#kinda sorta blood anyway

[artisticonyx]

Kinda messy doodle. Was messing around with brushes. Featuring Baldr with extra messy hair.

[hellofellowneighborhoodnothings]

let him cook!!!

( may be hard to read, he’s saying: ‘wait!!! I got it now!! are you watching???’ )

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twenty-Four of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! The Hamato Clan advances forward in their new mission, and their second-ever outting goes... differently than the first, at least? Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

Don’t worry, Dad, he had said. I’ve got this.

I can handle it, he had said. I know how to lead a team! He had said. I’ll look out for them, he had said.

He had said, nooo, Dad, really. You hang back slightly; that way if anything happens, you can swoop in and help us. It makes more sense to keep you in the back pocket. Let us try taking the lead, we need the practice…

And damn, was Mind Raph pissed at him now. What the hell was Past Raph thinking?! Why did he think this was a good idea?! Because now here they were, him and his sister and three little brothers, sneaking into a goddamn Macy’s, of all places, and he had no idea why he thought coming in here without their dad was a good idea.

I mean, they hadn’t. Dad was here-- he wasn’t even far away! He could be here in about ninety seconds if he wanted to, Raph was pretty sure. He was posted up just inside the entrance of the department store, all hooked up so he could hear them through the radios Donnie had programmed and could receive images and video; perfectly capable of directing them all and ready to leap in at any moment should anything go wrong. 

But still! You try explaining that to Mind Raph. ‘Cause Mind Raph was losin’ his damn marbles right now all up in his head, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

It’s fine. We’ve got this! Nothin’ has even happened yet-- we just gotta find the armor piece. That’s all. In and out, easy peasy. This is low stakes! There are no employees, this place has been shut down for renovations for months now, it ain’t on anyone’s radar, and you’ve been trainin’ for this…

Which was true. Only a week and a half had passed since their original trip to the Foot Shack, but they had meant it when they said that they were Hamatos, too, and that they wanted to help-- and they had put in the hours. They had to push Dad a little bit, to convince him they were actually for-real serious and they weren’t gonna back out or change their minds, but once they got that through his head, he had started to teach them for real.

They got up before the sun now, all rising bright and early to meet their father and receive his lessons. Mikey had been meditating for some time now with their Dad, but now they all did, each and every day, in the mornings and before bed, attempting to draw out their ninpo once more. They had long studied martial arts under their father’s tutelage, but now they did drills each and every day, sparring with him and each other, sharpening what they already knew and rapidly adding new tools and maneuvers to their arsenal. What their father knew (and was willing to share,) about the Hamato Clan and their ways, he taught to them. Their ‘ninja’ lessons, mostly from childhood, mostly taught simply as a game and for the fun of it, were now genuine. They weren’t just learning how to sneak anymore-- they were learning to evade an enemy, to move silently to avoid detection and spare themselves from combat. They weren’t learning to hide, they were learning to blend in with their surroundings, to become invisible, to cover themselves in an enemy’s blind spot and wait for the perfect moment to strike. 

All of a sudden, nothing that they were being taught was for the sake of fun or games or mischief. They were survival skills. They were imparted upon them not only as a legacy, a piece of a long, sacred tradition for them to carry onwards, but as a prayer for safety; a means to keep themselves alive in the face of danger. A path back home from every mission.

And Raph had known all this for a while now, had been aware of it, at least. He knew the severity of the situation, and he was willing to make sacrifices for it. Not just for the ‘world,’ or whatever, or their clan, but for their family. And okay fine, he did, admittedly, miss the precious little free time they had once had, and he did quietly mourn the hobbies that they had to put aside for the time being in order to dedicate themselves to this instead... But it was temporary, and it was worth it. 

He knew all that. But it hadn’t felt real until earlier this evening.

“Boys!” their father had called, not more than an hour or two ago, his voice echoing from the top of the stairs to the Lair where they had all been gathered, trying to get in as much last-minute practice as they could. “April! Come up here for a moment.”

And Raph had, admittedly, sulked a bit, because they had been sparring and he was right in the middle of kicking Leo’s ass, but they did it anyway. In fact, he had snipped at his little brothers for grumbling about it, herding them and April all up the stairs and to their father’s room. 

And there were five bundles of clothing lined up on his bed; all carefully folded and tucked into neat, black squares, interrupted only by flashes of crimson red fabric. 

“... What’s this, Dad?” Raph had questioned, glancing over at their father, brows furrowed, and their dad had sort of cleared his throat, seeming almost embarrassed. 

“Ah. Well. I know it is a bit silly, but… This is-- these are the Hamato Clan’s colors,” he explained, slowly, carefully unfolding one of the bundles, spreading the Gi out on the bed for them to appreciate properly. “And this is the Hamato Clan’s symbol. Traditionally, this is what a ninja would wear on a mission of the clan,” he paused slightly, laughing weakly. “I never went on any official missions, so I never got one, but I thought… Well, firstly, if my children are going to be sneaking around the city like ninjas with me, they might as well look the part,” he reasoned, smiling the tiniest bit. “And… also. If anyone ever deserved to bear the mark of the Hamato Clan, then it is certainly you five.”

There was a beat of silence, and he had sort of rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to--”

Mikey had cut that thought off quickly, flinging himself at their Dad in a tearful hug, nearly knocking him over.

“I LOVE THEM!” He had wailed. “They’re so cool! We get ninja outfits!”

“I like the fabric. Is this silk?...” Donnie had observed, picking one up to run his fingers along.

“Wow, Yosh, I didn’t know you could sew!” April remarked, and Dad laughed.

“Who do you think made all those Halloween costumes?”

“The Hamato Clan’s colors are black and red?” Leo muttered softly to himself, shooting a glare in Raph’s direction. 

“I think it’s good,” Raph had teased in response. “I look good in black and red.” 

Leo had groaned, rolling his eyes, and Raph had joined Mikey and Dad in their embrace, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“It’s cool, Dad. Thanks,” he had said. “You didn’t have to make this for us.”

“Ah,” Dad had hummed, waving a hand slightly, as if to dismiss him. “Well. I wanted to, anyway.”

Even just thinking about it now, Raph smiled the tiniest bit, tightening his hand into a fist and feeling the crimson-red fabric wrapped around his palms. 

We’ve got this, he repeated inwardly, forcing himself to settle slightly. You’re a member of the Hamato Clan. And your family is counting on you. And you can handle this.

“Alright, Donnie,” he said, taking care to keep his voice low. “Which way is your track-a-ma-thingie sayin’ now?”

Donnie scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that is not what it’s called. Please treat my inventions with respect,” he muttered, flicking his goggles down over his face, his lips pursed into a pout. “Energy signals are strongest in the northeast direction,” he explained, pointing. “So if we head in this direction, we should eventually get close enough that we’ll be able to isolate and recover.”

“Uhm, is it just me, or are we literally playing hot-and-cold with Donnie’s weird glasses?” Leo muttered, jerking a thumb in his twin’s direction.

“This is an advanced geothermal location tool…!”

“Hey, look! Donnie’s tracking thingie got us this far!” Raph hissed. “And it’s the only lead we’ve got, so until it blows up in our faces, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Are we sure it actually works? No offense, Dee, but this is a super weird place for a mystic armor piece to be,” April observed, looking around. “I mean… we’re literally in a department store.”

“You’re all disowned as my siblings. All of you,” Donnie hissed.

“I didn’t say anything bad!” Mikey protested.

“Except for Angelo.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Also, yes, of course it works! I don’t know why there’s a mystic armor piece in a Macy’s, how would I know that? But if you want to go on a thematic trip to recover a mystic armor shard from beneath the beautiful ripples of a sacred waterfall or something, we’re going to have to catch a Greyhound, because we’re literally in the middle of New York City,” Donnie hissed. “Of course it’s in a Macy’s! We’re lucky it’s not in a 99-cent-pizza-slice-kiosk a block from Times Square!”

“Shhh!” Raph hissed, glaring at the group. “We’re ninjas, remember? Shut up! We’re on a stealth mission!”

“Ugh,” Leo huffed a bit, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, but it’s not like anyone is gonna hear us! We’re literally the only ones here.”

Somewhere down the hall, off in the darkness of the building, Raph heard a clatter and an echo.

---

This was often Casey’s job. So she was used to it by now. It wasn’t especially exciting, but it was at least better than lookout duty, which was her other, more frequent assignment. (That, or lookout for the lookouts…)

Sweeping.

She really only got to do this if the team was smaller, and they were already confident that the mission would go smoothly and there weren’t any threats… And, honestly, sweeping was basically the same as lookout, just mobile and with slightly different timing. But she would take it!!! Anything was better than lookout duty. Besides, having the chance to play a role in the Foot Clan’s rise to power was a great honor, and the more she got to contribute, the better. 

Even if it did just mean that she entered the building first, stealthily did a few laps to make sure there was nothing dangerous, and then signaled everyone else to follow.

A part of her was proud of this. If she just looked at it on a surface level, she could puff out her chest and feel quite satisfied with the role she played; at being the frontlines, at being who they trusted to ensure the safety of both the mission and their leaders, to be the first line of defense.

(... The other part of her, though, the part of her that looked a little deeper, knew it was really mostly because she was unassuming and disposable. She held onto the pride anyway.)

Casey frowned as she moved through the store, peering around corners and around bends for any sign of life. She wasn’t so foolish as to let her guard down entirely, and she took care to keep her footsteps quiet and purposeful, sticking to the shadows just as she had been taught… But she had done this dozens of times now, and nothing ever happened save for that she got a chance to at least stretch her legs. And she supposed she was grateful for that, but…

Ugh! God, couldn’t she do something cool for once!? She simmered silently as she shuffled through the shadowy space, grinding her teeth quietly in her skull. She noted quietly to herself that she needed to stop doing that because she was starting to get headaches, but then kept doing it anyway. And she had perhaps allowed herself to be just the tiniest bit careless. Careless enough, at least, to accidentally swipe a small sign off a nearby jewelry counter. She resisted a groan of annoyance at her own clumsiness, grateful, at least, that no one else was around for her to embarrass herself in front of…

Or, so she had thought.

Cassandra froze at the hissed tone of hushed voices that filtered down through the hall, only moments later.

“What was that--”

“Shut up! What about stealth don’t you get--!?”

For a moment, Casey thought that she might have imagined the noise. She had never run into anyone on a sweep before-- not even once. The idea that she suddenly had was so shocking that she almost couldn’t process it. After about half a second of gaping, however, she came to her senses, gritting her teeth and giving a ferocious shake of her head to dismiss the thoughts.

Shape up, Recruit. This is your chance to be useful for once! She scolded. This was not the time to flounder or back down. This was her shot. Honestly, it was probably just some group of teenagers who had wandered in here on a dare or something, hoping to take some pictures so they could brag about it to their friends later… But that hardly mattered.

Any unknown or unauthorized presence was a threat to the mission. 

All you have to do is go investigate and scare them off. Simple. Easy. And then you’ll be able to say you actually did something on these missions, for once!

No problem, right? It should have been easy. Cassandra may still be a low-level grunt, much to her chagrin, but she was still a member of the Foot Clan. She was perfectly capable of moving swiftly and silently through the shadows. 

Not that she needed to.

Because they came to her.

She just barely had the time to tuck herself back behind the corner of the nearby jewelry counter by the time she realized they were approaching, shoving her back up against the glass and crouching down low. Apparently, they did, in fact, have the capability of moving quietly, despite their earlier displays.

“See anything?” A voice whispered, betraying them, and Casey couldn’t help but smirk a tiny bit to herself. Okay, maybe not that quiet.

“Shhh. Hang on. I know I heard something…”

Finally, Cassandra just barely built up the courage to shift, ever-so-slightly, in order to turn her head enough to peer out at the intruders. And in her mind, she was still fairly confident that it was just some kids looking for some kind of entertainment and adventure in the form of a misdemeanor. 

She was not expecting to see five figures donning the Hamato Clan colors, nor find their emblems stitched boldly onto each of their chests.

For a second, Casey froze, ice shooting through her veins. The Hamato Clan?! What were they doing here!? Were these the same kids she had spent all that time spying on before, or had they called in reinforcements? She narrowed her eyes, straining slightly to try to examine them in the darkness, and concluded that they did look ever-so-slightly familiar… She grit her teeth, her hand shifting slightly, wavering just the tiniest bit as it moved to the communication device on her belt.

As much as she hated to admit it… Five Hamato ninjas was not a challenge she was confident she could face down all on her own.

It wasn’t her place. 

She needed to alert the rest of the clan. If she didn’t, she would endanger the mission. Endanger everyone’s else’s safety.

This was her job-- literally her job. To go in first and weed out the danger and report back. 

She needed to report back.

So why was her hand hesitating like this…?

Her fingers shook slightly, wavering near the edge of the device, and her foot shifted ever-so-slightly beneath her in her hesitation.

“What was that?”

Hurriedly, she snapped her finger down against the button that she knew would signal the rest of the clan, still waiting outside, alerting them to the danger, and she leaped up to her feet-- gathering whatever scraps of the element of surprise she still had at her disposal and leaping at the nearest enemy.

“Oh shi--!” The Hamato, armed with a sword, just barely managed to dodge her attack, ducking down and away from the swing of her arm, nearly losing his balance in his hurry.

“I told you I heard something!” He wailed, dancing backward, and Casey snarled in reply, chasing after him. She didn’t have much of a chance, however, and now it was her turn to dodge-- just able to avoid the kusari-fundo that came whipping into her view a moment later, flashing inches before her eyes as she swore and backed up.

“Now is so not the time for ‘I-told-you-so’s,’ Nardo,” Another hissed, jumping at her with a staff, nearly taking her head off with a sharp swing. Casey was both quietly impressed and annoyed with the strength behind it, twisting her stance so she could shoot a leg up and kick the weapon off-kilter, throwing off her opponent’s footing and sending him stumbling slightly to the side.

“Oh, please, like it wouldn’t be if you were the one who called it!” The swordsman scoffed in response, jumping forward to catch the other, grabbing him by the arm so he could correct his stance and keep him on his feet. Casey took the slight opening the distraction of their banter provided to turn on the other intruder nearby, her eyes wide behind her glasses, doling out a sharp kick to her leg before dancing away. But even as she did this, the other members of the Hamato Clan closed in.

Cursing under her breath, she reeled backward, trying to find the distance she needed to reevaluate when she was practically surrounded. But every time her eyes were locked on one intruder, another jumped at her, just a flash of movement out of the corners of her eyes, and it was all she could do but block, parry, and dodge. Casey bristled when the sword wielder came whipping towards her, his weapon drawn, and she just barely had the time to hold up her arms to block, bracing herself for the coming impact of sharp metal--

“STOP!”

The boy’s movements slowed ever-so-slightly as he faltered at the cry-- giving Casey just enough of a chance to duck away from the oncoming strike, leaping out of his range. 

“Don’t slice her in half!!! What’s wrong with you!? She’s, like, a kid!!!” The largest of the group yelled, gesturing wildly. Casey gasped, immediately bristling in offense.

“Excuse me!? I am not a child! I am EIGHTEEN!” She shrieked. Well, almost eighteen, anyway. KINDA. Her ID said she was eighteen, which was really the most important part.

“See? She’s a legal adult!” The swordsman argued, shooting the other an annoyed look. “And, uh, also a part of a legion of evil ninjas? Sooooo…”

As soon as his eyes had left her, Casey seized the opening, ripping her kunai from her belt as she lunged forward. Twisting her leg sharply to collide with his chest, she sent him sprawling to the floor, his sword clattering as it fell from his grip. The moment he was down, she pinned him there with a foot to his throat, pressing him in place.

“Ack! Hey, stop!!! I’m a minor! This is child abuse!” He cried in protest, wriggling a bit beneath her even as she drove her heel in deeper to his windpipe, eliciting a very satisfying choking gasp. She didn’t have much opportunity to take advantage of her position, however, because no more than a second later, the largest of the group was charging her. Her eyes widening slightly, she abandoned the pinned swordsman in favor of leaping backward to dodge the coming attacks, falling quickly back into the pattern of defensive ducking and dodging, because that was not something she wanted to be hit by, thank you very much!!!

Come on, backup, come on…! Hurry up…!

---

The second that they had heard that noise down the halls, Yoshi had been on his feet, tense and ready to run. And now, as he raced towards his children, he spat curses at his past self for not starting to move right then and there-- for letting them approach without him in the first place. Had he honestly believed that this would be safe!? Had actually expected there to be no threat here!? 

Stupid, foolish, arrogant man…! 

He was already moving as fast as he could, but as soon as he could hear the sound of combat, he somehow managed to move even faster.

---

Cassandra hissed softly through her teeth, feeling sweat tickle its way down her brow, her chest heaving with breath as she ducked away from another blow. She was fast and she was capable in the face of combat-- but so were they, and there were five of them. It was all she could do to stay out of reach, repeatedly dodging and blocking blows, but she was quickly growing exhausted. Please hurry up! She pleaded in her mind. She’d keep going until she physically couldn’t any longer. She wouldn’t back down. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she had until she hit that point. 

The largest one-- he was the real problem. She gasped as his arm went swinging towards her, quite nearly losing her balance in her rush to avoid the blow. He was so big. And on the rare occasion that she was actually able to send out a counter-attack, they seemed meaningless to him, practically bouncing off his body as though he couldn’t even feel them. How was she supposed to penetrate a literal wall of muscle like this!?

Why the fuck do I have to be so damn small!?!?!

“Hot Soup!” Shrieked the smallest of the group, all but throwing himself at her, his leg moving in a wide arc, and for a split second, Casey bristled-- 

But she hadn’t spent all those years training for nothing.

There was an opening. Just a small one-- but his arc was just a bit higher than it needed to be to cover himself completely, and as soon as Cassandra had zeroed in on the chance to counterattack, she was darting forward, teeth bared and eyes narrowed with focus. 

His ribs were exposed.

And the small one, they didn’t quite have the time to react and adjust, to close the opening. But apparently, the big one did, throwing himself in her path to physically shield his brother, a sharp, protective snarl that sounded almost like an animal rumbling from him. Cassandra was forced to recalculate, her trajectory rapidly shifting--

But that was fine.

