#but once she’s thrown thought to the side and is acting more on impulse and instinct she moves more like a game character

[its-rat-time-babey]

My theory on Miko’s apparent electrical powers, made into a 2-ish minute video.

I didn’t count a moment in Ping where Miko’s eyes spark after using a speed boost because it’s shown that the exact same thing happens to other characters after they use speed boosts.

[wilcze-kudly]

I've seen your AU posts about Bolin as the Avatar, but here is another interesting thought experiment for you: what if Suyin was the Avatar?

[Disclaimer: Not making up a new timeline, so let's roll with some AU where the current Suyin we know is simply discovered as the Avatar at a really late age.] So, some of what often defines an Avatar are these common prerequisites: the world tour, learning the elements, spirituality, and approach/practicality. I'll give my thoughts on how I feel Suyin would fare and/or adapt in these categories, but everything said here is really just for fun discussion and is always up for your and everyone's own interpretation. World Tour: Suyin already has one foot in on this side of things as she's already been noted on traveling some parts of the world, seems relatively well-traveled, and has met a variety of people in her travels.

As the Avatar, I don't believe this aspect would be very hard for her. However, I could see her wrestling with the difficulty of hardly ever having the opportunity to enjoy any private time in her home for the sake of ushering peace and stability in the world. It's possible she could have someone act as an interim matriarch over Zaofu or possibly even step down permanently. Oh, who are we kidding? We all know she's a certified workaholic and will collapse trying to do them both at once. Learning the Elements: I also believe this should come easier to her as well. Her fighting style, for starters, is already very reminiscent of airbender movements in how nimble and mindful of her surroundings she is than most other earthbenders. Or, as Aang would say, "being quick or clever"

However, she thinks like a waterbender; how she redirects metal and earth thrown at her and redirect them to her opponent is a sight to behold. The one element I could see having an issue with as the Avatar is fire as it requires a mind of inner peace and tranquility (and she has definitely had some lingering issues in her past). She is also reasonably emotional (under the right circumstances) and impulsive which can cause lapses in her judgment or behavior. Lightning is a possibility as a skill, I suppose, but I definitely see her redirecting it more than generating it much. Oh, and traveling to find masters? Screw that. Nope, they're all getting an extended deluxe stay at Zaofu until she's mastered all the elements. Non-negotiable.

Spirituality: This is the shortest one as we don't know much of what Suyin thinks of spirits, the spirit world, or even how spiritual she actually is. She comes off as a bit materialistic, though, so that might affect how she interacts in those kinds of such matters but it's all very vague, to say the least.

Approach & Practicality: I think this aspect is the most interesting because I think it really hinges on how charitable one wants to be to Suyin's character. For all I've mentioned, she could very well be a Szeto-type of Avatar that mainly prioritizes the progression and safety of only Zaofu and any surrounding territories under their banner. There's enough precedent for that mentality given her response to the Earth Kingdom situation in Book 4. On the flip side, I could also see her acting with a sort of dual persona. One, that operates as sort of a "mother hen" kind of figure that over-compensates for the world's needs, albeit in her own fussy and systematic way with the best of maternal intentions. The other persona is more discreet and handles problems behind the scenes. Given that she had someone like Aiwei in her ranks and wasn't afraid to assassinate Kuvira in the dead of night, this is another possibility of how she would operate as the Avatar. Honestly, I envision her as a slightly more domineering Yangchen, with occasional flashes of Kyoshi if things REALLY hit the fan. But, hey, who is gonna piss off the cool mom, right? ....Right?

Oh my god I love this idea! I think a show following an older, more established Avatar would be very interesting.

One can actually put forth a theory that Suyin's travels have already kinda lead her through all three elements to some extent.

She spent time sailing on a pirate's ship, surrounded by water. That's waterbending down.

The circus she performed in looks incredibly similar to the one Ty Lee had performed in. This can also be backed up that Suyin also has a painted lady doll, a dragon mask, and some other thing (perhaps a flute? Or a pin?) With a dragon motif. So that's firebending also down.

Her connection to Airbending is a little bit less pronounced, but she did spend a lot of time in a sandbender commune. Now, while sandbenders are earthbenders, their bending methods are incredibly similar to airbending, to the point where they can propel their sandgliders with it. The commune could also be similar to Air Nomads and their communal lifestyles.

I can see her connecting very strongly with the healing aspects of waterbending. She seems to have a bit of medicinal knowledge, or at least enough of an instinct to get most of the metal out of Korra's bloodstream. We really don't talk about that enough man that was cool as fuck.

I could sort of see Suyin making Zaofu a bit of her home and "base of operations" like Aang seemed to fo with Air Temple Island. Also the idea that instead of a traditional Team Avatar, she has her gaggle of feral ninja children is really funny to me.

The more I think about Suyin as an Avatar, the more wonderful symbolism I can see there.

The Earth Kingdom is still probably suffering massively after the damage done to it by the Fire Nation. And who better to herald it's rebirth than the metalbender Avatar daughter of a renowned war hero.

Suyin is all about progress and people growing. And I can certainly see her wanting to spread that to others. As the Avatar, doing so wouldn't be seen as her subjugating others (which was one of her main reasons to not help during the whole earth empire thing) but by acting as a Spiritual Guide to others.

So yeah this is an amazing concept. Honestly i need to gather my thoughts on it but I may revisit this concept.

[eulcgizeme]

OPEN TO: @gcldenhcurs for august wainwright MUSE: yorke harcourt, not ♥️ his man. PLOT: brunch soiree at the harcourts and it takes everything in yorke to not drag august by his ear into the kitchen to tell him to knock it off after making his wife but they both know she's a cry baby and its got nothing to do with her.

The small peace offering had been thrown into the sink, crystal vase knocking against porcelain to echo the disruption just in case it wasn't heard. Destruction, impatient and impulsive in nature, had always been August's to wield but here Yorke stood thrashing in it. "I don't care if that's how you talk about your wife, but you don't talk about Rebekah like that, alright?" Yorke barked at him. "Once she's calm, you go out there and apologize— and you leave, August. Got it? We're not kids anymore. The jokes aren't funny. You don't shit talk the people you want to be your friends as far as she's concerned, we're trying to be your friends. At least try and act like it instead of thinking you're entitled to it." He had tried to go back to the way things were, find the glamour in how trivial unrequited flames were. Every time August kicked it up, though, it was just soot and embers that only stained the finest linen. Yorke was convinced that nothing had changed when his friend left, but it seemed like he'd been holding his breath the whole time. "I am trying to love you the way I always have, the way it made sense, the way you never minded!" He hissed across the counter, the distance they had seemed to keep almost religiously since his return in white silk and lace. "What are you trying to get out of this, coming around here? If you want to be a part of it, then act like it. This isn't our parents bullshit for us to fuck up and let them pick it up. It's ours." Yorke thought it was selfish to perceive it in such a way, but he was certain that Olivia was no more than a compromise. He wondered if she really was the first one to step into a room, an offering to everyone else before August's clamor. Everything grew around her. Tolerance for her sake, surrender for her young love, respect for her sense of the world on frail shoulders that would snap too easily. His own wife abided even if she didn't know why he was so insistent on giving August his stage even if he give into his performance. "You might be pretending, but I'm not," He spat. Rebekah's soft breathes could be heard on the patio followed by the gentle patter of Olivia trying to put it back together. "She hates having you over. She does it for me, and I do it for you so you're not stuck on that side of town all the damn time, and so Olivia isn't alone when you leave her every other night. Don't make an enemy out of me because you can't everything you want."

[after-witch]

Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

 A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on. 

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on  your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side.  You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you.  He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding. 

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness. 

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight,  you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

**

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[kindapinkskies]

i know | jj maybank

hellooooo i've risen from the dead and its with a fic about outer banks... i've fallen in love with jj... thats my baby

this was supposed to be a 5+1 concept and it still kinda is but i got really really carried away. as my new friend @captainpogue​ calls it the too much gene. so buckle up and grab a snack this is 21k words lmaoooo i hope you enjoy

i love you already

warnings: nothing more than what is mentioned in the show

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were laying on your stomach, on your bed, flipping through a book. It didn’t have your full attention as your mind was elsewhere. Music filtered in through your headphones but you weren’t really listening to it, either. It was almost dark outside and with the power still out, the few candles lit in your room did little to help you focus on the words in front of you.

It was also extremely hot. You were sweating just laying there. Your shirt was stuck to you and your shorts felt uncomfortable even if they were cloth sleeping shorts. Letting out a frustrated groan, you drop your head down to the book but immediately wince when you feel it get stuck to your forehead. You have to slowly lift your head and peel the page off with your fingers. Gross.

Moving the book, you lay your head down again and just try to breathe. The events of the day are finally catching up to you, making you a bit tired. Your mind is racing as the memories flash through like a movie playing behind your eyelids. Walking down the street and hearing a distressed, “Just shut up, Pope!” You recognized the voice like it was your own and rushed across the street where you came face to face with your group. JJ had looked at you, guilt shining in his eyes as he looked back at Shoupe, “Yeah, it was all me.”

A distressed sigh -one that matched the one you let out as you helplessly watched JJ get pushed into the back of the cop car- leaves your body in a rush and it makes your bed bounce just a little with the force of it. Kiara had moved up to you as you watched Pope let out a scream and storm off, his dad following him angrily with the hat Pope had thrown to the ground. She explained what she knew and all you could do was close your eyes and let out a breath. You knew JJ getting arrested, again, wouldn’t be good for him. He’s seventeen now, still a minor, but he’s so close to being tried as an adult and that scares you.

“Hey, you want to go to the police station, see if we can do something?” Kie had offered when she noticed that you’d done nothing but stare off in the direction the cop car had gone.

“No, his dad will most likely show up.” you stated and winced at your own words. “I’m just going to go home. I’d say text me but you know, towers are down. And my phone might even be dead with the whole no power thing.”

Kie laughed at your tone and it pulled a laugh out of you as well.

Rolling onto your back, you cover your face with your hands and try really hard to keep your frustrations at bay. You know JJ didn’t do shit this time around. You know what he’s covering for and why he’s doing it but god damn it you wished he had a little bit more common sense sometimes. You wish he wouldn’t put others before himself sometimes, even though that wasn’t in his nature. You wish he didn’t have such a temper sometimes, or the need to prove himself, because then that’d help him stay under the radar a bit easier. But you knew that JJ would never lose those parts of himself, that’s just who he was. Someone who cared about others too much because he didn’t want them to feel what he’s felt his whole life but had a temper like no other.

The temper is something you’ve tried working on with him for as long as you’ve known him. Since the first time you saw him lose it at the age of twelve. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism, to fly off the handles as soon as someone upset him enough. You guessed it was because he knew nothing else. Growing up around that kind of behavior, it just kind of sticks. He tries though, tries to keep it under control for as long as possible though, hating that he gets so angry so easily but people just make him so mad. You’ve told him that he gets that way because he bottles up everything he’s feeling when he’s feeling it and it just keeps building until he snaps. And when he snaps, it’s because he filled himself up with so much rage it has nowhere else to go than through his fists, or yelling, or apparently holding someone at gunpoint.

Tears of frustration for JJ start to build behind your eyelids and your nose starts to tingle but you just can’t help it. JJ doesn’t deserve the things he’s been put through, he really doesn’t. He’s a good person. He has good intentions behind most of the crazy shit he does. It’s just that he doesn’t think of the consequences before he goes through with his impulses. His snap judgement choices weigh out any other rational thought in his head.

Like he clearly didn’t think of what would happen to him when taking the blame for a felony charge and you really hope he’s okay. You kinda hope his dad didn’t show up to get him from the police station and that he’s still there because you know the outcome of the scenario. You’ve been on the comforting end of those scenarios more often than not and each time it breaks your heart. To see the boy cut up and bruised by the hand of his own father. He brushes it off every time, ‘It’s nothing I can’t handle’ but you see the pain there. The shine in his eyes and the deep breaths to keep himself from crying. You see it. Every. Time.

You can only hope that today won’t be one of those days where JJ will be littered with dark bruises and deep cuts. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought of JJ not even making it out of his house today. That’s he’s too hurt to move and that makes a breath stutter out of you in the force of a sob. You press the heels of your hands harder to your closed eyelids in hopes to stop the tears from falling when you feel a weight drop down around your legs. You let out a yelp as your eyes fly open and you sit up in the process.

JJ stands there, at the end of your bed, with his hands on either side of your knees. Your heart nearly drops to your toes when you take in his appearance. Your hopes of him coming out of today unscathed were just that, hopes. The left side of his face is nearly purple, there’s cuts on his eyebrow, cheek, jaw, and a few around his neck line. His eyes are red rimmed and the tip of his nose is just as red. Jaw clenched and breathing ragged, you can tell he’s doing everything he can to hold back his tears. Some have already fallen, you know that, but that was when he was alone. Now he’s trying to act like everything’s fine when you know it’s not. When you both know it’s not.

“JJ,” you breathe out, removing your headphones and tossing your phone to the floor. His face crumples at your voice and you’re a bit relieved. He’s not going to hide how he feels and that just makes you whisper his name again, “JJ.”

That’s all it takes before JJ removes his backpack and climbs up the length of your body, pushing you to lay back down as he settles on top of you. He shakes against you as you wrap yourself around him. One hand goes up the back of his shirt and the other knocks off his hat so you can run your fingers through his hair. He lets out a shaky breath against your neck and then he’s crying. He shoves his face into your neck and you move a little to the side to let him get more comfortable, wanting to give him all the comfort in the world.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.” You repeat the words over and over again, hoping that they’ll sink in and bounce around in his head so he’ll believe them. “I was so worried about you. That’s why I was crying when you showed up. You worry me, JJ. You always do.”

He starts to settle down after that and you let out a breath, moving one of your hands to quickly remove the tears from your own cheeks before moving back to running your fingers through his hair. “It’s not a bad thing that you worry me. I only worry because I care about you. I care about you more than I care about anyone else.”

Stuttering breaths still fan over the skin of your neck and you just continue to run your hands over him. Your hand on his back is lightly scratching at the skin there, your fingernails leaving a trail of goosebumps. Your other hand is playing with the strands of his hair, untangling them and smoothing them over. “You’ll be okay, JJ.”

When you feel him nod, you know you got him back down to earth. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay then, let’s go check out those cuts.”

You both get off the bed, JJ focusing too hard on the ground but nonetheless let’s you take his hand and guide him down the hall and into the bathroom. Once he’s seated, on the closed lid of the toilet, you move in between his legs to get close enough to inspect his face. His hands trail up the backs of your legs and wrap around your thighs. It’s a subconscious move on his part, it always is when you’re in this position. For some reason it brings him comfort, it grounds him, keeps him aware that you’re there and in front of him. His thumbs trace up and down on the outsides of your thighs as he tilts his head back for you.

You clean up the dry blood around his eyebrow, cheek, and lip. He hisses at the pressure to get it all off and whines when you clean the cuts with an antiseptic. You apologize by placing delicate kisses over the broken skin. A sigh escapes through his parted lips and his hands move up to the point where his fingers graze the bottom of your shorts.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper against his lips, ghosting yours over his to try and soothe the sting out of the cut. You’re not too sure how good it works but JJ relaxes a bit more under your touch.  

A small smile pulls at JJ’s lips as his eyes meet yours, “Hi, baby,” he echoes and his lips brush against yours.

Running your fingers through his hair, you tug a little at the strands and his eyes fall closed once again. You take the opportunity to run your fingers carefully over the bruises littering his delicate skin. There’s nothing you wish for more than for your fingertips to magically heal the darkened, painful, skin of his face.

Another sigh leaves through his parted lips and this time he sounds a bit watery. You grab onto his face with both hands and push your thumbs up under his closed eyelids to see if tears will leak through. And when they do, you swipe them away. “I owe 30 grand in restitution for sinking the boat. My dad didn’t like that.”

The question of what happened would always sit there on the tip of your tongue but you always knew what happened so you would never ask. It was always the same, it was just the reason that changed. And JJ would tell you it every time, once he calmed enough to talk about it.

“You didn’t do it, JJ.”

JJ sighs, “Yeah, I know. But Pope doesn’t deserve that charge. He has so much to look forward to. A way to get out of here and I couldn’t let him throw that away.”

Your hands move his face to a position that when he opens his eyes, he’ll be looking right at you. He knows that so he does and when he does, tears slide down his cheeks before your thumbs have a chance to stop them. “Yeah, but what about you?”

“We all know where I come from. There’s no way I’ll ever be more than that.”

“Don’t-“

He cuts you off, “No, it’s true. Look at me? Look at the shit I’m in. I have nothing going for me. I have nothing to lose. I might as well start now, the life I’m destined to live.”

Your nose starts to tingle once again, the tears resurfacing, “JJ, stop.”

“What?” he scoffs, “You want me to stop telling the truth? When will you realize that I’m correct? That I’m not good for anyone.”

“You’re nothing like him, JJ. You never have been and that’s something you need to realize.” You tug on his hair again, to make sure you have his attention. “The way you care about those you love. I mean, today was a bit reckless but you protected your friend. You protect the entire friend group. You’d never hurt anyone just for the hell of it, just because you felt like it, that’s not you, JJ. “

Looking him in the eyes, you try your best to convey the severity of your words, “You say you have nothing to lose but you do. You have me for one, then there's John B, Kie, Pope. If you keep doing reckless shit you’ll lose us. We need you JJ, you’re the biggest support system in our little group.”

JJ doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He taps on your thigh, signaling for you to move and when you do he just walks out of the bathroom. You let out a sigh and drop your head, leaving it to hang for a few moments while you steady your breathing to make sure you don’t cry. Everything you said was true and you wished he believed it. The group is full of strong personalities but JJ is the one that keeps everyone a bit sane. He stops people from bickering, he keeps the mood light when it gets to be heavy, he listens to everyone so intently that he knows every detail about anyone. He’s the first to speak up when others are talking down to your group, he's the first to throw a punch in defense. He’s the one, specifically, that brings light to your life every day.

You clean up the bathroom slowly, distracting yourself so you don’t cry. Now is not the time to be emotional, not when JJ’s headspace is so low. This isn’t the first time this has happened and you know it won’t be the last. The amount of self loathing that boy has for himself will stick around no matter what people tell him. It gets better at times but his dad has a way of making it come to the forefront of his brain more often than not.

It’s about fifteen minutes later, stalling as much as possible, before you make your way back to your room. You have a glass of water and some pain killers now because you know that JJ didn’t leave, that he wouldn’t leave. He never does.

“Here,” you murmur, handing over the glass and two pills. “Lay down and go to sleep.”

He has his shirt off and he watches as you move around the room. His gaze is heavy and it makes you feel even warmer than you’re already feeling. You pick up things around the room, dirty clothes, cups, pieces of trash, anything to keep you busy. It’s not something you want to do but you also want to give JJ some space. You won’t admit it but it upsets you every time he starts talking like that and you know he knows that. He always lasts about 13 minutes before he breaks down.

And right on the dot, as you have an armful of dirty clothes to drop in the hamper, he speaks up. “Will you come lay down?”

“I’m going to take a shower. I feel gross.”

JJ lets out a tired sigh, “I’ve calmed down, please come here.”

“I feel gross,” you argue. He may have calmed down but you’re still hurt at his words. You know he doesn’t do it on purpose but it hurts to know that he believes he’s not worth anything, that he’s not afraid of losing you or anyone else that cares about him.

“There’s no point in showering, if I’m not going to shower and we end up pressed against each other anyway. We’ll be sweaty regardless.” He reasons, his voice on the verge of despair and you know that he needs you close right now. That he needs the comfort he seeks. “Please?”

Your heart softens at the tone of his voice and you cave.  Dropping the clothes into the hamper you shuffle over to the empty side of your bed. JJ turns his back to you and you settle in behind him, shoving one arm under his neck and wrapping the other one around his waist. You pull him close to you, both palms flat against his chest, molding your body against his. JJ brings a hand to the top of yours and laces his fingers with yours. He lets out a stuttering breath when you place your lips to the back of his neck.

“I have one thing to lose,” he breathes out, “and it’s you.” You press another kiss to the back of his neck before digging your nose to the skin there. “I love you, you know”

“Yeah, I know.” You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. “I love you, you know.”

JJ sighs and relaxes completely, like he’d been waiting for you to say those exact words, “I know.”

He falls asleep a few minutes later.

-

-

It’s about three days later when you’re walking down the street when you notice a familiar looking jeep coming towards you. Your hopes for it to just keep driving die before they’re fully even there because it stops next to you, making you stumble a bit at the closeness.

“Pogue.”

“Topper.” you sigh, stepping up to his driver window. “I have a name.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really care.” He looks you up and down before smirking, “But I could.”

You roll your eyes, “Hm, in your dreams. What do you want?”

“Just wanted to see how your little group of Pogues are doing with your precious Pope in the slammer?” He raises an eyebrow in question.

You cross your arms over your chest and step closer. You’re not above fighting. You know how to, you were taught how to fight correctly, your dad teaching you at a young age. He felt the need to, with where you live and the stability you have in such an area.

“Yeah, see, JJ was the one that ended up there.”

Topper’s face falls and his skin turns a bit pale at your words. He won’t ever admit it, but you know that he’s secretly scared of JJ. Him and his friends, they all are. Never once have you seen them go to him one on one. They always have 2 or more and it always fills you with pride because JJ does know how to fight but it’s never fair because he’s just one and they gang up on him.

“Why?” he questions.

“Well, Top, that’s because he’s a good person. Unlike you.” you sneer, not backing down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger than you but you’re not scared of him. You never have been.

“I didn’t want to press the charges, it wasn’t me!” His cocky demeanor falls quickly at the newfound information and it makes you laugh. “It was my mom, I swear.”

“Right, so you couldn’t have stopped her? Couldn’t have done anything when you know the reason it was done in the first place was because you jumped someone who was just trying to do their job. Someone who works for their money. Does someone working to keep themselves afloat scare you? What is it! Huh? You don’t like it?” You can’t help yourself. The force in which your voice is coming out startles you just as much as it does Topper.

“Oh please,” Topper scoffs, rolling his eyes in the process, “don’t act like they’re all innocent. I had a gun held to my head.”

“Yeah, true, but you were about to kill one of our friends! You’re no better than any of us. Oh! And should I mention how you almost killed another one the other night at the outdoor movie? Should I bring that up to someone? Hm? Maybe your mom or maybe the police?” You tilt your head to the side, taunting him a bit.

“Like anyone would believe someone like you,” Topper laughs.

You laugh right back, “Do you forget that I’m actually right under you, status wise? That my family just chooses to live where we do because we’re not a bunch of prissy snobs. People would believe me.”

“Do your Pogues know about you?”

“Of course they do. Do you think that me having money changes anything?” You question, rolling your eyes. “Actually, this conversation is going nowhere. I’m done. I have somewhere I need to be.”

When you step back and start walking, Topper gets out and follows you. “Come back here!”

“For what! What do you want?”

“You need to be knocked down a peg or two. Remind you where you are and who you hang out with,” He steps up to you, trying to seem threatening.

You look up at him bored, “Okay, Topper. Why don’t you get back in your car and drive away. Go do some drugs or beat up on someone working.”

He grabs at your arm and pulls you chest to chest with him, getting in your face in the process. “You don’t know me!”

“And I don’t want to. Now, let me go.”

When you fight against his grip he just holds on tighter. You wince and you know it’ll bruise, “I’m not above hitting a girl. Especially when she’s asking for it.”

“Do it, I dare you.” you challenge, stepping up to nearly pressing your nose to his. You’re not too sure how you didn’t see it coming, probably because you were really challenging him. But he didn’t seem to think the same thing because he surges forward to press his lips to yours. You back away as far as possible but his grip on you doesn’t let you go far and his lips make contact with yours. “Get off of me!”

You stomp on his foot and knee him in the stomach and that gets him to let go. “You bitch!” he grumbles out and reaches for your leg, pulling it out from under you. You land on the ground with a groan and kick at him when he grabs your ankle and bends down to punch you across the face, “Fucking stop!”

“You’re the one that grabbed me, now let go!” You kick at him again and get him in the groin this time. And when he bends over you get enough momentum to deliver a punch to the side of his face. He lands on his side and you push him around until he’s on his back and punch him again before standing up. You stick your boot up under his chin and step on his neck just enough to make it harder for him to breathe. “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.”

“You bitch!” He exclaims again, trying to lunge up at you again but when it doesn’t work he scratches down your leg, cutting into the skin. You push into his neck more when he doesn’t stop. “You do belong with the Pogues.”

“I know,” you smirk, leaning down. “You get your mom to drop the charges against JJ and I’ll make sure he doesn’t come after you for what you just pulled.”

“You think I’m scared of him!” He yells out, choking a bit when your foot slips against his movement.

“I know that you are. And after he finds out it was you that did this to me, it’ll be a whole other type of anger from him.” you whisper, shoving against his throat again. “Drop the charges and I’ll keep him away from you, for this.”

Topper gasps and starts to grab at your ankle but you don’t move it and you won’t move it until he agrees. It only takes a few seconds before he caves, “Okay! Okay, I’ll do it!”

“Good,” you smile, pulling back a little and a gasping breath echoes loudly between the two of you. “Do it now.”

Topper groans and tries to fight you once again, punching at your thigh this time around and it makes you stumble back but not enough because you slam your foot down on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. “Do it now.”

He lets out a breath and fumbles around in his pocket before his phone is presented and he puts it to his ear. “On speaker.”

Once Topper hangs up the phone, after spitting out some bullshit excuse, his mom agrees. She sounds reluctant but she agrees nonetheless. Topper punches you in the thigh once again, this time harder, losing your balance and hitting the ground once more. He kicks at you, foot coming in contact with your lower back after you turned away from him.

“You won’t ever do that to me again, you hear me?” Topper yells, standing up above you.

You laugh and turn over onto your back, “What? Your ego hurt after being held down by a girl.” His face turns red and you can tell he’s trying his hardest not to kick you again. It just makes you laugh more as you stand up to your full height once more. “Don’t let the charges being dropped fall through. If they do? I won’t have any control over what happens.”

You start to walk away and another laugh escapes when you hear Topper, from behind you, let out a frustrated scream before his car door slams and he speeds away. He’s too easy. Messing with him is one of your favorite things to do, even if it ends up with you limping a bit and blood trickling down your leg.

When you reach your destination, The Chateau as always, you’re relieved to only see Kie at the dock you’re all supposed to be meeting at. You initially thought you’d be the last one to show up, your run in with Topper added at least 20 extra minutes to your journey, but you’re glad it doesn’t seem that way. Kie looks up when a branch snaps under your foot and you can see a smile outlining her face when she spots you but it quickly turns into a frown when she sees the state you’re in.

“What the hell happened to you?” she screeches, meeting you halfway.

You look around the property, in search of a certain blonde boy because you absolutely had no idea how you were going to explain this to him. JJ was absolutely going to lose it once he saw you and he absolutely isn’t going to let it go until he knows the truth. You thought about lying to him but he knows you better than he knows himself and he’d see through the lie before it would even have a chance to leave your mouth.

“Where are the guys? I thought I’d be late.”

Kie gives you an unimpressed look at your obvious avoidance of the subject, “I don’t know, something about Figure 8 and Sarah Cameron. That’s all I heard on the phone call.”

You nod, not really caring where they are in the slightest, “Cool. Now will you help me clean up a bit. It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks, I promise.”

She runs her eyes down your whole body before meeting your eyes, “That’s a lie. Do you not feel the blood actively running down your leg?”

Looking down, your eyes widen at just how much blood is covering your leg. “Shit,” you mutter, pressing a palm to your forehead.

“What happened?”

“I ran into Topper,” you sigh, the adrenaline quickly leaving your body now that you’re standing still.

Kiara gasps loudly, “By yourself!”

“Yes,” you groan, not really seeing the big deal. “He looks worse.”

Kie looks like she doesn’t believe you and she’s clearly about to question you when the van pulls up and JJ loudly gets out, yelling out to you both, “Yo, guys, someone beat the shit out of Topper and it wasn’t even us!”

He clearly hasn’t taken in the sight of you yet but you turn your attention back to Kie and you can’t help but smirk at the shocked expression on her face. “JJ’s going to lose his shit in about 2 seconds.”

And just as Kiara closes her mouth, JJ’s voice nearly echoes through the trees, “What in the fuck!” You wince at his tone and just how loud it is.

He was still behind you, you purposely kept your eyes locked on Kiara so you don’t have to face him just yet. But that’s clearly not going to stand because JJ steps in front of you, effectively pushing Kie out of the way. “Who did this?”

“I fell?” You raise your voice as if asking a question, scrunching your face up into your shoulders. The deadpan look on your boyfriend's face makes you let out a sigh and drop your shoulders. “I’d like to say for you to see the other guy but you already have.”

Pope’s voice cuts in before JJ even has a chance to process your words, “You did that to Topper!” He sounds impressed and a big smile pulls at your lips as you turn your head to look at him.

“Holy shit,” John B exhales staring at you in complete awe. “He was fucked up.”

A laugh bubbles past your lips and your cheeks heat up at the attention you’re receiving. The admiration on the two boys' faces almost makes you forget about the other boy in your presence. The one that’s been awfully quiet. You turn back to him and the look on his face makes you frown. His pupils are blown and his jaw is clenched so tight you’re positive his teeth hurt. His focus is dead set on the base of your throat.

Waving your hand in front of his face, you snap your fingers as well, trying to bring him back to you, “Earth to JJ. Come back to me.”

“Topper did this to you?” he asks and when you nod, something flashes in his eyes so quick you find yourself trying to chase it. Figure out what’s going through his head. “I’m going to kill him.”

You’re stunned at the way his voice sounds, deep and raspy, filled with so much hatred. You’re almost positive his voice has never been so low before and it sends chills down your spine. You blink at him but when you open your eyes he’s not in front of you anymore. He’s only a few steps away but you can’t really move as the pain in your leg finally settled in.

“JJ,” you cry out, half out of pain and half to get his attention. “Don’t do anything! Come back here.”

You swivel in your spot and watch him as he continues to stomp into the house. A few things crash around before he comes back out, shoving what you assume is the gun into the back of his pants. “JB, give me the keys.”

“No, don’t give them to him!” You yell out. You need to get his attention.

“What are you thinking? Do you really think I’m just going to sit here and do nothing when that piece of shit put his hands on you?” JJ shouts, standing a few feet away from you now.

Pope comes up behind JJ and puts both hands to his shoulder, “Calm down, man,” he says but JJ roughly shrugs his shoulder and pushes Pope off of him. He puts his hands up in surrender but stays close. “You can’t just go pull a gun out on him and kill him.” He reasons.

“Oh yeah?” He challenges. “Watch me.”

“JJ, stop it,” Kie cries out now.

“Yeah man, you saw what Topper looked like. You should be happy that she’s the one who did it.” John B points out, gesturing to you and JJ follows the movement of his hand and he looks to you again.

He looks at you with his brows furrowed, a storm swirling around in his eyes as he stares you down. The eye contact isn’t something you normally back down from but the intensity in his eyes right now throws you off. It feels like you’re being chastised. You know he’s trying to figure out why you fought Topper. He knows that you don’t just out right fight someone, even if they start it first. He knows that the only time you ever fight is in self defense or to defend someone you care about.

“What did you do?” JJ asks because he knows you did this for a reason. Something more than just for yourself because you don’t personally care for Topper, you’d never give him the time of day and that includes fighting him. “Why’d you fight him?”

“Well,” you shrug, looking down to your feet. Your leg was still bleeding. You should probably do something about that. “He made me mad.”

JJ scoffs, “Your temper is not as bad as mine. There’s more to it. Tell me, now, or I will go kill him.”

You hesitate some more, fixated on your feet and the way they look in your boots. They’re a bit scuffed but they still look good. You focus on that and not the four sets of eyes burning into your frame. Telling them, telling JJ why you fought would result in JJ feeling like shit. You really don’t want him to feel like shit because you did what you did to help him. But he’ll feel like shit because you got hurt and you got hurt on his behalf. There’s nothing he hates more than someone standing up for him and getting hurt because of it.

“Today, please.” JJ snaps and you look up at him to see the anger plastered on his face.

“I was walking here when he pulled up beside me. He wanted to taunt me about Pope being in jail for the whole boat thing and I told him that it was you that took the blame for it. He tried arguing with me but when I started to walk away he grabbed me,” you take a breath when you see JJ step forward like he’s ready to protect you from the words you’re about to say. “And well, when I was challenging him to hit me he kissed me but I -“

“He did what now?” JJ cuts in, his voice so deep and slow your eyes widen at him. Kiara and Pope’s jaw drops at the same time and John B looks taken aback at the way his best friend sounds. Never have they ever heard him sound so angry. You’ve never even heard him so angry before.

