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nickmarini · 5 months ago

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Ayden’s Build

TL;DR: Barbarian 1, Druid 2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 8 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 9 (Peace Domain). Feats: Squire of Solamnia, Remarkable Recovery, Warcaster, Knight of Crowns, Spelldriver, Tough.

Building Ayden was a joy and a journey. To begin we were told we had 20 levels to work with and stats of 20 across the board. The only thing I knew about Ayden from the session 0 was that he was going to be a Cleric of the Everlight and that I wanted to make him the best support character I could. I also knew that the Dawnfather was aware of the mission briefing and so would have directed his growth to the task at hand.

Stats of 20 meant multiclassing into any class was possible and that any ability score based bonuses or proficiency based abilities were going to be very good. I figured that with a warlock and a sorcerer we’d have some pretty good counterspelling and 9th level spell access, so I didn’t worry myself about either of those, instead focusing on making sure we all survived.

The Dawnfather and The Everlight share 2 of 3 Domains. Life and Light. The Everlight’s 3rd domain is Peace. The Peace Domain cleric is an excellent subclass and its 6th level ability, Protective Bond, was something I knew I wanted to build around. The ability to take hits for, and aid, my siblings while teleporting around the battlefield is an excellent support ability and it also lets allies in the bond do the same, fostering sibling unity and cohesion.

With the Dawnfather having Nature as his unique domain separate from the Everlight, and literally sending himself to Exandria to infiltrate a city full of the greatest mages of the age, the Oath of Ancients Paladin seemed like an obvious path. It is the nature Paladin, (his domain) and 7 levels gives you both Aura of Protection and Aura of Warding. This means as Ayden moves through the battlefield with Protective Bond he will be granting allies +5 to saves from his cha as well as resistance to damage from spells. Incredibly good going up against the wizards of Aeor he knew he would encounter. I didn’t want to go to 10 with Paladin because I didn’t want to be immune to frightened. I just felt that fear played too large a role in the reasons the gods were here and although aura of courage is probably my favorite ability going back to 3rd edition, I felt like it wasn’t right for Ayden. He had to fear in order to reinforce his need to hope.

These two classes were set relatively quickly and then I began looking at how else I was going to build him out.

I really liked the idea of being able to grant my allies some extra attacks and so I was looking at battle master to get commanders strike and goading attack as well as maneuvering attack to help take hits for and position my allies. Action Surge is also a great ability that could really come in handy if I needed to save someone and needed one extra action to do so.

I was also looking at the 2nd level Divination Wizard ability Portent. The ability to fully dictate 2 rolls is very powerful in certain circumstances, especially if the numbers are very high or very low.

Both these seemed good but weren’t feeling totally right from a character perspective. They felt too forced.

As I was playing around with these two classes I was also building Aydens backstory. I really liked the idea of him being agriculturally focused, as this aspect of the Dawnfather is actually his youngest. Sun begets days, and thus time and seasons, and as civilization evolves agriculture follows. The fighter levels lent the idea that he has spent some time training under a knight or some such warrior, and I knew that he would eventually find his way to Trist to begin his tutelage and become her cleric. I liked there being these different eras of his life.

It was around this time that I got an awesome email asking me to describe Ayden visually so that the incredibly talented Hannah Friederichs and Cael Lyons could begin to bring Ayden and the Dawnfather to life. I wanted Ayden to be a simply dressed with a shield he took from his mentor, but no sword for striking. They sent 4 sketches and told me I could mix and match as I desired. Image #1 however was exactly as I had envisioned him. It was the simplest and had this depth to his eyes that told the story of a much older soul in this 15 year old body. It was so perfect that it made me realize I had been going in the totally wrong direction with fighter and wizard. The concepts of nature and agriculture were suddenly staring me in the face. It was not wizard, but druid, and his mentor could have taught him to be a paladin as easily as fighter, but if he is the bringer of agriculture who has he brought it to? A remote tribe still hunting and gathering was the answer. Barbarian therefore replaced fighter. I can’t tell you how influential the sketch I received was. It felt like a bolt of lightning suddenly clarified everything.

I was for sure cleric 6, Paladin 7 and now looking at druid and barbarian.

I didn’t know Druid subclasses very well but Circle of the Stars jumped out from the pack just with its name. The Sun after all is a star. When I read its 2nd level abilities Starmap and Starry form it was so obvious. I can cast Guiding Bolt to set up those attacks I wanted to grant, and I can glow instead of wild shape and either heal more or have a massive bonus to maintain the concentration spells I knew I wanted to cast. For the keeper of time to know how to read the stars just felt right. It also feel right that the druids of a tribe that had been hunting and gathering during the tumultuous Calamity would have learned to navigate by the stars, a singular constant in an every changing age.

Barbarian has a number of interesting subclasses but none felt like they clicked. 1 level of Barbarian though, for a character with 20 dexterity and 20 constitution, catapults your AC to 20 and it also gives you a proficiency in Constitution saving throws if you take it as your first class, again reinforcing those concentration rolls. He was found as a child by this barbarian tribe and his first class is also his first community. Barbarian was the strong foundation I would build upon.

I was now Cleric 6, Paladin 7, Druid 2, Barbarian 1. Reorganized to be the order Ayden would have taken them in it becomes the following:

Barbarian 1, Druid 2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 7 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 6 (Peace Domain)

4 more levels to distribute. As a player who has mostly played 3.5 (I think downfall just about doubled the amount of 5E I have played) feats are my absolute favorite things, so getting to multiples of 4 in class levels to grab some was something I wanted to do (also I didn’t have to worry about ability score increases)! I had already given one feat up by taking barb and druid but I made up for it with the human variant. I also took the Knight of Solamnia background to give me Squire of Solamnia, the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns which would give me the ability to grant attacks to my allies without needing battle maneuvers.

So I upped paladin from 7-8 for a feat and then decided to take Cleric from 6-9 because it gave me a feat and access to the spell Dawn. I mean the Dawnfather should be able to cast Dawn after all!

Now to feats

1) Background: Squire of Solamnia to give me the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns

2) Human Variant: Remarkable Recovery. I knew I’d be taking extra damage so having 5 extra hp from any healing I get might just be the difference. It also plays into his background. He had to leave the Barbarian tribe he brought agriculture to because his skin could not retain the ceremonial tattoo ink that would have symbolized his initiation into the community.

3) Cleric 4 Warcaster to get advantage on those concentration checks, that along with proficiency and starry form of the dragon means I need to take 28 damage (56 if it’s a spell) to even have to roll, and when I do I get advantage and proficiency on the check. Getting me to lose concentration is gonna be a task.

4) Paladin 4 Knight of the Crown getting to grant an attack proficiency times per day combos wonderfully with Starmaps free guiding bolt, conveniently also proficiency times per day.

5) Cleric 8 Spelldriver I’m gonna be casting a bunch of spells so the ability to cast multiple each turn is going to make my support spells come out much faster. I have a big fam to take care of!

6) Paladin 8 Tough I really went back and forth between this and Inspiring Leader. Granting all my siblings 25 temp hp is amazing but ultimately I decided that as I’d be tanking a bunch of damage I’d need toughness. Toughness gave me 15 more hp than Inspiring leader would have, and I ended up going down to 14 at one point so it was a decision that very much paid off by a single HP! Don’t wanna pop a deathward if you can help it!

Last but not least we were granted 2 magic items. One very rare and one uncommon. For my uncommon I chose a cloak of resistance, a parting gift from the tribe that Ayden could not join. This upped my saves to 11s or 17s and took my AC to 23. For his very rare magic item I took a spellguard shield, inherited from the knight who brought him from the remote tribe to Trist‘s school, giving me advantage on saving throws vs spells and magical effects and inflicting disadvantages on spell effects targeting me. Combine that with resistance to spells from Aura of Warding and that’s a nasty nasty combo v wizards.

