⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: what happens when someone who has spent his whole life controlled finally has to choose who gets authority over his future?
⋮ ⌗ ┆ pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, discussions of abortion and reproductive choices, emotional manipulation and intimidation, toxic family dynamics, reader is female. angst, angst, angst, angst, angst! and more angst! j*e jackson.
There are certain kinds of fear that don’t seemingly come out of the blue, as do most. Some are built under the radar, quietly like.. cracks! Cracks spreading beneath paint before anyone noticed the wall itself needed a bit more support.
That was what loving Michael Jackson often felt like during this period of his life.
Not unhappy, no—god, no. Not that. She were happy. It was just.. never really that simple. It was fragile, fragile in ways people outside of him didn't understand because the public version of Michael during Thriller was.. mythological, seemingly untouchable and so, so beautiful in an otherworldly way only fame occasionally sculpted people into if they were here to serve a purpose. Michael was one of the chosen ones. By then, the cameras adored him, crowds screamed before he even spoke and entire stadiums seemed emotionally dependent on whether he smiled or not—hundreds of people fainting. (Name)’s boyfriend was going to be one of the most famous people to have ever walked this Earth.
But privately, there was still something painfully boyish underneath all of it. Something eager to be loved correctly, to be seen and have an everlasting companionship despite being who he is.
And maybe that was why his father hated their relationship almost immediately when it started a few years prior.
His disdain for the relationship wasn’t loud or blatantly in the face, Joesph rarely needed volume to make people uneasy. But that was the mistake outsiders made about him, right? They imagined rage first because rage was easier to identify when they would catch wind of just how evil of that man he is.
Joe’s real “talent” had always been pressure. The ability to make people feel cornered without touching them at all.
At first his disapproval came in smaller ways. Long looks across rooms. Questions that sounded harmless until she sat with them afterward. Comments about distractions. Timing. Career trajectory. It was always framed around Michael’s future rather than her specifically, which somehow made it feel more insulting.
Back then, it had seemed so small.
But that was the dangerous thing about certain memories. They don’t announce themselves as important while they were happening only to hurt years later after enough other pieces finally clicked around them.
During the Off the Wall, Michael still carried softness that fame hadn’t fully punished out of him yet. There was something open about him then. Earnest. He reacted before he concealed the reaction and smiled before remembering people were watching him smile—he was such an angel faced prince.
She remembered sitting on the edge of his bed at Hayvenhurst trying not to cry while music played low from somewhere across the room. One of his records spun softly near the stereo with warm bass and static hum blending into the nighttime quiet of the house.
Michael had been teasing her only minutes earlier, dancing badly on purpose yrying to make her laugh until he noticed her expression.
“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, the playfulness vanished from his voice.
She shook her head once, embarrassed now that tears had already started slipping down her cheeks. “Nothing.”
“Tears ain’t nothin’, my girl..” He crossed the room toward her without hesitation, expression tightening with concern the closer he got. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He repeated again but softer this time.
She stared down at her hands instead.
The confession felt stupid now that it sat at the edge of her mouth. Childish. Too sensitive. But it had been eating at her the entire night, growing heavier every time his father looked through her instead of at her.
Finally she whispered, “I don’t think your dad likes me..”
Michael stopped moving and then almost immediately, before anything else: “Did he say somethin’ to you?” He’s worried.
His reaction is what made her stomach sink, because to her, it meant the possibility already existed naturally in his mind by the innate urgency of his question. There was no hesitation—almost like he had already filed this away just in case a long time ago. Which, spoke volumes.
Her eyes lifted to his face then, and he looked tense in a way he hadn’t a second ago. Shoulders tighter. Mouth pressed faintly together. It looked like he was already mentally retracing the evening trying to identify where something might’ve happened.
“No,” she said quietly. “No..”
Michael exhaled softly through his nose, but it wasn’t exactly relief either.
“He just…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. He looks at me like I’m bothering him.”
“That’s just how he is.”
The defense came automatically—dismissive, even. And Michael seemed to realize it himself because his expression shifted immediately afterward, softer now, guiltier somehow.
She laughed weakly through the tears gathering in her throat. “So, deal with it?”
“No, I mean..” He sat beside her quickly then, turning toward her fully. “He’s.. just a mean, ugly old man stuck in his ways.”
“Yeah..”
A small gap of silence.
Michael looked down briefly, rubbing his palms together once—a nervous habit he had whenever emotions started cornering him faster than he could organize them.
“He’s not..” He paused carefully. “He doesn’t trust people around me easy—around us I mean.” The wording stung.
Around me.
It sounded like she had become another person orbiting the phenomenon of Michael Jackson rather than someone simply.. loving him. She looked away before he could see fresh tears gathering and immediately his entire demeanor softened further.
“Hey,” he murmured, moving closer until their shoulders touched. “Don’t cry, please..”
“I’m not trying to.”
“I’m sure..” His voice turned gentler still. “But you do this silly thing where you try real hard not to cry and then you get even sadder.”
Despite herself, a tiny laugh escaped her. Michael’s face relaxed instantly at the sound, he physically couldn’t tolerate her being upset for too long without trying to fix it somehow.
He reached up then and brushed his thumb carefully beneath her eye.
“He didn’t say anything mean though?” he asked again quietly and the way he was looking at her, with so much concern..
Yhat’s when she started to understand something she hadn’t fully before: Michael already spent part of his life anticipating emotional trauma before it happened because he had to. Especially from his father. The vigilance sat inside him naturally now, woven so deeply into him he probably didn’t even recognize it anymore.
“No,” she whispered. “Not yet anyway..”
Michael nodded slowly, though something still lingered in his expression. Then after a moment he leaned his head lightly against hers and said, almost shyly:
“Well.. I like you enough for everybody anyway.”
The implication was clear enough from his father.
She was temporary.
Michael’s success was not.
And Michael, for all his fame and brilliance and talent, still had remnants of a timid son inside him whenever his father entered a room. She noticed it before she understood it. The way his posture subtly shifted around Joe. The way excitement became restraint almost instantly—some invisible hand reached inside him and tightened everything smaller.
Fear? Yes, but as Michael’s grown up and matured, it's more so turned out to be.. conditioning. Years of it.
That was the part (Name) never fully learned how to navigate. Because Michael loved gently, openly even, but he had been raised inside an environment where affection often arrived tangled up with expectation. Approval was earned, performance was survival and rest rarely existed without guilt attached to it.
And now there was a growing baby sitting silently in the middle of all of that. A baby Michael did not know about yet.
Sometimes she wondered if her body already knew before her mind did. Looking back, there had been signs. The nausea she blamed on stress. The exhaustion. The strange emotional sensitivity she kept trying to laugh off. But once the test sat positive in her hands, nothing felt funny anymore.
And somewhere beneath all the panic and beneath the timing and the fear, there had been a flicker of something you could call hope. A light at the end of the tunnel of emotion.
Because she could picture him as a father too easily, not the superstar version of him but the real one. The one who held small animals with so much care because he’d genuinely cry if he accidentally hurt it. The one who crouched to speak to children at eye level instead of towering over them. The one who carried loneliness around so heavily he made sure that no one felt the way he did ever.
A child would completely alter his brain chemistry so severely—nothing would be more important than being a good dad to Michael. Which was precisely why Joe could never allow it.
(Name) realized his father knew before he ever really confirmed it.
It happened at Hayvenhurst one afternoon, things were normal. Staff moving through hallways as phones rang somewhere throughout, voices spoke softly in other rooms. Michael was upstairs working on music loud enough that bass occasionally trembled faintly through the ceiling.
She had barely been able to eat all morning and Joe noticed.
It wasn’t surprising, he had spent decades studying people for weaknesses: monitoring moods and watching behavior shifts. So when she excused herself from the kitchen too quickly after nearly getting sick from the smell of food, she already knew he was watching her leave.
(Name) had been washing her hands in the downstairs bathroom when the door opened behind her—intruding, mind you. He stood there looking at her through the mirror as she looked at him with wide, startled eyes. He’s never quite crossed a boundary like this, ever. She was afraid and rightfully so.
“You pregnant?” He asked bluntly, leaving her stunned and taking the air right out of her lungs. Her body betrayed her before her face could.