Everyone, but you and JJ, glances at each other in confusion but you don’t even dare to look away from JJ. They don’t know what’s going on or why JJ would get so mad at the idea of someone else kissing you. Kiara had a suspicion long ago that the two of you were dating but you shot it down even though she was right. That was almost a year ago and as far as you know they don’t know you’re actually together. At this point you’re not too sure why they don’t even know or why you haven’t told them but you have a feeling they’re about to be real surprised here soon. The look in JJ’s eyes is possessive, it’s down right a claim that you’re his and no one has the right to kiss you.

“Let me finish,” you put a hand up. “I kicked him, shoved him down to the ground, punched him, then held him by the throat with my foot-“

“My god,” John B breathes out, once again looking in awe. Pope just nods in agreement, almost in a daze. Kiara, well she just looks impressed.

“While I slightly choked him with my foot,” you pause for a second, preparing yourself for the worst reaction from JJ, “I got him to drop the charges on the boat.”

It goes deathly quiet for a few moments before three voices come at you all at one, “What?”

You ignore them, still looking at JJ, “By the end of the day your name should be cleared. You won’t be held responsible for the boat anymore.”

JJ doesn’t say anything, he just continues to stare but you watch him carefully. His breaths are deep and calculated, his jaw is clenching and unclenching, his fists loosen and he rests his palms against his thighs. You can practically see the wheels inside his brain working through the information, processing the fact that you did this for him. He’s not used to someone caring for him this way, no matter how long you’ve been there for him, he’s still not used to the love you have for him. He went so long without it, it takes him a while to process it.

But you see the moment it finally settles in his brain, the second that he fully processed the information you’d given him. His chest stutters briefly and you know the tears are going to come next. He breathes in a long breath, and holds it in his lungs before it rushes out through his nose. He’s trying to keep up his tough front, but he’s failing. His eyes finally soften and they go back to the normal light they usually are.

Then, in the blink of an eye he’s in front of you. His hands cradle your face before his body collides with yours, hard, and his lips are on yours. The kiss is hard, it’s possessive, passionate, sincere but hasty, fervent, needy, desperate. It’s overwhelming and so full of emotion that it takes you a second to respond but when you do, JJ sighs into it and pulls you impossibly closer. One hand moves to your lower back and the other one stays on your jaw where his thumb pushes against your face to open your mouth even more. He is absolutely, unquestionably claiming you right here, right now. Not that you need to be claimed but you don’t mind. You’ve never felt so alive before.

The love JJ is conveying through this kiss is everything you’ve ever needed and you reciprocate the best that you can. You want him to know that you’re his and he’s yours. Just how it should be.

JJ whines when you pull away and he chases after you but you need to breathe, “Jesus, J.”

“I’ll say,” Kiara agrees, a little out of breath herself at what she just witnessed. Two seventeen year olds should not know how to share such a passionate looking kiss.

“I didn’t know friends kiss like that,” John B jokes, nudging Pope when he laughs.

“That’s because they don’t.” he continues laughing.

JJ ignores everything they say, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I did.” You shrug, shifting on your feet and wincing at the pain that shoots through your leg and JJ notices that. “But like can we go get me cleaned up or something, I need to sit down.”

“Yeah,” JJ nods hastily, “you guys go ahead and go out without us,” he looks at the other three, that still look like they’re in complete shock, and doesn’t wait for their response before he looks back to you, “can you walk?”

You nod but he doesn’t listen. JJ swiftly throws you over his shoulder and starts walking towards the house. “I love you, you know,” he says once he’s far enough away from everyone.

“I know.”

-

-

It’s the next day when you and JJ make an appearance after staying inside all day the day before. Once you had showered and iced down the parts of your body that hurt, you fell asleep and stayed asleep until it was dark. The adrenaline in your system was completely gone and you were in a lot of pain so sleep came naturally.

You met John B, Pope, Kie, and even Sarah, at the beach. It was around 11am when you and JJ walked up to them as they were sitting there in the sand. As you approached, they went quiet and watched as JJ helped you sit, hand you a bottle of water before sitting down behind you. His legs press against yours on either side of your body and his hands rest on top of your thighs. You can feel four sets of eyes on you and you give it about 3 more seconds before someone breaks the quiet.

“How are you feeling?” Kie is the one to break it. You glance at her and give her a smile, one that she returns.

“Sore but I’ll be fine.”

John B laughs a bit of a disbelieving laugh, “What you explained yesterday was pretty badass.”

“Hell yeah it was,” Pope excitedly cuts in. “I should say thank you, as well.”

You just shrug, “I would’ve done it for any of you.”

“Did Topper really do that to you?” Sarah questions you, quizzically looking you up and down. Your face bruised and so did your leg. The scratches down your leg are scabbed and also bruised.

The hands on your thighs tighten and dig into the skin there. You gently place your hands on his, soothing the anger that still sits there. He calmed down yesterday, barely, but he did enough to listen to what happened when you explained it again. Adding in the details you knew would calm him down. He tried to argue with you a few times but you finally got through to him, made him accept the fact that you did what you did and there’s no turning back now.

“What a dick. I can’t believe I dated him,” Sarah continues when you nod at her.

As everyone laughs and starts to pick on Sarah for her choices, you shift your upper body enough to twist around and look at JJ. His eyes are dark and his jaw is clenched tight, pushing out the muscles in his neck. You let out a sigh and bring a hand up to his cheek, soothing your fingers over his jaw to get him to unclench. He’s angry, that much you can tell, but he’s trying his best to keep a wraps on it. It’s been very difficult to keep him steady. Every time he looks at you, he tenses and his breathing gets all deep. It’ll be like that for a few days.

“JJ, calm down,” you whisper to him. The fingers digging into your thighs tighten some more before he relaxes, his eyes meeting yours and the dark anger in them fizzling away slowly. “Hey, there you are.”

“I still can’t believe you won’t let me go kick his ass,” JJ scoffs, moving to lean back on his hands. The movement makes you sway a little, having not realized how much you were relying on him to keep you upright. “I just want to kick his ass.”

He always wants to kick his ass but you know the underlying anger in him would take it further than that and that’s not something you want. Also, “If you kick his ass the charges will come back,” you remind him.

JJ closes his eyes and takes a breath. You move around between his legs and sit sideways, your legs bent over one of his now so you don’t have to be so twisted to look at him. Your back hurts a bit too much for that. He pulls up the leg that’s against your back and presses it into you, giving you something to lean on. You place a hand on his thigh, up by his hip, and lean into him a bit, “I’m sure you’ll get the chance to kick his ass again but just not for this, okay? I hit him just as much as he hit me.”

That brings a smirk to his face, “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you choke someone out with those boots you wear. I’m a bit mad I missed it, I’m sure it was hot as fuck.”

And that catches the attention of everyone else and you turn your head when John B speaks up, “Fuck, I was thinking the same thing,” he laughs and laughs even harder when Sarah gasps. “I’m just saying.”

“Actually,” Kie shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind picking a fight with Topper just to see that.”

You let out a loud laugh, your head thrown back at the sheer force in which it comes out, “Can we wait a few days maybe, I hurt.”

JJ immediately brings a hand up to soothe over your leg. It does look bad and honestly it does hurt as bad as it looks. It only takes a few seconds for his other hand to brush over the nasty looking bruise on your back too. Four sets of eyes track the movements, “Does it hurt that bad?”

“Yeah, actually. The cuts sting the worst and the sun makes them feel like they’re burning.” Your answer makes JJ frown. His eyes flicker with anger once more, “Stay calm,” you state a bit forcefully.

You can tell that the group wants to question the movements between you and JJ. The kiss you shared in front of them yesterday was anything but the friendly kisses that you share with the group most days and it’s been on the forefront of their brains ever since. Sarah is the only one that doesn’t track the movements for more than what they are, she didn’t see the kiss and the closeness is no different than what it usually is for the both of you.

The good thing about being with JJ is that nothing really changed between the two of you when you started dating. As kids, you were alway closer than with anyone else. JJ trusted you, protected you, cared deeply for you from the beginning. The touchiness started when you were 15, feelings between you a little too strong to ignore so you went from the friendly hugs and touches to a bit more. Hands would rest in more intimate places, no longer would they rest on knees but now on thighs. No longer on the waist but more on the curve of hips or high up on the rib cage near the chest. Everything was taken in stride, the older everyone got the more common it was and no one questioned a thing about it. It was mostly friendly, being so used to being near JJ for years that the change in touches barely registered in your head, it was all normal.

It changed almost a year ago. The feelings you held for JJ getting to be too much to control, you felt they were getting more and more noticeable every day. JJ was getting closer and closer, lingering longer than usual, snapping quicker when someone offended you, acting a bit more possessive and it was a lot to process. One night, after a particularly large fight with the Kooks, you and JJ were alone on the hammock outside The Chateau when he kissed you. It was a real kiss, one with emotion and fervor, not just a friendly peck that you’d gotten so used to sharing.

You guys have been dating ever since. Keeping it to yourself. You share everything else with the group, nothing was ever private but this was something you wanted to yourselves. To enjoy with no pressure. It was only supposed to be that way for a few months, while you got used to the change in relationship, but you got so comfortable with the way you guys got to have each other in private, you just never mentioned it.

But with how deeply you loved each other, it was obviously getting harder to hide. Not that it’s really that important.

“I’m cal-“

“Are you guy-“

“What the fuck!”

JJ, Pope, and Sarah all speak at the same time but everyone focuses on Sarah’s distressed, ‘what the fuck,’ and looks to her. Everyone then follows her line of sight and what’s caught her attention. JJ immediately tenses and he sits back, ready to jump up. You tense yourself, pushing harder into your hold on him.

“Rafe, what the fuck are you doing here?” Sarah screeches standing up. John B follows her. Kie and Pope stand too, standing more in front of you and JJ.

“Let me go,” JJ whispers, his voice coming out harsh, especially when Topper pops up from behind Rafe.

“No.”

JJ huffs, an annoyed sigh heaving through his nose. His vision is locked on the two boys approaching your group. “We just wanted to check up on our favorite people,” Rafe jokes, the sarcasm rolling off of him in waves. You move completely around in front of JJ when you feel his body start to shake a bit at his continued words, “Especially the one who beat up my boy here.”

Wrapping your legs around JJ’s waist, you pull him closer to you before grasping his face in your hands. “Hey baby, how are you today?” you question, whispering to not gain the attention of everyone else. Pope and Kie are doing a decent job of keeping you hidden but JJ’s eyes are still locked on where Rafe and Topper are standing.

“Which one of you did it? He won’t tell me and I’d like to have a word.”

A twitch goes through JJ’s body, like he’s about to get up but you hold him tighter. Stroking your fingers through his hair, you tug on it a bit to get his attention. It works. “It’s okay.”

“None of you look like you got your asses handed to them, so I ask again. Who did it?” Rafe hums, clicking his tongue as you assume he looks around at everyone. You know that you and JJ aren’t completely covered and he’s bound to finally see you two.

“Rafe, just leave.” Sarah intervenes.

“Oh, Daddy’s little princess, I don’t think so. Not until someone steps up. I might even hang out with you today. I think it would be fun.”

“No, leave them alone. You come for them enough without reason. Go home!” Her voice is stern but Rafe is off the walls, you highly doubt he’ll listen. “Topper deserved what happened to him anyway.”

“Ah,” Rafe lets out, “So you know who did it? You think she’ll own up to it any time soon, I’m tired.”

You wince when JJ roughly grabs you and shoves you away from him. The movement makes you tumble into the back of Kie’s legs and she helps you up as JJ pushes to the front of the group, in the blink of an eye. You let out a groan as you get steady on your feet, your back burning with pain.

John B slaps a hand down on JJ’s shoulder as he steps in front of him, to keep him from attacking. You let out a sigh and shake your head as JJ puffs out his chest, making himself seem bigger. “Why don’t you leave her out of this,” his tone is menacing.

“Oh! You know who did it too?” Rafe exclaims, feigning ignorance.

“Rafe, I told you it’s not a big deal. Let’s go.” Topper interjects.

“No, man.  Look at the bruise on your neck. Someone just doesn’t get away with that. Even if they’re a girl,” Rafe finishes, looking directly at you. You stare back, unimpressed, arms crossed over your chest.

JJ lunges for Rafe, “Keep her out of it!”

Rafe laughs as John B and Pope hold JJ back, “But it’s her fault!”

“Not when he’s all over her first! Come on, Top, be a big man and admit it was your fault!” JJ taunts, struggling against the hold JB and Pope have on him.

You sigh once more before stepping out of Kie’s grip, she squeezes you for a second but let’s you go when you keep walking. Stepping in between JJ and Rafe, your chest brushes his, and you challenge him. You want to protect JJ in this moment because you know if a fight was to break out, JJ wouldn’t have it fair because looking past Rafe’s shoulder you spot the rest of their little gang.

“Get out of the way,” JJ yells, placing a hand to your waist. His fingers squeeze into your side but you don’t back down.

“No, JJ!” you yell back, “this is something you can’t fight over. I told you that!”

JJ presses his chest to your back, trying to get as close as possible to the situation but you push back. “Damn it, let me do something!”

You ignore him, turning to Rafe who has a smug expression on his face from the exchange, “Leave. This has nothing to do with you!”

Sarah steps you beside you and shoves at her brother, making him stumble. “Go home.”

“Sarah, this has nothing to do with you.”

You take a step forward, “And it doesn’t with you, either. I’d leave before you end up like your buddy.” Your temper is rising very quickly. The continuous smug look on his face from not listening to you or his own sister making your skin crawl. Your blood is hot and you can feel yourself vibrating in JJ’s hold, the taunting of his words and the way he speaks them as if he’s demeaning you.

“Like you co-“ you don’t even let him finish before you’re throwing a punch across his face, hard. He falls to the ground with the force of it and you’re about to lurch forward to continue throwing punches but arms wrap around your waist and pull you back. Your legs kick up in the air as you fight against the hold, “You bitch!”

Sarah jumps in between you and her brother, knowing he wouldn’t hit her. “Rafe, leave,” but he just shoved her aside and tried to get to you. You’re still fighting in JJ’s hold, yelling at him to let you go but he just continues to pull you away. Topper jumps in to keep Rafe back, desperately trying to get him to listen. For once Topper is doing something smart.

“Let me fight him!” You scream, tired of him and all his friends constantly looking down at you like you’re no more than a piece of garbage on the ground. It’s tiring, frustrating, and you’re absolutely sick of it. You’re tired of having to constantly be on alert, wondering if you’re going to get attacked again just because you’re hanging out somewhere or walking down the street. “Let me go!”

“No!” JJ yells back, “if you won’t let me fight, you’re not going to either!”

“I’m not letting you fight because I don’t want you in jail, asshole!” You’re still struggling against him but his hold is too tight and you’re losing air. “I’m just trying to protect you, god damn it, let me do something for you!”

In your fit of rage you don’t even notice that JJ has dragged you both a few feet away from everyone else until he’s in front of you, hands grasping at your face, “Hey hey hey, will you calm down? Breathe, calm down, baby.”

“JJ, let me go!” You exclaim, still trying to pull away from his grasp. It bothers the bruise on your face but you ignore it. You just want to fight, to attack anything that puts JJ in danger. You’re not too sure where this sudden wave of protectiveness came from, granted you always want to protect him, but it’s a really strong urge these past few days.

“No, calm down. I’m not letting you go until you’re breathing properly again.” JJ argues. He soothes his thumbs over your cheeks but you’re barely registering them there. Your mind is still reeling, wanting to do anything to fight, to keep JJ safe and with you. “What is going on with you? Why do you want to fight so bad? You’re not one to fight.”

The questions seem to drain the fight right out of you, the adrenaline running through your system leaving your body in a single breath. It makes you sag against JJ, his hands on your cheeks the main thing keeping you up. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, dig a little. I need an answer so we can work on moving forward.” JJ throws your own words back at you. You smile a little at him, happy that he’s grasping onto the tactics you use to get him to open up about what he’s going through. JJ notices you smile and chuckles, “Yeah, yeah I listen to you after all.”

That makes you full on laugh, your whole body shaking as the laugh rips through you. Reaching up, you rest a hand to his cheek, “You’re so stubborn, I’m a bit surprised.” He leans into your touch a bit, eyes closing as he takes in a deep breath. Your laughter dies down and you just smile at him. “The idea of you not being with me, scares me.”

JJ frowns and steps closer, as if either of you would disappear if he wasn’t close enough. “I just-“ you breathe out when he places your free hand on his ribs, your place of comfort, your grounding place. “I just want to do something for you. I want you to be safe. I want to protect you.”

“Have you not realized that’s what you’ve been doing for me since we were like 9?” JJ laughs, shaking his head. “Baby, you’ve been the one protecting me for years. How many times have you taken the blame for something when you weren’t even there? How many times have you hid me in your closet so your parents don’t find out I’ve sneaked in after a particularly bad day with my dad? How many times have you patched me up and held me when things got too bad? It’s too many to count. You do things for me every day. You smiling at me, holding my hand, sitting beside me, sharing food with me, looking at me, hell just being in the same room as me; gets me through any day.”

The four others stare on in a bit of a daze. Rafe and his followers long gone so their attention has been solely on the two of you. But there’s no way either of you could’ve known. Emotions are running high between you and JJ that there’s no way you’d pay attention to anything other than him until you knew his mind was steady. You knew JJ was going through the same thing.

“Are they like.... together?” Sarah questions, to no one in particular. She always just assumed the two of you were just closer. That your friendship was just that, a friendship. She’s noticed that the entire group of Pogues were close and touchy, but it was always a bit more between the two of you.

“Yeah,” Pope answers.

Sarah gasps, “Why didn’t I know!”

“Because we don’t even know,” John B answers.

“What do you mean?” Sarah’s brows furrow. That has got to be one of the most confusing things she’s ever been told. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“They haven’t told us,” Kie shrugs, “But, I mean, it’s obvious. I figured it out like six months ago maybe?”

“Really?” Pope, raises an eyebrow. “I figured it out like 3 months ago.”

“Mmm,” John B hums, “I’m pretty sure I witnessed their first official kiss. You know how she kisses all of us?” he asks, looking around to the others. Kie and Pope nod while Sarah just watches on. “Well, one night, like last year some time. I saw them kiss and it wasn’t like the ones she gives all of us. Their dynamic changed the next day.”

Sarah looks around completely baffled. She feels like she should’ve known, should’ve realized but she just assumed because no one acted like you two were dating. But she didn’t grow up with you all, she hasn’t seen how the two of you dating wouldn’t be a shock. And the newfound information still doesn’t stop Sarah from letting out a gasp when you surge forward to kiss JJ.

The kiss is like the one you shared yesterday but this time it’s you pouring everything you’ve got into it. Pouring in every ounce of love your body has to offer. It’s deep and warm and all things good. It’s needy and greedy, needing to have his attention and wanting to take it all. He reciprocates with just as much fervor, hastily kissing back like his life depended on it. His hands are tight on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer, always closer, and your arms wrap around his neck. Hands shoved in his hair, you kiss him with unrelenting fury. It’s a kiss that could easily turn into something more if you weren’t in public so you try to tone it down but JJ is having none of that. He just wraps both arms around your back and holds you to him when you try to pull away.

You step back though, breathing heavily against JJ’s lips. Your breaths mix with his and your lips desperately brush as you both just breathe, trying to come back to earth. You place a quick kiss to his lips and one to his nose, “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” he responds with a quick kiss to your lips and your nose.

-

-

The van is entirely too tense for your liking. The atmosphere is so thick, it makes it feel like you can’t breathe. John B is yelling profusely at JJ as he drives, like he’s part of a car chase, through the back roads of The Cut to get to where his brain has focused on.

It was a pretty normal day up until about 26 minutes ago.

You were the last one to be picked up for the day, JJ greeting you at the sliding door of the van with a quick hello kiss to your lips before grabbing your hand and helping you in. Kisses got placed on everyone, even Sarah -who was pleasantly surprised, because even if she won’t admit it, she was upset to find out that you’ve kissed everyone but her- before sitting down on the floor in front of the bench. JJ sat behind you and you wrapped your arms around his legs. All of you were going to head out to the boat, spend the day on the water and soak up some sun. Just hang out like teenagers are supposed to do.

That was until a supposed cop car pulled up behind the van out of nowhere and ordered for you to pull over. John B does as told but in the blink of an eye, there’s a shot gun being aimed in his face and orders are being thrown for everyone to get out. Orders thrown for us to lay down flat in the ditch.

Something about knowing Rafe and how he’s going after people to collect money he owes. JJ was constantly telling him that you’re all a bunch of Pogues, that he won’t find anything but of course he found the cash you keep in your backpack, along with the weed you hold for JJ. There were a few other things he found that he deemed good enough to steal but you didn’t get enough of a look to see what he found. It’s like he noticed every time one of you moved because he’d be quick to aim the gun at any of you who moved and threaten to shoot.

Which is why it was so surprising when JB was able to get into the car without the guy noticing. After that, it was amazing how fast the guy ended up on the ground, wheezing and groaning in pain.

“Oh, I know this guy! He sells coke to my dad!” JJ yelled before he kicked him in the stomach.

“No wonder he was talking about Rafe.” Sarah interjected, scoffing in disbelief.

JJ punched the guy across the face once more before reaching into his pocket and taking the guys wallet. “We have one more stop to make!” he laughs menacingly.

So, that leads you up to where you are now. Pacing the front lawn of a run down drug house. Crashes are coming from inside, along with the yells and screams from JJ and John B. Every time something hits the ground, you startle, completely on edge by the whole situation. JJ has damn near lost his mind, his eyes too wide and too unfocused. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he did a line of coke for breakfast this morning.

Deep down, you know this behavior is only fueled by the way he’s been treated his whole life. That he’s reached his limit at how much he can actually take. That he’s fed up with his life and what he feels like he’s worth. He’s snapped, something you’ve been trying to prevent for years, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. You’re not scared of him, you know that you’d be able to calm him down but you know there’d be a fight before that happened. A fight you don’t want to go through. It’s only been four days since your fight with Topper and you’re still exhausted from it. You’re not ready to handle a fight with JJ.

“God, they sound like they’re killing each other in there,” Kie groans, pacing just as much as you. She looks worried.

Pope stands completely still, an anxious look on his face as he stares at the front door of the house. It looks like he believes he’ll summon them out with just his gaze in the door.

And Sarah, well, she just looks out of place.

You continue to pace, anxiously waiting, not daring to look at the door. You don’t want to know what’s going on. You wish you couldn’t hear what was going on either. You honestly feel like you’re going to wear a path down in the dead grass with all your back and forth.

“Now!” you jump at the sudden voice before the screen door to the house slams open. JJ steps out with a wad of cash in his hands. “We can all have, let’s see-“ he pauses for a second as he sorts through the stack, “5 grand each!”

John B looks aggravated, like he’s talking to a child that keeps asking ‘why’ for absolutely no reason, as he follows closely behind JJ.

“What are we doing! Stealing from drug dealers now?” Kiara exclaims.

JJ stares at her, throwing his arms around. “Aren’t you guys tired of this? We got a gun! A gun pulled on us today. We were robbed! Us!” JJ exclaims, face red. “I don’t know about you but I’m tired! I’m tired of being treated like absolute shit just because of where we live!”

You stare on in complete shock. JJ’s lips are parted and his eyes are wide, breathing ragged. This is a whole other type of anger that you’ve never seen out of JJ before. You’re not too sure how to handle this.

“Relax, JJ,” John B continues after him, his anger showing through as well. He starts pushing up against JJ, getting in his face.

“How’d you feel, huh? That shit was right there in your face,” JJ argues back.

“I’m putting it back,” John B moves to snatch the bag JJ has in his grasp and that leads to JJ shoving JB up against the van, hard. The impact of it echoes around the small area you’re in.

“You feel like a tough guy, huh?” John B snaps, not even trying to fight against the hold JJ has on him. He knows that JJ would never lay a hand on him, no matter how mad he got. “What will you do when he comes for us?”

“We punch him, in the throat,” JJ retorts, his voice coming out low and threatening. It does fit with JJ, he shouldn’t be capable of getting his voice to sound like that.

JB scoffs, “Oh, good fuckin’ idea, JJ.”

JJ steps back, a relieving sigh coming from you as he does, “I’m not putting it back,” he mutters and shoves past JB and gets into the van. From your vantage point, you can’t see him inside. You’re still so shocked to the spot, you can’t move. It’s only a few seconds of everyone just standing around before he gets back out. “What!?” he snaps.

“We’re sick of your shit.”

That seems to get you to snap out of whatever trance you’re in. You finally look away from JJ and look at everyone else. The worried look on Pope’s face, at his best friend's obvious breakdown. The indifference Sarah radiates because she doesn’t know JJ enough to feel any other way. The anger in John B’s stance as he looks at his best friend and the recklessness he’s showing. The disbelief on Kiara’s face as she looks at JJ like she’s never seen him before, “Yeah, you’re pulling guns out on people shit.”

“JJ come on man, put it back,” Pope tries to reason but JJ just snaps.

“Pope, come on! I took the fall for you, I owed 30k in restitution. The charges may drop but they can still sue me for that money. Might as well be ahead of the game!”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” Pope exclaims.

“Yeah, well I did. Sorry for caring.” JJ mutters, looking around to everyone. He misses your frame, like he forgot you were even with them. “You know what? I’m just going to go by myself.”

All you do is watch as JJ starts to walk away, his head is down and you can see the hurt in his face as he walks by.  The mask he holds up every day, faltering as soon as he can’t be seen anymore. He meets your eye and the wild anger that was there seconds ago is gone, all that’s left is watery eyes and disappointment. You take a step towards him, to give him the comfort he needs to get through this but he just shakes his head and keeps walking.

“JJ!” Pope hell’s out but it falls on deaf ears, JJ continuing his trek out of the area.

“Just let him go.” JB sighs, “let him do his thing.”

It’s quiet, so quiet you can hear the wind in the trees rustling each leaf, as JJ walks out of sight. It doesn’t take long for the last few minutes to settle into your brain and leave your blood running hot. When you turn away from where JJ had gone, you see everyone looking to you for some sort of guidance. They know you’re the only one that can successfully bring JJ back to earth, back to the present and out of his head. It’s been that way for years now. They just look at you helplessly, like you have all the answers. And you don’t.

It makes you angrier. It angers you that JJ did this. That he snapped and decided it would be a good idea to rob someone, a drug dealer at that. You would’ve much rather dealt with him getting into another fight with someone over having to deal with stolen money.

And it makes you angry that his best friends are apparently sick of him. It doesn’t sit right with you in the slightest.

“I can believe you guys,” you shake your head at them.

John B looks taken aback by your words, “Us!?”

“You can’t sit here and tell us you support him for what he just did!” Kie yells at you, stepping forward.

“Of course not!” You shake your head, “but I’m not going to sit here and shit on someone who is already down. JJ doesn’t deserve you guys to be talking to him like that, like you’re sick of him. That boy does everything he can to get things right with you guys. You mean so much to him and you’re just going to shit on him for it?”

“He’s robbing drug dealers, y/n.” Pope tries to reason but you just shake your head at him.

“One that just threatened to kill, each and every one of you.” You argue back, “Yes, stealing probably wasn’t the best thing he could’ve done and I’ll try and get it back so we don’t get into anymore fucking trouble. But, for you guys to turn on him the second he does something you don’t agree with is a bit fucked.”

You step towards them again, not realizing you were so far away from the group to begin with, “Pope, I know you didn’t ask him to, but he just took the fall for you so you wouldn’t lose your scholarship opportunity. He told me it’s because he’s not worth more than jail time, that you have so much more to look forward to than him.”

“Kie, who was the first person to accept you back into the group after you wanted to experience life as a kook? It was JJ. He sat there multiple nights, telling us that you haven’t changed, that you’d still be the same Kiara you were before. The one that’s understanding and supportive of everyone’s reckless behavior.”

“And John B,” you frown, “JJ was the one that was there for you when your dad went missing. He held you through the nights, made you eat and drink water. Did everything in his power to bring you out of your pain, while he was going through his own set of pain. He made sure you didn’t lose yourself when you lost your dad.”

“And for me? He’s been there for me through so much shit, quick to smile just so I would smile back. He could be in so much physical and emotional pain but he’s the first person to smile. The first person to crack a joke. The first person to offer comfort just because he doesn’t want people to feel what he feels from someone who is supposed to care for him. He may act like a jackass or someone who is tough and happy but he’s not. He’s really not.”

“You guys don’t see the way that mask falls off as soon as he’s alone. You don’t see how he beats himself up over the tiny details of his life. How he views himself as nothing more than a piece of trash for not being able to stand up to his dad. How he thinks he’s going to end up just like him. He’s scared, terrified of losing us. It’s why he’s so quick to fight, to protect, to make sure we’re happy. We’re literally the only thing, the only good thing, he has in his life. And you hurt him today.”

You hang your head after your rant, the weight of your words leaving you feeling empty after having said them. Your shoulders ache a bit but it’s still quiet. “I know, none of us agree with the stealing of the money. It was stupid and dangerous. But you didn’t have to tell him that you’re tired of him. You could’ve let Pope follow him like he wanted, to show him that he’s not alone.”

“Well, you didn’t follow him either.” Sarah steps in.

“He told me not to. I respect him for that. He knows what he did was a bit much. He wants to calm down, he was just mad that we all could’ve just died.” You shrug, looking around to everyone. They all look a bit guilty, realizing what it is that they just insinuated to their best friend.

“We didn’t mean it in a bad way,” John B says, running his hands through his hair like he’s stressed. And he is.

“Yeah, but do you think he’ll take it that way?” You question, eyebrow raised.

“We just want him to calm down.”

You nod, “I get that but you could’ve gone at it another way. That’s just me though. I’m gonna go home though. Be there just in case.”

Before they have a chance to say anything you walk away, in the opposite direction of JJ because you live in opposite directions. And that sudden thought makes your heart drop at the realization that JJ might try and go home. To show his dad that he can do something right, that he can get the money to pay off his debts.

You don’t hear from JJ for the rest of the day. Just your unread message of I know, to his I love you, you know, that he sent a few minutes after he left the group in the afternoon.

-

-

You didn’t see JJ until the following night. And when you did you kinda wished you hadn’t. You wish he hadn’t gone missing for over 24 hours. You wish you’d seen him all day and that this wasn’t the first time you were seeing him. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you knew something was wrong. Something went terribly wrong.

You and Kie had been together all day, running errands and shopping, picking up things for the movie night, dinner, at the Chateau. The Pogues all decided it would be a good idea because you knew that JJ would show up and they wanted to apologize to him. Everyone was worried about him, having not been able to locate him since he’d gone off the walls. But you knew him, you knew no matter how upset he gets about his friend, he’ll always come back to them. Always.

“I’m really worried about JJ,” Kie had said at one point. The two of you were picking up his favorite candy when she said it, looking forlorn into the shopping cart.

You felt her pain, but you shrugged nonchalant anyway, not wanting to alarm her with just how worried you were. If you were overly -which you were- worried about JJ then everyone knows it’s bad, “Shit happens in friend groups, Kie.”

She looked like she was close to tears, “But we’re not a normal friend group. We’re family.”

You nodded at her and held her in the middle of the market.

Now you felt like you were the one that needed to be held.

The sight in front of you was wrong. It didn’t belong in front of you. It didn’t belong anywhere near here yet, here it was staring you right in the face. You want to close your eyes and when you open them back up, you want it to be gone but you knew that wasn’t going to happen. Your heart is lodged in your throat and it was going to stay there until you knew everything was going to be okay.

“What did you do, JJ?” Pope gasps, in absolute disbelief as the three of you come up on JJ sitting in a hot tub, surrounded by hundreds of Christmas lights.

JJ looks up and scans over you, Kie, and Pope. You can barely see his eyes over the brim of his sunglasses. Why is he wearing sunglasses at night? You’re not too sure. “Oh, good you’re here. Come on, you have to get in right now! I have a jet going in my butt!”

He’s drunk, overly so, but that doesn’t stop him from drinking the champagne in his hands, right out of the bottle. Pope just drops his jaw, “How much did all this cost?”

“Well when you look at it; the generator, petrol, lights.. I don’t know? All of it?”

“All of it!?”

“All of it.”

“You spent all that money in one day?” Pope exclaims, leaning forward in his spot. It sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Like he doesn’t even want to.

“Yeah, burned a whole right through my pocket!” JJ waves his hand flippantly like it’s not a big deal. When it is. “But I mean, like, look, come on guys look at all of this.”

His voice is too high. It’s tight and too pitched to sound normal. To sound like he’s not seconds away from snapping. It brings tears to your eyes as you watch from the sidelines. Watch as your boyfriend crumbles right before you.

“Kie, what?” JJ says, causing you to look to her. She looks pained, absolutely shattered. “I mean,” JJ laughs but it’s anything but joyful. It sounds just as pained as Kiara’s face looks. “Can’t a man have a little luxury in life?”

