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firein-thesky · 3 years

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COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

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nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence.

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something.

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place.

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more.

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy.

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain.

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over.

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at.

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why.

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck.

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness.

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault.

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize.

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals.

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things.

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting.

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person.

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe.

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water.

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands.

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats.

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program.

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating.

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack.

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you.

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked.

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything.

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home.

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days.

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice.

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs.

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts.

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly.

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight.

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat.

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment.

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode.

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.”

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself.

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting.

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble.

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.”

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed.

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to.

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home.

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate.

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year.

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters.

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask.

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping.

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat.

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches.

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors.

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates.

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score.

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended.

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him.

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah.

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head.

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel.

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up.

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair.

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump.

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip.

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps.

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey.

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you.

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake.

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye.

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep.

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel.

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you.

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before.

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice.

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves.

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates.

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet.

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone.

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd.

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals.

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features.

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda.

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point.

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase.

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him.

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months.

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received.

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper.

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about.

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list.

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship.

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them.

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights.

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop.

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.”

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience.

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door.

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles.

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years.

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut.

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?”

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall.

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?”

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is.

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete.

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly.

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction.

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well.

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much.

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal.

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror.

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger.

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates.

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch.

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city.

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile.

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift.

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible.

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable.

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities.

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off.

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals.

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine.

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep.

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front.

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly.

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay.

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse.

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you.

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself.

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she��s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot.

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down.

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help.

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there.

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater.

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain.

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength.

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again.

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink.

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#this right here is my baby #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee x reader #joel farabee fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Soulmate AU part 3: The teenagers slowly become adults;

Leon is endlessly proud of his kids (he’s long accepted that he’s a dad of three unruly teenagers now, and shares custody with Gwen and Hunith, the only other sensible ones), and Morgana and Merlin are abruptly made aware of their new... role(s).

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

All of their birthdays pass in the next few months. Of course, Arthur’s and Morgana’s come with big celebrations, insisted on by Uther (I mean... Morgana had just come of age, and Arthur was the Prince, can you blame him?), but the gang put on mini celebrations just for them in the evenings.

Everyone got everyone gifts, and they spent as much time together during the birthdays as they could, even Gaius and Hunith joining them when they had time.

Leon was quickly climbing the ranks within the Knights, and was the youngest to be granted the title of captain at just 23, which gave him little more control over his own schedule. He worked incredibly hard, was a good teacher, and never took advantage of his post, so his fellow knights didn’t mind so much when he gave himself the occasional day off, for his kid’s birthdays.

The other knights had definitely picked up an Leon’s... older brother instincts when it came to The Prince, The Ward, The Servant, and The Physician’s Apprentice, and ribbed him mercilessly for it, but he didn’t really mind too much. Said kids certainly found it hilarious.

Morgana coming of age also meant an influx of potential courters, both foreign royalty and local nobility.

Much to Uther’s annoyance, she rejected every single one before even meeting them, insisting that she would marry for love, not because some old man wanted to suck up to The King.

It didn’t take long for him to give up on finding her a suitor to be honest. She wasn’t heir to the throne, so it wasn’t too important, and he knew how stubborn she was; the more he tries to set her up, the more she’ll resist.

Merlin’s sixteenth birthday came a few weeks after Arthur’s seventeenth, and Uther begrudgingly gave Morgana and Arthur a day off from lessons and meetings. Frankly, he knew there would be no point in trying to enforce anything, they would just ignore him and sneak out to see the boy anyway.

A couple months after Arthur’s seventeenth birthday, it came time for his official Knighting (he talked about it endlessly when it happened, being one of the youngest to ever be officially knighted, most aren’t knighted until they’re closer to 21. Leon had been very young as well, at only 19).

Much to Uther’s chagrin, Arthur and Morgana insisted that Hunith and Merlin have a front row seats.

He gave in eventually, after Arthur threatened to not turn up to his own ceremony, and Morgana pointed out that the only people in attendance would already know about the whole soulmate thing.

It was a momentous occasion, that involved huge public celebrations (which Arthur and Morgana, of course, snuck out of the castle to join in on, with Gwen and Merlin), and a large feast in the evening.

Hunith finally got a chance to wear one of her nicest dresses, and Arthur even managed to wrangle Merlin into some smart clothes (just a touch of red and gold, to subtly compliment what the Prince was wearing, of course).

Though Uther did insist on having them introduced as “Family of the Court Physician” to anyone who asked, which annoyed Arthur to no end. But he’d agreed to not go public until he turned 18, so he was just going to have to put up with it.

They had a great time, and even Uther loosened up a bit once he’d had a little to drink. He still avoided Hunith and Merlin like the plague, but did get tipsy enough to clap Arthur on the back, and tell him he was proud “Of both your achievement today, and the happiness you found with your soulmate.” which Arthur definitely did NOT tear up at, thank you very much Morgana, and which Uther will deny happened until the day he dies.

Despite having to hide their respective soulmates, the gang had fun. Once the food and tables where cleared away to make way for music and dancing, things livened up a great deal.

Morgana dragged Merlin to dance, despite his insistence that he didn’t know how. Arthur, Gwen, Leon, Hunith, and Gaius watched on in amusement as Morgana tried to teach him the steps in the middle of the floor, no one in the hall daring to complain (she was the King’s Ward, after all).

Morgana made her way through the group, insisting that Arthur danced with her next, then Leon, and then, much to Uther’s annoyance, Gwen and Hunith.

Everyone soon forgot about their worries, maybe it was inappropriate for commoners and servants to mix with royalty and knights, but this celebration was for Arthur, he could bloody well do what he wanted.

Thankfully, by the time Morgana managed to force Arthur and Merlin on the dancefloor together, everyone else in the room was too drunk, and too wrapped up in their own dance partners, to notice The Prince dancing with the Physician’s Apprentice.

Overall, despite the stress of feeling like Uther was glaring a hole in the back of all of their heads, they enjoyed the night. Hunith and Merlin felt, even though it was obviously much fancier, the celebrations were similar to the ones they had back in their little village.

They had greatly missed the Yule celebration that had undoubtedly happened at the end of last year in Ealdor, but this more than made up for it, and by the end of the night, their spirits were lifted, so much so that they weren’t nearly as homesick as they used to be.

It was just days after the celebrations, that Arthur and Merlin (choosing to sleep in Merlin’s bed tonight, so they could have breakfast with Hunith the next morning) woke with a start to the sound of frantic banging on the front door. It was very late, still hours before sunrise.

Arthur woke immediately, his instincts kicking in as he grabbed his hidden sword and made his way out of the bedroom before he was even fully aware of himself. Merlin woke up a little slower, but still grabbed his own sword and crept out of the room after Arthur, meeting a worried Hunith in the corridor.

Arthur gestured at them to be quiet and raised his sword a little higher as the banging started again.

Merlin ignored him however, as he widened his (now golden) eyes and dropped his sword. He rushed to open the door before Arthur could stop him, only to find a distraught Morgana shivering on the front step.

She was still wearing sleep clothes, with a cloak and shoes hastily thrown on. He eyes were red and she had tear tracks down her face, her hair a mess.

The moment Merlin threw open the door, Morgana falls forward into his arms, the Warlock only just managing to catch her as she begins crying again.

It takes Arthur a moment to recover form his shock, but he quickly gathers his and Merlin’s swords, dropping them on a side table, before mouthing “tea?” to Hunith and stepping towards his soulmate and his sister.

Hunith nods slightly, and with one last worried look to the girl who had become like a daughter to her, she busies herself in the kitchen; lighting the fire, boiling some water, and gathering together some tea leaves, the type that help with sleep.

Arthur manages to pull the other two inside, so he could shut the door, and he guides them to the living room. Merlin settles in a large, soft armchair, and Morgana follows closely, falling into his lap and continuing to cry into his shoulder, clutching desperately at his sleep tunic.

Arthur sits himself on the armrest, and Morgana gropes blindly for his hand, which he quickly takes, before looking to Merlin and raising a worried eyebrow.

Merlin just shakes his head in confusion. Morgana hadn’t said anything yet, just cried, and he had no idea what could’ve brought on such hysterics so suddenly in someone who was usually so calm.

He wipes all thoughts of his own nightmares from his mind as he strokes Morgana’s hair and whispers gentle words to her. She finally calms down a little as Hunith walks in with four cups of tea, and Merlin asks quietly:

“Would you like Gwen? She only lives a few streets away, Arthur could fetch her and be back in only a few minutes.” Arthur gets up, moving to put on shoes and a cloak, but Morgana croaks out a desperate:

“NO! No, I don’t want to worry her.”

She goes to stand up, but Merlin pulls her back down, settling her comfortably in his lap, as she fiddles with her hands and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes.

Merlin just frowns, still stroking her back, and Arthur speaks up quietly:

“What’s wrong ‘Gana? Are you hurt?”

Morgana shakes her head and looks up at Arthur, then Hunith, before finally looking back at Merlin. She gulps before she begins to speak:

“I... I had a nightmare-”

Merlin gives her a sad smile, knowing how terrifyingly disorienting they can be, but before he can say anything, Morgana continues:

“-but not a normal one. I’ve always suffered with night terrors, and Gaius makes me sleeping draughts but they never work. This one was so vivid. Like it was real.-”

She looks down to her lap, and Merlin begins to frown again as she continues:

“-I never really noticed before, or I just wrote it off as coincidence, but all of my dreams... they come true. And this one...”

Arthur speaks up as she trails off:

“Are you sure, Morgana? Maybe you just got a little muddled up, perhaps you dreamt about them after, and got confused?-”

Morgana looks up sharply, somehow still managing to look a little intimidating despite the messy hair and tears:

"Do you remember when you got caught by that mace during training last week?-”

Arthur frowns slightly, nodding as he rolls his shoulder automatically, still feeling a dull ache:

“-well the night before, I dreamt about it, that’s why I came to watch that morning. I just wrote it off because in my dream, it was Leon that hit you, not Sir Kay, but that was the only difference. Even the bruise looked exactly the same.-”

The other three look surprised, but before they can say anything she gulps and continues:

“And when we got attacked by those bandits? I dreamt about that a few days prior. In my dream, Leon was with us as well, and there were three more attackers, but again, other than the slight difference, everything was the same. Even how Merlin ended the fight, and the memory charm.”

Arthur collapses in the chair behind him, looking thoughtful, and slightly worried, as Merlin breaks himself out of his train of thought:

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Morgana bites her lip, before saying timidly:

“I almost did, but I just thought I was being paranoid; seeing connections where there weren’t any. But tonight...”

Arthur looks up sharply, frowning (not accusingly, just... worryingly) as he says:

“What was your nightmare about ‘Gana? I’ve never seen you this scared before.”

She looks up and meets his gaze, tears gathering in her eyes again:

“We were in a cave, me and Merlin. It was dark, and we were... not quite scared, but confused. And then a dragon appeared, huge, angry. It spoke, I couldn’t understand it, but Merlin obviously could, and they talked for a while. Merlin got angry, and then the dragon looked at me, and reared up and started spitting fire. I woke up just before... just before it burned me. I snuck past the guards and came straight here.-”

She looked to her lap again, before mumbling:

“Honestly, I didn’t even know you were here, I just wanted to see Merlin, because he was in it.”

Merlin pulls her close again, and she settles with her head in the crook of his neck as he strokes her hair, worrying his lip at her description of the night terror.

Hunith looked worried, and Arthur was deep in thought for a few minutes, before speaking up again:

“I suppose you two just... stay away from big caves? And if you find one somehow, come find me, and Leon would probably be good as well, and we’ll see what’s going on, together.”

Morgana looks up at him through her lashes, and mumbles:

“It felt... evil. Not the dragon or the place, but... me. Like it was justified in attacking me, like I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Merlin tightens his hold on her, and his eyes flash gold as he grinds out:

“ ‘Gana, anything that tries to hurt you, will have to go through me first, dragon or otherwise.”

Arthur smiles comfortingly as he says:

“Exactly. As if I would ever let the two of you explore a dragon’s cave without me anyway.”

She looks up as she laughs, just a little, and Hunith speaks for the first time since Morgana had appeared:

“Would you like to stay here for the rest of the night? I can move in here and you can take my bed.”

Merlin shakes his head:

“No, she can stay with Arthur and I, the bed is big enough for the three of us. That way we can wake her up if she gets any more nightmares.”

Arthur nods and pats Morgana’s shoulder before going to their bedroom. He lights a candle, pulls the covers back, and places the swords back in their hiding places.

Morgana sits up straight and looks down at Merlin:

“Are you sure? I can make my way back to the castle easily enough.”

Merlin shakes her head, smiling at her:

“No, it’s fine. I’d prefer you to stay with us anyway. We can talk to Gaius tomorrow about the dreams. I was born with magic remember, it’s not impossible for it to have happened to you as well, we’ll just have to be careful, ok? Everything will be fine, ‘Gana, promise.”

Morgana smiles, and wipes her eyes as she stands up. She gives Hunith a quick hug, thanking her for the tea as she picks up her an Arthur’s cup. She follows Arthur into the bedroom, and Merlin gives his mother a worried look, before grabbing his own cup and saying goodnight, telling her quietly:

“Make sure your door is shut. Hopefully she won’t have anymore nightmares tonight, but I have a feeling she’ll wake up loudly if she does.”

Hunith nods, before whispering:

“Do you think she’s right? Is she some sort of... seer?”

Merlin sighs, looking towards the bedroom, before looking back and replying:

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never exactly met any other magic-users, I only have Gaius and my own experiences to go off.”

Hunith nods, and the two separate, heading to their own rooms and shutting the doors behind them.

Arthur and Morgana were already settled, having finished their tea. Arthur was back where he was earlier, and Morgana sat in the middle of the bed, her head resting on his shoulder.

Merlin walks around to sit on Morgana’s other side, abandoning his undrunk tea in favour of laying straight down. Morgana and Arthur follow him, and Morgana turns over, curling up under Merlin’s arm, and whispering a quiet, teary “thank you”.

Arthur settles an arm over Morgana’s back, his hand intertwining with Merlin’s on the pillow, and Merlin’s other arm settles over her waist, holding her close.

The boys share a worried look, before closing their eyes. They fall into a shallow sleep, prepared to jump awake at even a twitch from Morgana, determined to keep her safe.

Morgana wakes the next morning having slept surprisingly well through the rest of the night.

Merlin is sitting up next to her, one hand protectively splayed on her back, the other holding a book in his lap. She can hear people bustling around in the next room, and she can see the sun start to peak through the curtains.

