comments at you--calling you ugly, useless, and boring. It also caused him to confess that he was cheating on you for half the time you were together with him, and you thought that was a lie he made up just to make you angry, but a month after the breakup, you had found out that was true because you had accidentally bumped into the girl he was cheating on you with. At the time, you couldn’t blame him because the girl was absolutely gorgeous and seemed a lot of fun, but now, you know your worth and you absolutely didn’t deserve that whatsoever.

For six months, you hadn’t seen him, but he had been leaving you countless calls to the gym phone. However, Max wouldn’t dare to step foot in the gym ever again because Don had clearly threatened him when he saw Max on the street, pinning him up against the brick wall by his shirt and yelling in his face that if he ever came close to you or the gym ever again, he wouldn’t see the end of the day.

Don would’ve lost his shit if he saw Max in front of you.

“This is pointless. I was fine living my life for the past six months without you. In fact, I haven’t even thought about you until you showed up. Couldn’t you see I was doing just fine? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Your tone was scornful, not wanting to be in front of him anymore but instead the lovely man inside.

“I just assumed you wanted some sort of closure…”

“If I wanted closure, then I would’ve called you. But I don’t need closure. I was doing okay-”

“With who? That man inside the restaurant?” He interrupted, brows raised. His demeanour suddenly changed just because you had given him the slightest bit of attitude. Max went from soft, wanting forgiveness to the Max that you saw last--completely offensive, rude, and a dickhead.

“Yeah, his name is Harry, by the way. I was doing okay until you showed up!” You rolled your eyes, making your way back inside to Harry, who was waiting for you inside.

Of course, Max wasn’t done until he got the last word, so he yelled out, “You know, whatever you’re doing with him, he’s gonna leave you; just like how I left you.” You slowly turned around, heart aching as his words had definitely done something this time. “You think Harry cares about you Y/N? Think again, he’s gonna leave you and you’re gonna be alone. You’re nothing, Y/N--not without me, at least. You aren’t worth anything, and you had to take over your dad’s gym to feel like you are. Stop fooling yourself.”

Your eyes watered, trying your hardest not to let them slip from your eyes. You had already felt weak tearing up in front of him, so you couldn’t imagine what he would think if you bawled your eyes out. Suddenly, you heard the bell above the restaurant door chime. You didn’t bother turning around, but you somehow knew that it was Harry who was behind you.

“Everything alright here?” Harry asked warily, eyes pointed towards you.

“Yeah, man. See you, Y/N.” With that, he walked away, hopefully for good. Harry knew everything wasn’t alright with how you’re ready to burst into tears. As much as he wanted to follow him, force an answer out of him as to why you were in such distress, he was more worried about you.

Standing in front of you, Harry placed an arm on your shoulder, his other hand held the brown paper bag that had both of your leftovers as he didn’t want to eat without you. Your body was tense, not because of Harry’s touch but because of the words that had taken such an effect on you, and you were doing everything to not break down in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Hey, you okay?” Harry asked softly, bending down slightly to look you in the eyes. Your eyes were pointed down at the ground, thinking that if you looked Harry in the eyes, you were going to break.

“Uh, c-can you take me to the gym, please?” You asked once you fully gained the courage to speak, but your voice was shaky.

Harry immediately nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Let’s go.” He put his arm around your shoulders and you comfortably nuzzled into his side as he guided you to his car.

The drive back was silent—the complete opposite from the drive to the restaurant. Instead of happiness radiating out of your bodies, the space felt gloomy. Harry’s mind had spiraled as he drove, thinking about what that man could have possibly said to you. He was torn between wanting to be angry, but he was more concerned for you because you had never been this silent before.

Once Harry was in front of the gym, you immediately got out before he was able to turn off the car. Using your keys, you unlocked the front door, turning off the alarm system before throwing your purse, not caring where it landed and rushed towards the heavy bags.

This was where you let all your anger out. The place where you screamed at the top of your lungs with no care on who might hear you. This was your safe space, and if someone was going to judge you for utilizing your safe space, then they didn’t belong there.

You screamed, punched, and kicked the heavy bag with full force as your tears had streamed down your face. Your heart was beating painfully with every scream you forced out of your body. Your punches were solid, making the bag swing back and forth, but your knuckles were starting to redden because you didn’t wrap your hands.

Harry quickly followed you, a frown plastered on his face as he watched you let your anger out all on the heavy bag. He let you do your thing, watching from the sidelines before he waited for the right moment to cut in.

“You. Fucking. Stupid. Piece. Of. Shit,” you yelled out with every punch. You sniffled, continuing to punch the bag, eyes glossy from your endless amount of tears.

The friction from the leather and your bare skin was rubbing against each other, cutting and peeling open your skin. Your hands had numbed the pain, so you carried on with your punches until Harry had wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and away from the heavy bag once he started to see redness and blood scattered onto your knuckles. You screamed, your body protesting, wanting to continue punching, but you knew you didn’t have any more energy.

Turning around in his arms, your face was met with his chest, sobbing into his shirt. Harry’s hands soothed your back, comforting you as his heart ached from the sadness you radiated. Your bloody hands clutched his shirt as you cried, tears staining his shirt. Your whines and whimpers filled the empty gym, echoing back at you.

Everything hurt—your heart, eyes, body, and your hands were now starting to sting. Harry held you tighter, carefully taking a seat onto the ground and bringing you down with him. You sat in between his legs and your head rested on his shoulder.