All in all Ayden’s build is an incredibly hard to target tanky support character who can move through the battlefield protecting his allies and being an absolute nightmare for enemy spellcasters. The only thing I really didn’t fully consider was just how much damage he would take from Warding Bond which totally bypasses all those wonderfully crafted defenses. As crazy as it is, I think we barely got to scratch the surface of Aydens full potential and it’s probably good those mages decided to cast spells at everyone else because Ayden was going to be a tough character for a spell caster to crack. The Commanding Rally did get to shine allowing characters who specialized in weapon attacks to get a little extra out of those 20 level commitments. Ayden’s build was crafted to keep his siblings alive and let them shine as bright as possible together. I’m very proud of him!

If you read all this then you’re as nerdy as me and deserve a reward!

#critical role #cr downfall #cr spoilers #ayden #cr: downfall #critical role downfall #dawnfather #the dawnfather #critical role spoilers #nick marini #multiclass #multiclassing #support build #this is too long to post on the Beacon Discord so I's posting it here!#beacon #cr speculation #cr c3 spoilers

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fastandcarlos · 3 months ago

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Best Nurse Ever : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: after a nasty crash over the weekend, lando is relying on you to help him get better again

As the door shut and you waved goodbye to Oscar, the smile on Lando’s face disappeared. Laid out on the couch, leg upright, Lando couldn’t help but stare with envy as the two of you walked through your apartment with ease, Oscar free to go outside again, whilst Lando was stuck within the same four walls.

When he injured his leg you knew he wasn’t going to take it well, bedrest was the worst scenario Lando could’ve dreamt of, and now here he was, barely able to move himself off of the sofa without screaming in pain.

The figure before you was one that you didn’t recognise, all his energy and enthusiasm had gone and was replaced by frustration and desperation. You were trying your best for him, doing what you could to help Lando’s recovery, but it was going to be a long way to go before he was back to his usual self.

You walked through the apartment, sitting on the end of the sofa as you placed your hand against Lando’s foot, making sure that you were careful to not catch part of the foot that would end up causing more pain for Lando.

“Everything good?” You asked, offering Lando a faint smile.

His head nodded as he wore a weak smile, but you could see straight through it. Recovery was already proving to be a lot harder than Lando could have ever imagined, he was used to living life at two hundred miles an hour, and now he was barely moving at one.

“Shall I give you some space?” You offered as Lando remained quiet. You could tell he was trying to keep it together, and with you clearly more able to move than Lando, you didn’t want to sit somewhere that you weren’t wanted.

Lando’s head shook as he tried to encourage the smile on his face to grow, not wanting you to ever feel as if he didn’t want you around. He loved having you there, even if he hated the fact that you were having to run around after him.

You could tell he was lost in thought still, his eyes staring down at the floor debating whatever was going on in his head to himself. “It’s going to get easier you know Lan, each day you’re already starting to make good progress.”

“I’m not used to just sitting and doing nothing,” he sighed, snapping himself out of his thoughts. “These exercises are killing me, usually they’re like a tame warm up for a workout.”

“I know it’s frustrating, but that’s what’s helping you heal,” you reminded him, reaching out to take a hold of your hand. “Everyone is here to help you; they care and want to see you get better.”

“I hate it,” Lando huffed, “I’m the one supposed to be taking care of you.”

Your head shook as Lando spoke, “we’re a team and we take care of each other. It’s far from ideal to be injured, especially with how fast paced you usually are, but we’ve just got to crack on. Sure, it’s a little bump in the road, but it doesn’t mean everything just comes to a stop.”

“How do you manage to make even this sound positive?”

“Because we can’t change it,” you chuckled, moving closer towards Lando. “There’s no point sitting and dwelling on something you can’t change; we’ve just got to try and be positive about what comes next.”

“Thank you,” Lando whispered, stretching his leg out slightly to try and wake it back up again. “I know there are some pretty cool nurses at the hospital, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re the best nurse ever.”

Your eyes rolled at Lando’s compliment, nudging your hand against his other leg. He chuckled back at you, knowing exactly how you were going to react before he even said anything, never failing to catch you out with his cheeky remarks.

“You’re going to heal and be alright Lando,” you assured him.

“I know, I just wish I could be alright now, not weeks down the line,” he frowned, squeezing against your hand. “I need to remember to walk before I start running though.”

You nodded in agreement, “you need to stop being so hard on yourself, these things happen.”

Lando knew that you were right, despite how stubborn he was. He didn’t ask to get injured, but there was very little he could do about it now. “The first race is on Saturday; do you think we could do something? I don’t feel like sitting and watching it knowing that I can’t be there to complete.”

You immediately nodded, anticipating this from Lando. As the build-up for after the summer was starting, Lando was finding it harder to listen to the headlines and watch the videos knowing that he wasn’t able to be there and be part of it.

“What sort of thing did you have in mind for us to do?”

“I was thinking cuddles and pretending that only we exist.”

“We can do that,” you laughed, watching his eyes light up. “I’m sure that Oscar would still like to know that you’re cheering for him though. The constructors is still on, and regardless you’ve been a part of getting the team there.”

“I’ll text him,” Lando promised you, “but I can’t bring myself to watch knowing that someone else is driving my car. I only want to be involved in F1 when I can be part of it, I don’t want to watch it knowing that I’m just going to sit here feeling jealous of everyone else.”

A sympathetic smile appeared on your face, “let’s spend that time focusing on your recovery instead and getting you back there even quicker.”

“I’d like that,” Lando mused, watching as you stood up, moving to sit beside Lando instead, allowing your hand to brush through his messy hair in front of his face.

“I’m proud of you for handling this so well, I can’t begin to imagine how tricky this is,” you told him. “I’m going to be right here with you getting you through the next few weeks, you’re going to be sick of the sight of me nagging you.”

Lando’s head shook in protest, “I could never get sick of the sight of you, being at home with you is the only pro of having this stupid injury.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled, as Lando nodded, assuring you that that was how it was intended. “I can’t believe an injury is what it’s taken for me to get you all to myself.”

“I’m always right by your side,” Lando assured you, “only now it means that I get to annoy you much more than usual.”

“You’re right...you are pretty annoying,” you teased.

Lando’s eyes went wide, “hey...I’m injured, you’re supposed to be being nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you Lan.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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d1stalker · 4 months ago

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Undercover Flames II [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You may have been rescued, but the enemy is still out there, and it’s going to take way more than just a direct assault to get them to talk. Your plan, however, does nothing to calm Logan’s nerves.

PART TWO OF TWO (part one here)

Warnings: canon-level violence, brief argument

WC: 7.2K - MASTERLIST

----

You wake up to the warmth of Logan’s body pressed against yours, the rise and fall of his chest soothing in its steady rhythm. The light is soft, filtering through the curtains and for a moment, you allow yourself to stay still, savouring the peace of this rare, tranquil morning. Logan’s arm is draped protectively over your waist, his hand resting against your stomach, fingers splayed out as if to keep you anchored to him.

As you turn in his embrace, Logan stirs, his hold on you tightening instinctively before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him slowly blink his eyes open. His gaze is soft, warm in a way that’s reserved only for these quiet moments between you.

It has been just over four months since you were rescued from the clutches of the anti-mutant organization, and in that time, you’ve made remarkable strides in your recovery. The nightmares that once haunted you relentlessly have become few and far between, no longer a nagging constant at the back of your mind. Your body, once battered and bruised, has healed with time and care. After three weeks of rest, you cautiously returned to training—starting slow, attentive to not reopen old wounds or strain muscles that were still mending. You’ve not only regained your strength but it almost appears like you’ve surpassed it, driven by a fierce determination to never feel that powerless again.

Last month marked a significant milestone: your first assignment back. The instructions were straightforward—an investigation into a drug dealer whose clients had been mysteriously dying within days of their transactions. It wasn’t the most complex of tasks, but it was a crucial step in regaining your confidence in the field. Logan, of course, wasn’t thrilled about you heading out so soon. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched when the assignment was discussed. However, true to his word, he stepped back, allowing you the space to do what you needed to do. He trusted you to handle it, even if every protective instinct in him was screaming to stay close.

But his companionship was never lost on you. His actions speak volumes—over the years of knowing each other, he’s learned to read you in ways that no one else can, picking up on the smallest details that others might overlook. And now that you’re lovers, he finally allows himself to show you just how much he’s always noticed, how deeply he’s cared all along.