Merlin looks down at her when he feels her wake, and puts a finger to his lips, before whispering:

“Gwen and Leon arrived earlier to join us for breakfast, we haven’t told them you’re here.-”

Morgana frowns in confusion as she sits up, and Merlin continues:

“-I think you should tell them what happened, they can help, like they helped me, but we still thought it should be your choice. You can sneak out the widow and head up to the castle if you want?”

Morgana shakes her head, and murmurs:

“No, you’re right. They should know, I don’t like keeping things from Gwen, and Leon can always tell when we lie, anyway.” She says the last bit with a weak smirk, and Merlin chuckles:

“Come on then, I think breakfast is almost ready. Plus, some of us have semi full days today, so we should get going before we all start running late.”

Morgana nods, and moves to stand in front of the mirror, grimacing before trying to straighten her hair a little, and washing her face in the fresh wash-bowl.

Merlin chuckles a little before following her up, and throwing a jacket on over his sleep clothes. He waits for Morgana to finish, and allows her to nervously take his hand as they exit the room.

It takes a few moments for anyone to notice them when they first enter the kitchen, Arthur and Hunith cooking, whilst Gwen and Leon play cards at the table.

Arthur is the first to notice, and gives Morgana a smile, before looking to Merlin with a raised eyebrow, meaning “the truth?”. Merlin answers with a small nod, and Arthur smiles again, before saying loudly:

“Morning, you two certainly slept in, didn’t you?”

Everyone looks up at that, Hunith briefly smiling before going back to the food, and Gwen and Leon widening their eyes in surprise. Gwen jumps up to give Morgana a hug, which she enthusiastically returns:

“ ‘Gana! I thought I felt you close, what are you doing here? Did you stay the night?” There’s no accusation in her tone, just concern, and Morgana gives her a brief smile before nodding, and saying:

“It’s... a long story. Let’s sit, we can tell the both of you.”

Leon packs the cards away, and moves up the bench so Merlin can settle next to him, Gwen and Morgana opposite them, and Arthur and Hunith hurriedly serve up food before sitting down at the ends of the table.

Morgana explains timidly what had happened just a few hours previously, and Gwen grabs her hand as she describes the feeling of being deserving of the flames.

(The way she words the sentence does make Merlin tense slightly, but only Arthur notices, and he squeezes Merlin’s knee under the table.)

Leon listens intently, and when she’s finished, he leans across the table to clutch her hand briefly before looking to Merlin:

“Is that possible? Could she be some sort of seer? I know there are lots of them among the druids, but I’ve never actually met one.”

Merlin shrugs slightly, and replies:

“I’m not sure, it’s possible. We were going to talk to Gaius, he knows more about this sort of thing than me.”

Gwen and Leon nod, and Hunith speaks up:

“Me and Arthur are busy today, and I’m assuming you are as well, Leon?-”

He nods, though reluctantly:

“-But why don’t you two go with Merlin to see Gaius? He’ll probably be more able to understand if you can explain it directly to him.”

Morgana looks a little tense at having to explain it for a third time, but Gwen nods her head:

“That sounds like a good idea, maybe we could... get into contact with some druids somehow? If they do have seers, they might be able to help.”

Leon looks troubled at that, but Arthur speaks up first:

“That could work, but only if we absolutely have to. I don’t want to put them in any unnecessary danger, by potentially exposing them. Plus it would be a long journey, we’d have to come up with excuses. I don’t think my father would accept any reason we gave for needing a few days off to leave the kingdom.”

The others nod in agreement, Morgana looking even more worried, but Hunith sees her expression and speaks quietly:

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Gaius knows a great many things, and if not, I’m sure we can figure it out ourselves.”

Morgana smiles at her gratefully, and with that, the conversation comes to an easy end.

After they clean up, and a round of goodbyes is had, Hunith rushes off to the tailor’s, and Arthur and Leon reluctantly head back up to the castle.

Morgana wraps herself in a cloak, with the hood up, and Merlin quickly gets dressed. In the end, they had decided that Gwen and Morgana would head to Morgana’s chambers, so she could get washed and changed and run a brush through her hair, and Merlin would head straight to the Physician’s chambers, and explain the situation to Gaius.

He was indeed troubled, when Merlin explained what had happened, in as much detail as possible to stop his best friend from having to recount it again.

He knew of her nightmares, and had been making sleeping draughts for her for years, but she had never talked about the similarities to real life events before.

Gaius mentions not knowing much of her heritage, passed her parents and grandparents, but even if it wasn’t an inherited gift, it’s possible for the occasional, naturally magical child to be born. As proven by Merlin.

Morgana and Gwen arrive shortly after, and Gaius gives the King’s Ward a comforting pat on the shoulder, before saying quietly:

“Merlin has explained what has happened, it does sound potentially magical, but beyond that, I’m afraid I can’t be of more help. I think the Prince’s suggestion of just being careful where you go is currently the best course of action. Might I also suggest that you stop taking sleeping draughts for a while? It might be that they are interfering with the process, making them more or less vivid, accurate.”

Morgana looks a little scared at that, but Gwen squeezes her hand and Merlin speaks up:

“That might be a good idea, it’ll be easier to figure out exactly what we’re dealing with if there isn’t any interference.”

Merlin’s confirmation gives Morgana a little more confidence, and she nods firmly. She’s never run away from things before, she’s not going to start now, especially when she has her soulmate, best friend, brother, and knight in shining armour beside her.

Merlin gives her a smile, and Gaius gives him the day off, encouraging the three of them to take the day to relax, and recover from last night’s ordeal. Merlin gives his mentor a grateful smile, and takes Morgana’s other hand, dragging the girls out the door, before saying with a cheerful grin:

“Fancy going to watch Arthur get his arse handed to him on a silver platter during training?”

During everyone’s lunch break, they explained the plan... or lack thereof.

Leon was a little... tense, at the idea of stopping the sleeping draughts and just seeing what happens, but in the grand scheme of things, there weren’t any other options.

A few days passed, getting less and less tense as each sun rose and set. Morgana slept peacefully, no more nightmares or... visions. It was still a worry in the back of all their minds, but it was no longer a pressing issue that they lost sleep over.

Until the fourth day.

It had been exactly a year since Hunith and Merlin had moved to Camelot, and they were having a mini, evening celebration at the house, with the whole gang there.

Morgana had gone into the garden to cool off a bit (seven people all in one small room at the beginning of summer... yeah it got pretty hot, pretty quick).

Merlin joined her and they chatted quietly, reminiscing about all the ridiculous things they had gotten up to in just one year, laughing about how many grey hairs they had given Leon.

The conversation halted when Merlin straightened his back, and took in a gasp at a voice echoing through his head:

“Emrys...”

Morgana frowns at Merlin’s sudden reaction to seemingly nothing:

“Birdy, what’s wrong?”

Merlin looks at her in surprise:

“Did you not hear that?-”

“Emrys!”

He gasped, and took a step away from the house, peering into the dark:

“There it was again, can you not hear it? Who is that?”

Morgana looks troubled, and takes Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him round to look at her:

“Merlin there’s... no one there. I didn’t hear anything. Are you alright?”

Merlin looks at her, confused, but tenses, and whips his head around again when the voice echoes again:

“Come and find me, Warlock, I’m waiting. Come alone.”

Morgana calls desperately for Arthur, but Merlin pays her no mind as his eyes strain to see something that isn’t there. After only a second the Prince appeared with a pop by Merlin’s side:

“Merlin, what’s wrong?”

Merlin doesn’t answer him, and he looks to Morgana, worried. She has the same troubled expression on her face as she replies:

“I don’t know, he keeps hearing something that isn’t there.”

Arthur looks back to Merlin, and shakes his shoulder roughly, finally getting his attention:

“Merls?”

Just then, the others walk out of the house, looking worried at Morgana’s scared call, and Arthur’s sudden disappearance. Merlin looks over the group, before glancing once more out into the dark street, before looking back to Arthur:

“It’s a voice, someone’s calling for me. They’re calling me the wrong name but... they’re definitely calling for me.”

Everyone looks troubled at that, and Merlin shakes his head when Gaius asks if he recognises the voice.

Leon lifts his head in sudden thought before speaking hurriedly to Morgana:

“In the dream, you said Merlin and the dragon spoke to each other, but you couldn’t understand them, right?-”

Morgana gives a nervous nod, and the group looks to him, confused, as he speaks again:

“Well, maybe it’s... like that. Maybe that’s how you and Merlin find the cave, you follow the voice.-”

The others look doubtful, but he continues anyway:

“I know it’s far fetched, but how else were the two of you just going to stumble upon a cave big enough to hold a dragon?”

Arthur nods at that, mumbling that it makes sense, and Morgana looks scared. Gwen grabs her hand, and Gaius and Hunith look to each other nervously.

No on really knows what to say, but they all look to Merlin as he groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead, as the voice echoes louder:

“HURRY Warlock, I find myself running low on patience this night.”

Arthur pulls him close, and Gwen takes his other hand, Merlin mumbles:

“Whatever it is, it’s telling me to go find him, alone. I have a feeling he’s not going to stop until I go.”

Leon scoffs before saying:

“Like hell are we letting you go alone, but we should see what this is all about. Lead the way, Birdy.”

Arthur steps back and tells everyone to wait a minute, before popping away. He reappears moments later with his and Merlin’s swords, and three spares, for Gwen, Morgana, and Leon.

Leon just raises an eyebrow, taking the offered sword, and Arthur shrugs:

“Pays to be prepared. There are at least two more still in the house-”

He looks to Gaius and Hunith:

“You two wait here, we’ll try not to do anything too stupid.”

They both look worried at that, but Arthur rolls his eyes, and says:

“Leon and Gwen will be with us.”

At that, Gaius and Hunith relax slightly, which everyone would find hilarious if they weren’t focusing on bigger things.

Arthur turns back to Merlin, taking his hand, and gesturing him to lead the way.

The Warlock leads them up the main road, towards the castle gates. The others are confused at that, they had expected him to start walking out of the city, towards the wilderness, not further in.

They follow him though, getting tenser and tenser, as he allows his feet to carry him through the castle, going further and further down. Towards the dungeons.

They duck out of the way when people pass, and thankfully manage to avoid being seen by everyone. No one notices them even as they move through the dungeons to a hidden, back staircase that falls deeper and deeper into the earth.

All of them frown at this, none of them had been aware of this section of the castle, all having thought the dungeons were the lowest level.

They reach the bottom, seeing a great metal gate in front of them, that opens to a large cave. Morgana gasps, and mumbles that this is the cave from her dream as she grips Gwen’s hand tighter.

Leon takes a deep breath, before stepping in front of the group, and walking slowly forward, pushing the gate open easily, and stepping into the cave, sword raised in defence.

Arthur and Merlin follow quickly, Gwen after them, holding a fearful Morgana behind her protectively.

They gather on a ledge, staring in wonder and fear at the huge cavern that stretches out in every direction. After just a moment, a deafening roar echoes from somewhere near the roof, and the group collectively gasp before huddling closer together.

That is, apart from Merlin, who steps forward, a frown on his face as he yells:

“Like hell I was coming alone. What is this?”

With that, a blizzard like wind whips through the cavern, and everyone takes a step back, looking fearfully up at the giant dragon that descends from above.

Merlin holds his ground, automatically gripping his sword tighter, as the beast lands in front of him, gazing at him impassively.

Arthur speaks up loudly, but his voice shakes as he says:

“Merlin... step back... come here. Please.”

Merlin doesn’t move, but the dragon absentmindedly moves his gaze to the group, making direct eye contact with Arthur before tilting his head downwards, slightly reminiscent of a bow, before looking back to Merlin.

The group moves slowly towards Merlin, unprepared to leave him alone, and the dragon grumbles again, in a language that Merlin doesn’t realise isn’t even English:

“I let you have your year of fun. Now you must grow up, and learn of your destiny. There are bigger things in motion that you could ever hope to imagine.”

Merlin frowns, and the group looks to him in confusion as he replies:

“You let me? What does that even mean? And how did you call me down here? What destiny? And my name isn’t Emrys or whatever, it’s Merlin, always has been.”

The dragon narrows his eyes, before replying, the deep rumble of his growling unnerving to those who can’t understand him:

“So many questions. You are the great Warlock, known as Emrys, the most powerful magic-user to walk the earth. Arthur is the Once and Future King, destined to unite Albion.”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion:

“...right.”

The great dragon appears to huff in frustration, before continuing:

“He will face many threats. It is your destiny to protect, and guide him on his way to unite the land, and bring magic back into balance.”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows. He was already sort of expecting the whole “bringing magic back” thing, but the official “destiny” thing is definitely news to him:

“And how do you know all of this?”

Kilgharrah takes a great step back, ignoring his question, once more looking over the group stood just behind Merlin. His nostrils flare, smoke swirling out as he huffs, and narrows his eyes:

“You should not have brought the witch. In another life, she was destined to become a monster, the hatred to your love, the darkness to your light. The risk is too high, she must be destroyed, before she falls once more.”

He rears up, and takes a deep breath as Morgana stumbles back fearfully, the group gathering around her protectively. Merlin rushes back, standing between the dragon and the group before he can exhale. He falls back down onto his front claws and growls, but Merlin shouts before he can say anything:

“NO! You want to hurt ‘Gana, you’ll have to kill me, and I suspect your precious Once and Future King, first.”

With that, Arthur steps further forward, to be in line with Merlin, and the dragon turns angrily, whipping his tail to the floor with a bang, before turning back and glaring at him:

“Her destiny is inevitable, none of us choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it. She must be destroyed before it’s too-”

Merlin interrupts him:

“I don’t give a FUCK about your destiny. No one’s future is set in stone, and I will never let you hurt her, especially not for something she hasn’t even done yet.”

The dragon growls once again, before leaning close to Merlin, he speaks in English this time, so the group can understand, his voice deep and gravelly, filled with anger:

“On your head be it, or more likely, your precious soulmate’s head.”

With that, he gestures a giant claw briefly at Arthur, before flying off once again, disappearing into the shadows of the cavern.

Merlin blinks a few times, and the anger on his face fades to confusion as he looks back to Morgana, gazing at her assessingly.

She looks terrified, and gulps before saying:

“What is it, what did he say?”

Merlin shakes his head roughly, and walks forward, gathering her in a hug, before pulling back, his hands still on her shoulders. He gives her a small smile before looking to the others:

“Let’s get back to Hunith and Gaius, we don’t want to be gone too long. I’ll explain as best I can when we get back-”

He lets go of Morgana and shrugs briefly:

“-though to be honest, I’m not sure even I fully understand.”

With that, he leads the group out of the cavern, holding Morgana’s hand tightly, and refusing to look back.

Leon and Arthur bring up the rear, and they quickly find themselves back at the house, having made the whole journey in silence.

Hunith and Gaius hurriedly stand and look nervously to the group as they re-enter the house, and grimly settle around the kitchen table without a word.