Because in his rush to protect his brother, he had left himself open, too. 

The jewelry counter was right there, and all it took was a nimble flip to the side, pushing off with her right ankle to gracefully toss herself over the surface and transition quickly into a wide kick. The counter was littered with spinning displays, the plastic trees all adorned with earrings and necklaces, and Casey caught the base of one of them with her foot, hooking it with the bend of her ankle and throwing her whole body hard to the side.

She may be too small to pose a real threat to the big one. But a little creativity could always even the playing field.

So could weapons.

A sharp, choked cry just barely wrenched itself from the largest Hamato as he went stumbling backward, the jewelry display slamming into his side and crashing down to the ground next to him with a horrendous clatter. She was dimly aware of his siblings crying out as well around him in concern-- which meant she had a very clear, very free path forward to bury a kunai into his stomach.

The world narrowed down to her goal and her target. Her fingers tightened around the knife. All her muscles tensed. And she pounced for her victim.

She had just barely begun to move when the impact of a hurricane slammed her back down to the ground, a short shriek of shock escaping from her chest with the absolute force of it.

“Dad!”

“All of you! Get out of here! Now!” An unfamiliar voice snapped, strained with panic, though Casey barely processed it through the sensation of her arms both being twisted back to her spine, creaking in protest as she was pinned down to the ground. She just barely managed a thrash, but the pitch of the pain in her joints quickly convinced her to remain still, and a high-pitched snarl of fury just barely managed to escape her.

No…! She had them! She had him, she had finally had a chance to turn the tides--!

“But what about--”

“I said go! Right now! I will be right behind you--”

The familiar thunk of a throwing star embedding itself into nearby drywall had Casey’s head snapping upward. And she just barely contained a shrill, giddy little laugh of delight.

There was the back-up.

The pressure in her shoulder released a second later as the weight disappeared, the eldest Hamato forced to release her in order to retreat and dodge the oncoming barrage of shooting stars. She absolutely cackled, on her feet in a second, and this time, finally, she was on the advancing side.

She finally got to take the offensive.

She threw herself at the elder Hamato, laying down blow after blow, and was frustrated to find that for every strike she delivered, he was able to block with ease and find the space to counter. She hissed in pain as the sharp of his hand collided with her shoulder, sending her stumbling slightly, and she twisted her ankles slightly to find her footing again--

And all at once, the Hamato Clan was gone. She didn’t even realize that the other five had already retreated until the last remaining shoved her away and darted off, disappearing in a blink, as though he had never even been there.

For a moment, Cassandra was frustrated. She bristled, considering chasing after him-- considering turning to the rest of the clan to see who all was assembled, to follow them, to continue the fight.

But she wouldn’t move without the orders from her senseis.

And once she had half a second to breathe, she was tickled to find blood on her hands that did not belong to her. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

Perhaps she and her clan had accomplished more than she had initially believed. 

---

The shrill cry of a honking car cut through the air, blasting through the previous quiet. Or, at least, relatively quiet, considering they lived in New York City.

April gasped loudly, jumping and clapping her hands over her ears and wincing a bit, shrinking back against the assault to her ears. The sound seemed to absolutely echo through the alleyway where she and Mikey were playing, working on their latest chalk mural together. It didn’t last more than a couple of seconds, but she was still a bit dazed when she finally opened her eyes again, her heart beating it her chest.

Whoa. That was a little scary. She hadn’t expected that.

She giggled a tiny bit at how startled she was, letting out a long breath. But when she turned around to face Mikey again, she was surprised to find him curled up in a tiny little ball on the ground, his arms and legs both tucked in close to his body and his chin ducked down against his chest.

“... Mikey?” April said, frowning a bit, tilting her head to the side as she leaned over him. “Are you okay?”

It took a second, but eventually, Mikey peeked open an eye, looking sort of confused for a moment. But then, all at once, he untensed his muscles, all his limbs unfolding as he rolled over onto his butt instead, sitting on the ground and staring up at her.

“... That was loud!” He said.

“Yeah,” April agreed. “Uhm. Why are you on the ground though?”

“I got scared!!!”

“Yeah, but… why did you get on the ground ‘cause you were scared?”

“Oh. Uh. I dunno,” Mikey said, shrugging a bit. “I just. Curl up sometimes, and stuff…”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Uh. I’unno. ‘Cause… it’s… it feels safer and stuff,” he said.

“But don’t you fall down like that?”

“Uhm…”

“And doesn’t that hurt, though, if you just fall over like that and curl up?”

“Well…”

“And then you’re on the ground.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And where’d you learn to do that? That’s weird. I’ve never seen anyone else do that before,” April continued. “Also, why do you--”

She broke off when Mikey blinked widely at her, sniffled, and then rapidly teared up, staring up at her and giving an absolutely pitiful sob. 

April’s eyes widened in shock at the rapid shift.

“Okay, okay fine, it’s not weird! Don’t cry! You can be a ball! Here, we can go back to chalk now-- Pleaseeee stop crying! Mikey, come on, cut it out…!”

---

They didn’t stop running for a while.

Raph’s heart was in his throat.

He could run faster than April could, and he was pretty sure that most of his siblings were not running near as fast as they really could, all worried about their father, but he endeavored to keep himself in the rear anyway. Leo could head the charge; he was staying in the back. He was making sure no one was being left behind.

Including their father.

He let his father be behind him. But just barely.

It wasn’t until they were about a block away that Leo finally managed to open up a portal, having been attempting since their retreat began, slicing through the fabric of the world with his odachi. Raph didn’t think he had been meaning to teleport them all directly into his own room, but he wasn’t in any mood to be picky about what part of the house they got portalled to. 

It wasn’t until the fizzling blue light curled in on itself behind them, the portal sliding closed, that Raph finally allowed himself to breathe again.

And as soon as he did, he felt like he was going to fucking collapse.

It was mostly just adrenaline, he was pretty sure, more than actual injury, but he suddenly felt just the tiniest bit lightheaded as a sharp ache climbed its way up his ribcage, and he grabbed onto Leo’s bedpost to steady himself with a small wince. Either way, his siblings were all crowded around him in a moment in worry-- and so was their dad.

“Red…! Are you okay? Are you injured? Let me see--!” Their dad bit out, his eyes wide with frantic worry, and Raph kind of stared at him in response, his own gaze echoing his. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he was finally able to summon up actual words.

“Pops, you’re-- you’re bleedin’.”

All four of his siblings’ heads snapped around to turn their attention to Dad, and Mikey shrieked.

It wasn’t bleeding that bad, honestly. 

But Raph was pretty sure that was because the throwing star was still embedded in his dad’s shoulder.

“Oh my god…!” April squeaked, her eyes wide, and their father immediately shrank back slightly, turning his shoulder purposefully away from the others. 

“I am fine. It looks worse than it is,” he dismissed quickly, keeping his eyes trained squarely on Raphael. “Red. Answer the question. Are you injured?”

“I-- It’s just sore. ‘M fine,” Raph said quickly, still a bit breathless. One of his hands wandered up to his ribs, just to check to make sure he wasn’t lying, and it sure was sore, and he was, admittedly, bleeding a little-- but not bad. The pain wasn’t awful. It hurt, but he had had worse in football. 

His dad had a fucking ninja star sticking out of him.

“Dad, here, sit down, we-- we can call--”

“Do not call anyone,” their father instructed sharply, throwing the group a look that said do not argue with me, and Raph clamped his mouth shut. “It is fine. I promise I can handle it. Purple, go and fetch the first aid kit and an ice pack for your brother. Orange, go with him, please.”

Whereas Donnie had no qualms with excusing himself from the current situation, (he was looking a bit ashen,) Mikey hesitated, his face pinched with worry.

“But I--”

“Mikey,” Dad cut him off quickly, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I need you to listen to me. I do not want Purple by himself right now. He needs you to go with him.”

Angelo frowned, and he swallowed. He opened his mouth, just for a moment, like he was going to argue further. But then he didn’t, slipping from the room at a hurried pace, rushing slightly to catch up to his older brother.

Raph’s body sagged slightly with relief. He swore he saw Dad do the same.

And almost as soon as the two were gone from the room, to Raphael’s absolute horror, their dad twisted himself enough so that he could reach around and deftly yank the jagged piece of metal from his shoulder.

“Dad!” Raph yelped, his eyes widening. “What are you doing!? What about--”

“Calm down, Raphael,” Dad said, and it was almost eerie how calm he was. With cold, practiced, measured movements, their father wasted no time at all in bandaging his own wounds, removing his mask and tearing it with his teeth so he could tie a tourniquet, using his sleeve to staunch the bleeding. 

The way he moved-- it was like he had done this a thousand times before. A shiver raced down Raphael’s spine, and he stiffened ever so slightly, a wince pinching his features for just a moment.

“There,” Dad said as soon as he was done, quickly turning his focus back to his eldest. “I’m fine until Purple gets back with the first aid kit. Let me see your injury,” he said, gentle but insistent, and Raph huffed, wrinkling up his nose, but he lifted his shirt up for Dad to see, anyway.

There were a few small punctures and scrapes, but nothing more than a few centimeters deep or so, all small and just barely bleeding. And it certainly hurt, but Dad’s careful, prodding hands didn’t bring about any sharp pitches of the pain, and Raph was fairly certain he had managed to get away without any cracked ribs-- just bruised ones.

“I told you I’m fine,” Raph muttered under his breath, and their dad glanced up to shoot him a look.

“You’re lucky,” he hissed, gritting his teeth, bristling for just a moment before the heat died out. “I’m sorry.”

“Dad, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want any of you to be hurt--”

“You’re hurt worse than I am!” Raph protested, gesturing wildly to his arm, still sluggishly bleeding. “And the only reason you got hurt is ‘cause you were coverin’ us!”

Their Dad stiffened, shoulders hunched slightly. “That’s not--”

“Yes, it is!” Raph snapped in reply. “We’re not stupid, Dad, come on! It’s--” He cut himself off, grinding his jaw slightly and sighing deeply through his nose. “... Just don’t apologize, okay? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. You’re the one who bailed us outta there. And got ninja-starred. We’re the ones who--”

“You did fine, Raphael,” Now it was Dad who cut him off. “You all did fine. This wasn’t… I didn’t expect them to be there,” he sighed, frowning a bit, looking to the side. “... But you all did well. I’m very proud of all of you. It’s not your fault, either.”

He kept quiet for a moment, frowning as he glanced over at April and Leo, who had been quiet the entire time, wide-eyed and seeming slightly shaky. 

“Are either of you injured…?”

They both shook their heads ‘no.’

“We’re okay, Pops,” Leo said, letting out a long, deep breath. “... We’re alright. Thanks.”

They didn’t talk for a bit after that, all just sitting together and waiting for Donnie and Mikey to come back-- just sitting and processing, and coming to terms with the fact that they had all made it out okay.

And Raph had never been much of a thinker.

But he was thinking now.

His hand wandered up and down his own side, pressing gently at the bruised muscles and soft, torn skin as he pondered.

---

There was this pinch in the back of Yoshi’s throat that he was fighting off.

He should have known this would happen. 

“Yoshi.” His teacher’s voice was all gentle and soft and patient, but Yoshi scowled, glaring off to the side-- his shoulders hunched up and his body slumped in the chair. The room was empty except for the two of them, all the other students having been dismissed aside from him-- all filled up with unoccupied desks and chairs and making Yoshi feel stupidly, annoyingly small. 

“It’s nice to see you in class again, Yoshi,” his teacher continued, despite his lack of response, leaning over slightly so she could rest her elbows on the desk she had Yoshi parked in front of. She kept trying to catch his eyes, but he refused to let her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Yoshi wrinkled up his nose, shrugging noncommittally. 

It had been a week and a half since he had last been at school, and it had been such a battle just to get Jiji to let him come today. Not that that was especially unusual. Yoshi had never attended school regularly. School wasn’t a priority for him. Training was the priority. Lessons with Jiji were the priority. Studying the Hamato Clan history was the priority. School was not. He went to school like it was a hobby-- something to do in his spare time. He would usually show up for perhaps a couple days a week, usually less, and the rest of the days during which he was absent would be explained away with some excuse or story or another. Something about his health-- Yoshi didn’t really keep track, truthfully. One of his second cousins, a doctor, but more importantly, a medic to the Clan, would always provide all the documentation required. Everyone, it seemed, had accepted a long time ago that Hamato Yoshi usually just didn’t go to school. Had accepted him as an occasional, wavering presence, fading in and out of the edges of everyone else’s lives.

Except for Miss Ito. 

For some reason, his fourth-year elementary school teacher just couldn’t accept that fact.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come today. Yoshi had had to fight for it. When he was younger, he used to whimper and cry, feeling sorry for himself, but nowadays, they usually fought. He had gotten sick of feeling sorry for himself. Now he’d just yell at his Jiji until he either got his way or his throat got raw.

Usually, it was the latter.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come, and Yoshi had convinced him that he should get to, and now Miss Ito had him sat in front of her desk in an empty classroom, talking all gentle to him, and Yoshi thought bitterly to himself that now he was never going to win that argument ever again. 

“What happened to your arm, Yoshi?”

Yoshi grit his teeth slightly, his frown deepening at the question that he already knew she was leading up to.

“I tripped,” he responded easily, finally looking up at her just so that he could give her the coldest look that he possibly could, trying as best as he possibly could to summon the energy of an angry, bristling cat. Don’t mess with me. Back off. 

She didn’t seem perturbed, of course, because she never was. She looked more sad than anything, and Yoshi had always hated that.

“I see,” she said. “That must have been a pretty rough fall.”

Yoshi rolled his eyes.

They were just bruises. She acted as if he was missing a limb. Even worse than that-- she acted like he was some sad, pitiful little child, being tossed around the room by some abusive drunkard or something. He was sure that that was what she assumed, and it made him prickle with defensiveness. It wasn’t like Jiji was hitting him. They were just training. Sometimes, things happened during training. It was no one’s fault. Jiji didn’t mean to. It was just an accident. Jiji had apologized, like, eighty times. Yoshi knew he would never hurt him on purpose. 

It had been a difficult sequence they were learning, that was all. It was Yoshi’s own fault-- he was the one who had misstepped and been too slow. And now that his face had healed, he had finally been able to convince Jiji to let him go back to school for a day. 

He hadn’t been thinking when he rolled up his sleeves earlier-- he just did it. His sleeve got wet when a classmate spilled her water, and so he had just rolled it up out of the way. He had forgotten that he had anything to hide. No one was supposed to see it.

Certainly not Miss Ito. No one else would have even cared except for Miss Ito. 

He could already hear Jiji saying, ‘I told you so.’ 

“I fell down the stairs,” he said dismissively, shrugging a bit. “But it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. Can I go now?”

Miss Ito sighed very quietly.

“... We missed you at the sports festival last week. I’m sorry you weren’t able to be there. I know you were excited to participate this year,” she observed gently. “And all your classmates were looking forward to--”

Yoshi stiffened, this little lump kind of swelling up in his throat.

“Can I go now?” He said again, cutting her off.

“Yoshi--”

“Am I allowed to leave? I have to go. There are people waiting for me,” he pressed, harder now, standing up from his seat even before he was dismissed, staring the teacher down. Challenging her, almost. Daring her to say no.

Please, please, please just let me go. Don’t make me late getting home. Don’t call anyone. Don’t send a letter home. Just let me go, and if I run, I can still get home on time, and Jiji won’t have to know--

She sighed very, very deeply, giving him those same sad, sympathetic eyes that he didn’t want on him. There were people out there who were sad and needed sympathy. He was not one of them.

“... Alright, Yoshi,” she said. “But you can come talk to me if you ever need anything. Okay?”

Yoshi frowned, giving only a grumble in response as he grabbed his bag, eager to leave.

“Will I see you in class tomorrow?” She asked. 

Yoshi hesitated just for a moment, clenching his jaw a few times.

“I dunno yet.”

---

Dad was at a doctor’s appointment with Leo. Raph was at work. Donnie was in his lab. Mikey had checked. He had taken two full laps around the house to account for everyone and make sure that really, truly, he had the clearance for what he intended to do. Everyone except for him and Donnie were out, and shouldn’t be home for another hour-- and he had the entire house in between him and Donnie. He’d hear him coming with plenty of time if he decided to emerge from his coding binge, which was unlikely. 

He did one last sweep of the first floor, just to make sure, his skin itching and crawling nervously and his stomach doing repeated and unwelcome pas de chats. Repeatedly, he thought, are we sure about this? He thought, sneaking around like this feels wrong. He thought, what if this is an awful idea? What if we get in trouble?

But then he also thought, I have to protect our family. I have to help, too.

He thought, I won’t let anyone else get hurt on my behalf. Not again. 

And he tempered his resolve.

As quiet as a ninja, he slipped into his father’s room, leaving the door just barely cracked behind him so he could hear if anyone approached. He had been a bit worried that his dad would have moved it to some new hiding place, and he’d have to waste a bunch of time searching for it-- but he didn’t.

The chest was in the exact same place in his closet, tucked inside the box with the clothes, just where Leo, Donnie, and April had found it the first time. It felt heavier than he remembered, somehow. He took care to cover his tracks, awkwardly hiding the bulky object inside his denim jacket and made a hasty escape. His heart was up in his throat because even though he had taken every single precaution, he couldn’t help but feel like someone was going to burst through the door and ask him what the hell he was doing at any moment.

His heart rate didn’t even begin to settle until he had made it back to his own room, closing and locking the door behind him and curling up in his bed.

Originally, he had intended to sit and think about this for a while-- to prepare himself for what he was about to do and get his mind right. But now, he was afraid that if he did, he’d lose his nerve and chicken out. And he had already thought about this. He had already thought about it long and hard and made the decision. He didn’t need to wobble on the subject any longer. The sooner, the better. 

He opened up the chest, pulling the familiar, ghostly white scrolls out from inside. And the moment he did, suddenly, he was not alone in the room. 

The mist that filled the air made him sneeze a few times.

“Greetings, young Hamato,” said Ghost-Sensei, as if he didn’t even mind that it had been weeks since they last spoke, as if nothing had changed, as if he already knew what Mikey planned to do. “What wisdom do you seek?”