For a second neither of them spoke as water continued running softly from the faucet while her heart slammed hard against her ribcage.
Then Joe sighed once through his nose and leaned slightly against the doorway, the confirmation had merely finalized something he already suspected.
“You can’t have that baby,” He said calmly, too calmly as if he were talking to her about a scheduling conflict almost.
“He finally got the world where it need to be,” Joe continued. “You think people wanna see diapers and a babymama right now? He’s bigger than he ever been.”
Her throat tightened instantly. “Michael would want—”
“Michael don’t know what he want.” The interruption came in quick. “He too emotional,” Joe said. “Too soft. That’s his problem.”
Something hot rose in her chest then because—because the softness Joe dismissed so easily was the exact thing she loved most about Michael. But fear sat heavier than anger right now.
Because she understood suddenly, that Joe was not asking. He was positioning the future in front of her like a controlled narrative with only two acceptable endings.
Leave.
Or get rid of it.
The calls with Michael usually happened late because nighttime was the only part of Michael’s life that still belonged even partially to him. Once the house quieted down and the constant movement around him finally slowed, he became easier to reach.
She could always tell what kind of day he’d had by the way he answered the phone.
Tonight he sounded tired immediately.
“You sleepy?” she asked quietly, laying back against her pillows with the cord of the phone twisted loosely around her fingers.
A soft laugh crackled through the line. “Maybe a little.”
“You sound a little.”
“I been in the studio all day.”
She smiled faintly despite herself. Of course he had. After the release of Thriller, Michael barely seemed to exist outside studios, rehearsals, interview and stages anymore. The world was beginning to swallow him whole in real time, each week demanding more than the last.
And still, somehow, he always called her.
“What’d you work on?” she asked.
Immediately he brightened a little, she heard it happen. His little sounds he makes when he’s excited to talk about something.
“Oh, wait till you hear it,” he said softly, excitement slipping into his exhaustion now. “Quincy think we finally got the bridge right.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“No, this time for real.”
She laughed quietly and Michael laughed too, lower and breathier through the receiver.
God.. she missed him terribly and that was the problem lately. Every time she heard his voice now, the pressure inside her chest worsened because the clock in her head never stopped ticking anymore.
Weeks.. only weeks left before the choice stopped being a choice. Meanwhile Michael kept talking to her, completely oblivious.
“You still comin’ over tomorrow?” he asked after a while.
Her stomach dropped a bit. She had been avoiding Hayvenhurst more and more these past couple weeks. Not enough for him to accuse her of disappearing but it was enough that he had definitely noticed.
“I don’t know yet,” she answered softly.
A small pause. “Oh.” That one syllable carried disappointment so nakedly it made guilt rush through her instantly.
“I’ll try,” she added quickly.
“Okay.” But he sounded quieter now.
She closed her eyes hard as the urge to tell him everything had become almost unbearable recently. Sometimes she imagined just blurting it out recklessly before fear could stop her. Your father knows. I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do.
But then Joe’s voice would replay in her mind all over again.
You think he can handle this right now?
And the horrible part was she genuinely did not know. Michael already looked exhausted all the time lately. Fame sat on him strangely during Thriller. Beautiful from the outside but crushing up close.
“I miss you,” he said suddenly.
She pressed the phone closer to her ear instinctively. “I miss you too, angel face..”
Then softly, almost shyly, Michael murmured: “I love you.” He was handing over something so, so fragile whenever he told her. And tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes.
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
A faint sighed smile entered his voice immediately afterward.
“Okay, well.. I know you’re sleepy. So I’ll let you go. Goodnight, baby.” She says.
“Goodnight, pretty mama..” The line shifted slightly, muffled movement crackling through the receiver as though he’d moved the phone away from his mouth for a second.
Michael smiled to himself for a second after the call ended.
He kept the phone in his hand a moment longer than necessary, staring vaguely at nothing while her voice still echoed warmly around the edges of his mind. She always left him softer after conversations like that. So much calmer, part of the noise surrounding his life lowered in volume for a little while afterward.
“Goodnight,” he’d whispered one last time before hanging up.
Then the line clicked dead and the room settled back into quiet. Or almost quiet.
“You still seein’ that girl?”
Michael’s shoulders tightened immediately as he turned toward the doorway slowly, already knowing who it was before he looked up. Joe stood there with one hand braced against the frame with the expression that Michael had spent most of his life trying to interpret correctly.
The knot in Michael’s stomach formed instantly.
“Yes, Joseph.” Michael answered after a second, setting the phone back into its cradle carefully.
Joe stepped fully into the room. “Thought that would’ve burned out by now.”
Michael stayed still, arms folding loosely across his chest—defensive without trying to look defensive.
“It didn’t.”
Joe hummed once through his nose like that answer irritated him more than he planned on admitting.
Michael hated when this happened. The strange shift that occurred whenever his father entered a conversation about his personal life.
Joe glanced toward the phone briefly before looking back at him. “You spend every free minute on that damn phone.”
Michael looked away first. “I work all day.”
“That ain’t my point.” Joe moved farther into the room slowly, eyes drifting across the scattered records and notebooks around Michael’s space before settling back onto him again.
“You too distracted lately.”
Michael’s jaw tightened slightly. “I’m workin’.”
“You workin’, but your head somewhere else.”
Michael rubbed his thumb absently against his own wrist, a nervous habit he didn’t even realize he still did around his father.
“She makes me happy,” he said quietly.
The second the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed.
Joe’s face did not soften. If anything, he looked more annoyed.
“Happy,” he repeated flatly. “Boy, you think this business care whether you happy?”
Michael swallowed hard but kept his expression neutral. He had learned young that visible emotion around Joe usually made things worse, not better. “She ain’t got nothin’ to do with my work.”
Joe laughed once under his breath. “That’s what you think.”
Michael looked up at him then, frustration finally flickering through the exhaustion in his face. “Why you always do this?”
“Do what?”
“Act like every person around me has bad intentions.”
Joe’s eyes sharpened slightly at that. “Because most of ‘em do.”
“She doesn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.” The firmness surprised even Michael a little.
Joe studied him for a long moment then, and suddenly Michael felt young in a way he hated. Emotionally. It felt like no matter how successful he became or how independent or how old he got, some part of him still reverted back into being a son standing in front of his father trying to defend pieces of himself.
“You get too attached,” Joe said finally. “That’s your problem,” he continued. “You start thinkin’ people love Michael instead of what come with Michael.”
Anger flared hot in Michael’s chest, sudden and sharp enough to surprise him. “She knew me before all this.”
“That don’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Joe sighed heavily, already sounding tired of the conversation. “You right at the edge of somethin’ huge right now. Biggest thing this family ever seen. Last thing you need is some girl distractin’ you.”
Michael’s expression hardened slightly at that. “She’s not ‘some girl.’ She’s my other half—I can’t imagine a life without her.”
Joe stared at him for a second before shaking his head once like Michael had proven a point he didn’t want proven. “That right there? That’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”
Michael’s chest felt tight suddenly.
Not explosive anger. Something worse. The kind that had nowhere to go. Because the truth was he was frustrated. Deeply. But frustration around his father had always been dangerous territory. Growing up, anger was something you swallowed quickly in the Jackson house before it became weakness, disrespect, punishment. Even now, years older and world famous, Michael still felt that instinct crawl up his spine whenever conversations with Joe turned heated.
Don’t escalate.. don’t push. Don’t make it worse.
So instead of saying half the things burning at the back of his throat, he just stared at the floor hard enough for his jaw to ache.
“She already got you actin’ different,” he continued. “Sensitive.”
Michael inhaled slowly through his nose. “I’m not doin’ this tonight.”
Joe scoffed softly behind him. “That girl got you thinkin’ emotionally instead of professionally.”
That finally snapped something loose.
Michael looked up quickly then, hurt flashing across his face before he could hide it properly. “Why you keep talkin’ about her like she ain’t a person?”
Joe’s expression barely shifted. “Because she ain’t the priority.”
Michael could feel his pulse in his throat now, he hated this feeling. Hated how conversations with his father always made him feel eight years old again no matter how old he actually was. Hated that even defending someone he loved felt exhausting instead of empowering.
And worst of all, he hated the small voice in his head whispering that maybe Joe would never approve of anyone because approval had always been conditional in that house. Based on usefulness. Discipline. Results.