Merlin and Arthur look stuck deep in thought, and Morgana quietly sniffles whilst Gwen comforts her, so Hunith and Gaius look to Leon for explanation.

He bites his lip and takes a deep breath, before beginning to explain:

“Well... we found the dragon.-”

Gaius gasps at that, and Hunith frowns, worrying her lip between her teeth:

“-Though none of us but Merlin could understand what he was saying. Something about destiny, and Kings, from what we could hear Merlin saying. It wanted to hurt Morgana, and got angry when Merlin and Arthur stepped in the way. Then it... flew off I guess, and we came back here.”

The others, apart from Merlin, had started to pay attention as Leon explained, and when he was finished, everyone looked to the young Warlock.

He still had a deep frown on his face, and was sat exceptionally still, staring at his hands folded on the table.

Morgana gulps and takes his hand, shocking him out of his internal deliberation:

“Merlin, why did it attack me? What did it say about me?”

Merlin takes a deep breath, and stares at her, a slight frown on his face as he noticed the reappearance of tears.

He pursed his lips, trying to decide what to tell her. Risk terrifying her even more, by telling the full truth, but being able to work together to combat it? OR, only tell part of the truth, lie, and save her from the heartbreak, trying to help her avoid her so called destiny from the side-lines?

He clenched his jaw, before giving her a small smile and looking around at his family; the decision was much easier than he first thought:

“He told me about our... destinies. Apparently my real name is Emrys, and I’m a powerful Warlock, destined to help Arthur become The Once and Future King, whatever that means, so he can unite all of Albion, and bring magic back into balance.-”

The others frown in confusion at this, and he looks back at Morgana, squeezing her hand once more before continuing:

“-He said that... in another life, Morgana was destined to become a monster, to fight against mine and Arthur’s destiny-”

Morgana let out a breath at that, and a few more tears fell as everyone else around the table tenses at the accusation:

“-he said that the risk of it happening again, in this life, was too high, and she had to be... destroyed, before she got in the way.-”

Arthur stands abruptly in anger at that, and Leon has to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him before he started angrily yelling. Merlin gave Morgana a reassuring smile before saying:

“-I, of course, told him to fuck off, that he would have to go through me before I let him punish you for something you hadn’t done, and have no intention of doing.”

Morgana shakes her head quickly, like she feels the need to convince her family that she isn’t some sort of beast (that breaks all of their hearts a little bit), before putting her hands over her mouth, and tightly closing her eyes.

Merlin stands and quickly walks to the other side of the table, pulling Morgana up and gathering her in a tight hug. He blinks away the tears in his eyes at her distress, and pointedly ignores the painful stares of everyone else in the room.

Gwen puts a comforting hand on Morgana’s shoulder blade, as she once again finds herself crying into Merlin’s shoulder.

The Warlock tries not to sound angry (he feels the urge to go back down those steps and yell at the bastard, but he figured that probably wasn’t such a good idea) as he murmurs comfortingly to her:

“Don’t you worry ‘Gana, you’ll never be a monster, not to us. Pre-written destiny is a load of crap, our lives are whatever we make of them, dig your own path. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go. You aren’t alone.”

She looks up at him with bleary eyes, and the others crowd closer as her next question comes out as just a whisper:

“Promise?”

Merlin smiles at her, and wipes away her tears, but before he can answer, Arthur speaks up, in a strong voice:

“We promise, ‘Gana.”

Leon gives her a reassuring smile, and Gwen nods her head firmly as she speaks:

“We’re in this together, destiny or no.”

Gaius and Hunith take the beds that night, as the other five fill the living room with various blankets and pillows. They crowd in together, Morgana held protectively in the middle, everyone else silently making oaths to themselves that they would never let her down.

That’s the end of part three!!

I reckon there’ll be two more parts to the story, but again, that depends on how many different ideas I want to fit in. I also haven’t started writing part 4 yet, so it might take a little while longer for it to arrive.

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forgiveness-in-the-misery · 3 years

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Skwisgaar's Psychology

After rewatching Metalocalypse a total of three times ever since the news of the potential finale movie I kind of had a realization; I really fucking love Skwisgaar. I also started by halfway through rewatch two realized that his story and background and general psychology is really fucking fascinating to me.

So I am going to do my best to discuss his character and his psychology and how we see him progress through the show....I already did this with Toki a while back and kind of would love to do it with Murderface and maybe Pickles as well, I'd say Nathan, but he's the....least fucked up in a sense.

Skwisgaar let's start has the most dialogue in the first couple of seasons of the show and even then it isn't overwhelming compared to the other members of the band. By season four he speaks very little and rarely.

When we are introduced to him in the beginning of the show he seems to be like the rest of the group; a diva spoiled rich rocker who has been grossly wealthy for so long that he's forgotten how to function as a human.

You also with the first season especially have this running gag that isn't even a running gag that Skwisgaar or Toki will say something weird and then the other will add onto it and they just say weird shit about life and death or the violence of man, it's weird, and strangely endearing.

Which speaking of how those two play off each other brings me to the fact the pilot episode immediately establishes that these two are almost always together. The band goes to a grocery store and everybody splits up, except for Skwisgaar and Toki who go off together when in all reality that isn't remotely necessary. We also learn in that first episode that Skwisgaar gets pissed when Toki teases him and calls him a woman despite Skwisgaar calling him one like a second earlier and also that Skwisgaar is sexually attracted to elderly women.

Two things are heavily associated with Skwisgaar as a character; he is extremely sexually active and he's got his guitar with him in 99% of scenes. Skwisgaar also doesn't appear to be the most talkative, he can be bitchy and throw tantrums like the rest of his bandmates, but also seems to be more prone to crying and becoming anxious or worried for his friends and their wellbeing/safety, in terms of socializing he seems to be a bit awkward and seems the most comfortable communicating through sex and music. He's teasing and can be a dick, but there's no real edge to it. He also while seeming in some regards to be a bit....dumb to be blunt about it seems to actually be rather smart, though often seems to just keep that to himself probably because he knows who his friends are and they aren't prone to listening to people.

Season one wasted no time in introducing the band's parents and this included Skwisgaar's mother, Serveta. One thing that I do find super interesting is that he is the only member of the band who comes from a single mother, technically it isn't interesting, but the theory (probably canon) that their fathers aren't really their fathers at all and that their mothers became pregnant by the Deth Star makes it interesting. To me at least.

With Skwisgaar's mom in regards to the first season of the show we quickly learn that their relationship is strained. She's an older woman who just like Skwisgaar is very sexually active, we see her come onto Nathan's father who is married and sitting with his wife and son, Skwisgaar's reaction to this is to get upset and begin frantically playing his guitar. Skwisgaar spends a good portion of this episode drinking and at one point saying that ever since his mom got there his stomach had been hurting and he'd just been feeling like absolute shit. When we see him bonding with his mom he's brushing her hair and looking like he'd rather be dead or any place else, seeing him helping her groom is weirdly a red flag to me.

We learn by the third season of the show that his mother is intensely vain and in love with herself, she resents Skwisgaar because being pregnant with him and giving birth to him ruined her 'perfect' body and I'm sure the years where he was too young to fend for himself annoyed her because it meant she couldn't party or have men over or run off whenever she wanted, something I get the feeling that changed when he was about ten years of age. In a bonus video that comes with the first season of the show you see interviews with the band on various random topics; one of the scenes that is...uncomfortable to say the least is when family is brought up. Skwisgaar begins to say something, but trails off and becomes visibly upset before saying he's just going to shut down for a while, Toki confesses some more physical abuse before also shutting down.

I'm going to take a guess that Skwisgaar only had his mother when he was growing up and she only had him, I'm sure she has parents and maybe even siblings and aunts and uncles, but it appears that she has absolutely no relationship with them and Skwisgaar most probably never met these people.

The walls of Serveta's home sport dozens of headshots of herself and a couple of pictures of Skwisgaar as a kid thrown up by the front door almost as an after thought. It's likely and most probable that Skwisgaar was thrusted into the position of caretaker and even a husband sort of position when it came to his relationship with his mom; given the task of looking after her, holding her hair back when she pukes after a night of drinking, doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. We know when he was about ten or thirteen years old he came home from school to find his mom having sex with two men, an event that scared him and led to him being chased by wolves and falling into a pit where if he weren't a demi-god he legit would have died. I feel like his mom reached a point with him where she stopped caring whether or not he saw her....personal life, perceiving him as an adult despite still just being a boy and also seeing him as somebody who is taking up space in her home and preventing her from having fun.

When she marries Tyr they're all over each other constantly....until Skwisgaar and Tyr become friends and begin spending time together, then she cheats on him. She was jealous that her latest man wasn't giving her constant attention and got angry at the concept of sharing him with her own child, which is super fucked up.

Skwisgaar throughout the show has a fake persona. He likes to pretend he in some way is like his mom; he likes to pretend he has his head up his own ass and doesn't need anybody but himself, he loves himself more than he could ever love another person. Which isn't true. At all.

I think that growing up with a narcissistic parent who emotionally neglected and emotionally abused him put him in a position where he had to shut down like that. He had to learn at a very young age that crying and yelling and being angry gets nothing done except maybe piss his mom off more, after finding his guitar he threw himself into music and appeared to shut himself off socially, preferring music over human interactions.

Music is something that Skwisgaar can rely on no matter what happens; he will always have a guitar, he will always be able to create music even if it is just for himself and nobody else. People come and go, people physically hurt you, people emotionally hurt you, or make you feel worthless. When we see the flashback to the night Magnus was kicked out of Dethklok Skwisgaar is faded into the background, almost like a ghost with his slumped shoulders and his hair curtaining his face as if he wants to just disappear. When they're auditioning for a replacement Skwisgaar is positive he doesn't want somebody else in the band, that they are fine just being four.

I think it comes from the fact he was terrified of repeating what just happened with Magnus, finding somebody he might think he can bond with over music only for that person to turn into a monster who makes him feel like he can't even do the thing he loves more than anything correctly....Then Toki came in and when they had their duel it quickly turned from a competition into a conversation. Because that's the one way Skwisgaar knows how to communicate, the way he is the most comfortable with; he likes to communicate through guitar and finding somebody who he could speak to through music excited him.

It's clear for obvious age related reasons that Skwisgaar has/had a care taker role where Toki is concerned. I mean he was about 15/16 when Skwisgaar took him into the band so he was a literal child, even when he's older Skwisgaar still looks out for him and is in his own sense immensely protective where he's concerned. Skwisgaar is also that way with the rest of the band even if it's more subtle. He worries about his bandmates, if they get injured or nearly killed it bothers him and he doesn't want anything to happen to them. When the band is going to break up he completely shuts down, because admit to it or not they had become the only family he ever had. I think Skwisgaar is so hard wired from his childhood to care for people that it's something he can't shake and maybe with the band he doesn't feel its a bad habit, because unlike with his mom, his bandmates arent forcing him to look after them. It's something he does because he wants to do it.

Of course in regards to his attraction to older women that definitely comes from issues relating to his mother....I don't think it's in a creepy Freud way, but more so just wanting to feel cared for back. Very obviously he can't exactly approach any of his bandmates and ask for a hug....well except maybe Toki and Pickles if he's super drunk or high, but outside of those two instances....they aren't people he could exactly just ask for validation or comfort or consolation. They aren't....good with that shit. Older women though usually have a tendency to be coddling and kind, Skwisgaar probably learned that as a teen or in his twenties, I think it's less about the sex factor and just feeling important. In terms of sex with people closer to him in age (I will die on the hill that he's bisexual, because he keeps just throwing it out there that he would blow a guy and he had multiple three ways with Melmord) I think it's a distraction for the most part, he uses sex the same way he often uses music, and honestly....He grew up seeing his mother have men over constantly.

Skwisgaar didn't grow up seeing love or healthy relationships, he saw his mom parade various men through the house and maybe she kept some of them for a while and I doubt the relationships were healthy and I'm sure he knew that his mother didn't love any man she dated or married for a short while. Even in the show he isn't fond of love or marriage, the only time he dates somebody is when he moves back to Sweden and finally starts to get his life together in a more healthy sense and that relationship didn't feel like it was based on sex. It was based on physical and emotional affection and it was the only time Skwisgaar ever looked actually happy in terms of intimacy.

Sex is a job, a chore for him; he's the God of Life so it's technically what....it's y'know his thing, creating life. As a lot of people notice....he seems far more sexually active after him and Toki's second fight in regards to music and petty bull shit. Season four is essentially the season where Salacia gets what he wanted aka the band tearing itself apart and you can see them all fall apart individually. For Skwisgaar falling apart means closing himself off, throwing himself more into his guitar and more into sex. He becomes more of a tool and an object as if that's all he wants to be, because being a person who opens yourself up and lets people in and tries to care about people ends up with you being hurt, badly.

Which does bring things back to his super complicated slightly homoerotic to the point even the show had to mention it for a hot second relationship with Toki.

We can gather from Doomstar that Toki was far more into music when he first joined Dethklok which I think worked out great for Skwisgaar, because as I said before; Skwisgaar communicates through music and this gave him somebody that he could talk to without the awkwardness of verbally conversing.

Though that changed clearly and you can feel that Skwisgaar is bothered by it, like in some weird way it feels like a minor betrayal. Toki notoriously never practices or puts in a lot of effort in terms of making music which Skwisgaar often comments on, complains about, or gets on him about. Reasonable. Guitar is part of who he is, but at the end of the day a talent that made him rich, that's what it is to Toki.....Skwisgaar on the other hand his guitar is literally an extension of himself and seeing him without a guitar in his hand for longer than a single scene gets weird.

Still despite the two of them losing the art of communicating through their music....they're close. Super fucking close. If you watch Metalocalypse and tell yourself going into the show that you're going to focus heavily on a single character or on a certain relationship you notice a ton of shit. Like you notice that Toki and Skwisgaar almost always sit together, stand together, talk over one another, finish each others weird sentences or ideas, copy each other to the point they spend an entire episode bickering like children over copying each other, and often spend their time hanging out together. Again. They're really close as if they're a single person split into two.

They're close to the point that inverse their fans just to some extent assume the two of them are fucking and madly in love and I mean I'm gonna be honest just objectively speaking here I would not be surprised to find out they have had sex before at least once or more times. Just saying.

That aside though and just sticking to the platonic here....They're close, Toki means as much to Skwisgaar as guitar does, and that's saying a lot. One big reason I want to bring up their relationship is that his relationship with Toki brings to light Skwisgaar's issues with death or more specifically death where Toki is concerned.