After a moment, he felt you calm down and your body physically relaxed. Mindlessly, his hand brushed your hair back from your forehead, pressing a kiss to your skin. Harry hadn’t realized he did that until he pulled away and he hoped he hadn’t crossed a line by doing that. But when he kissed your forehead, you pulled him closer, burying your face into his neck.

“Talk to me—tell me what you need, angel,” he said softly, wanting to help and be there for you. The nickname had completely slipped out as he’d been calling you that in his head. He’d never seen you break down at all, so this was very new to him.

You shook your head, nickname going over your head. “Nothing. Just you.”

Harry nodded his head, heart fluttering at your words as he held you tighter. He continued to soothe your hair and back as he heard you sigh deeply at the comfort. Looking down at your hands, he realized they were still bloody and cut up, and he knew that your cuts needed to be treated as soon as possible.

“Can I take care of your hands? I’m still gonna be close, just wanna bandage you up.” You sniffled, nodding your head. Harry slightly smiled, carefully getting up before helping you up. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, first asking you where the first aid kit was, and you two walked to one of the offices to get the kit before going to the restroom. “Wanna sit?” He asked, patting the cold counter. Nodding your head, you placed your hands on the counter, but he quickly stopped you, taking off his jacket for you to sit on.

“Thank you,” you softly said to him gratefully before jumping to sit on the counter.

Harry opened the box that contained multiple and different types of bandages, an instant cold pack, thermometer, antiseptic wipes, and scissors. Harry washed his hands well before grabbing the antiseptic wipe and ripping it open. He situated himself between your legs, gently grabbing your hand to rest on his. He looked up at you, first asking you if it was okay to start, and when you said yes, he slowly and carefully started to wipe the area around the cut.

You watched him as he cleaned your cuts; he was so focused on wiping the blood that stained your skin and was careful not to press too hard because you were starting to bruise already. As you watched him, you felt immensely grateful. It’d been a while since you had a true friend that would help you with anything and take care of you. Your feelings for him had skyrocketed, heart pounding so loud you could feel it in your ears.

“The guy at the restaurant was my ex-boyfriend, Max,” you suddenly said. Harry looked up at you to let you know that he was listening as he continued to clean your hands. “It was a bit of a messy breakup; he called me names, insulted me, and confessed that he was cheating on me. When I saw him at the restaurant, that was the first time since the breakup, and it was like I relived that day again.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Harry asked, holding back his anger because he knew the answer, Harry watched through the window the entire time and noticed your posture and demeanor change, causing Harry to quickly pay and rush outside just in case anything happened.

“Y-Yeah.” Your voice croaked. “Said I didn’t amount to anything—that I wasn’t anything without him-”

“That’s bullshit, Y/N-”

“I’m so mad at myself.” Tears were forming in your eyes again as you looked down at your lap. Redness brimmed your eyelids as you sniffled.

“What? Why?” Harry asked confusingly.

You shook your head at yourself. “For years, I’ve been training—learning how to defend myself for when I need it. I was raised to have a strong mindset, to not take shit from anyone because Don told me not to. But when he came around, I didn't say a word, let alone move a muscle. I hate how he made me weak. I hate how I didn’t stand up for myself.” Your voice was shaky and your tears streamed down your face as you paused for a moment. “He told me that you were gonna leave me just like everyone else in my life did,” you added.

Harry was seething, breathing in through his nose as his face hardened. He masked his anger because his priority was to comfort you, so he tried to let go of his anger for a moment.

“Listen to me.” He placed his hands on the outside of your legs, bending down to look you in the eyes. Your glossy eyes looked at him, a small pout on your face. “You’re the strongest person I know, alright, angel?” This time, you heard the pet name loud and clear, making your heart do backflips. “You didn’t let him walk all over you, no, you’re much more mature than him to ever start something. He wanted to see you angry, and frustrated. He wanted to add fuel to the fire, and you didn’t give him the satisfaction. You aren’t weak at all. You’ve got a strong heart, and I’m sure that punch of yours to his nose would damage it for good.”

You breathed out a chuckle at his last statement, nodding, knowing he was right. Harry smiled, dimples showing proudly as he wiped the tears that were falling from your eyes. Giving him a half-smile, you leaned forward, pressing your face against his collarbones. He stood up straight to wrap his arms around your back. You daringly placed a kiss onto the exposed skin that was peeking out from his shirt. Harry’s face warmed up at the touch that was so soft and delicate, yet felt like it was burning through his skin. You pulled away, looking up at him as you thanked him.

Your eyes darted between his eyes and his lips as your face was just inches away from him. His face was delicate and his beauty shined over the darkness of the world. It was as if he didn’t seem real like you couldn’t believe someone so beautiful and breathtaking was standing right in front of you. You studied every curve, movement, and freckle on his face as they all very well defined him, heightening your admiration with every look of his perfections and imperfections.

Harry blushed under your stare, clearing his throat as he felt nervous. He pulled his face away a tad bit, offering you a small smile. “Of course. Always gonna be here for you. Now, let me just finish cleaning your hands before taking you home.”

You nodded, letting him finish with his task. His hands were gentle as he wrapped the bandage around your hand. Your heart was filled with so much admiration and gratitude that you simply wouldn’t know what to do if Harry weren’t there today. The growing feelings had taken over your heart and mind that you were a bit scared, but nonetheless, you let them take over.

Harry sat at the bar next to Benny, nursing a beer he had ordered ten minutes ago. It had been a while since they hung out together, but that was because Benny was trying to get his wife pregnant, so when Marianne calls, they spent their time baby-making. The other reason was that Harry was spending most of his time with you, which he loved every minute of.

“So, a little bird told me that you’ve been going to the gym on Saturdays now,” Benny mentioned, a hint of tease in his tone.