“She matters to me,” Michael said quietly.
Joe’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You too old to still be thinkin’ with your feelings.”
Michael had spent most of his life being punished for softness in one way or another..Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too quiet. Too strange. And now the one thing in his life that actually felt safe was being spoken about like a liability too.
Without another word, Michael turned and grabbed his jacket from the chair nearby.
Joe’s voice followed immediately. “Where you goin’?”
Michael shoved his arms into the sleeves too quickly, movements tense now. “Out.”
“It’s late.”
“I know.”
Joe’s tone sharpened slightly. “Boy.”
Michael stopped near the doorway for half a second, shoulders rigid beneath the leather jacket.
For one tiny moment it almost looked like he might finally say everything he actually felt. That he was tired. That he loved her. That he was sick of every vulnerable thing in his life being treated like weakness.
Instead, all he managed quietly was: “I can’t breathe in here right now.”
Then he walked out, quickly.
The house was mostly dark now as he moved through it. A few lights left on downstairs. Distant television noise from somewhere. Staff pretending not to notice the tension rolling off him as he headed toward the front entrance.
Outside, cool night air hit his face immediately.
It helped a little but not enough.
Bill looked up from near the car the second Michael appeared. One glance at him and his expression shifted subtly in recognition.
“You alright, son?” he asked carefully.
Michael rubbed a hand hard across his face before answering.
“Can you drive me somewhere?”
Bill nodded immediately. “Course.”
Michael hesitated only a second before giving her address quietly.
Can we talk about how Mercer ordering the soldiers to gun down the Sarentu students and Alma locking them away with no plans to return leads to essentially the same result? The swept-under-the-rug secrecy of TAP and metaphorical burial of the Sarentu? And how that perfectly encapsulates the differences between the two of them and the ways they exert control and ownership over the group? Mercer outwardly tries to kill them, Alma claims to save them, and yet the results are damn near the same. Both of their methods leading to the erasure of an entire group of people.
🌟 A Cry for Help: My Family’s Struggle to Survive in Gaza 🌟
Hello, my name is Areej Kassab. I’m a 27-year-old English teacher and writer from Gaza, and I’m reaching out to you with a heavy heart and a desperate plea for support. My family and I are enduring unimaginable hardships as relentless bombings devastate our home and our dreams.
We are a family of 15—10 adults and 5 children. Every day is a battle for survival. Food is scarce, humanitarian aid is not reaching us, and my little nieces and nephews go to bed hungry. Among them is my sister, who is deaf, and another sister who has a newborn baby. They, too, are suffering in this crisis, and I’m doing everything I can to protect and provide for them.
💔 A Life in Ruins
The war has robbed us of everything: safety, peace, and even the hope of a future here. My family’s needs are basic yet critical—food, clean water, diapers for the babies, gas for cooking, and other essentials to make it through each day.
With rising prices and limited access to necessities, we are struggling to provide even the most basic items. My sister’s home has been destroyed, and we are working together to ensure everyone has shelter, food, and warmth.
✨ My Plea for Your Support ✨
I’m a writer, and I’ve been documenting the harsh realities faced by my community under siege. But words can only do so much. We need action, and we need help. Your kindness can save us.
🙏 How You Can Help
Donate: Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us closer to securing the essentials we desperately need.
Share Our Story: If you can’t donate, please share this post to help us reach others who can.
Your support will help provide food for the children, clean water for my family, and basic supplies to help us survive this unimaginable crisis.
My name is Melissa and I am supporting Areej to help her family surviv… Melissa Saul needs your support for Emergency Evacuation for Aree
Thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing in solidarity with us. Together, we can create a lifeline for my family—a chance to live, to dream, and to hope again.
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୨୧ ꒰ synopsis ꒱ on the evening of your friends' wedding, the engagement ring he gave you sparkling on a necklace, sugawara koushi remembers how he has always loved you, and knows he always will.
୨୧ ꒰ contains ꒱ fem reader (she / her pronouns used), references to "bride", dresses, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, mentions of alcohol
୨୧ ꒰ word count ꒱ 6.1k
for @tahdashi champagne kisses collab!
The first time Sugawara Koushi knew he was going to marry you, it was a simple thought.
There wasn’t a striking realization of love, or a moment of a breakthrough within himself, as Sugawara has always loved you, and knows he always will.
Instead of the breathtaking moment of clarity so often found in coming-of-age films—where the actors clutch each other under a dripping sunset, words of a confession stilted on heavy tongues—it was a peaceful acknowledgment of his feelings. It wasn’t unexpected or unanticipated, Sugawara’s feelings for you. It was comfortable, something that had been innately instilled in him for years.
“Oi, Hinata! Hurry up!” Nishinoya yelled, quickly running ahead of the rest of the high school volleyball team.
Suga chuckled as he adjusted the hold on his backpack, amused at the amount of unbridled energy that brimmed from his teammate.
“Do you think they ever run out?” Suga asked, furrowing his brows with a fond smile.
A sudden burst of orange hair—barely visible, instead forming a comical picture of a blur of tangerine—rushed past him and the rest of the third years, quickly earning a brief yet affectionate scolding from Daichi.
“Of what?” Asahi responded, walking in step with Suga.
After properly chastising Hinata, begging him to be more careful in case he got hurt, Daichi turned to join the conversation with a curious look.
“Energy?” He guessed, quirking a brow as he looked at Suga.
Suga, pleased that his friends were so in-tune with his thoughts, simply grinned as he shot a thumbs up in Daichi’s direction. “You got it.”
Asahi laughed—a short sound, as if he was embarrassed—and scratched the nape of his neck. “No, I don’t think they do.”
They continued pleasantly conversing about their day, exchanging bored stories of how their classes went, the new manga they were interested in reading once they got home, and how much homework they had to tackle that night.
It wasn’t until they were piling into the volleyball gym, shrugging off their club jackets, that Suga heard your voice.
“There you are,” you mused, voice lilted in a kind singsong tone. You looked at Suga happily, eyes bright and smile wide—as if seeing him was the highlight of your day—and the sight caused his heart to clench with affection.
“I missed you today,” he replied, shrugging off his school slippers and tugging on his volleyball shoes. He looked down with furrowed brows as the lip of his shoe got caught on his heel, tugging it out with two fingers until it rested comfortably against his ankle.
“I promise, not as much as I missed you,” and you sighed deeply—like you were unbearing all of the day’s troubles with the single exhaled breath. “I have so much homework, and classes were just rough today. Plus, I didn’t do as well as I wanted on that calculus test, and I’m pretty sure I lost the book I was reading.”
Suga simply listened as you rambled, an affectionate look in his eyes as he blatantly stared at you. He got lost in the way your lips moved when you talked, how you waved your hands around when you got to a particularly taxing part of the afternoon, when you cutely furrowed your brows as you finished relaying your day.
He was completely enamored with you, just as he had been since childhood. Then, his affections were conveyed by following you around like a lost shadow, exchanging shoes to keep at the other’s house, and swinging your arms in a wide arc as you happily munched on the summer snack you both shared.
His affections have changed over the years: lingering glances held between classes, sharing lunches with you, and spending as much time as he could listening to your laugh.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep complaining,” you apologized, an sheepish expression taking over your features.
Suga wanted to quickly assure you that you weren’t complaining and weren’t bothering him. But, as he went to tell you just how much he wanted you to tell him about your day, about everything and anything that happened, Coach Ukai and Daichi waved him over to begin practice.
“Sorry,” Suga gestured to the court, the rest of his teammates already scrambling to get into their assigned practicing positions. Your attention was stolen by Tsukishima egging Hinata on, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips at the interaction.
“That’s okay. I know the drill,” you said when you turned back to face your best friend. You offered him a smile with your words, and Suga felt it weigh pleasantly on his heart, settling at home there.
And then, you began to pout, lips downturned in a displeased expression as your gaze flitted to his shirt.
“Hold on,” you murmured, and Suga easily picked up on the distracted tone of your voice.
“What’s wrong?” he started to ask, but the breath was soon stolen from his lungs as your hands moved forward to rest against his chest.
Suga was sure that his eyes went wide with shock, even surer that you could feel the incessant beating of his heart. He wanted to curse it at the moment, certain it would betray the barely-hidden feelings he’d harbored for you for years.