In season one when Toki has a bit of a breakdown and Pickles suggest they kill him, Skwisgaar looks tense and uncomfortable and says that he doesn't like the idea because it's a lot and it makes him feel not so good. In a deleted scene where the band watch Nascar together Pickles ask Toki and Skwisgaar if they were supposed to be dead or in jail or something because it's the same episode where they got shit faced and got into a high speed chase. Skwisgaar when responding about it changes the word dead/death out for sleep, stating they were supposed to be put to sleep but just had to do community service instead (Toki corrects that it was jail, not being put to sleep). In the deleted IKEA scene when Toki stressed says maybe the two of them should just kill themselves Skwisgaar immediately freaks out and later when they return to Nathan and Murderface they both look super emotionally fucked up and when Nathan ask if they had been crying Toki gets defensive and says no while Skwisgaar beginning to cry again says they had been crying. Then of course after Toki ruins Skwisgaar's reputation and becomes Magnus Jr. for a few weeks and ends up having a panic attack and making an ass of himself....Skwisgaar thinks he's having a heart attack and freaks the fuck out terrified that he's dying.

Then finally for a compilation of Skwisgaar not handling Toki dying well; in Doomstar before they go in to save Toki Skwisgaar makes the sorrowful comment that sometimes he wonders if they should have stayed a one guitar band. It isn't him being a dick, he isn't saying this isn't worth it. He's saying essentially that Toki was stabbed, kidnapped and possibly murdered and it's completely his fault; if he hadn't taken Toki in then none of this would have happened. Which immediately leads me to believe that post the funeral episode that Skwisgaar spent those months high and drunk and late at night blaming himself for Toki being taken/murdered. That's a lot of blame to put onto yourself and to say its your fault solely because a few years ago you took this kid in off the streets is honestly heart breaking.

Early on in the series there's an episode where Toki's pissed that he isn't seen as Skwisgaar's musical equal, he wants solos, and Skwisgaar turns him down. Which through the series and within that episode itself we easily learn why Skwisgaar never gives him a solo; Toki has performance anxiety and he never practices and quite honestly knows almost nothing about guitar. It's valid. Either way in this particular episode Toki gets pissed and decides he wants to take lessons, Skwisgaar offers and Toki turns him down because last time they tried...he kind of just ended up beating the shit out of Skwisgaar. (to be fair don't dump a bucket of blood on your friend's head) So he goes off and finds an elderly man to teach him how to play guitar, Murderface being a dick decides to tell Skwisgaar that Toki is super good at guitar now and.....Skwisgaar doesn't react well. He gets pissed off and has nightmares about Toki becoming better than him. He even confronts Toki and his guitar teacher and threatens to kick him out of the band. When he realizes at the end of the episode that Toki is still....really not great with music....he's chill again, everything is forgiven.

I kind of think that episode is a reason people perceived Skwisgaar as a dick or is one reason, but honestly he isn't being a dick. I mean sure, a bit, but they're all dicks. The thing is guitar is a crutch for Skwisgaar, it is super important to him and he doesn't know who he is without his guitar, without his music. So somebody else threatening to take that from him freaks him out and he reacts poorly to it.

Then we get to near the end of the show when the same issue arises except completely different. Toki again later in the series ask Skwisgaar for a solo and Skwisgaar annoyed refuses him, Toki being the mild psycho shit that he is decides to just kind of ruin his life as revenge. Again by this point in the show its kind of obvious if you actually pay attention at all that Skwisgaar keeps telling him he can't have solos because Toki never fucking practices and even in the studio Skwisgaar has to record most of the rhythm guitar parts. He's also known since Toki's audition that the kid is prone to choking up and making mistakes, so he's technically protecting him without just outright confronting him.

Toki writes a book calling out Skwisgaar as an abusive tyrant and an over dramatic bitch. Admittedly Skwisgaar is a slight diva and just like the rest of them can be a total asshole, admittedly to a lesser degree than the others. What's really fucking interesting for me personally about this episode is that Skwisgaar is catatonic and depressed for 99% of it. He doesn't speak. This starts literally the second that Toki releases his book saying that Skwisgaar abuses him, this is before Skwisgaar's career goes down the toilet, his career hadn't been impacted by this yet.

Skwisgaar falls to pieces because Toki, Toki who he's known since he was just sixteen and took in off the streets and they're always practically attached at the hip and have been since day one just released a book calling him an abusive monster.

I do have a feeling one reason this fucked him up is because he might be terrified that he's turning into Magnus without realizing it, that perhaps he has become an abusive monster and has been making Toki feel the way that Magnus made him feel towards the end of his time in Dethklok. I think there also is probably something soul crushing about the person you love platonically or otherwise referring to you very publicly as abusive. Of course all of this worsens when Skwisgaar's career begins to fall to shit, eventually towards the end when Toki is at the top of his ego trip being a prick Skwisgaar does confront him, that in itself is interesting.

Skwisgaar goes in way calmer than I would be in that situation, sure he gets pissed off as they bicker, but again he's waaayyyy fucking calmer than anybody else would be especially since Toki just yells at him through the entire conversation. Of course interestingly is that Toki perceives Skwisgaar in a way that isn't entirely true, he thinks Skwisgaar mocks him and thinks of him as nothing which isn't true at all, when he says Skwisgaar laughed at him he just responds that he never did that and he sounds slightly hurt by that. They're both hurt and none of these men are good with healthy emotions. Skwisgaar never loses his shit on him in the entire conversation, he looks like he could easily go ape shit but instead warns him that the audience will eat him alive the second he fucks up.

Which turns out to be true, Toki fucks up and people begin turning against him which leads to him having a severe panic attack. Like I mentioned before Skwisgaar thinks he's dying and tries to save him, scared out of his fucking mind at the concept of Toki dying. Which....the dude just spent several weeks treating you like garbage and calling you a monster who abuses him, if Skwisgaar was actually a shitty person then he would have laughed at him or mocked him or given him shit about this moment for years to come....but he doesn't do any of that. He is worried about saving him, probably terrified that if Toki dies then their last conversation was a fight.

Their dynamic changes a lot after this, not in a way that's overly obvious unless you watch it closely. They spend a lot less time together and what feels almost out of character initially in Dethcamp is....Skwisgaar easily going along with Murderface and bitching about Toki, because....again can't stress the Scandinavian dudes are always attached at the hip and now suddenly he's easily saying mean shit about Toki. It feels weird until you remember that not long before this they had a massive fight, Toki called him abusive and momentarily ruined his career and most likely afterwards tried to act like nothing happened at all while Skwisgaar probably wasn't capable of doing that.

Occasionally in season four Skwisgaar and Toki will sit together or stand together, still talk or have that physical closeness but it's far between and you see Toki spend a majority of his time with the toxic trio: Murderface, Rockso, and Magnus. Skwisgaar spends his time typically with Murderface and Pickles then near the end spends most of his time with Nathan.

Skwisgaar is a person who grew up in a home lacking affection and love or safety, he didn't grow up with examples of love or healthy relationships and as far as he's concerned relationships are a waste of time and energy because they all end the same.

Of course for as much as he says that, as they all say that....it's bull shit. He cares deeply about his bands and him trying to act near the end like Dethklok was just another gig it isn't, these people are his close friends and his only real family. Seeing Pickles and Nathan fall apart wrecked him and having Toki turn on him so easily gutted him. Skwisgaar is a super emotionally fragile person, he seems absolutely terrified of showing anger or aggression as if it's something he's never been comfortable with or learned when he was young gets you nowhere or perhaps there were men around who were violent and loud and it made him scared to ever be that way. He's the only one of the band we never see really lose his shit or be randomly aggressive and violent, he also strangely enough cries the most out of them canonically. People always make the assumption Toki cries a lot, but like canonically he cries waaayyyy fucking less than Skwisgaar.

I really find Skwisgaar interesting....clearly and this analysis might be a jumbled mess, but there's strangely a lot of things to unpack and things I probably didn't even touch on as much as I could have, because this is already insanely long. I have a deep appreciation of him rewatching this show now that I'm older and far more into analyzing works of fiction.

I hope that this was remotely coherent.

#metalocalypse #skwisgaar skwigelf #character analysis #character psychology

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i-moved-blogs-ffs · 3 years

Note

Danganronpa request can a reader who is really kind and a sweetheart adopt the warriors of hope and helpem to forget they traumas and also can the reader beat the hell up the warriors of hope parents after everything they done to those innocents children's please

Of course, my darling! I love the WoH so much- I adopted them too, they're your adoptive siblings now so you all gotta get along ok-

These are probably gonna spiral into parenting headcanons because I cannot help myself- just let these kiddos have a happy home life man- :(

TW for mentions of abuse. It's nothing explicit, but it can be upsetting to some. Please be cautious.

Anyways, let's get started!

- 🌸🍭mod mikan🍭🌸

S/O adopting the WoH!

Now, we all know these kiddos had a bad time.

They were all abused in different ways, neglected, put down to the lowest point they could be.

Junko was like a light at the end of the tunnel for them, a savior - someone who cared, someone who they could trust, someone who loved them. But it was all lies.

She didn't care.

They couldn't trust her.

She didn't love them.

But then, you came around. At first, they thought you were like every other demon; evil, cold and uncaring.

And yet, there was this warmth radiating off of you... Almost like another light they could chase to get to true joy.

After Komaru and Toko defeated each of them, they felt lost. What were they supposed to do now that their empire has failed? Were the adults going to punish them, by abusing and taking advantage of them even further?

The group wandered the streets of Towa City, alone, hiding from every adult they could see and fending for themselves.

However, they stumbled upon you and Komaru. You two have been actively looking for them after finding out they survived.

But the reason why you were looking for them, was pretty unexpected.

You wanted to take them in as your own. They were just kids after all, no matter how much they tried to make themselves seem bigger. You wanted to help them, teach them that not everyone will hurt them, because they deserve to be loved like any other child does.

And so, they went with you. Very reluctantly mind you, but they didn't have much of a choice.

And as time went on, they opened up to you, one by one. And soon, you guys became like a happy family.

Somewhat dysfunctional, but still happy family.

Ok so, origin story's out of the way, now let's get in a bit deeper-

Parenting the Warriors is pretty hard- they each have something about themselves that you need to keep in mind.

And besides, taking care of 5 children wouldn't be easy even if they weren't traumatized-

You have to be patient, warm and kind to them, and to you that's no problem!

I would imagine Masaru would be the first to let his guard down around you, because he could tell that you weren't a bad person from the start.

He would start to admire you greatly, seeing you as the only cool adult around!!

He's always trying to impress you or get your attention because of that. And you always give him praise, telling him he's the most awesome kiddo ever!!

He always gets a bit bashful when you do, scratching his head as an "awhh, shucks!", escaping his lips.

He's very fond of you! He wants to do the things you do, like trying out your hobbies or imitating your mannerisms. He just wants to be as cool as you are.

While it is cute, you have to teach him that he's only the best when he's himself!

Kotoko was probably the second to open up. The first thing she noticed is that you never, ever used her trigger word in a sentence, not even on accident. You always used words like "soft", "tender" or "mallow", maybe even "delicate".

Not me looking up synonyms on thesaurus.com rn shHDHS

Like Masaru, her initial gut reaction always told her you were a good person, but the walls she had built up just couldn't let you in right away.

And when she does get comfortable, she becomes super clingy. She's almost as fond of you as Masaru is, honestly-

She always goes to you for any sort of help. She feels like you're the only person she can trust 100%, whether it be with her feelings or some other problem.

You're like- the only person who she's super nice to all the time. She used to be like that with Monaca, until you took them in.

Actually, speaking of that, they completely stopped literally worshipping Monaca's every move once you entered their lives.

Now, next up is Jataro. He initially thought you hated his every move, and that you only took him in because of pity.

But, you were proving him wrong every day. Going out of your way to talk to him, being so incredibly kind that it made his heart hurt.

You always help him out with his art! He loves when you sit down and paint, sculpt or draw with him, even if you're not artistic yourself. He feels like he's wanted, and all of that self-hatred almost completely washes away.

The biggest moment was when you finally convinced him to take off his mask. And when he did, you could tell he was way happier.

You two burned the mask together, leaving that part of his life behind you and turning over a new leaf.

And because of your influence, the rest of the kids are way nicer to him as well now!

Nagisa was the fourth one to take his guard down.

He saw how much Masaru, Kotoko and Jataro trusted you, and after observing you further, he began to see why.

He was always very distant from you, and you respected that. So, you were pleasantly surprised when he suddenly started going out of his way to help you, talk to you or spend time with you. However, you never questioned it, which made him relieved.

It's like you two silently agreed that you were cool with eachother.

He's very mature for his age, so he's the first one to try and help you with regular day-to-day tasks, even without you asking for said help.

Mans over here about to start doing your taxes HDHDH-

You always tell him to chill out, but he insists. He knows how much trouble he and his adoptive siblings are making for you, and it's his own way of thanking you.

Now, Monaca's a little interesting.

At first she was only pretending to care about you, like she did with the rest of the Warriors, but after a while she genuinely grew to love both you and her siblings.

She doesn't like the fact she cares one bit, but she can't help it.

She still has very manipulative tendencies, but you always see through them and her lies. You call her out on it, but never berate her.

She's very kiss ass-y, I guess?? Always complimenting you for the smallest reasons and calling you sweet nicknames.

She sometimes just wants to make you mess up to try and get herself to stop caring-

Like whenever a problem comes up, she always goes, "S/O can fix it!😌🙏 Our (affectionate parental term) dearest can do anything!🥰💞" and the rest of the kids are like "yah!!💖💕" because they love and support you while you're just there like🧍

Because no you can't rebuild the economy do you look like bob the fucking builder-

AnywaY their parents are already dead, so you guys beat up H*ji instead. :)

Ah, family bonding time. 💕

And done!! I love these little spawns of satan so much you guys don't even know- this was literally so fun to write that I think I got carried away a bit hshGhd- I hope this is ok!

Make sure to wash your hands, stay hydrated, take any meds you may need to and stay safe! You were so brave, have a lollipop! 🍭

#nurse!🍭#mod nurse🍭#mod mikan🍭#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa ultra despair girls #ultra despair girls x reader #masaru daimon #kotoko utsugi #jataro kemuri #nagisa shingetsu #monaca towa

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purpleyellow · 3 years

Text

Industry (un)locked

Seventeen 14th member

Hayun’s masterlist

“The interview that never got posted”

Requested by: anon

disclaimer? I’m obviously not an idol nor have any relation to the kpop industry. all of this is purely made up :) idk if this was needed but its here just in case

a/n: Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Requests are open! 💙

*italics represents actions*bold and italic is the person leading the interview*

Hayun steps inside the white studio and heads to the chair in front of all the cameras. She signalizes with a thumbs up to the producers that they're good to start.

“Kim Hayun. Born on June 15th, 1996. Debuted on May 26th, 2015. Current member of co-ed group Seventeen”.

“That's me” Hayun points at herself and then at the camera, making finger guns and getting some staff members to laugh.