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek, squaring his shoulders and curling his hands into fists.

If his family didn’t believe that he could protect them-- that he could protect himself-- there had to be a reason. There had to be something wrong. 

If he couldn’t protect anyone, then he would learn how.

“Those basics you were talking about before? With the ninpo and Hamato Clan traditions and my destiny and stuff?” He said. “I’m ready to learn all that. Teach me.”

[ next ]

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[foreverxdaydreaming]

x

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg

[crunchchute]

finally finished reading TSE *insert shackles chain breaking at sunset reaction picture*

[transkingcobra]

Aradin came into camp and broke the hookah pipe, that bitch

[harvestmoth]

did anyone want this? no? sorry.

[bcneheaded]

HI HELLO if anyone's wondered where I've been....... its been either work kicking my ass lately OR.... elden ring. JJFJDFSD

[horrastorie]

Project iseKai

Page 1

PLEASE read the tags!! 😭

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

Rotting, festering on an operating table, under sunlight and moonlight. Exposed.

Lying for days, as flesh begins to pucker and flies gather curiously, kissing muscle tissue and sipping oils from cross-sectional glands. 

Are they opportunistic? Feeding on what’s been left behind? Or did they really care and consume small bits of me out of pity, to show someone is still there, in spite of it all.

I know I’ve done wrong. I almost don’t blame you for wanting vengeance, so you tore out all the terrible things that lied inside for the world to see, to cry out in disgust and leave, leave, leave. Nobody wants anything to do with something like that. Doesn’t matter if we all have the same organs in our uniform human bodies; you DARED put that on display? Your vulnerability is shameful. Revolting.

You want me to repent? I would’ve wanted you to finish mutilating me right there and then, maybe it would’ve sped up my thought process. You said I hurt others, hurt you, so why don’t I deserve to hurt in return? Why didn’t you break my bones in, snap them and shatter them, crush my miserable flesh and skin into a soupy pulp? It’s what I deserve. But after it all, you still had the audacity to say “even those like you should get a second chance.”

I’ve been rendered an open pit of blood: some parts still warm and half-clotted, but others dried to a crispy rust that flakes off pathetically from bumpy scabs. I almost don’t want to be alive anymore, and I hate that you said you’re “above” killing, all of you turning your noses up at the tainted mess I am from the moral high ground you all rent out a place in.

Why couldn’t you have just let me die? For as much as you denounce the actions my hands took, you once had kissed my fingers so gently and admired what I had made. Aren’t you tempted to destroy these tools of evil? Sever my arm and peel off every dermal layer, cut it up into pieces with your incisors and bite into flesh so deeply it splits and frays my veins. Mark me up and make me gone, wouldn’t it be the ultimate punishment?

But you’re not like that. You instead opted to leave me out here to thaw and decay, to succumb to the torturous things I ponder about while I bleed out.

Until scraps of me fall like rotten fruit, and until mold decides to grow over and cover my indecency in a soft coat so everyone forgets, I’ll ferment while I reflect.

Decomposing, because it’s all caught up to me, yet I don’t think I had a stable composition to begin with.

[i-loved-silly]

WOLVERINE x READER x DEADPOOL — fuckup twinsies

dp&w spoilers!!

So I had a silly idea. Sorry if it’s out of character, I haven’t written for canon characters in a fat while but these two are stuck in my head. Enjoy :3

POV: you’re a dimension hopper : sent to the Void as a punishment for doing your thing. Damnit

Dust. Sand. Desert. That was all you knew ever since you were banished here. The place you were basically forced to call home—funnily enough, (actually it’s rather sad) you had forgotten what your real home was. A large, and I mean LARGE amount of timeline touching and dimension hopping does that to you.

By spending years of visiting dimensions and maybe messing a couple things up, you damaged your own timeline. Simply because you wanted to take Mr Captain America’s shield back to your home dimension. What can you say, a little artifact doesn’t hurt, right?

Except it did.

Now you’re stuck here, and honestly? It’s fine. You had nothing to return to anyway. At least you thought. TVA explained it that way, anyways. Everything was fine. You spent your years here surviving and avoiding Cassandra Nova by making your own little underground hobbit hole. How cute.

Everything was the same everyday—you hid out, occasionally left to find food and materials, came back to safety. Until one day you heard something while out scavenging—almost like distant yells? From above you??—You looked up and was shocked to see two figures falling out of the sky and barreling straight for you.

"OOMF --" You were thrown onto the sand on your back, you swore you felt a couple bones break...or something. All your belongings in your little ripped backpack went flying around you and the others stabbed into your back. Then there was the weight on top of you. A muscular , red, and talkative weight.

"Owww, oh fuck, that hurt. I hit bones. I just hit someon--oh." Deadpool groaned, snapping his elbows back into place to get a good look at you. He blinked. "Well lookey here, who the hell are you? Wait, did i kill them?" He gasped as he saw your pained scowl.

Wade frantically shook you by the shoulders. Getting hit by something from that high should have killed you. You coughed, ugh...your whole body hurt. You don’t remember if you gave yourself overpowered abilities before hopping into this dimension…or the last one. Was it during the time you went to the Loki-verse? Season one, episode five? Nah.

"Get off of them," Logan grunted, dusting himself off from his spot a few feet away. Hey, at least you weren’t hit by both of them. "See what you did, you fucking idiot? Get away from them."

"Woah, okay! First of all, it's not like I wanted to crash into someone like a wrecking ball, got it? I am not Miley. But look, they're fine!" He shook you by the shoulder again and you spat out a bit of blood.

"Guhh..." You groaned, rolling over. Yep, your bones were definetly crushed.

"We're not here to poke around, Wade. We're on a mission." Logan glanced at your beat up form wearily--oh well, if you weren't dead by now you'll be fine.

"Fine," Wade let go of you, letting your body flop back onto the sand with another "thud" on impact. "Oops, Im sooo sorry. I-..oh come on! Don't you have at least a little bit of a curious tickle? They can help us." He whined, gesturing to you and to Logan.

"They're a stranger, bub. Just...leave em there." He hesitated, then grunted and turned the other way.

You groaned in pain again--seems like they're your only lines--and sat up on your elbows. Your head was pounding and suddenly it was too bright outside. "W-wait..I’m fine..just let me.." You pressed your palm against your forehead.

Wade leaned down in front of you, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh, you're alive. Good. Why are you here, little buddy?"

You tried laughing nervously but a cough interrupted you. Right, there was sand in your lungs. "I uh...couple years ago I touched a timeline I shouldn't have. More like, a lot of timelines. Kinda-sorta fucked up."

Wade let out a loud gasp and placed his hands on the sides of his face, then made a giddy noise. "Eek! Fuck up twinsies! You heard that, Logan? We aren't the only dimensional fuck ups!" He was oddly enthusiastic, the scruffy guy in the distance wasn't so much.

Actually now that you think about it, he seemed a bit enraged. Just a bit. “Who the hell is we?”

"Who are you again?" You muttered, grunting as you worked on standing up. Wade extended a hand and you took it, before you could thank him—he quite literally yanked you up by the arm like a fucking ragdoll. You hit his chest and your eyes widdened.

"How the heck do you not know me? I mean you probably don’t know him, that sexy beast of a man is Logan, professionally Wolverine. Not a very good one though. Anyway, I'm Wade Wilson, but you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or the Merc with a Mouth. Or the Chimichanga Bandit. Or—"

"Wade, shut the fuck up."

Wait.

“Wait, you’re Deadpool and Wolverine? Like the real ones?”

PART 2

[monzabee]

pon de replay - cl16 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!! 

Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.

So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.

It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.

“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.

“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.

“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”

If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”

Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.

He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”

That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.

“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.

Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.

“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.

So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”

His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”

If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.

And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”

This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”

“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.

And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”

Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”

“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”

“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”

And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.

So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”

You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.

He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”

“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”

“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.

Or so you’ve thought.

Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”

“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”

You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”

That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.   

“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.

“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.

So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”

“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”

“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”

“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.

That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”

And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.

[earlysunshines]

punches to the heart

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni watches you beat up her friend, you two get off on the wrong foot, and it's safe to say hanni basically hates you -- the feeling is mutual. what makes it worse is the fact that you two are bound to run into each other time and time again.

warnings: boxer!reader ; hanni is a nursing student who’s fighting lowk (kinda) ; blood ; violence ; pining ; reader is pretty traumatized ummm ; #enemies to lovers (sorta) ; alcohol ; making out ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: ummm I don’t really box lmfao or at least I haven’t done it professionally soooo sorry to any boxers reading this bc there might be mistakes or incorrect terms idk anyways ENJOY!! ^_^ also ignore the fact that yn works at a restaurant in this too LOL half of this fic was from MONTHS ago but i never continued it...

you’re freshly thirteen, your knees still sting and blood continues to flow out of the scrapes from being pushed onto the ground by two prepubescent boys earlier in the day, but you dab at it a couple of times with spare napkins in your bag to prevent any more crimson liquid from seeping out.

the door opens and you find your grandma knitting something on the couch, she’s also watching something on the tv. the quality of the video playing on the screen is pretty rough, but you can make out a familiar face: your late grandpa. grandpa was grandma’s everything and from what you’ve heard: he’s a sweet, memorable soul. a smile spreads across your face as you watch your grandma continue to knit. a few seconds later you’re trying to sneakily run to the bathroom to clean up the mess on your legs.

“y/n? is that you?” she calls out softly, turning in your direction. usually, she’d be at the little bakery she worked at, but she wasn’t, so you assumed she had worked the morning and lunch shifts. she looks down at your red knees and her eyes widen. “oh! sweetheart, what happened?” 

she drops whatever she’d been knitting down on the cushion and rushes over to you, cupping your face and then kneeling to meet your injuries. her eyebrows crease and she frowns, worry is painted all over her face.

“i bumped into someone and tripped on the curb.” you lie, knowing you had heard snarky remarks in between voice cracks from some idiots beforehand.

“what did i say about lying?” your grandma sighs, rubbing the area around one of the scrapes and sighing. “did those boys give you a hard time again?”

“i—” you start, but she looks at you and raises her brows, making your second lie die in your throat immediately. you gulp and avoid eye contact. “well i got pushed and i’m not lying about tripping on the curb. i got unlucky.”

grandma clicks her tongue twice and shakes her head, then grabs your hand and leads you to the small bathroom of your little apartment. 

she closes the lid of the toilet and urges you to sit down on it. while you situate yourself, she finds a little first-aid kit in the cabinet and a few sanitizing wipes. you gulp, already uneasy about the pain that you’ll feel in the next minute.

your grandma chuckles in that raspy, cliché old lady tone when she sees your clenched jaw and fingers digging in your knee anxiously. she sighs and kneels down to meet your level, then says, “it’ll hurt a little, be strong for me.” 

“i’m not scared.”

“sure you’re not hon. it’s going to sting a lot, but it’ll pass by in no time, ‘kay?” she says, taking out an alcohol wipe and holding it above the scrape on your left knee. she holds your right hand and smiles sweetly—it calms you down in no time. “i’m going to clean it, be strong.” she says, then begins to wipe away the bacteria from the wound.

you close your eyes tightly at the stinging sensation, it hurts a lot and tears well up despite your eyes being shut. grandma squeezes your hand tightly then throws the wipe away.

“there you go, one knee done.” she says, “you’re strong like your grandpa, you know?”

your brows relax and you look at her, tilting your head. “i—, i am?”

“he boxed until he was 42, you were around the age of 4 then.” she explains, smiling as she reminisces. she grabs another wipe and tightens her grip on your hand again before you feel that same pain again, and continues, “he had a lot of injuries like these ones. i took care of him like this.”

through clenched teeth you respond, “he got hurt worse than this?”

“five times worse.” grandma shivers, “blood from his lips, mostly bruises on him though. i stitched him up once and i almost threw up.” she says, cringing when she recalls this memory. “he got cut up a couple of times and complained and groaned much more than you, actually. he got in a lot of fights, but he promised that he’d get into fewer fights when we had to take care of you.”

“oh, were you okay with taking care of him so much? it must’ve been tiring to always do that for him.”

grandma’s expression softens and she smiles. “when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”

her sweet smile makes your own lips curl up and she pats your leg softly before finding bandages. as she patches you up, her words linger in your mind and heart.

“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” she starts, standing back up to put the kit away. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”

“i can take care of you when i’m older.” you say it like a promise and she shakes her head.

“i don’t want you to worry about my old soul for the majority of your life. i’m talking about a friend, or maybe more. whoever it is, care for them endlessly.”

you nod. 

she smiles once more and chuckles, “come on, let’s go watch one of your grandpa’s fights—i was watching some of it before you got here.”

you follow her out the bathroom and turn off the light, then you two head back to the living room. she sits down on the couch and urges you to squeeze in with her as she picks up her needles and yarn. you sit beside her and she presses a button on the remote, which starts the video back up again.

as you watch, you recognize the familiar figure on the screen jump around on his feet. he holds his arms up and clenches his fists in the boxing gloves, shooting the opponent a nasty glare through the small space in between.

“your grandpa was a great boxer, he spent a lot of time devoted to the sport.” grandma explains.

you hum and ask, “why did he box? doesn’t it hurt?”

“well, he did it to protect himself and make some money for us back when times were rougher, way before you were born. he was passionate about it.”

“that’s cool.” you say in awe. your grandma laughs softly before starting to knit again.

you watch your grandpa dodge a few punches and a swing from the side quickly, he’s fast and your 13-year-old mind is absolutely bewildered by his athletic ability. the opponent throws another punch, which he dodges, then sends a nasty hit to the side of the other boxer’s torso. the opponent stumbles back and falls to his knees, then bends down while he tries to recover. it takes a bit for the other guy to get up, and when he does get up—he stumbles back down.

“i want to be like grandpa, can i learn to box?”

your grandma laughs and grins at you. “you know what—sure y/n, you’re a lot like him after all. besides, you need to defend yourself from whoever pushed you.”

“oh yeah, i punched him in the face.”

“you what?” your grandma asks, shocked by your reply. you shrug and keep your eyes on the screen: your grandpa had won after a hit to the guy's cheek, and now the camera is on his sweaty, smiling self. 

“he pushed me and i punched him, but that’s because he said something really bad…”

“y/n,” grandma starts, but stops after she takes another good look at you and her late lover on the screen. a small breath leaves her lips, then she shakes her head. “you two are practically the same, huh.”

the rest of the night your grandma shares anecdotes of her time with your grandpa, it ranges from a variety of silly stories: your grandpa’s first fight, how they fell in love (and this story elicited a slight face of disgust from you, a playful one of course. you couldn’t deny that it was cute, but you were also 13 and icky about a lot of romantic things), grandpa’s fights out of the ring, and their most memorable moments with you. 

you find out that a lot of your traits are rooted from your grandpa, you were pretty satisfied with that.

-

years pass, you’re not stuck in that shithole called middle school; instead, you’re a junior in high school—still in a shithole, but a little better—yuck.

you’re already pretty sick of high school, freshman year wasn’t the best for you after realizing you liked girls; well, it was alright until your first heartbreak or whatever. 

it was cliché: you made a good friend, she was sweet and friendly, and then you realized that your heartbeat would pace at an unhealthy speed around her. the two of you get into a relationship and it eventually fails, your heart breaks and blah blah blah it’s a universal experience. you managed to get over this heartbreak after a year. besides, you can’t be stuck on one failed relationship for the entirety of high school, that’s a fool’s biggest mistake. 

and you’re not a fool.

grandma get’s sick sophomore year, and grandma is all that you have. it was an unexpected turn, resulting in one of the worst years of your life.

the doctors said it had something to do with her heart, some type of cardiovascular disease that costs a bit to treat. so, as soon as you turned 15, you found yourself a part-time job at a local restaurant to pay for her medicines and treatment while she tried her best to provide you with a stable foundation for the future, or at least some food, a house, and water. grandma had argued that she didn’t need your help, she scolded you and tried to keep you focused on your studies, but you wouldn’t budge; if anything, you argued back.

twenty-four hours in a day, and yet it wasn’t enough time to do everything you needed without sacrificing some of your sanity.

six of those hours were spent sleeping, seven hours were spent in school, eight hours at work right after, and then a few hours to care for grandma—and do a little bit of boxing; nothing got in the way of your passion, especially if that passion kept your grandpa alive. 

ever since that little moment with grandma and her cleaning up your knees, your interest in your grandpa and boxing piqued; you started to push yourself physically after hearing about the contests and tournaments, ones that had prizes worth more than one shift of working.

 it was difficult – boxing, working, going to school – with grandma’s illness, but your passion was just as great as your grandpa’s and the more you developed to become more like him: the more grandma would smile. that was the product you yearned for, and all your devotion (plus your similar features) only made the image of your grandpa increasingly prominent when she looked at you.

boxing made the thought of her illness easier to bear, and that didn’t cost anything, instead it filled your pockets. so, you kept on going, replicating the moves in the old films of your grandpa, winning junior boxing matches and placing the films your grandma recorded next to the ones of your grandpa. 

even when you didn’t win matches, the tapes of you boxing were placed next to your grandpa’s. that was arguably ten times better than a trophy.

it was enough to ease the strain in grandma’s body, and that made you happy too.

--

a year passes and you’re still a part-time amateur cook at some local restaurant. you still smell like sauteed onions and garlic when you reach the door to the apartment and try to blindly reach for the keys to your home; it’s a bit late, you’re tired, and you want to shower then pass out as soon as you can.

the late evening moon cast a soft glow through the windows near the stairwell, creating a quiet atmosphere. you step inside and the air is filled with the comforting scent of vanilla, a lingering trace of grandma’s signature cookies—she must’ve known you’ve been craving something sweet lately.

the only sound that fills the quiet evening is the faint ticking of the clock reverberates throughout the apartment, and then it’s the sound of the door creaking as you close it. 