Harry chuckled. “Really? And who told you that?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Starts with a D and ends with an N,” Benny laughed, giving you the obvious answer.

“Well, I’ve been going in on Saturdays because Don always schedules our training sessions on Saturdays. Nothing else,” he slightly lied. After his first training day with Don, Harry told Don that he wanted to continue training with him because he gets a good workout with him rather than by himself, hitting the heavy bag or speed bag, so Don always scheduled for Saturdays since those were the easiest days.

But other than the training sessions, he also got to see you on Saturdays, which he really enjoyed because sometimes after his workout, you two would grab a bite to eat or plan to hang out later that day. He liked it, he liked you.

“Hmm, interesting. It doesn’t have to do with a particular trainer who also happens to own the gym?” Benny raised his brows.

“Not really into Don, to be honest,” Harry joked, bouncing around Benny’s question. They both laughed, slamming their hand on the bar top.

“Really, though. I’m happy for you. You’ve been in such a happier mood, and that’s all I want—is for you to be happy. She’s doing a great job,” Benny said honestly. Seeing his friend happy after everything he’s been through had lifted a certain weight off of his shoulders, and it seemed like he didn’t need to worry about Harry.

Harry simply nodded, smiling as words weren’t necessary. He always felt like Benny was always concerned about him, and although he appreciated him being worried, he didn’t need to anymore because Harry was finally feeling much happier than he was before.

“There you are.” A voice was suddenly heard next to Harry along with a hand on his shoulder. Harry tensed up, and he hadn’t in a while, but he knew that wasn’t your voice nor was it your touch. Harry turned his head to the side to find Lizette sitting on the stool next to him, giving him a smug smile. He didn’t say anything but look at Benny, and saw his eyes narrow, confused as to why Lizette was here. “I’ve been calling your home and paging you. Why haven’t you been answering me?” She pouted.

Harry knew that pout all too well. She used it to trick you into saying yes to her and getting what she wanted, but Harry was stronger than that now; he knew how to hold his ground.

He hadn’t seen Lizette ever since the week before he joined Don’s Box. With all of his time spent with you, he hadn’t really thought about Lizette, if he’s being honest. You had fully taken every inch and space of his mind that it was maximum capacity, but he still found a way to make space from the invading thoughts of you.

“Just been…busy, Lizette, that’s all,” he said, not giving her his full attention as he looked at his bottle.

“Too busy for me?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He didn’t want to outright be rude to her because naturally, Harry was a kind and thoughtful man, so he kept his harsh thoughts to himself.

She inched closer to Harry, close enough to where her mouth was against his ear as she whispered, “Well, since I so happened to run into you, how about we go back to yours?”

Harry took a deep breath. He felt like he was his old self again—making impulsive and not so thought out decisions that end up fucking him and his emotions over in the future. Being with Lizette was something, and it helped make him feel a little less lonely, even though she immediately left right after she got what she wanted.

But Harry hadn’t felt lonely at the moment and in months. He had his best friend next to him, having a drink, and he had you. He wasn’t lonely at all. So, why was he getting off the stool and putting his coat on before closing his tab for the night?

Benny’s eyes widened, looking at Harry as if he was asking what the actual fuck was he doing. Harry simply shrugged, patting his friend on the back before following Lizette out of the bar. The air was cold, but it wasn’t a delightful cold that he wanted to be in. It almost seemed kind of eerie as the gray clouds hovered over them.

Lizette hugged Harry’s arm. “I’m glad you agreed.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he immediately pulled away, taking his arm out of her hold.

“You should go home,” he told her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out as she was confused. “Get a ride home. I’m not taking you home nor am I going with you. I don’t want to do this anymore, Lizette.”

“But you came with me-”

“That didn’t mean I was saying yes to your offer. I came out here with you to get you off of me and not embarrass me in front of my friend and the entire bar.” Harry’s voice was stern as he crossed his arms. “I know you’ve never really cared about me, so please just do me a favor and leave. I’m happier now-”

“You’re happier? With some other girl, huh?” Harry nodded and Lizette rolled her eyes, expression annoyed as she was beginning to get angry and defensive. “You think she cares? Guess what, Harry, she doesn’t. She’s gonna leave you just like your mom left you, your ex-girlfriend left you. Remember when she fucked your best friend in college? That she left you to be with him? And look at them now, they’re married! They don’t give a single fuck about you! What makes you think that this girl you’re seeing does?”

Lizette had definitely hit a nerve. Harry had gone four years without hearing the story on how his ex left him for one of his friends from uni. The situation was quite sad, and it left Harry in pieces. Not to mention, Lizette was his ex’s best friend and she somehow seduced him into regularly having sex with her, which wasn’t entirely her fault because Harry was lonely and needed to feel something to fill the void of his loneliness.

“Don’t think you’re so easy to love, Harry. It takes a lot of effort to do that, especially with you. You’re gonna continue being scared and closed off, and people are gonna continue to run away-”

“Harry?” Lizette was suddenly interrupted by you. You were walking to the bar because Benny had invited you, thinking that it would’ve been a nice surprise for Harry and to hang out with just the three of you. But you had seen Harry and some woman on the street and his face looked angry. “Uh, hi.”

You turned towards the unknown woman as she looked you up and down before turning towards Harry, raising her brows as she figured out who you were and who Harry had been spending so much time with.

Harry completely blocked you out, his attention was towards the statements Lizette had made. He had been doing so much better, and all of a sudden the relapse hit him ten times harder, like his accomplishment of being okay with himself completely disappeared.