“We'd like to remind you that whatever is said inside this room is fully confidential, so you may speak as much as you want to and as freely as you can”

“Well, I like to talk a lot, so you might regret telling me that”

“Simple question to get started, if you could go back and meet fifteen/sixteen-year-old Hayun, would you talk her out of being an idol or encourage her to do so”

“That's not a simple question, and you know it” Hayun laughs getting herself comfortable on the high chair. “I remember as a kid always asking for my parents to give me siblings, and especially missing them as I grew a bit older and didn't have anyone to keep me company after school. You can say being around people my age, or anyone who I can connect with is my number one source of energy. So I would encourage her to do it, because I know she really needs the thirteen brothers she's getting after that. But maybe I'd tell her she's not the amazing inspiring celebrity she thinks she is”.

“What would you say your relationship with Pledis Entertainment has been like, since you joined the company to now?”

“You're sure this isn't going to get leaked, right? The trainee period sucks for everyone, you have to dedicate a lot of time, energy, and discipline in order to be able to reach this insanely high standards. And I guess we're all aware of how though Pledis is with their trainees, so it's safe to say I didn't have much in me back then to develop any kind of relation with the higher ups. I do remember they used to decide most things behind my back. Like one day I arrived at the building and the CEO said 'You're moving to the Pledis Boys side' which was fine, but I could have used that information a few days prior or something. And even after that, when I brought something up to them, they would tell me they would think about the topic. And if they ever decided something, they would set one of the boys aside and tell them what they decided, so that boy could come and tell me”.

“That got better over time, though there's this weird relation between the group and the company, where we're completely free when it comes to the creative side of business. Yet the moment something more serious needs to be decided it's like they forget who makes up Seventeen. I understand from a corporate point off view they can't have a bunch of random kids in their 20s deciding what to do on a crisis. But they also can't push aside what Seventeen's message is and the picture we're trying to create. At the end of the day, I can't shake off the feeling that inside those big offices, some of those men only see us as a product they're trying to sell”.

“Would you think of leaving Pledis Entertainment?”

“I'm staying wherever the boys are, I don't really care where that is”

“How do you deal with hate?”

“Nowadays I'm one of that kind of people who simply doesn't care. After being bombarded with hundreds of comments from people who didn't know me but shared an opinion on where I should be and what kind of behavior I should have, I learned how to ignore everything and not engage in any conversation surrounding my work. That sucks, because I also don't have access to most of the nice and constructive things people say about me. But honestly it's something I decided to let go after I realized that negativity was getting in the way of how I communicated with other people, and how I saw myself as someone who always had to prove being better at something”.

“So you don't read what's being said about you online?”

“Most things I don't. I usually engage in conversations on Weverse which is slightly more controlled, and sometimes the boys show me some nice comments left on YouTube videos. Besides looking at cat videos, I'm pretty much dissociated with most social media”.

“Do you think that's something being an idol took away from you, or were you never that into technology?”.

“It's definitely something I had to adapt to due to being on the spotlight. As a kid I always enjoyed going on random spaces and making online friends, even if we only talked to each other once and that was it.”

“You don't look for what people have to say about you. But do you ever feel like you're not totally free to do whatever you want?”

“Honestly, yes. There's always going to have that little voice in the back of my head telling me how many young adults and even children are watching me and by association I'm helping them form their own view of the world. That's pretty scary to be honest because who am I? You know? Sometimes I want to do dumb things and less frequently I simply do dumb things because what there is to lose? But if a child comes and asks to do the same things I want to, I'll tell them no, because their life is too precious for me to let them do reckless activities”.

“What kid of dumb things are you talking about?”

“Sometimes I wake up and feel like bungee jumping. Or like, taking my car and driving without any coordinates for a really long period of time. Getting really drunk and smashing some plates around. Trying out parkour and busting my knees up because I don't know how to do that. I guess the best way to describe it being random rather than dumb”.

“So you're scared of what people might think of doing after you grant your personal wishes?”.

“I guess so. Since I'm not a parent, I shouldn't take responsibility over what others think and do. But part of me will always think about those kids alone in their homes, watching our content to pass their time and being shaped by the things we say and do. I also feel bad sometimes because I'm not the smartest person in the world, so I can't give them a detailed philosophical thought of how much their lives are worth and how they are the ones that make their own future”.

“Do you feel unprepared to be an idol when it comes to this topic?”.

“Well, yes. I'm just a twenty six-year-old who acts mostly over her instincts and fears of letting life pass by her. It's scary to think about children wanting to be like me. I remember during our training, we also learned a lot about how to behave and all of that, but it never sunk in how much responsibility it takes to be someone's 'Idol'. I try not to think about it too much to be honest, my wishful thinking brain likes to imagine that everyone knows how to draw a line between Hayun working her idol job and Hayun living her life”.

“Lastly, do you regret being in the kpop industry?”

“No, just because it gave me the family that I need. I sound really dorky talking about them, but that Hayun, before meeting Seventeen, had no future in mind and no support system strong enough to carry her around. I would not be able to face all of this alone in a million years, and I hope I never have to”.

#Hayun #seventeen 14th member #seventeen oc #svt au #seventeen au #Seventeen Additional Member #seventeen addition #seventeen female addition #seventeen female member #seventeen female oc #kpop female member #kpop female oc #kpop female addition

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miraculouswolf99 · 3 years

Text

Field Trip To Greece

My own take on the Field Trip salt stories that usually are crossovers with Batman and have Damienette. But this is my version with them going to Greece and involves my OCs Lyon and Vallia Garden.

*****

“Mari, Mari, MARI,” Adrien basically yelled into his friend’s ear.

Marinette woke up with a jolt in her bus seat.

“What,” she groaned, never being much of a morning person.

“We’re almost at the sanctuary, so I figured to wake you up,” Adrien smiled at his friend.

“Thanks and curse how fast this bus is,” Marinette said.

“And curse Hawkmoth for late night akumas,” Adrien suggested.

“That to,” Marinette agreed. “Even in Greece, he still finds a way to annoy us in Paris.”

“Well, you brought the horse miraculous for a reason,” Adrien said.

“How are you not tired,” Marinette questioned him.

“I’ve always been a morning person,” Adrien shrugged. “Blame my father for a lot of early morning photoshoots.”

“I’d slap your father if it did not mean risking my future as a fashion designer in the process,” Marinette says.

After revealing themselves to each other after Miracle Queen, the two had developed a more brother-sister relationship. They both thought that it would be better for them to know each other after having all their allies exposed to Hawkmoth and Mayura. They joked around, teased each other, and also always had each others backs.

Having each other’s backs certainly helped them when Lila’s lies got worse. After Chloe had willingly helped Hawkmoth, she had been sent to a private reformatory school in Sweden. Lila took the opportunity to tell more of her lies, saying that she had been telling her “best friend” Ladybug to keep the Bee miraculous away from Chloe for months. And just like everything else Lila ever said, their class ate it up like it was their last meal.

Adrien had joined Marinette almost immediately after he made his “deal with the devil” in order to get her back into school. He threw himself off the “high road” the moment that Marinette told him that Lila threatened her. But even with him backing up Marinette every time she caught inconsistencies in Lila’s tales, there were still few that actually believed them. Some even went as far as scolding Marinette for her “brainwashing Adrien” into thinking that Lila was a liar.

Kim, Juleka, and Nathaniel were the only ones that stayed loyal to their friends. Especially since Marinette had done so much for them in the past. Like curing Juleka of her photo curse, helping Nathaniel get together with Marc, and Kim had been her friend since they were in diapers. With their group was also Kagami, Luka, Marc, Aurore, and Mireille. The rest of Bustier’s class was pretty much made up of Lila’s attack dogs.

What annoyed Adrien the most was how his so-called best friend. Nino may be siding with his girlfriend, Alya being Lila’s biggest supporter/attack dog, but that also meant he was part of the problem. He certainly never helped Adrien when Lila would constantly hold onto his arm no matter how many times he told her to let go. It was driving Adrien crazy and he was very close to taking Plagg up on his offer to Cataclysm the liar.

“I bet the garden is going to be beautiful,” Juleka says, her seat next to the two heroes.

She was sitting next to Nathaniel while Kim was in the seat in front of Adrien and Marinette. They were all in the seats at the back of the bus.

“I heard that the Garden Family Sanctuary is ranked as an unofficial wonder of the world,” Nathaniel said.

“Anyone else find it odd that a nature sanctuary is run by a family with Garden as their last name,” Kim asked.

“I think this is one of those ‘don’t think about it too much’ times,” Marinette shrugged.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Adrien was glad to be back.

“You’ve been here before,” Juleka asked.

“There was a charity fashion show here about a year before my mother disappeared,” Adrien explained. “I was here with my parents for it.”

“Did you meet any of the animals here,” Kim looked excited. “I heard that they let any animals here roam free even when they have events or tours here.”

“The animals do roam around the sanctuary as they wish,” Adrien says. “But the Garden family and all their employees work hard to tame all their animals privately to make sure that even the predators do not harm anyone. They spend months to years taming them before releasing them into the main part of the sanctuary.”

“It really sounds like an amazing place,” Marinette said.

“I can’t wait to draw some of the animals,” Nathaniel already had out his sketchpad. “Marc requested I draw him the most amazing animal that I see. No pressure. Haha.”

Juleka patted his shoulder, but her obviously hiding her laughter made her attempt to comfort him fail.

But, as usual, their good moods had to be ruined by the Italian that never seemed to go five minutes without hearing the sound of her own voice. And, also as usual, she was spouting her nonsense. They were very close to throwing her out the back of the bus if she did not stop talking.

“Of course I know the Garden family,” Lila brags, lying through her teeth. “They are basically family to me.”

“Here we go again,” the five friends groaned.

“The mother and her two daughters mostly handle the plants,” Lila continues. “The father and their son handle the animals. It’s only natural since they are the only ones that can stomach having to put down the more dangerous animals.”

“Tell us more, Lila,” Alya was recording the entire time.

Adrien growled. “There has never been a case of an animal being put down at the sanctuary. The closest that comes to that is when an animal gets sick and there is nothing they can do to help it.”

“They have to put it out of its misery, don’t they,” Marinette asked.

Adrien nodded. “The youngest two Gardens speak fluent French, so I was able to spend some time with kids my own age during the fashion show. They told me that while it breaks their hearts, it is better than letting the animal suffer.”

“I can see where they come from for that,” Juleka says. “They love, take care of, and train all the animals. So it’s only natural that they form a bond with them.”

“I know I am not the brightest person in class, but how can they believe such crap,” Kim shook his head. “Whenever anyone even slightly mentions someone famous, she instantly says she is either best friends with them or somehow related to them. It’s impossible.”

“Tell that to the sheep that follow her around like she’s god’s gift to the world,” Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Makes you wonder if we really are the only ones in class with braincells,” Nathaniel, of all people, said.

The bus doors opened as it came to a full stop at the sanctuary. Bustier was the first out and the class followed her. They all first went into the sanctuary. And even from what little they could see from where they were, it already was one of the most beautiful places any of them have ever seen.

Trees, flowers, and even fruit and vegetable plants were growing as far as their eyes could see. The entire sanctuary also seemed to be covered by a glass dome, making an environment similar to a greenhouse. It made sense since there were probably plants in certain areas that needed to be grown in certain temperatures.

But today the dome’s windows were open, letting in the natural light of the sun, even if it looked like squares on the ground because of the dome’s window linings.

As Bustier lead them to a stop, two teen their age approached the group. Adrien recognized his two penpals. The ones he met in Greece when he was there for the fashion show. Lyon and Vallia Garden.

Vallia was quite beautiful and had a grace and elegance to her style. She had long blond hair braided with roses and butterflies and had pink streaks. Her eyes were a stunning silver that you could see, if you were close enough, had specks of blue in them. Her style was a red, pink, and purple dawn colored dress with gold flats. On her wrists were diamond rose cuff bracelets, a butterfly on the one on her right wrist.

Lyon gave off a very icy exterior that also screamed honor and loyalty that only a knight would have. A tall boy with hair that was black with streaks of white and blue in it, coming to the length of Adrien's. His eyes were the opposite of the girl's, blue with silver specks. His outfit of choice was a sky blue t-shirt under a white jean vest, matching the blue pants with white boots. On his hands were white fingerless gloves. Around his neck was a sword and shield pendant as well as a white cloak only going down to his knees.

They all also saw that the two did have crystal medallions on their foreheads. Vallia’s was a rose quartz butterfly and Lyon’s was a sapphire wolf.

“Your pen pals are hot, Adrien,” Marinette smirked as she saw her honorary brother staring at Lyon.

“Shut up,” Adrien grumbled, making Marinette giggle.

Bustier turns to the class. “These two are going to be our guides through the sanctuary. Please show them the proper amount of respect since they are the ones that work here.”

Lyon and Vallia gave the teacher the side-eye. While they technically did work there, their family owned the sanctuary and it was like Bustier had completely forgot about that and thought that they were just employees of the sanctuary.

“Shouldn’t we be guided by adults,” Mylene asked, trying not to sound offensive to the two teens.

“We’re your tour guides because we are the only ones here fluent in French,” Lyon told the class, his French flawless.

Adrien hid that he was chuckling behind his hand. He knew the twins were fluent, but the looks on his classmate’s faces when Lyon spoke in French was just so funny.

“Before we begin, let us introduce ourselves,” Vallia said, also switching to French. “My name is Vallia and this is my twin brother, Lyon.”

“Please also take note of a few rules of the sanctuary,” Lyon says. “While the animals here have been tamed, do not touch or interact with them without permission. Certain movements or actions could cause them to badly react. They are all also on specific diets, so do not feed them unless we give you food to give them.”

“The plants should also all remain untouched,” Vallia added. “There are certain plants here that are not native to the area and survive here only because we created the right environments for them. Especially the ghost orchid. There are barely even 2000 ghost orchid plants left in the world and they need to remain here so that they do not go extinct.”

Most of the class nodded, understanding the rules. Lila hid how annoyed she was at not being able to take whatever beautiful plant she wants or touch any cute animal that she sees.

The tour than began, the class following the twins deeper into the sanctuary. Already they were starting to see a ton of the animals that lived there. There were some animals of Greek origins. Such as brown bears, red deer, lynxes, rock lizards, weasels, and wild boar. There were also more international animals. Like white-tailed deer from North America, jaguars from South America, pandas from China, African panthers and lions, Indian tigers, horses from Canada, even komodo dragons from Indonesia. And that was just the beginning.

“The Garden Family Sanctuary was founded almost a hundred years ago by siblings Apollo and Persephone Garden,” Lyon says. “Having been named after the god of the healing and the goddess of flowers, they had always loved helping nature and animals.”

“They started out with an animal shelter that took in any and all animals,” Vallia continued for her brother. “They had a very clear rule about being a no-kill shelter. The more popular they became, the more room they needed. And since they already came from a rich family, they bought more land. And over the years, it grew into the sanctuary you see today.”