“i’m home," you called out, a habitual greeting as you kicked off your shoes. usually, you’d get a response—it was half past seven and typically, grandma would still be awake to greet you warmly—but silence lingered, only broken by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

worry pricked at your consciousness as you ventured further into the house. the hallway leading to the bedroom seemed unusually hushed. the gentle rustling of your grandma’s usual activities was conspicuously absent, she wasn’t even knitting in the living room while watching tv like she usually did. it was odd.

turning the corner into the bedroom, a gasp escaped your lips. you dropped your work bag and stood frozen in place, feeling your heart rate spike. there, lying on the carpet, was your grandma, and her face now bore the lines of pain. panic surged through your veins as you rushed to her side.

"grandma, what happened?" your voice trembled as you gently shook her shoulders, desperately hoping for a response.

grandma’s eyes were closed, her breathing erratic. the room seemed to close in on you as you fumbled for your phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. the operator's calm instructions cut through the air as you listened intently, trying to focus on each word and compose yourself.

frantically, you performed cpr, guided by the dispatcher's voice, but the seconds felt like an eternity. the room blurred as tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the fear that gripped her heart. the paramedics were on their way, but time was slipping away. this could not be happening—not now, not here, not ever.

“please, god, please no. please stay with me, not you too.” you beg, feeling your face dampen.

as you continued the compressions, a heaviness settled in the room. the once warm and inviting space now felt suffocating. in those agonizing moments, your grandma’s fragile grip on life slipped away. it was clear that she was gone, and there was nothing you could do to help her this time.

--

there’s enough money for you to live in that apartment alone for two months. the first week was spent with you sleeping in, missing school, and staring into the ceiling blankly.

you haven’t gotten up in hours, you could hardly take care of yourself after grandma’s passing. 

after a few hours of simply laying down and feeling too much, yet nothing at all; you flip over on your side and catch sight of the framed picture of you and your grandma. your brows turn up slightly as you stare back at the picture. you turn to lay on your back again, closing your eyes and groaning. your heart aches, it’s all too much for you.

the sound of knocking elicits an exhausted sigh from you, and it takes you a moment to get up for the first time in hours. you trudge out of the bedroom and groan when a sudden headache hits you, it almost makes you stumble. the sight of the kitchen and untouched living room makes your shoulders sink, it looks the same as that life-changing night.

you unlock the door and twist the knob to open it; a taller man stands in front and looks up at you with a sincere smile. 

“ah, y/n, am i correct?” he questions. a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes soften upon observing you. “you’ve grown, you have your grandpa’s eyes.”

his voice is soft, you can tell he’s a well-spoken, dignified man just from the way he articulates his words. he's quite fit looking for his age, he seems about how old your grandpa would’ve been if he was still alive; a man with noticeable smile lines and hands that seemed to have experienced decades.

you try to respond and realize that it’s been a week since you’ve uttered something that wasn’t a cry. you resort to nodding; he seems to understand.

he smiles and scans you; it seems that he doesn’t care about your appearance or state at all. 

“my name is michael, i was a friend of your grandparents. i’m sorry for your loss.”

you stay silent, unable to speak. 

“i’m here because your grandma asked for a favor, a big one and it includes you.” he begins, “she knew her condition was getting worse and asked me to come here to talk to you.”

“what?” you croak, now curious of just who exactly this man is and his connections with not just your grandma, but also your grandpa. “you knew?” your voice cracks, your heart breaks.

“i can’t turn down a favor like this, not if your grandma is asking either.” he says, pursing his lips. his eyes scan the room, then they start to well up with water. “she wanted me to take you in and take care of you if anything happened to her, of course i’m willing to do that for her—you’re her family after all, and i owe a lot to the l/n’s. i didn’t know her time would come so soon.”

“what? who, who are you exactly? my grandma told you about her condition? what— how—”

“i was close with your grandparents. i’m someone who owes them everything.”

-

you move in with michael not so long after your first meeting, he warms up to you easily after spilling some anecdotes that threatened your last tears to spill.

it takes a while to grow accustomed to him, you’ve only ever been used to talking to your grandma freely.

michael is a man in his early 50s, younger than your grandparents. he’s a sweet, soft-spoken man that treated you like his own as soon as the two of you met. you learn that he boxed with your grandpa; michael learned everything from your grandpa and explains that your grandpa is the reason he can live normally now. 

something in the way that he talks about your grandparents and the way he looks at you explains a lot, you don’t know exactly what your grandparents did, but it seems like they were his biggest miracle.

he smiles at you when you settle in his house, then goes on to tell you that you remind him of your old man. michael is a generous guy, and though everything happened so fast—recovering from grandma’s death, moving in with this man you’ve never heard of, learning more about your grandparent’s relations, and too much more—you seem to ease into this new lifestyle.

what else could you do anyway?

the new home you’re in isn’t small; if anything, it’s actually quite large and spacious. his home is hours away from where grandma was and it was hard leaving everything behind, but with your situation, the most you could feel is grateful for having a place and person to stay with, and a way to keep you from drowning in misery.

it was also evident that there used to be someone who lived with him, a lover of some sort. the pictures on the wall give you a sense of how he was like when whoever that woman was accompanying him was around; he was a lively, beaming man back then. now, he’s a bit more mellow, but there’s still that slight charm.

-

michael offers you a job at his little restaurant that he manages—which you accept immediately, you owe him some labor, and honestly everything after what he’s done for you—everything goes well. 

he goes easy on you because of your recent loss, but still, he treats you like you’re his own. michael is quick to correct you, strict when he needs to be, and someone to rely on.

he’s impressed with your skills in the kitchen, enamored by how quick you are to learn recipes and cook them up. your bond grows quickly and easily, it helps you get over the loss.

when he finds you watching your grandpa’s old boxing matches on the couch a month after moving in, he decides to bring you to his little garage. he unveils the trophies that he’s collected over years of boxing and decides to give you a picture of him and your grandpa posing together. in the picture, they’re all sweaty and smiley, beaming so brightly that their teeth almost reflect the light. he insists that “you deserve it more, i never had a place to keep this anyway,” with a small smile that conceals his sorrow, then hands you the 8x6 photo.

you tell him about your background in boxing, your matches, wins, favorite moves, and that you used to teach yourself how to box because of grandpa.

he simply smiles, muttering something that sounds like a “you’re just like him.”

you learn how to box again for the first time in a while on some friday night. this time you really learn, it’s not from copying your old man’s combos on a screen; instead, it’s one-on-one lessons with his old friend. 

he teaches you a lot, beats you down and makes you get back up. despite getting knocked down, thrown around, and given harsh constructive criticism—you get up and try again, again, and again. the thrill of it all surges through your body again, giving you that adrenaline rush and burst of joy that you’ve been missing for a bit.

one month passes, then another, and now you’re learning how to box every weekend – sometimes on weekdays – running miles after school, pushing yourself all the time, and winning—growing. 

he teaches you his favorites combos, then your grandpa’s favorite ones that got him on one knee each time they sparred. you learn all the time, learn whenever you can despite the slight ache in your body and it’s always michael forcing you to take it easy to get rid of that slight pain. 

boxing takes over your mind and you’re set with cooking as your main job, so school was something you weren’t really set on, you figured that out after all your troubles. michael was okay with that—to your surprise—and you decided to devote your time into training and doing your best at the little restaurant you worked at.

time passes and you decide to put yourself up to the test and sign yourself up for matches. at first, they’re just for experience, and then you’re pushing yourself to win these triple digit checks—which you win proudly after making your way up the bracket and succeeding. you’re proud of yourself for these accomplishments, michael is too, he says that your grandparents would be proud as well and it makes you tear up.

everything was going well, and you had michael to thank for pulling you out of the harsh waters that tried to pull you down and drown you in your misery.

--

when everyone was starting out in college, you were opening up the restaurant and getting everything ready.

you graduated with a solid gpa of 3.4. your counselors were practically up your ass because of your lack of interest in going to college. they tried to persuade you by saying that it would be great for your future, they insisted that you could take culinary classes, boxing classes, etc; despite every effort and attempt, you wouldn’t budge. 

there was always that slight uneasiness that came with deciding not to go to college, but at the same time, you were set with how everything was right now; especially after seeing the elderly regulars that always came in for breakfast. one of them patted you on the back as you hung up the “welcome” sign and greeted you with a smile, saying “it’s nice to see you again y/n, as always.” 

this type of lifestyle kept you smiling, there was not much to complain about other than the rare rude customer that would pass by here and there. you were content to say the least.

-

a few months before you turn nineteen, you decide to move out because there’s a small feeling that you may be a slight burden to michael, plus, the area is not bad and the rent is cheap. he assures that you can stay for however long, but you assure that you can hold up on your own. 

the place you decide to settle in is a thirteen-minute run from michaels place and a ten-minute walk from the restaurant you work at. robert says he’s proud that you’ve grown to be independent and strong.

(you laugh because you’ve simply moved out and decided to live on your own. plus, you live near him and work most of your shifts with him too, but you let him hug you dearly). 

you stay in a single-bedroom apartment that has a nice, small kitchen area littered with trinkets you’ve collected and small plants here and there. the living room is homey and has a single couch with a small coffee table in it that you gives you a view of the small market that goes on every sunday in the distance. you love the place. 

it gets lonely some nights, coming home to a silent house. grandma pops up in your mind and part of you (all of you) wishes that you’d come home to the smell of home cooked food and a smile that emphasizes her wrinkles. grandma hated her wrinkles, but you loved them. a few wrinkles never hurt anyone.

-

you huff, taking off the bandana on your head. “i’m clocking out, see you tomorrow.” 

“wait! michael has something for you in the back. uhh--” aki, the junior in high school that works part time, begins. you pause in your tracks, bag over your shoulder. “hold on let me--”

“c’mon, i'm running a little late for the match. i need to get checked in.” you say hurriedly, “just tell him i'll get it later--”

“no, y/n, it’s important. he said to get it to you today.”

with a deep sigh, you give in, watching him put away the plate he was washing and quikcly running to the back where the lockers are. you follow him in and watch him take out a small box with a little paper on it. it's a pretty big box, maybe bigger than a shoe box.

“here,” he says, handing it to you. “michael says good luck and to open it before your match, he knows how important this one is. three hundred is a solid prize, he says you can do it.”

you smile at aki; he smiles back before running off and back to the kitchen. the box is held with your hands, subtle blisters scratching against the cardboard before you walk over to your car. 

when you’re in the driver's seat, you decide to let the box be your little passenger and see what's inside when you reach the address of the tournament. as soon as you do, the box is in your hands again. with your keys, you cut the tape that covered the openings, then eagerly opened the box like a little kid on christmas morning.

inside, there’s brand new boxing gloves. they're white, they’re fresh, and they’re the expensive ones michael caught you eyeing.

“son of a bitch.” you mutter, shaking your head with a grin playing on your lips. 

you get out your old white mazda with a bag hung on your shoulder, new gloves inside.

there's a man at the front checking you in, his appearance slightly older with hair parted in the middle and a somewhat distraught expression on his face, almost disgust. maybe he just... looks like that. 

there's a hint of attitude in his tone when he asks, "you're here for the match?" 

“yes.”

“you’re late, you know? boxers should’ve checked in ten minutes ago, visitors--”

“i’m here now.” you say calmly, looking at him apologetically. “sorry for being late, i rushed from work. i already submitted my medical information and id online, it should be good to go, i got the email. it's l/n y/n by the way, i should be on the roster--”

he snaps his fingers at you, earning a raised brow from you. your teeth grind against each other as you clench your jaw from the sudden action.

“don’t cut me off when i'm speaking. i could have you out of the match as a whole, you know?” he scoffs, glaring at you. “you boxers are so damn impatient, and to think that you’re a woman too... i would’ve figured you had better manners.”

“i’m-- im sorry?” you’re shocked by the sudden disrespect, fighting back the urge to jab his face. “um, sorry. am i still able to check in?”

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, but still giving you a little snarky tone even as he hands you your name tag and . “fine. go down the hall and to the left, there’s the locker rooms and whatnot. you know, you’re lucky i don’t--”

“thank you sir, have a good one.” is what you say, because you trained two months for this tournament and you can’t get disqualified now if you had let out that: “fuck you, bitch.”

you dash past him, speed walking towards the changing rooms to get yourself situated and weighed in. he almost curses at you, but you’re already too far in for him to stop you anyway.

--

you make weight, meaning you get to indulge in whatever it was that you grabbed from the convenience store.

in this case it was one protein bar – cookie dough, your favorite – some fruits, an avocado, and a few crackers. a decent amount of nutrition to keep you up on your toes for the matches.

michael's little gift to you fits snug, your hands fit perfectly in them, but you should definitely break them in before sparring—so you resort to using your usual gloves, the same ones that won you the last tournament's prize. it's fine anyway, they’re your lucky ones until you break in the new.

the first girl you take on is feisty; she’s quick on her feet and clearly has some type of anger issue from the way she curses at you quietly, sending daggers with that look of hers. it seems that you piss her off the more level you are, and honestly, it’s amusing to see her continuously jab and jab with fury until you decide to step to the side quickly and give a solid swing. 

she stumbles back, losing her composure before gritting her teeth. 

then she’s light on her feet again, you’re still playing defense, simply observing as she shifts side to side. you let her punch your forearm and send a cross before seizing the moment, stepping to the left, and quickly sending a nasty hook to her body. 

she stumbles again, coughs, and falls down on her knees.

“l/n!” the referee shouts, holding your wrist and raising your arm up.

--

you have three more matches until your final round, the one that’ll determine if you win, but you have to get through all of them first.

the second round proves to be more challenging. the woman you're up against lands a nasty cross that connects squarely with your jaw, throwing you off balance for a split second. however, with attentive focus on each of her movements, you manage to anticipate her next move and swiftly counter with a hook to her side. the blow knocks her out, mirroring the outcome of your previous match.

the third round is even more difficult. the woman you're up against this time seems relentless, unleashing jabs and crosses and jabs and crosses and jabs—wow, she won’t give you a break. you're constantly dodging, weaving side to side, but she refuses to give you a moment's respite. another blow lands on your jaw again, causing you to stumble back and exhale sharply, feeling the impact reverberate through your body.

as you try to regain your footing, she continues to press the attack, landing blows to your forearms as you desperately block, trying to find an opening to mount a counterattack. despite your best efforts, she seems to have you on the ropes, leaving you struggling to keep up with her relentless assault.

but still, as you always do, you manage to swerve and find your opening. after all that effort, she has to recover for a second. a second is more than enough time to step and switch angles, sending your infamous hook and leaving her on the ground, almost in fetal position, and groaning.

the fourth round is tough, really tough. the girl you’re up against is shorter, but wow is she bulky. 

she’s buff, biceps bigger than yours, almost as if an orange had been placed in them. her shoulders were like rocks and tensed as she put her arms up a bit. you had a decent amount of muscle, pretty nice definition and whatnot—but compared to her? it was like a shrimp and a lobster put next to each other. no way she was in your weight class, could she really be?

your arms steady as you get ready to fight, waiting for the cue and as soon as the ref gives you the green light, you’re light on your feet again. she throws a jab at you, grazing your forearm as you step back. then a cross is thrown at you, another jab, and a punch to the side that lands on your shoulder. her hits are as strong as she looks, it hurts. 

you manage to throw a jab that hits her forearms, then land an uppercut that strikes the side of her jaw. she lets out a sharp breath as soon as it hits, then curses under her breath. she looks at you with a death glare, then steps forward and to the side, managing to land a nasty hit right on your abdomen, then cheek, making you fall back against the rope.

she chuckles, making you take a deep breath. 

your feet move quick, inching in on her as you sway from side to side, giving her no room to strike at you. and then, just when you find an opening, you land a nice hook with your right—less precise and powerful, but still enough—and she falls back. 

she gets back up again—not without halting a few of her actions—then shakes her head. she throws a cross at you, which you dodge easily since her reach is on the shorter side. this gives you another opportunity to land a hit right on her jaw, and with that final move, she’s on the ground, and you win.

a smile reaches your face once the referee lifts your arm up, but there’s still that last match.

there's some time before finals, you take the time to rest a bit, chugging down a bit of water and wiping away some of the sweat on your body.

you sit down on one of the benches, leaning against the wall and recollecting yourself. the though of your grandma crosses your mind before you’re interrupted by a high pitched voice in the corner of your ear.

“yunjin! i'm so sorry i'm late, i had to finish moving in some things and--”

“it’s fine, seriously. i'm glad you made it.”

you glance over, seeing two women interact. one is obviously a boxer–one that you haven’t seen yet–probably your opponent for the final round. 

she's all sweaty, strands from her hair glued to her forehead from the sweat. she's pretty built, maybe a little smaller than you are muscle-wise, but still, the definition on her arms and abs are no joke. 

the woman next to her, dressed in a simple long-sleeve shirt and jeans, is beaming at her with a wide smile. her eyes sparkle with joy and happiness and rainbows, there’s an infectious energy that seems to radiate off of her. it's funny how bright she is; you can't help but be reminded of old videos of your grandma with grandpa, where similar warmth and happiness seemed to fill the frame.

“how many more matches do you have left? did you win any yet? gosh i missed so much, didn’t i?”

the taller one shakes her head, the boxer. “it’s fine, the rest were pretty difficult, but this is the round that should be the most important. it's the last one, i'm going up someone really good, i saw her--” she catches you from the side of your eye, which prompts you to look away and start to stand up.

the other woman, the one that looks a little like an eager bunny, looked towards where the boxer was looking. catching your last swift look over to the pair before you walk away.

now, yunjin, your last opponent, tenses her jaw.

“was that her?” yunjin’s friend asks.

“most definitely.” yunjin mumbles nervously.

--

you step into the ring, tilting your neck over to crack it just slightly.

your oppenent swings her arms slightly, dynamically stretching again to ease her nerves. you look her up and down, taking a deep breath before you step into the middle of the platform.

the two of you make eye contact, comparable to cowboys pointing pistols at each other before a duel. you look away first before the referee puts his hand in the middle, then lifts it up to cue the start of your match.

slowly circling the ring, you observe her movements. her arms react quick to how yours move, twitching and moving a bit in order to match your rhythm. she's attentive, very attentive, you can tell just by how quick she’s able to react and adjust.

you throw a cross, she backs away immediately and misses, then throws a punch right at you, hitting your forearm. a grunt is heard from you, then a sharp breath as you jab her forearm in return. 