Was he that hard to love? He knew that he pushed people away, that’s for sure, but he didn’t realize that it was difficult to love him. Harry then thought about the people that had left him because they didn’t love him enough to stay. His ex left him for his friend, it seemed like his mum had forgotten about him, and soon enough, Benny was gonna get tired of him and so were you.

“And you are?” You asked, scowling at the woman in front of you. Lizette smirked, seeing as there was an opportunity right in front of her. She didn’t find you

intimidating whatsoever.

“Oh, guess Harry didn’t tell you, but we’ve been sleeping with each other for years. Friends with benefits, if you will,” Lizette answered with some sass and a snarl to her tone as she watched your expression turn into a hurtful one.

Your face had softened as your eyes welled up with tears, but you didn’t dare let them fall. You looked at Harry and it seemed like he was in his head, but you had no clue he was ‘seeing someone.’ It felt like you had been cheated on, even though going out as friends didn’t mean anything to a fuck buddy. All of the moments you spent with him—the laughs, storytelling, training, and tension-filled moments had connected you both to one another. It made you feel special that you were seeing a side of Harry that no one else had, but you were wrong.

“Guess you’re the new girl he’s seeing?”

“What’s it to you?” Your brows knitted.

Lizette shrugged. “Nothing. Just know that Harry’s difficult and loveless. So, just get out while you can.” She reached over to touch your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back before she could. She was talking as if Harry wasn’t right next to you two, and if this was a ‘women looking out for women’ type of situation, you weren’t going to accept it because she outright just insulted Harry.

You were livid as your eyes turned dark, stepping closer to her. “Stay away from him, or I swear to god-”

“Or what? What are you gonna do?” Lizette challenged, stepping closer. She was slightly taller than you since she wore four-inch leather boots.

“Wanna find out? Next time I see you with him or hear you talk shit about him again, then you’ll find out because I can guarantee you’ll never see the light of day.” You held eye contact with her as she looked at you with such fierce emotion.

“Cute. Harry’s got a little bodyguard,” she scoffed, stepping back. “I should go,” Lizette suddenly said, breaking you out of your heartbreaking thoughts. “I’ll call you,” she told Harry, despite what you had just said. It seemed like he wasn’t even listening as his blank stare was trained onto the ground. She walked away, her heels clicking against the cement. The satisfaction she felt right now felt good, knowing her words had definitely affected you both.

When Lizette was far enough, you turned back towards Harry. This time, he was looking at you in a confused state, and it didn’t seem like him.

“I-I didn’t know you were seeing someone-”

“You should go…” he said straightforwardly. You raised your brows as you were taken back.

“I’m sorry?”

“You should leave. For good. Get out of my life while you can. I promise I won’t get mad.” His voice cracked and was shaky. He couldn’t even look you in the eye while he was talking because he knew that would break his heart even more, especially if you were to actually leave for good. The negative thoughts had taken over, and this was what he did—pushing people away and giving them a way out before they realized that Harry wasn’t a lovable or worthy enough person to stay around for.

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere?” You questioned confusingly. You wondered if he even thought about the conversation you two had a few moments ago when you had told him that you were staying for good.

“They all do, anyway. They all leave and they never come back.” His voice was starting to raise slightly, frustration and anger pouring out of his veins as his eyes were starting to tear up. A pout remained on your face as you watched the distress never leave his angelic face. “Just please go.”

“I’m not going anywhere-”

“Why won’t you-”

“Because I care! Why don’t you get that?” You raised your voice, not too loud to startle him, but enough to convey your emotions and frustrations to him.

“Because you’re going to eventually! You’re gonna leave and use me and never love me. I’m used to it, so you could go now!” Harry was starting to cry, light sobs were coming out of his mouth as he was trying to hold them back. You took a step forward, wanting to comfort him as your heart broke at the sight, but he stepped back, not wanting your touch.

Your heart sank when he stepped back away from you because he had never done that before. You two were always comfortable with one another that both of your touches had felt like security. Your tears had streamed down your face, quickly wiping them.

“Harry, I’m not gonna leave…”

“It’s fine. You don’t know what it’s like for someone to leave and never come back. You don’t know what it’s like to feel completely loveless that someone physically had to get out of your life and not want to be in it anymore. You don’t know what it’s like!” He spoke firmly as he cried, tugging his curly locks in frustration.

“I don’t know what it’s like?” You spoke loudly, and Harry looked up at you. “I know exactly what it’s like because my own mother left me when I was eleven-years-old, and I have no idea why!” You vented, sniffling. “You don’t think I know what it’s like to constantly wonder what you’re doing wrong because the people that were supposed to be there for you completely vanished? Because I do! I know that feeling quite well. So, don’t tell me I don’t know shit because it seems like we’re in the same boat.”

Harry was speechless. Sure, you two had been close and had talked about your lives and childhood, but this was something that you two had to dig deep for because it wasn’t something you regularly spoke about nor did you tell new people that you’d just met.

“I-I’m sorry I had no idea…”

“You couldn’t have had any idea, Harry. But just know that that day my mom left me still confuses me. The look on my dad’s face when he told me that mom left still haunts me. The crying I did since I was eleven hurts me because she didn’t love me enough to stay.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s fine, I get it. I know we’ve known each other for only a few months, but I did not expect this from you, especially because of all that we’d talked about. I’d say I’m the newest person in your life but I’m also the closest, besides Benny. So, don’t shut me out.” Your heart was beating through your chest and all of your emotions began to pile up like they were leaves, falling from the branches of the trees.