“With the amount of animals and plants coming, there has been chat about buying land on another island to expand the sanctuary,” Lyon said. “Which means more area to protect from smugglers and poachers.”

“Your French is very good,” Marinette compliments them.

“Thank you, we’ve had years of practice,” Vallia says.

“It helped when we hosted a few French fashion designers here a few years ago for a charity fashion show,” Lyon said.

Adrien caught the smirk that Lyon sent his way. It made the blond blush.

The group continued walking through the sanctuary. A few of the animals curiously looked at the group, but chose not to get near them. There were a few did cuddle up to the twins, who happily petted them before sending them away with a treat in their mouth.

But even as the twins tried to talk about the sanctuary, Lila was still telling her lies as the classmates not under her spell surrounded her. They listened to her more than they did their actual tour guides.

“Yeah, poachers and smugglers try to get in all the time,” she was saying. “The first time I was here, I saw one and tried to tell the employees and they didn’t believe me. They certainly did after I single-handedly stopped him from taking a rare blue tiger.”

“That is so cool, Lila,” Rose unknowingly encouraged more lying.

“They should make you a partner here if you caught a poacher that they did not even know was there,” Alya said.

“They wanted to, but my mother said I was too young to be part of a business,” Lila says.

Adrien saw the twins look at each other as they hear what is being said. He knew that while the two were mostly quiet around those they do not know, other than when they gave tours, they would definitely not take liars sitting down. They were extremely protective of their family, which was why Lyon practiced archery while Vallia is an expert with the bo-staff.

“The Garden family would never offer someone outside of the family a part of the sanctuary,” Lyon stated, making the class look at him.

“We would appreciate you not tell such tall tales about such a charitable family,” Vallia crossed her arms. “They are well-respected by all of Greece and do not deserve to have such lies told about them.”

The class looked very insulted at the accusation of Lila being a liar, which happened whenever anyone said that. It happened more than you think since Bustier’s class was the only one in the entire school that actually believed her. Everyone else knew that Lila was nothing but a liar.

“Something tells me that things are about to get interesting,” Juleka whispered to the rest of their group.

“You’re the one that knows them, Adrien,” Marinette says. “What do you think they’ll do?”

“I’ve been in contact with them for years,” Adrien said. “And from all I know about them, it’s a slight miracle that Lyon hasn’t already threatened to shoot her with an arrow.”

“Does he do that often,” Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

“Only to those that really anger him, really annoy him, or threaten his family,” Adrien said. “But that last part also includes the sanctuary and all of the animals kept here.”

“Guess we should be thankful that he doesn’t have them on him right now,” Kim says. “Even if he could get rid of our liar problem with a single shot.”

“Lyon was actually scouted by the coach of the Greek Olympian archery team,” Adrien tells them. “But Lyon doesn’t like competition. He says that they are nothing but barbaric events meant to to do nothing but enlarge egos and decrease braincells.”

“Can are class even lose what they don’t have,” Marinette smirked.

All of them laughed at her joke. When Marinette got sassy and sarcastic, it was hilarious. She could sass-talk like nobody’s business.

“Haw dare you,” Lila put a hand over her heart and then started up the crocodile tears again. “How could you be so mean to me?”

That was when her sheep glared at the twins.

“Lila is not a liar,” Alya was her main supporter as usual. “You’re nothing but simple employees. I bet you do not even know the Garden family. Lila, on the other hand, is basically an honorary member of their family.”

Both twins crossed their arms this time, staring down the class.

“Let us fully introduce ourselves,” Lyon narrowed his eyes at them. “My name is Lyon Garden and this is my twin sister, Vallia Garden. Our family owns this sanctuary and neither of us nor the rest of their family have ever met this girl.”

Adrien was seriously smirking at this point. He had seen this coming and was very glad that it had finally was. Especially since Lila did not even get the number of family members right. There were two Garden parents, but the children were another story. Lyon and Vallia were the youngest of the family, but Vallia was the only girl and they had two older brothers.

“You’re probably just lying to make Lila look bad because you’re jealous,” Alix glared at the twins. “She’s connected to the Gardens while you are not.”

“Don’t believe us, we don’t care, but we do have a friend in your class that knows who we are,” Vallia giggled. “Isn’t that right, Adrien?”

The sheep looked at the model. He only smirked as he joined Lyon and Vallia’s side.

“You two certainly know how to make an impression,” Adrien tells them, chuckling.

“If we really wanted to make an impression, I would have started at my favorite wolf den,” Lyon snickered. “But I would have been too tempted to order my wolves to eat them.”

Adrien laughed at the looks of horror on his classmates’ faces.

“If you guys haven’t figured it out, it was my family that the twins were talking about before,” Adrien says. “We were the ones that came here for the charity fashion show. It was great to meet the two youngest members of the Garden family.”

“So these are the sheep that follow that liar like lost puppies,” Vallia looked at Adrien. “The liar that doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer?”

“Got it in one, Vallia,” Adrien says. “And she’s been telling lies about your family since this field trip started. She even said that your family was three girls and two boys.”

The twins rolled their eyes.

“Wow,” Lyon shook his head. “Vallia might wish she had a sister, it’s just us and our two older brothers with our parents.”

Vallia playfully slapped her brother’s shoulder.

While Adrien took his two friends over to the rest of his group to introduce them, the rest of the class finally seemed to get that Lila did indeed lie to them. They turned on her like lions on an antelope and started yelling at her for lying to them.

The twins made mental notes to contact their parents about needing to sue a girl for slander and defamation.

#ml salt #alya salt #lila salt #Lila exposed #original character #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom

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enthusiasticharry · 4 years

Text

Baby Steps

summary: you’re harry’s sons therapist, and he isn't the only one you end up helping.

word count: hi! it has been a long while since I’ve posted on here so I hope you enjoy this 8.6k piece of pure fluff and smut!

masterlist | asks

As a child, Harry had never been given many opportunities to freely express himself. He grew up in a rural area where the sheep overruled the people and the only extra-circular activity available was playing football at the park with his friends that weren’t truly his friends. He was only a mere teenager when he decided that whenever he had kids, he would give them as many opportunities as possible.

He tried in school, don’t discourage him about that, but it didn’t work out as planned. That’s how he ended up working within the company he did. He started from the bottom, working 9 to 5 within a cubicle everyday until he had worked up to become chief editor. He had his own office, with his name written on a plaque upon the door and his photos sat upon the desk. It made day to day that little bit more enjoyable.

“Finishing early today, Mr. Styles?” Genevieve asked, watching as he closes his door behind him.

“Yes, I am.” He smiles politely, “It’s been in the calendar for weeks.”

“I’ve noticed.” He knew she hadn’t. Genevieve was okay at her job, he supposed. She was an apprentice the company had hired straight out of university and of course he didn’t mind that she was still finding her feet, “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Styles.”

“You too, Genevieve.” He nods his head at the girl and walks towards the exit.

At the ripe age of twenty-eight, Harry knew that he still had his entire life ahead of him but at the same time he was pretty content. He had his job, his small town house and more importantly his son, Theo. He hadn’t expected his girlfriend of a couple of months to get pregnant but in his mind he knew what had happened and that it was something that the two of them had to take responsibility for, but she didn’t think the same thing. Harry had loved her, and he had hoped that she had loved him and their son as much as he did but it just wasn’t meant to be. He had suspected that she was going to leave, he just hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of the night whilst their son was a month old and still nursing.

It was the following morning that Harry knew that he was going try his damned hardest to be the best Father possible for his son, try to give him the world and everything good that came along with it.

“Harry!” Mrs. Walters, the woman who lives next door exclaims as she throws the door open, “Please come in.”

“Hi Mrs. Walters.” He smiles, following the elderly woman into the living room, “Has he been good today?”

“We had a little disagreement at nap time but apart from that he’s been perfect!”

“I’m glad to hear it. He’s never been the biggest fan of naps.”

Just seeing Theo’s little face light up as he walked into the room was enough reason to keep his heart beating for centuries. Theo was the absolute double of Harry, and he could even see it himself. Even at three years old he had his father’s green eyes and curly brown hair and it was another thing that caused his love for his little man to grown everyday.

“Dada!” He toddled over to his father, only just starting to feel confident upon his feet, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s legs, his chunky cheeks pressed against his shin.

“Hi bubba.” He picks his son up and rests him upon his hip, “Did you have a nice day with Mrs. West?”

Theo nods and drops his head down upon Harry’s shoulder with a light sigh of content.

“He’s been amazing, Harry, don’t worry.” The older woman drops her head to Harry’s free shoulder, “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Mrs. West.”

Theo’s little hand rests comfortably within Harry’s as they walk through the door of community centre, his little feet tapping upon the wood in his trainers.

“Harry! Theo!” You exclaim, walking over to the two of them with a large smile across your face, “I’m so glad you could make it this week!”

“Yeah. Sorry about last week, I couldn’t get out of work on time and then once I did he wasn’t in the best of moods.”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s totally fine, we understand that you can’t make every week.”

Harry nods his head.

“Anyway.” You have a nice smile and it was probably the first thing that Harry noticed about you when you met, “We’re just about to get started.”

Harry sits down, crossing his legs as he does so. Theo drops down upon his father’s lap straight afterwards, his face pressed into the material of Harry’s crisp white dress shirt. Harry’s eyes bounce to look over the other children, the ones who acted similarly too Theo when they first joined. They all either sat in their parents laps comfortably or on the floor now, not one with a flicker of anxiousness across their features.

Theo and Harry have attended three of these sessions to help with confidence, and Theo had only just started to leave his shell in the last twenty minutes of the last session they went to and now it felt as though Harry had messed everything up again. He felt as though they were back to square one.

Then he feels a hand upon his shoulder.

“Its okay.” You smile, squeezing gently, “He’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

He will be, Harry knows that.

Another week had passed and Harry was yet again sat in a circle in the children’s room of the community centre with Theo sat upon his lap. Harry felt a little more at ease this week, since his little boy sat forward with a small, very small smile on his lips as he looked at… you? You hadn’t been there to greet them like you were last week, and he certainly hadn’t had the chance to say hello yet. It had been a warm-ish day today and Harry concluded that was probably why you were wearing a cute yellow sundress with small white flowers on it, something he had never seen you in before. You still wore your smile, Harry had noticed.

“Today.” You always overplayed your facial features to interest the children, “We are all going to write a story together.”

Theo’s little eyes widened in excitement.

“You like that idea, bub?” Harry whispered. Theo nodded.

“So I’ll start.” You touch your chest, “Then we’ll pass to Edith’s mummy and then Edith and we’ll continue that way around the circle!”

Harry and Theo would be third, which wasn’t too bad. He just hoped that Theo would get involved, he loved stories enough to have a mind spiralling with ideas.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there lived a princess…” You start, smiling to the person next within the circle.

“…in a big castle with a swimming pool!”

“She has dog!”

“…called muffin who she loves to play with in the…”

“Park!”

“Then.” Harry started, leaning so that he was speaking to Theo as well as the rest of the group, “One day, something magical appeared in front of her…”

“Dinosaur!”

Harry beams and whispers, “Well done Theo!”

The story finishes with the princess riding the dinosaur along a rainbow, courtesy of the little girl called Tara who finishes the circle. Normally the children disperse the last twenty minutes or so to play amongst themselves whilst the adults talk about what type of week they’ve had. They were doing just that, but today, Harry’s heart stopped at the sight of his little boy sat with little Tara drawing at the tiny desk when usually he just does that on his own.

Harry had honestly never thought that he would be going to group behavioural therapy for his three year old son, but, he promised he would do anything for his little boy.

“Hi everyone.” They were now sat around a table, one fit for adults, whilst a few of your colleagues watched the children, “I’m excited to hear how all your weeks have been!”

Tara’s mum starts, explaining that this week the nursery had phoned up to explain that she hadn’t spoken to anyone at lunchtime but there had been the odd time where she’d had a small conversation with a couple of classmates.

Harry listens to a few others. How Ryan had bit a kid at school the other day, how Delilah refused to say anything for a couple of days that week. Harry had never experienced Theo biting or injuring other kids but he had experienced him shutting down and not speaking to anyone.

“Harry.” You smile, “How has little Theo been this week?”

“He’s, uh, been okay I suppose.” He runs his finger across his bottom lip, “Nothing out of the ordinary. Had an odd hour or so yesterday.”

“Has he made any friends at nursery, yet?”

“No. I don’t think so. I’m trying to get him in everyday but it’s proving to be difficult.”

You smile, “He’ll get there Harry. It might take him a bit longer than normal but he will get there.”

After listening to the other parents, the meeting for that week finishes. Harry waits for Theo to finish his drawing before helping him into his coat. Your words pondered through his mind — he certainly hoped that Theo would get better but it was a walk, not a sprint.

“Hi Theo.” You beam as you walk towards the two, “Can I see your drawing?”

After a few moments of contemplation, he passes the drawing to you.

“Wow! It’s beautiful! Can you draw me one whilst I talk to your Daddy?”

Theo listens to your request and starts on the drawing straight away, picking up colour after colour whilst Harry looks at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“I just wanted to have a quick word, nothing bad, I promise.”

Harry nods.

“Theo is making excellent progress in the program and I’m sure you’ve seen the results for yourself but as you know he is going a little slower than the rest of the kids.”

“If this is because we missed one then it’s completely my fault—”

“It’s not! Don’t think that, it’s not!” You’re quick to say, “I was thinking the other day of ways to help and I remembered that my friend runs a group at the weekend for children that are struggling to cope with the loss of a parent.”

“But I thought he was too young to be affected by that?”

“I thought so too but I did some more research and even though he was very, very young when his mother left, it could still be affecting him.” You swallow and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, “He will have noticed that he doesn’t have two parents and that could be the stem of all of the problems.”

Of course this had run through Harry’s mind a few time but he always brushed it off because he was so young when it happened. The fact that woman might be the reason his son was so quiet and not himself all of the time caused his stomach to flip. He hadn’t seen her since that night but she was still affecting him day upon day and he hated it.

“When is this group?”

“Oh!” You exclaim, happy that he hadn’t just shut the idea down, “It’s on Saturday at ten whilst twelve but you can come and go as you please.”

“Will you be there?” Why had he just asked that? He probably sounded like such a weirdo.

“I will.” You smiled, “Just for you.”

Harry certainly hadn’t expected to spend his Saturday morning sat at upon a bench outside the community centre watching Theo play with other kids. He was surprised how easily Theo had left his shell around all of these kids but he supposed they all had something in common, that they were raised by only one parent.

Another thing he hadn’t expected was to be sat sharing the said bench with you, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Black coffee.” You smile, holding out the cup for him to take.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” You take a sip of your own cup of tea, “He seems to be doing well.”