He waves his hands dramatically. Showing off what he’s done outside of the Chateau, desperately looking for approval. That what he did was the right thing. “All this, scrapin’,” he trails off, as he rips off the sunglasses. “Come on, guys,” he looks around again, his eyes lingering on yours a bit longer before looking to the water. “I mean, like, guys, we-“ his voice cracks and he takes a desperate breath in. You find yourself copying his breath. “You only live once, right?” His hand comes up out of the water as he limply holds up one finger. Like the movement is too much for him.

The look on JJ’s face as he makes eye contact again screams sadness. Screams validation. He wants, so desperately for you to agree with him, for all of you to agree with him. But he doesn’t realize everyone is on the verge of tears, the breakdown too much for anyone to handle. His face wobbles a bit and you can see it pinch up through the steam around him. He’s seconds away from tears.

When no one responds, he does his best to wipe away the emotions. He fails. But he shakes his head and keeps going, “Enough of this emotional shit. Come on, get in.”

“We’re not-“

JJ cuts Kie off in a second, “Come on, get in! I almost forgot! There’s a disco mode.”

Fountains of water spit out across the surface and different colored lights shine through each arch. JJ smiles triumphantly and throws his arms up in the air, leaning back against the side of the hot tub again.

“Are you kidding me!” Pope shouts and your tears fall at how fast JJ’s face paints his disappointment. “You could’ve done anything else with the money.”

“You could’ve given it to charity!” Kie interjects, sounding a bit annoyed now. JJ turns his head to the side and rubs at his eyes. His breathing is calculated and you just know he’s doing whatever he can to stop from crying.

“Better yet,” Pope exclaims, “You could’ve given it back!”

“Ok, well you know what!” JJ yells, “I didn’t-“ he stands up and the ground almost falls out from underneath you at the sight, “I didn’t do that! I got a hot tub!”

Your hands shake against your face, just as much as JJ’s voice shakes. The deep, dark, bruises littering his abdomen and ribs, glues you to the spot. You can’t do anything but gape at him. When did this happen and why hadn’t he come to you, to anyone. Where did he go when he was clearly not okay, mentally and physically. Kie and Pope just stare, clearly not knowing what to do with themselves and most likely thinking the same exact thing. JJ just keeps clambering on, like he didn’t just shake the very ground you stand on.

“For my friends! Actually no, screw friends, for my family. I got a hot tub for my family!” His voice is shaky and still too high pitched. He looks and sounds frantic as he keeps moving back and forth in the hot tub.

“JJ, what the hell?” Kie cries out, trying to interrupt him.

If he hears her, he ignores her, “Look at what I did for us! I did this for us! So we can be a family!”

“JJ,” She tries again.

“No,” JJ holds up a hand, shaking his head desperately. “No, stop. Stop being emotional. It’s fine, okay?”

The way the word okay flies out of his mouth, fast and unsteady. The quiver his lips make around the word, breaks the spell that was put on your body. You work on taking off your shoes as fast as possible. Not once looking away from JJ as he bows his head and sucks in deep breaths through his teeth.

You pull off your last sock as he starts talking again, “It’s sweet? Yeah?”

You crash into him as he cries out, “Just get in.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you pull him into you, like you have many times before, and the movement punches a sob right out of him. He leans his entire body weight onto you and just sobs. It only takes a few seconds before you feel another pair of arms. “I just couldn’t take it!” he sobs.

His body shakes against yours and he holds onto you so tight it knocks the wind out of you a bit, “I can’t take him anymore!” The sobs hit at full force, leaving him breathless. “I almost killed him.”

You hold on a bit tighter, running your hands up and down his back. You’re trying to force every ounce of comfort you have in your body into his. Feed him what he so desperately craves. “I just want to do the right thing.” he cries out, sounding so small and vulnerable it shatters your heart into pieces.

“I know,” you and Kie whisper at the same time. You’re glad she’s here. Pope comes in next, his arms wrapping around everyone. JJ lets out a sigh as three pairs of arms wrap around him before he lets out another sob. His weight being held up by the three of you. “I know.”

You’re not too sure how long you’re there, standing in the middle of the hot tub, just listening to JJ sob but you know it’s more than half an hour before John B walks up, startling everyone a bit. JJ has calmed down enough and is just being held while he sniffles every once in a while. But his sobs come back as soon as John B asks, “What the fuck is all this?”

John B looks alarmed and quickly let’s go of Sarah to climb into the hot tub, immediately wrapping the group up in his arms. Once he’s here, knowing that there’s a stronger force, you let out your cries. It hurts to see JJ in so much pain, to see him suffering so much. You want to protect him from everything. You want to go to his dad and fight him, make him hurt the way your boyfriend does. But doing that would do nothing to help JJ. If you were to get hurt on JJ’s behalf, once again, but by his dad he’d never forgive himself. And that would hurt him even more.

You want to hold the broken boy in your arms until he’s pieced back together and is never in any pain ever again. But you know that’s not possible, that’s not something that can logically happen.

But what you can do is help him get out of physical pain. Help him get comfortable and hold him until he sleeps. Hold him until he receives the love and comfort he wants and needs. And that’s something you will always do.

“We should get out,” you whisper but everyone hears you. Even Sarah, seeing as she rushes forward to start helping you guys out. After a few moments it’s only you and JJ, the rest hovering around the steps to make sure you can get him out. He clutches on a little tighter when you try to step back, “JJ, baby, come on. We’re gonna get out.”

He nods a bit, his lips brushing the skin of your neck briefly, before he pulls away. He doesn’t go very far before he rests his forehead against yours, blinking languidly at you. He looks so tired and it rips your heart to shreds. A deep breath fans out across your face and his eyes close as he pushes his forehead heavier into yours. You stroke his cheeks and place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, running a comforting hand through his hair.

“Come on, baby, let’s go.” He nods his head once more and moves away. You grab his hand and four other hands reach out to help him out. John B gets his free hand first and basically picks him up and out of the hot tub. Once he’s steady on the ground, he immediately turns back to you, watching you get out. He looks so hopeless, young, vulnerable, and seconds away from crumbling to the ground. It only takes you a few seconds to have him in your arms again and moving towards the house.

“I’ll start dinner,” Kie murmurs, nodding towards the bathroom. You smile gratefully at her and shuffle towards the bathroom while the others move into the kitchen. They give you all curious glances before they’re out of sight and you’re alone with JJ.

You sit him down on the toilet and move around to get the shower started. Getting a glass of water from the sink you shove it in his hands and make him drink it. Once he’s done, you fill it up again and give it back with some pain medicine this time. He finishes it quickly and looks up to you. His eyes are watery and red, his bottom lip trembling. You’re not much better, you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror, but you try to hold it in for him. He continues to look at you as you brush your thumbs over his cheekbones, under his eyes, and move a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his bottom lip quivering once again. You start to shake your head, shaking it the whole way down as you try to place a shaky kiss to his lips. He doesn’t kiss back. “No, stop it. I don’t deserve it. I fucked up.”

“JJ, no-“

He cuts you off with an abrupt shake to his head. “No! I did. I fucked up. I always fuck up. My anger gets to me and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve someone who is going to fly off the walls every time something goes wrong. I robbed a fucking drug dealer for fucks sake! And I didn’t even give the money to something good, I wasted it all. All of it.”

JJ let’s out a painful cry as his body deflates, his head coming to rest on your stomach. “I can't do anything right.”

“You were scared of us dying, baby, it’s a decent reason to fly off the walls,” you try to reason but he just vehemently shakes his head.

“No, you shouldn’t be with someone like me!”

“JJ, please. We went over this a few days ago!”

“And look at what all has happened since then. You fought Topper and got hurt because of it. You still have the black eye and the limp from your leg being fucked up! We almost got killed, I robbed a drug dealer, I got beat up by my dad and I almost killed him! Can’t you see how fucked up this is. You don’t need to be here with us! With me!”

You let out a choked sob as he stands up, pushing you out of the way. It's getting steamy in the bathroom, too hot, and it’s making it even harder for you to breathe. JJ looks at you with his own tears in his eyes, “I can’t keep putting you through this.”

“No!” you cry out, hiccuping at the force of it. “No, JJ! I have been with you since I was 9! Nothing has fucking changed! We’ve always loved each other, we just kiss now! You’re not going to end this just because you feel like you’re not worth it! If you weren’t worth it, I wouldn’t have stuck around as long as I have!”

Your chest is heaving and you feel like you’re on the verge of a panic attack. You need to get out of here. Shaking your head, you back up to the door, “Shower, JJ. I’ll put fresh clothes on the sink for you.”

JJ’s entire face crumbles and his shoulders slump forward as if you took every ounce of energy out of him. “I-“

“No, shower.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, arms wrap around you as soon as you’re in the hallway. They’re strong and familiar and you break down as soon as they hold you to their chest. Kie is in front of you a few moments later, cupping your face in her hands and trying anything she can to get you to focus on her. Your breathing is too harsh and your vision is spotty. The next thing you know, your legs are barely holding you up and then you’re on the ground. John B holds you to him and he tries to get you to breathe properly.

It’s all too much. The events of the last few days finally catching up to you and breaking through the surface at full force. JJ getting hurt, twice, by his dad. The Pogues almost dying. JJ stealing a large amount of money. JJ trying to end it, twice in the same week, just because he’s feeling so low. It’s all too much and you just don’t know what to do. The love you hold for JJ, for this entire group, outweighs anything in your life. There’s no way in hell you’d ever be without them. No matter what you go through with them. You choose them every day of your life. It’s never been any other way. Ever.

Kie is still in front of you, her hands still holding onto your face. Her thumbs are swiping across your face and she’s trying to say something but you’re not picking up on it. Blood is rushing through your ears and pounding around in your head. Absolutely no other noise is coming through so you just shake your head, anything to let them know you can’t hear them. Kie seems to understand and she places your hands on her chest, keeping them there. It takes you a few seconds but you realize she’s trying to get you to copy her breathing.

It works. You start to follow her. Follow her hand movements and feel her breathing under your hands. Soon, you can hear everything once more. Kie praising you, John B trying to soothe you, Pope’s voice mumbling from somewhere in the distance, Sarah talking a bunch of nonsense but calming nonsense.

“I’m okay. Everything’s fine. Just lost my breathing there for a second.” You mumble, sitting up a bit. Kie reaches out to you quickly when you sway in your spot a bit. You do feel a bit dizzy. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Come on, let’s get you some food and water,” John B says, hoisting you up with him as he stands. “You know JJ isn’t going anywhere. He’s not going to break up with you.”

You nod, “I know. It still panics me to hear it.”

Sarah comes up next with the food you and Kie had bought earlier in the day and a glass of water. You smile thankfully at her and sit down at the dining room table, not making any movement to eat it. John B sits down in front of you and places a hand on your knee, “Has this happened before?”

“Mm, remember that time about 5 months ago when I didn’t come around for a few days? Right after the first time JJ’s dad beat on him in months?”

Both Kie and John B nod. “JJ was unbearable to be around,” Kie groans.

An unamused chuckle falls past your lips and you shake your head, “Yeah.....” you trail off. “He told me that he wasn’t worth it. That he was too weak to be with me. That if he couldn’t even defend himself against his father then he wouldn’t be able to handle anything else, even a relationship. I told him to leave and only come back when he came to his senses. It was harsh but I needed him to realize the only thing that changed was that we kissed, now.”

“He’s scared of losing you,” John B states.

“He is,” you agree, “of all of us. He feels if he does it on his own terms, it’ll be ok. That we’ll leave if we think he’s weak. But he doesn’t always think like that, it’s only when he gets into it with his dad.”

It goes silent after that, the words sinking into everyone’s brains. You pick at your food a bit, eating a few bites as Kie puts together plates for everyone else. Sarah sits down beside John B and Kie comes to sit next to you, placing a comforting hand to your leg. Sending her a quick smile, you grab her hand and hold it to you. The conversation starts to pick up around you and you try to listen, you really do but your mind is just quiet. It’s blank to anything other than JJ.

Your heart aches at the thought of JJ being in pain. Physical or emotional pain. He does stupid things but he doesn’t deserve the things he goes through. There’s not much that he hasn’t gone through since the time you’ve met and you’d like to be able to protect him from the bad things of the world. No matter how often he tries to push you away when he feels like he doesn’t deserve the love.

“Okay,” Pope breathes out as he walks into the dining area. “He’s out of the shower,” he comments, resting a hand to your shoulder, “are you okay?”

Glancing around at everyone, they’re all staring at you expectantly. If you could guess, they’ve probably been staring at you long before Pope asked if you were okay. You nod and you’re about to give a more reassuring answer when you hear shuffling behind Pope. He turns around and you get a full few of JJ, he’s wrapped up in a hoodie that’s too big for him, his face is swollen and a bit blotchy. He looks like he would be twelve and it makes your heart clench in your chest, a lump forming in your throat at his glossy eyes.

He looks at you and only you, “Can we go to bed?” You look away and to your hands, to the one that Kie has wrapped firmly in hers. “I’ve calmed down, please?” When you look back up at him, the glossiness of his eyes is now watery with unshed tears. “Please?”

There’s absolutely no way in the world you’d ever be able to say no to such a sad boy. To the boy in general. JJ turns around as soon as you stand up and you don’t even think twice about following him. He gets into bed, turning his back to you and you follow. You wrap yourself around him, shoving an arm under his head and one around his waist. Both hands press flat into his chest as you mold yourself against his back. Knees to knees, chest to back, and JJ lacing your fingers together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, placing a kiss to your fingers, “I know that you wouldn’t be with me unless I was worth it to you. I’m sorry that I get knocked down so much that I feel useless to everyone. Especially you. I never want to be anything less than enough for you.”

You press a kiss to the back of his neck, “You’ve always been enough for me, JJ. Always.” You pull on his shoulder a bit, trying to get him to turn over. When he does, you place a hand on his cheek, soothing over the skin there, “You’ve always been enough for me, JJ. You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been beaten down your whole life, that is not your fault.”

A tear slips down his cheek and you wipe it away. The motion makes him press a kiss to your wrist. “You’re the person that keeps me going,” JJ whispers. “I’m nothing without you.”

“Don’t say that, JJ.” you shake your head. He’s so much more than that. So much more. “You’re caring, loving, protective, sympathetic, and empathetic. I’m just a perk to your qualities.”

That pulls a giggle out of JJ. A few tears slipping from his eyes at the surprise of laughter. You push forward to place a kiss to his lips. Loving the feeling of him actually kissing you back this time. He pushes in deeper, an arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush. You kiss with so much intensity, it knocks you on your back and JJ follows, hovering over you as he kisses back with just as much. It makes your blood warm, makes you feel like you’re on fire as his free hand trails down over your waist, over your hip and to the back of your thigh to hitch it over his own hip.

The passion being exchanged is absolutely mind blowing, your brain short circuiting at the overwhelming feeling of love flowing between the two of you. It’s ardent and you want nothing more for it to continue but when you slip a hand over JJ’s ribs, he winces, sucking in a deep breath against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, quickly switching positions with him and pushing up his hoodie, “I forgot.”

“It’s okay. I definitely just forgot about them.” JJ wiggles his eyebrows at you as the hand on your thigh moves to caress the skin. “Let’s continue to forget about them.”

You place three quick, consecutive, sticky kisses to his lips before moving down to place one on his chin, to the base of his neck at his throat. Before placing delicate kisses over the battered skin of his torso. JJ’s breathing hitches in his throat and he lets out a watery sigh when your lips brush over the sensitive skin of his ribs. The hand on your thigh squeezes tightly at your movement, almost as a warning, but you ignore it and continue to sprinkle your love over the bruises on his skin. You know it won’t heal them but you can wish that it will.

A groan is punched out of JJ when your tongue lightly brushes over one of the bruises above his belly button and you chuckle a little bit. He’s turned into a bit of a heaving mess, gasping for air. You know it feels weird, like a mixture of pain and pleasure and JJ has no idea how to react to it. So, he just breathes heavily. He moves one hand to lace his fingers with yours as the other rests at the bottom of your spine.

Placing a few more kisses to the bruise over his right rib, you pull his hoodie back down over his stomach, and move up to place a few kisses on his neck. He moves his head to the side to give you some room and you suck a bruise into the juncture of his neck, right where it meets with his shoulder. A soft moan escapes him as you do. “There,” you kiss over your work when you pull away. “A good bruise to look at. One from love, not hate.”

The breath JJ lets out sounds more like a sob and he pushes into you once again. Wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck, he’s almost completely settled on top of you once he gets comfortable. He kisses at your skin, where he can reach, a few times and squeezes you as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive. You hold him back tightly, giving him the comfort he needs.

“I love you, you know,” he murmurs.

You kiss at his hairline, “I know.”

He doesn’t fall asleep until he repeats his I know, back to you.

-

-

JJ was finally feeling back to normal. The few days after his breakdown in the hot tub, things were a bit tense. A little too quiet for his liking. The day after, he laid in bed all day really only getting up to pee. He didn’t eat until you had come back to the Chateau, after doing something with your parents, and forced him to eat something. You had to basically force feed him to eat the food you made for him. He was grateful for you, you kept him together when all he wanted to do was break down. JJ was positive that there’d never be another person to care for him quite like you do.

Yesterday, the entire Chateau was empty when he woke up and it unsettled him a bit. It was never a good thing when it was quiet around there and he didn’t think he could handle anything else that was bad. He wandered around a bit, pulling on a hoodie because he didn't really want everyone else to stare him down, until he found everyone sitting at the hammocks. It was barely sunrise and he was confused as to why everyone was up already for no reason, and why they hadn’t woken him up either. You looked up from your spot in the hammock as he approached and held your arms out. He climbed in with you immediately and fell asleep only seconds later, to the sound of you quietly talking with Kie. The rest of the day was spent in bed with you, everyone giving him space to regroup. It was nice. He got kisses and other things that made him feel like himself.

Then today, everything is relatively back to how it should be. With loud laughter, stupid jokes, and sarcastic comments. Today is a day out on the HMS Pogue and JJ is absolutely loving it. There’s nothing he loves more than being out with his friends. With the people he loves and cares for the most as you all do stupid shit togeher. It’s his favorite thing. Also, to feel your skin against his, especially when it’s a bit warm and sweaty. That just feels nice. It's a major plus.

You’re currently resting against his side, his arm slung over your shoulder and his hand resting comfortably between your boobs. You’re laughing at something Sarah said and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s seen you in a few weeks. Your head thrown back, nearly resting on his clavicle and your hand slapping against his thigh. He wishes he was paying attention to what was being said, just so he could repeat it to see you laugh like this again. So carefree, the way that you should always be.

The sun is beating down harshly on everyone, making everyone sweat just a bit but no one seems uncomfortable by it. In fact everyone just settles in more, sitting in complete bathing suits and drinking beer.

“Did you guys really start dating? And not tell us?” Pope asks out of nowhere, completely unprompted. But the more he stares at Pope, the more he realizes he was just lazily kissing at the side of your neck where he just so happened to be resting his head.

“Yeah!” John B exclaims, resting back in the drivers seat of the boat, Sarah settling with him, “What the fuck is up with that?”

JJ shrugs, “Wanted to be able to mack on my girl in private.”

“JJ, shut up.” You laugh, sitting up and making him go with you. “We just wanted to make sure it was serious? I guess. Wanted to make sure that it wasn’t just silly feelings from knowing each other for so long. It would’ve felt different if everyone knew.”

“We wouldn’t have judged,” Kie says, leaning in with her elbows on her knees.

“It wasn’t about that,” You shake your head, “it was more like, nothing is really private with us. We share everything with each other. And this was something that needed to be figured out with just the two of us. Nothing really changed between us so then we just kinda forgot to mention it.”

JJ can’t help but wrap an arm around you. Kissing you the night that he did was the best decision he’s ever made in his life. He took a leap of faith and it was the right thing to do. The moment you kissed him back he knew that everything was right, nothing could ever be wrong about his decision. He had a feeling things were changing between the two of you for a few months. Jealousy was shining through when one or the other would end up flirting with someone at a party. Touches were getting more intimate and possessive. The flirting was getting more and more serious.

You have been a constant in his life since he was nine. Always the first person who was willing to listen to his crazy ideas or go on his absurd adventures. You were the first one he went to every time his dad hit him. The only person that ever saw him in that moment of vulnerability. And that’s still to this day. You’re the only person he trusts, truly trusts. He knows that you’d never turn against him with the things he’s told you, shown you. You have years of knowledge on him, and he you, that you could crush him in a heartbeat but he knows you never will. You’ll never betray him. Even if you weren’t in his life anymore, there’s no way you’d ever do that. He just knows.

And he doesn’t even want to think about that possibility. You not being in his life just doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t want to find out what it’d be like.

“You know, we’ve known for months.” Kie laughs, pulling JJ out of his thoughts.

You gasp at her words, “What? How?”

“I saw your guys’ first kiss.” John B smiles, looking all sorts of smug.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t,” JJ chuckles, taking a sip of his beer. “It was at a party only we went to when we were 14.”

“Wait, what?” You question, turning to look at him.

JJ smirks, “Mhmm, remember the first time you smoked with me?” he looks to you for affirmation. When you nod, he continues, “Remember the game of truth or dare? You were dared to make out with the person you thought was the hottest. It was me.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, “Holy shit. That’s right. How could I forget?” The red suddenly tinting your cheeks is enough to make JJ’s heart skip a beat. To know he has such an affect on you, makes him feel good.

“You can’t handle your shit, baby,” he teases, leaning forward to flick at your forehead. You gasp and try to smack him but he grabs your wrist, leaning in to kiss you instead.

“Who knew they could get more annoying?” Pope groans. “You guys should’ve kept this to yourselves.”

“They were getting sloppy Pope,” Kie shrugs, “they wouldn’t have been able to hide it for much longer. You see the gross amount of love that oozes out of them when they look at each other.”

Everyone starts laughing but you just look at JJ and the look that's shining in your eyes is the same one they’re talking about. He knows the same thing must be reflecting in his own eyes because you lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his lips. On that he greedily accepts and returns. He smirks when he pulls away, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“So, John B what kiss did you see then?”

“One night in the hammock, like last year some time. I saw it and then the next days you guys were just different.” He shrugs, pulling Sarah into him some more.

You move into his side once again and look to Kie, “When did you notice?”

“Like six months ago?” She turns her head from side to side, trying to remember. “It was after breakfast at John B’s one morning. You guys thought you were alone in the kitchen. JJ was the one cleaning the kitchen, oddly, and you were on the counter by the sink. The way you were talking, it was about a date and you said that you loved each other but it was different than the way you’d usually say it. I left after that.”

JJ’s heart is starting to beat a little quicker in his chest. Something about talking about you or your relationship together just makes him excited. He loves it. He loves you.

“Pope?”

“Saw the secret hand holding at The Wreck one afternoon. Thought it was weird, seeing as you held hands all the time. There was no need to hide it but your fingers were doing that soft caress thing, it was obvious.” He says the whole thing like he’s disinterested in the topic. It makes JJ laugh.

“I think it’s amazing how long you’ve all known each other.” Sarah smiles and it makes a smile appear on everyone’s face.

John B then decides it's time to move the boat, to go somewhere to swim. Everyone gets excited, standing up and removing any leftover clothing, while the boat is moving, so once it’s anchored the swimming can begin without any sort of hesitation. It was too hot out now.

But then the boat comes to an abrupt stop and a few high pitched screams fill JJ’s ears before a splash of water. He’s been jolted to the very front of the bow, hitting his head on the seat there. It takes him a moment to connect the dots before he stands up to make sure everyone is okay. Kie and Pope are a couple inches away from him, groaning as they sit back up. John B rubbing his head, clearly hitting it on the window in front of him. And Sarah regains her balance as she stands up from the bench behind John B. You were nowhere in sight.

“Y/n!” He yells out, scrambling to his feet. “Baby! Where’s y/n!”

That seems to knock everyone out of their stupor and scramble to their feet. “JJ!” you groan out just as he spots your hand on the side of the boat. A cry rips through you as JJ and Pope rush to try and pull you up into the boat. You rip yourself away from them before they even get a chance to reach you properly.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Come on, grab onto me!” JJ yells, trying to keep in his panic. He has no idea if you’re hurt or not and the fact that you’re crying isn’t helping settle him at all.

“JJ! Please get me out of this fucking water!” You yell out, reaching up for him once more.

He immediately bends down, the panic in your voice, making him desperate to get you into the boat. He hears everyone else yelling, asking what happened, wondering why you’re having such a hard time getting out on your own, asking if you’re okay. But he ignores them all, finally getting his hand in yours and reaching down below your elbow to haul you up. Pope on the other side doing the same. You crash into him and with the force of his movement to pull you up and over the edge, he falls back into the other side of the boat, you landing on top of him.

You cry out in pain and flinch away from him, “Holy shit,” Pope gapes as he helps sit you up.

“What!” JJ exclaims, sitting up, running his eyes all over your body to find what’s wrong. It doesn’t take long for him to land on the giant red mark covering almost the entirety of your abdomen. “Oh, fuck. A jellyfish got you?”

“What?” You gasp, looking down to where his attention is. Kie shoves a water into your hand and Sarah sits behind you, wrapping her arms across the top of your chest. “Fuck,” you sigh out when you catch sight of it.

“Did you not feel that?” John B asks and JJ looks up to him for a second before back to you, trying to catch your eye. If you didn’t feel that, something else must be wrong.

“No! I think my ankle is broken!” You yell out, startling JJ a bit. He trails his eyes down your body until he reaches your ankle and fuck. Yeah.

“That looks broken,” Pope voices his thoughts perfectly.

“What the fuck happened, John B?” JJ snaps, his anger getting to him quickly. You getting hurt is the quickest way to get him angry. He hates seeing you hurt. In any way.

“The last storm must’ve changed the stream or something. We hit a sand bank. We haven’t been out here since then,” John B explains. “Let’s get back to the Chateau, we have to get y/n to the hospital.

JJ grabs your face in his hands and wipes away the water there. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you breathe out. It comes out in a harsh breath, like you’re in too much pain and it sends a wave of panic through JJ. You’re never one to show that you were in pain unless it was an unbearable amount.

“Are you sure?”

He watches as you clench your eyes shut, trying to regulate your breathing. You just nod your head, not opening your eyes again. JJ places a kiss to your cheek and moves down in a line until he meets your lips. He lets out a breath when you kiss him back. Anything to keep you distracted. He pulls back and looks around to everyone else, not knowing what else he can do. Kie has a hand gripped tight in hers, Sarah is running her fingers through your hair, and Pope is holding your leg steady from the bouncing of the boat. JJ feels absolutely useless.

And it’s like you can sense his distress because you grab onto one of his hands and squeeze tight. “JJ stop overthinking. Tell me something. Tell me a story.”

So he quickly jumps into recounting one of your many dates. Asking if you remember it. Telling you how you looked in your outfit, how you made him feel. How much he loves going on dates with you. How he likes that you like to go surfing with him, hiking, biking, anything that requires physical activity. You giggle and laugh at parts that are funny, at how he nearly puked before picking you up to go on your first official date. Everyone else joined in on the laughs too. Soaking up the information they’re receiving.

It helps because you stop crying and wincing at every little movement and it helps calm JJ down as well. He picks you up into his arms when the boat docks and everyone rushes to gather the necessities and get you to the van. JJ lays you down and rests your head in his lap as he continues to tell you about how much he just loves doing simple things with you. Grocery shopping. Clothes shopping, the dishes. Eating food. Anything he can think of, he tells you. He just wants you to know how much he loves you. It’s the only thing he can think of doing. He doesn’t know why but it’s the only thing rattling around in his brain.

How much he loves you.

When the van pulls up to the hospital, everyone is still in a mad panic. It startles the nurses and those in the emergency room when 6 teenagers come bursting into the waiting room, in near hysterics. They don’t really handle each other being in pain well.

The nurse forces him to stay in the waiting room, putting a hand to his chest when he tries to follow you back more than once. You look at him and tell him it’s okay, that you’ll be okay, and as soon as it’s fine he can come back. It does nothing to settle him and he just paces back and forth in front of the 4 other Pogues.

“JJ, sit down. She’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” he sighs, stopping. “She just scared the shit out of me. If she had hit her head instead of her ankle on the side of the boat, she could’ve drowned.”

John B stands to bring him into a hug, “But she didn’t. She’s okay and you’ll see her in a bit.”

And he was right. The doctor came out about twenty minutes later and let JJ go back since your parents weren’t there yet. The rest of the Pogues decided to wait in the waiting room no matter what, saying that they would like to see you too but for obvious reasons to let JJ go first. He’s thankful for that because he feels like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin.

“Hey, tough stuff,” he jokes as he walks into your room. Your eyes open and you smile at him lazily.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, reaching a hand out for him. You make grabby hands at him until he’s in reach and it makes him laugh.

He grabs onto your hand and leans down to place a kiss to your lips. You’re still in your bikini but it looks like the sting on your stomach has been taken care of and the lower half of your leg is in a black cast. “Hi, baby,” he whispers back once he meets your eyes again. “How’re you feeling?”

“Well now,” you let out a giggle, “I’m feeling absolutely great. The pain medicine they have me on is wonderful.”

JJ lets out a laugh and caresses your cheek, “You’re higher than a kite, my love.”

You let out a laugh, “Damn straight. You should be so jealous.”

“Oh,” JJ nods, “I am. Don’t you worry about that.”

You let out a content hum, nestling into his hand a bit. Closing your eyes, you rest back into your pillow. “I broke my ankle. And the jellyfish sting isn’t as bad as it looks.”

He runs a hand through your matted hair, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m fine, baby,” you mumble, giving him the smile that melts his entire being. And when you open up your eyes he can see that you really mean it. “Did you really think our dates were that good?”

“Everything we do is that amazing,” JJ points out.

Pulling on his hand, you murmur, “Come take a nap with me. Please. I would like to be close to you. Help me relax.”

JJ doesn’t hesitate to slip into the bed next to you, the vibration of his skin is still there and he knows that it won’t go away until he’s close to you. You turn your back to him and he settles in behind you, curving his body around yours. His arm wraps around your middle and his hand comes to rest on your chest, your steading heartbeat calming down the vibration of his body. You melt down against him and he just holds you to him even tighter.

“I would appreciate it if you stopped getting hurt,” he murmurs, moving your hair out of the way to kiss at the back of your shoulder.

“Yeah, so would I.”

“How about we both stop getting hurt,” JJ suggests, his kisses moving up to the side of your neck. His heart rate has calmed down significantly in just the few seconds of laying here.

“I can do that,” you hum, resting further into his front. “You don’t have to promise it, but just know I’ll always be there to help you when you do get hurt.”

JJ feels a lump form in his throat at your words. He knows what you mean, it’s not something you have to explain to him. You turn your head to look at him up and over your shoulder, a smile gracing your face. JJ nearly cries at the sight, the beautiful sight that it is leaves him breathless. When you pucker your lips, JJ obliges, swooping down in no time and pressing a firm kiss to your lips. His skin tingles at the feeling and he wishes you were anywhere else than in a damn hospital.

“I love you, you know.” You smile at him, kissing at his lips once again.

“I know.” he says against your lips.

If there’s one thing he knows. He knows that you love him. That you’ve given him love every day since the day you met. The only person to give him continuous love, love that he needs. And he knows that you know how much he loves you. How much he will always love you.

So, when you finally fall asleep, nestled in his arms, he sleeps. He sleeps comfortably. The only way he can, when you’re with him

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

please feed my narcissism 

my masterlist is in my bio

[levixreader]

Dad!Levi x Mum!Reader- Daughter of Mine

Warnings: Just fluff

Charlotte: French name meaning freedom Summary: Charlotte was exactly like her father, stubborn to the core. Even though Levi would never allow her to join the military, she gives him a run for his money. Read as your teenage daughter turns your husbands day completely upside down when he agrees to have her join him for work for a week. Who knew someone other than you could break the Corporals composure so easily.

Requested by Anonymous

Master List | Requests | Next Chapter

“No”, Levi said firmly, taking another sip from his tea. “But DaAaAad!”, Charlotte whined. Levi ignored her closing his eyes while taking another sip from his cup. “Levi, you could at least take a minute to think about it”, you chimed in from the kitchen. He opened his eyes, glaring at you from the breakfast table. “No”, he repeated, his tone more severe. “I am an adult now!”, Charlotte argued sitting next to him. He turned his glare to your sixteen-year-old daughter. “Dad please!”, she pleaded her voice becoming more desperate. Levi remained in a frown.

Levi had promised Charlotte that he would give her whatever she wanted for her birthday. Of course, the only thing she wanted was for him to let her join the army. And sure enough, he had denied and blocked her every step of the way. She had tried to sneakily signup, several times might you add. Tried to even go to Erwin, Levi’s superior. And gone as far as convinced even you. But to no avail. He would never allow her to join.