Harry looked defeated, knowing that you were right. He sniffled, not knowing what else to say because all he felt was a painful feeling in his chest since Lizette had gone up to him at the bar.

When he didn’t say anything, you just nodded, knowing that it was best to give him some space so he could realize that you were here for him and that you weren’t going anywhere.

“Call me when you wanna talk…” you told him before turning around. Harry watched you—he knew that he should go after you, not be scared and let you in, perhaps tell you that he’s practically in love with you, but he doesn’t move, feet glued to the ground.

When you were only a few feet away, you turned back around, knowing that you hadn’t gotten your final words out yet. Harry looked up when he heard footsteps approaching him.

“Fuck whatever people say to you; trying to degrade and bring you down because whatever they say, it’s not true. I will always be there to defend you, Harry. Don’t think I won’t be because I will always be on your side.” You paused for a moment. Your heart was fully opening and was beginning to be vulnerable. Trying not to let it overwhelm you, you continued. “Don’t think you’re not easy to love because you are. You’re extremely easy to love, y’know that? I would know because…I love you. And that’s crazy to say because we’ve only known each other for a short period of time, but I can’t help what I feel. So, there you go.”

Before Harry was able to say anything, you walked away, and he could hear you sniffling and crying. Harry’s mouth was ajar, completely speechless and shocked, but his heart fluttered as he took in your words. You really loved him, he thought. No one had said those words and really meant them or they hadn’t felt real to him when he heard them, so the shock that he felt was new.

You were far enough where Harry couldn’t see you. He hadn’t even moved an inch, and he knew that later on, he was going to be very disappointed in himself for not chasing you down and telling you that he loved you too. But for now, he needed to take it all in and hope that when he did tell you, it wouldn’t be too late.

Taking a deep breath, you walked inside to your apartment, sniffling as you went straight to the bathroom to take a long and hot shower. Before you left your place to go to the bar, you had been contemplating your appearance because you wanted to look good. Nerves were all over your body as you were getting ready, and you sulked at how the events had completely turned tonight around.

When you were out of the shower and changed, ready to get into bed despite the night only being nine in the evening, your pager beeped. Picking it up off the bedside table, the message was sent from Harry, reading ‘143.’ You raised your brows, reading it again and reading it once more. Your heart was pounding, studying the numbers to make sure you read them right. The simple code for ‘I love you’ was printed on your pager and you wanted to scream.

Before you could actually scream, there was a knock on your door. You walked quickly, opening it as Harry was standing behind it, holding his pager out as he smiled softly at you. You had just finished crying in the shower, so your eyes were red and a tad bit swollen, but you were close to crying again because of how overwhelmed you felt.

“Did you mean it?” You asked hesitantly, holding your pager up.

“Of course I do. Did you mean it?” He retaliated back, wondering if you meant your three words as well.

“Of course I mean it, Harry. Why wouldn’t I?” You asked, wiping the tear that had slipped down your face.

“Because I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much that it hurts,” he claimed in one breath, feeling the tension and weight that he held in his shoulders release. “You’re everything to me, and you make my world less frightening. I just see your pretty smile and my day completely turns into a great one. I don’t wanna waste a day not telling you that now, and it feels pretty damn good to say it.”

You slightly nodded until you remembered one of your concerns earlier. “What about Lizette?”

“Lizette was someone I used to sleep with. I haven’t seen her nor slept with her in months—before I even met you, I promise. And I’m sorry for assuming that you didn’t know what it felt like for someone to leave and that you had to tell me under those circumstances. But just know, that I’m not gonna leave, unless you tell me to, that is.” Every bit of him was opening up and he wasn’t hiding away. He was being completely vulnerable and it had scared him a bit, but when his words came out, he felt himself get better.

You looked at him through your glassy eyes, vision blurred for a moment until you adjusted them and clearly saw the gorgeous man in front of you. His eyes were filled with tears as well, and you thought, how could someone still look so pretty while they cried? But that was Harry for you; someone who was genuinely beautiful no matter what. Someone who had a heart of gold and a flashing smile that made your heart swoon and knees weak.

You simply reached your hand out and Harry walked towards you, into your apartment as he came close to your face as your bodies were pressed up against one another. The back of his fingertips gently brushed the side of your face, admiring the beauty that stood before him as he opened his heart up completely, not wanting to go another day without saying those three words back to you.

The corners of your lips turned up and your tears were replaced by happy ones. You had walked away from Harry after you said I love you because he was looking at you like he had seen a ghost, not a friendly one, but more of a scary one. So, hearing those words were just music to your ears.

“You mean that? That you love me?” You wanted to hear it again and again and again.

“Ever word. I love you, angel,” he repeated, adding your nickname. He pressed his forehead against yours, inches away from your lips.

“Never stop calling me that,” you instructed him, smiling. The first time he had said it, you came to the conclusion that you absolutely loved hearing that name come out of his mouth, especially if it was specifically for you.

“Only if you never stop telling me that you love me,” he slightly smirked, dimples poking out. He was so immensely happy that his heart could burst just because of the love that he felt for you.

You giggled. “I love you, baby-”

“I, uh, wait. Do you mind…not calling me that?” He hesitated, and you raised your brows confused. “Someone else called me that, and I just don’t like hearing it. Never have since it came out of her mouth,” he explained shyly.

A sudden realization came to your face as you realized that Lizette probably called him that. “Okay. I won’t call you that, ever…darling.” Harry’s lips began to slowly turn up, already liking that name so much better than the other one. He hugged you; and you smiled, closing and opening your eyes to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Your arms snaked around Harry’s waist as he cradled your delicate face in his hands.