“I’m really surprised. The last time I saw him gel to someone so quickly was when he met our neighbour, Mrs. West.”

You smile, “It’s good. You’ll be able to figure out which group works the best for you both.”

“Will you be here every week?”

Is he flirting? You certainly weren’t complaining, anyone with eyes could see that Harry is a very handsome man but never in a million years did you think that he would be flirting with you. Maybe he wasn’t even flirting and you were just letting your imagination run a little too wild.

“I—”

“I’m sorry.” He’s quick to say, “What I meant is that he’s comfortable around you, and I would hate for him to loose that sort of comfort.”

“I completely understand.” You nod. So he wasn’t flirting with you. There was a part of you that was sort of disappointed and wished that he had been flirting with you, “Well he seems to be enjoying himself here so how about we slowly introduce him to just coming here. I’ll come for the first couple of weeks so that he’s comfortable.”

“Thank you. I haven’t said that enough but I honestly can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for my son.”

“It’s my job, Harry. I do this for a reason.”

“But you didn’t have to do this. Spend your Saturday morning sat on a bench with me to make sure that Theo is okay. You didn’t have to do this.”

“But I am. I’m doing it because I care about that little boy and I want him to get better. And you’re certainly not bad company.”

Harry smiles and looks away. It probably makes it more obvious that his cheeks are flushing at her words. You have always made Harry nervous, even from the first meeting when he asked whether you could help his son. Was it wrong? Probably. Did he care? No, as far as he knew this crush was harmless and it wasn’t as though it was reciprocated he supposed.

“I know I’m not as exciting at Theo but I do try.”

“I can tell.” You smile, “Was he okay at nursery yesterday?”

“The same I think. Nursery didn’t say anything when I picked him up and they usually do if something happened. Good or bad.”

“That’s good. Some will just ignore the problem. I’ve helped a few parents who have struggled with that.”

“I’m lucky.” He nodded, “We’re lucky.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Theo’s getting better, that’s the most important thing.”

You sigh, “Not Theo. How are you?”

“I’m getting there. I’m taking each day as it comes, I suppose.”

“Do you have people that you talk to?” You ask before immediately trying to retract your question, “I understand if you don’t want to tell me. I can be nosey sometimes.”

“No. It’s fine.” He coughs to clear his voice, his eyes watching as Theo sits in the sand pit with a bucket and spade, “I talk to my mum and sister if there’s anything really wrong.”

“Nobody else?” You’re daring, and your eyebrow raises in nervousness.

“I’m single if that’s what you’re asking.” He chuckles.

Your eyes bug, “Well I—”

“Its okay, YN.” He laughs now, his dimples deepening, “Are you single?”

“I am.” You smile, “I’m glad you have someone to talk to that isn’t your three year old son. It’s important.”

“I know. I kept a lot of it to myself at the start and just tried to be the best that I could be for Theo but it hit a point where I needed help, and I knew I did.”

“It’s commendable that you did that. Too many single parents try to do it on their own and it just doesn’t work. It not only causes them to fizzle out but it causes strain on the kids.”

“Have you got children?”

“No.” Your lips curl, “I just enjoy working with them — to a degree obviously.”

A chuckle passes. It’s at this point that Harry realises that this is the first conversation you have had with him that passes the point of being somewhat professional. You’re dipping your toes in the idea of the conversation being about getting to know each other rather than being about Theo or any information about the group.

“I can’t imagine.”

“You never know what the days going to hold when you walk through the door. They say to never work with children and animals.” You laugh, “Where you do you work?”

“I work at a publishing company. I’m the chief editor. It’s not the best but it pays the bills.”

“It sounds very interesting.”

“It isn’t. The amount of articles about interior design I read on a weekly basis is sort of absurd.”

“Interior design?”

“I work for an interior design magazine. I probably should’ve explained that first.”

You giggle, “I bet your house is immaculately decorated.”

“To a degree.” He chuckles, “Living with a three year old sort of means you’re house always looks like a bomb has hit it.”

“I can imagine.”

“I wouldn’t change it for anything. Yeah it is a mess but it isn’t too bad and he’s leaning that he won’t get treats if he doesn’t clean up after himself.”

“Nice. I’m sure that works a treat.”

“It does.” He laughs, “Literally.”

“He’s a good kid, Harry. You can tell. He’ll be perfectly fine.”

You keep saying that.

Harry received a message the following Wednesday around lunch time that he hadn’t expected. He was just about to tuck into the salad he had pre-made this morning fort lunch when his phone lit up on the desk. A small message box covers up his wallpaper which was a photo of Theo in the bath, bubbles on his head in a cone shape and upon his chin like a beard.

Hi Harry, Its YN. I promise I’m not weird I just got your number of the system to send this. I’m just letting you know that tonight’s group is cancelled, I’m bunged up with a cold and would hate to pass it onto any of the kiddies :) Hope you are well.

Hi YN. I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better soon. See you next week. H.

Harry couldn’t hide that he was a little disappointed. He was starting to enjoy going to the centre every week. He could say that it was because his son was slowly coming out of his shell, and that was part of it, but ever since your conversation he had that one weekend he enjoyed the few words you spoke to each other.

If he was more confident in the way you felt about him, he probably would’ve messaged to ask if you needed anything bringing but he thought that it would’ve been a little bit odd. Hopefully in the future it wouldn’t be as odd.

“You can’t eat your chips yet, buddy, they’re too hot.” Harry explains, picking a couple of the chips from Theo’s plate and blowing on them. The young boy sat and watched his father, waiting for his chips before chewing them happily.

“Oh! Harry!”

You’re stood with a drink in your hand, jeans and a floral blouse hanging loosely upon your figure. You looked cute and cuddly, something that Harry had missed seeing over the past week or so.

“Hi YN.” He smiles, wiping his mouth with his napkin momentarily, “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you very much.” You smile.

“Would you like to sit?” He asks, motioning to the spare seat, “You don’t have to if you’re busy or anything.”

“No. I would love to. Are you okay with that Theo?”

For the first time since you’ve arrived the little boy looks up at his eyes immediately light up at the sight of you stood there.

“Miss YN!”

“I’m guessing he’s okay with it.” Harry smiles, watching as you pull out the seat and seat and sit down. “You weren’t in a rush, were you?”

“No.” You smile, sipping on the hot cocoa you had just bought, “I had just finished for the day actually. Did a bit of shopping and then decided to walk over here.”

“Sounds lovely. Anything exciting?”

“If fruit and veg is exciting, then exciting.”

“Hey, take it from me, trying to make fruit and veg exciting for your kids is the most exciting thing about fruit and veg.”

“Not a fan?” You ask, looking at the young boy who had started to munch on his chicken nuggets.

“Not really. Can you not tell?”

You laugh, looking at Theo’s plate which just had chips and chicken nuggets on with a blob of ketchup on the side.

“He seems to be enjoying those?”

“Oh god yeah.” Harry laughs, “He can eat for England. Takes after me in that sense.”

“That’s good. Some parents sometimes come in saying that their children don’t eat and it’s worrying them.”

“He went through a phase when he turned around two and a half of not eating but he rectified that very quickly himself.”

“That’s good? Have you had work today?”

It was only then that you had noticed his attire. Jean flares and a shirt that said something about eating honey. On anyone else you it would’ve set warning alarms within your head but he made it look suave and quite attractive.

“No. I have weekends off so I can spend them with Theo. I sometimes do a bit of work from home but not a lot, do you?”

“Sometimes. If there’s an emergency I’ll sometimes have to go in.”

“Is it hard? Do you find working with vulnerable children hard?”

“Challenging, I’d say. Maybe not hard. Some of the things that have happened to the children to cause them to behave the way they do are hard to listen to. Trying to get them to talk or just explain how they feel is even harder.”

“You do God’s work, YN.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I hate the though of children suffering, and I’d like to think I do my best to help with that.”

“You do. From experience you do.”

“You’re forever feeding my ego. I kind of like it, keep it coming.”

“Eh.” He curves his lips and moves his head from side to side, “You’re not that bad to look at either.”

“Cheeky! But you’re not too bad yourself, Styles.”

“Daddy!” Theo interrupts, “Toilet, please.”

“Okay bud.” Harry stands up and so do you, “You don’t have to go, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“No it’s okay, I probably should leave.” You smile, “I told Norman that I’d only been ten minutes and that was half an hour ago.”

“Norman?”

“My dog! God, I probably should’ve specified that. Norman’s my dog.”

“Ah.” Harry laughs, “That makes more sense. I’ll see you later YN.”

“Bye Harry.”

When you got home that night, you see the majority of the time sat staring at your phone whilst Norman stares at you as though you’ve gone crazy.

“I should just text him.” You sound crazy talking to your job but it is oddly comforting, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Hi Harry! It was lovely seeing you and Theo today. I hope you had a lovely rest of your day :)

You immediately regretted sending the message. Would he think you were weird? Had you just ruined any chance you had of it going any further? Your stomach twisted and your phone lit up.

We did thank you, YN. I hope Norman wasn’t too mad that we kept you out longer than expected. H.

You giggled. He remembered.

He got over it pretty quickly. Gave him a treat and everything was back to normal.

That’s good. It’s a good thing dogs are forgiving creatures.

Rather I bribed him to forgive me. He can be stubborn when he wants to be.

I think you might be describing my son. He certainly didn’t get his stubborn side from me.

Good. I would hate to have to bribe you to speak to me.

Well that depends what you would have bribed me with. But hopefully you’ll never be in the bad books.

You seem to have very high expectations of me, Styles. I might just surprise you.

I’m going to hold you to that. The next time I see you I expect to be surprised.

Are you free any time soon?

Not until next weekend really. I finish work at five-ish everyday.

Is there any chance that you’d maybe want to do something after work? I can hopefully surprise you?

I’d like that very much. Tuesday okay?

Perfect! See you then, Harry.

Sweet dreams, YN.

Tuesday couldn’t come quick enough in your eyes. You were pleasantly surprised that you’d even managed to bag yourself a date with the man, usually you’d shy away from the male species as much as possible. That didn’t mean that you didn’t spend the entire time messaging Harry the other day with warm cheeks and a fuzzy tummy. The fact that he could’ve thrown everything back into your face being the thing that scared you the most.

You had messaged Harry last night that you were going to a restaurant, not a fancy one but one that required a smart/casual dress code. You spent probably a little too long getting ready, curling your hair and applying the make up you wore too perfection, dressing in some high-waisted trousers with a long-sleeved tucked in to reserve the warmth that the British summertime had selfishly taken away.

You had hundred’s of thoughts bouncing around in your brain. It wasn’t everyday that you bagged a date with the man of your dreams and even if it didn’t work out — at least you could say that it had happened. If it didn’t work out it was probably a good thing that Theo had started to make the move from your group to your friend’s to avoid uncomfortable confrontation.

The reservation at the restaurant was for eight, so you had arranged to meet there for around politely declined. The drive was quick but the wait for Harry seemed to take hours.

When he did arrive, your breath caught within your throat. He was wearing simple dress pants with a silk floral shirt tucked in, the first couple of buttons undone. It revealed tattoos that you were shocked to see that he had upon his chest and stomach. It intrigued you to know whether he had more tattoos. A part of really wanted to see them.

“Hi.” He smiles and wraps his arms around you in a welcoming hug. He smelt really good.

“Hi.”

“You look lovely.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Styles.”

“Shall we go in?” You nodded.

The table reserved for the two of you was small but lovely, located in the corner of the restaurant by the floor to ceiling windows. You had been to this Italian plenty of times in the past and it had become one of your favourites. As you sat down, you had ordered a bottle of wine to share between the two of you.

“Is that your first surprise?” He asked as the two you tapped your glasses together in cheers, “Drinking on a work night?”

“It’s a special occasion.” You shrug, “You’ll have to figure out yourself whether it’s part of the surprise or not.”

He raised his eyebrow at you before he broke into a smile.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The waiter comes a few ticks after that, asking what we would like. I order a bowl of pasta whilst Harry orders a pizza of some sort.

“How was Theo when you left him today?” You started to tuck into the bread and dips that the waiter had brought as an appetiser.

“Absolutely fine. I’ve never seen someone so exciting to spend time with their grandmother.”

“Weekend’s with my Grandma were the shit!” You exclaim with a smile, “We used to bake and she’d cook me all of my favourite dinners.”

“You were spoilt rotten, to say the least?”

“Of course I was! That’s how little Theo is feeling.”

“Are you close to your family?”

“Yeah I am. More so my Mum and Grandma. I don’t really have the best relationship with my Dad.”

He nods, “My mum and Dad divorced when I was young so I was brought up my Mum. She remarried when I was nineteen.”

You hummed, “Are you close with your stepfather?”

“I was.” Harry coughed to clear his throat, “He died in 2017.”

You immediately felt bad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

He stops the sip of his drink quick, “You haven’t, I promised. How are we supposed to get to know each other if you don’t ask questions?”

“We sort dived right into the deep shit straight away.” You laughed, “Quick fire questions: favourite band?”

“I honestly couldn’t pick one.”

“Well.” You sighed, “I tried but that answer was boring. Pick one!”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, his smile growing, “I love Fleetwood Mac, The Zombies, The Kinks—”

“Basically anything from the past?”

“Pretty much.” He laughed, “I grew up listening to Shania Twain and Joni Mitchell with my mum.”

“I would’ve loved to have that childhood.” You laughed, “My mum was all for Bon Jovi, Meatloaf and Prince. Always said ‘I could’ve been a rock chick’.”

He laughs and sips his drink.

The conversation for the rest of the evening flowed better than you could have expected. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever been on such a lovely date before in your life, if you could even call it that.

You learnt about his childhood living in Holmes Chapel whilst he learnt about yours. You hadn’t expected to enjoy his company so much and even as the night came to a close you found yourself not wanting to leave.

“I must admit.” He starts as her walks you towards your car, “I was quite disappointed when you said I couldn’t pick you up.”

“Why was that?”

“Because I’m not able to drive you home, walk you to your door and hopefully give you a little something to remember me for the night.”

“Really? Who said that I would have let you?”

“You wouldn’t have?”

“I don’t know.” You tease, “Why don’t you come over and try?”

The smile on his face as he leaned in is something that will haunt your dreams at night for the better. Your eyes flutter closed and sigh in content as his lips touch yours. It was a little embarrassing, but there had been a few moments late at night where you have wondered what this would feel like. Those were enjoyable dreams but the real this was so much better.

No tongue was involved but you already knew that this was something you could become addicted to. The feeling of his large palm against your cheek as his kissed any worry you had away from the night. Your whole body tingled and if you weren’t in a public car park, you wouldn’t know whether you’d be able to contain yourself.

You both pull away breathlessly.

“I think you would’ve let me.”

“I certainly fucking would.”

If Harry had any other option — he would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.