“You’re not joining”, he said pissed off, “That’s final”, his impassive expression returning. Silence. Charlotte’s eyes welled up. You sighed, stopping loitering in the kitchen knowing perfectly well that you would need to intercede between them yet again. They had been having this fight for a month and half since her birthday to be exact. It always ended the same way, him denying her and her crying.

They normally had a great relationship, an unspeakable bond of trust of father and daughter. They understood each other in a way that you, even as her mother, could never completely comprehend. Which is why watching them have a go almost every other day was really painful to watch.

“Why?”, she asked, tears ready to fall. This was the first time she asked him for his reasoning. He turned to look at her icy grey eyes, the pain in her eyes palpable enough to soften his expression. He sighed loudly, giving in to her request. “I would never want to feel responsible if something were to happen to you”, he said sincerely. Hearing him broke your heart.

Levi could be many things, but even through his thick layered skin, he was ultimately human. Still only a man; flesh and blood. Still felt grief from every single one of his comrade’s deaths. And even if he rarely showed it, he had an almost unmovable sense of morality. Not even humanity’s greatest soldier could take in his shoulder the death of his only child. Even as a child if she had been out of his sight for what he thought of as too long, he would feel panicked. Not even when you were in the Corps had he felt this unnerved. You might be his soul but Charlotte was his heart and joy.

“But dad, even mum used to be on the force!”, she tried again, her voice shakier than last time. “She isn’t any more”, he pointed out. Both of them turn to look at you for some kind of support. You sighed again approaching them from across your standing position opposite them. “How about this”, you began sitting diagonally from both your husband and daughter, they both leaned in eager to hear your opinion, “take Charlotte for a week in the HQ”, you suggested. Charlotte’s eyes sparkled obviously appreciating your suggestion. Levi, on the other hand, had his eyes narrowed poignantly glaring at you. Oh boy, you knew that look. It was the look he used when he would make you pay for whatever you had done.

“Common dad”, Charlotte pleaded calling back his attention. He stared down at her, “No”, he answered. “But you said you would give me anything I wanted”, she insisted placing her hands on his knees. He stood his silent ground. “What if I don’t leave you side?”, she offered. He still didn’t say anything. “I’ll even clean your office”, she added, her eyes fuller than ever. He closed his eyes, sighing in defeat. “One week”, he finally replied. She immediately stood up screaming “YAY”, and then proceeded to twirl around the room. “I’m not done yet brat”, he said his eyes narrowing at her celebration in disapproval. “You’ll wake up every day at 5:00”, he began listing his conditions, “You do exactly as I say”, he continued, “And most importantly”, he emphasised, “You cannot leave my sight”. Charlotte who had been listening intently to his every word nodded furiously, “I promise!”, she said happily and proceeded to run up the stairs presumably to pick exactly what she was going to wear.

“Tch”, Levi said watching her disappear up the stairs. “You’re not off the hook either”, he said with half-lidded eyes. You rolled your eyes. “You’re just as bad as that brat”, he said meeting your gaze. “No, for that you have the full credit”, you commented smiling softly. His eyes narrowed, “After tonight, we might even have another one”, he casually said. “What?”, you replied blushing. “You heard me”, he said reaching to grab your face with his hand. “If I have to take the brat to work, you’re also suffering the consequences”, he said almost growling. “Yes, Sir”, you said seductively making him smirk, “It’s Corporal to you, brat”.

* * *

It hadn’t even been half a day and Levi was already regretting agreeing to bring Charlotte with him. His eyes narrowed watching his daughter in the courtyard with the 104th cadets. He didn’t have a problem with his daughter meeting the cadets but, what he did have a problem with was the newbie 104th cadets flirting with her. “Stupid shitty glasses”, he thought narrowing his eyes further as Jean, a horse-faced teenager, made Charlotte giggle. Hanji had, as per usual, bust into his office with news of some sort of experiment or another. But had promptly stopped when she laid eyes on Charlotte. “Is this little Charlotte I see!”, she had screamed in delight. Hanji was a regular at his house and knew Charlotte quite well. She had begged Levi to let her give Charlotte a tour of the facilities. At the time, he had been half thankful, since he still had half a mountain of paperwork to get through and Charlotte wasn’t making it any easier with her whining and asking when he would be done so that the both of them could go exploring. He trusted Hanji, but looking at things now, that had been a big mistake.

His eyes opened like plates. “Fuck. No.”, he thought having enough of the little show outside. He got up immediately from his desk chair. Eren had touched her. Moronic, hot-headed, titan-shifting Eren, had dared touch her.

Levi wasn’t an unreasonable man. He was praised for keeping his impulses in control. In fact, if anything, he was more the type to step back and assess before acting. But, all of that was thrown out the window when it came to his daughter. No one touched his daughter. Especially with dirty, filthy crummy hands like Eren’s. He stopped his way to the entrance of the courtyard. “Cadets!”, he screamed pissed off. The little group at the centre immediately turned to look at their superior. Levi’s eyes met Charlotte’s, she wasn’t happy and shot him half a glare. When the rest of the group realise it was the Corporal calling them, they all ran to stand in attention. “Heichou”, they said more or less in unison standing straight. Charlotte, on the other hand, leisurely made her way towards the line of cadets and Levi. Levi’s eyes fixated on her, narrowing in anger at her insubordination.

Of course, this did not escape the boys that had been flirting with her attention. Eren looked conflicted between Charlotte and Levi. Jean was biting his lip trying to think of what to say. Reiner’s brow was sweating unsure of what to do and so on and so forth.

“Captain!”, it was Eren who spoke first. Levi tore his eyes off Charlotte to look at him, his steel eyes warning him off wanting to cut his head off. “Charlotte is new”, he said less confidently mirroring Reiner’s sweating. Levi’s right eyebrow cocked up. “We’ll make sure she knows how to greet her superiors properly”, he said closing his eyes and lowering his head as a form of apology. “He”, Levi said in dark amusement. At least one of them had the balls to try to shield that stupid brat of his. Eren opened one eye and sneaked a peek at the Corporal. Levi looked even more annoyed. “Yes Corporal!”, this time it was Jean three persons down. It was his turn to be glared at. “Please forgive her!”, he pleaded also lowering his head. Levi felt red hot anger curing through his veins.

“So, you lot think you know how to handle my daughter better than me?”, Levi said with molten furry. Eren and Jean instantly raised their head in shock. All of the six in the group were shocked. Daughter. Charlotte was the Corporal's daughter.

“Dad!”, came a whine from Charlotte. Levi’s lips became a straight line, “My office”, he managed to say with a still controlled tone. “But-”, she tried, “Now!”, he emphasised louder. She pouted crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Dad stop”, she tried once again. His glare intensified, his eyes turning to look at the still processing cadets in front of him. “Since you all seem so eager to speak on her behalf”, Levi said calling back the attention of the boys, “you can all take her punishment too”, he glared at the line, “100 laps and stable duty for 2 weeks”, he called out waving a hand to dismiss them. Groaning they all made their way back to the courtyard to start laps.

“Charlotte”, he said turning to see his daughter once again. Oh, she was in for it. He never called her that. “We’re leaving”, he called grabbing her forearm and dragging her out of the buildings.

* * *

“Hey!”, you called out hearing your husband and daughter come in through the front door. “How was today?”, you asked moving to the living room to greet them. They both looked angry. “Oh God”, you thought approaching them. “Fine”, Levi said walking past you to reach sit on the couch. “Right”, you thought turning to look at him. “Why the long face?”, you questioned earning you a glare. “Ask her”, he responded pointing at Charlotte, who was still pouting. “Me?!”, she dramatically argued. His eyes narrowed. “What is going on?”, you asked a little lost. “I’ll tell you!”, Charlotte volunteered, “Dad went crazy”, she informed making you frown. Crazy?

“The military is not a flirting patch”, he answered rudely making Charlotte’s cheek colour. Your eyebrow shot up at her reaction. “I wasn’t flirting!”, she defended whilst flustered. You turned to look at your husband who was by then already staring at you with a “see” face. “Levi”, you said walking so that you stood in front of his knees. “What did you do?”, you asked crouching so that you could meet his gaze. “Nothing”, he said turning away. “L-evi”, you said softly. “If those brats have the balls to touch my daughter then they can have the balls to demonstrate their endurance and cleaning skills”, he said, not a single bit sorry. You sighed, turning your head slightly to look at your daughter. “Charlotte, give us a minute”, you said smiling softly at her. She frowned softly but complied and ran upstairs.

Sighing again you hung your head. “Levi”, you said your tone a little stern. He did not answer opting to look elsewhere as you looked up to his face. “You can’t do stuff like that”, you said placing both your hands on each of his knees. His eyes still didn’t meet yours. “Charlotte is not a child”, you said gripping his knees. To this he turns to look down at you his eyes dipped in disapproval, “She will always be my child”, he said catching you by surprise. That was so uncharacteristically of him. “You should have seen how they were looking at her”, he said in disgust, “They got what they deserved, tch”, he said returning his eyes elsewhere. You stifled a chuckle.

You had only seen him like this once and it had been back when you were dating and someone dared ask you out. Levi had had a field day with them.

“Levi”, you called out even softer than before. He looked at you, his eyes now softer with a hint of sadness and anger. “You can’t treat Charlotte like that”, you said drawing circles on his knees. He sighed, his shoulder’s relaxing a bit. “I know”, he said in defeat. One of your hands moved upwards to hold his cheek. His face shifting to put its weight on your palm. “It’s just-”, he started thinking of the best way to describe the feeling, “hard”, he settled on. “I know”, you said empathising with him. He sighed again, moving his face so that his lips were the ones on your palm now. He kissed it before getting up. “Are you going to talk to her?”, you asked watching him disappear further into the house. “Something like that”, he said underneath his breath making you chuckle.

* * *

*knock, knock*

Two knocked protruded from her room’s door. Charlotte looked up from her bed, fresh tears still falling down her cheeks. She didn’t answer, not really in the mood to see you or Levi, especially Levi. “Stupid dad”, she thought burring her face on the pillow.

The door creaked open, allowing Levi to walk inside the room. “Brat”, he called out from the foot of the bed. Charlotte didn’t even shift. He sighed sitting down on the corner by her feet, “Brat”, he tried again. Charlotte simply buried herself deeper in the pillow. She didn’t want her father to watch her cry. “Charlotte”, he said softly placing a hand on her leg. “Hmm”, he heard her muttered from her pillow. “Common, let’s have a talk”, he said tapping her leg. She sighed emerging from the pillow and turning to look at him. His heart twisted when he caught her still watery eyes. “What is it?”, she said quietly. “I’m your dad”, he informed making her eyebrows knit. “Yeah?”, she said quizzically. Levi sighed once more, completely defeated, “even when you’re old like me, you will always be my brat”, he said looking down at her bedsheets. This made Charlotte giggle. “I know”, she said this time placing her hand on his leg. “You’ll always be my dad”, she echoed making the corner of Levi’s mouth tug upwards. “Always”, he answered looking at her with a smile. To his surprise, Charlotte threw herself at him hugging him. Levi eagerly hugged her back.

“This doesn’t mean you can get out of 5 a.m. training tomorrow”, he said making her push him so that he was at arm’s length. “Training?”, she repeated confused. “What? You thought I would back away from a promise?”, he asked rhetorically feigning offence. Charlotte beamed, “Really? You mean it?!”, she asked bouncing. “Yeah, yeah”, he said ruffling her hair, “Be ready at 4:30 sharp”, he said getting up from her bed, “If you’re late, I’ll make you run laps”, he said closing the door of her bedroom.

[band--psycho]

Newt x Reader-I Trust You

Requested by @ausblack : Where she’s like the new (only) girl in the glade and everyone thinks she’s mute because she never said a word since she came up. The only person who she warms up to is Newt and she eventually speaks to him after the first weeks. They start to spend a lot of time together and they eventually fall in love when someone hurts her accidentally and he gets extremely worried/protective.

Third Person POV

It had been almost a week since the new greenie had arrived. This greenie was different from the rest though, for two reasons; the first, was that she was a girl and the second was that she hadn’t uttered a single word to any of the other gladers since she’d arrived. Everyone had tried talking to her but still the girl remained silent. There was a mixture of frustration and confusion aimed towards her amongst most of the gladers, none of them could understand why she wouldn’t talk to them. Some of them even joked that she should be thrown into the maze to see if she said anything; some people meant it more seriously than others. But none of them would dare act on anything they thought, in fear of being thrown in the maze themselves. Not all of the gladers held resentment towards her though, Newt in particular had quite a shine to her and it didn’t take a genius to work out that she’d grown quite fond of him as well, the two of them were often seen together sitting in the treehouse. Not even he knew her name though.

~~~~~~~

It had been two weeks since the new greenie arrived and still no one knew her name; most people just called her greenie, simply because it was the only thing that they could really call her seeing as her name was still unknown.

A select few though, had taken it upon themselves to start calling her Shank, however much to their frustration the name didn’t seem to bother her. No one knew what to do with her, but one thing was for certain; Gally wanted her gone. He didn’t trust her. Nor did he understand her.

“She doesn’t talk!” Gally roared, exasperated with the direction the conversation had taken. His hands flying up into the air in an obvious display of disbelief and frustration. Jaw clenched and nostrils flared he glares at Newt, who only shook his head in response.

“So what? She hasn’t hurt anybody, she does her job,” yes, she seemed different to everyone else, but that didn’t mean she was a threat. Not like Gally was trying to portray her.

“Well you would say that, wouldn’t you,” Gally scoffed, shaking his head with a humourless laugh.

“And what’s that meant to mean?” His tone was biting, and his temper was rising. He knew he shouldn’t give Gally the satisfaction, that he wasn’t worth it but he couldn’t help himself. The need to protect her - to defend her - was staggering, and he found himself incapable of holding his tongue.

“Oh come on Newt, everyone knows you’ve got the hots for her,” the goading bluntness to Gally’s tone was clear as day, and only serve to poke the metaphorical bear. Seeing this Gally continues with a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

“But she clearly doesn’t feel the same, seeing as she hasn’t said a damn word to you either-“,

“Watch it, Gally,” Newt interrupted with a warning look in his eyes, feeling the anger in his veins veil to a new degree.

“Or what? What’re you gonna do Newt?” Gally taunted, squaring up to Newt, readying himself for a fight, making it clear he wasn’t going to back down.

“Maybe if you were thinking with your brain, you’d see how dangerous she is, and that we can’t trust her,” the sneer on his face made the notion of hitting Gally all the more alluring for Newt. The only thing holding him back at this point being his respect for Alby, however Gally was making the idea more and more tempting by the minute.

“Gally, I swear-” before Newt could finish the impulsive threat, a new voice momentarily sliced through the tension, effectively putting a pause on the situation.

“That’s enough!” Alby’s voice boomed, causing everyone in the hut to go silent as he stepped between Alby and Newt, in an attempt to diffuse the situation. When he was happy neither was going to make a move against him, Alba turned to Gally.

“She’s not hurting anyone, Gally, she’s just…different. Perhaps if you were nicer to her, she might feel like she can trust us enough to talk to us,” Alby postulated with an air of finality in his tone.

“Trust? She’s been here long enough that she should be able to trust us,” Gally argued, backing down from any physical altercation, but wanting his opinion on the matter heard and taken seriously.

“Well maybe if you and the others weren’t constantly taunting her and trying to scare her into talking she’d make the effort,” Alba reasoned in response before looking between both newt and Gally and declaring, “We’re done, this meeting is done. She’s staying, that’s the end of it.” And just like that the meeting was over.

~~~~~~~

Y/n was up in the treehouse as normal, watching the sun slowly rise above the trees, it’s golden rays momentarily reaching all across the glade. It was something she’d found herself doing quite frequently since entering the glade, watching the sunrise and the sunset. Not only was it beautiful to see the sun rise and fall behind the trees as day turned to night and night turned to day, but she found that there was something extremely calming about watching it. Newt often joined her when he could, sometimes the two would sit in silence, watching as the scenes changed before their eyes or Newt would talk to her, telling her about his day, what he’d been doing and sometimes he’d tell her stories about his past, what the glade used to look like and how it used to be when he first arrived. She knew he trusted her, trusted her enough to tell her about the time he tried to end it all; tried to end the pain and frustration this place caused.

As the colours in the sky began to slowly change, her mind wandered to what Gally said last night. How she was dangerous and couldn’t be trusted…

“Hey,” Newt greeted as he sat down next to her, his voice drawing her away from her thoughts. She sent him a small smile, studying his features more, His sandy brown hair and his light blue eyes that she constantly found herself getting lost in. He was different to anyone else here. He was gentle and caring, he made her feel like she belonged here. Newt was talking about his daily plans and once again she found herself getting lost in him. In his voice, his eyes. Him.

And before she could even stop the words she muttered “Y/n.” At the sound of her voice Newt instantly stopped speaking only for her to say ‘My name’s Y/n’ her voice was pure and sweet as if it was from heaven itself; so gentle and angelic, Newt thought he’d wandered into a dream but when she felt his hand on his, he knew this was real. A beaming smile came upon his face, one that soon she was mirroring. The two sat together in silence for a while, both of them processing what had just happened.

“What made you decide to talk to me?” Newt asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I..um..I heard what Gally said in the meeting,” Y/n answered honestly.

“You know those meetings are private for a reason, right,” he said with a chuckle in his voice as he humorously raised his eyebrows.

“I know, I know...but I wanted to know what he was saying and then I heard you defending me,” realisation dawned over Newt as he thought back to the meeting.

“And then I heard Gally say you have the hots for me,” There it was. Embarrassment washed over him in waves as he tried to work out what to say; yes it was true, he liked her but the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away or make her uncomfortable.

“Y/n-” He stuttered out, searching for something to say.

“Is it true…?” she interrupted, momentarily locking eyes with him until he looked away.

“Newt,” the way she said his name made him feel like he was floating in the air and the soft touch of her hand on his face caused his heart to swell and his cheeks to grow hot as a pink tint came upon. Her hand lightly guided his face back, so they were looking at each other again.