“Never stop calling me that,” he repeated your words as you two smiled and laughed until your jaws started hurting.

His eyes flickered down to your lips and back up to your eyes. You pursed your lips, blushing as you watched his eyes glance back up and down. You rubbed the tip of your nose against his, pulling him closer; hearts beating in sync as butterflies filled your stomach.

He brushed his lips against yours before fully connecting them, feeling every spark and shiver that traveled down his spine. You smiled into the kiss as the softness of his lips moved and molded against yours, feeling completely in bliss. The way his lips slotted perfectly with yours made you saturated and dizzy off of his love and touch. Butterflies were still in your stomach, but they were calm like they had been fluttering around for this moment, his touch, in order to relax.

Pulling back, he smiled down at you, eyes love-struck, before giving you another kiss, and pulling away and kissing you again once more.

“Kissing you is my new favorite thing,” he stated, drunk off kisses. You breathed out a giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck as you breathed in his scent. You felt his breath against your neck, feeling completely happy and content in each other’s arms.

There was no fear in the air; just the two of you with open hearts and arms, welcoming in the new and profound feeling that you both took in, knowing that it’s going to change everything for the better.

You pulled him inside and Harry kicked the door closed with his foot. His arms were holding you tight as you walked back to your bedroom. Opening your mouth slightly, Harry took the chance to meet your tongue with his, swiveling and tasting each other causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You pulled back when Harry laid down on the bed, taking in the gushy feeling you had as you smiled.

“Want you,” you simply stated.

“You have me, angel.”

“I know, but I want you. Need you,” your eyes pleaded for his touch, to feel him inside of you, for him to make you feel good. You desperately craved for his hands on all of you, his mouth kissing every inch of your skin, and his love passionately pouring out of his veins.

Harry nodded, smiling. “Need you too. Need you forever,” he said, connecting your lips again as he hovered over you.

You two kissed for a while, giggling against each other’s lips and having his weight on top of you as your hands roamed his back. You bucked your hips into his, feeling the hard-on that was growing in his pants, which made Harry grind into your center, moaning softly into your mouth.

“Please do something,” you said, and he nodded, getting off of you before taking his jacket and shirt off swiftly. His tattoos were showcased in front of you and all you wanted to do was kiss every single one of them. “You’re beautiful, Harry,” you complimented, and he blushed, a soft ‘thank you’ came out of his mouth. Next was his pants, and before he was able to take his briefs off, you stopped him, telling him that you wanted to do it.

You got off the bed, switching positions with him as you were now standing up as Harry laid down on the bed. You smiled, eyes glancing all around his body. He suddenly felt shy and intimidated under your stare, but he knew he had no reason to be because you were simply admiring him. This time around when it came to physically be vulnerable with someone, he knew he didn’t have to worry anymore when it came to you.

You took off your lilac nightgown, exposing your body to Harry’s eyes. Your nipples had hardened due to the exposure to the cold. His eyes glimmered as he gazed at your stunning and beautiful body. Every curve and inch was something he tried to remember, and he was quite speechless at the sight. He reached out, gently grabbing your hips as he roamed his hands up your body and to your breasts, grabbing both in each of his hands.

He looked up at you and you smiled down at him as he placed his mouth on your left pebbled nipple, sucking and licking it as his hand fondled with the other. You laced your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp as he did so, switching over to your right nipple.

Harry pulled away, looking at you. “You’re an actual angel. You’re so beautiful.”

“Harry…” you blushed.

“You are, angel. So beautiful. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.” He kissed the valley of your breasts and down your stomach before getting up and pushing you down onto the bed with ease. He settled in between your legs, arms hooked under your thighs.

Continuing kissing down your stomach, he reached the hem of your underwear, looking up at you before asking, “Can I take these off? Wanna make you feel good—the same way you always make me feel good.”

“Please. Take them off. Wanna feel your mouth on me,” you pleaded as your arousal heightened. You wrapped your legs around his back, eagerly pulling his head towards your center, making Harry let out a chuckle.

“Easy, angel. Not going anywhere.” Harry kissed your stomach once more before pulling off your beige underwear. You were glistening below him; you made a complete mess in your panties. “Fuck, you’re so wet. This all for me?”

“Mhm. All for you, Harry, please,” you whispered impatiently. Harry’s dirty talk had only increased your need for him as it was quite surprising to see this side of him since he was more on the shy and reserved side outside, but nonetheless, you loved both sides—you loved him.

Harry leaned down, pressing multiple kisses to your inner thighs, nibbling on the skin gently. You bucked your hips as he trailed his kisses towards your pussy that was eagerly waiting to be touched and licked. When he got there, he pressed a kiss to your clit before kitten-licking your sensitive button, making you softly moan.

His tongue licked into the entrance of your pussy, gathering your arousal on the tip of his tongue to lubricate your clit even more.

“Fuck,” you groaned as your hands found his curly locks, tugging at them gently.

“You could do that harder, I don’t mind it,” Harry told you before going back to eating you out. You pulled harder and Harry deeply groaned against you, sending vibrations up your body.

His hands wandered around your body, feeling the softness of your skin against his hands. Your skin had formed goosebumps due to his touch, and Harry smoothed out your skin so you were warm. He sucked on your clit quite harshly, earning a moan of his name from your lips as he grabbed both of your tits in his hands, squeezing them.

You placed your hands on top of his, squeezing them with him, and Harry almost came at the sight of that. There you were, moaning his name out, getting your pussy eaten, and squeezing your tits on top of his hands. A sight he truly was lucky enough to see.