His heart rate only seemed to increase as your hands moved down to smooth over the lines of his shirt, your deft fingers catching against the neck of his collar, before you pulled away.
“There,” you stated, the frown replaced with a pleased smile as you looked at your satisfactory work. “You had wrinkles.”
Though Suga found that your explanation was not needed, and instead found that he was still yearning for your touch. He could still feel your palms placed against his chest, the soft pads of your fingers trailing over any pesky wrinkles as heat emanated from your hands.
And if the rapid beating of his heart wasn’t any indication of his love for you, the pink blush dusting across his cheeks certainly was.
“Thank you,” Suga managed a grin. Though, looking back, he’s certain it was a nervous, lopsided thing.
You waved him off as he jogged over to the rest of his teammates, the smile tugging at his lips and euphoric feeling inside him refusing to leave.
“Geez, you guys might as well just get married already!” Ryu joked, playfully jostling Nishinoya as he pulled him into the friendly teasing. The other second year gleefully joined in, nudging his friend’s shoulder as they took in the sight of their older friend’s blissful expression.
“Yeah, you two are gonna get married, aren’t you? I mean, you practically act like a married couple already!”
And your friends expected Suga to become embarrassed, to shrug off their semi-teasing comments with stuttered words and a blush to pair.
But their laughter quickly died down as they saw the serious, nostalgic look in his eyes. They watched as he smiled at you from across the gym, grinning at the sight of you affectionately ruffling Yamaguchi’s messy hair.
They watched as their friend fell even more in love with you, and the sight wasn’t shocking to any of them.
“Yeah, I definitely want to marry her,” is all Suga stated, a fond yet distracted look in his eyes as he longingly gazed at you.
The second time Sugawara Koushi knew he was going to marry you was seconds after his proposal. His cheeks were aching with the wide smile tugging at his lips, a soft blush decorating his cheeks as he happily looked up at you. He didn’t mind the dust that clung to the smooth fabric of his dress pants, nor the excited squeals and murmurings of bystanders craning their necks to catch a glance of the loving couple.
His entire focus was on you, on the way tears brimmed in your eyes, a shocked yet happy smile on your lips as you euphorically said yes.
Suga feels that happiness still, nearly twenty-four hours later, as he gently holds you in his arms at your friends’ wedding reception.
“Koushi,” you playfully scold, but there is a laugh coating your words that softens any chastising. Your fiancé’s grip around your waist simply tightens, a mischievous, lovesick smile on his face as he braces a hand against the wall.
“That’s my name,” he states happily. Suga pulls away briefly to gaze at you, and the dopey, blissful look on his face causes your heart to soar with adoration. It reminds you of how he looked after your first kiss—a teenage version of himself squeezing your hands, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.
“We need to get back,” you try to insist, but the troublesome grin on Suga’s face causes you to hesitate. Despite your argument, you find that your words sound weak when faced with the pleading expression on your lover’s face. Still, you fight on, convinced that you must return to the festivities in order to fulfill your duties. “You’re the best man—and I’m a bridesmaid!”
In response, he merely leans you against the wall, crowding into your space as he begins placing lazy kisses against the crook of your neck.
“Oh yeah?” he smirks against you, and you shiver at the sweet, lingering sensation of his touch. His hands and fingertips are hot as he presses searing touches to the fabric of your dress, dipping behind your neck to press you even closer to him.
And, even though the wedding festivities can be heard from your hidden corner in the next room, you find no urge to return as Suga kisses you. His lips are soft and slightly needy, his touch full of a barely hidden restraint as you thread your fingers through his neatly-styled hair. As his kisses trail from your throat to your cheek, you allow your eyes to flutter shut as a shaky sigh slips past your lips, easily giving in to your lover’s touch.
“They can miss us for a few more minutes,” he mumbles against your skin. Your gazes meet as he pulls back, and the warm look in his gentle brown eyes makes you crave his touch even more. He chuckles as a pout forms on your lips, and can’t help himself when he leans forward to press a chaste, barely-there kiss to the corner of your lips.
“Besides,” he grins, enjoying how you chase his lips as he trails his kisses back down your neck. Suga takes his time, rubbing soothing circles onto the delicate fabric of your dress, simply letting his lips brush over your heated skin as he takes in your reactions. “I want to keep you all to myself, just for a bit longer.”
He punctuates his words with a serious look, not breaking eye contact as he takes your engagement ring—fastened onto a thin necklace, just for this wedding, to maintain a bit of blissful privacy—and places a sweet, loving kiss to it.
Not for the first time, you are blown away by the deep, all-encompassing love that comes from Sugawara Koushi. He loves fully and wholly, gently and soothingly, unreservedly and wholeheartedly. He is sincere and warm, bringing with him comforting memories reminiscent of fond childhood summers. His love spreads across his heart, shown in his eyes, and you can see it clearly when he smiles at you, gracing you under the sweet familiarity of his adoration.
Incredibly flustered yet deeply moved by his loving action, you find that all you want to do is hide in his arms. Unable to handle the intensity of his gaze, you bury your face in the crook of his neck—the place you’ve found a home in throughout the years.
Suga chuckles to himself, arms moving to wrap around your waist and press against small of your back. The warmth that emanates from his palm only has you squeezing your eyes shut, simply overwhelmed by the sincere, deep love you feel for him.
“You’re going to have me all to yourself for the rest of our lives,” you murmur to him, only pulling away to look in his eyes. They’re dreamy, the dark hues of brown swirling with lighter shades to form a beautiful hazel color. They’re eyes you could get lost in, something that’s plagued you for years.
Your words cause an even brighter smile to break across his features, tugging at his lips handsomely as his hands smooth over your hips. Trailing your own hands down, you entwine your fingers together, and Suga lets them rest against your waist.
“I do, don’t I?” he muses—as if coming to the realization for the first time. His happiness is contagious, and his heart beats erratically in his chest as he sees you mirror the lovesick look he’s likely sporting.
“Mhm,” you hum, cheekily.
Needing to feel a bit closer to you, Suga leans down to brush his nose against yours. Your lips barely press together as he runs his nose along yours affectionately, and breathless laughter is exchanged as your hands move to cradle his neck.
“So…” you continue, peering at him with your brows raised. A burst of amusement fills your chest as Suga comically repeats your actions, raising his pale brows until they nearly disappear in his hairline. “We should go back, celebrate our friends some more.”
You smooth over his brows, admiring the softness of his skin, your fingertips tracing just above his eyes, as Suga simply stares at you affectionately. He grins at the thoughtful look on your face, watching your distracted gaze flit between his furrowed brows; you don’t seem satisfied until your fingers have smoothed away the small creases, and your attention returns to his eyes.
Suga sighs exaggeratedly, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. You can’t help the small giggle that escapes you at his playful demeanor, running a hand down the nice fabric of his tux and quickly adjusting his messy tie.
He’s faintly reminded of a fleeting memory: the two of you in high school, your hands smoothing down the fabric of his shirt, ridding the cotton material of any wrinkles. Suga regards the moment with nostalgic fondness, dipping his head down to press his forehead against yours.
“I guess so,” he finally agrees with you, and the exasperation in his words is teasing. You silently chastise your fiancé, raising a brow to look at him questioningly.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Suga exclaims, his hands still held on your waist. You want to laugh as they distractedly move across your skin, seemingly unable to sit still as he has you in his arms. Then, he pauses. “Okay, I guess I kinda want to show you off, too.”
With a slight grin, you softly smack his chest. Suga, never missing a beat, simply laughs as he catches your wrist, holding your hand against him.
“I thought you wanted to keep me all to yourself?” you ask, voice tilted in a singsong tone. Again, you find yourself tracing your fingers over the soft fabric of his suit, running down their neat lines as you smooth your palm down his chest. Suga’s heart fills with warmth as he stares at you, unable to tear his eyes away from how you seem to glow with the ring around your neck. He feels nostalgic and wistful, especially with memories of yesterday’s proposal still fresh in his mind.
“I want to do both. I’m a complicated guy,” Suga chuckles, fingering the delicate metal of your ring, the pads of his fingers running over the simple diamond clasped in the middle of the band. He shrugs as if his explanation was simple and easy to understand, and he leans down to give you one last kiss.