“jen! you can do it!” the voice from earlier calls out, you can’t afford to look over, but it’s that girl. the one who had been accompanying your opponent earlier.

a small smile forms on your opponent's lips before she launches into a flurry of punches aimed directly at you. you raise your forearms in a desperate attempt to block them from reaching your face, but she manages to find an opening. stepping to the side, she delivers a rear uppercut to your jaw once again, causing a sharp surge of pain to shoot through you. it hurts even more than before, the sensation amplified by the previous blows.

you grunt out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you watch droplets fall onto the platform below. despite the searing pain and the mounting pressure of the match, you force yourself to regain your composure. your brows crease with determination as you shake your head, breathing in and out slowly.

now it's your turn to unleash a boatload of punches. several of them land squarely on your opponent's forearms, but you manage to find an opening and deliver a powerful blow right to her stomach, causing her to gasp out in pain. despite her reaction, you continue your assault relentlessly, delivering punch after punch to the side of her arms and the forearms covering her head. each blow is delivered with precision and determination, as you refuse to let up until the match is won.

but your opponent still perseveres, somehow finding a way to get out of the corner and land a jab right where your ribs are. she's quick, that’s for sure, always managing to find her way out of situations.

you cough out, stumbling backwards and almost falling down to your knees. she looks at you, huffing proudly as you find your balance. 

“tough,” you hear her mumble, so quiet that you almost mistook it for a whisper.

the two of you go at it again, trading blows and dodging many of them. yunjin manages to land a solid hit on the side of your arm, causing a sharp sting, but you fight back with a well-placed strike right on her tricep. despite the back and forth, the pace slows as both of you focus on dodging each other's attacks, slowing down the more fatigued you both get.

yunjin suddenly lands a powerful hit that causes your arms to push your head to the side. you watch as drops of blood litter the ground once again, but even as pain flares through you, you grunt and pull yourself together.

“c’mon yunjin!” the voice cheers again, that same voice.

just because this “yunjin” has supportive spectators, doesn’t mean you don’t have one watching from above.

the thought of your grandma urges you to act swiftly, moving so quick that you manage to fake her out and strike your signature final move.

turning to the left to regain your footing, you quickly pivot back and swing your arm with precision, landing a harsh blow on her side. the impact is so fatal that it nearly elicits a cry from her—a mix of a cough and a groan—as she staggers backward before collapsing to the ground.

despite the fatigue and pain coursing through your body, and the blood flowing down your nose and to the edge of your chin, none of it bothers you anymore; you’ve won. it’s clear.

you watch as yunjin kneels on the ground, groaning and huffing as she tries to fight back the pain. with both fists planted firmly on the ground, she uses the gloves to support herself, unable to look back up as she coughs, desperately trying to regain her composure and recover from the left hook to her side.

your eyes meet the ref’s eyes, then your brows raise to ask the question “is it over?” but you already know the answer: it is.

the referee helps yunjin up, you don’t bat an eye at her.

standing in the middle of the ring waiting for her, you make full eye contact with her little friend, a look of worry and anger plastered on the woman’s face. you feel a little bad, just a little (but not really), but it’s a competition, it’s nothing to worry about – you’ve won.

still, in that moment, you're caught off guard by how familiar this woman looks, her features bearing a slight resemblance to michael’s. but you quickly push the thought aside, it's not important. what matters is the referee raising your hand up in victory and yelling out your name.

“y/n!”

-

when yunjin gets down from the ring, a few moments after you’ve already stepped off; her friend is already by her side to make sure she’s okay.

“yunjin! oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“yes, hanni, it’s fine.” yunjin assures, clutching her right side. “hell of a hook...”

if it weren’t for those gloves of yours, yunjin would have a prominent bruise right on the skin covering her ribs. hanni frowns at her state before someone comes over to hand yunjin a towel and a water bottle. 

hanni catches you in the corner of her eye as you stand there, sweaty and looking at the ground. a towel is handed to you, and you quickly use it to wipe away the blood on your face. then you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes as if trying to gather yourself and stem the flow of blood trickling down your face.

“do matches usually end like that?” hanni asks.

“what?”

“like that. someone's hand is raised and then they just... walk off the stage?”

yunjin thinks to herself as she chugs on water. “well, i mean, usually we exchange a few words and stuff, but i guess who i just fought is more... blunt? reserved?” yunjin shakes her head, “it's not that big of a deal, really. she's bleeding anyway, i understand.”

“that’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“well, it’s not like she’s actually trying to hurt me for like, terrible reasons. there's a cash prize she wants and she won it.” yunjin shrugs defeatedly.

as you sniffle slightly, you turn to the side, locking eyes with hanni. your look gives the impression of a glare; your eyes narrow, and your expression remains unyielding. it's as if you're sending arrows of scrutiny towards hanni and yunjin. hanni can't help but feel unsettled by the way you hold yourself and the implicit judgment in your gaze. she's not one to judge easily, but your demeanor leaves her feeling a bit wary and cautious.

hanni watches you walk off, wiping a small drop of blood off your jawline, rubbing it off on your towel.

yunjin looks in the same direction as hanni, muttering something under her breath.

“she’s real tough, that’s right.”

--

you walk over to the cafe nearby, you need a little treat after winning, that’s what you deserve.

walking up to the cashier, you order a slice of strawberry shortcake, one latte, and a cookie for later. it’s a quick little action, once you’re done purchasing you head out the door, hearing a little jingle. 

as you walk down the sidewalk, you check your little bag to make sure the container of your cake isn’t tilted, and in the moment, you bump into someone. the coffee in your hand slips and lands on the person in front of you.

a curse slips out your lips, some of the coffee manages to land on your shoulder and upper right side of your chest. you groan, not looking up at the person in front of you and instead crouching down to pick up the bag you’ve just dropped.

“you’re not even going to bat an eye at her?” a voice scoffs from above, you look up to spot two familiar faces: one, the last girl you had knocked out and two, her little friend. “did the win make you so dense?”

“hanni relax, it’s fine–”

“no! she barely batted an eye at you after she won! shouldn’t boxers have more sportsmanship?”

the boxer above you puts a hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder, trying to cool her down as you stand up. the girl you had beat earlier – yunjin – she looks at you and tightens her jaw, hesitating before looking away.

“i’m, i’m sorry for that, for my friend.” she apologizes. you examine her more, noticing that only a bit of coffee landed on her t-shirt and the rest had spilt on you and the ground – it wasn’t that big of a deal. “it’s a small stain, the shirt is navy. sorry for your coffee.”

before you can respond, the shorter woman looks at yunjin confusedly, then pushes her back a bit so that she’s standing closer to you. she has to look up a bit, tilting her head as she meets your unbothered gaze.

“no, yunjin, she should apologize.” the woman spits, “you bump into my friend and spill coffee on her–”

“it’s barely anything–” yunjin butts in, but her little friend puts a finger to her lips.

“you better apologize, that win didn’t make you any better than anyone you’ve beat.” 

you look the girl up and down, then at yunjin who’s looking regretful and slightly embarrassed. you fix the slice of cake in your bag, catching the shorter girl looking at you like you’re crazy, then sigh out tiredly. 

“hey, yunjin, right?”

she nods, then hums, “yeah.”

you glance back at her friend, shrinking her down with just your eyes. you catch the way her jaw tightens and the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“tame your little friend, ‘kay?” you firmly say, then brush past the two of them.

hanni cannot believe her eyes, or anything. how can someone be so arrogant? 

she watches you casually walking off with an empty coffee cup in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other; her brows crease with anger as she starts to storm towards you, hearing yunjin’s attempts at verbally stopping her fading in the back.

you feel someone tugging at your flannel from behind, gasping lowly before turning around to meet yunjin’s little friend again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“relax.”

“apologize.” she grips your forearm, taken aback from how firm the muscles in that area are. uncertainly, she adds, “now.”

you look her up and down again, amused by the sight. some girl – who is shorter and smaller than you – is trying to hold you – the person who just knocked her friend out – back in an attempt for some stupid, haste ‘apology.’

“what are you going to do if i don’t?” you ask, partly because you’re curious and the other reason being that this is far too entertaining. “punch me? throw a hook? what are you, 5 feet tall?”

“five feet and three inches you ass!” 

“uh huh.” you sigh, shaking her hand off with your forearm. “fuck off.”

hanni watches you walk away again, before she can walk after you, yunjin grabs her and holds her back – this time with all her strength, the rest that she has left after those matches. hanni shouts at you through gritted teeth, yunjin puts a hand over her mouth and scolds her for being an idiot.

“are you crazy?”

“she’s an ass!”

“yeah but… stop making a scene! you just moved here, don’t go starting shit on your first day.”

“but she’s–”

“hanni.” yunjin turns her around and places both hands on either shoulder, looking her dead in the eye and then shaking her head tiredly. “can we just grab something to eat, i’m so fucking tired.”

yunjin’s best friend rolls her eyes before making a small “hmph” noise, crossing her arms before walking towards the cafe that you had just left.

–

hanni grabs a post fight meal with yunjin, then takes multiple photos at some random photobooth in a mall nearby, and finally gets dropped off at where she’s staying thanks to yunjin, considering the fact that hanni has nothing but a bus pass – not even a metro card.

hanni enters the house, smelling the wonderful aroma of what she believes is garlic and onion being sauteed in the kitchen. she smiles, happy that her grandpa is home and cooking up something delicious.

she kicks off her shoes, then starts to walk over to the kitchen, only to see someone turned to the stove – a tall, athletic, toned, and feminine looking back – someone that is not her grandpa. 

immediately, she gasps, then covers her mouth. she watches the figure turn, then takes her hand off her mouth to gasp again.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“what the hell are you doing here?”

“this is my house?!” hanni exclaims, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of fear. technically, it isn’t really hanni’s house, but through family ties, it might as well be. “get out! are you fucking—are you stalking me? is this because of before? what, are you going to punch me or—”

her breath catches, words failing her as you step forward, closing the distance between you two. you’re in her space now, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly to meet your narrowed gaze. the intensity in your eyes makes her breath hitch again, and she’s keenly aware of how scrutinizing your stare is. she takes in your sharp, intimidating presence, noting how your eyes bore down on her from above. you’re nearly a head taller, clearly stronger, your tank top revealing the evidence of your hard work, while she’s standing there in the casual, unassuming attire of an average college student. she would be lying her ass off if she said she wasn’t scared right now.

“i’m not going to pick a fight with someone like you,” you state, looking her up and down, your tone dripping with condescension. the height difference, the bandage on your nose from the matches you won; everything about you screams physical superiorty, and hanni feels a flare of anger. but even though she’s willing to fight, you’re making it clear that you don’t see her as a threat.

“the hell does that mean you bitch?”

you move your head slight closer so you’re up in her face, letting out a small, amused chuckle. 

“watch your mouth.”

“how about you learn personal space!” hanni groans, using her hand to push your shoulder lightly as she steps back and furthers the distance between you two. “where are your manners?”

“you really wanna start something again?”

“shut the hell up, you’re the one in my place.”

“this is michael’s place.” you correct her. “you don’t look anything like him,” well, she does have his eyes and nose. “do you even know him?”

“the hell? of course i know michael, he’s my grandpa you sack of shit!” hanni scoffs, crossing her arms angrily. 

your brows furrow and you retreat back just a bit. “he’s your what?”

“my–” before hanni finishes her sentence, you two turn your heads to the sound coming from behind the stairs. both of you watch an older man appear with two bags of groceries and a surprised look on his face as soon as he spots you two. 

he looks between you both, grin growing as he approaches the two of you. “oh! i see you two have met!”

“michael, who is this?”

“grandpa, who–”

“ah, i should’ve introduced you two, or given a little heads up.”

a heads-up would’ve been great. 

you’re standing just a foot away from the girl who tried to pounce on you outside a café, the same girl who had to be restrained by her friend—the friend you knocked out cold. and now, as fate would have it, like the universe thinks you’re some type of joke, she turns out to be the granddaughter of the man who helped you get back on your feet. 

a warning would’ve been more than just great, but it’s kind of – very – late to give one.

“well, y/n, this is hanni, my granddaughter, and hanni, this is y/n. do you remember the l/n’s? she’s their granddaughter!”

hanni blinks, her jaw dropping. the l/n’s, as in the l/n’s who saved her grandpa from some gang years before she was born, the same l/n’s that let him stay at their place during his earuly adult years, the same l/n’s he would talk about like they were some type of saviors. 

the same so called ‘saviors’ who’s descendant had been a bitch at in the cafe.

“oh.” hanni says, looking back at you and tightening her jaw. “really now?” she says softly, trying to let the information sink in.

“yes! why don’t you guys introduce each other.” he suggests. you look back at hanni like he’s just told some unbelievable, sick lie. she looks at you with grossed out features, as if you had some type of disease. “come on now,” he walks over to hold both your wrists, bringing you two closer and moving your hands over so they make contact. 

hanni stares at the hands in disgust, and you mirror her.

you sigh before loosely grabbing her hand and shaking it, greeting lowly, “nice to meet you hanni.”

she grips your hand tight in an attempt to intimidate you, but it’s nothing, barely half a kilogram of force. “nice to meet you y/n.”

you squeeze her hand just barely, earning a gasp from her and barely containing a laugh, only flashing an amused smile at the now annoyed woman in front of you.

michael smiles at the two of you, clearly missing the tension and obvious rivalry in the air before saying, “glad you two are getting along. hanni here is moving in, she’s going to the university nearby.”

“is that so?” you raise a brow at hanni, she pulls her hand away and shakes it off like a virus is on her hand. 

“yeah, nursing.”

“i bet they’d love your little self there, huh?”

hanni bites her lip in an attempt to hold herself back from cursing at you. she opts for smiling at her grandpa and saying, “hey, i’m going to unpack now gramps, okay?”

“right! i forgot, you should definitely do that. hey, y/n, why don’t you help her out?”

“me?” 

“her?” hanni asks, earning another offended glare from you. “i’m fine, really.”

“no, no, your luggage is quite heavy – and a large load. go on now, you two can bond while i make dinner,” he says cheerfully, pushing you two in the direction of the stairs. “have fun!”

–

you and hanni are fighting every single demon and voice in your heads in order to not to insult each other. you stand at the entrance of the guest bedroom, looking at the three boxes on the ground in front of the empty bed. hanni sighs, starting to unzip the suitcase that she rolls from the corner.

“you a hoarder or–?”

“shut up.” hanni spits, opening her suitcase and unpacking her clothes onto the bed. “you piss me off.”

“because i spilled coffee on your friend?”

“well you were a bitch about it.”

“it wasn’t that serious, it’s never that serious.”

“you won that fuckass tournament and now you think you’re better than her–”

“i never said that–”

“shut up!” hanni groans, turning around to glare at you. you tilt your head and she groans again, “make yourself useful with you boxer muscles and move the boxes on the ground out of the way.”

“now you need my help.”

“i’ll fuck you up just you watch.”

“yeah, right.” you snicker, looking her up and down as you lean against the doorframe. “i’m terrified.”

“make yourself useful you asshole.” hanni orders, turning back to stack a pile of shorts on the bed.

you roll your eyes, sighing loudly as you walk over, bend down, and lift a box that’s a bit heavier than you’d like to admit. nonetheless, you manage to pick it up, then put it on the desk in the room.

“jesus christ,” the box lands with a little thud and you huff lightly. “you got all that anger inside you in here or…?”

hanni doesn’t respond, instead, she kicks the back of your leg with her foot. you simply laugh, making her kick you again.

“it’s your ego in there, idiot.”

“uh huh.” you click your tongue against the back of your teeth, turning back to help her out more. 

–

hanni has settled in well, though that’s unfortunately thanks to your help—help you were more or less forced to provide. moving everything in, showing her around the area, it’s all because you couldn’t say no when michael looked at you with that signature proud smile. 

the two of you exchange few words during what you loosely call a ‘tour.’ really, it’s just you walking her around the neighborhood, pointing out the nicer spots and which neighbors are the biggest complainers, before leading her to the bus stop. hanni, for her part, stays curious, her eyes roaming over anything that catches her interest, offering small smiles to the passerbys and throwing grimaces at you. 

you show her around downtown, just around her campus for a bit, making sure not to bump into her again after you two had made the wrong step and accidentally bumped shoulders.

“are you picking a fight?” hanni asks, turning fully to face you, her eyes narrowing as she sizes you up.

“i’d rather jump off that building over there,” you say, pointing to the ten-story structure looming in the distance. “--than lay a finger on you.”

“asshole.”

she rolls her eyes at you, scoffing in that way she always does when she’s annoyed. the way she looks in her oversized quarter-zip and sweatpants, with those big, clear frames perched on her nose, almost makes you laugh. there’s something oddly endearing about it, even if you won’t admit it out loud. the feeling is enough to tug a small smile to your lips, a quiet chuckle escaping before you can stop it. she looks like an idiot, a stupid, short idiot. 

hanni notices, of course, and pushes you with her shoulder, her expression a mix of irritation and something softer you can’t quite place.

you drop her off back at the house, handing her your spare key and watching her open the door. she unlocks it and the door opens just a bit, but before she steps inside, she turns to you.

hanni huffs quietly, then looks you in the eye. 

“thanks, i guess.”

“i guess?”

“yeah, i guess.”

“you’re welcome,” you say amusingly, looking down at her and analyzing just a bit. “i guess.”

she shakes her head and steps inside the house, you don’t step away until she’s fully inside and you hear the lock click.