He’s always a step ahead of you, anticipating your needs before you even realize them yourself. Whether it’s tossing you a water bottle after a grueling training session, offering you his jacket when he notices the temperature drop, or silently placing a hand on your back to steady you when you’re about to lose your balance—Logan is there, solid and dependable.

His support is in the small, almost indiscernible touches. You’ve noticed that he’ll lightly brush his fingers against your hand when he senses you’re anxious, he’ll place a hand on your shoulder when you’re deep in thought, the warmth of his touch a silent reminder that you’re not alone. And when you’re seated beside each other, his thigh will always be connected with yours.

Seeing this side of Logan, the side that he rarely shows to anyone, has deepened your love for him to a level you never thought possible. You’ve always cared for him—admired his strength, his loyalty, and his unyielding determination—but now, as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, to let down the walls he’s built up over so many years, you find yourself falling for him all over again, deeper and deeper.

You’ve never felt so seen, so understood, it’s as if Logan has tuned into every part of who you are, cherishing even the smallest details. Knowing that he trusts you enough to show this side of himself, to let you in past his barriers fills you with a gratitude that words can hardly express. You feel honoured, and so incredibly lucky to be the one who gets to see the real him—the one who’s gentle, thoughtful, and so much more than the tough exterior he shows the world.

Logan’s hand slides up your side, breaking you from your haze, his thumb brushing over your ribs with tenderness

“How’re you feeling?”

“Amazing,” you say, and it’s the truth. Everything Logan has done for you, both before and after the incident, has helped you become stronger—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. “Thanks to you.”

He grunts, a sound that would seem dismissive to anyone else, but you’ve learned to hear the subtleties in it—the satisfaction, the pride that he tries to keep hidden. He pulls you closer, his lips brushing the side of your forehead in a gesture that’s more comforting than words could ever be. “Just doing my job,” he huffs.

“Sure,” you tease, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw, feeling the familiar roughness of his stubble beneath your touch. “But not everyone’s job description includes being my personal heater.”

Logan chuckles, his tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you say, your smile widening as you lean in, your lips pressing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you pull back, Logan’s eyes are filled with that familiar mix of longing and reluctance, the same look he’s given you every morning since the rescue. It’s a look that makes your chest ache because you know what it means. He wants to protect you, to keep you safe from the world outside this room, but he knows he can’t always do that. Even though he’s managed to back off and let you do your own thing, you know deep down that he would rather stick by your side every second of the day. He’s holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, like the world outside is too dangerous to face without you by his side.

You’re about to say something to ease the tension you can see building in his expression when the X-Men communicator on the nightstand beeps, breaking the peaceful silence.

Logan’s expression darkens instantly, the moment of calm shattered as reality crashes back in. He reaches over, grabbing the device with a resigned sigh. The message on the screen is brief, something you’ve seen hundreds of times, but still manages to make all the muscles in your body seize—a meeting in the war room in an hour.

“Duty calls,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he replies, his tone gruff as he sets the communicator down with more force than necessary. “Always does.”

There’s a heavy pause between you, both of you acutely aware of what’s coming, what you’ll have to face. You know its time to focus back on you and Logan’s original mission—the anti-mutant group. The thought of it sends a shiver down your spine, but before you can dwell on it too long, Logan turns to you, his hand reaching out to gingerly cup your face, his thumb running over your cheek.

“I just wish… we could hang up the suits, ya know?” he says, “Be selfish for once. Just you and me, somewhere far away from all this crap.”

His words break through the tough shell he usually hides behind. You catch the look in his eyes—the yearning for a life without the constant fights, without the endless dangers. It’s a life you’ve both fantasized about in fleeting moments, but one that always seems just out of reach.

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing one of your hands to rest atop of his—the one on your cheek. “That’s not who you are. You joined the our team because you wanted to help people, to make a difference. That’s who you are—a protector. You’d never be happy just sitting on the sidelines, not when you know there’s still work to be done.”

He released a long breath, his gaze moving to where your hands are connected. “Yeah, I know, darlin’. But sometimes… I just wish we could be together without threats hanging over our heads. Without havin’ to fight every damn day.”

It breaks your heart to know that the life he wants—the peace he craves—is something you can’t give him, not yet.

You move closer, placing a soothing kiss on the tip of his nose, a gesture that’s meant to comfort both of you. “I wish that too,” you admit. “More than anything.”

He looks at you for a long moment, searching your eyes for something—reassurance, hope, maybe just the strength to keep going. Finally, he nods, the tension in his jaw easing slightly as he leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours.

“I know I’ve said this before but… I just can’t go through that again,” he says, voice husky and intimate, referring to the time when you were taken and tortured. The memory of those days still haunts him, a shadow that lingers even in the light of your recovery.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore ,” you promise, “We’ll win this time.”

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t push back. Instead, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he can shield you from all the dangers that lie ahead. And for this moment, you let him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him as you cling to the warmth and safety of his embrace.

–

The war room feels like it's vibrating with the unspoken tautness that hangs in the air, the usual hum of quiet conversations replaced by an almost suffocating silence. The X-Men gather around the large, circular table, all eyes drawn to the holographic map that flickers to life at the center, casting a bluish glow over the faces of the team.

Scott stands at the head of the table. His visor hides the full intensity of his gaze, but the way his jaw is set, and the tension in his posture reveals enough. There’s no need for words to convey the stakes—everyone knows that what they do next could be the turning point in their ongoing battle against the anti-mutant organization that has been a thorn in their side for far too long.

“We’ve finally got an update on the organization’s movements,” he announces, “It’s taken longer than we’d hoped, and we’ve lost precious time because they’ve gone to ground. Their losses during our rescue mission were significant, but that only means they’re going to be even more cautious from here on out.”

As he speaks, the holographic map shifts, transforming into a detailed 3D model of a remote, mountainous region far from any major city. The terrain is rugged, the kind of place where someone could easily disappear if they didn’t want to be found. The map zooms in, highlighting the location where the organization has apparently relocated—another isolated, heavily fortified compound, this time nestled within the mountains.

Jean, standing just to the right of Scott, steps forward to add her insights.

“They’ve moved their operations here,” she says, “From what we’ve gathered, this new location is far more secure. They’ve enhanced their security protocols significantly. They’re not going to let another attack happen easily, especially after the damage we inflicted last time.”

The hologram continues to shift, revealing more details about the new facility: the reinforced walls, the watchtowers equipped with advanced surveillance, the array of weaponry designed to repel even the most determined assault. It’s clear that the organization has learned from their mistakes—they’ve gone underground, and they’ve fortified their defenses to the point where any attempt to breach them would require more than just brute force.

The room remains silent. Your team has faced insurmountable odds before, but this is different. This is a challenge that requires more than just strength; it demands strategy, cunning, and the kind of precision that doesn’t leave room for error.

Scott lets the silence linger for a moment, before continuing. “We’re dealing with a highly secure facility,” his voice cuts through the quiet. “And they know we’re coming. We need to be smart about our next move. No plan isn’t an option; it’s suicide.”

Flickering of the 3D model casts an eerie glow in the room as his words hang in the air. Jean, who has been studying the map intently, speaks up again. “We need to take down the leaders without giving them a chance to regroup or escape. If we can isolate them from their security forces and cut off their communication, we’ll have them cornered.”

Hank nods in agreement. “Their reliance on advanced technology is both their strength and their weakness.”

“We could use the terrain to our advantage, I could create natural disaster—an avalanche, perhaps—that forces them to redirect their resources,” Ororo suggests from her place, “While they’re dealing with that, a small, covert team could infiltrate the compound and take whoever’s directing by surprise.”

Scott considers this, his mind running through the logistics. “It’s risky, but it could work. We’ll need to divide our forces. Here’s the plan: Ororo, just like last time, you’ll create the distraction—a controlled avalanche to draw their attention and forces away from the main compound. Hank, you’ll work on disabling their communications and security systems. ”

He pauses. “And knowing you, you’ll be able to breach their data system and gather all their information, right?”

Hank smirks, “you didn’t even need to ask.”

Scott turns his gaze to you next, “You, Jean, and Logan will then enter with the primary objective of finding the leaders.”

As he speaks, a thought strikes you—something that could turn the tide even more decisively in your favor. You step forward.