“Yeah, I like you, Y/n,” he admitted, fully prepared for the rejection that was about to hit him, but it never came. Instead the words that left Y/ns lips were, “I like you too, Newt, that’s why I decided to talk to you, I wanted you to see that I trust you..” Newt felt his heart swell with joy at her words, as moved closer towards her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. He put his arm around her, pulling her close as they continued to watch the rest of the sunrise, with smiles on their faces.

~~~~~~~

Thomas’ shouts for help echoed through the glade and seconds later, a terrified Thomas emerged from the forest with Ben chasing him. Y/n attempted to stop Ben in his tracks but before she could even say anything, Ben harshly pushed her out of the way; causing Y/n to hit the ground with a thud. The other gladers,soon gathered and managed to get Thomas away from Ben.Instantly Newt ran to her side, attempting to lift her up slightly, but as soon as he tried to move he noticed the panicked look in her eyes.For a few seconds a pain shot through her head as she tried to focus on the figure infront of her, tried to focus on what he was saying; her blurry eyes could see his mouth moving and she could hear sounds passing from his lips, but she couldn’t work out what the words were, no matter how hard she tried to focus on them. Anxiety washed over Newt as he basically cradled her disorientated form, repeating “Love? Love, can you hear me?” in the calmest voice he could muster, not wanting to scare her. But Alby could see the fear that was burning his closest friend's eyes. Alby silently shooed the crowd around them away, leaving only him, Newt and Clint. After a few moments, Y/ns vision started to focus again, seeing a pair of familiar light blue eyes looking down at her. Slowly, her surroundings began to come back to her and she could feel Newts soft hand on her face, tracing small circles onto her cheek.

“Love? Love can you hear me?” Newt repeated and this time she heard his voice clearly.

“That hurt,” she muttered, quietly groaning as she tried to sit up, slowly Newt, Y/n and Clint all moved to the Medjack hut and after being checked over she was given the all clear, being told that all she needed was rest. Newt never thought he’d find love in the very place he hated. The place he’d tried so desperately to leave before, but as he looked down at Y/ns sleeping form, he felt the butterflies swarming in his stomach and that night, he held her closer than he’d ever done before, whispering into her hair a promise. A promise that he’d always be there to protect her, that he’d never let something like what happened today, happen again.

Tagging:

@music-is-all-i-need​ @newtellaboi​​​ @gloryekaterina​​ @jamie-lee666​​

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[icedthoma]

caught in the act

Requested by @edensxgarden

--A scenario in which Todoroki introduces his s/o to his class for the first time when they catch her visiting him in the dorms 🥰 and everyone is so shook, because todo?? is dating?? and she’s SO COOL AND CUTE!!! just indulge me please 🥴👉🏻👈🏻💖

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Notes: This gif makes me so happy 

You were way past having second thoughts. By now you were on your fourth or fifth round of is this a good idea? Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this after all...

But Todoroki was actually the one who had suggested it, which came as a surprise to you, who was generally the most likely out of the two of you to suggest such an impulsive, rash, spontaneous idea. 

“Shouto, I don’t know,” you hissed into your phone, pacing back and forth from where you were at the foot of 1A’s dorm entrance stairs. The front door was right there, and all you had to do was step up and go through. “What if I get caught? You could get in serious trouble!”

“Is it wrong for me to want to see my girlfriend on a weekday?” he responded, a defensive tone lacing his words that would have had you snorting if not for the stress you were currently under. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, babe, but I’d rather not get you in trouble with your teachers! Besides, um, I also don’t want to intrude on your other classmates! They don’t know we’re dating, and that would be a big hassle for them to find out from me sneaking in here to see you, you know? I'd hate to inconvenience anyone.” You were sitting on the stairs now, occasionally scuffing your feet in the dirt and scanning the road every few seconds for any passerby. There was a bush a foot to your right you could dive into if need be. 

The thing was, you had never met any of his friends personally from UA, only heard Shouto’s detailed stories of whatever nonsense they got up to in the dorms. You were happy that Todoroki had found people other than you and his family who accepted and supported him the way he was, but also worried you wouldn’t be able to live up to their...craziness? That was part of the reason you had accepted Todoroki’s suggestion that you sneak into Heights Alliance, but also there was that part of you that thought you wouldn’t fit in well with his classmates. What if they didn’t like you? Or worse, thought he could do so much better than you, someone who wasn’t even studying to be a hero? It was like meeting his family for the first time all over again. 

“Well, you’d be inconveniencing me.”

You groaned. “Shouto...”

“Also, how long are you going to stare at that bush?”

“Huh? How did you--” Twisting around, you stared at where Todoroki was leaning against the door frame of the now open Heights Alliance doors, ending your call on his phone and shoving his phone into his pocket. He walked over and offered his hand. 

“Come on.”

“What if someone sees us?” you whispered, allowing yourself to be tugged into his dorm for the first time. A small "woah” of amazement escaped you as you took in the spacious common room and a room farther down that you thought was the dining hall. So cool!

Todoroki shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry. They’re all on the third floor right now. I’m on the fifth,” he added before you could ask. 

You allowed yourself to relax and allowed yourself to truly enjoy the feel of Shouto’s hand holding tightly to yours, breath coming quick as you ran over to the elevators. Now that you were sure you would be able to make it to his room with no incident, the adrenaline rush was finally hitting you, and all concerns about possibly getting in trouble were thrown out the window. You would worry about those later. 

“This is your room?” you asked once his door was shut and locked behind you. “It’s so...”

“Japanese?” he offered. 

“...like your house.”

“Oh.”

“Didn’t you only get one day to move in? How did you do all of this by yourself?”

He shrugged. “Hard work.”

You were aware of his gaze on you as you flitted around his room, checking out his desk and peeking in his closet to snatch out a hoodie. “What?” you asked in response to his skeptical look. “It’s cold in here.”

Then you discovered he had a balcony.

“You have a balcony?” you yelled, throwing open the double doors to stare in awe at the view of the ground below, UA itself visible from a distance. “Wow, you’re really living the life.” You hated how your voice dropped in tone at the end despite your attempts to stop it. After all, you didn’t want to kill the nice vibes the two of you had going just because you were maybe jealous over the fact that he got to live with all his friends. And have his own dining hall. And a balcony. 

Of course, being the intuitive guy he was, Shouto immediately caught on and wrapped his arms around you from where you were resting your elbows on the edge of his balcony, leaning his chin on the top of your head. “Is something bothering you?”

“What? Nah,” you said, reaching one hand up to pat Todoroki’s cheek affectionately. “I’m glad you get to see your friends all the time. You deserve it.”

“It’s not the same without you, you know,” he sighed, squeezing you tighter for a moment and pressing his lips to your hair. “Mmm. Your hair smells different. Did you change shampoos?”

“Yeah! I’m surprised you could tell.” Smiling now, you shifted around so you were now facing him, the soft fabric of his hoodie providing ample warmth against the cool breeze drifting by. His arms were still encircling you, and you slid your hands up his chest to settle on his shoulders, looking at him endearingly. “And I’m not bothered at all. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

Smiling, Todoroki lowered his lips to yours in a sweet kiss that turned any remaining strength in your knees to jelly. If it wasn’t for the railing supporting you from behind, you were sure you would have toppled over from the moment he kissed you. “I’m so glad you came, you know,” he mumbled against your mouth.

A pleasant warmth was spreading in your chest that tickled you all the way to your toes. You always felt this way around him, his very presence enough to energize you to get through any obstacle. “Yeah, me too.”

After an hour of the two of you vibing in Todoroki’s dorm room which mainly consisted of you swapping stories and cuddling, it was about time you headed home. 

“Don’t leave...” Shouto groaned, pressing his face into your back as you sat on his floor attempting to stand. “You should stay here forever.”

“I wish,” you said, still trying to get up despite your boyfriend clinging all over you. “But I really should be going home before it gets too dark.”

With that, he finally relented and opened the door to his room, checking both ways to make sure the coast was clear. “Let’s go.” Todoroki took your hand in his and led you down the hall back to the elevators. 

“This was really fun,” you laughed, shoving your hands into the pockets of his hoodie you hadn’t taken off yet. “I’m glad we weren’t...” You trailed off in horror as you exited the elevator only to be met with several pairs of wide eyes staring at the two of you from the common room. “...caught?”

“Hey, Todoroki,” a pink girl called from the other side of the room...Mina, if you remembered from his stories correctly. “Wait, uh, who’s that?”

Was it too late to run back inside the elevator? 

A small ding! answered for you as you heard the doors shut behind you. 

“Um, hey, 1A,” you sheepishly greeted, blushing up a storm at the fact that their gazes were glued to you and your interlocked hands with Todoroki. “Nice to finally meet you?”

Shouto sighed. “This is Y/n. My girlfriend.”

"You didn’t tell us you were dating someone!” Kaminari shouted, twisting around on his seat to get a better look at the two of you. “Oh, and she’s cute--”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed, and you watched in amusement as his hold on your hand tightened by a fraction at his friend’s quip. Meanwhile, the girls present in the common room all ran over to you, and you were pleased to note you were able to guess which face belonged to the names you had been hearing from Shouto all this time. 

“How did you know our names?” Uraraka beamed, hands pressed to her cheeks. 

You blushed under all this attention, rubbing the back of your neck with the sleeve of Todoroki’s hoodie that was a bit too long for you. “Shouto talks about you all a lot.”

“Really? Aww!”

“Oh my gosh, you’re wearing his hoodie!” Ashido squealed, grabbing your hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “Ah, It’s so nice to meet you even though we didn’t even know you were coming! You two are so adorable!”

“So that’s why you said you didn’t want to participate in Kaminari’s invitation,” Midoriya was saying from over on Todoroki’s side, where most of the boys were lightly teasing him. 

“Where do you go to school?” Jirou asked. “Oh, that’s kind of far...” she said once you had answered, not mentioning once how it wasn’t a school focused on heroism. 

“Yeah, I usually only get to see Shouto on the weekends,” you said with a small laugh. “But I guess we both couldn’t wait this time around.”

“CUTE.”

“Mina, you need to chill.”

“Chill? I am chill.” 

“Y/n needs to go home now,” Todoroki suddenly announced, pulling you away from the rest of 1A protectively.

“Aww, is someone jealous?”

“Please come visit soon! I swear we won’t snitch,” Ochaco exclaimed, wrapping you in a quick hug that you eagerly reciprocated. “I can’t wait to get to know you better!”

“Me too! After all,” a small smirk worked its way on your face, “I have to return this, don’t I?” You pinched the sleeve of your--well, Todoroki’s--hoodie. 

“You better,” Shouto murmured as he walked with you to the door, the rest of 1A waving you off happily. “Sorry you had to deal with all that.”

You didn’t know why you had been worrying so much about meeting his friends in the first place. “I love all of them already.” You grinned, kissing his cheek before stepping fully out of the Heights Alliance dorms. “And you bet I’ll be visiting more often with the help of your friends.”

He smiled. “I can’t wait.”

[senadimell]

Oooh, can I ask more about your thoughts on the Time Quartet in terms of ADHD? If you feel like sharing of course :) praying for rest and quick healing for you! <3

This ask is from @ladyzayinwonderland​‘s comment on my reading ask, but for formatting’s sake I sent an ask to myself :)

Part one: Thoughts on ADHD and Meg in A Wrinkle in Time (as we meet her)

(hoping for an eventual part 2 on neurodivergence, difference, and the question of assimilation across the Time Quartet, and 3 on “special interests” and the genre-weirdness of the books as a whole)

Given my fondness for these books and my tendency to ramble, I’ll try to summarize rather than explain every thought I have. It’s hard to start, so I guess I’ll go with Meg. For the sake of what’s going to be an essay, I’m just going to say Meg and Charles are both similarly coded as what we would term neurodivergent (often contrasted with the “normal” Sandy and Dennys), but that neurodivergence is often quite different for Meg than it is for Charles Wallace.

L’Engle was not the kind of woman to use pathologizing language, and it’s not my intent to use the DSM to diagnose characters. I’m also not trying to suggest the neurodivergent characters are extra-special and that the ‘boring neurotypical’ characters don’t isolation, loneliness, or difficulty meeting social standards (Many Waters blows that out of the water). I think a common goal of the Time Quartet and the neurodiversity movement is to accept the broad spectrum of human experience without forcing people into boxes. (it’s anti-muffin, so to speak)

I’m going to focus on Meg’s introduction in A Wrinkle In Time, and am going to highlight things common for many ADHD folks, as well as things I associate with my own ADHD experience.

Meg’s academic problem

"Twice exceptional”

Academic unevenness

Emotions

Some quotes on impulsivity and fidgeting

Final thoughts on neurodivergence

1. Meg's academic problem

“Was it because people were a little bit afraid of him that they   whispered about the Murry’s youngest child, who was rumored to be not   quite bright? “I’ve heard that clever people often have subnormal   children,” Meg had once overheard. “The two boys seem to be nice,   regular children, but that unattractive girl and the baby boy certainly aren’t all there.”

This is how we meet her, on the second page of my copy.

“...—It’s not just the weather,” she thought. It’s the weather on top of everything else. On top  of me. On top of Meg Murry doing everything wrong. School. School was all wrong. She’d been dropped to the lowest section in her grade. That morning one of her teachers had said crossly, “Really, Meg, I don’t understand how a child with parents as brilliant as yours are supposed to be can be such a poor student. If you don’t manage to do a little better you’ll have to stay back next year.” During lunch she’d rough-housed a little to try to make herself feel better, and one of the girls said scornfully, “After all, Meg, we aren’t grammar-school kids any more. Why do you always act like such a baby?” And on the way home from school, walking up the road with her arms full of books, one of the boys had said something about her “dumb baby brother.” At this she’d thrown the books on the side of the road and tackled him with every ounce of strength she had, and arrived home with her blouse torn and a big bruise under one eye.

So here we have Meg in school, under-performing, scorned by her peers for being immature, and jumping immediately at a sleight against her brother with no thought for consequences (note: more than one boy, and it later says that they’re in a grade above her. She immediately drops all of her things to tackle them).

She checks a lot of stereotype boxes from the get-go, but there’s a lot of subtler things that hold true throughout Wrinkle. Let’s start with academic performance, because there’s a lot of ADHD ringers, and some near textbook “twice-exceptional” stuff. 

At school Meg was tired and her eyelids sagged and her mind wandered. In social studies she was asked to name the principal imports and exports of Nicaragua, and though she had looked them up dutifully the evening before, now she could remember none of them. The teacher was sarcastic, the rest of the class laughed, and she flung herself down in her seat in a fury. "Who cares about the imports and exports of Nicaragua, anyhow?" she muttered. “If you're going to be rude, Margaret, you may leave the room," the teacher said. “Okay, I will." Meg flounced out.

So Meg’s tired here from Ms Whatsit’s visit, but I’m including it because while it may have extraordinary circumstances, it’s not uncharacteristic going off of the breakfast table conversation:

“We know you have a great mind and all, Mother: Sandy said, "but you  don't have much sense. And certainly, Meg and Charles don't." "I know. We're morons." Meg was bitter. "I wish you wouldn't be such a dope, Meg. Syrup, please." Sandy reached across the table. "You  don't have to take everything so personally. Use a happy medium, for  heaven's sake. You just goof around in school and look out the window  and don't pay any attention. "You just make things harder for yourself," Dennys said. "And  Charles Wallace is going to have an awful time next year when he starts  school. We know he's bright, but he's so funny when he's around other  people, and they're so used to thinking he's dumb, I don't know what's  going to happen to him. Sandy and I'll sock anybody who picks on him, but that's about all we can do." "Let's not worry about next year till we get through this one,” Mrs. Murry said.

Yikes. A lot going on here from Sandy and Dennys, but we’re going to focus on Meg’s performance (and note that school = violence, both for Meg and Charles Wallace). Note: reputation for being unfocused, goofing off, not paying attention.

Then, we learn a little more about her:

“...I don’t want him to grow up to be dumb like me,” Meg had said. “Oh my darling, you’re not dumb,” her father answered. “You’re like Charles Walllace. Your development has to go at its own pace. It just doesn’t happen to be the usual pace.” “How do you know?” Meg had demanded. “How do you know I’m not dumb? Isn’t it just because you love me?” “I love you, but that’s not what tells me. Mother and I’ve given you a number of tests, you know.” Yes, that was true. Meg had realized that some of the “games” her parents played with her were tests of some kind and that there had been more for her and Charles Wallace than for the twins.

Fun fact: These are the exact same euphemisms about pace and uneven development that my parents and teachers used with me. (hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD. Just the “giftedness.” lots of fun puzzle-tests that felt like games. Also I had no recess friends. thank you, 1st-4th grade)

But my personal experience aside, uneven development is definitionally part of ADHD. It’s a neurodevelopmental disorder, which means it affects the way your brain develops, and it goes at a different rate than your peers. That’s intertwined with the social struggles many of us have. Meg is quite “smart” but in many ways socially “immature.” For me, it was easier being with younger kids, or else being a fly on the wall for (nice) adults than it was being with peers because I just couldn’t match their ways.

2. “Twice exceptional” (sarcastic scare quotes)

“Twice exceptional” is a term I’ve seen used for students with a neurodevelopmental or learning disability who are also “gifted.” I’m not going to unpack ‘gifted,’ but suffice to say, gifted kids with ADHD can end up with one thing cancelling out the other—they get regular grades, but only glance at the material and barely listen in class, or maybe they fail miserably despite understanding things because they forgot to turn papers in. Either way, their grades and performance aren’t matching their capabilities.

Boredom and understimulation is a huge problem for all ADHDers. School is hard enough if you’re not interested in the subject. If it’s hard, that makes school worse, because something that’s repeatedly too hard without proper support can generate anxiety, frustration, and shame. But you know what can also makes things worse? Teachers assuming schoolwork is too hard for you when it’s actually too easy. Then, you get even more bored, which switches the “brain shut off switch,” and you don’t do the work, so they assume it’s too hard, and that you’re not smart, rinse, repeat.

Mrs. Murry smiled. Why don't you get Meg to help you?” "But, see, I'm several grades above Meg.” "Try asking her to help you with your math, anyhow," Mrs. Murry suggested. "Well, sure,” Calvin said. "Here. But it's pretty complicated.” Meg smoothed out the paper and studied it. “Do they care how you do it?" she asked. "I mean, can you work it out your own way?" "Well, sure, as long as I understand and get the answers right." "Well, we have to do it their way. Now look, Calvin, don't you see how much easier it would be if you did it this way?"Her pencil few over the paper. "Hey!" Calvin said. "Hey! I think I get it. Show me once more on another one." Again Meg's pencil was busy. "All you have to remember is that every ordinary fraction can be converted into an infinite periodic decimal fraction. See? So 3/7 is 0.428571.” "This is the craziest family." Calvin grinned at her. "I suppose I should stop being surprised by now, but you're supposed to be dumb in school, always being called up on the carpet. "Oh, I am.” "The trouble with Meg and math," Mrs. Murry said briskly, "is that Meg and her father used to play with numbers and Meg learned far too many short cuts. So when they want her to do problems the long way around at school she gets sullen and stubborn and sets up a fine mental block for herself."

(Um, are we ever going to learn from this very track system that my grandmother criticized from her newlywed teaching days? Because labeling some kids smart and some kids not smart is just not something our ableist society can do compassionately, constructively, or accurately...

3. Academic unevenness

Then we’ve got this fabulous conversation

"Are there any more morons like Meg and Charles around?" Calvin asked. "If so, I should meet more of them. "It might also help if Meg's handwriting were legible*; Mrs. Murry said. "With a good deal of difficulty I can usually decipher it, but I doubt very much if her teachers can, or are willing to take the time. I'm planning on giving her a typewriter for Christmas. That may be a help. "If I get anything right nobody'll believe it's me," Meg said. "What's a megaparsec?" Calvin asked. '"One of Father's nicknames for me," Meg said. "It's also 3,26 million light years. "What's E =mc²?" "Einstein' equation." "What's E stand for?" "Energy.” “m?” "Mass." "c²?” "The square of the velocity of light in centimeters per second.” “By what countries is Peru bounded?” "I haven't the faintest idea. I think it's in South America somewhere.' "What's the capital of New York?" "Well, New York City, of course!" "Who wrote Boswell's Life of Johnson?" "Oh, Calvin, I'm not any good at English." Calvin groaned and turned to Mrs. Murry, "I see what you mean. Her I wouldn't want to teach." "She's a little one-sided, I grant you," Mrs. Murry said, "though I blame her father and myself for that. She still enjoys playing with her dolls house, though." "Mother!" Meg shrieked in agony. "Oh, darling, I'm sorry," Mrs. Murry said swiftly. "But I'm sure Calvin understands what I mean."

This section doesn’t directly speak to whether or not Meg can focus, but this isn’t a diagnostic manual XP. But one of the first things I realized about ADHD that helped me realize I had it was that it’s not lack of focus, but uneven focus. I sometimes feel like someone else’s got the remote to my brain, and it’s really frustrating when you think you’re an android in control of yourself. Sometimes the “things I’m interested in and can focus on” is not very useful or helpful. Sometimes it can be quite detrimental. Sometimes it’s great, and overlaps with school. So when I see Meg with this grab bag of very specific interests, blind spots over very basic facts, and “logical” guesses that are not very informed because they’re barely relevant to her, it makes me smile.

*Also, just for kicks, it’s worth noting ADHD comorbidities. For older   people getting diagnosed, depression and anxiety are pretty common, but I  also want to point out that other learning disorders like the “dys”   family (dyslexia, dysgraphia, etc) as well as sensory processing   disorders are pretty common. So it makes me smile that Meg’s handwriting  is trash. (I’m pretty sure my handwriting is trash because of the ADHD  write-fast-or-lose-it + impatience; thank goodness for flexible   professors who let me re-type timed hand-written stuff, but for LDs, it’s a commonly accommodated impairment)

Meg Murry. She’s dreadfully impatient. She has a very low tolerance for boredom, shuts down when asked to do redundant, boring things, yet when she’s into something, she’s very into it. She loves math, she loves science, and she knows a fair bit more than most people her age do about them. She’s lopsided, and it’s that unevenness that reminds me of my own ADHD.

4. Emotions

—Why can’t I hide it, too? Meg thought? Why do I always have to show everything?”

Meg’s emotionally reactive. She struggles to control her anger or fear or sadness, and often feels like they’re controlling her. Notably, others compare her to others her age to point out the inappropriateness of her own behavior (usually displays of anger or talking back/mouthing off), and she feels extremely insecure about her inability to control her feelings, though she uses her mother rather than peers as her reference point.

“Why don’t you cry?” Calvin asked gently. “You’re just crazy about your father, aren’t you. Go ahead and cry. It’ll do you good. Meg’s voice came trembling over tears. “I cry too much. I should be like Mother. I should be able to control myself.” “Your mother’s a completely different person and she’s a lot older than you are. “I wish I were a different person,” Meg said shakily. “I hate myself.”

Emotional reactivity is not unique to ADHD, but it left such a deep mark on me growing up. It was so, so frustrating to be the only one who was still crying like a toddler in middle school, high school, college, over ‘nothing.’ I personally don’t have much of a temper like Meg does, but having angry or frustrated (rather than just sad or scared meltdowns) are also pretty common for ADHDers. Note her response here:

At school Meg was tired and her eyelids sagged and her mind wandered. In social studies she was asked to name the principal imports and exports of Nicaragua, and though she had looked them up dutifully the evening before, now she could remember none of them. The teacher was sarcastic, the rest of the class laughed, and she flung herself down in her seat in a fury. "Who cares about the imports and exports of Nicaragua, anyhow?" she muttered. “If you're going to be rude, Margaret, you may leave the room," the teacher said. “Okay, I will." Meg flounced out. (this is also pretty impulsive)

Let’s return to the crummy breakfast scene from earlier:

“We know you have a great mind and all, Mother: Sandy said, "but you don't have much sense. And certainly, Meg and Charles don't." "I know. We're morons." Meg was bitter. "I wish you wouldn't be such a dope, Meg. Syrup, please." Sandy reached across the table. "You don't have to take everything so personally. Use a happy medium, for heaven's sake. You just goof around in school and look out the window and don't pay any attention. "You just make things harder for yourself," Dennys said. "And Charles Wallace is going to have an awful time next year when he starts school. We know he's bright, but he's so funny when he's around other people, and they're so used to thinking he's dumb, I don't know what's going to happen to him. Sandy and I'll sock anybody who picks on him, but that's about all we can do." "Let's not worry about next year till we get through this one,” Mrs. Murry said.

Oof. There’s not consensus about a ADHD-specific phenomenon of rejection sensitivity dysphoria, or internal system reaction going into overdrive in response in a way unique to ADHD rejection, but it is a commonly shared ADHD experience. Rejection can feel extremely painful in a way that’s disproportionate to the event. That’s why I highlighted the bit about taking things personally; it’s pretty similar to how she reacted when the class laughed at her. Again, not ADHD-unique, but definitely part of the experience.

The other thing is the victim-blaming (note how all of Meg’s problems are believed to be within Meg’s ability to control. All she has to do is discipline herself). They assume that she’s choosing to goof around, choosing to take things personally, and by association, choosing not to have sense, that she just needs to smarten up somehow and act right. They assume that Meg’s just a bundle of bad behaviors and conscious choices.

And that’s something that really, really bugs me. Some people seem to live their lives in this magical cause-and-effect world where they have near total control over their choices and I have never lived in that world. My body freezes when I’m frustrated and hot tears flood my eyes and thoughts jumble in my head and people tell me to stop being a crybaby and grow up and act my age as if I wasn’t desperately wishing I could do just that. Some days my brain turns off for hours without notice and I can barely read or process instructions or listen to words, and then pain turns on and it has no logic, and people ask me “did you drink water?” because sometimes they want to be sympathetic, but sometimes they’re also impatient, and both groups of people want to live in a world where I have migraines because I didn’t drink water, not because sometimes my brain malfunctions (and we don’t know why).

So when I read about Meg, I don’t read about someone who’s shooting herself in the foot on purpose. She’s trying, but very few people acknowledge that what she’s doing is hard, and so she almost believes that it’s not allowed to be hard. She’s not supposed to be struggling. Why can’t she be normal-ish, like her brothers, or collected, like her mom? It’s not that hard (it can’t be as hard as it feels? I’m the only problem here.)

For me, when I was diagnosed with ADHD, it was life-changing to accept that some things were out of my control, and they were harder for me for a reason, and I didn’t have to fight myself or hate that I was still failing those basic things. 

5. Some quotes on impulsivity and fidgeting

it’s late. i’m tired, this is about adhd, i want to finish this tonight and i want the gratification of publishing. don’t wanna edit. here’s this quote (when she threw everything aside to tackle this kid when he was with friends to throw down over an insult to Charles Wallace) 

“You don’t know the meaning of moderation, do you, my darling?” Mrs. Murry asked. “A happy medium is something I wonder if you’ll ever learn. That's a nasty bruise the Henderson boy gave you. By the way, shortly after you’d gone to bed his mother called up to complain about how badly you'd hurt him. I told her that since he's a year older and at least twenty-five pounds heavier than you are, I thought I was the one who ought to be doing the complaining. But she seemed to think it was all your fault. "I suppose that depends on how you look at it," Meg said."Usually no matter what happens people think it's my fault, even if I have nothing to do with it at all. But I'm sorry I tried to fight him. It's just been an awful week. And I'm full of bad feeling.

yes. they still blame her. this is pretty common for many people with adhd. i was generally a golden child and managed to get Adult attention, but i see it in my little bro all the time.

Meg twisted her pencil so hard that it broke. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m really not being destructive. I’m just trying to get things straight.” “I know.” “But Charles Wallace doesn’t look different from anybody else.” “No, Meg, but people are more different than just the way they look. Charles Wallace’s difference isn’t physical. It’s in essence.” Meg sighed heavily, took off her glasses and twirled them, put them back on again. “Well, I know Charles Wallace is different, and I know he’s something more. I guess I’ll just have to accept it without understanding it.” Mrs. Murry smiled at her. “Maybe that’s really the point I was trying to put across.”

also Meg does a lot of glasses-twisting and braces-baring. But to be fair, those are very touch-y objects on a sensitive place (the face)

6. Final thoughts on neurodivergence

I love and relate to Meg because she’s trying so hard to fit in and make sense of everything and none of it makes sense. Almost all of the people around her find her annoying or rude or immature or weird, but she’s just striving to figure everything out and she’s so genuine underneath it all. She genuinely cannot figure out how to do things like ordinary people seem to be able to do things, and she can’t blend in.

..."Usually no matter what happens people think it's my fault, even if I have nothing to do with it at all. But I'm sorry I tried to fight him. It's just been an awful week. And I'm full of bad feeling. Mrs. Murry stroked Meg's shaggy head. "Do you know why?" "I hate being an oddball," Meg said. "It's hard on Sandy and Dennys, too. I don't know if they're really like everybody else, or if they're just able to pretend they are. I try to pretend, but it isn't any help." "You're much too straightforward to be able to pretend to be what you aren't," Mrs. Murry said. "I'm sorry, Meglet. Maybe if Father were here he could help you, but I don't think I can do anything till you've managed to plow through some more time. Then things will be easier for you. But that isn't much help right now, is it?"

She’s snappish and jumps into fights and then she regrets it and she wants to make things better but she’s gawkish and awkward and part of it is youth, but I also wonder how much of it is her youth—being that ‘weirdo,’ specifically. I don’t think it’s a universal experience to be targeted as the one that will cry most easily. Sometimes I do wonder when I’m thinking about neurodivergence if there really is any difference between our experiences. But at the same time, I’ve only ever heard “everyone’s a little ADHD” in a way that’s meant to be inclusive but is actually dismissive of my own struggles. so... i will leave that thought hanging.

“Charles Wallace understands more than the rest of us, doesn’t her?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I suppose it’s because he’s—well, because he’s different, Meg.” “Different how?” “I’m not quite sure. You know yourself he’s not like anybody else.” “No. And I wouldn’t want him to be,” Meg said defensively. “Wanting doesn’t have anything to do with it. Charles Wallace is what he is. Different. New.” “New?” “Yes. That’s what your Father and I feel.” Meg twisted her pencil so hard that it broke. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I’m really not being destructive. I’m just trying to get things straight.” “I know.” “But Charles Wallace doesn’t look different from anybody else.” “No, Meg, but people are more different than just the way they look. Charles Wallace’s difference isn’t physical. It’s in essence.” Meg sighed heavily, took off her glasses and twirled them, put them back on again. “Well, I know Charles Wallace is different, and I know he’s something more. I guess I’ll just have to accept it without understanding it.” Mrs. Murry smiled at her. “Maybe that’s really the point I was trying to put across.”

there. that’s it. that’s the Charles Wallace Neurodivergent Anthem. Put it on a shirt, folks. 

but also, lets not forget clavin

With a sudden enthusiastic gesture Calvin flung his arms out wide, as though he were embracing Meg and her mother, the whole house. "How did all this happen? Isn't it wonderful? I feel as though I were just being born! I'm not alone any more! Do you realize what that means to me?" "But you're good at basketball and things," Meg protested. "You're good in school. Everybody likes you." "For all the most unimportant reasons," Calvin said. "There hasn't been anybody, anybody in the world I could talk to. Sure, I can function on the same level as everybody else, I can  hold myself down, but it isn't me." Meg took a batch of forks from the  drawer and turned them over and over, looking at them. "I’m all confused  again." “Oh, so ‘m I,” Calvin said gaily. But now at least I know we’re going somewhere.”

in which i wonder what is really going on with the whole neurodivergent experience, and is it just pathological? like i claim it because i have diagnosable symptioms? but really the “expeirence” is feeling super alien and like i cannot fit in with others for the LIFE of me, which is a very human experience, but maybe has a neurodivergent flavor?

i don’t really feel like calvin is exactly particularly something specific that i know of? like feels pretty normal, don’t know if he’s got anything up in the headspace. but! maybe he is. EITHER WAY. Definitely an ally.

sorry zay. this devolved. should have shelfed this. it is 1:06. anyways now you konw why i go by poly (sort of. it’s actually the ‘time quintet’ not quartet but i can’t bring myself to not detest zachary so polyhymnia’s only kairos book is not part of my canon)

A Wrinkle in Time, Madeleine L’Engle

[thefanbasewhore]

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of “what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a  toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby. 

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral. 

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before. 

***

 Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster. 

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right. 

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.” 

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s. 

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers. 

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight. 

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment.  The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it. 

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time. 

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles,  @kaermorons  @winter-rxn  @carlygrayson  @naturalswifty89  @Curiouskeyboard   @idjitdestiel  @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias,  @altarsw ,  @nikkixostan  , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel,  @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar,  @akatasukilove ,  @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan,  @Sporadicshoebailifffish,  @coldlilheart,  @starsvck,  @agirlinherhead,  @lokismidnight,  @expellopatronum,  @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey,  @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal,  @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters,  @i-ship-it-ironically  

@dinsbeskar

[hes-writer]

The Tarnish Series - Complete

Summary: y/n finds a letter that isn’t meant for her

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of vomiting and nausea, mentions of implied smut, mentions of drunk driving, angst in the beginning, angst in the middle, angst near the end, time skip of 2.5 years and slight fluff

Word Count: 32.3k words

A/N: a repost of my collab with @devilinbetweenthesheet-s​ so you can find all the series parts in one post! p.s the word ‘thought’ was used 72 times

DISCLAIMER: this is not an accurate description of who Harry/Camille are in real life. this is purely fictional for the purpose of entertainment. 

It was one of those days where Y/N had a sudden itching in her body to clean. Not just her closet, or her and Harry’s room--but the entire fricking house. The size of their shared home was ridiculous. There were many times when Y/N suggested moving into a smaller home, a cozy house with just enough rooms to hold them and an unexpected guest for the rest of their nights. It led to numerous fights about how Harry felt like she was dictating how to spend his hard-earned money, but they all ended in mushy hugs and soft-spoken apologies.

Y/N learned how to wake up in an empty house. The sudden chill raised goosebumps on her skin as she walked into the home studio Harry had installed a few months after buying the mansion. He felt as though he would be more productive knowing that he didn’t have to travel when inspiration struck. Harry was a bit private with the room, opting to not have anyone else in there unless he was present; not even Y/N. She understood that he needed something that was just for him. Living in the spotlight surely strips an individual out of their humanity and presented in a cookie-cutter way as if he was perfect. All his childhood memories were simply origin stories--a life he once lived before it changed forever. Now, he was Harry Styles the singer/songwriter, actor, host, and situational comedian.

Despite the voice at the back of her head practically screaming at her to not enter, Y/N was stubborn enough to ignore it. It was the last room she had yet to clean and she wanted to feel accomplished knowing that she was productive today. Y/N hummed mindlessly, twisting the knob before pushing it open. The lights flickered on to dim lighting, the clear glass reflecting a subdued figure of her as the glowing bulbs highlighted the expensive instruments littering the room.

Y/N puffed her cheeks out as she inspected the space. It wasn’t as messy as she had expected, only a few crumpled pieces of paper probably thrown out of frustration beside the trash can, the couch and the mechanic board. She rolled her eyes at Harry’s tendency to not clean up, especially after scratching ideas that weren’t good enough. He didn't want to give those a second thought.

As she approached the coffee table in front of the sofa, Y/N couldn’t help but notice one of the many leather-bound journals that Harry kept to scribble his thoughts and ideas into. A sharp corner of a crisp envelope was buried beneath it.

My love.

Y/N raised her brow at the cursive lettering on the back, assuming that it was her for her. She should have known better when she caught sight of the stamp at the left-hand corner, ready to be mailed but her excitement overshadowed the looming truth, gently raising the flap to pull the handwritten letter out.

My love,

    I hope you find this letter well. I apologize for acting like such an old man, sending a letter by post instead of living in the modern age of instant messaging.

She chuckled at the words Harry wrote. He really did have an interesting sense of humour.

    First of all, I’d like to thank you for sticking with me throughout our relationship. I know that we’ve had our ups and downs but I wouldn’t have anyone to spend it with aside from you, my love. I’m away too much—I know. I leave for work to see the world, to see the fans while sharing them a piece of myself. But I could never forget giving a piece of myself to you. You absolutely have my whole heart in the palm of your hands’.

Y/N blushed at his confession. She felt a little guilty for reading without his explicit permission but there was no doubt in her head that he was getting the best treatment as soon as he walks through the front door. Y/N couldn’t believe how lucky she was for finding a man like Harry willing to be so open and vulnerable with his feelings.