You melt into his touch, hands running up his arms still wrapped around your waist. When your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, you play with the soft bit of hair there, threading your fingers through it as Suga sighs against your lips. His mouth is gentle as he slants it over yours, lips moving gently and slowly. He tastes like strawberry cake as he grins against you, and you can’t help but reciprocate his actions until you’re both smiling too much to continue.
“Come on,” you say, tugging at his hand. However, when you pull him away from the wall, the sudden pout that takes over your fiancé’s features is so endearing it causes your heart to tug in his direction.
“Suga…” you urge, voice soft.
Your words have him suddenly grinning brightly, and he finally moves from the wall to lace your fingers together. Furrowing your brows, you curiously wonder what could have caused the sudden mischievous look on his face, until he dips down to press another chaste kiss to your lips. You press a hand to his chest as he pulls away, trying to convince yourself that you need to get back to the wedding reception.
“You can’t call me that anymore,” Suga states, pride evident in his tone. His chest practically puffs up, swelling with satisfaction and happiness at the realization. “You’re going to be a Sugawara soon, so you can’t call me ‘Suga’ anymore.”
His words cause you to falter, almost tripping over your steps, as he easily guides you back to the elaborately decorated ballroom. As you reenter, you realize that the lights have been turned off, soft lighting from hundreds of candles and a dimmed chandelier sparkling in the center of the room having been illuminated instead.
“You’re right,” you smile, feeling nothing in your heart but blissful happiness. Suga grins at you as you come to the realization, the soft lighting from the candles dancing across your form in a way that has his heart clenching in love.
Briefly, you wonder how he can say such heartwarming things without a thought. It’s easy for him, you realize, to express his love for others through his words. Yesterday was simply another reminder of the deep love he feels, expressed through the beautiful speech he had prepared for you. You remember it clearly and fondly as you make your way through the crowd, allowing Suga to guide you as you quickly become distracted.
The memory of his proposal is shrouded in a soft pink haze, and you swear you can still smell the sugary-sweet scents of orchids and carnations. They had lined the walkway, and you remember admiring them simply, watching as a ladybug crossed the delicate white petal of a flower. Wanting to show Suga, you had turned around with a grin, only to find him with a bright, hopeful look on his face, kneeling on one knee with a beautiful ring held between optimistic fingers.
Suga’s words were simple and from the heart. They were wholeheartedly him, and you feel an aching sense of adoration and nostalgia at the sweet memory; I love you, and I always have. I want to marry you, to give myself to you for the rest of our lives. I want to be yours. Marry me?
Your thoughts swim as Suga continues guiding you through the ballroom, his head craning over the crowd in search of your friends—the newly wedded couple. You can’t help but admire him, completely entranced by how handsome he looks tonight.
His pale hair is neatly styled and smoothed back, but you’re satisfied to see a few messy strands fallen out of place—likely due to your ministrations earlier. He’s tall and lean, and the fitted suit, customized to showcase him as the best man, only further accentuates his beautiful features. His legs look longer in the black dress pants, the elegant suit stretching across the strong muscle you know resides underneath. As he grins at someone he recognizes, reaching out a hand to shake it goodnaturedly, you find yourself admiring how his white undershirt is gently clasped at his wrists, resting neatly under his black tuxedo jacket.
And the smile on his face is something you placed, your heart beating faster and faster at the realization. You get lost in thoughts of him as he converses with the wedding guest, before saying goodbye and continuing to guide you through the crowd. He looks back at you occasionally, offering a private smile and a few words of assurance, before he continues looking for the married couple.
Suga looks beautiful, and you feel like the air has been stolen from your lungs at the thought that he will be yours forever.
“There they are!” Suga cries excitedly, holding his arm out to gesture at the couple of the hour. The bride and groom—some of your good friends—happily greet you, both nursing glasses of champagne as they hold onto each other.
You watch, still holding hands with your fiancé, as the groom enthusiastically claps him on the back. Boisterous laughter is shared between the two as they chat, catching up on what the other missed in the thirty minutes they’d been separated.
The bride, your friend, conspiratorily nudges you, a fond look on her face as she looks at her husband.
“It seems like they’re the ones that got married, huh?” she asks, watching the two men interact.
Turning around, she grabs a delicate glass of flavored water and hands it to you, and you offer her a grateful smile at the action.
“I guess so,” you hum, taking a small sip of the drink. You close your eyes and hum appreciatively at the slightly sweet taste of the drink, enjoying how it bubbles pleasantly on your tongue. “You and I should just run away together at this point.”
Your joke causes her to laugh, and you quickly join in. Her hand catches in yours as she holds it in a friendly manner, clutching her stomach as she leans closer to you.
“Sounds like a solid plan to me,” she continues the jovial banter, and you find yourself wondering if you’ll have the same glow as your friend on your wedding day.
As she leans back to take another sip of her drink, her eyes quickly flit over to her new husband. You enjoy watching the love that emanates between the couple, hanging in the air between them as if they were two halves of a whole. Even now, as they are separated, they still appear as a pair.
Again, you wonder if people view you and Koushi like that, hoping they do.
“You know, he really loves you a lot,” your friend hums, eyes still on the two men as she leans toward you again. She nudges your shoulder playfully, slightly swaying to the energetic music bouncing off the ballroom’s walls as she glances over at you.
Her words fill you with affection for your fiancé, and, like a force of habit, you find your fingers trailing up to clasp at the delicate engagement ring hanging off your necklace.
“So does he,” you jut your chin towards her husband, but your friend’s attention is already entirely on you.
“Oh? Well, what’s this?” she asks, her grin troublesome as she points a crooked finger at your necklace.
Your eyes go wide as you hurriedly attempt to put the necklace back under your clothing, hiding it from view, but the bride already has a knowing, excited look in her eyes.
“When?” she whispers conspiratorially, eyes wide with happiness.
You find yourself stuttering as you attempt to come up with an explanation but then realize you don’t need one. Sighing, you give in to your friend’s insistent questioning, making sure to keep your voice low so as to not distract your fiancé.
“Yesterday,” you explain, watching Suga speak animatedly about something. He waves his hand around, and something he says makes the groom laugh. Despite yourself, you can’t seem to fight the smile that makes its way onto your face, just as it has for the past twenty-four hours. “We didn’t want to tell anyone just yet—didn’t want to take attention away from you guys.”
You gesture to your friend and her groom, still happily fiddling with your ring. The glass is cool against your fingertips, little droplets of condensation coating the rim as you bring your lips to press against it, as if to hide your bright smile.
Your friend feigns a shocked and appalled look, mouth falling open as she gently smacks your arm. Giggling at her actions, you duck your head, feeling sheepish at having been caught.
“You should’ve told me! Oh my gosh, I’m so excited!” she exclaims, voice hushed and rushed as she whispers to you.
“Honestly, I’m kinda glad you know, now,” you admit, nodding your head along with your words. “It feels like a weight’s been lifted, now that someone other than us knows.”
The bride squeals as she takes your elbow, glee coloring her laughter as she shakes you excitedly.
“I’m so excited for you both, oh my gosh! I knew it was going to happen soon!” she can’t seem to shake her happiness, and you assume it’s a combination of her big day and your happy news.
“What’s going on here?” her husband butts in, and Suga quickly sidles beside you again. Immediately, he laces his fingers with yours, turning his attention to you as he places a quick peck on your cheek.
With a tired smile, you lean into him, an affectionate feeling swimming in your chest as his lips linger against your skin.
“Oh, nothing, honey,” the bride singsongs to her husband, hooking her arm through his elbow. “Come on, we have to go greet more guests,” she ushers her husband along, though not before shooting you a knowing glance.
As she passes you and Koushi, she points towards your ring, smiling widely at him with a simple, “Congratulations, by the way.”
You watch as they both walk away, gripping each other with stolen kisses placed on flushed skin. They laugh, and you watch as your friend throws her head back in joy—likely at something her groom said—as they continue moving along the crowd, greeting guests and accepting congratulations.
“What was that about?” Suga leans down, allowing his lips to brush against your ear. You grin as you feel his smile ghost over your skin, resisting the urge to shrug as his hot breath tickles the nape of your neck.