–

the two of you don’t run into each other for a little over a week, but neither of you can stop thinking about the other here and there, despite how much it annoys you.

you’ve been busy with work, fixing up things around your apartment, and spending time with friends before they get caught up in the chaos of school. your days have been a mix of runs, training, and lifting weights at michael’s home, with the surprising bonus of not running into hanni. it’s been peaceful, almost too peaceful, but you’re not complaining.

hanni, on the other hand, has been getting settled into the town and adjusting to her new classes. she’s spent the week mingling with new people, going over her first few notes, and tweaking her schedule to make sure she stays on top of everything. she’s the type who thrives in a flexible routine, something that keeps her grounded and stress-free, so she’s been focused on creating that for herself. 

even though you haven’t crossed paths, the thought of each other lingers in the back of your minds, a low-level irritation (and maybe just a bit of infatuation) that neither of you can quite shake off.

the next time you run into each other, hanni is sitting at her desk, highlighting a few terms and studying some diagrams when she hears faint music and the rhythmic sound of something being hit, followed by the clinking of chains. at first, she perks up, curiosity piqued, but she dismisses it, turning her own music up to drown out the distraction.

but the noise doesn’t stop. in fact, it gets louder, the chains clinking so persistently that hanni finally gives in. she sets her highlighter down and gets up, irritation mixing with curiosity. she doesn’t see anything at first, just an open garage door across the way. so, she heads downstairs, still in her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and old middle school gym shorts.

when she reaches the garage, she opens the door to find you, drenched in sweat, going at it with a punching bag. you’re throwing a series of rapid punches, each one landing with a solid thud, your breaths sharp and controlled. 

hanni stands there for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of it all, the sight of you completely absorbed in your workout, the focus etched on your face as the chains rattle with each strike. 

then she shakes herself out of her trance, closing the door behind her loudly and earning your attention.

“what are you doing?”

you land one last blow to the sandbag before looking at her as you catch your breath. “what does it look like i’m doing, reading?” you ask sarcastically, feeling a drop of sweat drip off your chin.

“ugh,” hanni puts on a random pair of slides on the ground before walking up to you. “could you keep it down? i have to study, ever heard of that?”

“nerd.” you mumble, eyes narrowing at the frames she has on. “close the windows.”

“hot air rises.”

“fan?”

“y/n.” hanni groans. “some people are trying to get a degree.”

“and some people need some extra cash.” you retort, turning back and landing another blow at the bag. 

she groans again, shaking her head and biting her lip before she kicks your leg. you stop, turning back over with an annoyed look plastered on your face.

“could you please just lower the volume of your music down? and maybe close the garage door?”

“it’s hot in here.”

“it’s hot up there too, don’t be soft.”

you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “me? soft?”

hanni pinches the bridge of her nose, she looks irritated beyond measure – it’s really amusing. “i could care less if you have to fight later, i’m trying to do some work for uni and if you could just cooperate – please.”

you almost fight back – verbally of course, with some snarky comeback or something like that – but the genuine distress shown on her face makes you back down. you inhale sharply, then exhale slowly, looking out the garage door before you start to take off your gloves.

“fine, whatever.” you mumble before using your teeth to peel the velcro portion off. “i only practiced for twenty minutes but fine.”

hanni feels a twinge of guilt as she watches you angrily toss the gloves into the corner. she sees the way your hands slick back your damp hair, your movements rough and frustrated as you grab your bag. you wipe the sweat from your face with a towel, but her eyes are drawn to the way the light glistens off your back, the defined muscles highlighted by sweat and shadows. when you turn, hanni’s gaze catches on the hint of your abs peeking out from your tank top, and she quickly looks away, her jaw tightening as she forces herself not to stare.

her eyes wander to a photo pinned up on the garage wall. it’s of you and her grandpa, standing side by side. you’re smiling proudly, and he’s raising your hand in victory, a small medal clutched in your other hand. the sight makes hanni exhale, the irritation she felt earlier softening a bit.

before you can leave, she steps forward, stopping you in your tracks.

you turn to face her, looking at her questionably. “what?”

“hey,” hanni looks away, seemingly making up her mind about whatever she’s about to say or do. “i… i get home at around three if i’m studying after classes, that’s a better time to you know… do your stuff.”

“i work, hanni.”

“well, it was just a suggestion.” she looks at you intensely, eyes focused on yours. “or just… turn your music down… or something.”

“thanks for the suggestion, asshole.”

“hey!”

you can’t help but chuckle, a small smile accdientally forming before you put your poker face back on. “you’ll get used to it.”

“i hate you.”

“whatever, tell that to michael.” you add finally before flipping her off as you walk away; you hear hanni scoffing from behind.

–

you sneak in practice when hanni’s not home or when michael offers to help because there’s nothing better than taking out whatever you feel out on a punching bag or in the air. 

hanni is too preoccupied with work and her new friends to think about what a nuisance you are, but still, she finds time here and there everyday for you to pop up in her mind. she groans everytime your dumb face flickers in her brain, scoffing and shaking her head.

sometimes you even think of hanni, mostly when you’re in michael’s house and not getting scolded – for some reason, the absence of bickering with hanni and the hostility in the air makes you feel strange, almost like somethings missing despite your very little time with her.

neither of you bat an eye – this is a lie, both of you do, but as subtly as you can – when it comes to the thought of each other. it’s nothing, it can’t be.

–

minjeong kept you out, making you tag along with her little group of friends for dinner. all of you had barbeque and were laughing at the texts from aeri’s new talking stage.

it’s a boatload of cliche, sappy romantic lines that were probably found in a book he had picked up in the library. it’s oddly cliche and corny, things ranging from ‘you’re brighter than the sun, my love’ to ‘van gogh could never pain anything as beautiful as you’ and it has the whole table bursting out into laughter. sure, it was charming in its own way, but still, you cackled after watching jimin nearly spit out her beer after reading through all of it.

“jesus christ, who is this guy?” minjeong scoffs.

aeri sips on her drink, shrugging. “some guy in my statistics class, heeseung or something.”

“and you haven’t blocked him?” you chuckle, sipping on your soda. you were never a drinker despite your high tolerance, always opting for something without alcohol and being the token sober friend. “you’re stronger than me.”

“he’s cute! he’s just… icky over text. i swear he’s better in person. he’s like, super sweet and shit – in a frat too but he’s not like most frat guys.”

minjeong nudges your shoulder and looks at you with raised brows, you give her a knowing look and laugh to yourself. she leans over and mutters in your ear, “how much are you betting that they become official?”

“pftt, two weeks. aeri seems more than entertained, maybe enamored?”

“if it’s less than, you owe me twenty bucks.”

you roll your eyes, finishing your diet coke. “ass.”

“it’s a deal~” minjeong cheers before both of you return to the conversation, watching jimin give another judgy look after seeing his instagram. 

just then, your phone buzzes against the table and you turn to check it. there’s a text from michael, so you quickly look over to unlock your phone with your face and read the message; there’s something about michael asking you to take the morning shift instead of the evening, which makes you sigh. 

you love your friends, but michael and work have to come first sometimes.

“hey guys, i gotta go. sorry.” you sigh, picking up your little bag.

“what?” aeri whines, “it’s only eight?”

“i have to cover the morning, probably aki’s fault. i’m sorry – here.” you slap two ten dollar bills down, offering an apologetic smile. “it’s for the tip, use the other ten for dessert or something. sorry again, let’s hang next week?”

“ugh, fine.” minjeong groans before giving you a little side hug. she smiles at you and pinches your cheek, something all of your friends do since you’re the youngest of the bunch. “see you, asshole.”

“uh huh, fuck you too.” you joke, then wave to the rest. “bye.”

you walk out of the small barbeque restaurant and fix the tank top on your body, groaning at the small oil stain on the bottom of it. you sigh before continuing to walk down the road, fixing your hair as the wind messes it up.

your ear twitches when you hear a whistle, then a remark that makes your head turn.

“hey sweetheart, let me get a piece of that…” just the sound of it tells you it’s some drunkie, when you catch sight of three men, your assumption is proved correct.

“c’mon baby, don’t be shy now.” another one says, leaning against the wall as his other friend walks over to the woman passing by, tugging at her wrist lightly.

“hey, don’t be an ass, you’re too pretty to–”

you step forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the group. she looks at you, first confused, then with a flicker of gratitude as you motion for her to leave with a quick wave of your hand. she doesn’t hesitate, scurrying down the road while you turn back to face the three men in front of you.

their faces are flushed, a deep red from anger or alcohol—or maybe both. their hair is messy, beards scraggly and unkempt, and their eyes narrow as they take you in. one of them, bolder than the others, strides up and grabs your wrist. but you twist it sharply, making him wince and pull back with a pained groan.

“you wanna be a brave little bitch, huh?” he sneers, rubbing his wrist.

you shake his hand off and shove him back, your gaze hard and unflinching. his friends laugh darkly, stepping up beside him. they’re all taller, but not by much, and the height difference doesn’t faze you. you stand your ground, eyes locked on them with a cold intensity that makes their chuckles falter.

“look at you, you’re pretty too huh princess?”

“and you look like you were made with a quick nut.” you scoff stepping back as he steps forward.

“the hell did you say?”

“you heard me.”

he pokes the inside of his cheek before grabbing your wrist again, his grip tight enough so you can’t repeat your escape from his hold.

“oh, i’m gonna make you regret that, you little whore—” his threat is cut short as your fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. he groans, clutching his cheek and letting go of your wrist.

before you can catch your breath, his friend grabs your arm and slams you against the brick wall. your shoulder scrapes against the rough surface, tearing the skin and drawing blood. you try to push forward, but another man shoves you back, forcing you to hit the same spot again. the impact knocks the wind out of you, and you gasp, the pain sharp and immediate.

they surround you, blocking any view of the street. their smirks widen, and you can feel the danger closing in. but as one of them makes a move, you react instinctively, throwing a hook that catches him off guard and sends him stumbling back. his friends pause, shocked, before they turn to you, arms raised, fists clenched.

“so you think you’re tough, huh? that’s cute…” one of them slurs, stepping closer.

you don’t hesitate. you drive a jab straight into his chest, forcing the air out of him and making him stagger. the last man lunges at you, but you sidestep him, landing a solid blow to his jaw. he crumples, and you’re left standing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you face the remaining two who are back up, ready for whatever comes next.

–

hanni is sprawled out on the couch, completely absorbed in the latest season of her favorite show. she’s nestled against the armrest, legs stretched out so far that her toes nearly graze the opposite end. her eyes are glued to the screen, knuckles brushing her lips as she watches the unfolding drama with bated breath. the sound of the door unlocking barely registers; she assumes it’s just her grandpa coming home.

“hi grandpa!” she calls out, not bothering to glance away from the screen. but instead of the usual warm greeting, there’s only the sound of the door closing with an unexpected force. that makes her pause. she hits the pause button and finally turns her head, eyebrows knitting together when she sees you heading toward the kitchen.

there’s something off about the way you move—your shoulders are slumped, and you lean heavily against the counter as soon as you reach it. it’s then that hanni notices the blood staining your shoulder, her eyes widening. she’s on her feet in an instant, rushing over in her oversized pajamas.

“y/n?” she gasps, her voice tight with concern as she takes in the sight of your scratched back, exposed by your tank top. “what happened?”

“nothing.” you lie, opening the cupboard and grabbing the first aid kit. 

“why are you so–” hanni catches herself before she insults you. “are you okay?”

“it’s just a scratch, go enjoy your show.”

“your shoulder is bleeding, and there are scrapes all over your back.” this is the first time hanni’s seen you in almost a month, and instead of you just showing up to exist and annoy her like usual, you’re battered and bruised. you’ve got blood seeping out from a cut on your shoulder, scratches on your jaw, and more dried blood on the edge of your nostril – probably from a prior nosebleed. there’s even a small cut on your neck, and overall, you look completely wrecked. hanni looks you up and down before pointing out the obvious, “this is not just a scratch.”

“thanks, sherlock,” you mutter as you tear open an alcohol wipe packet. “i got into a fight.”

“for money? how did gloves lead to this?” she asks, bewildered.

“no, not for money.” you wince as the alcohol stings your wound, but you keep going. “some guys were catcalling this woman... probably would’ve done worse to her if i hadn’t stepped in.”

“jesus… what happened after you stepped in?” hanni’s voice softens as she watches you closely, her eyes tracing the tension in your arm as you clean the wound.

“they pushed me against a brick wall and tried to fight me. it was three against one, but they were drunk. it wasn’t easy, but it’s handled. it’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off as you grab the nearest gauze and the biggest bandage you can find.

hanni makes a disgusted face, then it softens into something of worry.

you start to wash your hands and hanni can’t help but gaze at you for a while, you look back at her as your hands rub soap around, keeping eye contact and biting down on your teeth.

“you’re so fucking wreckless.”

“thanks hanni.” you say sarcastically, turning back to rinse your hands and shake them dry. “you’re so sweet.”

“why didn’t you just run? they were drunk and you’re–”

“asshole’s deserve bruises.” you answer. “i fight because i like to, and sometimes it’s necessary in situations like this.”

“do you like getting hurt?” hanni asks, “what the hell is wrong with you.” it unintentionally comes out harsh, surprising you both.

“oh, so i can’t fight drunk assholes who only think with their dicks? what the fuck is your problem? why do you care?” you snap, stepping closer to hanni, sizing her up. “you’re all ‘you piss me off’ until i do something that has nothing to do with you.”

“well!” hanni starts, her voice wavering as she takes in your expression, eventually backing down. “i don’t know, okay? it’s just… you’re hurt. i’m studying to work in a fucking hospital, so of course, i’m going to be bothered by an injury. you should’ve let it go.”

“then be bothered by other people’s injuries, not mine,” you reply, your voice stern as you look down at her, your gaze sharp. hanni shivers under your intense stare, breaking eye contact by shaking her head and scoffing quietly. you start packing up the first aid kit, your back to her as you add, “i’m staying in the room upstairs tonight. don’t come worrying your ass off.”

“fuck you,” hanni groans, crossing her arms defensively.

“go finish your show,” you mumble, brushing your shoulder against hers as you walk past without looking back. but hanni does—she turns around, catching you stomping towards the stairs in silence.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as she heads back to the couch, flopping down with a frustrated sigh. “see if i care…” she grumbles, resuming her show.

hanni tries to focus on the tension between the two leads on screen, but she can’t shake the tension between the two of you. it lingers, gnawing at her, and she finds herself angry at you but even angrier at herself. she can’t pinpoint why, but it frustrates her to the point of a near headache. 

hanni hates you, she hates how stupidly careless you are, how you’ve gotten hurt, and the fact that you’re making her worry.

she despises you.

-

your whole body is sore from what you had endured the night prior, but it doesn’t stop you from making a coffee in the morning. 

you lean against the counter and hold yourself up with your hand, clutching your shoulder with the other. it still hurts, it had hurt even more as you changed the bandaid waiting for your coffee to drop, but it had to happen.

as you pour a glass, you hear someone going down the stairs and the contact of their feet hitting the wooden floor reverberating throughout the quiet house. hanni comes into vision in a few seconds, rubbing her eyes and then tying up her bedhead to reveal a puffy face.

avoiding eye contact, you look away, leaving her with the view of the side of your face and the bandaid on your shoulder. 

it’s silent, yet the tension seems like a siren blaring in your ears. 

hanni walks past you, grabbing an empty glass before trudging over to the fridge. the sound of water filling the glass echoes in the quiet kitchen as you sip your coffee, the gulp a little too loud in the stillness. you can hear every step she takes, the soft shuffle as she leans against the counter across from you, the gentle clink of the glass as she brings it to her lips. each sip she takes seems to resonate, followed by a small sigh that hangs in the air. everything feels heightened— every sound, every movement — everything.

you turn around and make your way to the sink – right next to hanni – and dump the rest of your coffee down the drain because you can’t finish it in front of her. neither of you bat an eye at each other, despite your faces being a hand or two apart. hanni sips on her water, you let the running water fill the silence until you decide to say something.

“i’m going to work.”

“okay.”

“okay.” you respond, turning to finally catch a glimpse of her face again, side profile and all enhanced by the light.

you grab your work bag on the table and put on your cap, not batting an eye at her as you walk towards the door.

“wait,” hanni says suddenly, making you turn around again to face her. you raise your brows, expecting more from her. “don’t be reckless.” she adds, looking you dead in the eye.

you tense up, looking right back at her. 

“whatever.” you mumble, turning back around to leave.

–

not only did michael make you work from eight in the morning until three, he makes you clock out to see a text saying “hey, could you pick up hanni?” the same hanni that you had argued with last night because you were stubborn, in pain, and still angry at three assholes to the point that you had lashed out on his innocent granddaughter for no reason.

you’re in debt to michael forever (basically – in your mind that’s the case) so of course you respond with a small thumbs up emoji.

now you find yourself back in your car, on the way to the university hanni goes to, which, is conveniently and frighteningly the same university your friends go to. if they had caught you picking up a girl, who knows what remarks they’d bring to the table the next time you see them.

(it’s not the fact that it’s just a girl, it’s the fact that hanni isn’t ugly in the slightest, not at all.)

(pretty even, but that could be pushing it.)

(it’s not pushing it, not at all the more you think about it.)

(you decide to shake hanni off your mind.)

you park by the public health building, waiting for michael’s granddaughter to show up. you sigh, looking at all the students passing by and sighing even harder looking at the dumb couples hand in hand. the last time you tried loving, it made it hard to even consider being in something like that – being enamored.

you’re back to earth when you catch a girl with overgrown bangs in a oversized jersey and sweats in the distance. she’s grinning and giggling with two other women you don’t recognize, even pushing one in the shoulder and smiling wide.

it hits you that you’ve never seen her like this… joyful? it’s partly your fault, holding onto that stupid grudge you can’t let go of, but still, it’s strange seeing her so open. she crinkles her nose, laughs with her mouth wide, and throws her head back just a bit—it’s oddly cute, even adorable. something about it unsettles you, though, like you’re witnessing a side of her you were never meant to see. even then, you feel one corner of your lips turning up just barely.

she’s closer to the car, looking around as her friend says something inaudible. then she catches you in her field of vision and her smile falters slightly, it unsettles you even more.

“i’ll see you guys tomorrow, bye!” hanni waves to her two friends, then walks towards your car. she opens the door to the passengers side and takes off her bag before settling in. 

it’s silent when she closes it, other than the faint sound of your rnb playlist in the background and the click of hanni’s seatbelt. you shift the stick and start to get out of where you are, hanni looks forward and out the window.

once you make it to the stoplight before leaving the grounds, you take the opportunity the red light gives you to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

hanni turns her head at your sudden apology, looking at you like you’ve just spat nonsense.

“what?”

“i’m sorry for… being so,” you grip the wheel tighter, turning your head just a bit to meet her gaze. “you know, stubborn.”

“is this about last night?”

you gulp. “yeah.”