    The times at the cafe where we read together, sipping on our coffees and I’d catch your eyes staring at me.

She sighed dreamily, picturing his forest green eyes in her head. The intensity that he wore whenever he observed made a flush appear on her cheeks and butterflies to go haywire in her stomach. It was what they had done during his break. Starting a book club with him made the actual book interesting because he read to her in the softest voice and asked her what she thought when a character seemingly has done something out of the blue.

    The Beachwood Cafe will always have a special place in my heart.

That was the moment when anxiety struck her like a bolt of lightning; quick to change the enchanted feeling in her heart and replacing it with fear. Harry talked about the cafe with such adoration that Y/N requested for him to bring her there one day. They haven’t done so yet.

Y/N bit her lip nervously, gnawing at the skin despite applying lip scrub on it the night prior. The organ in her chest pounded with each syllable sticking to her tongue as she silently whispered along. Hands shaking with passing seconds, Y/N almost did not want to let her eyes drift to the bottom of the page, fearing that what she feared would stare at her straight in the face.

    I’m finally ready to face my fears of telling her that our relationship isn’t working out. I know that we have both been wanting it to be just us for a while.

She repeated the statement over and over, trying to make sense of who he was talking about. Was it their relationship? It couldn’t be because that would mean that Harry was being unfaithful. Was he cheating on her? Y/N’s mind was dizzy with thoughts being fired back and forth. The impulsive side of her was dead set on confronting Harry about this letter but the logical pair wanted to reach the end of the letter before making an assumption. She couldn’t just start a fight based on a misunderstanding; that was one of the things that Harry hated about his exes. They were too easily manipulated by the media to immediately doubt him when the tiniest rumour rose. But this letter was written right from Harry’s hand, his pen lying innocently on the table beside the journal.

    You're the love of my life, Camille. I promise I'll end it with Y/N soon. We're meant to be, I truly believe it. I love you so much.

Petrified. If there was one word to describe the lump building in her throat and the churning of her stomach going awry; it was petrified. The sinking feeling as if her esophagus was stretched to its extent, swallowing a chunk of realization down her throat to the pit of her stomach swelling in nausea and nervousness.

Four years, Harry and Y/N have been together. There was no doubt in her mind that she loves him dearly, dreaming of a life that they would share in the future. He wanted it with someone else. He was building it with someone else. Y/N released a sob from her soft lips, her breath hitching as she tried to calm down. Talk to him first, she reminded herself. But what was there to talk about? Y/N had evidence in her hand that he was still speaking to Camille (Did he even stop?). That Harry was going to leave her, that he was cheating on Y/N.

Y/N had a plan in case this happened to her. She has watched way too many movies and snickered at the way the character always seemed to let the news of a cheating partner break their whole being. And she would like to apologize to them right now because she understood exactly the type of weight smashed unto her shoulders; too heavy to lift up by herself and it seemed as if she was crushed, watching Harry walk away from them; from her.

The words appeared to jump out of the page, especially her name. Camille. Written so prettily as if Harry took the time to pen her name with such carefulness and design. Y/N wanted to projectile vomit from her discovery but she couldn’t leave a mess in his fancy studio. And God, she hated herself right now for thinking about how Harry would react when her world was crumbling around her.

    I’m leaving Y/N. We can finally be together and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught, Camille. I’m sorry that it’s taken me such a long time. I’ve kept you waiting for me but your patience is something that I greatly appreciate.

With her heart rate picking up, Y/N’s hand shook as she struggled to fold the letter properly as if she never saw it. One glance at the paper showed dotted streaks of wetness and only then did she realize the tears lathering her cheeks. Her cornea stung slightly, sensitive to the air as she blinked hard to will her tears back in. How long has this been going on?

“Y/N!?” Harry’s husky shout of her name boomed from the entrance. The large interior reverberating his voice, yet she failed to hear.

Harry quickly walked to the studio to retrieve the letter he was supposed to mail out today before he came home. Unfortunately, he forgot it in the midst of rushing after a slow-session of love-making with Y/N between the sheets early this morning.

Y/N did not know who’s heartbeat was thumping in her ears; hers or Harry. His lids peeled back to showcase surprise and horror plastered on his lips in the shape of an ‘o’. Harry could only hope that Y/N hadn’t gotten too far in reading the private letter. However, the way she rejected to meet his gaze after catching the guilty expression of his features; it was too late.

“Baby, please,” He whispered, the humming of the mechanic board switched on from last night’s session. Y/N shook her head, refusing to hear a bullshit apology spewing out of his mouth in a word vomit of ‘sorry’s’ and ‘i didn’t mean to’ because if he didn’t, why did he do it in the first place?

She walked past him, flinching as her shoulder brushed his and a gasp fell out of her mouth. Y/N didn’t know what to do but she knew that she wasn't to be surrounded by the one person who she thought would never hurt her. Long strides led her to the bedroom where she swiftly grabbed a duffel bag hidden away in the corners of the closet to pack a few items.

Harry stared at the piece of paper gracefully wisping against the air to fall on the ground. It was crumpled slightly on where Y/N held it. Tear stains blotted some of the ink, causing it to bleed through. Did he feel guilty? Of course, he did. Harry felt terrible that Y/N had to find out this way, but he cannot lie that he felt relieved because it’s finally over.

He walked to the seating area just after the entryway to the main door. He stood in the middle of the room with the letter tucked away properly in the envelope. Harry guessed that he didn’t have to mail this anymore. He heard her before he saw her, huffing slightly from the heavy bag on her shoulder. Sniffles scrunching up her nose like a cute bunny.

“Y/N, I’m--,” Harry reached out to her, not knowing why he did but seeing her struggle was never a sight he wanted to see.

Y/N stuck the palm of her hand out to him, pausing him in his footsteps, “I never want to see you again. Don’t contact me.”

The shiver crawling up his spine was something that he would never admit. Fear was picking away at his insides but he won’t let it show. Not when Harry was the one that insinuated it in the first place. And he won’t lie, his ego was as bruised as a ripe peach because annoyance immediately filled his body right after.

“Thank God,” He rolled his eyes upwards, placing his hands on his hips, “Took you long enough to realize that I don’t want you around anymore,” The moment the words leave his lips, Harry regretted even thinking about them. It wasn’t exactly the whole truth. He still cared for and he still wanted her around--just not in the way he used to. Maybe they could even be friends but he fucked up that chance when he decided to speak like an asshole to her, especially when he could practically see Y/N holding on to her last thread of not letting the tears fall in front of him.

His ego clawed at his muscled chest, exacerbating everything when he continued, "I'm not in love with you. Don't think I ever was. You're nothing compared to her and you know it. Can't believe I ever dated you,”

Y/N was trying to process his words on top of the emotions that were swirling inside of her. She felt as though her mind was about to explode. It was overwhelming. All these feelings and new information confusing her to the point where she was rendered speechless because didn’t Harry just tell her that he loved her last night? And weren’t they talking about starting a family last Christmas in his childhood home? Anne had even dropped the ‘baby’ bomb during dinner to which Harry blushed and stuttered his words over. Memories flashed before her, yet the only thing that came out of her mouth was a dreary, flat question of, “How long?”

“A year,’

Y/N knew that she had opened a can of worms ready to plague every happy memory she shared with him because a year ago, Harry and she were celebrating their third year together in Italy. A year ago, he promised to stay by her side ‘forever, until the end of time’. Exactly twelve months ago did Harry slow dance with Y/N at a friend’s wedding, drunk off his ass but coherent enough to mumble, ‘Want you to be my wife, Y/N,’ in her ear.

Harry was remorsing it more and more with every word that came out of his mouth. Though, he could not stop because he wanted to get the last word before she left.

“Y’know when I said I wanted a family with you? I lied. I felt sorry for you. No one else is going to want you anyway, so I thought I might try.” He was close to tears himself, his lip pursing tightly because all he ever wanted was a family with her. They had spent so many nights planning where to live if kids came up in the future. Harry can’t give up his facade now, not when suddenly apologizing will make him look like a jerk and an asshole.

“She's pretty y’know? Could’ve never have lived up to that. . . Camille, she's someone I'd want a family with. I'd marry her because she's worthy of me. Who are you in comparison?"

Who was she? Who was Y/N without Harry? Her life was centered around the one man she thought would stick around until her skin wrinkled in old age. Until her voice withered with a shaky plead. Until her arms felt too weak lift and so they had to settled for a simple graze on the hand.

Her shoulders slouched with emotional exertion. She didn’t even notice her fingernails digging into her skin as she pondered over her next words. Staring at him with a wilting confidence as he breathed heavily, daring her to talk back at him. To answer his difficult question fully knowing that Y/N didn’t know the answer to it and Harry has no problem taking full advantage of the way he was put on a pedestal in this relationship with her.

Y/N was trying her hardest to be strong. No way was she going to let Harry see her cry. Harry who has seen her cry many times before due to serious reasons and silly breakdowns because the book she had been reading didn’t end the way she wanted it to. And this relationship wasn’t progressing like how she had envisioned it to.

He was blatantly describing how much he did not appreciate her. Putting her down by attacking her with dreams that she had discussed with him because it was the easiest way for him to dispose of the guilt and sorrow he would’ve been feeling otherwise. Making it seem like it was her fault for not being enough for him when she has always been a match for him. Y/N knew that she was worth something and Harry not seeing how valuable she is doesn’t mean she had lost the ability to see herself as someone worth loving.

Y/N held his gaze, memorizing every speck of gold litter on his irises as she took off her engagement ring, throwing the jewellery at him without a second thought. In a rush of confidence, Y/N raised her arm to retreat behind her and shoot forward with a slapping sound as her palm met his cheek. If Harry taught her anything during their relationship, it would be to ‘treat people with kindness’ and that included herself.

She staggered a few steps back, watching as he stayed unmoving, his cheek reddening with a handprint. Shaking her head, Y/N aimed for the exit, opening the door to leave.

“Wait!”

She was only human to admit that that one word sparkled the light of hope within her. Y/N turned around, gripping the door handle.

“I feel guilty, my love. Please don’t leave, let’s talk about this properly,”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you’re a liar for making me think that this relationship wasn’t over a year ago when you started cheating on me with her. You’re a coward for not telling me that your feelings have changed and an arrogant son of a bitch to not admit that you’re sorry,” It was her turn to speak now and it was best if Harry stayed put and listened. Perhaps it would even be the last time that he shared this close distance with her.

“I can see it in your eyes, H. I know you. You don’t mean it when you say you didn’t love me because I felt it and you showed me. I just don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me when—” Y/N suddenly clutched her stomach, cupping her hand over her mouth.

Harry’s body moved before he could even think, reaching his arms to steady her as she stumbled slightly. The hinge of the door creaked as she used the momentum to stabilize herself and push him away from her. She coughed harshly, piercing his ears as the dreadful sound scratched her throat. Harry was scared because Y/N wouldn’t let him touch her.

Y/N gagged, racing to the kitchen sink to empty her stomach. Retching sounds filled the otherwise quiet home as Y/N held her hair away from her face. Harry offered to thread his fingers through but she shook her head. He backed away.

Hushed coughs dripped past her lips, her body slouched and panting over the sink.

“Love? Are you okay?” Harry remained his distance, following her body in case she fell. The furrow in his brow warmed Y/N’s heart but she soon realized that caring was in his nature.

The refrigerator door opened, Y/N grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap open and putting the opening against her mouth. “Don't touch me. I don’t want you near me. I never want to see you again,” She slammed the half-drunk bottle on the counter, not caring if the water spilled; it’s his mess now.

Harry followed her like a lost puppy, “Where are you going? You can't go out in that state,"

Y/N ignored him, opting to crouch down to pick up the duffle bag she had dropped with a searing glare directed to him.

"Please wait, stay here. You're sick. Y’can't go out, love,”

At the sound of the word ‘love’ leaving his lips, Y/N shuddered. All she can remember was reading the letter addressed to someone else when all this time she thought it was reserved for her. She turned around, gasping in surprise when he abruptly stopped in front of her. Harry’s hands wrapped around her waist to prevent Y/N from falling backwards.

Upon inspection, Harry could see that Y/N was paler than usual. Her eyes decked out with glossiness and he wasn’t sure if it was from the tears she had managed to hold back or from the recent sickness. She pushed him away harshly, heaving all her strength to create distance between them.

“No,” Y/N spoke with grit, “You wanted to leave, right? I’ll make it easier for you—I’m gonna leave first.” Her clumsy nature decided to act up, causing her to stumble down the short steps of the door to the walkway. Harry caught Y/N by the forearm.

Y/N shrugged his warm hand off of her, “Get away from me!” Her shrill voice pierced a knife in his chest. Harry’s lips began to quiver because she has never pushed him away before.

“You'll never speak to me again?"

The door slammed in front of his face in response.

“Hmm, I guess not.”

The driveway is littered by the sound of her engine starting, then driving away. Now, Harry’s alone in the spotless house that Y/N had cleaned all day. He sat on the sofa, fiddling with the ring that Y/N had taken off. He had not let himself fully immerse in the gravity of how much he had hurt Y/N yet. He was about to--but one ring of his phone distracted him.

Harry smiled at the caller ID, swiping his thumb to answer.

“Hi, my love.”

When the relationship ended, Y/N imagined being bed-ridden. A lack of motivation to do anything casual such as standing. Watching the television seemed to be a task that required all of her energy and full-attention to be able to understand the subtitles on the screen. Her friends would knock continuously on her door to be met with no response because she was asleep or Y/N couldn’t be bothered with pitiful conversation asking her if she was okay. She would be too tempted to ask how Harry was doing when she could easily pull out her phone and search his name in a few quick taps. These used to be easy; as easy as breathing and loving Harry was easier than loving herself.

How was he doing? Y/N hoped that Harry was regretting his actions. She was yearning for the vibration of her phone to restart her heart like an AED stuck to her chest, sending her pulses to remember that they were not what they used to be. Or maybe the snippy ringtone Y/N had set specifically for him and only him would ring through the air as she wallowed in a burrito blanket. Frankly too emotionally worn out to even move an inch as she watched her phone face down on the bedside table of her new apartment.

Life doesn’t wait until Y/N is capable of being back on her feet before thundering down with the foundations of living. Five days into the breakup did she realize that the money she had saved up would be spent faster than she can replace it if she stayed any longer at the hotel near the heart of downtown. It was a spur of the moment decision to ‘treat herself’; she thought she deserved it after being called names and thrown aside like a used toy. And on the fifth day, she was on the lookout for places to live in as she adjusted to her new life without Harry.

It wasn’t like Y/N was completely dependent on him. She had a well-paying job; just not as good as his. And she could afford a nice apartment, just not as nice as his mansion. Nor did it have the same toasty feeling that enveloped her when she walked through the doors. Y/N told herself that she would give it a few months; that maybe it was just the change in setting that misplaced every bone in her body because everything she did felt off. Deep down, Y/N knew that things weren’t the same without him. She could either live a life reminiscing how she--they--used to do things or she could change and adapt to this ball thrown at her.

The decision was in her hands, yet she hesitated with every gambling thought crossing her mind. On one hand, she was used to a routine. It was a routine that never got boring to her, solely because Harry found a way to make things interesting; refreshing. On the other, Y/N would be in a never-ending comparison of how much she missed him or pat her shoulders because she was able to compromise the old parts of her that existed when Harry was around and to integrate it with a new version that was wary of anybody getting close to her.

The challenge was not easy when the media got hold of the news. It seemed as if everywhere Y/N went---mixed reactions and judgement attacked her with doe eyes offering the best of luck or disgusted snickers telling that she deserved it and that they--Camille and Harry--were perfect for each other. But when Y/N quite literally was carrying a piece of him and her inside her stomach did she step up to what she had to become to raise her baby.

It seemed like yesterday when Y/N stared at her reflection in the en-suite bathroom of Harry’s home, pinching at a subtle layer of fat that she was sure wasn’t there a few days ago. Bloated cheeks that added a fullness to her face were substituted as the result of a bright smile plastered on her face because she Harry had pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before she left for work that day. The sudden aversion to fragrant foods she absolutely adored flew right over her head and excused as a bad batch.

And the most painful memory was the day Harry and Y/N’s relationship ended. The beginning of something new, something beautiful was right under their noses. Y/N wondered what could have happened if she didn’t find the letter. When the symptoms of pregnancy became more obvious each day; would Harry notice the change in her physique? The crinkle of her nose when met with a sandwich containing pickles that she used to love?

Y/N couldn’t help but envision holding the stick with a tiny ‘+’ pixelated by dark colours. Sitting on the closed toilet seat as she contemplated delivering the news to him in the early hours of the morning after she was awoken by a flush of morning sickness. Y/N daydreamed about watching his sleeping face smooth out of any lines as he dreamed peacefully and wondered if this was still a part of what he wanted with her. Maybe she would jostle him gently, rousing him with a poke as she kneeled on his side of the bed, flailing the pregnancy test between her fingers until he blinked the sleep out of his waterline. Harry would present her a doozy smile before realizing what she held--to which he would sit up faster than he had ever done, gazing at her with a pleading stare. For Y/N to confirm that yes, she was pregnant. Yes, they were going to have a baby and yes, Harry was going to be a father. A little family in the works.

But that daydream was reeled in like a fishing hook in grave waters as reality grounded her. She was apparently two months into her pregnancy when Y/N had mistaken the sickness as an inevitable reaction to finding out his infidelity. Hearing him say the term of endearment as if he had not used it with another person made Y/N want to grab him by the shoulders to hold a steady contact, jostling him until answers spilled out of his mouth. Answers that Y/N deemed justifiable but was there ever a good excuse for cheating? She wanted to strip him out of the apologies filling his mouth and get straight to the question of why he had done it. But even then, Y/N knew that there was no way she was going to be satisfied with his answers. It was just a matter of her accepting that the idea of ‘what could have been’ would live inside her head because she was the only one that knew about the life inside of her.

Harry had not made an effort to speak to her besides arranging the dates to pick up her things. She had to wear large clothes to hide her growing belly because Y/N wasn’t sure if she even had the right to tell him something so personal anymore. It fit well with the narrative that she was a depressed homebody that craved the touch of his fingertips on her skin, the taste of his lips on her tongue and the weight of his arms around her. Albeit that he was the father, Harry had obviously moved on way before they ended; a little over a year ago now to be precise.

Y/N was almost one-hundred percent sure that Harry had blocked her number. Scratch that, she was certain if the way her messages failed to send were anything to go by. She could handle seeing the handle of ‘read’ on the bottom of a message because at least she’d know that Harry did read it and that he was aware. But watching the encircled, crimson exclamation point appear was just another reminder that he planned to erase four years from his life to start anew.

So what if at four months, Y/N was attending another doctor’s appointment by herself, trying to amount to as little attention as possible? Well, today was the day that she was going to find out the baby’s gender. Her bump was definitely noticeable now and extremely uncomfortable especially sitting on a plastic, grey chair in the waiting room. The device in her hand felt like stone perceiving the icon of blaring red that indicated yet another failed message to the contact previously named ‘My Love’, now to just ‘Harry’.

Y/N: I’m finding out the gender of our baby today

Y/N: I’m hoping for a girl but either way, I just want the baby to be healthy.

“Y/N? Dr. O’Sullivan is ready to see you,” The nurse clad in scrubs walked out with a clipboard gripped in her hands.

Y/N stood up, pausing to retrieve her items. She took a breath before entering the room, catching sight of the doctor in his stereotypical white coat focused on the computer screen that showed her information.

“You know what to do. Good luck today,” The nurse mused, handing her a folded hospital gown to change into as she pointed towards the direction of the room with a little nook to change privately. After struggling a bit with pulling off her top, Y/N tied the strings of the hospital gown.

“Hi, Y/N. How are you today?” He asked, standing up to gather the items he would need. Y/N made herself comfortable on the small bed, the white paper crinkling as her weight shifted.

She sighed deeply, “I’m alright. Really excited, actually,” A grin appeared on her face with just how close she was to find out the gender of the baby, “How about you?”

“Good as always,”

Connor O’Sullivan was the name of the doctor. They met when Y/N was in search of the top-tier family doctor’s around the city and instantly had a connection. He had a trustworthy aura that Y/N deemed acceptable to guide her to a healthy pregnancy. A friendship had definitely blossomed around the doctor-patient boundary but they stayed within their limits. Inside jokes existed but it had never crossed the line. And sure, touches to the shoulder happened once in a while but nothing had escalated further.

Y/N’s baby bump was exposed to the cool room. She shivered when a gloved hand applied the gel on her taut skin. Stretch marks were littering the sides of her tummy. It was itchy and uncomfortable. However, it was tolerable especially after applying a combination of creams and oil to soothe the ache. It was also another reminder that she really was about to become a mother.

“Cold?” Connor teased with an easy smile. Y/N rolled her eyes upwards in response, “You’re the doctor here,”

He chuckled, directing her attention to the small screen beside them. The static fizz of black and white slowly morphing to a more discernible image as he attached the device to her skin, finding the perfect angle to produce a clear picture. The first time Y/N saw her little baby; it was the size of a lemon. The next couple of visits showed progression in their growth; tiny baby feet, stubby legs, and sprouting fingers could be seen on the ultrasound.

They looked more and more like a proper baby now--like the ones one would see in the clinics and Y/N really couldn’t believe that she was about to find out their gender. Y/N couldn’t tell just by inspecting the picture because of her lack of expertise.

“You’re having a. . .” Connor began, edging his voice at the last word. He wiggled his brows as Y/N’s eyes widened.

She balled her fists, “Oh, hell. Just spit it out, C,”

“A girl. You’re having a little girl,” He peered up at the patient, watching tears fill the brim of her waterline as she gasped, palming her slightly open mouth.

“A-a girl?” Y/N craned her head to look at the square image, blurrier because of the tears but beautiful nonetheless. “I can’t believe I’m having a girl,”

The doctor wiped the gel off of her tummy with a cloth, switching off the machine as he waited for another reaction out of her. Y/N tossed her legs to the side, putting on her slip-on vans to fully-comprehend the news. “I’m having a baby girl,”

Connor nodded, releasing an ‘oomph’ at a sudden pressure around his middle. Y/N wrapped her arms around him, feeling the tube of his stethoscope dangling against her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, happy tears streaming out. He returned the gesture with soft rubs on her lower back.

“I’m sorry, I’m so emotional,” Y/N pulled away with a huff, using her fingertips to rub the wetness towards her temple. “I’m so happy but I just wished that he was--,” She cut herself off, pursing her lips as an image of Harry carrying their baby appeared in her head.

“I understand, Y/N.” Connor mirrored her distraught expression as he really did feel sorry for Y/N. However, he couldn’t explain the extra twinge in his heart at seeing her frown over a lost love. “You’re doing great on your own,”

She sighed for possibly the tenth time that day, “We both wanted to name her Halo if it’s a girl or Arlo if it’s a boy. It reminds me of what an angel she will be,”

“Wait until she gets older,” Connor joked to lighten the mood, receiving a glimmer from Y/N. “What d’ya say you get changed and I’ll print out this ultrasound, sounds good? A few more months then we can meet baby Halo,”

Halo.

Harry’s relationship with Camille was a dream. It was everything he imagined, maybe even better. The first time they dabbled on getting together was four years ago, before Y/N was even around in his life. There could be so many things right about a relationship and it could still be wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the right place, the right time, or they simply had too many disagreements and flaws that both parties were unwilling to work it to make them--work.

Usually, the third time would be a charm but Harry felt that he and Camille didn’t need a third time. As he said, the past couple of months felt like a dream. He could close his eyes and still feel the soft skin of the woman he loves grazing his fingertips. He couldn’t help but transpire into a new chapter of their love; one where it wasn’t just them tumbling in the sheets. When the squeals in the kitchen while making breakfast were paired with pleads for whipped cream on their pancakes; a child.

Harry was old enough to know what he wanted--at least, he thought he was--and a family was in his books. He finally found a partner who had the same mindset in their future; Camille. At first, he was absolutely sure that Y/N could not be erased from; but her name wasn't set in stone and once he found someone better--no way in hell was he going to let that be a missed opportunity.

__

Camile sighed softly, laying on Harry's bare chest as he pulled the sheets over their clammy bodies. Their orgasms settled in their veins, the rush and panting breaths calming down with each blink of an eye.

With her finger swirling patterns on his skin, Harry stared at the ceiling in hesitant contemplation, “Babe, have you ever thought of getting off the pill?” She paused.

“Uh, sure, but then we would have to use a condom?” Her voice raised at the end in curiosity.

Harry released an awkward chuckle, gently swivelling her body off of him so he could sit up. Reaching over, his fingers found the flip of the light switch that turned the bedside lamp on. He smiled at her appearance, mirroring his stance as she sat on the bed, a sheet clung around her body.

He shook his head, “No, no. No condoms, no pills and, y’know. . .”

The confusion was evident on Camille’s features, “I don’t exactly understand what you’re trying to say, H--,’

“‘M asking if y’wanna try for a baby, love.’

Silence overtook the room. Harry held his breath in his throat, seemingly trying to swallow down the lump that had formed because of her lack of response. She cleared her throat.

“A baby?” Harry nodded with excitement despite the flat tone whipping past her lips. “I--don’t know how to say this, Harry. I’ve never wanted kids.”

His face fell, the words lingering around his head like a flock of birds. The dizzying epiphany rattled his head clear of any other thoughts besides the fact that there was a hole in his book; burnt and toasted with sparks inkling his skin.

“W-why not?” His palms fell flat on the silky sheets, fisting the fabric to keep him settled. “A mini you and a mini-me running around the house. Won’t that be fun, baby? Don’t you want that?”

It almost hurt Camille to see the grin plastered on his face, hopeful eyes practically begging her to change her mind. But she couldn’t.

“Harry, that part will be fun. What won’t be fun is getting huge, morning sickness, weird cravings, hormonal imbalance, the aftermath of labour, the sleepless nights, the puke, the changing diapers, the back pain, the headaches, the fights when they’re older and so much more” Her accent rippled with each explanation rejecting the idea.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms subconsciously to shield himself, “But it’ll be worth it,”

“It won’t be,” Camille scooted closer to him, situating herself on her knees so that she could look into his eyes clearly. “Look, I made up my mind ages ago and I thought you felt the same since you haven’t settled down yet”

“I was jus’ lookin’ for the right person,” His head dipped down, dropping his gaze their intertwined hands. “It’s gonna’ be okay, Cam. We can make it work. We’ll have our own family. We’ll be okay,”

She shook her head in refusal, “It will be okay for you, H.” Harry could feel her hands itching to slip past his. He held her tighter. He didn’t want to lose her. “You can get back to work immediately. I’m a model and it takes time to lose weight. Even when I do--I won’t look the same. It’ll take me months, if not years to even resemble my present body.

“I don’t care how your body looks. You’re still gonna’ look amazing. You think I won’t love you after birthing our little baby?” With brows pressed together, he pouted his lip in curiosity as she rolled her eyes.

Camille sighed exasperatedly, “I don’t want children, Harry. The sooner you understand that the better. It’s MY body. I’ll be carrying the kid around for 9 months. No thank you.” She stood up, stumbling slightly as the sheets tangled around her feet.

He followed suit. His height towered over her as she crouched down to collect the pieces of clothing strewn around haphazardly in a rush to have each other. “But it’ll be MY baby, Cam. OUR baby, don’t you want that?”

Fingernails dug into the skin of her palm, holding her clothes as she spoke, “I don’t, Harry. Why can’t you just accept that?”

In the heat of the moment, Harry couldn’t help but quell the ache in his chest with a memory he thought he had thrown away, “Because Y/N and I planned to have a family. A-and I thought you and I could have one too,”

Camille huffed, keeping her distance. She walked to the bathroom, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fucking cheated on her then,”

His fight with Camille left the both of them on edge, barely able to handle the thick tension surrounding the house. Even though she took refuge in the bedroom and Harry wandered to the kitchen to cool off; it was impossible for them to stay in one place without having another argument.

Harry didn’t mean to let the memory slip past his lip. He hated it when he found himself comparing his past relationships to his current one. He felt that there was no need to do so, especially when the point of all of it was to start anew. Harry guessed that his desire to have a family was too powerful to keep his thoughts in check. The ache bubbling in his chest rose to a boil with each rejection that Camille answered with.

It wasn’t like he didn’t respect her decision. He really did. But Harry didn’t know if he was going to be happy being with her without progressing into something more through the years. What he was asking from her is just as difficult as what she was asking from him. Camille didn’t want to have children and Harry didn’t want to not have kids. There was no room for compromise if they both, mutually, wanted to respect each other's' decisions’ to the absolute fullest. However, the chances of him living a content life were zero to none.

And that was how Harry ended up at a bar, alone, at nine o’clock in the evening. They were invited by his friend, Kora, to a birthday celebration. Harry was reaching the limit of his threshold having to fake a smile and a chuckle while saying, “Camille’s feelin’ a bit sick tonight. ‘S just me,”

The thing with this celebration was that Kora was initially Y/N’s friend. He and Kora had become close friends while he was with Y/N and he guessed that that was the reason why he was invited. Although, it made him wonder why one of Y/N’s best friends invited him when she was aware of what happened between them. Surely, there was no way that Kora would invite Y/N, Harry, and Camille to the same crowded space, would she?

The sudden nervousness swirling at the pit of his stomach came with a quick neck as Harry scanned each premise of the bar. It was difficult considering the dim lighting and endless amounts of heads moving against each other. He hoped to see Y/N; just to see how she was doing! But he also felt like puking the alcohol he consumed because--as much as he wanted to admit it or not--he missed her.

After a half-hour of being vigilant, Harry willed himself to relax by the counter. Leaning one elbow on the wood as he spoke to another person regarding his upcoming album.

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s goin’. ‘M really excited for it cause’ I’ve got a lot of inspiration for some reason,” Harry answered with unyielding precision.

“We both know where that came fro--Oh hi! Sorry, H. Gotta check in on, Johnny,”

He rolled his eyes under closed lids, sipping on his drink, eyeing Kora when he heard a quip of Y/N’s name. Harry inconspicuously moved closer to her, making sure that he didn’t catch her attention.

“You’re not here,” Kora yelled with a whine to her tone. Her drunk self was still coherent enough to embark on the bartender to make another drink for her. However, Harry guessed that her senses were obscured with the way she yelled through the phone despite it being held to her ear and the function tapped to ‘speaker’.

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise to make it up to you, Kora,” Y/N’s gentle chuckle rumbled through the speaker, making Harry smile. It was the first time he heard it in a while. He sometimes wondered if he had the right to feel relieved when Harry was the one that blocked her number in the first place.

“It’s my birthday! Why aren’t you here drinking with us?” Kora quietly thanked the bartender.

Harry’s curiosity spiked; why wasn’t Y/N here tonight?

“It’s because I’m pregnant, silly. Can’t really do that when I’ve got a bubba in my tummy,” Both women giggled, Kora, making a sound of acknowledgement, “Ohhh right!“

He really wished that he would have stuck by long enough to hear more of their conversation but Kora’s boyfriend was approaching her and he wasn’t in the mood to discuss anything if he was honest.

She moved on fast, Harry thought. He was definitely sounding like an entitled jerk. Hear him out though; Harry was happy with Camille. Yes, he had been cheating on Y/N for a whole year and yes, she had to find out through a letter but Y/N was pregnant. Did she really move on that quickly?

Despite the guilt gnawing at her for missing her best friend Kora’s birthday, Y/N was also looking forward to getting some sleep. It was a couple of hours after their phone call together when the nauseating tightening of Y/N’s chest woke again and had been for the past three days.

It was a horrible feeling that spread from the confines of her stomach. The bile rising up from her throat that left a burning feeling from the acids that escaped her mouth as she quickly threw the covers away from her legs, running towards the direction of her bathroom where she emptied the remnants of her stomach from last night’s craving of pickles and hot Cheetos. Her chest heaved with exertion as she draped her arms over the white porcelain of the disinfected toilet, hunching over as her stomach seemingly pumped away toxins.

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, visibly shuddering as she pointed a finger to flush the toilet. She had a feeling that she won’t be getting any more sleep despite the time being three o’clock in the morning. Halo was insistent on staying up past normal bedtime hours. Y/N sighed, walking lethargically towards the dresser to retrieve her phone before heading to the living room nearby.

Y/N: You up, doc?

The blue loading bar swooped to the right as Y/N sent a message to Connor. She was at the peak of her pregnancy and her due date was occurring within a few weeks. A lot had changed since the day she found out the gender of her baby. Between the emotional trauma of having been broken up with--the hard-hitting fact was that Y/N was pushed into a direction of pregnancy that wasn’t exactly her ideal path. She pretty much preferred the dream-like sequence of having Harry accompanying her to her ultrasounds.

Just as Y/N was about to delve into another imaginary scenario of Harry sending her cute baby onesies that he would absolutely need to purchase for their little one, the humming of her phone pulled her from drowning in pathetic wishes and desires.

Connor: What’s up, Y/N?

She jutted her lips as she typed out a response. Contemplating whether or not to send the message as Y/N’s thumb hovered over the arrow, she paused to wonder why she was feeling so guilty in texting another man months and antecedent her break up with Harry. He was happy with someone else, yet Y/N felt as if her feet were planted in a puddle of sticky glue; unable to move on from the life she built in her head. Although it hurt to admit that Harry only existed in her memories now, reminiscing the spoken words they have discussed was another stab to her already bruised heart.

Y/N: Halo’s keeping me up again..

Connor: Want me to come over?

To keep you company

The reply was instantaneous and she could not deny the flutter of her heart beating subtly despite the extremities it had endured. And Y/N couldn’t help but notice the jitter of her baby bump morphing a plump bulge where Halo had kicked it as if it was a stamp of approval of the man coming over.

It wasn’t the first time that Connor drove to her place at the brink of dawn to keep her company in case the sickness became too much for Y/N to handle. The first time was simply a desperate action because she was rattled by the sudden spike in dizziness and incoherence of her sickness that Y/N wasn’t confident in herself to handle it alone. Times after that were more for his comfort when Connor said that he would ‘rather be safe than sorry’ while he rubbed his palm up and down her back.

Minutes later, a knock on her door sounded, forcing Y/N to haul her plump body to the comfort of the sofa, pausing the rerun of a television show. She waddled towards the entrance, the fit of her pyjama waistband snuggly wrapping around her mid-belly. A stretch of skin exposed between her bottoms and her tank top.

“Hi, thank you for coming,” Y/N greeted shyly, widening the door to let Connor in as he chuckled, toeing off his shoes by the closet door.

He waved her off, “It’s no problem, really,” Connor assisted her back to her couch, aiding her by letting his hands stabilize in the air in case anything happened.

The moment their bottoms hit the cushions did Y/N realize the gravity of the guilt spiralling in her chest. Connor laughed softly, his back resting on the couch with his right arm resting on the top, fingertips barely brushing over her shoulder. He reached over the coffee table to obtain the bowl of freshly popped popcorn, picking one to munch on but not before looking over at Y/N.

“Want some?”

She snapped out of her daze, cheeks heating profusely at being caught blatantly staring at how Connor fit naturally into her home both physically and metaphorically. He couldn’t have appeared at a better time when Y/N not only needed medical assistance and a support group by her side. However, she asked herself if he could be anything more than a friend. She shook her head ‘no’.

“No thanks. I’m quite full,” Y/N pressed a palm to her belly when a kick halted her breath. ‘Okay maybe a little,” She rolled her eyes, scolding Halo. “She’s a hungry one,”

“I’m gonna pop some more popcorn, kay? Be right back,”

Y/N heaved a sigh, watching Connor’s retrieving figure. Her admiration was cut off by the ringing of her phone.

Harry wasn’t so sober when he opened the door to his car. He wasn’t in his right mind either when he unblocked Y/N’s number and tapped on her name, switching the screen as it rang. He threw his head back against the headrest, biting his lip when the dial tone rang and rang.

“Hello?”

Harry’s breath hitched, losing his voice momentarily before his slowed brain caught up to move his tongue.

“Y/N? It’s Harry,” He spoke quietly, “Don’t hang up. Hear me out,” His ears stretched to pick up the click of a dropped call but he didn’t hear any.