“She found us out,” you explain. However, Suga raises his brows with a knowing look, silently letting you know that he already knew.
“Ahh,” he sighs, sweeping you in his arms. You giggle as he pulls you towards the dance floor, swaying playfully with the soft music that floats across the ballroom. The song is slow and gentle, a traipsing of melodies, and reminds you of two lovers embracing.
“Mhm,” you reply, grinning as you wrap your arms around his neck. Suga pulls you close, the warmth in his brown eyes causing your heart to race as he begins guiding you along in a slow dance. “Looks like you’ll get to show me off faster than you anticipated.”
Suga simply chuckles, leaning down to press your foreheads together.
“What do you mean? I’ve always been showing you off,” he grins, closing his eyes.
You imagine memories to be flashing behind his closed lids. Memories of falling in love as teenagers, memories of warm afternoons spent together, crowded together under a singular blanket as you watched movies.
Memories of sitting side-by-side, legs crossed underneath your bodies as you studiously worked on homework. Memories of him finally becoming a teacher, and how you celebrated the event with cake and the bright laughter of old friends. Memories of waking up next to each other, huddled under the warm comforter, shrinking away from the cold winter air that threatened to creep under the blankets. You want to chuckle as you remember how you both leaned against each other, both sleepily seeking warmth from the other.
And memories of simply being in love, of loving each other, and promising to love the other for the rest of your lives.
Cupping his cheek, you can’t help but admire him once again, looking into the loving eyes of the man you love. As he sways you back and forth, strong arms wrapped around your body to hold you close, you find that his eyes are the same eyes you’ve always loved. The eyes you have always trusted and looked up to, the eyes that you have always followed and searched for when you needed comfort. They are the eyes that you fell in love with years ago and the eyes you will continue to love for years on end.
Suga seems to read your thoughts—something that comes with years of history and years of friendship—as he leans forward to brush his lips against yours. “I love you,” is all he has to say, and the one statement is enough to have you feeling like you’re in heaven.
“I love you,” you softly reply, closing your eyes. You follow the gentle sway, reveling in the softness of the man you love, of his strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his body. The heat that radiates off of him is comforting, just as the love he feels for you, and you accept it warmly in your heart as he mumbles wordlessly against your skin.
“I can’t believe I get to marry you,” he murmurs, and when you catch onto his words, you nearly falter. However, his solid and stable arms—always present, always ready to catch you—hold onto you, and he chuckles as you gaze at him in awe.
And then, he whispers lowly to you, forehead still pressed to yours, eyes falling closed. You find your attention drawn to his beauty mark, resting right above his lip, and the insatiable urge to kiss it fills you.
“I always wanted to marry you.”
Suga feels like he could cry as he holds you in his arms, feeling infinite love for you. He feels like it could burst from his chest at any moment, and he curiously wonders how such an abstract feeling could fit into the small confines of his heart. His love for you is immense—how could it possibly fit into such a tiny space? Maybe it’s a question he could ask his students when they return to school, and Suga smiles at the thought of their tiny hands raised in the air, excited and poised to answer his question.
Suga leans down to kiss you gently, breathlessly, covering your lips with his own in a warm embrace. You gratefully lean into his touch, finding that you always fit comfortably in his arms, as your ring presses between your bodies.
“You always wanted to marry me?” you ask, amused, between loving kisses.
Suga’s eyes are full of adoration as he pulls away, just barely, only to better see your breathtaking features. He thinks he could tell you the stories held like precious memories in his head, of silent promises and hopeful revelations he found within himself. He thinks he could tell you about the millions of times he’s wished to marry you, and of the multiple instances that further reassured his thoughts.
“Yes,” is all he says instead, closing his eyes as a blissful look overtakes his face. Your feet fall into step as you continue slowly dancing, Suga’s hand moving from the small of your back to entwine your hands together. He holds it to the side as his other hand remains on your back, holding you close as you dance.
You find words unnecessary as you rest in each other’s arms. Instead, you allow your love to be conveyed through lingering touches, sweet kisses, and unspoken words of adoration. You let your love be shown as you brush your lips against the beauty mark resting above his mouth, adoring the slight shudder that runs through his body at your touch.
“What should our wedding be like?” you ask, pulling away to stare at your husband-to-be.
He smiles at you, and you’re certain that all the love in the world is stored in his gaze. Suga takes on a thoughtful look as he ponders your question, and you wonder what he’s thinking about. Is he questioning whether or not to have cake or cupcakes at the reception? If you should follow all the old traditions between bride and groom? You want to laugh as you try to imagine Suga not seeing you in your wedding gown before the ceremony, thinking that he would be nearly impossible to stop as he’d needily beg to see you in your dress.
“Whatever you’d like,” Suga states, and then he reevaluates. “I know our wedding will be amazing no matter what it’s like. Whether it’s big or small, whatever. I know that as long as I have you, it’ll be perfect.”
His fingers tighten around your own—finding comfort in how they lace together, palms pressed together like two halves of a whole.
“I think so, too,” you simply agree. “What do you think about saying our vows in private—just the two of us? Before the ceremony?”
It’s a thought you’ve harbored for a while now, ever since the question of marriage came up in your relationship. The beautiful intimacy of the action, making promises to each other, without the guise of a large crowd of people watching you with bated breaths, is breathtaking.
You want to make promises to Suga alone, just the two of you, and you want to cry as you try to imagine how beautiful he’ll look on your wedding day. You wonder if he’ll cry or not—and then you realize that, yes, your fiancé is definitely the type of man to cry at your wedding. He cried proposing, so you believe he’ll become misty-eyed watching you walk down the aisle, a tight bouquet of flowers held delicately in your hands.
You want to clutch his hands before the ceremony, whisper words of promises between breathless kisses you know he’ll have to steal. You imagine your cheeks, both wet with tears, pressing together with shaky laughter as he’d kiss you, happiness tugging at his heart, until you’d be able to continue.
Suga smiles affectionately, and you feel tears pool on your lashline as his own begin to glisten. Dragging your fingertips under his eyes, you catch the falling tears, collecting the droplets of love on the tips of your fingers as Suga laughs breathlessly, sheepishly, adoringly.
“Of course,” is all he says, a promise carried with his words.
The peacefulness of the night continues as you sway in his arms, full of all the love and promises in the world, reveling in the happiness of your friends getting married.
“You know,” Suga muses, his voice low as he spins you in his arms. He gratefully takes in the sound of your gorgeous laughter, grinning when you happily melt into his arms. “I’m so excited to marry you, but I’m even more excited for our life together.”
His words are so truthful and honest that they leave you reeling. You’re nearly certain that the room is spinning, and not due to the way Suga was just twirling you. As you clutch tighter onto his hands, Suga drinking in your actions and pulling you closer, you feel like your heart spills with love for him.
“I am, too,” you reply. “We’ve already had such a happy life together, and I can’t wait to see what else happens.”
And as he holds you in his arms, happily dancing with you among the crowd of couples, Sugawara Koushi remembers all the previous instances when he knew he was going to marry you. He remembers them fondly, memories of childhood friendship morphing into a sweet, innocent crush during high school. He remembers how the crush quickly turned into a deep, all-consuming love, built on years of friendship and a steady foundation of trust and affection.
And Suga gazes down at you with all the love in the world. He watches you giggle and twirl in his arms, watches the bright smile on your face as you lean up to kiss him, pressing a palm to his chest as he greedily leans into your touch. Suga feels a sense of closure fit into place, watching you dance with your engagement ring glittering by your collarbone.
He feels an innate sense of blissful happiness fill him as he kisses you, the ring pressing to his chest, holding a million possibilities and millions of confessions. Suga is convinced he’s the happiest person in the world, the luckiest person alive, for being able to love you and cherish you, for being able to hold you close and call you, his.
He melts into his love for you, just as he has for years. It settles over him smoothly, comfortingly, settling at home in his heart as he holds you in his arms. And as the realization finally dawns on him that he gets to marry you, he feels the happiest he has ever felt.
Because Suga has always loved you, and knows he always will.
Summary- When Cedric Diggory died, he left behind his loving girlfriend, the daughter of Severus Snape, to mourn him.