When Harry had woke up this morning, he had expected it to be like his normal Monday morning. Waking up early and making breakfast whilst Theo sleep in. Then he’d wake Theo up to have breakfast and then Harry would dress him for the day.

That hadn’t happened this morning.

When Harry had walked into Theo’s room that morning he found his son, already awake with tears streaming down his face. He tried to comfort his son, and tried to get him to talk but he just didn’t stop crying.

That’s how he ended up stood in the corner of his son’s room with his phone pressed tightly to his ear.

“Harry? Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, well uh, not really.” He scratches the back of his neck, “There’s something wrong with Theo.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. I came into his room this morning and he’s non-stop crying and he won’t talk to me.”

“I’m on my way.”

You drove as fast as you could. The sound of Harry’s voice, mixed with his words and the faint sniffles in the background was enough to send your heart spiralling. You used the message that Harry had sent with address to navigate your way towards his house.

Doors unlocked.

You raced your way up the stairs, taking two at a time and saw Harry waiting at the top of the stairs.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” You squeezed his arm in reassurance, “Is he in there?”

“Yeah.”

Then you saw him. The small boy with the brown curly hair and the green eyes that matched his Father’s peering up at you, small sobs leaving his lips.

“Hi bud.” You smile, “Is it okay if I sit down?”

The small boy nods and you do so, a small sigh escaping your smiling lips.

“Your Daddy phoned and said you were feeling a little upset this morning and asked if I could come and talk to you. Is that okay?”

He nods again, sniffling slightly.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Can you tell me why you’re crying?”

“Dream.” His chest heaves up and down.

“Did you have a bad dream?” A nod. Okay, you could work with that.

You hadn’t realised that Harry was stood at the door, leant against the frame with his eyebrows furrowed and his thumb running across his lip. He honestly wouldn’t know what he was going to do if you hadn’t been so lovely and come to check on Theo at such short notice.

“Was your dream about Daddy?” Another nod.

It honestly broke Harry’s heart. He had never ever though that something like this was the reason his son had gotten himself into such a state.

“Have you been having a lot of these dreams?” Nodding. So much nodding, “Are they scaring you?”

“Daddy hurt.” His voice was so quiet and unsteady.

“Daddy gets hurt?” Your palms start sweating, “Is that why you’re so upset? And you go quiet sometimes? You think Daddy’s going to get hurt?”

“I’m right here Theo.” Harry walks over and drops down to be face to face with his son, “I’m not hurt, and I’m not going to hurt.”

“You don’t move.” He cries become louder and louder the more they spoke.

Harry leans over and pulls his son off the bed, dropping him onto his lap and wrapping his arms tightly around him. You watch as Harry smooths his hand across his son’s back, hoping that it will calm him down and stop the crying. Harry’s catch yours and your heart physically breaks for him. You’d never seen anything like this in your four year career.

“Listen to this, bud.” Harry wipes his tear stained face briefly, “How about we take today off nursery and work and we’ll spend the day together.”

Theo nods and you smile, gently standing up and removing yourself from the situation. For the first time you can look at Harry’s house. It was exactly how you had pictured it to be — immaculately designed with a splash of Theo in ever corner. You drop down upon the sofa with a sigh and use your hand to try to rub the fatigue away from your face. You hadn’t had a morning like this in a long time.

Twenty minutes or so later, Harry joins you on the sofa with a deep sigh.

“How is he?”

“He’s asleep right now. I laid with him and he drifted off.”

“That’s good.”

He reaches over to grab your hand that was comfortably rested upon your thigh, threading his fingers nicely between your own.

“I’m sorry for calling so early. I know you were probably busy and this didn’t help.”

“It’s okay.” You give his hand another squeeze, “I told you that I’d help in any way that I could.”

“I know.” He nods, his voice starting to break, “It’s just so fucking hard YN.”

“Hey, don’t cry.” You move so that you can wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a comforting hug, “I know it is but we can sort this out, I promise.”

“Just knowing that this was because he has been worried about me. What kind of parent does that?”

“I want you to listen to me now, Harry.” You place your hands upon his cheeks, pulling his head up from your shoulder so that he’s looking directly at you, “You have done nothing wrong. This was completely out of your control.”

He nods and you wipe the tear that had fallen down his cheek away.

“I’m going to help you now and we’re going to get Theo better.”

He leans forward and to your surprise places a deep kiss to your lips.

“Thank you.”

Harry had invited you over as a thank you a couple of days later. You had told him multiple times that he didn’t have to thank you for anything and that you’d do anything for him and Theo but he insisted. Theo was still next door with Mrs. West after being picked up from nursery and she made it complete aware that she didn’t mind watching him for a few extra hours so that he could do this for his friend.

If Harry was honest, he doesn’t have many friends. Mrs. West has spoken to him about it on many occasions and he supposed that the old woman was just excited that he might actually have a friend that wasn’t herself or his son.

You had arrived at Harry’s house to see the dining room set out with plates and cutlery and wine glasses with delicious smell coming from the kitchen. He greeted you with a soft kiss upon the lips and a small hug.

“Has Theo been okay?” You ask, leaning against the counter as you watch Harry fry the vegetables for the stir fry.

“He’s been better. He’s been talking a little more according to to the teachers.” He starts to plate up the noodles, “For the first couple of nights he stayed in bed with me, as you suggested but last night he stayed in his own.”

“Did it go okay?” The two of you walk with full plates to the dining room.

“There were a few tears but he slept through the night.”

You honestly couldn’t have been happier for the two of them. You have worked with the two of them for a couple of months and now finding out that things were actually starting to work left you feeling happier than you had ever expected to be.

“That’s really good. I’m happy for you.”

Before you knew it the time had escaped from the two of you. Somehow, you had made your way to the sofa and now sat with large glasses of red wine in your hands.

“Are you sure you don’t need to get Theo?”

It was nearing seven, and you started to worry.

“If I go now he’ll probably kill me.” He laughs, “Mrs. West brings out the sweet treats around this time.”

You giggle and lean forward to capture your lips upon his. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the other resting lightly upon her thigh. In one confident movement, you shift your body so that your knees are either side of his hips. A part of you still couldn’t believe that this was happening, not only with anyone but with Harry.

This had all happened quicker than you had expected but you weren’t complaining.

“YN.” He pulls away breathlessly, “Hey, are you sure?”

“God yes.”

“Okay then.’

He skilfully picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you towards his bedroom. You land upon the bed with a small thud that causes you both to giggle. He presses his lips to yours one last time in a breath-taking, heart-stopping kiss.

“Move up.” You shuffle your bum up the bed so that your head is rested upon the lush pillows. Harry’s fingers toy with the zipper of your jeans, his eyes looking for any sign of uncomforted on your face, “This okay?”

You nod quickly, “It is.”

He sighs shakily, his fingers slipping into the band of your jeans, pulling them down your legs. You lift your hips up to aid him in the movement. At this point you were glad that a day ago you hd decided to have a pamper session and shave your entire body.

His lips place small kisses along the inside of your thighs, your body withering under his touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched you in this way, and your senses felt as though they were on override.

“Harry.” The small moan escapes your lips as he licks a stripe along your clothed centre.

“God.” He hooks his fingers into the material and pulls them down your legs, “You’re so fucking wet.”

You hum as his lips wrap around your clit, your chest heaving up and down as he uses his tongue to flick the sensitive nub over and over again. This had all happened so quickly and you felt so overwhelmed that you had no idea if you were going to last very long at all.

“Fuck.” You moan, “Harry.”

“That’s it.” He murmurs against your centre, giving your clit a few kitten licks afterwards, “Say my name again.”

“Harry.”

He suckles on your clit so quickly that you’re left breathless, your fingers threading through his curly brown hair. You tug on it causing a groan to escape his lips against you, sending your orgasm rushing in.

“M’coming.” Your chest heaves, “Fuck, baby.”

Harry pulls away after coaxing you through your high, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He licks what he can before lifting up so that you can kiss him. He drops down, his head falling into your neck and for the first time you can feel him against your exposed thigh.

“Do you want me to help?’

“No.” He smiles, pushing your hair away from your face, “Tonight was a thanks to you. Hopefully there will plenty more opportunities for you to repay me in the future.”

“I’m excited for that.”

“Daddy?” The little voice wakes the two of you up from your slumber, “Miss. YN?”

“Hiya buddy.” Harry’s quick to pick the little boy up and drop him in the middle of the two of you, “Did you have a good sleep?”

Theo hums and cuddles into his Dad’s chest, “Morning Miss. YN.”

“Morning Theo.” You smile, “I’ve told you before, you can call me just YN.”

You and Harry had started to see each other frequently since the last date and very recently, in the past few days or so you’ve both made the jump of having sleepovers. With Theo it made it difficult for Harry to stay over at yours so you stayed over at Harry’s — not that you minded one bit.

“Okay, YN.” He smiles, leaning forward to place a kiss to Harry’s dimpled cheek.

“What do you fancy doing today bud? If you ask nicely YN might be able to stay with us today.”

“Really?” His eyes widen in excitement.

“Of course.” You smile and ruffle his hair, “But it’s your day, what do you want to do?”

“Can we go to the cinema?” You both nod, seeing as though that’s a very doable request from the little man.

“What do you want to go see?”

“Frozen 2 please, daddy.”

“Of course.” Harry kisses his cheek and your heart swells at the sight.

Theo sat the entire time in the cinema contently chewing on his popcorn as his eyes never left the screen. Harry’s hand was firmly grasped within yours and you both repeatedly picked it up to kiss the back of each other’s. It was the simple gestures that drew you to Harry in the first place, from that very first day at the centre.

“Did you enjoy it?” You both have one of Theo’s hands in yours, swinging him up as you walk along the pavement.

“Yes Daddy.” He beams.

“What do you fancy doing now? Fancy a McDonalds?”

“Can I have an ice cream, please?”

“Of course, baby.”

It was rare that you and Harry managed to get a night alone with each other, but this specific Saturday night Anne had offered to take Theo and the two of you weren’t complaining. It had been two or so months since your relationship grew from being professional into something more and you were yet to fully consummate your relationship.

You did other things, of course, in the dead of night when Theo was fast asleep. You were both just uncomfortable with the idea of having sex and reaching that last level of intimacy whilst he was in the other room.

The thought physically made you shudder.

“Are you hungry, baby?”

“I could eat.” You respond, sitting across from Harry as he scrolls through his phone whilst leaning upon the kitchen island.

“Pizza?”

You scoff, “Is that even a question?”

Once the delivery of your pizza’s arrive, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone inhale a pizza as quickly as Harry did. He even ended up eating a slice of your own.

Cleaning up was easy and before you knew anything, you were both changing and getting ready for bed. It was at this point you could go through the plan that you’d created a week or so ago when you learnt that this day would be happening.

You dressed yourself in delicate white lingerie that would have anyone swooning and dropping to their knees. You tousled your hair, applied some lip balm to your lips and walk out to the bedroom.

“Fucking hell.” He drops his phone onto the bed beside him, “Where have you been keeping that?”

“It’s one of the surprises I always ramble on about.”

“Totally worth it.” He throws his hands up and makes grabby movements towards you which you give in to.

His arms wrap around you waist and pull you down so you could press your lips to his. There was something different within the air today and you could both feel it.

“You wanna feel me?”

“Always.”

His fingers reach up to unclasp your bra, dropping the lace material to the floor as you clamber upon his lap. His lips wrap around your pebbled nipples, the feeling of his swirling tongue earning breathy moans to escape your lips.

“Sensitive?”

“Just finished my period.”

“Ah.” You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly.

You drop to your knees, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you use your hand to palm him through his boxers. You place two kisses to each of the ferns, another one at the top of his happy trail before you hook your fingers into the material of his briefs, pulling them down as he lifted his hips to help.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with Harry’s dick, but that didn’t mean that you became any less nervous every time you saw it.

“Are you just going to stare?”

“I’m contemplating?”

“Contemplating what?”

“Whether or not you deserve me to suck your dick. Leave me to it, baby.”

He shuts his mouth the second to place one kitten lip to his base, your eyes watching as his stomach heaves up and down at the feeling. Wrapping your lips around the tip, you start to bob your head up and down, using your spit to ease yourself into it. Harry’s hand reaches out to grip your hair, guiding your head up and down but making sure to not go too far.

“You’re amazing. Fuck, YN baby.”

You use the free hand that wasn’t aiding you by jerking the length that you couldn’t take to squeeze his thigh, right by his tiger once before allowing your finger to rub over your sensitive nub through your panties, allowing any sort of friction to be released.

“Gotta stop baby.” He gently pushes you off of him, your mouth releasing him with a pop, “Need to last for you.”

Once you’re stood up he pulls your panties down your legs, watching as you step out of them. You both switch positions so that you’re laid on top of the plush comforter whilst Harry fumbles through his bedside table, taking a foil packet out.

Your eyes never leave him as he gives himself a few tugs before rolling the condom on, giving you a once over before bending down.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He questions once and you nod, muttering confirmation as he moves to hover above you.

You feel a little discomfort at first, probably due to how long it had been since you last had sex.

“Move, Harry.”

“M’kay.”

His lips are on yours again as he starts to move his hips, finding his rhythm as he thrusts in and out of you. You whine into his mouth whilst he groans into yours, the feeling becoming all too unbearable for the two of you.

“Feel so good, H. So big, so full.”

The chuffed face he pulled as he continued to thrust his hips to yours, his lips wrapping around your nipple briefly was enough for you to fall for him again.

“M’gonna come, baby.”

“I know, H, me too.”

He slipped his hand down between you both to use his fingers to rub your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending you over the edge. A long moan of his name leaves your lips, your back arches and your eyes start to water.

“That’s it. Fuck! Squeezin’ me so tight.”

He moans as he comes, spilling into the condom whilst his movements halt inside of you.

He head drops forward upon your shoulder, the two of you masking in the overwhelming thing your had just experienced.

“There’s no one else I ever want to do that with.”

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.”

“YN.” Theo catches your attention as you wash both of your hands after the painting session you had both just had, “Are you my new Mummy?”

Your movements halt as you look down at the little boy, his features becoming more and more like Harry’s everyday.

You look up to Harry who’s stood drying his hand a couple of metres away, a goofy smile present on his lips as he nods at you.

“If you want me to be Theo, but are you sure?”

“I love you, YN.”

“I love you too, now go dry your hands.”

Harry passes him the towel to dry his hands which he does with little no disagreement.

“Are you going to go turn the TV on whilst Daddy talks to Mummy?”

The words felt odd leaving his lips, but a good kind of odd. You watch as he leaves the bathroom and bounds towards the living room.

You wrap your arms around Harry and sigh contently into his chest.

“I can’t believe he just said that.”

“I can. There’s no one else I’d want to be his mother.”

You stand on your tip toes to kiss his lips once.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too.”

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