“Instead of all three of us focusing on infiltration, I think we should split our efforts. Jean and Logan can act as a distraction on the interior—draw attention away from the main targets—while I go in as a spy. I can locate the leaders, snuff them out, and corner them before they even realize what’s happening.”

Scott tilts his head slightly, considering your suggestion. The rest of the team turns to you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to concern. But it’s Logan’s gaze that whips toward you with immediate sharpness, his protective instincts on high alert.

“You’re suggesting we divide our forces even more?” Scott asks cautiously, like he needs you to confirm what you had just said. “Jean and Logan as a diversion, while you go in alone?”

You nod, meeting his gaze with confidence. “Exactly. With Jean’s telepathy and Logan’s… well, Logan’s everything, they can create enough chaos on the interior to keep the guards and security forces occupied,” you state, “Meanwhile, I’ll move undetected through the compound. I can locate the leaders’ exact position and contain them before they have a chance to escape or call for help.”

“It makes sense,” Hank pipes up, “If Logan and Jean draw the attention of the security forces, you can slip through the cracks while they’re preoccupied, get to the leaders, and cut the head off the snake.”

Before anyone else can chime in, Logan steps forward, his features furrowed. “No,” he says flatly, his voice like a growl. “I don’t like the idea of you going in alone—it’s too risky. We can’t have a repeat of what happened last time.”

You meet his eyes, understanding his concern, but you remain resolute. “I know it’s risky, but it’s the best way to ensure we get the leaders without triggering a full-scale assault.”

“Best way? Or the most dangerous way?” he shoots back, and you can feel his frustration growing. “You’re talking about going in there alone, with no backup. If something goes wrong, we might not get to you in time.”

“That’s why we have the distraction,” you counter, “You and Jean will keep the guards occupied, and I’ll move quickly. It’s our best shot.”

He bites down hard, the muscles in his neck straining as he struggles to keep his temper under control. “Damn it, this isn’t about taking shots, it’s about keeping you safe!” His voice rises slightly, “You don’t need to do this alone. We can find another way.”

“I’m not doing it alone,” you reassure, “I’ll have the team behind me, just like always. You know as well as I do that if we all go in together, it’ll be a bloodbath. This is the only way to avoid that.”

“And what happens if you get caught? What happens if they see through the distraction? You think I can just stand back and watch while you put yourself in the line of fire? If you get taken again…” he can barely finish his sentence as all of his fears seem to flash before his eyes.

“Logan, you’re not hearing me,” you insist, stepping closer to him. “This isn’t about me wanting to take unnecessary risks. It’s about making sure the mission succeeds. If we don’t do this right, it’s not just me—it’s all of us, all mutants, at risk.”

The room is silent, the rest of the team watching the exchange with bated breath, knowing it’s not their place to step in. They look on with concern, eyes flicking between you and Logan.

Logan shakes his head. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. I just… I need you to be safe.”

“I know, Logan,” you respond. “But this isn��t just about you or me. It’s about stopping these people once and for all. I need to do this. We need to do this.”

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, as if searching for the words he wants to say. When he looks back up at you, you can see the conflict in his eyes, begging you to take it back.

“Just promise me… promise me you’ll be careful. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. You find them, and you tell us. Immediately.”

“I promise,” you say, your voice sincere. “I’ll be careful. I’ll find them, and then we’ll take them down.”

Logan holds your gaze for a long moment, the tension between you slowly easing but not entirely dissipating. Finally, he nods, though his face remains tight with worry. “Alright. But I’m not letting you out of my sight once we’re in. As soon as you notify, I’ll be right there.”

Scott clears his throat, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand. “Then it’s settled,” he says, his voice a little gruffer than usual, as if he, too, felt the weight of the argument.

The team begins to disperse to finalize preparations, but Logan lingers, pulling you aside for a moment of privacy. His hand finds yours.

“I know you can handle this, but you gotta understand—I can’t lose you again, darlin’. So, whatever happens in there, you keep your head down and remember we’ve got your back.”

You look up at him, seeing the layers of emotion in his eyes—fear, anger, love, and a deep, almost desperate need to protect you. It both breaks your heart and strengthens your resolve. “I know, Logan,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return. “I’m not planning on being a hero. I just want to—need to—do my part to end this.”

He releases a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nods slowly, reluctantly. “Alright. Let’s get this done.”

—-

Nestled deep within the uneven mountain range, strategically positioned on a plateau that overlooks the surrounding valleys, is the organizations base. The avalanche Ororo summoned looms threateningly, large bursts of snow and ice whipping through the valley, creating the perfect cover for your operation. Wind whistles through the land, followed by the rumble of mountains that shakes the very ground beneath your feet.

The distraction is in full effect.

Before you left the Blackbird, Logan pulled you aside. He didn’t waste time with words, instead leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that was both loving and fierce. It was a reminder of everything he felt, everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for in the heat of the moment.

And when he pulled back, his gaze swapping over you, like he was seeking to memorize every detail.

“Remember, I’ll be right with you as soon as you say the words”

Now, you’re crouched near a narrow ledge beside a small door, eyes scanning the base of the mountain where the compound’s defenses are now focused on the disaster outside. Logan and Jean are already inside, their presence wreaking havoc within, diverting the guards’ attention away from you. Every so often, you could hear distant sounds of conflict—the telltale shink of Logan’s claws, and the panicked shouts of guards trying to coordinate their defenses as he ripped through them.

You slip inside, lowering the trap door behind you as the sound of the storm fades into the distance. The passage is dark and cramped, the air thick with the scent of earth and stone. Each movement you make is deliberate and careful to avoid making noise. You’re able to find a somewhat agreeable position on your hands and knees, beginning the descent through the passage as it slopes downward, leading you deeper into the mountain and closer to your target.

After what feels like an eternity, the route widens, and you find yourself at the entrance to a narrow corridor. Pausing, you listen intently for any signs of movement, but all you hear is the mechanics behind the facility’s generators, muffled by the layers of rock and metal that surround you. The halls are freakishly quiet, the guards either drawn away by the avalanche or dispatched to Logan and Jean. Your breathing stays steady, your senses heightened as you navigate the twists and turns of the labyrinthine interior.

You’re close now, so close you can you can hear the muffled voices of the leaders on the other side, in the room where they’re all holed up, their tones laced with fear and frustration. Your heart pounds in your chest as you approach the final corner, every nerve ending on edge as you prepare to make your move.

But as you round the corner, you freeze in your place—there’s a guard standing just outside the door to the leaders’ room. He hasn’t seen you yet, but it’s only a matter of seconds before he does. His hand is already reaching for the radio on his belt, about to call in an alert.

You have no time to think, only to act. With a burst of speed, you lunge forward, slamming your hand over his mouth just as he begins to open it to shout. His eyes widen in shock, and he immediately starts to struggle, his body twisting as he tries to break free from your grip.

Unfortunatley, you knew from the moment you saw the him that using your powers wasn’t an option. The hallway is dark and narrow, the only illumination coming from faint emergency lights far down the corridor. If you were to use your cosmic abilities, the glow alone would give you away, casting unnatural light in a place that should be cloaked in shadows. Who know’s what threats that would attract?

Every instinct in you screams to unleash your energy, to end the fight quickly and decisively, but the risk is too great. One wrong move, one flash of light or sound that doesn’t belong, and the entire mission could be compromised. The element of surprise is your greatest advantage right now, and you can’t afford to lose it.

That’s why you have to do this the hard way—silently, and with nothing but your own strength and wits. It’s a gamble, but it’s the only way to ensure you reach the leaders undetected, without alerting every remaining guard in the compound to your presence.

The guard’s elbow connects with your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs, but you don’t let go. You tighten your grip, your other hand grabbing his wrist to prevent him from drawing his weapon. He thrashes violently, his strength surprising as he drives his knee into your stomach, nearly doubling you over with the force of the blow.

Pain radiates through your abdomen, but you grit your teeth and hold on, knowing that if he gets free, it would all be over. You push back with all your strength, slamming him into the wall with a sickening thud. His head snaps back, dazed, but he’s not down yet.