“Heard from Kora that y’were pregnant, yeah? And I was wondering, whose is it?” The venom in his voice dripped. His drunken stupor rendered him unable to grasp reality.

“I’m not answering that,” Y/N’s tone was firm and direct. Harry could imagine her pursing her lips inwards.

“Why not? Scared that y’gonna have to admit that everything you put on was an act? How can y’move on so fast and give me shit about it?” The parking lot was filled with cars yet Harry could see that he was the only one currently occupying one. If there was a better metaphor of feeling alone in a crowded place; then he would love to hear it.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Harry? You cheated on me! You slept with another woman while we were together. You loved another woman while we were together. For an entire year, you lied to me and deceived me,”

“Jus’. . .answer the question,” He pinched his nose bridge, a headache pounding from the bottom of his skull.

“How dare you speak to me this way? You have no right calling me up out of nowhere,” Y/N lowered the volume of her voice, “and asking all these ridiculous questions,”

“S’not ridiculous,”

She gave a smile to Connor who entered the room with a bowl of delicious smelling popcorn. Y/N clutched the phone to her chest. Connor situated his body beside her with a glimmering smile, his mouth twitching as he eyed her bump, “Can I talk to her?” A gentle question breezed past his lips, moving closer when Y/N gave him approval.

The man kneeled down on the floor, leaning his head downwards to speak to Halo, “Hey little one, y’gotta be nice to momma, okay?” His fingers waved when her feet kicked out. Connor looked up to Y/N with a proud smile, “Did you see that? She responded!”

____

Harry felt his heart clench as a new voice filled the speakers. His neurons were fried with each thought firing endlessly, “Who’s that?

“Don’t call me again,”

The dial tone rung in his ears, echoing in the quiet space of his Range Rover.

_____

Pressing the power button for a few seconds, the device turned black and was left on the arm of the couch. The excitement in Connor’s voice brought a dreamy smile to Y/N’s face, chewing on some popcorn. The beating of her heart seemed to double at the sight of him being so thrilled with her baby.

“We can’t wait to see you. I bet you’re gorgeous,” Connor dropped his volume to a whisper to prevent Y/N from hearing, ‘’Like your mom,”

Y/N’s relaxed and comfortable state of mind mindlessly worked her hands to thread the hair on top of Connor’s head. Just like she used to do to Harry. Her expression dimmed at the thought, painting a faint simper when Connor looked at her in surprise before shrugging it off, continuing to talk to her bump. She shivered when a warm pair of lips attached to the skin of her stomach. Gentle pressure planting a kiss as Connor said his goodbyes to baby Halo.

“She’s a smart one, that much I can tell,” He confirmed, moulding his body to the lingering shape he had left behind in his previous position. And Y/N was flustered to say that she might have scooched a little closer to his body, snuggling her head at the junction of his shoulder.

“Can I?” She asked, doe eyes raising a question that would allow them to cross the boundary they had limited themselves to. He nodded reflexively as if he was awaiting this moment. Connor took the initiative to pull Y/N closer to him, subconsciously kissing the top of her head. The scent of the woman’s shampoo wafting through his nose and invading his senses in a sweet smell that he would gladly immerse himself to.

It was the most pleasant feeling for Y/N to completely let go of her former worries about starting anew when Connor was as cozy as a heater. He made Y/N feel safe and secure with his body shielding her and his actions hinting at a subdued attraction he hadn’t fully shown to her.

And Connor was proud of himself for not quite literally freaking out when Y/N smothered her face to his chest as time passed and the sun rays filtered through the blinds as she fell asleep. Her words mumbled in a jumbled mess about how she wished that morning sickness wasn’t called morning sickness.

It wasn’t totally accurate, she complained. She thought that it was a misleading name; catfishing perhaps. He had chuckled in response, tracing his fingers up and down her arm and feeling goosebumps rise on her skin.

The orange hue of the bright star painting the sky lighter and lighter until the pitch-black sight morphed into a mixture of shades that could only be described as beautifully grandiose--just like Y/N’s sleeping face when the sun casts a shadow to highlight her nose, scrunching with the slight graze of the back of Connor’s finger rubbing the tip. Or the way the luminescence caressed the apples of her cheeks where her lashes rested, mouth puffing breaths of air as she allowed herself to be vulnerable for the first time in months.

____

A heavy feeling had settled into Harry's chest after Y/N hung up the phone. The new voice he had heard had unmistakably been a man's. Who was he? Was Y/N having that man's baby?

Before he could help it, Harry was seething. He saw red, and if he were in a children's movie there would be steam coming out of his ears right about now. How dare she move on so fast? How could she have a baby with another man so soon? But when he thought about it; Harry couldn't even recall how long it had been since they'd broken up. It made him feel somewhat guilty. He hadn't meant to forget her. It had just happened.

His guilt soon manifested into frustration-- her being pregnant was a constant reminder that she had moved on with another man. Insecurity clawed at his insides- did he really mean that little to her? 'You cheated on her' his conscience pricked, but he brushed away the thought. He hated being reminded of his infidelity to his fiancée.

His defence mechanism kicked in like clockwork, using aggression to shield his insecurities. He opened his messages app and clicked her contact, typing drunkenly.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*'

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet youu did'

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck u'

He smiled smugly at his phone screen, satisfied with what he had sent her. He shut his phone off, and started his car, ready to drive back home. He knew he was being irresponsible, but between his current girlfriend not wanting a child and his ex being pregnant with one; he couldn't bring himself to care. He drove himself home, only to find a terribly worried Camille waiting for him to arrive.

He glanced at the huge clock on the wall behind her. 1:32 am. He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past her to their bedroom. In his drunken gait, he knocked over a metal tray. The loud 'clang' made him hiss and clutch his temples, a headache pounding in his skull.

Camille sighed and made her way over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and muttering a "come here, H" Despite his sour mood, he found himself craving affection. What he wouldn't admit was that he didn't crave Camille's affection in particular. He just wanted to be held and feel safe in someone's arms. Anyone's arms. But despite himself, he mumbled, "m'sorry I left like tha'. Should'nt 've spoken to ya that way,"

She nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "It's okay, Harry, you're back home now. C'mon, let's get you changed and then let's sleep."

He bobbed his head up and down, willingly letting her drag him up the stairs to their shared bedroom, "Love ya,” Camille helped him out of his trousers.

She smiled softly, "Love you too, mon Cheri,” He giggled drunkenly at the showcase of her accent.

Harry woke up with a pounding headache, whining as his alarm rang at eight am in the morning. He opened his eyes to see that Camille wasn't in bed with him. His lips fell into a pout because of waking up alone.

There was a note on the bedside table.

'got called in for an emergency meeting for the show next week. be home by 5pm. love you!'

He sighed and reached for the glass of water she had left him. His brows furrowed when he didn't see Ibuprofen next to the water. Y/N left him ibuprofen beside the glass of water. Always. Harry snapped himself out of his daze, reprimanding himself for even thinking about her. Why is he thinking about her?

__

After a hot shower, Harry made his way downstairs to make himself breakfast. 'Eggs and toast', he thought. Placing 2 eggs in water and setting it on the stove before loading the toaster. He looked mindlessly through the drinks in the fridge, settling on 'Organic Orange Juice'. Y/N had introduced him to this particular brand after he had complained that all the others had too much sugar to be 'healthy'.

"This has no added sugar, H," she mentioned, "They sweeten it with honey."

Harry groaned, snapping himself out of the daydream, ashamed for thinking about his ex. Again.

He placed his breakfast on a plate and poured himself a glass of juice, sitting at the dining table alone. He chewed slowly with a mouthful as he unlocked his phone, beginning to go through his notifications.

Camille sent him a text. It was a selfie of her at her meeting, smiling and holding up a peace sign. He mirrored the expression, sending a tet back

Harry:  "stop being so cute"

He clicked the ‘back’ icon.

The second he does, his heart positively skips a beat. Not in a good way, either. Y/N's contact was just below Camille's, suddenly remembering the nasty things he had texted her the previous night.

"Fuck," He whispered under his breath, opening her contact. 'Read' was plastered under the messages he had sent. Y/N had seen them.

____

Connor had left a few hours later because he had morning rounds at the clinic the next day. Y/N had bid him goodbye with a shy kiss to the corner of his mouth,

“Thanks for coming, C,"

He smiled and pulled her into an embrace "Anytime, angel," into her hair. A warmth spread through her chest--one that she hadn’t felt in a long while.

After Connor drove off (with a final wave from his car window, of course), Y/N walked back in to settle on her couch again. Halo kicked a few times as she sat down, making Y/N squirm and giggle.

"Hi, you little goose! What's got you all excited, hm?" She rubbed over the area where Y/N felt the kick. As if, in response to her mother's voice, baby Halo kicked out again, right where Y/N's palm was. "Are you trying to high-five me, precious girl?"

Y/N cooed at her swelling tummy, a huge smile plastered across her face. "Or are ya just excited about Connor coming over to spend time with us? Got a good feeling about him, have you?"

She feels a gentle kick, it was almost as if the baby in her tummy wanted to say 'yes'. Y/Nhummed softly, caressing her tummy, "Me too, angel. I've got a good feeling about him, too."

___

A few minutes later, Y/N reboots her phone her previously switched off phone so that she could see if Connor had texted her. He had.

C: Thanks for letting me spend time with you and Halo tonight. I loved it. I have a  bit of time off on Sunday, do you want to get Pizza?'

Her eyes gleamed, but she hesitated for just a second.  Connor had texted her. But so had Harry. He had sent her five messages, and Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted to see what he had to say.

She wanted to make sure before texting Connor back. Y/N was not sure what she was expecting or hoping for, but what she saw was certainly not it.

Harry: 'Your a whore'

'You're*',

'Diid yu cheat on me? I bet you did

'Do u sleepp arond a loot?'

'fck you'

She felt tears stinging her eyes, cursing at the pregnancy hormones that have gotten her feeling this emotional about drunk texts from her ex. Her body ignited with fury quicker than she realized she could. Y/N doesn't hesitate to click the 'block' button to his contact.

She didn't need a man like him around her or her baby. Or her potential boyfriend.

Y/N: 'Hiya!,'

'it was great having you over, and I'd love to hang out! Down for pizza anytime. Halo loves it too :P'

The reply was instantaneous

C: 'Great!'

'See you Sunday, then! What are your favourite toppings?"

Y/N smiled brightly, finding his curiosity incredibly endearing. She typed back a response, gleaming with joy at the fact that she finally had someone she could rely on.

____

"Fuck. fuck fuck fuck," Harry repeated, clicking the call button to Y/N's contact. He needed to apologize. Desperately. He needed her to know that he didn't mean any of those things; he was just drunk. Not that that was an excuse.

'The number you are trying to reach is not in service', an automated voice said.

Harry groaned in frustration, opening her message contact, typing out;

Harry: "I'm so sorry, I don't know what had gotten into me. I was drunk. I'm very sorry, Y/N xx H."

He took a bite out of his toast before looking back at his screen to see if she had read the message yet. He almost wished he hadn't. Harry’s heart plummeted. His chest constricted as tears stung at the back of his eyes. Throwing up the meal he just scarfed sounded like an option right now.

A flaming red exclamation mark met his startled glance, and his chest heaved as he read,

'Not delivered,'

A writer that cannot write is dead.

When one loses the ability to tell their stories and anecdotes through the mere action of swirling words together to create an imaginable atmosphere of real-world fantasy; they are dead. A writer recovering from the mundane and mediocre way of penning experiences to bounce back into what they used to be is difficult. It is easier to free fall and drown in the depths of despair. The moment thoughts and rumination fog up to form a blurry image of conviction is a warning sign, blaring at the back of their minds and sometimes even in their faces.

Harry is a writer--or, he was. Picking up the pen to style the words lingering in his head used to be as easy as blinking; quick and natural. Now, the words claw at the swell of his throat, trying to spit an adjective to describe the way he felt. It was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be lathed into existence. It did not matter if his cognition was mingled with various chemicals aimed to be able to feel happiness.

He was sober but he had trouble placing his finger on why it was so strenuous to narrate his feelings throughout the breakup. Being high or drunk was never the answer for him. Weed made him tired and made him have a case of cottonmouth. Harry learned from a young age that he should only ever engage with alcohol if he was in a mindset and setting that catered to increase existing good vibes. He thought that maybe he was in an odd phase of perceiving the opposite, and so he intoxicated himself enough to understand that it didn’t matter if he was soaked head-to-toe in sobriety or whizzed out of his mind by the amber liquid swirling in the glass in his hand. But that wasn’t the circumstance. It also didn’t matter if he was grasping his favourite pen to write--because it was comfortable--or tapping his calloused thumbs against his phone keypad. Hell, it didn’t make a difference when he sat down and prepared his typewriter to indulge in a headspace of vintage songwriting. Maybe that would help.

It didn’t.

He had stories to tell. Everything was laid out in misty overcast yet Harry’s great ideas morphed into gentle mistakes, harsh mistakes and discoveries that had him almost ripping his hair out of the roots of his scalp. When he felt the wave of his ocean-thoughts rise and peek where the sand shifted, his fingers were ready to move and discern for the eyes to see. But with each fritter, he couldn’t seem to get even two paragraphs in to decide that it was utter shit.

Harry was old enough to understand that slumping on the wet sand was a part of life. Sometimes picking up a fistful of grains and throwing them back to the sea was a great way to release frustration. But it seemed like this plunge of his ability to write was a hole of quicksand. He was trying his hardest to displace himself as swiftly as possible but it only made his scenario worse. The muddy sand clung unto his legs like sticky glue, heftier with each effort to leave. He wanted to move on. He wanted to forget everything that occurred in the past four years. Harry wanted to erase Y/N from his life because she wasn’t around anymore to bring those memories back to sparkly existence.

What he needed to do was nestle himself into a certain depth, calmly, in order to pull a limb out and ensure that his progress on the so-called ‘moving on’ did not have any drawbacks. Until then, he cannot possibly create songs that he was well-known for if he wasn’t patient enough.

He wanted so badly to tell his side of the story. Harry craved to think as clearly as he did when he told Y/N about his plan for their future. Admitting to his feelings was a hard route. Sure, he can be vulnerable but it took a great deal of convincing on his part to immerse himself in the deepest parts of his brain to understand why he felt the way he did. He usually had the means of songwriting to help him out but that obviously wasn’t working out that good for him.

___

Harry was packing the rest of Y/N’s things in boxes to be picked up later in the afternoon. He was annoyed at first at how she depended on him to fold her clothes properly instead of doing the bundle of the work herself. But he guessed that she didn’t want to be around him for longer than she had to. To be frank, he also did not want to indulge in what might turn into an argument if they spoke about the reason for their breakup. It was just a bit confusing because he had an urge to still want her around despite their less than likely situation.

Torture. If Harry had one chance to describe the way he felt right now; it was torture. With every nook of Y/N’s side of the closet emptying into brown, cardboard boxes--he physically how much she had integrated her life with his. How much space she took up in his life. How his clothes and her clothes were so interchanged between them that he couldn’t decide if the gray pull-over was actually his or hers. And in a moment of selfishness did he tuck it away for his safe-keeping despite seeing the tag imprinted on the inside; a shop that he hadn’t set foot in so it was a guarantee that it was hers.

Her scent embedded in the thin threads of each fabric wafted to his nose; each with a new wave of memories engulfing his senses as if each piece garnered a specific scent tailored to a specific event. Like her sunflower sundress--it smelled of fresh flowers as if the print was a scratch and sniff that released a fragrance. Or their DIY-ed tie-dye shirt of pastel blue and cotton candy pink. It was a matching piece made out of the cheap dye and a simple white tee but it was theirs. Things like these made Harry want to yell in frustration because every time he thought that he was completely over her-- Y/N appears out of visibly nowhere and towers over him.

Seeing her for the first time in days was a breath of relief. She looked fine. Glowing even, and Harry did not know what to make of it. As sadistic as it sounded, he was expecting dry-stained tears and a birds’ nest of hair trampling her head. Instead, Y/N was dressed for comfort in her baggy jeans and an even looser sweater covering her body. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, giving him a nod in greeting as he gestured to the boxes littering the floor.

Harry offered to help--it was the least he could do. And somehow, silence protruded from the tense atmosphere, begging to be cut by a knife yielded through their voices nipping at each others’ emotions.

“Let go of my damn hand,” Y/N stated, her hard stare could turn Harry into stone. He just wanted her to listen before she left.

He shook his head in denial of her request, tightening his grip further. “No. Listen to me, Y/N,”

“What do you possibly have to say that will change anything between us?”

And maybe it was her fault for assuming that he wanted to fix things. The sliver of hope thinly dressed behind closed lids enabled her to think that maybe he was going to say that he wanted to make things work again. That he had broken up with Camille and he realized what a stupid he had done throwing away everything they built up to for the past four years for an affair that couldn’t quench the thirst of his desire to have a family.

Harry sighed, a shadow of mischievous smirk painted on his lips. But maybe it was Y/N’s sight in deception because she could never see Harry as anything other than sweet and kind Harry incapable of hurting a fly.

“What? I don’t intend to. We’re broken. We’re beyond fixing,”

The hitch in her breath was as sharp as the stare he was searing her with. Forcing her to please understand that this would be their last conversation--if time and fate were on their side. “You’re not something I would take the time to handle,”

“Stop saying shit you don’t mean, Harry” Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. His macho act was barely an act and more like a stage curtain easily pushed with a flick of a wrist.

“Things I don’t mean?”

“You heard me,” She crossed her arms over his chest in defence, leaning against the closed trunk. “Say what you will but our love was real. Don’t make me seem like I’m crazy. Don’t tell me that I’m a mistake,” Her voice was filled with confidence because she knew the affection that Harry diffused.

The cradles of his palm at the small of her back when they had to walk past a crowd. The subtle graze of the back of his fingers caressing the bare skin of her arm. Kisses pressed to her temple as she read a novel and swirling fingertips twirling her hair. These were acts of love that happened nearly every day in their relationship. A routine that felt different if it wasn’t done to or with each other.

Exasperatedly, Harry felt the same itching crawling up his spine. His ego ballooning into a delicate size and one more word from Y/N’s lush lips would have him on his hands and knees, begging for her back.

“This, us, was a fuckin’ mistake,” Harry’s accent thunked heavily in her cochlea, practically spitting the words out of his mouth as if they were poisonous. Ringed fingers gesticulated the space between them to emphasize how much of a misunderstanding they truly were. “I should’ve known the second things went further than planned,”

Y/N felt her heart drop to her full stomach. The feeling so nauseating that she instinctively palmed her belly over the fabric to protect her little baby from his harsh words. Even though they weren’t directed towards anyone but Y/N. She didn’t think that their unborn child deserved scrutiny from their own father.

“You don’t mean that, Harry.”

Because how could he? Not when he emulated sincerity through his syrupy voice. Not when he spent hours loving on her tummy and spoke to it like he would if she were pregnant. Especially not when every kiss from him felt like a buzz of electricity coursing through her veins because he was the main distributor of her happiness.

Harry truly was an asshole for making her hope and wonder of what the future held when he was unsure himself. He did want a family. That was a statement in all its truthfulness. What he wasn’t sure about was if he wanted a family with Y/N. He could have a family; kids of his own in his own time. But Y/N didn’t have to necessarily be the mother. So was he besotted with the concept of family and marriage regardless of who it was with?

“But I do,”

The rain started drizzling in frequent spurts, planting a fat droplet on her cheek that could be argued as a tear escaping Y/N’s eye. It hurt a lot to hear that from him. The man of her dreams blatantly denying each sugary word because his plans had changed.

“You’re a goddamn mistake is what you are,’

“Why are you. . .saying all these things to me? Are you trying to hurt me?” The shakiness of Y/N’s tone had Harry swallowing his words down his strep throat.

He shook his head in disagreement, “No, I’m not. ‘M just tryna make you see my side. So you can understand,” His head dipped to the side, softening his tone yet stern as though he was speaking to a child.

And that was one of the reasons why Y/N didn’t believe his all-too stoic demeanour about her. Harry was great at making others see his side regardless of how much in the wrong he was.

So why was he struggling?

___

Needless to say, he wasn’t very respectful towards Y/N any other time afterwards. He had unblocked her number months after blocking it at one point and demanded answers that he didn’t have the right to know. In retrospect, Harry was embarrassed by the way he acted. He did cheat on her and suddenly he was a saint because she moved on quicker than he thought she would? Unbelievable.

In his defence, the night he became the drunk caller was the same night he fought with Camille about having children; having a family they can call their own. Ever since that discussion did Harry notice a dispatch in their relationship. It was like they were aware of a missing link that had disappeared in their connection, but neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Harry supposed that now that Camille knew what he wanted (and vice versa)--she was feeling the pressure of giving in to him. Don’t get him wrong, Harry absolutely wanted a family and he thought that Camille was the right partner to build it with. However, he couldn’t help the voice at the back of his mind slyly whispering that he had forced her to give him what he wanted for the sake of saving their failing relationship.

It had been two and a half years since he mildly and miserably accepted that his dream family was being erased like a pencil on paper.

The first year; Harry still clung to the obscure hope that Camille might change her mind of having kids. Many fights sprouted between the two of them concluding in them sleeping at different places for weeks on end until they eventually crawled back to each other like an invisible string. The second-year; Harry brought up the idea of adoption. It was a hard choice for him as he desperately wanted kids of his own. A boy that looked like him and his love or a little girl that smiled at him with deep dimples mirroring his own.

And Harry liked to think that he was just on the edge of convincing Camille to consider the option when his tour was scheduled a few months after. A new dealbreaker was that Harry wasn’t going to be around much to watch and nurture the little bub they might’ve adopted. It was a sudden intrusion to think about since Harry was good with kids. He knew that. That was why he had three godchildren of his own. But what hit him the most was how sure Camille sounded when she yelled at him about leaving for months at a time and returning for a bit, only to leave again. Now, Harry hadn’t considered that part. But surely he will be ready to choose between a family and his career, right? When the time comes, he thought.

It pained Harry to admit that his relationship with Camille was dwindling down the drain. The knowledge that there was no future--the one that Harry envisioned--for them was getting more and more real each passing day.  

A late-night grocery trip was one of the many examples that had Harry rethinking his actions for the past couple of years. It was the time period where night owls arose and barely any customers littered the aisles. Still, Harry made sure to keep his hoodie up to shield his face.

Camille had an early flight to Milan in just a few hours later that day and she wanted to purchase some things to bring with her; in case they weren’t available in the country. So here they were at three in the morning.

As Camille walked ahead of him in her sweatpants and a plain tee, Harry couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker to the clothing section to his right The first-floor space was decorated with pastel blues and pinks; a stroller was displayed with a price would not make a dent in Harry’s bank account.

“‘M just gonna grab somethin’ over here, Cam,” Harry muttered as he pointed a thumb behind him. She nodded, “Meet me at the produce? Need to get you some fruits,”

Harry felt guilt thudding his chest because although he was losing feelings he thought were written in stone, Camille appeared to care for him the same way she always had.

He walked to the brightly lit area, puffing his cheek as a cute onesie caught his eye, “You’re so golden” with the word ‘golden’ printed in a shiny, yellow glimmer. He smiled at the thought of baby angel cooing at him as he tickled her tummy. Harry passed by the shoes next, picking up a pair barely the size of his palm. His mind flashed back to a conversation with Y/N years ago,

“I’m just saying,” Y/N took a bite of a pickle she held on her left hand, “Baby shoes have no business being that expensive,”

Harry chuckled from his place across the counter, “Babies need shoes too, love,’

She grabbed her fork and stabbed a piece of strawberry from her bowl, “I didn’t say the don’t need shoes. For tiny things, they could at least be a bit cheaper,”

Harry watched as she munched on a pickle on her left and took a bite of a strawberry on the other. His tongue poked out in a gag at the odd combination, resorting in glare and a huff from Y/N.

“You should try it instead of judging me,’

“No, thank you. Watching you eat it is enough for me,’

Harry craned his head at each aisle, hoping to find Camille and to distract himself from the endless Y/N related thoughts that somehow returned to his brain. He needed his girlfriend to remind him that he cannot just knock on Y/N’s door and ask her about the baby she has. If he could hold them for a bit because his baby fever was through the roof.

Locating the produce section, Harry whistled mindlessly as he searched for a blonde head of hair, failing to notice that there was a basket in front of his feet. He had kicked it, jolting him out of his thoughts in a hurry.

A man with brown hair sporting an outfit similar to his (sweats and a hoodie), chuckled at him as Harry leaned down to retrieve the gray basket filled with a jar of pickles.

“Sorry man,” Harry muttered, holding the handles up for the man to carry.

“It’s alright, it happens,” The guy had not seen his face yet, too busy inspecting the carton of strawberries.

He decided to continue the conversation, “Strawberries and pickles? Odd combo, huh,” Harry was briefly reminded of Y/N’s obsession with the two rival products.

“Yeah, m’lady loves ‘em. Had a craving in the middle of the night. She’s in the car right now with our lil bubba,”

Harry’s heart fluttered at the mention of a baby. He needed to get his rails in check. He cannot keep having his heart bursting with adoration at the mere mention of a baby.

“I’m Connor,” He said, finally facing Harry after choosing the best carton.

“I'm--,”

“Harry!” Both men turned their heads towards Camille carrying a basket full fruits and green veggies, “Got you some stuff to blend for your smoothies,”

Connor squinted his eyes at the couple and Harry internally screamed because he knew that he and Camille had been recognized. “Harry. Yeah, I know you,” The sudden hostility made Harry confused as Connor grasped his basket from him in a harsh manner, heading towards the checkout.

The rest of the time inside the store was filled with curiosities as Harry carried the paper bags towards the car, barely recognizing Connor’s figure heading towards his own vehicle. Luckily, Harry has parked only a few slots away and could inconspicuously watch Connor and his so-called ‘lady’.

Except, Camille was ushering him to hurry up as she still had a few things to pack at home.

On most days, Harry was used to waking up alone. Used to feeling the shiver crawling up his side, used to seeing the indent left by Camille’s body instead of her. He had grown familiar with the sudden cast of loneliness blanketing him thicker than the duvet on top of his body.

The early morning trip to the store had tired him out, paired with the overthinking of the man named ‘Connor’ that flipped his attitude towards him quicker than he could kick the grey basket with his feet. He flopped back to the mattress after washing his face and brushing his teeth. It was noon when he jolted out of bed again at the sound of his front door opening, voices filling the empty space that had Harry running towards the foyer in case there was an intruder.

His tense shoulders sagged in relief when he caught sight of his mum and Gemma, “Oh, s’just you guys,”

Both women looked up at him at the top of the stairs, “You forgot we were coming over for the weekend, didn’t you?” Gemma teased as she headed to the living room. Harry followed, walking down the stairs.

He scratched the nape of his neck nervously, “No. . . “

“Can you help me reach this, H?” Anne called out from the kitchen.

His mum gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Yes, you did, by the way. Slept through the whole morning. Good thing Camille let us in before she left,”

At the sound of a bag crumpling and squeals echoing the hollow house, Harry scrunched his nose in curiosity, briskly walking where Gemm was currently holding up tiny baby clothes in front of her. “Who’s that for?” He thought of any possible friends that had had a baby recently but couldn’t recall any.

She immediately stuffed the clothing into the bag, nervously placing a hand on her chest, “Gosh, Harry, you scared me,” Her brows went high on her forehead in alarm, sharing a look with her mum trailing behind Harry.

“Well? Did I miss something?”

“Oh, it’s for one of my friends,”

Harry contemplated on his next words, “D-did you know that Y/N had a baby?” It couldn’t be right if his sister and mum knew about his exes baby and not him, right? That’s just plain odd to still be in touch with an ex's family. His brows furrowed in suspicion as both of them declined his question.

“What? Nooo,”

Awkward silence filtered through the air as Anne sipped water from her mug and Harry was slowly putting the pieces together. Gemme dove to the centre of the couch where her phone was when it rang suddenly, surprising all three of them. Harry was quicker, eyeing his mum and sister and inspecting the emoji substituting as a name before sliding his thumb to answer it.

"Hey, Gems! Are you coming to the park? We're waiting for you,”

Harry felt his heart drop to his stomach just as the phone nearly slipped from his clutch. That voice. He could recognize it from everywhere having spent nearly every morning for the four years that they were together hearing it lulling him out of sleep. It was Y/N’s voice calling his sister who was looking extremely anxious.

He tapped on the ‘mute’ button, “What does she mean ‘we’?”

“Nothing! Give me my phone back,” Gemma tried to reach for the device but Harry held it high beyond her reach.

“I saw the picture you sent me. I told you that you and Anne didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry felt dizzy. “Connor and I got some things a few weeks ago. But that skirt is so adorable!”

One part of him was glad to hear her voice. In fact, Harry found himself smiling too, despite what he just heard. Connor. “Harry, won’t be there right? Hello? Have I been talking to myself this whole time,” Y/N laughed a little; she had a habit of talking endlessly when she was excited. It made Harry more sombre, letting his guards down and his arm in reach for Gemma to grasp.

“Hey! I'm just organizing the clothes, see you soon!" Gemma jammed her finger on the red end call, anxiously glancing at her brother, piecing everything together.

“Who's Connor?" Could it be that the Connor he met last night was the same as Y/N’s? The one who bought pickles and strawberries--one of Y/N favourite food combinations? He mentioned that he had a little girl and Y/N just called to meet his sister and his mum at the park. And baby clothes?

Anne and Gemma looked at each other, quickly deciding that for the benefit of Harry that they should tell him at least a little bit. He was looking as if he was going insane, especially with his bed head pointing his hair out in different directions.

“He’s Y/N’s partner”

Harry gulped, reeling his thoughts to a halt, “Partner? And the baby is...?” The last bit of confirmation was all he needed to lash his feelings out.

“Is... waiting for us at the park! Sorry H gotta go,” Gemma was swift enough to gather all the bags without having Harry chase after her. His state of confusion and shock was enough to render him partially speechless and immobile.

“Hey wait!”

Anne garnered his attention, “Oh, Mrs. Q from next door wants me over for dinner. I’m sure wants to see us both. Why don’t you get ready, Harry?” Anne tugged his arm in the direction of the staircase pushing him to stumble up a couple of steps.

Harry was confused. He made the sounds of his footsteps creeping up the wooden stairs, hearing his mum quietly talking to Gemma on the phone, “Elmsway Park, you said? How long till you're home? I’m not sure how long I can keep him occupied,”

With that being said, Harry was out of his house, silently unlocking and locking the door. He was dressed in some basketball shorts and a graphic tee, slipping on the first pair of sneakers he had tossed aside. Harry jogged to his car, typing in the name of the park on his phones’ GPS. The route was only a few minutes away so he decided to take his time, gathering his scattered thoughts along the way.

He parked just beside the playground scouting the trees around the premises. Harry decided that it was the perfect day. The sun was out. It wasn’t too humid and the birds were chirping on the branches. He could see why the playground was full of children running around in delight. The green patches of grass were partially filled with picnic blankets and food to be shared. Families laughed with each other as one in particular caught his eye.

It made him smile at first, seeing just how adorable the couple was with their baby. He exited the car, making sure to lock the vehicle. With his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his shorts, Harry could feel the tethered grass rubbing against his legs. As he got closer, he couldn’t help the twinge of familiarity spark in his chest, recognizing that what he was staring at was Connor playfully chasing a little girl of about two-years-old as she squealed at how close he was getting to tagging her.

Harry stood by a tree, shielding him away from view. He tried to appear invisible without seeming too creepy. He knew that it was only a matter of seconds before his eyes found the woman he had been missing, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Connor picked up the little girl in his arms, dotting pecks all over the girls’ cheeks, causing her to giggle and push his face away with a tiny palm. And there she was standing outside the raised platform of the playground, coming up to the both of them with a juice box in hand to hydrate the little angel. Connor turned his attention to Y/N, planting the most adoring kiss on her lips that made her smile so wide and the baby cover her eyes. They laughed together, looking like a picture-perfect family.

Gemma sat on the bench, flickering her gaze to the precious family in front of her and to the figure of her brother walking away from the scene. Her heart broke for Harry, and it cracked, even more, when he turned back. This time, watching Connor and Y/N cheer on baby angel to go down the slide. Both of them clapped their hands in enthusiasm as the girl hesitantly slid down the plastic slide. The smile on her face was infectious.

It almost made Harry smile, too.

Harry was crying.

Admitting his feelings when he was younger was quite a task for him. Now that he was nearly in his thirties, the journey of being vulnerable with himself and with his feelings became easier with each emotion that he permitted himself to submerge in. Harry validated those emotions--he was allowed to experience them because it makes him human. It added texture to the ever-growing mosaic that painted who he was as an individual. Adding to the people that surrounded him, influenced by their kind-nature and the goodness of their heart to become who he was now.

And now, it seemed like his emotions increased tenfold. The clench of his abdomen and the harsh jolt of his chest forced his slouched shoulder to stay deflated. His breathing hitched as sobs threatened to take over, throat sore with the effort to keep it all in because Harry was smart enough to know that these emotions coursing through him right now were ones he wasn’t validated to feel. Paired with the latest information that that little girl being held by another man was his own daughter--and that the woman who was glowing with her caring, motherly-instincts was supposed to be his family; it broke him completely.

Quaking thoughts circled his brain and punctured his muscles as if they were attacking him not only mentally, but physically as well in exchange for his past mistakes that he couldn’t quite place if he deeply regretted or not. Was it a mistake to cheat on Y/N? To leave her alone in the exposure of the public eye while she was carrying his child in her tummy?

Harry should have known the day she fell sick and vomited in their kitchen sink. He was, sadly, too busy throwing a subdued celebration of finally having time alone with Camille. He should have noticed the way her face brightened with radiance. Or the way her cravings for strawberries and pickles either grossed her out or completely compelled her to consume more than she usually would.

But Harry guessed that that was around the time his efforts went out the window because he didn’t have to pretend to care as much anymore. Camille appeared to be his one and only. With their relationship coming so close to being revealed and Y/N having one foot out the door, Harry let fate play out the rest. Don’t get him wrong, Harry still loved Camille; that was why his slashed heart still throbbed at the sight of her watching over her little cousin, yet knowing that the topic of children was still not a card on the table.

The distress that he was feeling right now was core-shredding, heartbreaking grief that left a hole in his heart. The worst part was that Harry didn’t exactly know how to fix it or whether he even could. As he walked to his car with hands jammed into his pockets, he was grateful that the hood of his sweater hid his face and the tears sliding down the slope of his cheeks.

His senses were in overdrive, figuring out how to fix the mess he created. Wanting to run up to Y/N and ask her why she didn’t tell him, needing to feel his little girl in his arms. Pinching his skin to transfer the pain he felt in his heart because of the thought that he missed his baby’s first words, her first steps. Was it ‘dada’ that babbled out of her mouth? Did she reach out for Connor when she stumbled over nothing when she walked on stubby legs? Did Y/N mention his name to her?

“Harry!”

He kept on walking despite the hushed call of his name, assuming that it was a fan that caught sight of him and wanted a picture. Harry adores them, but now is hardly the time to fake a smile or act like his life didn’t just flash right before his eyes--quite literally.

The vehicle beeped as Harry pressed the ‘unlock’ button on his key fob, just about ready to pull the door open and shield himself from prying eyes. He flinched when a hand fell on his shoulder, “Harry,”

He looked up to find Gemma panting, resting her hand on the roof of the car, “Are you. . .alright?” Her drifting eyes inspected his face, tinted a slight pink and moist with the salty liquid dripping from his tear ducts.

Huffing in annoyance, Harry clutched the handle to let himself in. Gemma followed his actions, shutting the door and locking it. The tinted windows of the car provided a semi-private enclosure that was filled with Harry’s sniffling and Gemma’s heavy breathing, trying to catch her breath.

“H-her name is Halo,” Gemma began, gulping when Harry paused his ministrations, straining his ears to listen despite the dull thud occupying his vessels. “She’s almost two years old,”

“You said you didn’t know,” Harry’s gruff tone echoed. Gemma anxiously rubbed the ends of her palms against her jeans. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew all this time and y’didn’t tell me,”

“I-I was--she didn’t want me--”