Warnings- Lot’s of sadness, loss of a loved one, just lot’s of death. (Flashbacks are in italics)
You were cheering at first, clapping your hands in joy when you saw Harry and Cedric had both made it back alive, though, in a mere few seconds your happiness was washed over and replaced with horror when you noticed Harry was sobbing and Cedric had not moved from his place on the ground.
I have a love hate relationship with stuff like this because I know that I will hurt and cry. But I love when the characters are happy it brings me so much joy that I forget about the sadness. I highly recommend this. :)
Request: Could u do something Harry Potter x reader were the marauders are alive and the reader is Harry’s gf and is as good as Dumbledore in dueling. And she was staying at Harry’s house for spring break and (Harry is still the boi who lived) Voldemort attacks them and says something like “if she wins she safe but for now I am going to take the most important thing in ur life” to Harry and he starts crying but then she out duels him and comforts Harry and Jily notices how much they love each other?
A/n: Ok so I know that the time line wouldnt exscatly be perfect for this fic but whatever I dont care. Also I'm sorry it tooks so long I had restart it because I didn't like my first draft. Anyway hope you guys enjoy!
"Harry, they're going to hate me." You groaned falling back from your sitting position on his bed to laying and burying your head in your hands.
Harry rolled his eyes smiling. "Y/n there is no possible way they are going to hate you, so stop stressing."
You turned your head to glare at the boy who was struggling to close his suitcase, "Oh yeah because when you met my dad you weren't stressing at all." You said voice dripping with sarcasm.
"That's different," Harry defended still attempting to get the buckles on his trunk closed.
"How is it possibly different, if anything I have it worse because you have like three dads." You pointed out.
"I don't have three dads." Harry grunted, cursing those textbooks that were making the task at hand nearly impossible.
You muttered a spell under your breath and watched as the items in his trunk shifted before the straps snapped closed neatly "You most certainly do have three dads." You iggled when he looked back up at you in amazement.
"I forgot you could so stuff like that." He murmured making his way towards the bed.
"Well you should try remembering." You smirked before Harry climbed on top of you meeting your lips with his. The kiss was soft sweet and short.
"Bloody hell!"
Harry quickly rolled off of you.
You both blushed heavenly looking at Ron who now stood in the doorway with Hermione.
"Sorry." You muttered looking down at you hands.
"Thank god you were only kissing I thought you were doing other stuff for a second." A book promptly shot across the room and hit Ron in the side of the face. He glared looking up at the beat red girl across from him "Can you stop with the no-wand spells? It's very confusing for us."
"Speak for yourself Ronald." Hermione chipped, "They are quite brilliant in my opinion."
"Thanks Hermione." You smiled the color trickling from your cheeks. You had always had a particular talent for performing spells without a wand. You barely touched it nowadays, you would simply do the spell without it.
It was a "rare but exceptional gift that very few acquired" McGonagall had informed you in your first year when you had performed a Relashio spell without a wand on your second day of charms.
You had noticed at a very young age that you could simply read about a spell, murmur the name under your breath, envisioning the result and said result would happen. It was quite helpful for dueling and protection
"We are leaving in a few minutes so we just came up to get you guys." Hermione explained looking at Harry's packed trunk, Hedwig placed beside it.
"Y/n where is your stuff?"
"Oh shit." You muttered.
"You aren't packed?" Harry asked worry covering his features.
"I was stressing so much I forgot." You hissed under your breath closing your eyes and thinking. Finally after a few seconds you remembered the spell and murmured it quietly.
You heard a shriek followed by "Merlin's Beard y/n can't you just pack like the rest of us, you almost killed me with your bloody broom!"
"Sorry Parvati!" You shouted back before your wand came whizzing into your hand followed by your trunk and your owl cage, your barn owl locked securely inside, and of course your broomstick which had been an unnecessarily expensive and fought against birthday present from Harry. "Packed." You smiled up at the other three.
When the four of you had finally boarded and settled on the Hogwarts Express nerves took you over once again. You found yourself tracing the scar on your hand feeling out every letter of the sentence, "I will not tell lies" engraved on your hand. You remembered Harry's fury when you had walked out of Umbridge's classroom tears pricking at your eyes as blood dripped from your hand. Fred, George and Ron had to physically hold the boy back from beating the pick monsters face in with his fists.
Harry quickly noticed your nervous state and slide his arm around you pulling you closer. "They are going to love you y/n/n."
You sighed and looked over at his breath-taking green eyes, "You don't know that."
"Come on you already met Remus and he loved you." Harry said trying to comfort you.
"Great only two more dads and a mom to impress." You said staring out the window.
"Hey look," Harry pushed your head back to meet his eyes gently, "Remus already likes you and my Dad will be easy, just tell him your a chaser and he will talk for hours. For my mom just talk about spells and all that stuff you are so bloody good at. And for Sirius just mention a few of the pranks you pulled on Malfoy and your in the clear. You are too amazing for them not to like."
"But what if they dont think I'm good enough for you, I mean you are 'the one who lived' and everything and I'm just...me."
Harry scoffed, "Just you? You mean the girl who has the best marks in every single class she takes. The girl who could take down there own professors when it came to dueling and knows how to perform more spells and charms without a wand than the Charms teacher does with one?"
You blushed looking down, "I don't have the best marks in Herbology, Transfiguration or Potions." You pointed out.
Harry sighed, "They are going to love you y/n. I just know it."
When the train stopped at platform 9 and ¾ so did your heart. You were jumpy and anxious, you felt as if you were running on adrenaline and caffeine.
Hermione and Ron said goodbye wishing you luck as Harry looked around for his parents on the crowded platform.
"There they are." Harry said grabbing your hand and heading toward a man who looks stunningly like Harry and a woman with bright red hair.
You gulped hoping you didn't look as nervous as you were.
When you reached the couple Harry hugged both of them as you stood awkwardly to the side trying not to draw attention to yourself.
"Mom, Dad this is the girl I told you about, y/n." Harry introduced.
You blushed a bit waving and to your surprise the women stepped toward you and brought you into a hug.
"It's so lovely to finally meet you, we've heard so much about you from Harry." She said pulling away to look you in the eyes.
"It's nice to meet you as well Mrs. Potter." You smiled.
James stuck out his hand and you shook it firmly greeting him as well.
"Well we better head home before Sirius burns down the house." Lily sighed.
"Its fine." James said brushing the issue away, "Moony is there too."
You looked at Harry "Who's Moony?" You mouthed silently.
"Professor Lupin." He whispered back.
You bit your lip hoping that he still considered you a good student.
When you reached Harry's house your nerves were buzzing again, you could hear the thumping of your heart loud and clear as Harry opened the front door.
You heard a loud "Harry!" Bellowed form inside the house and Harry was soon thrown into a hug by a man with long dark hair.
"It's great to see you again." The man who you were guessing was Sirius smiled.
"You too Sirius." You suspicions were confirmed. "Oh this is y/n." Harry said moving to the side so you were face to face with the man.
"Hello, it's nice to finally meet you, Harry has told me so much about you." You greeted sticking out your hand.
"I could say the same for you." Sirius winked taking your hand. You glanced over at Harry whose face was tinged red and glaring at the man.
You giggled as Harry pulled you away, "You can put your stuff in my room." He chatted as he dragged you up the stairs to the first door on the right.
When you entered you couldn't help but smile. The room was so… Harry.
The walls were painted a vibrant crimson, he had quidditch banners and famous wizard posters plastered on the walls. There was a wooden desk in one cornor, a dresser and a double bed against the other wall. A door which you guessed lead to a closet on the other. There were two hooks in the center of the wall above the dresser. Different posters and papers were sprinkled around the hooks where Harry had now walked over and placed his broom.
You walked closer to the wall to find that all of the papers and posters were tickets and brackets from various quidditch matches.
"My dad always takes me to them." Harry chimed in walking closer to you.
"That's brilliant," you nodded continuing to look at the items sprinkled on the wall.
"How many have you been to?" Harry questioned snaking his arm around your waist as you stood admiring.
"Oh, I haven't been to any." You shrugged turning to face the now appalled boy.
"What!?"
You shrugged again
"Really?!"
You nodded rolling your eyes playfully; "My dad just never took me."
"You have to come with us next time." Harry declared.
"I'd love too." You smirked leaning in to kiss the boy. Your lips had barley brushed his when you were interrupted by the bang of a door.