He recovers quickly, his free hand darting toward your face in a desperate attempt to claw at your eyes. You twist your head just in time, feeling his nails graze your cheek as you shift your weight, using the momentum to drive your knee into his thigh. Letting out a muffled grunt against your hand, he swivels his body again, this time managing to get one arm free. Before you can react, his fist slams into your side. You stagger, your grip slipping for just a fraction of a second—long enough for him to start reaching for the radio again.

Panic surges through you as you realize he’s about to call for help. Desperation drives you and with a burst of adrenaline, you bring your elbow up, smashing it into the side of his head. The blow is hard enough to daze him, and you use the opening to drive him back against the wall again, harder this time.

He slumps slightly, but you know you can’t let up. You release your grip on his wrist and, with a quick movement, drive your hand into the pressure point just below his ear. His eyes widen in shock, his body going rigid for a brief moment before his legs give out beneath him. You catch him as he falls, easing him to the ground as quietly as you can.

Your heart is pounding, your breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as you crouch beside the unconscious guard. The silence of the hallway is deafening in the aftermath of the struggle, your pulse thundering in your ears. You take a moment to steady yourself, forcing your breathing to slow as you check the hallway for any sign of other guards. It’s still clear—for now.

You glance down at the guard, making sure he’s truly out cold before dragging him into a shadowed corner, out of sight from anyone who might happen to pass by. You press a hand to your side, wincing as you feel the dull ache where he landed that brutal punch. But there’s no time to dwell on the pain—you’re too close to your target to stop now.

With the guard taken care of, you turn your attention back to the room, adjusting your stance and running through the plan in your mind. There’s no mask, no barrier to hide your identity. The men in that room will know who you are—or at least, they’ll think they do. At the gala, you were Mrs. Daniels, the woman they believed was just another wealthy socialite. But tonight, they’ll learn the truth.

“I’m at the target,” you whisper into the comms, keeping your voice low. “Moving in now.”

With one final glance down the corridor to ensure there is no one else following your tracks, you slither through the door, moving like a shadow into the room. The old men are gathered around a large table, their expressions ranging from fear to fury as they argue in low, heated tones. Papers and maps are strewn across the table, evidence of their frantic attempts to come up with a plan as the everything falls apart around them.

They don’t notice you at first, too absorbed in their dispute to realize they’re no longer alone. You take advantage of their distraction, positioning yourself in the shadows near the door.

“What do you mean we’ve lost contact with the guard tower?” one of them hisses, his face pale and sweat-slicked. “This place is supposed to be impenetrable!”

“We should never have moved to this location,” another snaps, his hands trembling as he clutches the edge of the table. “We’re sitting ducks here!”

You let them bicker for a moment longer, taking in the layout of the room and assessing the situation. The leaders are cornered, with no visible exits other than the door you came through.

They’ve completely exposed themselves to you, and they don’t even realize it yet.

Finally you step forward, your presence announced by the soft rustle of your clothing as you emerge from the shadows, and the effect is immediate—every head snaps in your direction, eyes widening in shock as they take in the sight of you standing there.

The man who was speaking freezes mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he takes a closer look at you. Recognition dawns on his face, followed quickly by fear. “You… You’re the woman from the gala,” he stammers, his voice shaking. “Mrs. Daniels?”

You give him a cold, measured look, the corner of your mouth twitching into a faint smile. “Not exactly,” you answer, “But I’m glad you remember me.”

Without warning, you raise your hands, cosmic energy flaring to life around your fingers, shimmering with an ethereal glow. You begin shape the energy into chains, each one snaking through the air and wrapping around the men, binding them to their seats. They struggle, but the chains are unbreakable, pinning them in place with a force that leaves no room for escape. It’s almost satisfying, seeing these men in chains, so helpless—reminds you of when you were in the exact same position, in the dark, cold, cell of the island.

One of the men lets out a strangled cry, his eyes wide with terror. “Please! Don’t hurt us! We—we can negotiate!”

You step closer, your eyes cold as you survey the scene. “Negotiate? You think you have anything to bargain with?” you demand, knowing they won’t be able to answer. “You’ve done enough damage. Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Just as you finish speaking, the door bursts open, and Logan strides in, Hank, who had managed to enter the compound after downloading all the data, following close behind. Logan’s eyes immediately zero in on the men and his expression shifts from that of concern to a furious glare.

“You’re lucky it was her who got here first,” the mutant seethes, “She spared you.”

The men cower in their seats, trembling visibly under the weight of Logan’s unrelenting gaze as he stalks toward them with a predatory grace. His presence fills the room, seeping into every corner, suffocating any hope they had of escape. With each step he takes, slow and deliberate, the air thickens, his movements calculated to instill fear in their very bones. His claws, unsheathed and glinting ominously in the dim light, are slick with fresh blood, and as he takes in the sight before him, his eyes narrow with cold, lethal intent, the silence punctuated only by the sound of their labored breaths, ragged with terror.

“If it were up to me, you’d be begging for mercy right about now.”

Hank, who had been watching from behind with a calculating expression, steps in. He places a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “Logan, we need them to talk.”

Logan doesn’t move at first, his eyes locked onto the quivering man in front of him. Ultimately, he narrows his eyes, pulling his claws back ever so slightly, though his posture remains alert and intense.

“They better start talking, then.”

Contrasting Logan’s blatant display of fury, Hank steps forward collectedly. His voice is even, almost clinical, as he addresses the leaders. “We have all the information we need—every file, every document. Your entire operation is in our hands. You have two choices: confess everything in a public conference, or we leak it all. The world will know what you’ve done, and you’ll be hunted down by more than just us.”

The man you recognize as the stocky one from the gala, perhaps emboldened by Hank’s more measured approach, tries to regain some semblance of control. He splutters, “You can’t do this… We’ll—”

But before he can finish, Logan is on him in a flash, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him forward until they’re nose to nose. The corners of your mouth flip upwards while the man lets out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with terror.

“You don’t get to tell us what we can or can’t do. You’ve already lost, old man. Now it’s just a matter of how much pain you’re going to be in when this is over.”

Instantly, the stocky man loses all bravado, his face draining of colour is response to Logan’s aggression. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but no sound comes out. He’s utterly terrified, and rightfully so. The other groupies, seeing their comrade’s terror, exchange nervous glances. They’ve been completely outmaneuvered, and now they’re at the mercy of those they’ve wronged.

“They’ll confess,” you decide for them, stepping forward, gaining control over the situation. You deactivate the cosmic chains binding the men, though the energy still crackles ominously around your hands, a reminder of the power you wield. “Because they know what’s waiting for them if they don’t.”

Logan gives you a nod, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at you. There’s a flicker of pride in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the strength you’ve shown. “Good work, darlin’,” he muses.

You return his words with a small smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you now that the worst is over.

“Let’s get them out of here.”

You, Logan, and Hank quickly work together to secure the leaders, ensuring they’re ready for transport back to the Blackbird. They’re too shaken to resist, their egos completely shattered. The sounds of battle outside have quieted—the rest of the team has done their job well.

Once inside the jet, Logan pulls you into a close embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist as he tucks his head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his body against yours should be comforting, but as he tightens his hold, a sharp pain flares up in your side where the guard had landed a solid kick earlier.

You can’t help the wince that escapes you, the pain lingering and making it hard to fully relax in his hold. Logan immediately pulls back, concern flashing in his eyes as they search yours. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low but edged with worry. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head slightly, “I’m fine,” you say, but the way Logan’s eyes narrow tells you he’s not buying it.

He doesn’t say anything else, just waits, his gaze steady and insistent. Finally, you sigh, knowing there’s no point in hiding it from him. “I ran into a guard right outside the room,” you admit, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “He was about to call for backup, and I had to take him out quietly. It got… a little rough.”

His expression darkens, his jaw clenching as he processes what you said. “I should track that bastard down and make him regret ever laying a hand on you.”

Despite the seriousness of his tone, there’s a warmth in his words that makes your heart swell. You reach out, placing a hand on his chest. “I handled it, Logan. It was just a fight, and I won.”

He grunts, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t entirely fade. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy making him pay for it.”

You give him a small, reassuring smile. “Well, you can save that energy for when we get these guys to talk.”