“oh, okay.” hanni says, looking back and watching the light turn green. 

you slowly hit the gas and turn the wheel. “i was really um, angry last night, from everything.” you start again, eyes on the road. “i didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“look who’s self-aware.”

“shut the hell up.”

“what an apology.” hanni says, though not without smiling to herself a bit. she looks at the bandaid on your neck, then asks, “are you good?”

“i’m fine, it was just a scratch.”

“right.”

“i literally box, hanni.”

“with gloves and a ref.”

“wow! good eye.” you say bluntly, making her snicker a bit. hanni smiles, not quite like you had seen her smile before, but the way her lips turn make you smile yourself.

she looks out the window on her side for a bit, you keep driving and turn up the volume along the way.

“why did you start boxing?” she asks out of the blue. 

you glance at her for a split second, she’s still gazing out the window. “my grandpa boxed.”

“do you like it? doesn’t it hurt?”

“it’s–” you pause, thinking of a response that doesn’t reveal too much. “--thrilling. i mean, i just… bottle up a lot. it’s the only way i get all of it out.”

“is it?”

“i guess? kinda. you should box, seems like you’ve got a lot in that tiny body of yours.” you joke.

“i’d rather jump off a building.” hanni pretends to shiver. “i don’t know how you or yunjin do it.”

“you’d love it, just put on gloves and go crazy.”

she rolls her eyes, leaning against the glass as you turn the corner. 

the rest of the ride is silent.

–

two weeks later, you’re sitting down on the couch in your apartment and watching more of your grandpa’s matches. there’s something beautiful and equally as admirable in how swift and agile he is with each move, easily taking down anyone in his way. you replay certain moments, specifically his hooks that you tried your best to replicate.

in the middle of it all, you hear a knock on your door.

you turn, looking confused because why would anyone be at your place? maybe minjeong left something again, but she hasn’t been at your place in over a week.

you open the door, not minding that you’re literally in a sports bra and boy shorts looking like you’ve just gotten out at bed, and widen your eyes at the sight of hanni in your view.

hanni, on the other hand, tenses up at the sight of you. 

your whole body is on display, but not in the way yunjin does it—dressed to impress, ready to make out with whoever catches her eye at parties. yours is a different kind of exposure, casual and unintentional, almost domestic. it catches hanni off guard, all of it. her eyes trace the small strawberry tattoo just above your waistline, lingering on the subtle curve and tone of your abdomen. the way your skin glistens under the dimmed light overhead makes it even harder for her to look away.

she’s staring – blatantly. 

you clear your throat, leaning your head down a bit as you put your hand against the doorframe.

“what are you doing here?”

“what?” hanni shoots her head up to match your level. “oh, my grandpa needed something.”

“did he? shit… i borrowed his cooking shit for a house party–” you groan, “just come inside, sit down on the couch.”

hanni does as she’s told, you let her inside and she’s taken aback by how… neat it is. 

hanni always thought of you as someone angry and stubborn—your first impressions and the way you carried yourself made her believe you’d be disorganized, a bit all over the place. but now, sitting in your apartment, she realizes how wrong she was. the earthy tones, the carefully placed trinkets, the neatly arranged shelves, and the thoughtfully chosen furniture all speak to a side of you she didn’t expect. as she sits on the couch, her eyes drift to the small plant by your tv and the man locked in the middle of a match on the screen. she glances at the coffee table, stacked with boxing and vintage magazines. your place is nice, unexpectedly so.

you return with a box balanced against your side, holding it in place with one hand while you use the other to clear the coffee table. placing the box down, you settle into the smaller seat opposite her, leaning back with a sigh. you manspread casually, your posture relaxed as you take a moment to unwind. 

it’s oddly alluring, hanni thinks, she wants to stop thinking forever as soon as the thought even processes through her brain.

“that should be all of it.” you yawn and rub your eyes. “tell michael i said sorry for forgetting.”

“right, yeah.” hanni’s staring at you, she can’t seem to take her eyes off you, not when you look so… tolerable?

“did you need something else or…?”

“no,” hanni coughs, shaking her head. “but i need you to take me somewhere um, this saturday. my grandpa is gone for the weekend.”

“am i your uber now? i don’t know if i can, i’m going out on saturday.”

“oh, nevermind then.”

“where do you need to go?” you ask, “i can make arrangements, i guess.”

“a party”

“you party?” you snicker, looking at her amused. “i didn’t know you had a social life.”

“you are actually the most annoying person i know.” she grabs the box, then starts to stand. “nevermind, you ass.”

she starts to walk away, heading toward the door, but your touch halts her. hanni feels the gentle tug of your finger hooked around the back of her zip-up’s neckline, the fabric pulling her back slightly. she turns to face you, confusion etched in her expression as she meets your gaze.

“i’ll take you, loser.” you release your finger from her hoodie. “what’s your number?”

“my what?”

“number hanni, what you use to text and call people. one, two, three, four, five, six and so on… you know, the digits on your little phone.” your tone reminds her of a kindergarten teacher talking to a child, or some soft parenting method – it’s teasing and hanni would punch you if it weren’t for the box she was holding.

she manages to stomp on your foot, making you say ‘ow’ jokingly. then she gives you her number, you send a text, a simple ‘asshole’ and smiling when you hear the little buzz from her pocket.

“just text me the address, oh, and by the way,” you say, tugging lightly at the sleeve of her zip-up hoodie, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “where’d you get this?” your eyes trace the way it drapes over her, the oversized fit somehow flattering. it falls just past her waist, the sleeves hanging slightly, giving her a cozy, effortless look. maybe it’s just her that makes it work so well. maybe it’s just her.

she shrugs, muttering, “i don’t know, my grandpa gave it to me and said it’d fit.”

“it’s a little big on you,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. “might fit someone taller.”

“i will throw this box at you,” hanni groans, rolling her eyes. you laugh softly, opening the door for her, watching as she steps into the hallway.

“hey, hanni,” you call after her, making her pause and glance back. she tilts her head, curious, as you add with a mischievous grin, “that’s my zip-up, by the way.”

she freezes, her cheeks flushing as she processes your words. she looks down at the hoodie, suddenly aware of how comfortable it feels, how it smells faintly like you. you’re terrible, she thinks, hating the weird flutter in her stomach, the way her blush deepens. everything about you, your stupid remarks, your annoying personality, and that oddly cute nature—it all makes her feel things she can’t quite name, and it drives her crazy.

hanni hates you.

(just a little less now, or maybe more – she hates how confused you render her.)

–

you send hanni a simple ‘here.’ text and stand outside the door waiting for her, hands in your pockets as you look at the overgrown grass that needs to be cut soon – most likely by you. as much as you dread it, you’ll be getting some good food after, that’s always promised.

the door opens a few minutes later and hanni appears, you’re taken aback.

she’s fucking gorgeous.

a loose white baby t-shirt clings to her softly, revealing just a hint of her delicate stomach and the subtle curve that draws your eye without meaning to. her low-rise jeans ride low enough to show the waistband of her underwear, adding to the effortless appeal. when you finally look up at her, your lips part slightly, caught off guard by how striking she is. her full, plump lips are highlighted by a touch of makeup that emphasizes their natural shape. though her makeup is minimal, the slight smokiness around her eyes and the rosy blush on her cheeks bring out her features in a way that feels almost intimate. her bangs fall just above her eyes, partially obscuring her forehead, and the hoops in her ears add a finishing touch. everything about her compels you to take a second look, your heart skipping a beat in the process. 

“are you ready?” hanni breaks you out of your trance, you blink and then look past her. 

“yeah, sorry.”

she tries to read you, then shakes it off and walks past you and towards your car. you subconsciously look her up and down, furrowing your brows when it hits that you basically just checked her out.

was hanni always this… nice on the eyes?

hanni gets in the car first after you unlock it, you plop in the drivers seat check your messages, there’s an address in your groupchat with minjeong and the others. you decide to check it later, instead asking hanni to type her address in your phone, which is almost too similar to the one you had just seen in your notifications.

“hold on,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the address hanni had typed in and then at the one in your group chat. it’s the same address. “i think… we’re going to the same party.”

“you party?”

“okay you can’t ask me that, nerd. and yes, i do when i want.”

“whatever.” hanni rolls her eyes as you wait for the directions to pop up on your carplay screen. you take the time to settle your phone down in the cup holder, then gaze at hanni for a little, eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips once, then twice. hanni raises a brow, then asks bashfully, “what?”

“nothing,” you mumble, looking at her lips again. you reach her eyes one more time, making eye contact. “you just look really… good.” you admit, “i guess.”

“oh.” hanni just stares at you while you shift the car from ‘p’ to ‘d’, turning the car away from the curb and driving. she stares hard, focused on everything about you – from the satisfying curve of the side of your features to the sharp jawline of yours, and then to the skin of your abdomen that’s peeking out from the work jacket you have on.

she doesn’t say a word after that, instead scoffing playfully and making you smile softly. she puts on some random song from her playlist after forcefully taking the aux, accidentally playing a more intimate rnb song, making the tension in the air thicker.

–

you two make it to the house in less than ten minutes walking side by side. both of you can hear music blasting from inside, glancing at each other from the side and smiling to yourselves. 

“my god…” hanni scoffs.

“what, you don’t like astroworld? travis scott isn’t even that bad, they could be playing fucking… juice wrld or something.”

“i hear sicko mode playing every other day outside the food courts… no thanks. and ew! who plays juice wrld at a party?” 

you stifle a chuckle before walking over, hanni follows behind. you two make your way inside – the door had been unlocked already – and walk in. there’s more than just a handful of people, it’s like whoever hosted the function invited anyone they looked at. you spot your friends somewhere in the distance, locking eyes with aeri who smiles immediately after seeing you. 

you nudge hanni’s shoulder, she glares at you while you throw a cocky smirk and say, “text me when you wanna leave, i’m gonna be sober, trust.” hanni nods at you, catching the way your eyes linger on her for a few more seconds, especially at her revealed skin, then watches you leave.

she walks through the house, eventually finding her own group of friends – including yunjin. yunjin questions hanni, mentioning that she saw you earlier with her, asking if she was just more than tipsy and seeing things. but hanni sighs, pretending to be bothered by your presence as she explains a shorter version of how you two grew to tolerate each other. 

she leaves out the fact that maybe it’s because you’re just as charming and cute as you are annoying and cocky. she sugarcoats a lot about you, both the good and bad, making sure yunjin isn’t too bothered. thankfully, her older friend doesn’t mind, instead she shrugs and switches topics when minji arrives with haewon.

–

it’s been at least three hours of meeting a bunch of people from the university your friends – and coincidentally hanni – go to, playing beer bong without doing the whole drinking part, and for the past thirty minutes you’ve been watching minjeong flirt with girls from across the room and making stupid bets with aeri and jimin as she did so. ningning even snapped pictures of the tipsy flirt, making sure to remind herself to send it to the groupchat in the morning.

you check the time, brows raising at how late it is – nearly one in the morning.

“i’m going to find someone.”

“someone?” aeri raises her brows.

“it’s not like that, this girl i know.” you shove her playfully, then add, “might not be back, she has curfew – i’m giving her curfew, don’t trust her at all.”

“when did you get a girlfriend? let me meet her–”

“she’s not, shut up. i gotta go, i’ll text you or appear or something if i end up staying, see you.” you wave at your friends and then to the three others that had joined your little group conversation, lily? bae? yujin? you can’t remember clearly, but you’re probably right – you’re the only one with a functioning, sober brain in the moment anyway.

heading inside, you check your phone again. hanni texted you fifteen minutes ago saying she’d be waiting in the basement since her friends had left – most of them, the others were probably doing much more… thrilling things.

the basement wasn’t too hard to find. the music was loud, the room dimly lit, and the smell of alcohol mixed with something that is probably weed heavy in the air. you scan the room, jaw tightening and fists balling up when you catch some guy – the guy that you swear aeri was defending the night you got into a fight – all up on hanni.

what was his name? hongjoong? haneul? no, heeseung. that guy, heeseung, you catch him leaning in closer to hanni, his words drowned out by the music and his smile overly confident. hanni tried to laugh it off, but the discomfort was clear on her face. heeseung didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. he reached out to touch her arm, and that’s when rushed over and stepped in.

you pushed through the crowd, even the two guys about to lock lips, your heart pounding as you saw how close heeseung was getting. you knew he was drunk, and that made him unpredictable. you couldn’t stand by and watch this happen.

“hey man, back off,” you said firmly, stepping between him and hanni.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “what’s your problem? we’re just having fun.”

“she’s not interested,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “leave her alone.”

heeseung’s expression darkened, and before you could react, he shoved you hard, making you stumble back. your instincts kicked in, and you quickly regained your footing, shoving him back with equal force.

“you wanna go, huh?” heeseung taunted, his voice dripping with bravado as he squared up to you.

the crowd around you started to take notice, some backing away while others watched with eager anticipation. you knew this wasn’t going to end well, it never does when you’re involved, but there was no turning back now, not with hanni on the line and at risk. 

you didn’t want to fight, not really, but heeseung swung first, a wild punch that you barely dodged. now you have to fight him, it’s what you train yourself for anyway. 

you retaliated, landing a solid hit to his side and yelling through the music, “back the fuck up.” but it only seemed to anger him more. hanni hides behind you, stepping back as you put a hand out to keep her away from the intoxicated asshole in front of you.

he lunges at you and you feel a sharp sting on your side, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down your ribcage. heeseung had managed to land a hit that split the skin over your rib, his ring slicing what wasn’t covered by your sports bra and jacket. you didn’t have time to dwell on it; you were so focused on keeping hanni away from him that you didn’t even notice the fist hurling at your face while you looked back to check on her. you could taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, realizing he had hit your nose 

but you weren’t backing down. you pushed through the pain, throwing another punch that connected with heeseung’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. he tried to come at you again, but you were quicker, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful hook to his gut. heeseung doubled over, gasping for breath, and you took the opportunity to finish the fight.

with one last punch, you sent him crashing to the floor. he groans in pain, clutching his side as he lay there, defeated. you stood over him, breathing heavily. your body hurts, there’s blood dripping down on the wooden floor below you, and there’s still the taste of metal in your mouth. 

hanni rushes over to you, her eyes wide with concern as she saw the blood on your side and face. “y/n, are you okay?” she asks, her voice trembling.

your breath shakes, then you wipe the blood from your nose with the back of your hand. “it’s nothing,” you replied, though the pain was starting to set in. “we should go.”

hanni didn’t argue. she helped you out of the crowded room, the two of you leaving heeseung behind as he lay there, too stunned and beaten to follow.

she also doesn’t say a word as you walk away from the fight with a bloody nose and cut skin over the skin of your rib as well as on the corner of your lip. she doesn’t say a word as she follows you to the car, but to be fair, you hadn’t let her anyway.

your breath is shaky the whole way back, you gasp as you flop against the headrest of the car.

“y/n, are you okay?” you don’t respond to her inquiry. instead, you grip the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road, and bite down on your back teeth. there’s an unreadable expression on your face, you’re angry and hurt and god knows what else; there’s so much going on with you that hanni can’t point out. 

hanni doesn’t want to feed the fire, you look like you’ll punch anything if she even considers saying another word. she just stares ahead, letting you drive back to her place, following you after you slam the door of your car and lock it, walking in behind you as you open the door without looking back.

“you’re okay, right?” you ask quietly, voice practically a hum. “he didn’t touch you or anything, did he?

“no, he didn’t.” she stares at your back after you take off your work jacket, throwing it at the couch. “you’re–”

“i’m going to stay the night, i’ll be in the shower.”

“i–” hanni watches you disappear up the stairs, then her features relax into defeat.

–

some of your clothes are still in the room you used to stay in, you grab an old black t-shirt and throw it on, along with your old high school gym shorts. 

everything hurts. your body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but it’s your heart that aches the most. your chest tightens with a mix of regret and self-loathing, each breath a painful reminder of how stupid you were to get into a fight with another drunk idiot. the fact that it all happened in front of hanni makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of her wide eyes, the surprise—maybe even fear?—etched across her face as she watched you throw punches and take hits right in front of her.

there’s a gnawing doubt that settles deep in your mind. did she think less of you for losing control like that? did it make you seem weaker in her eyes because you’d gotten hurt in a reckless, impulsive moment? you replay the scene over and over, each time the look on her face twists the knife in your gut a little more. it shouldn’t bother you, none of it should, you fight for fun, you’ve fought her fucking friend – but still, your flop onto the bed with a groan.

you wonder what she’s thinking now, if she’s disappointed or disgusted, if she sees you differently after witnessing your bruised and battered state. the thought that she might judge you, might see you as less capable, gnaws at you relentlessly. what if she thinks you’re just some bigger asshole than you already are to her, one who can’t control their temper, who gets beat up by nobodies in a drunken brawl? 

you shoot up when you hear a knock on the door, staring straight at it until it opens slowly to reveal hanni in the universities crewneck sweatshirt and shorts, as well as a first aid kit in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

“hey.”

“what do you want?”

“sit up.”

“hanni–”

“are you ever not an asshole? what did i say? sit up straight.” her tone is venomous, you’ve never heard her this serious or angry – seriously angry, angrier than when you spilled coffee on yunjin that one time. “please, just please listen to me for once.”

“fine.”

she sits down next to you, watching you shrink a bit just from her being there. she sets down the first aid kit, you watch her open it and grab a little wipe. then your gaze is redirected when she grabs your chin and moves it, facing it towards her as she examines close, making you gasp and you even feel your cheeks heating up. 

hanni gently cradles your chin between her thumb and pointer finger, her touch firm but surprisingly tender. she carefully dabs at the blood on your lip, her focus intent as if the world outside this moment doesn’t exist. when she lets go, there’s an unexpected pang of disappointment in the pit of your stomach, a slight desire for her touch to linger just a little longer.

but then, she holds you again, tilting your head slightly upward as she tends to the small cut on your lip. her fingers are cool against your skin, and you can’t help but wince at the sting. her expression softens, a brief flicker of concern crossing her face, but she doesn’t say anything. the silence between you is thick, loaded with everything unsaid, as she continues to care for you with a careful, almost hesitant touch.