"Harry dinners ready…" Sirius' voice trailed off when he saw the position of your red faces. He smirked, Harry once again glaring at him.
"We're coming." Harry growled cheeks matching his walls.
"You are now?" Sirius jeered before descending down the stairs.
The second he was out of sight you burst into a fit of giggles.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked.
"I don't know," you laughed out.
With that you made your way to the stairs.
When you sat down at the dinner table you looked up to see your ex-professors eyes sparkling at you.
You smiled at the man and then turned your head to see Harry serving you some food. You thanked him then thanked the chef who sat proudly next to the professor his head of long midnight hair held high.
You quickly launched into a conversation with Mrs. Potter about your plans to be an Auror after Hogwarts while Harry laughed with his godfather.
Your conversation was cut short by Mr. Potter.
"So I saw you had a broom, you play I'm guessing." He inquired.
"Yes I do sir." You spoke politely before placing a tomato into your mouth and feeling its soft skin burst with flavor against your teeth.
"No need for the 'sir'" the man explained before adding, "What position?"
"I'm a chaser si-" you cut your sentence
short blushing.
James eyes widened under his glasses, "Really?"
"Yes, I have been playing since second year." You nodded.
"Wow, that's pretty young for a chaser."
"She's incredible, probably better than you Dad," Harry cut in, "She once scored 180 points in one game. That's only 30 points below the record." Harry gushed making you flame red, "And she's only in her fifth year." Harry added proudly smiling.
You felt on fire when all of the adults at the table looked at you in amazement and surprise. "It's really no big deal, I don't win the games your son does." You mumbled looking down at your food.
Harry rolled his eyes at your modesty even though it only made him grin impossibly l that's quite impressive." Sirius noted, "I didn't take you for a jock."
You bit your lip before hearing another voice cut through.
"She's not just a jock Sirius." Remus rolled his eyes. "When I had her in my class she had the highest marks of all the students, she's quite talented, especially when it comes to spells and charms, she would make a brilliant Auror."
You felt your face once again fill with fire as you looked across at the man who had spoken, "Thank you Professor Lupin."
"Just Remus." He said before taking a sip of his wine.
You nodded and looked at Harry who was smiling brightly at you his eyes sparkling like rare gems.
Lily opened her mouth to continue the conversation when suddenly Harry's smile turned to a grimace of agony. He bent over with a gasp, clutching his forehead.
Everyone instantly began to move, you moved toward Harry wrapping your arms around him, James and Lily reached for their wands as Sirius and Remus leapt from their chairs flicking their own to lock the doors and windows around them.
You and everyone else in that room knew what that anguish Harry was feeling meant.
Harry hissed air through his teeth in pain, "Y/n, you need to get out of here, he's coming, Voldemort's coming." He spit out.
You turned to Lily for an answer but it was too late.
The women flew across the room in a gust of wind
"Lily!" James yelled from across the room before he was thrown backwards into the china case with a crash. You turned to see five figures in black standing in the living room. Sirius leapt into action deflecting two spells before being hit with another.
Remus yelled in anger hitting one of the figures with a spell before being hit with two of his own.
During this you gathered your scattered thoughts and muttered a small protection spell under your breath.
Your heard Harry shriek with misery as another figure appeared in the room. You recognized the man -if you could even call him that- instantly. He started toward you and Harry who had somehow ended up on the floor your arm still sealed over his shoulders.
"Move girl." The thing headed toward you stated.
You rose to your feet to meet him as he neared. "No."
A cackle rose from the throat of the monster. "Look around you," he said gesturing to the four wizards all now caught by a figure in black, wands held by tattooed wrists at their necks.
"Move and you may live." The thing promised.
"No." You repeated grasping your hands to fists as you stood in front of the boy shaking in torment.
"Imperi-"
You didn't let the dark lord finish his spell before you whispered one of your own.
The most forgiving of the unforgivable curses bounced off your shield and hit the window with a crash. You then whispered a small healing spell to Harry and heard him gasp for breath finally being released from pain's cold grasp.
The white faced man now glared at you shooting another curse you deflected with ease. His frustration was now visible as he shot a series of painful spell at you. You muttered deflections and counter curses smoothly.
You almost smiled at the man's great surprise and rage at the new obstacle that stood in the way of Harry's death. Your joy was swept away quickly.
"Y/n move!" You heard Harry yelled before you were hit with a blinding sting in your chest. You fell back in pain gasping for breath. You turned your head to see Remus laying on the ground in a heap, his guard standing over you in triumph.
Suddenly you began to float up in the air. You tried and failed to regain your bearings as you were suddenly flying toward he who must not be named. You felt cold as his fingernails closed aground your neck.
You could smell rotting flesh and the metallic scent of blood. You could sense the hunger of the thing holding you, you could sense its hunger for death, for blood, for pain, he fed from it.
Voldemort cackled watching as Harry screamed, writhing in the grasp of the death eater holding him.
You began to feel adrenaline rush through you with new found terror. You couldn't die. No no no. Not yet. Please dear God not yet. You began to feel tears prick at your eyes. Please. Please not yet. Not yet.
"I can't kill you Harry." The monster paused "Not yet. But I can kill her. I can kill her easily as a bug, she's nothing." He howled in laughter. "The most important thing to you in this miserable world is nothing, its pathetic."
Harry sobbed attempting to throw himself forward as Voldemort's wand raised to your throat.
"Please not her, please, take me instead, not her dont kill her, let her live please." Harry begged, sobs making his words almost incomprehensible.
You watched in horror as Harry broke in front of you. You could hear his parents screaming in the background and Sirius crying for Remus to wake up.
Your body shook with anger and fear at the scene taking place in front of you. You squeezed your eyes shut and focused that energy. You focused just as your dad had thought you. You focused all that pain, fury, fear onto one thing, one spell, one person.
"Crusio." You murmured softly.
Suddenly you were released and sent sprawling towards the ground. You heard a blood curdling shriek of agony behind you and stood to see the dark lord writhing on the floor. As he did your head felt with a splitting pain and you screeched grasping at your temples in an attempt to stop the pain.
It ended as abruptly as it started and you stood over the man so many feared and you saw him look back up at you to see the one thing you were sure this man had never felt before in his eyes. Fear.
He was gone in a whisper of black smoke, his followers disappearing just as quickly.
You turned sliding to the floor next to the boy you loved, tears of relief springing from your eyes.
"She's gone, she's gone, she's gone." You heard him sobbing slumped on the ground defeated.
"Harry, Harry it's me." You said voice breaking. He looked up his glasses were long gone his emerald eyes shining with tears.
"Y/n?" He mumbled.
"Hey, yeah it's me." You cried.
"But y-you, you, you were g-gone."
"Not yet. Not yet." You sobbed tears of joy as you were tackled in a hug by the boy.
You sobbed on to his shoulder as he pulled you into him grasping you desperately, wetting your y/h/c hair with tears.
He pulled away from the hug grabbing your damp cheeks and smashing his lips onto yours.
The kiss was desperate and needy, Harry moved his lips roughly against yours, you could taste the salt on him left from his tears, the same salty droplets still leaking from your eyes.
When you broke away he pulled you into his chest again. "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you y/n, I love you so much." The words fell from his mouth in a slur.
"I love you too Harry. I love you too" You cried into his chest.
Lily and James watched as the two of you reunited and looked at each other with the same eyes. They knew what the two of you had, they had seen very few like it, very few indeed. It was love. Not fake teenage dream "love". Not abusive of forced "love". Not one sided or used "love" but true and actual love. The same love they felt for each other. They watched as the young couple picked each other up and put each other back together and they knew that those two teenagers were in it for the long run.
Tune in next time for: Are these menstrual cramps? Am I pregnant? Is it just gas? I wouldn’t have to ask these questions if I didn’t have a damn uterus
Y'all are forgetting the all-time classic: Is it just my period or is my appendix about to burst? Some nice tea and a heatpack or 911 and emergency surgery?
Place your hand over the pain, press down slightly and release. If the pain doesn’t change by any great margin, you’re fine. If it suddenly becomes some painful you can barely stand, Get thee to an Emergency Room
Honestly this post showed up on my dash as I was coming out of the bathroom from my ‘what the fuck is happening in my abdominal area’ panic attack so thank you
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