Logan nods, his expression becoming serious once more as he looks toward the secured leaders, who are being watched by the rest of the team. “They’ll talk,” he says, his voice carrying a promise of retribution.

“And if they don’t… well, we’ll make sure they wish they had.”

—-

Turns out, getting people to admit their crimes when threatened with their lives is easier than you thought. The men, who at one point, seemed so arrogant and untouchable, crumbled like a house of cards under the pressure. Faced with the undeniable evidence the X-Men had gathered and the very real threat of exposure, they agreed to hold a public conference, where they would confess to everything.

The world watched in shock as these well-known figureheads divulged their involvement in anti-mutant activities, including kidnapping, torture, and illegal experimentation. The fallout was immediate and severe—governments and law enforcement agencies across the globe moved swiftly to dismantle the remnants of their organization or any ties they had to its leaders, and within days, the men found themselves behind bars, stripped of their power and influence.

For the first time in months, you feel a sense of peace settling into your bones. The constant weight of fear, the dread that had plagued you since your capture, begins to lift. You’re finally able to breathe again, knowing that the people who hurt you, who threatened everything you cared about, are rotting in a cell, where they belong.

—

It’s late evening at the X-Mansion, and you find yourself in the kitchen, the comforting whir of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of dishes the only sounds breaking the quiet. Logan is there too, leaning next to you against the counter with a beer in hand. He’s out of his combat gear now, dressed in his usual casual attire—a worn flannel shirt and jeans, still stunning in the rugged simplicity of his appearance.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him with a playful smile as you pour yourself a glass of water, “I never took you for the beer-in-the-kitchen type. Always thought you’d be more of a ‘brooding with whiskey in the dark’ kind of guy.”

He smirks, taking a long sip from his bottle before responding. “Depends on the night,” he replies with a wink. “Sometimes I like to mix things up, keep you on your toes.”

You roll your eyes, setting your glass down on the counter as you lean in a little closer. “Is that so? Well, I’ve got to admit, seeing you all domestic in here is kind of nice. Who knew the Wolverine had a soft spot for late-night kitchen hangouts?”

Logan chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that makes your heart skip a beat. “What can I say, sweetheart? Can’t have you thinking I’m all claws and no charm.”

“Oh, so you’re charming now?” you tease, reaching out to poke him playfully in the chest. “I must’ve missed that memo.”

Settings his beer down, Logan captures your hand in his and pulls you closer, his voice dropping to that thick, throaty tone that shoots right down to your core. “You know better than anyone that I’ve got plenty of charm. You just keep pretending not to notice.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as close the distance, resting your head against his chest. “Maybe I like keeping you on your toes too.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and for a moment, everything feels perfect—just the two of you, in the quiet of the kitchen, with nothing hanging over your heads. No missions, no threats, just peace.

Just like he had wished for.

“You know,” Logan starts after a long stretch of comfortable silence, “you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

You tilt your head back to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who can heal from pretty much anything.”

He gives you a small, affectionate smile, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles along your waist. “I’m serious. What you went through… what we just did… not everyone could come out of that as strong as you have.”

“It helps to have someone like you around,” you admit softly. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

A tender look crosses his face, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You did more than just survive, darlin’. You fought back, and you won. Don’t ever forget that.”

The moment is interrupted when the kitchen door swings open, and Ororo walks in, pausing mid-step when she sees the two of you wrapped up in each other. Her eyebrows shoot up, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Ororo teases, her tone light and playful. “Logan, I never expected you to be such a romantic. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Logan doesn’t miss a beat, his response immediate and full of that rough-edged warmth that you’ve come to love so much.

“Only for her.”

Ororo’s smile widens, and she gives you a wink before heading to the fridge, grabbing an apple and turning back to the door. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. Just remember to keep it PG in the kitchen.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and unburdened as you bury your face in Logan’s chest, feeling the deep rumble of his own laughter vibrating against you. The sound is rich, a low and genuine noise that fills the space between you with fondness and affection.

“PG, huh?” you murmur into his shirt, your voice laced with amusement. “Guess that means we’re in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m always on my best behavior,” he smirks

“That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

He chuckles, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe. But I can be when it counts.”

You shake your head, grinning as you playfully swat his chest. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Logan captures your hand again, his grip warm and firm, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ve already seen it,” he says huskily, “But if you need more convincing…”

You laugh, reaching your free hand to the back of his head, pulling him down into a passionate kiss, his mouth warm against yours, the taste of beer clouding your senses.

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you get out in between kisses, “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

Logan’s eyes gleam, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. “I’m glad you’re mine too, darlin’.”

Later, when he finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the counter, he turns back to you, his expression content. “Ready to call it a night?”

You nod, feeling the pleasant weight of exhaustion beginning to settle in. “Yeah, I think so. But only if you promise to keep up this charming act tomorrow.”

Logan grins, taking your hand as you both head toward the door.

“Just for you, darlin’. Just for you.”

-------

A/N: thank you everyone for all the reblogs, comments, and notes i've received on this blog these last few days, i can't believe it's growing to fast!

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purplecoffee13 · 4 months ago

Text

NFWMB - part 1

Summary: “Harry is a retired boxer who owns a gym and teaches self-defense classes. He considers himself a strong man, but when a gorgeous innocent woman attends a try-out class, she manages to leave him weak in the knees…”

Wc: 4.3k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and SA

A/N: hello everyone! This is my new series NFWMB, named after one of Hozier’s most horny songs😄. I am so incredibly excited for this series omg it’s gonna be so good!!! If you don’t believe me, go listen to NFWMB and you’ll get a vague idea of what’s coming ;)

P.S. header = pov change

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Harry Styles was not one for regrets.

His life may not have turned the way he expected it to, but he was still proud of where he had come.

Being a professional boxer was a risky job, and Harry had known that when he had decided that it was going to be his career. But there was no other logical option. Harry was an exceptional boxer who was able to go pro at age 18, where he defeated a lot of men who were older and bigger than him.

It was his passion, it always had been. Which was something that was quite remarkable, especially to his closer family members, because Harry was anything but a violent person in his day to day life. He was quite reserved, and managed his temper very well. The years in the boxing ring did harden him quite a bit, his reserved nature developing into something more akin to stoicism.

Nevertheless, Harry loved boxing. It wasn't so much a fight to him, but more of a puzzle. Each opponent had its own made up riddle, and it was up to Harry to solve it as quick as possible. Much like a dance you learn the steps to along the way. A perfect combination of intuitive technique.

He hadn't planned on having to retire at the age of 27 already. It was supposed to be his peak; it had been for almost all boxers in history, and he was looking forward to how far he would be able to push his body during his prime.

He never got the opportunity to get an answer to those questions. A car accident got in the way.

He wouldn't have been able to stop it, he knew that, and he had forbidden himself from thinking about what could've happened had he not taken that specific road back home that horrible night. There was nothing he could do about it now, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

After a year of recovery, he was slowly able to get back into the rhythm of his old life again. Well, except for the boxing part. Knowing that his career in that field was over, he began thinking about some other options of his, and decided on fulfilling another dream of his: opening a gym.

He had always wanted to do it, but he always imagined to be retired by the time he would start on that.

Now, two years later, his gym was already in multiple locations, but Harry was still working at the first one he opened. He would visit the other ones every once in a while to see how everything was going, but he was mainly at the one nearest to his house. It was special to him, the place where it all started.

Despite running the place, and therefore not needing to be on location all the time, Harry was at the gym 24/7. He wasn't a personal trainer—wasn't really his style—but he would help people and teach self defense classes to women.

Every Thursday between 6 and 9, he would teach groups of ten women everything they needed to know on defending themselves from whatever threat they may run into. It was one of the things he was proudest of; the turn out at those classes. That these women put their trust in him, and let him help them become even tougher than they already were.

Tonight, after teaching the last group, Harry had gone to the bar with some of his friends. One of them was Sophie, a woman he had become friends with since she'd joined his self defense class. She was a great person with an impeccable sense of humor, and Harry was glad he had introduced her to Greg, his best friend. They were basically made for each other.