“you’re an idiot, you know.” hanni says lowly, eyes focused on that little wound. “but less of an asshole.”

“what?” you inhale sharply when hanni presses harder on the cut, most likely intentionally. “ouch.”

“you’re hurt, and it’s because of me. i understand if you’re mad at me for that.”

you pull away, looking at her in disbelief. “what? i’m not mad at you.”

“really?”

“you dumbass.” you start, hanni just stares. “i don’t care about getting hurt, i just… i got so angry, and then he swung and… i just… i don’t know.” you grip the edge of the bed, avoiding her gaze. “i just didn’t want you hurt. i seriously don’t care that i’m hurt, i don’t care at all, i’d take another punch or two if it meant you being safe.”

“really?”

“i mean, yeah. you’re… i don’t know. why would i not do that?”

“i didn’t know you cared for me like that.”

“of course i do hanni.” the words slip out before you can stop them, carrying a weight you didn’t intend. you meet her eyes, your expression showing some sort of longing, exposing something unclear to both you and hanni, maybe unspoken or unknown feelings. your voice, soft and genuine, takes hanni by surprise. “i mean,” you quickly add, clearing your throat as your voice drops to a murmur, “you’re… you know. i couldn’t just let heeseung do that.”

“right,” hanni whispers, studying your face before resuming her careful attention to the cut on your lip. “um, your bruise looks rough, by the way.”

but the bruise doesn’t matter. the pain had faded the moment she touched you, the moment you became hyperaware of every little detail—the way your breath caught each time her thumb brushed against your skin, the soft part of her lips, the way she looked at you with that unreadable expression. she looks really beautiful, and you find yourself utterly captivated, unable to think of anything else but how you’re drawn to her, completely entranced by her presence.

hanni doesn’t hear a response from you, she looks up to meet your eyes, they’re staring deep into hers, brows upturned in the slightest. you two stare at each other for a moment again, hanni’s fingers still on your skin, the wipe in her hand hovering over the corner of your lip, and blush tinting both of your cheeks simultaneously. 

even with the ice pack pressed against your bruise, it feels like your skin is so warm that the ice is melting faster than it should. hanni takes your hand and places it over the pack, guiding you to hold it there. then, without a word, she reaches for the water bottle on the bedside table, setting it within easy reach before grabbing a bottle of tylenol from the kit. did they always have that in there? you really don’t care, not when hanni is carefully placing a tylenol pill at your lips and gently tapping your jaw twice.

“open,” she murmurs, her voice soft and comforting. you comply, opening your mouth just enough for her to slide the pill onto your tongue. she follows up by lifting the water bottle to your lips, helping you take a sip. you swallow, feeling the cool water slide down your throat. “good,” she whispers, her eyes lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze. she smiles, and it’s like everything else fades away.

something shifts in the air between you two, a subtle but undeniable change that makes your heart race, something that won’t easily fade. you’re certain now—whatever this is, it’s here to stay.

“can you lift your shirt up for me? i’m going to patch up your cut, okay?” you nod, keeping the ice pack on your bruise as you lift the shirt just enough for hanni to see the cut – still fresh – and furrow her brows just a bit. nonetheless, she grabs things you don’t pay attention to from the kit, then starts to work her magic.

(“when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”)

her features etch into concentration, she bites the inside of her lip just barely, and it’s familiar in a bittersweet way.

(“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” your grandma’s voice rings in your head. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”)

she finishes tending to the cut, her knuckles grazing the bandage before she says, “you’re really tough, y/n.” 

the softness in her tone, the evident care, how she’s handled you so sweetly; you feel your eyes watering and before you know it there’s tears sliding down your cheek. hanni doesn’t notice until you sniffle, she looks up at you, surprised to see you in the vulnerable state.

“oh my god, are you okay? did it hurt? you should've told me–”

your voice cracks as you say, “you’re just like her.”

“y/n, what?”

“hanni, you’re, you–” you cut yourself off, bototm lip trembling as you fight back more tears. 

what catches hanni offguard again is the sudden hug she’s being pulled into, feeling your arms wrap around her, holding her close. hanni freezes, but melts into you, rubbing your back and mumbling soft reassurance, “it’s okay, it’s okay i’m– i’m here.”

“you don’t think i’m weak, do you?”

“of course not, you beat someone up for me.”

“good.”

“you’re stronger than everyone i know. you’re anything but weak.” she assures, hearing you sniffle again.

hanni is confused to say the least, but she’s not going ot let go until you’re ready, she’d stay with you the whole night if you asked, really.

you haven’t broken down in years, every punching bag you’ve ever come across has already met everything you’ve bottled up and left unsaid. but something about hanni and her care, it left you crying in her arms to the point where she had to pull away to wipe your tears here and there.

hanni listened to you talk about your grandma, her dying in your arms, her care, her, really the whole latter. she listened to everything, sitting there next to you even when you couldn’t speak and all you could do was stare right at the ground. it was almost like every grudge had fizzled away into nothing, there wasn’t any space for that anymore.

you chuckle, regaining awareness of the whole situation. you feel like an idiot. “i’m sorry you had to hear my sob story.”

“it’s nothing, seriously.” she squeezes your hand tightly. “i just want you to be okay.”

“it’s just, you remind me of her a little, i can’t remember the last time i cried like that. she said something to me once and… i guess seeing it in real time made me break down like a loser.”

hanni tended to you like no one else did, no doctor or nurse you’ve seen has ever done anything like that other than give you a little warning that boxing is dangerous and to be careful not to overtrain yourself. no one has held you like that, looked at you like that, or even spoken to you like that since your grandma.

“you’re not a loser y/n, all those times i called you an asshole, it’s just because of that stupid grudge i had.” she explains. “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

–

you and hanni have made up after that night, it took a while for you to open up fully and stop avoiding her due to your embarrassment, but it worked out.

you pick up hanni after her classes nearly everyday, michael makes you work hours that let you do so, he seems to enjoy your growing bond. 

sometimes you wait inside your car near whichever building she’s in with a drink or meal just because, and sometimes you two end up at your place for a short bit of time just to mingle and hangout. it’s a growing routine, a recurring thing that you’re fond of.

hanni’s noticing a more vulnerable, caring side of you. before all of this, she’s seen you as some fighter with anger issues, but you’re just like that on the outside. when she’s inside your skin, she’s exposed to the more calm side of you, the side that’s not always on edge, the side that makes her swoon a little bit – she’s always found you alluring no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but now that your real self is constantly in front of her; you’re someone she can’t help but smile at everytime she sees you.

she takes pictures of you rarely, but each one is favorited just because she’s telling herself that they’re funny moments worth looking back on, even if some of them are just you doing domestic things or even driving. she even mentions you to her friends sometimes, sometimes, even to yunjin (who isn’t against this whole growing bond, the rivalry had died down anyway, it was just a tournament for money) which caught her by surprise. 

hanni found herself seeking you out more often, even if it meant enduring the relentless thumping of your fists against the sandbags and the blare of your obnoxiously loud music while she tried to study. it was a small price to pay for those fleeting moments where she could catch a glimpse of you – she kind of (really) enjoyed watching you workout to the point where she’d fake complaints.

“ugh, i have a longass lecture tomorrow. please keep it down, it’s in the morning.”

“and i need to stay in shape you loser.”

“you can go a day without it, just skip today, please?”

you stop your movements, breathing in deeply to catch your breath before looking at her.

she’s wearing her glasses again, and something about them makes her look especially cute. her hair is braided into two neat plaits that hang off her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. when she looks at you, there’s a hint of playful annoyance in her expression, though it only makes you smile wider. your grin broadens even more as you take in the full picture of her—she’s drowned in oversized clothes and you can’t help but be captivated.

“is that my t-shirt?”

hanni looks down at her top, then stutters, “i- i don’t know? i just grabbed it…”

“you’re a thief, that’s what.”

“shut up oh my god.” she groans.

you chuckle, then take your gloves off and hand them to her, she looks at you confusedly. “put them on.” you urge, watching her look at you like you’re stupid. “c’mon now.”

“what?” she feels you grabbing her hands, you place the gloves on yourself for her, then push her towards the sandbag. “i’m not going to–”

“take a hit, it’s a stress reliever.”

“y/n please–”

“go on,” you smirk, raising your brows. “your grandpa was great, you have to have inherited some of his skills.” she immediately punches you in the shoulder, causing you to pout playfully.

with a sigh, she gets into a fighting stance that nearly makes you burst out laughing. she throws a punch—surprisingly decent—then looks at you expectantly.

“happy?” she asks, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“fix your form,” you murmur, moving behind her to adjust her arms. hanni’s breath catches slightly as you correct her stance, your hands steadying her waist before tapping her thigh to shift her leg back. “there you go, but don’t stay so loose. someone’s going to knock you over.”

“it’s not like i’m going to fight anyone soon—” mid-sentence, you give her a gentle shove, causing her to stumble and lose her balance. “hey!”

“stay tense. if i’d used all my strength, you would’ve hit the ground,” you giggle, helping her back into position. she blushes as you guide her, the warmth of your hands lingering on her waist, making her hyper-aware of every touch. “okay?” your breath hits teh back of her ear and she shivers.

“yeah, whatever.” she says before punching again, a better one for that matter.

“you’re actually not bad.”

“are you lying to me?”

“a little.” you joke, then smile at her. “you’re cute.” you say under your breath.

“what did you say?”

“nothing.”

hanni had heard you say it, but she doesn’t push further. 

–

the next time you pick hanni up, you decide to head out onto her campus and find your friends before picking her up. her class ends in thirty minutes anyway, and ningning had promised to buy you coffee the next time she had seen you.

you stand near your car with her, leaning against the brick wall beside her with your hand against it as you sip on the latte she had bought you. you stare at the cup, impressed by the quality.

“this is good.”

“i know right.” she agrees, taking another sip. “jesus, your lip is still busted.”

“is it?” you ask, feeling ningnings thumb grazing the injury. “it feels fine.”

“it’s still dark. heeseung got you good, didn’t he?” 

“shut up, i knocked him out, that’s what matters.” you roll your eyes and hear her laugh. she pushes your shoulder playfully, laughing even more.

hanni walks towards your car only to see you not inside, which throws her off. she looks around, scanning the area for a bit until her eyes land on you leaning against the wall with a girl. she feels her heart sink a bit just watching her touch your lip and push you lightly. you laugh at her and smile, making the weird feeling in her stomach even worse.

she walks over and taps your shoulder, earning the attention from the two of you as she clears her throat. 

“hey, i had trouble finding you.” hanni says, then looks at ningning, almost glaring. “who’s this?”

“oh, a friend.” you simply state, then wave at the girl beside you. “i got to get going, let’s catch up soon again, okay?

“mhm, see you n/n.” she winks at you and you have to fight back a gag. hanni feels like there’s a pit in her stomach.

the two of you get into your car, but it’s odd considering hanni hasn’t insulted you or even said anything. she just gets inside and looks out the window while you turn on the car, you raise a brow.

“is everything okay? bad day or…?”

“you into her?”

“what? no. don’t be ridiculous.”

“she kept touching your lip.” hanni scoots closer to the window, not daring to look at you. “i think she wants you.”

“you’re actually an idiot.” you sigh, shrugging her off as you start to drive away.

hanni stays silent the rest of the car ride, not saying much other than responding to your questions bluntly. you don’t know what’s gotten into her.

–

you’re very aware that it’s easy to piss hanni off, or maybe that’s just because it’s you. 

half the time it’s really just you being playfully irritating, she’s never actually been mad at you in months. but these days, ever since you picked her up that one time after hanging with ningning, she’s been distant, avoidant even.

hanni stays cooped up in her room, you even knock on her door after training to ask to grab a bite or really just anything. hanni’s always throwing the same excuses at you, she never did this before, but now her university work suddenly keeps her away from you.

you knock at her door again, opening it to find her in bed on her phone.

“you busy?”

“who’s asking.”

“what the hell is up with you?” you sigh, walking over to sit next to her. “i just wanted to ask if you wanted fruit. your grandpa cut some for me, like, so much. do you want to eat it together?”

hanni's grown fond of the way you look at her, something she never expected to happen. there's a warmth in your gaze that catches her off guard, especially when you give her those pleading eyes, head tilted just so, with your hair falling perfectly to frame your face. even then, as she shakes her head, she can’t ignore the little flutter in her chest. despite everything, there's an undeniable allure in the way you look at her now, one that she's finding harder to resist.

the whole reason she’s been giving you the cold shoulder is because the realization hit her as soon as you leather tend to your injuries: she likes you, she likes you so goddamn much. seeing you with ningning the other day made her realize that she likes you too much, so much that the fact that someone likes you, and you might like them – this ‘ningning’ makes her heartache.

for fucks sake, she’s a nursing student, she can’t be wallowing away because of a crush.

“not hungry.”

“have you even eaten?”

“yeah.”

“you liar.” you get up, looking at her worryingly and fighting back the words you want to say. “i’m heading out then, i’ll pick you up tomorrow after school.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, don’t leave me hanging.” you give hanni a serious look, tightening your jaw before letting a small huff out. she avoids your gaze, turning on her side in her bed, then catching the sight of you leave as soon as your back is turned towards her.

-

you cannot believe what you’re watching unfold right now. 

hanni, hanni, hanni who you beat up a man for, is in the distance talking to that same man you beat up. heeseung is saying something to her that you can’t catch, hanni’s giving him a smile, and you would’ve gotten out of the car to smack him in the face if hanni weren’t already walking towards you.

she gets inside, you look at her like a police officer interrogating a criminal.

“was that him?”

“oh, it’s nothing.”

“hanni.” you start, but decide to close your eyes tight, poke your tongue at your cheek, and simply start to back out of your parking spot. “we’ll talk about this later, we’re going to my place.”

“yours?”

“we’re going to talk.”

“you’re abducting me.” hanni raises a brow, if it were coming from anyone else it would for sure be mildly concerning. “you’re kidnapping me.”

“yes.”

-

you two make it inside and as soon as hanni is in after you, you shut the door and cross your arms.

hanni heads over to your little kitchen and grabs a waterbottle from your fridge, then leans against the counter.

“what did i do?” you ask, walking over to her. “did i piss you off in the wrong way again? did i say something wrong?”

“what are you talking about?”

“don’t give me that, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“no i haven’t.”

“then why haven’t you been over to watch your stupid shows at my place in the past two weeks hanni.” you step closer, sizing up with her and drilling through her skull with your eye contact. “why haven’t we gone out for smoothies in the past two weeks, why haven’t we had a full conversation in two weeks, and hell, why were you talking to heeseung earlier.”

hanni gulps the water she’s sipped, turning her head away, but you use two fingers to redirect her attention back to you. hanni feels her breath shake when she exhales.

“i, it’s nothing. and besides, heeseung was just… asking me out, saying sorry and whatnot but i didn’t give him my number or anything.”

“so you rejected him?”

“i mean, i just told him i’ll think about it.”

you laugh, you laugh because this is fucking ridiculous. 

“he beat me up hanni, he punched a woman – me – right in the face and gave me a bruise. you said you’d ‘think about it?’” 

“what does it matter to you! you already have that ningning, why do you care about me?”

you pause, looking at her confused. “is all this shit because of ningning? she’s just my friend.”

“well you look at her like it’s something more!” hanni blurts, looking stressed.

“it’s not– hanni, you’re being ridiculous.”

“am i? because she was touching your lip and pushing your shoulder and it seemed like you enjoyed being around her sooooo much–”

“and because of this you’ve been avoiding me? and you’re really going to consider seeing a guy who beat my ass up.” you can’t believe what you’re saying, you can’t believe any of this.

“what, i can’t do my own shit now?”

she can’t, she can’t because only you should be doing that shit with her. you’re looking at her like she’s crazy, utterly confused as you scan her features. for a split second, she looks at you like she’s reconsidering things, like she’s longing or something. 

then it hits you, it hits you after you run through every mental note of hanni: she’s jealous, she’s jealous of you because she thinks you and ningning have something going on. 

you pause, stepping closer until there’s hardly any space between you. leaning in, you narrow your eyes at her, voice dropping low. “because,” you murmur, placing one hand on her waist while the other gently cups her jawline. her breath hitches, and you can feel the tension in her neck, but she doesn’t pull away. instead, she drops her gaze to your lips, then down to your collarbone, avoiding your eyes. you tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze. your eyes trace over her flustered expression – flushed cheeks and parted lips – and you let out a sigh. “because it should be me you’re thinking about seeing, asshole.”

her hand slides to your upper chest, sliding up to your collarbone before you kiss her.

you kiss her like you want her, like you need her and she kisses back with the same force. she reels you in closer and melts into you without thinking. hanni smells like pears and a sunday morning, you could die like this.

she parts to catch her breath, shivering when your hand trickles right under her shirt and your skin grazes against her own. her eyes are still closed when she says, “you’re not with ningning, are you?”

“i’d rather get hit by a bullet train than do anything with her.” you mutter, then pull her closer by the waist. “i want you to be the one i’m kissing, it’s always been you dumbass.”

hanni kisses you again, pulling you in with her arms wrapped around your neck. 

–

it’s been two hours, you’ve had your lips on hanni for at least two thirds of that time.

but now, on your couch after two long weeks, hanni is by your side leaning against you. she’s always been hesitant with physical touch when it came to you, but after making out with you – with you closer than ever to her, hovering above as her back rests on the cushion of your couch – she doesn’t have to be hesitant whatsoever.

“i don’t understand,” your lips are still swollen, you can feel the swell as you speak. “so is does he want her or not?” you ask, pointing to the two leads on the tv.

“he does but it’s like, complicated.”

“literally how.”

“she dated his brother, and i think she also likes girls.”

“you’re kidding.”

“i swear.” hanni says, eyes focused on the screen. 

“whatever.” you don’t really care, not as much as she does about this show. but that doesn’t stop you from putting an arm around her and looping her hair around your finger, then smiling to yourself. hanni scoots closer into you, and an episode later you’re laying on top of her, fighting sleep as her fingers comb through your hair and press into your scalp relaxingly.

(your grandma was onto something, maybe there was someone out there that you could love and be loved by just as much as her.)

[mars-ipan]

ooouughough i HATE cramps