Harry pulled one hand away to rub your clit as he tongued around your wet hole before tongue fucking you. He rubbed your clit at a moderate speed, enough for you to thrust your hips off the bed. Harry pulled his other hand that was still on one of your breasts away to pin your hips down onto the bed.

“Stay still for me, angel,” he instructed, voice deep that made you even wetter. “You taste so good. Could eat you out all day.”

“Harry…” you trailed, whining desperately for your release. “W-Wanna…cum…need to.” Your sentences were broken and Harry thought that was a good sign, knowing that he was doing so well you couldn’t form a proper sentence.

“Tell me what you need. Let me know, so I can get you there.”

“F-Fingers,” you told him, and he immediately brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing it before inserting two fingers inside your pussy. He thrust slowly, curling his fingers up to feel your walls.

He felt you pulsing around him as your legs were wrapped tightly around his back as you screamed his name over and over again.

“C’mon, love. Give me one,” he encouraged, thrusting his fingers a bit faster.

Once he hit the spot over and over again, you saw stars. Your vision had gone white for a few seconds, and you felt dizzy. The pleasure that ran through your body was overwhelming in the best way possible and you choked out a few sobs. It had hit you like a brick that you saw coming, but you were still surprised and shocked by the impact.

Your hands held Harry’s hair tight that he thought for a moment that you might actually rip it off. Harry rubbed your pussy as you came down from your high, licking your orgasm that was seeping through your cunt, taking every drop of it. He looked up to see your head thrown back, chest heaving, and a vein that was bulging against your skin. He kissed your thighs while his other hand trailed across your body.

When you finally were able to catch your breath, Harry kissed up your body, leaving the softest and loving kisses to your skin as you were quite sensitive. You grabbed his face, bringing his lips to yours as you immediately stuck your tongue in his mouth, swirling it with his to taste yourself on him—a mixture of his taste and your orgasm all on his tongue had made you wetter.

Harry was grinding himself against your leg, trying to relieve some pressure.

“Want you,” you told him once he pulled away, looking at him intently.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. Please? Only if you want to-”

“I definitely want to. Just wanna make sure you were sure,” he breathed out a chuckle.

“Course I want to.” There was a bit of silence between you two as you were simply just admiring him as he hovered over you. “Are you gonna fuck me, Harry?” You broke the silence, and Harry broke out of his trance, shyly giggling before getting off the bed.

He peeled away his briefs, cock standing straight up from the slight painful restraint. He was big—girth and length wise, and you felt your mouth salivating from just looking at him. He got back on the bed, in between your legs as he sat on his knees. Spitting on his hand, he grabbed a hold of his dick, stroking it to relieve the pressure. The view was beautiful in every single way possible, and you didn’t dare to bat an eye because you didn’t want to miss one second of it.

Wanting to take over for him, you reached forward, replacing his hand with yours as you slowly stroked his cock for him. Harry had a smug smile on his face but soon changed into a face of pure pleasure as your hand worked against him. His mouth was open as he let out a soft moan, looking down at your eyes as you were looking up, completely loving his reaction to your touch.

“You’re so pretty, Harry,” you complimented as you continued to touch him. Your other hand reached forward to fondle with his balls, rolling them into your hand as Harry whimpered. “Love seeing you like this. Most gorgeous man I’ve seen in my life.”

“Please, angel, you’re being too nice…” he managed to groan out, hands gripping your thighs.

“But it’s true. Look so pretty when you’re like this, but also when you’re hitting the heavy bags. When we go out to eat and you mindlessly drink your entire drink while waiting for the food. But I think you’ll look extra pretty than you already are if you cum.” Your words of declaration were getting him on the edge as you stroke him. The way your voice slightly changed as you looked up at him with the most innocent eyes made him thrust into your hand, gripping the flesh of your skin as he threw his head back.

“You think so?”

“Mhm. Gonna be so pretty when you cum all over my body, my tits. Can you do that? For me, can you do that? Please?” You were completely begging for it, but even with all the begging, he knew that you had all the control right now.

Your feet rubbed his calves up and down, and it was the simplest touch, but it heightened Harry’s need to let go.

“Wanna cum for you, yeah.” His breaths were heavy and harsh as your touch was focused on his tip, wrapping your delicate hands around the head where he was most sensitive.

Harry’s moans stuttered as a series of profanities slipped from his lips, spilling onto your stomach and breasts. You smiled to yourself as you studied his face when he came undone; his mouth was open, occasionally biting his lip, and eyes shut closed as his head was thrown back—he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, and the fact that you got to see him like this was an honor.

When he came down from his high, he slowly opened his eyes, meeting yours, staring right at him. You smirked, body covered in his orgasm, and he thought that was a picture worth taking. You were gorgeous covered in his pleasure that you caused, and you seemed to love it too since you made no effort to wipe it off.

Boldly, he leaned down, dragging his tongue from your stomach to your tit, spending the most time on your breasts as he nibbled and licked your nipples, collecting his orgasm from your skin and held it on the tip of his tongue until he reached your mouth. You willingly opened your mouth as his tongue delved right in, feeding you his cum.

You two passionately kissed, tasting him ever so sensually. You moaned into his mouth, thinking about how the sight of Harry licking his orgasm off of your body was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen. With your hips jerking up, you felt yourself getting wet again and in need to release once more.

You whimpered, pulling away. “Please. Need you so bad.” Harry nodded, agreeing.

“Condom?” He asked, and you immediately reached over to your bedside table, ripping open the condom before rolling it onto his dick that was still hard.