Harry had to admit that he envied his friend for the relationship he had. He was happy for them, but sometimes couldn't help but think that his lack of a partner was this one puzzle piece that would make his life even better. All in good time, he reminded himself.

"Hey," Sophie caught Harry's attention when she waved her hand in front of his face. His gaze shot to hers, eyebrows raised. "So, I was talking about your self defense class today at work. You know, promoting your business and all."

Harry chuckled at the cocky tone in which Sophie told her story, chin up high. He mumble a soft 'thanks', to which she grinned.

"You're welcome. Anyways, I have this new colleague and she seemed so intrigued by it, but she was too insecure about joining. I mean— she didn't outright say that, but I could just tell." She huffed, Greg rubbing her back. Sophie was a very happy person in general and wanted the best for everyone, this new colleague of hers included. Harry had the same habit, it's why he immediately suggested:

"Why don't you invite her along next week? A free try-out."

"But your try-out classes aren't for another two weeks." Sophie noted.

It was true. The self defense classes had become very popular, and since Harry taught them himself, he had scheduled one night of try-out classes a month. He was only able to take on so many people, but he didn't mind making this exception.

"She can join your regular class." Harry shrugged, and Sophie's eyes beamed with excitement.

"Thank you Harry!" She squealed happily, giving Greg a hug to channel her enthusiasm. "Oh, I hope she'll come along!"

"I'm sure she will." Harry assured her with a smile, and took another sip from his beer.

Y/N had never been one for risks.

She had never been the type of person to take the leap of faith, relying more on familiar feeling of security. Why risk hurting yourself when you could be safe and content?

It was the logic she had always operated with, the logic she had been taught from a very young age. Y/N had had a sheltered upbringing. Her parents wanted her and her little brother to be as safe as possible, and that was just fine to Y/N.

Her little brother was the more feisty one of the two, and his childhood consisted of a lot of fighting. It hurt Y/N to see the people she loved so much be so angry all the time, and it only motivated her to be as good as possible. She never drank, smoked, or went to parties. She turned in her homework early and got an A on almost every test. It did put a strain on her relationship with her brother, especially since Y/N's behavior would be used as ammunition towards him.

They still didn't talk all too much, but Y/N hoped that one day, she could repair that relationship again.

Moving a few towns away was a big deal for her parents, but the wonderful job she had gotten as a secretary at quite a prestigious law firm had made it all worth it. They helped her with moving into her apartment, but Y/N would regularly visit them on both weekdays and on the weekends. All in all, she'd had a safe, comfortable, content life.

Until a few months ago.

It was a Friday night, and Y/N had agreed to a date. One of the lawyers at the firm, Oscar, had been flirting with her ever since she started working there. Not wanting to be impolite, Y/N never outright rejected him, and so the flirting continued. She was a bit uncomfortable about it — especially since he was nearing his forties and she was only 23 — but figured the banter was part of the job. She was so shocked when he did ask her to go on a date, she said yes.

It wouldn't be too bad, she figured. She would just go on the date and tell him she wasn't interested afterwards. It could be casual, and no one would be too hurt. The date was definitely out of her carefully moderated comfort zone, but she would step out of it for one night.

The date was fine. Like she had expected, she wasn't interested in Oscar in a romantic way. Still, she listened to his stories, laughed right on cue at all his jokes, and told some of her own anecdotes as well. The dinner was great, and he even offered to walk her home.

They were nearing Y/N's apartment when Oscar had suddenly slowed down his walking pace. She only noticed when she was a few feet away from him, and walked back to where Oscar was standing.

"Are you okay? We're almost there, I promise." Y/N smiled politely, much like she did in the office. Oscar didn't say anything in response, only the corners of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly.

"You're so beautiful, do you know that?" He complimented her, and Y/N looked at her feet, not quite knowing how to handle the flattery.

"Thank you." She said softly, and froze when Oscar's fingers tilted her chin upwards. Her eyes widened when he suddenly leaned in and put his mouth on hers. After the first few seconds of pure shock slowly passed, Y/N pulled her head back.

Not getting the hint, Oscar grinned and leaned in again, this time with both his hands on her face. Y/N let out a yelp, stumbling backwards. Her body's alarm bells were ringing so loudly, but Oscar must've been deaf to her body language because he backed her up against the wall and kept kissing her.

Y/N cried out as she tried to push Oscar off with her hands, but he only grabbed them and pinned them above her head. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she lifted her knee and kicked him right in the crotch. Oscar shot backwards, groaning loudly as his grip finally loosened on her. He looked incredibly angry.

"What the fuck?!" He bellowed, standing up straight again. Y/N's lip quivered, tears running down her face.

"You wouldn't stop." She said softly, almost in a whisper. Her entire body was shaking from the adrenaline. Oscar's mouth opened to say something, but the conversation got interrupted.

"Oscar!" A woman's voice shouted from down the street. He turned his head, and his face morphed from sheer rage into a lovely smile, the same one he always put up for Y/N back in the office.

"Sophie!" He said, but the mention of her name sounded strained. Sophie... Y/N recognized her name, but she hadn't ever met the woman. She was one of the three female lawyers at the firm. Had been working there for only five years, but her reputation was so badass, everyone knew who she was.

"What are you doing out tonight?" Sophie asked as she gave Oscar a hug, and turned to Y/N. "Who's this?"

"This is Y/N." Oscar replied. "She's a secretary at the firm."

"Nice to meet you." Y/N extended her hand, and Sophie shook it.

"Nice to meet you too! How come I've never seen you around?" She tilted her head.

"I— I work on a different floor."

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Y/N!" She said, the kindness in her tone being a real comfort after that scary moment she just had to live through. Somewhere in the way she said it, and in the way her eyes softened slightly, it almost felt like Sophie knew.

"I— I should go. It's getting pretty late." Y/N decided that this could be her sweet escape.

"Right, I'm gonna bring Y/N home." Oscar said, and your eyes shot to him. Anxiety filled your lungs until all you could breathe was fear. You didn't want to be alone with him. You had no idea what he would be able to do to you. What were you going to do about it? You weren't even half as strong as he was.

"Oh, which way is it?" Sophie asked, turning to Y/N, who was about to open her mouth but got interrupted by Oscar.

"That way." He pointed toward the direction of Y/N's house. Sophie side eyed her colleague, then nodded.

"Exactly the way I was going! Let's go." She hooked her arm into Y/N's, and began walking, ranting about how it was unacceptable that they didn't work on the same floor.

Y/N wordlessly nodded along, filled with gratefulness to Sophie or the universe—or both—for not leaving her alone with Oscar again.

She got home safely about five minutes later, not daring to look Oscar in the eyes as she hugged him and said goodbye, and she only allowed her tears to fall down her cheek when she closed her front door.

Y/N spent the rest of the weekend in bed, not in the mood to do anything. By Monday, she felt both better and worse. She had had some time to come down from the shock of what happened, but the terror that filled her at the realization that she was to see Oscar again, had her stomach turn. On Monday morning, she even got into work late as a result of a wave of nausea that hit her once she'd grabbed her keys, spending the time she used to drive to work to puke her guts out instead.

Later, she'd found out that Oscar had called in sick that day. It gave her some time and space to breathe. Sophie visited her the same day, and she hadn't stopped visiting since.

Oscar did eventually return to work, but they never talked anymore. Y/N didn't dare to look him in the eye, and she avoided him at all costs. One day, about two weeks after everything happened, she did see him waiting by her cubicle, but she hid in the toilet for half an hour and by the time she returned he was gone.

It had been two months since that horrible event, and Y/N had entirely isolated herself. Back to the normal routine, back to what was familiar. It gave her a sense of control. She was fragile, and sensitive. She had just pressed down her sadness and anxiety that lingered as a result from the date, and instead focused entirely on what she could control.

She figured it would be easier. Well, except for the mental breakdowns she'd get when something small didn't go right. The dishes not being cleaned, her vacuum not taking up every speck of dust; it just set her off. It wasn't healthy, but she had no idea how else to deal with these things.

When Sophie mentioned she was following self-defense classes a couple weeks ago, Y/N's ears had perked up. She tried to be subtle about it; asking questions to pry some information about the classes from her. But, being the amazing lawyer she was, it didn't go over Sophie's head, and before she knew it she had an invite to a class.

"See you next week!" Harry exclaimed as the last of the women from the 7pm class left the room. He was still busy putting everything back into place before the next class which would commence in about five minutes.

He was just about done with everything when Sophie walked in, another girl walking in close behind her. Harry couldn't really make up her face, as she stayed closely behind Sophie, even upon nearing him.

Sophie looked proud, probably feeling very accomplished about the fact that she had been able to convince this colleague of hers to take her up on her offer.

"Hey!" She greeted Harry cheerfully, giving him a quick hug. He was still smiling when he turned to the woman standing next to Sophie. His mouth went a bit dry when he took in her face.

"Harry, this is Y/N."

For starters, she was a bit shorter than Sophie, and quite frail too. Her hair was up in a ponytail, leaving her features to be admired out in the open. Her eyes were soft—radiating mostly insecurity at the moment—and wide. Those Bambi eyes and plump, rosy lips...

She looked so... innocent?

He wasn't sure if it was the right word, but he was sure that he had to say something before the silence became too long.

"Hi Y/N." He repeated her name, seeing the slightest flicker of surprise run through the eyes of the woman in front of him. But the slight relaxation of her body told him that his usual trick was working. It was a typical 'strategy' that he would often use with people who were a bit unsure about him. His voice would soften, he would always wear a hint of a smile on his face, and he'd repeat people's names to create a bit more of a familiar environment. It always worked, and he was glad it did. He never wanted anyone, especially a woman, to feel uncomfortable around him.

"Hi." The corners of her mouth tugged up.

Angel.

That's all he could think of as he looked at her. Jesus Christ, she was beautiful.

"Thank you for joining the class. You don't have to join in on everything if you don't feel comfortable. Just observe and see if this is something you would like to practice more often, okay?"

The girl in front of him nodded intently the second he had finished talking. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she peeped out an, "okay."

Harry grinned, his gaze shooting to Sophie—who was looking at him with this suspicious look on her face that she only got once in a while—before calling everyone in a circle and commencing the class.

This girl, Y/N, turned out to be a real distraction for him. He was so focused on trying to read how she was feeling that he trailed off during explanations a couple times. It was embarrassing, really. He was a grown man for God's sake, why couldn't he just concentrate?

Y/N only joined in for a couple of the basic movements, but she stayed back for most of the class. Her big eyes observed every movement Harry and the others made, impressed with how developed everyone seemed to be in their techniques. He noted that it only seemed to make her more timid, though.

His eyebrows kept knitting every time he looked at her, getting lost in his thoughts on how he could help her become more comfortable in his class. She'd caught his stare about halfway through the class, and at the way her eyes shot to the floor he realized that his gaze was actually doing the completed opposite of what he wanted to do, which was help her.

When the class ended, Harry gave his usual speech about how good everyone had done their job, and that he would see them all next week. Afterwards there would always be a couple of women hanging around to ask questions, and he would stop a few on their way out to compliment their improvements. When the rest of the women had left, Sophie walked up to Harry, Y/N following closely behind.

"Great class, Styles. Thanks for teaching me some ass kicking again." She teased, smiling at him before she took a sip from her water bottle. Harry chuckled, shaking his head faintly.

"Glad you liked it." He turned to Y/N. "What about you?"

Her cheeks started heating up, mouth falling open ever so slightly. "M— me? Oh, uhm, yeah, pretty good."

"I'm going to use the bathroom really quick, I'll be right back." Sophie chimed in, and began walking towards the door. "Keep her company for me, will ya Styles?"

Harry almost laughed at how Y/N's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets at Sophie's announcement. She was nervous around him, and it was quite endearing, but she didn't need to be. Although it was very cute, Harry wanted her to be comfortable around her.

"You hated it, didn't you?" He said as soon as Sophie was out of sight. Harry was amused, watching Y/N scramble for words when she realized what he had said.

"What? No, no of course not! You're great! Teacher— you're a great teacher, I mean." She stumbled over every last one of her words, making it sound even less convincing than it already was, even though she did really mean it.

Harry solely raised his eyebrow, indicating that he did not buy any of that, and it was all it took for her shoulders to slump and a little sigh to leave those pretty lips of hers.

"It's really not you, I promise. I just get... a bit nervous in group settings, especially when it comes to sports. I don't even go to the gym." She confessed, and Harry nodded. That certainly made more sense. His heart warmed a bit at the fact that she reassured him that he wasn't the reason she wasn't liking the class all too much.

"Why don't you go to the gym?" Harry asked further, his tone soft. He didn't want to press too much, but he did want to know more about her.

"It's... embarrassing." She shrugged. Harry chuckled.

"I go to the gym all the time. I mean, I own this one. I can only imagine how embarrassing I must be." He joked. He had to say he thought it was pretty funny, the way she blushed as he teased her.

"No, I didn't mean it like that! You're not embarrassing at all— I mean, you’re like the opposite. You're lean, and strong. You have like— big arms and you know what you're doing." She ranted, and had no idea how much Harry's ego was fueled by the compliments she was unknowingly throwing at him. "Whereas I— I have no idea what to do at a gym. I hate the idea of people being able to watch me and judge me if they want. Not that I think everyone's focusing on me all the time! I— I don't think that..."

Y/N's heart was racing as she finally got herself to stop talking. It was a nervous habit she had always possessed. As soon as something got awkward, her mouth would open and it would just never shut again. All communication skills flew out the window as soon as something — or in this case someone — made her nervous. She couldn't even remember half the words she just said.

"I can teach you, if you want."

The offer was as unexpected to Y/N as it was to Harry. He hadn't quite anticipated the words rolling off his tongue, but he didn't regret them either.

"It'll be a private class, and it can be in a closed room, like this one, or after closing time. Whatever suits you." Harry tried his hardest to sound casual, and not like what he was offering was something he literally never did. He had to hire a cleaner at home because he was too busy to get around to cleaning the house, that's how much he had to do. But the prospect of losing even more free time did not seem to bother him at all. In fact, he hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer as he scanned her face and waited for her to say something.

"No, I wouldn't want to ask that of you. I'm sure you're busy with a lot of other things." She declined politely, but he didn't miss the glimmer of hope in her eyes. Those private classes had sounded intriguing to her, he just knew it. So instead of accepting her rejection, he shrugged.

"How about this. I'm always in till late on Tuesday's. If you're sure you don't want private lessons, that's fine. But if it does sound like something you want to do, just be there at 9. I'll be there either way." Harry suggested. He didn't wait for a response — hearing Sophie's footsteps nearing — and instead said,

"Just think about it, alright?"

Y/N merely nodded, not even able to croak out a 'yes' before Sophie walked back into the room.

"Okay, I'm ready to go. Y/N?" Sophie asked, watching as her friend agreed and grabbed her things before walking towards the door where Sophie stood.

"Thanks for the class." Y/N turned around and smiled at Harry, throwing him a small wave as she started following Sophie out the door.

"Anytime." He winked at her.

"Bye Styles!" Sophie shouted, her keys clinking as she waved at Harry, behind her.

"Bye Soph." Harry called out, his eyes still transfixed on the girl behind his friend.

He didn't take her eyes off her as they walked towards the exit, taking in every detail of her delicate body as she moved further and further away from him. She was painstakingly beautiful. How had she just walked in? As soon as the girls disappeared behind the door, Harry let out a big sigh.

"Fuck." He murmured under his breath.

He really hoped Y/N would take him up on his offer. Harry had very quickly and very suddenly developed this intense need to help the girl, and that couldn't mean anything good.

Maybe he'd never see her again. She did sound very unsure. Besides, who said that she even wanted to go to this class? For all Harry knew, Sophie could've just used her manipulative convincing tricks, and Y/N, the polite angel she was, would've felt too bad to decline. Maybe, she thought he was an ass and didn't want anything to do with him.

In spite of the countless theories flying through his head, he knew that she wanted it. He had seen it in her eyes. She did really want to join the class, she was simply too nervous. But whether she would take him up on the offer, that was the question. He'd have to wait until the following week.

Strangely enough, he couldn't wait until it was Tuesday. He couldn't wait to find out…

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