Harry curled in his lips, watching you. You gave him a few extra strokes for good measure, earning a soft moan from his mouth. He took his length in his hand, running the tip up and down your slit, collecting your arousal and lubricating his cock. He gave you one last look and you nodded before he slowly pushed in, indulging in your wetness and softness.

A moan came out of both of your mouths, feeling completely full and warm for one another with the stretch Harry had on you. He planted his elbows on both sides of you, holding himself up over you as he slowly began to thrust.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Feel so good for me.” He placed a kiss on your lips as he whispered. He found a rhythm as he started to move faster, rocking his hips against yours, making you moan.

It was a feeling like no other, and it was the amount of love you two had for one another that made this experience much more special. Love was practically oozing out of both of your veins, filling the room to its maximum capacity as the both of you moaned out in pleasure.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms looped around his back, hugging him closer to you as if he couldn’t get closer. You whined into his ear, the sounds of your pleasure were music to his eyes, sending a shiver down his body, making him jerk. But that jolt had hit your g-spot, and you screamed out in ecstasy.

“Right there. Keep doing that. Keep fucking me,” you managed to say. Harry maintained his pace, going deeper, and fucking you into oblivion as you kept crying and screaming his name out.

Harry’s lips attached to your neck, nibbling and licking your skin, leaving a few decent size love bites that he was sure to admire when they’d fully formed. Your nails had raked down his back, leaving a burning but pleasurable sting down his skin, letting him know that he was doing an amazing job.

“You like that?” He groaned into your ear, leaving chills rising onto your skin.

“Mhm. Just like that. Don’t stop. I-I’m so close.” You threw your head back into the pillows, and Harry took the opportunity to attack your exposed neck with kisses again. Your hands found Harry’s hair, tugging at his curls as he kissed you. That encouraged him to fuck you harder and faster, repeatedly hitting your special spot. “O-Oh…”

“Come on, angel love. Cum for me, please. Wanna see you make a mess around me,” he encouraged you.

With a few more thrusts, you were done. You had fully and completely released around him as your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your vision had gone white for a few seconds, head dizzy, and your breaths were caught in your throat as your hips involuntarily jolted, meeting his thrusts that were fucking you through your high.

Harry started to thrust sloppily, burying his face in your neck as he spilled into the condom. His hot breath was against your skin as he started to slow down, coming down from his orgasm.

The room was silent as the only sounds present were the heavy breaths and the post-orgasmic whimpers coming from your mouth as you two held one another. Your nails gently scratched down his back, contrasting to the desperate and needy scratches that you had given him just a few minutes ago.

Harry lifted his head up, meeting your eyes before connecting his lips against yours, tongue meeting first before your lips moved in sync so passionately and lovingly that you both unspokenly agreed to never taste another pair of lips again.

“I love you so much,” Harry said, resting his chin on your chest.

You smiled down at him, eyes gleaming as you looked at your love, your entire heart, the man that had stolen your breath and heart just by one look.

“And I love you too.”

Waking up to the warmth of the body next to you was your favorite thing in the morning—had been for six months now. The sight next to you was something you wouldn’t get used to as you always found yourself feeling so lucky every single time you woke up next to him.

But a pout formed onto your face when you saw that the space next to you was empty. The crinkled yellow sheets were left, missing a certain person that you had been excited to see this morning since you closed your eyes the night prior.

Turning over to your bedside table, you grabbed your pager, seeing if you had any messages, and one specifically stood out to you, making you sleepily smile at your pager.

“Goodmorning, angel,” Harry greeted as he stood in the doorway of your bedroom. He was wearing a gray sweatsuit, holding a white paper bag in one hand and a smoothie tray, that held two smoothies, in the other hand with a loving smile plastered on his face, making his dimples poke out.

“Mm. Hi, darling.” Your arms reached forward, gesturing him to come to you, and he gladly did, situating himself on your body as you wrapped your arms around him.

You two stayed like that for a moment, basking in the presence and gratitude of one another. It was nice until your stomach started growling, making Harry chuckle.

“C’mon, gotta feed my girl before we head to the gym.” He got off of you, helping you up and out of the bed before helping you make the bed. He walked over to the kitchen before you went to the restroom, and when you walked out, Harry had your breakfast set on a plate.

You two made light conversation, mostly enjoying the silence and tastiness of the food before you got ready to go to the gym.

When you walked into Don’s Box, you were immediately greeted by a few of the members, giving you high fives, as well as saying hi to Harry. The entire gym had found out you two were together when they started to notice Harry coming into the gym almost every day and staying until the gym closed, so a few people had their speculations. Don was certain you two would get together from the very beginning, and he had told you that the only reason he was trying to act intimidating when Harry first walked in was that he sensed that something would happen, and he was right, something did happen.

Benny was ecstatic; jokingly telling Harry that he could now spend time with his wife since you had taken all of Harry’s time now, which Benny earned a push from Harry towards the ropes of the ring. Benny’s wife was also pregnant and wanted Harry to be the godfather, which Harry immediately took on that responsibility and role. But that also meant since you and Harry were planning on staying together for the long run, you were becoming a godmother as well, which you were very excited about.

You climbed up into the ring as Harry followed. You had a day off, and no one needed your attention other than Harry, so you helped him put on his gloves after you wrapped his hands in tape, and you put on your mitts, making sure they were tight before clapping the mitts together—Harry punched his gloves together, making sure they were comfortable.

You raised your brows at him teasingly. “Ready, darling?”

“Ready as always, my angel,” he responded, and you smirked.

“Give me a good one. Give me 1.”

talk to me about your favorite moments, your thoughts and feelings about this pls! thank you for reading <3

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