“Why would she tell you and not me? I’m the one that dated her,” He raised his voice with every syllable he spoke. The frustration he felt from seeing the woman he once loved living the reality they shared together, except he wasn’t anywhere in the picture and that reality was only a fantasy in his life now. “It doesn’t make sense,” He rested his forearms on the wheel, facing the car’s symbol.

“The baby is yours, Harry,”

His head quipped with speed, grazing his forehead on the rounded leather but that pain didn’t amount to the new wave washing over him. “W-what?”

“It’s really not my place to tell,” Gemma said nervously, making eye contact with Harry’s searing yet teary gaze. “She wanted to tell you but you were so happy with Camille. She was posting these things on her Instagram about your trips and Y/N called me crying because you looked so free and happy without her. Y/N didn’t want to ruin what you guys had by dropping this on you,”

"That's-that's my baby?" Harry stuttered over his words while tugging his head out of his memories. Gemma nodded in confirmation. “Then why in the world was she--Halo?--calling him ‘dada’?

“Look, Harry, you’re not stupid. You know why Halo called Connor her dad,” Gemma spoke slowly, “This is a conversation that you need to have with Y/N if she lets you,”

At the mention of the man’s name, Harry couldn’t help but be filled with anger. He barely knew this man yet he received everything that Harry wanted in life. ‘But she’s my kid. I’m her dad. I’m the one who’s supposed to give her kisses and make her laugh,” He mumbled quietly as if his inner thoughts were far too strong to be kept in his mind

He was staring mindlessly at the numbers on his dashboard, hands gripping the leather steering wheel to try and ground himself. "But if that's my baby, how can she call someone who's not her father, dad?" He whipped his head towards Gemma, searching for validation that would make him feel better but the siblings were aware that he lost that title three years ago.

“I think you know you lost that place in their lives,” She reached a comforting hand to pat his arm, feeling just how tense he was under the fabric.

Harry shrugged her off, pinching his brows and pursing his lips as sadness began to swirl down the drain only to be replaced with resentment, irritation and bitterness. The taste on his tongue was hot with anger and his ears felt warm as he wheezed air instead of opting to yell his dissatisfaction near his sister.

“This isn't fair. She's m’baby too. Connor is not her father,” He spat with venom, “I am,” A pointed finger poked his chest. "She knew she was pregnant when she left me. She’s so fuckin’ selfish. How could she do this to me?

Gemma was quick to remind him of his actions, "You cheated on her, Harry.” Gemma cowered back at Harry’s beady eyes glaring at her with an unreadable emotion, stone-cold. “Maybe you should go home. Calm down a little bit,”

“No!” Harry cut Gemma off, “Need t’a hear her say it myself,”

Harry didn’t know what his plan was when he harshly slammed the car door behind him, practically storming on the patches of grass like a mad man. It wasn’t hard to spot the picture-perfect family sitting on a park bench which brought a scowl to his shielded face. He wanted to give Y/N a piece of his mind and it wasn’t necessarily the nicest thoughts that crossed his brain.

Halo was sitting on Connor’s lap while he was feeding her a peeled cupcake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting--Harry felt like he was punched in the gut. The baked good was Y/N’s specialty and it had a lot of sentimental value to both of them. It was what she baked for their first year together. He could vividly see her frosting-dotted nose, aiming to splotch the cream on his cheek while she laughed. Harry wrapped his arms around her, hugging Y/N from behind and proceeding to kiss her sweet cheek, leaving the perfect opportunity to stain his skin with the frosting.

But he didn’t care if he was smashed headfirst into the cake (as long as it wasn’t ice cream cake)--Harry just wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh heartily.

Y/N was snuggled on Connor’s shoulder, fixing Halo’s hair as she made grabby hands at the confection. He cannot lie--Connor was a handsome man. Harry rarely felt intimidated or insecure, but seeing that this man managed to snatch everything Harry could ever want seemingly in a blink of an eye; Harry felt very jealous.

He pouted, eyes rimmed red and lips quivering wishing that Cory or Connor--whatever that little shit’s name was would disappear so that Harry could take his place instead. Actually, it was his spot in the first place. Only if he didn’t mess up, he thought. He missed Y/N so much! Seeing Y/N in her element of niceness and bright-gleaming smiles sent a truck full of sand down his throat as he gulped his emotion below the surface. The closer he got to them, his vision tunnelled towards Halo; brown, flouncy curls and a cute dimple embedded in her cheek as she giggled, accidentally knocking the cupcake on the ground.  

If that wasn’t symbolism staring at Harry straight in the face; a sign that their so-called relationship really had no chance of reprieve. Harry chose to ignore it.

Connor clutched Halo tightly against him, crouching down with a napkin to clean up the scattered cake on the ground. Y/N was the first to notice him, her forehead creasing as her eyes bulged at the sight of Harry walking towards them. She subtly poked at Connor’s arm, hurting Harry even more because it meant that Y/N felt uncomfortable with his presence.

He was close enough to read her pink lips, “We should go,” matched with Y/N’s frantic actions of packing the juice boxes and the Tupperware of cupcakes into the tote bag beside her. Connor searched the park until his gaze landed on Harry, protectively shielding Halo from him.

Is he serious? Harry thought. That’s my own daughter.

Speaking of Halo, the two-year-old happily continued munching on her new cupcake, frowning slightly when Connor stood up, “Why we leaving, Daddy? Did I do somethin’ bad?”

Y/N sighed, they promised that Halo could play at the park all day and now it was cut short because of a certain someone.

“No, you didn’t, bub. Let Daddy explain at home, okay baby?” Connor hitched Halo higher on his hip, hoping that she wouldn’t ask any more questions until the trio left.

“Who’s that?” Halo asked, pointing at Harry only metres away from them. Her stubby finger outstretched at the stranger in front of her, eyes bright and sparkling with curiosity. There was no sign of recognition painting her green orbs.

Harry gulped, wanting so badly to scream “I’m your dad!” but he knew that Y/N will add that to the list of his mistakes he had made.

“No one, angel,” Connor planted a kiss on her head, looking over at Y/N who had finished packing everything up. He tilted his chin in an attempt to scare Harry off.

But the thing was, Harry was already scared. He could feel his stomach in his throat but vomiting wasn’t the right word to describe it. His heart drooped deeper than the levels of the Earth. He was scared because his family was right in front of him but he couldn’t touch them or hug them in his arms. He was only allowed to look from the outside because there was a small possibility of being forgiven.

“Y/N. . .” Harry began hesitantly. The surge of confidence he had decreased with each passing second. He kept a close eye.

Y/N shrugged the strap on her shoulder, “Leave us alone, Harry.”

He felt his anger disappearing, a new emotion cascading his tear ducts and the blood in his veins. Harry looked back in retrospect; she really did mean it when Y/N said that she never wanted him around again. “I just want to talk. Please, let’s talk,”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Harry,”  Connor interrupted, grabbing the bag from Y/N and wrapping an arm over her shoulder, guiding them away from Harry. “She’s happy without you, mate. can’t you see?”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Y/N’s face, actively avoiding eye contact but drifted when Halo’s frown caught his stare. The little girl’s chin was hooked over Connor’s shoulder, squirming in his arms in an attempt to stop him from walking. Halo was smart enough to know that Harry’s expression screamed sadness and her mummy said that “you need to find a way to make them happy” if someone was sad.

“Wait!” Her shrill yell caused both Connor and Y/N to turn around. A piece of Harry’s heart shattered on the floor when Halo pulled Connor down by the nape of his neck, small hand leading his ear next to her lips. Then, she did the same to Y/N, pointing at Harry which caused him to straighten his stance, wanting to impress his daughter even though there was no point.

The couple shared a look before ultimately having Connor walk closer to Harry. Halo gripped her cupcake towards him, “‘ere y’go hawwy,’ She still couldn’t pronounce her ‘r’s’ yet.

Harry began to sob.

It was his daughter and those were the first words she had uttered to him. She didn’t know him yet Halo treated him with kindness and it ripped at his chest because Y/N must’ve taught her that. His palms became wet as tears streamed from his eyes, dampening the sleeves of his hoodie. He didn't care about looking foolish in front of them, not when his daughter saw him as a stranger and called Connor her ‘dada’.

Halo recoiled at the sudden reaction, her lips curving downwards, “Dada, mama, he’s cwyin’,” She tucked her face at the junction of Connor’s shoulder and neck, scared that she made him cry. Halo didn’t mean to make him cry. She felt so guilty that she started spilling tears of her own too, her face contorting into a scrunched expression as her mouth wailed open sobs, matching Harry’s.

Harry’s first instinct was to take a step forward and comfort Halo but he was rendered frozen when Connor shot him a glare, shifting Halo’s body out of reach and he could only see her face over the man’s shoulder. Y/N dimmed her eyes, brows pinching when she couldn’t help but let a smidge of sympathy wash over her. She muttered a few words to Connor, pushing him by the small of his back towards the parking lot.

When they were out of earshot, Y/N faced Harry, “What were you thinking? Are you trying to mess everything up again?” He tried to cut in, “Isn’t it bad enough that we’re talking about this in public? Why must you ruin everything, Harry?” She whisper-shouted, trying her best not to garner them any attention.

“N-no, Gemma told me and I jus’ wanted to see her--and you. Wanted to hear the truth come out of your mouth,” His large hands jammed into his pockets to prevent him from fiddling with them.

“Look, you have no right coming here,”

“I know that b-but I--,”

She held a palm up, “I’m not sadistic like you Harry. If you thought that I wouldn’t let you around her then you’re wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, I do miss you and I wish that you were there for us when we needed you,”

“I had no idea--,”

“Will you let me speak?” Her tone carried irritation. “But we’re alright now and we don’t need you anymore.”

Harry never thought that those statements would ever come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Don’t you think I deserve to get to know her?”

She sighed, “Deserve? Definitely not.” He nodded in agreement. “But I’d live in regret if Halo never got to know her real father. . .”

Harry’s expression lit up, hopeful eyes shooting glances at her, “D-does that mea--? Are you--?”

“You can see her. You can get to know her but only because you’re Halo’s father,” Y/N took a brave step forward, ignoring the way her heart throbbed as if she was being stabbed by a thousand knives. Painful memories drifted in and out of her train of thought until she shook her head to muster them out. It was in the past but she could never forget the feeling of hopelessness taking over her whole body.

With a hand on his shoulder, she continued, “Anyone can be a father and you’re just that. Don’t think that you’re entitled to anything more. You will never be her dad. Connor is. Understood?”

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed a heavy gulp, “I. . .understand. Thank you, Y/N. For letting me back in when I don’t deserve it,” He glanced at the two tiny figures piling in the car. He could just imagine himself plucking little Halo into her booster seat, booping her nose as she asked for the hundredth time why she had to sit at the back and not at the front with them.

“I’m not finished,” She deadpanned, “You are going to be there for her. Not for me, not for us because our relationship is over. You can hurt me as you did before and I can accept it but don’t you dare try to hurt her,”

And it was true. Having endured his painful game once before, Y/N was stronger now. She could take heartbreak as agonizing as that but she wouldn’t dare stand seeing Halo’s teary eyes staring back at her, asking why Harry had left them. She was far too young to experience the feeling when a piece of herself is ripped apart.

“I won’t hurt her. I promise,”

“I heard those words come out from your mouth years ago and look where we are now. Once you hurt her, it’s over.”

“Y/N, t-that’s hardly fair. I am her dad, aren’t I?” Harry cleared his throat at Y/N’s raised brow.

“No, you’re not. We just went through this, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that,” He muttered quietly because she only ever called him ‘baby’ or ‘h’.

“Will you stop? I laid out my cards. If you want to even have a speck of presence in her life, then you have to abide by what I said,” She crossed her arms in defence, “You will never be Halo’s dad, Harry. Connor is her dad. I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat this before it gets through you thick head,”

He opened his mouth to talk, “No wiggle room whatsoever?”

“No. Do I have to write a letter for you to understand that?”

In a moment of hurt and despair, Harry spat out, “Might as well, yeah? Waited over two years to tell me anyway,”

“Are you kidding me?”

His throat ran dry, realizing that he just ticked another box to favour against being a part of his daughter’s life, “I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,”

“Whatever. Are you willing to make the sacrifice?”

“This isn’t the place to talk about this,” Harry suggested, wanting to have some sort of foot on the ground so he doesn’t feel like he’s topping over with guilt and sadness. “Maybe you can come over to my house,”

Y/N shook her head, glancing briefly at her phone when it buzzed, “No. I will not step foot in that house again. If you really want to discuss it, you can come over at our place,”

“Your place?” Did they all live together? Well, that was another slap to the face. Not only was Connor playing dad to Halo, but he was also part of the household. Harry’s face must have contorted into a grimace because Y/N sighed softly.

“Yes, our place. Meaning all three of us,” She gestured behind her. “I have to go. You can probably get my number from Gemma; you can text me then.”

“Yes, yes! Of course, I want to talk to you. . . about this, I mean,” Harry lowered his enthusiasm. The small voice in his head reverberating that this was not about him and Y/N; this was about Halo.

“And make sure you don’t bring anyone else,” Y/N said sarcastically, subtly pointing in the direction of the paparazzi hiding behind some bushes. Harry was usually good at spotting them but today was just a puddle of hurt and confusion. “I don’t want her having to read nasty things like I did,”

What Y/N said may have been a side comment, but Harry couldn’t help but take it to heart. Was this a good idea? Sure, he wanted to be a present dad in Halo’s life. However, is it worth it to stir unwanted drama? If only he didn’t cheat on Y/N, all of this could have been avoided.

With his mind in a haze, Harry barely noticed Y/N’s figure moving away from him. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Harry felt numb to the way she shrugged her touch off of her immediately, “Were you ever going to tell me about our daughter?’

Y/N stared at him quizzically, tilting her head a little bit sideways, “I thought I did? Wait!” A look of recognition plastered across her features, “I did try to tell you but you blocked me before the message sent through,”

Harry gulped with realization. He blearily remembered  bitterly blocking her number just as she texted “I need to tell you something,”

Y/N: Since you’re not picking up my calls

I need to tell you something

Y/N took a deep breath as her thumbs tapped on the letters slowly as if to withhold the news from him. She was not at all ready to reveal that she was pregnant and that he was the father but Y/N knew that it was the right thing to do. Despite the fact that he was currently out of the country on vacation somewhere on an island with sandy beaches with Camille. Y/N was aware that this spike of courage was rare and so, she had to do it now.

Y/N: I’m pregnant

And you’re the father

She locked the device as soon as she pressed the arrow to send the message, clutching the phone close to her chest and shutting her eyes so tightly that it hurt. Minutes passed with no response and Y/N was shouldered by curiosity to check if he had sent anything back or simply left her on ‘seen’.

It was neither. The screaming red exclamation mark surrounded by a circle indicated that she had been blocked.

The times when she left missed calls on his phone were for a reason much bigger than the two of them. Y/N didn’t call to beg for him back or to ask Harry to want her again. He was ashamed to admit that he had rolled his eyes upwards every time he clicked on a voicemail she had left, stating, “Hey H, it’s me. Call me back when you hear this. I need to talk to you,” which he deleted without a second thought. She didn’t text him endlessly to politely ask for her things packed and settled for her pick-up because Y/N could not bear to spend another second in a room with him.

It wasn’t that at all.

Y/N was physically moving farther and farther away from him, settling herself into the car before driving off to hers and Connor’s shared house. Halo sat in the backseat, singing along to the radio.

Harry was surrounded amidst the joyful squeals of children and reprimanding voices of their parents.

He stood alone with no one but loneliness by his side and the brisk flash of cameras in his peripherals.

Harry felt out of place.

As a world-renowned pop star, he was used to being paid a different kind of attention in most of the places he went to. He should be used to it. Harry had to take measures in order not to get recognized for stepping into a local coffee shop. Even in hot weather, his recognizable tattoos gave easy access for fans to whisper amongst each other, wondering if it was the right time to ask for a photo or merely share a conversation with him.

His voice--the thing that made him as famous as he is now--was tinted into his fans’ heads. Recognition blaring in their ears when the deep, gruff tone projected the open air. It would be quite disturbing if he had to change the pitch for everyday errands. Harry would rather feel out of place than go to extremes to change who he was.

This lifestyle was something that he was used to, having been under the scrutiny of the public eye for a little over a decade now. But Harry knew that Y/N was a small, town girl practically bickered and poked until she was forced to cough something out to taint Harry’s name in vain. From the way, he preferred sniffing his nose into a hanky instead of a Kleenex. The way he snored loudly when his nostrils felt dry. The way his hair isn’t as naturally curly as it appears to be. All of these things were the borderline crossing of his privacy that she could’ve taken to the press, urging in many articles written about his odd habits or preferences.

Not that he thought Y/N was that type of person to spill secrets in the midst of desperation, but Harry had cheated on her for God’s sake. If she did run her mouth, Harry wouldn’t blame her. He was horrible to her; cheated on her for a year, not even bothering to tell Y/N that his affection was teetering in favour of not hurting her and wanting to keep his side relationship a secret for a taste of adrenaline that came with his less-than boring life.

Harry left her alone while she was going through a life-changing period of her life. To be fair, Y/N didn’t actually tell him. She tried, but the message never reached his cognition. Harry wanted to save his salvation by choosing to believe that it was her fault for not visiting him in person to tell him the news.

Really though, how could Harry possibly know about her pregnancy if she didn’t make the effort to inform him of his own child. It wasn’t like he was supposed to check in on her, his ex-girlfriend, right? That was unheard of. And frankly, Harry thought that the day everything blew up--when she read the letter meant for Camille; Y/N made it very clear that she did not want to speak to him again. So really, Harry was just respecting her wishes.

Y/N was supposed to be the one feeling out of place; not Harry. If only she had told him when she identified the symptoms of pregnancy, he could have helped out. Harry wasn’t sure if he would have left Camille to begin a family with Y/N (if she took him back) or if he was only a parent of support. One that was there for the sake of raising a child but not sharing the means and affection to build a relationship with Y/N.

These were Harry’s thoughts as he sat with the family of three. In between Y/N and Connor as they sat on opposite ends of the round table with baby Halo in her high chair and Harry across from her. Halo was staring at him with wonder and curiosity; a shy type of look that tinted her cheeks a tad rosy and her lashes to peer at the man adjacent to her, wondering why he was joining them in their family dinner.

Harry felt out of place.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Connor asked, feeding the child a spoonful of peas. “Not usually like this,” She shook her head, tucking her arms together and pursing her lips inwards in a sign of rejection.

Halo looked at Y/N who was giving her a soft smile, then to Harry. “She’s not usually like this. She must be shy that you’re here tonight, Harry,” Y/N explained, a tone of indifference that she tried to mask to help Halo feel a little more comfortable.

Harry gulped heavily. His child was uncomfortable because of him. He almost felt guilty for wanting to scoop her up and canoodle Halo in his arms. Harry still hadn’t had the chance to do that.

When the door opened earlier this evening, Harry was met by Y/N’s furrowed brows, firmly reminding him that this dinner was for him to be slowly introduced into Halo’s life. Harry would get the chance to care for her by helping the child with her nighttime routine. That included brushing her teeth, tucking her in, a bedtime story and possibly a kiss on the forehead.

Harry was giddy, to say the least. Harry was confident with kids and could easily mould into what they needed. If they wanted him to pretend to be a car while they jumped on his back as they grasped onto his curls to steer him, he would. If Harry was instructed to be a pretty princess with a plastic tiara on his head, he would exaggeratedly lift a pinky up to play the part. It was easy for him to win the hearts of his little nieces and nephews because they were familiar with him. They knew him as ‘Uncle Harry’ who gave them gifts whenever he came over to visit or if there was a large family reunion.

He couldn’t exactly do that with Halo. She was familiar with him, yes. However, the one time they interacted, Harry had made her cry. It didn’t sit right with him that tears sprung from her corneas when she was only trying to make him feel better, sensing that her parents wanted nothing to do with him.

It wasn’t like Harry knew what she liked either. Did Halo like playing with dolls? Animals? Race cars? The most basic of things, Harry didn’t know. What was her favourite colour? When was her birthday? His resumé was already tarnished since he wasn’t present when her mother fell pregnant. Then, he missed her first steps, her first words. He was just a stranger to her.

And it showed from the way he stepped foot into the kitchen.

Harry heard her before he saw her. Tiny squeals and giggles fell from her mouth as Connor chased her around with plates grasped in his hands. Y/N had scolded the man for getting distracted instead of setting the table. Halo’s noises quieting down when she caught sight of the familiar yet unfamiliar man loitering the doorway.

“‘M sorry, love. Halo wanted to play,” Connor gripped her waist to pull Y/N closer to him, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she fought off a smile from splintering her face. “Right, cutie?”

“Wanted to play! Sowwy mama,’ Halo apologized, tugging on her pant leg.

That was when Harry realized the possibility of ruining the little family they had in the words. But this was supposed to be his in the first place so he couldn’t care less if he wrecked it. As selfish as it may be, Harry thought that there was meaning in him accidentally hearing Gemma’s conversation with Y/N. Sure, it was bound to happen, but it couldn’t have come at a better time. The hole in his heart caused by Camille’s confession of not wanting kids was growing each day, accentuated by the late-night trip to the grocery store and seeing the small baby clothes that took up half of his palm.

It was a sign, right? He felt like he was drowning in a relationship that had no future and the next day, he was met with Y/N and their baby.

Symbolism. As a writer, it was absolutely crucial to introduce some sort of word, item, place, or person and infuse it with impeccable meaning. Irrefutable to the point that that noun is and will be what the writer makes of it.

Round tables were supposed to be better at sprouting conversations than rectangular or square tables. Any conversation between a pair must be shared with everybody who sat around it. There was no room to quietly snicker or ration secrets. Yet somehow that theory was not working. At all.

Harry felt like an intruder sitting in a table that never held more than three people because it was always just them: Y/N, Connor and Halo. As the child got more comfortable with his presence, she slowly started babbling incoherent and coherent words alike, conversing with her ‘parents’ as they asked her about her day at daycare. Y/N asked about Connor’s day at work and the latter reciprocated the question which she was currently answering.

“It wasn’t as busy as I thought,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, forking a piece of mash. Connor made a sound of recognition, “S’that why you texted me to go home instead?”

Y/N nodded, helping Halo scoop her own forkful of mash, “Yep, I had time to go to the store. I know that you were swarmed at work,” The couple allotted a loving glance towards each other.

Harry’s heart was cracking. He was witnessing what he could have had and He had a front-row seat to it. Was it jealousy? Maybe. He was in a relationship so he shouldn’t feel like swarming Y/N’s smaller frame in his arms, shielding her and baby Halo away from Connor. But he did.

“What about you, Harry?” Connor questioned him with a kink to his brow. Harry could tell that the question wasn’t sincere, purely out of consideration.

In a surprise, Harry coughed a little, reaching out to his cloth to dab the corners of his mouth. Truth to be told, Harry spent the day in a state of anxiety. From the moment he woke up, Harry could feel his chest expanding with nervousness, heart beating loudly and pounding in his ears. He picked at the skin of his lip in the wonder of what he was going to wear. If he should wear cologne or if it will irritate Halo’s senses. He spent the better half of the morning browsing online for toys he could get in a hurry to give to Halo.

Harry contemplated cancelling the dinner because of the uneasy feeling boiling in his stomach. Heightened senses and pinched nerves convinced Harry that he could feel the muscles of his esophagus contracted as he swallowed. Lungs punctured with the tip of the pen he was using to scrawl a list of ideas to build a bond with his daughter

“It was alright,” Harry said warily, “Didn’t really have anythin’ to do today except come here,”

Y/N pulled her head back in surprise, “Sorry, we ruined your day off,”

His eyes widened immediately. Harry’s usual aura of confidence nowhere to be seen, “N-no, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” He could feel stray curls hitting his cheekbones lightly. “I jus’-- it’s m’break so I haven’t got anything for the next couple of months,”

___

Harry’s settled nerves were awoken when it was time to clean up. Y/N insisted on doing the dishes with Connor while Harry bonded with Halo.

“Remember, you’re doing this for her,” Y/N whispered in his ear, causing shivers to crawl up his spine, “Don’t be nervous, Harry. She’s going to love you,” She added, seeing the way he blinked warily at Halo and Connor. Even going as far as giving him a comforting smile.

“Thank you, Y/N--for giving me this,” She nodded in response, jutting her chin downwards.

“Hawwy? Mama said you gonna help me get to bed?” Halo’s green eyes still shone despite the dim kitchen lighting, reminding Harry that this was his and Y/N’s creation. Throughout the dinner, the child had somehow warmed up to Harry’s presence. With a promise of an ice cream trip after her nursery classes earlier in the morning, Halo was quick to befriend the man who she pointed out: ‘has the same dimple as me!’--while poking a stubby finger to her plush cheek, grinning to showcase it.

Harry could feel his heart thud, crouching down to her level, worried of her straining her neck looking up at his tall stature. “Tha’s right. Wanna show me where the bathroom is?” She nodded, grabbing Harry’s index finger to drag him along, exerting his lumbar to keep his height low. He could feel Halo’s feet stumbling, keeping her balance by tightening her grip on Harry.

Their time in the bathroom was fairly short. Halo had learned to brush her teeth by herself. She only needed Harry to guide her up the stool so that she could reach the sink, spitting the foam from her mouth when Harry made a funny face in the mirror, giggling loudly that had Harry’s chest feeling light.

As they walked through the hallway, Harry couldn’t help but let his ears be numb to Halo’s babbling about her favourite stuffed toy. He didn’t mean to. Instead, his neck craned to the door left agape, assuming that it was Connor and Y/N’s with the way the Gucci shoes that Harry had bought her were neatly placed at the bottom of the foot of the bed. He stared down at his moving feet, mood souring despite the bright colours of his loafers imprinted in a little rainbow--the same ones that he just caught sight off and wavered just as quickly.

“You like it?”

He snapped out of his thoughts when Halo climbed on her tiny bed, clutching her favourite stuffed toy. Harry plastered a beaming grin on his face, inspecting the painted room, the small desk pushed against the wall and the numerous artworks taped to almost every surface.

One, in particular, had his heart aching more so than it already was.

It was a hand-drawn stick figure portrait of Y/N, Halo, and Connor. Harry couldn’t even pretend that the skinny, stretched black marker was him because the child messily penned Connor’s name underneath. The figures were holding each others’ hands, oblong faces paired with a curved mouth shaped upwards. It didn’t help that the title at the top was “My Famli” which was crossed over with a red marker and re-titled underneath as “My Family” in neat handwriting that Harry could recognize as Y/N’s.

“Hawwy?” She repeated, wondering why he was staring so hard at the drawing taped on her bedside table. Her brows furrowed when a drop of tear fell from his eye and landed on Connor’s head, smudging the ink and making it blurry disarray as Halo gasped. “Oh no!”

“‘M s-sorry, Halo,” Harry’s tongue felt too thick in his mouth, sobbing threatening to escape but he remembered how that would make his daughter feel. Halo placed her soft hand on top of his.

“It’s okay, Hawwy. I can do it again,” Her timid voice made his heart flutter. Halo didn’t want Harry to cry again and it looked like he was about to so she scurried in planting her shaky legs on the floor. A blank paper was already stable on her desk, grabbing a marker to draw the ruined project again. She could see Harry’s shadow towering over her, thanks to the light projected by her lamp.

Flipping the paper over, Halo giggled, “Go away! Y’cant see it till it’s done,” She used her force to push him backwards which wasn’t a lot so Harry walked backwards until the back of his calves hit her bed frame. “Stay there and play with Honey,”

As she got back to work, Harry searched for ‘Honey’, finding an oatmeal coloured bear with a pot of honey clutched between its threaded paws. He stared at the plush toy for what felt like forever, wondering how special this must be to her. And how Harry wasn’t the one to have given it to her.

“Done!” Halo’s timidness returned, hiding the paper behind her back yet Harry heard the slight crumple.

Placing the stuffed toy on the bed, he asked, “Are y’gonna show me?”

She handed the artwork to Harry while he watched, smiling softly. Halo slapped her palms on her cheeks when Harry turned it over, his breath hitching when he saw the extra figure that she had drawn.

Harry. With a head of wild curls and dotted green eyes that appeared more black with the lighting.

He couldn’t help it when happy tears seared his waterline which Halo mistook for complacence. “You don’t. . .like it Hawwy?”

“I-I do. I love it, honey,” Harry admitted, chuckling slightly as he patted his upper thigh. She climbed onto the bed with him, the wood creaking beneath Harry’s weight. Halo clumsily climbed on his lap, lifting his heavy forearm so she could sneak between his legs.

Harry could feel his nonexistent double chin crowding his neck as he looked down at Halo who was cuddled to his chest, lips turned into a pout, looking at her quick-minute work. “I like it cause you’re there,” She pointed at the ice cream in Harry’s hand before yawning loudly.

“You’re sleepy, baby Halo?’

She nodded, pressing a small hand on his chest. Harry took the initiative to lay the child down on her pillow despite every nerve in his body urging him to stay in that position. But Harry figured that he had probably overstayed his welcome for the night.

Harry pressed a passionate kiss to her forehead, caressing her head gently. Sleep eyes stared at him as he pulled her fleece blanket to her chin. “Stay?” She questioned, fists crumpling to clutched the end of the fabric.

“I can’t, bub,” He informed with regret, shaking his head sadly and his mouth curved downwards. His knee was sore with weight pressed on his knee cap and his lumbar was aching with how he crouched down one too many times this evening, but all pain seemed to disappear when Halo picked up Honey the Teddy Bear from beside her and gave it to Harry. “For me? Thank you,”

Halo laid back down on her bed, “Mhm,”

“Why?”

As a two-year-old, Halo could only say so many words, yet her thoughts went far deeper than her brain could comprehend. That she felt a profound attachment to Harry despite seeing him twice. How pleasant it was to spend even just a small amount of time with him. Harry was nice and gave her forehead kisses and rubbed her head that placed a smile on her face. He cried because he loved her artwork and he apologized when he did something wrong. He contorted his lips into a silly face to make her laugh. He was going to be picking her up from school and Harry said he was going to buy her ice cream tomorrow!

“I dunno,” Halo shrugged, peering downwards to avoid eye contact. Harry chuckled heartily, puckering his pink lips to another peck on her forehead, and then both of her cheeks.

Harry tried to see the brighter side of the situation because it truly was something to look forward to. Having the chance to get to know Halo was something that he should be grateful for. As Y/N said, Harry did not deserve to be a part of her life, despite the fact that he was the father. And somewhere, somehow— he understood where she was coming from.

Harry honestly wouldn’t know what he would do if the roles were reversed; if Y/N were the ones to have been cheating on him. He would not have a clue if Harry would be as kind to her as she was with him. If an outsider were to assess the situation between Harry and Y/N, they would definitely choose her side to be in favour of. So far, Harry still wasn’t able to pinpoint what exactly Y/N had done wrong for him to be swayed by an illicit affair. Was there even a moment in time that he could vividly see where he made the decision to just up and betrayed her trust? Because if there was; either his memory has gone to shit or Harry was more of a jerk than he served himself.

To put things into perspective, Y/N was the perfect partner and Harry had somehow lost sight of that by cheating on her. Don’t get him wrong; Camille was good, great, even. Yet Y/N was an amazing woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Coincidentally, those were the same type of things that Harry needed, too. As much as it pained him to say it, Camille’s rejection of their own little family made him rethink his decision-making process. Harry has learned more about himself in these past few months than he did in his entire lifetime.

For starters, he cleared it up that he had absolutely no excuse for cheating on Y/N except the fact that his retention span lasted a good few years before he was in search of something fresh; something new and exciting. Maybe it scared him just how serious she was in having a family in the future that his subconscious thought that Harry needed one last hurrah to get the infidelity out. Besides, divorces are more complicated when there are children involved.

Secondly, being with Camille was an infatuation that lasted for a long, three years—beginning while Harry was in a relationship with Y/N. Feelings were still there for sure, but he just didn’t know if it was enough to make him stay, especially when Y/N and baby Halo were right there waiting for him. They actually weren’t; Harry just liked to pretend that they were so that he could justify the consequences of his actions.

Camille was trying to make things work with him; Harry could see that. However, there were only so many things that she could do to improve their relationship before she had to change the choices that she had made years prior. Camille really didn’t want to say that she had refuted the idea of not having kids for the sake of making a relationship prosper, but maybe it was what she had to do to make him stay. She wanted a happy life with someone who wanted the same things as her. Harry wasn’t the man who shared a mutual agreement and she was pushed to question her options.

Nonetheless, Camille and Harry stuck with each other because they were all they knew for the past three and a half years. It was definitely ironic for Harry to say that he couldn’t just leave a three-year relationship behind for another woman; because he had done that before. Now, he was a hypocrite too? His ego cannot take it.

Connor wrapped his arms around Y/N’s middle as she washed the dishes in the sink. Their water heater was broken so the stream that came from the faucet sometimes teetered from freezing cold to extremely hot. Right now, she was scrubbing the sponge on the porcelain as quickly as possible while the water was at the right temperature.

Y/N turned her head to the side, pressing a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He rested his chin on her shoulder, bobbing up and down as she moved her arms.

“Is this really a good idea, baby?” Connor asked, staring at the way her lashes fluttered in a pregnant pause, taking a deep breath.

She nodded, reaching over slightly to rest the wet dish on the drying rack. “Halo deserves to at least know her real father,”

And it was true. What kind of mother would Y/N be if she kept a secret like that from her own daughter? The past two years was a constant ping-pong battle of reaching out to Harry and sharing the news to him; then, Y/N would be hit with a shot of realization, wondering if this would ruin his current lifestyle.

“I understand. What if he leaves again? Hate to remind you but Harry left you once before, don’t think he’ll hesitate to do so again,”

She froze at Connor’s words. Y/N was aware that he only said that in good faith, to remind her of how hurt she was at the time and just how long it took for her to be able to finally breathe again.

One side of Y/N urged to still defend Harry. She wanted to turn and around, yell at him because Connor doesn’t know Harry as she does. Harry wasn’t the type to build a child’s dreams up only for him to personally manhandle the heart and crush it in his fist. There was a reason why he was a godfather to so many kids; Ruby, Arlo and Jackson—because he was capable. Harry was a nurturing father who put himself on the back burner in favour of making sure that the little ones were safe and secured. He had no problem being third if it meant that the kids were first, then Y/N, then him.

It all sounded so good in Y/N’s head; so well-rehearsed and very well thought out. The monologue that had somehow stuck in the sides of her brain like a script taped to the wall, ready for the time it needed to be recited. The shredded pieces of paper also reminded her that Y/N might’ve known Harry before, but she certainly doesn’t anymore. In fact, she knew just as much as Connor did.

Just like Y/N had grown and evolved into a new person, Harry was not the same guy he once was when they were together.

“I told him the consequences if he did,”

Connor pulled back, stepping away from her. “But wouldn’t it be better if we didn’t take that chance? Who knows what he might do. . .” He trailed off, grabbing a dry rag to wipe the water dripping from the dish.

Y/N took a leap of faith in letting Harry in. He was a wild card. He could promise one thing but would mean another. Or he could recite a vow and completely annihilate the person as he did with her. Yet somehow, Y/N couldn’t resist the opportunity to give him one chance. Maybe it was because a small part of her craved to re-create a happy family that they had always wanted.

“It’s a risk. I know that” Y/N rinsed a cup, swirling the water in circles. She felt like that whenever Harry was around.

“So why are you still doing it?” Y/N opened her mouth to answer, “And tell me the truth this time, yeah?”

Her boyfriend stared at her with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, lips drew taut in a straight line and arms were crossed over his broad chest. The pressure was immense on Y/N’s shoulders. She was torn between admitting what she had buried deep below the sand or simply glossing over it like a figure skater. Nonetheless, Y/N was on thin ice.

For years, she had flicked away the remaining feelings that stayed with her. But they were persistent in sticking by her side. It wasn’t like Y/N could completely erase Harry from her life--from who she was. She still dressed like him, evidenced by the matching pair of Gucci loafers she chose not to wear for the night in fear that he would coincidentally be sporting the same footwear.

Furthermore, they had a child together! Halo was the spitting image of him. It was hard not to be reminded by a man she once loved when their little baby was both of them mixed in one. So did Y/N still love Harry? She couldn’t deny how much her heart fluttered seeing him stutter over his words at the park. Y/N just wasn’t sure if it was from anxiety and nervousness or excitement and anticipation.

Unbeknownst to the couple, Harry had sneakily closed a sleeping Halo’s bedroom door. His trek back to the kitchen was slow, slightly afraid of the awaiting talk he and Y/N--and possibly Connor-- have yet to have. Harry wanted to be there for Halo and for Y/N every step of the way, but he knew that Y/N would not allow him around if his intentions were to cater to a relationship with her. She was already tolerating him as is.

Standing behind the thin wall that acted as a partition from the hallway to the kitchen, Harry carefully placed his hands against the barrier to steady himself. He didn’t know if his legs could take whatever answer would spill from Y/N’s mouth. If she admitted her true feelings, he would stumble and melt into a puddle. He would be confused, but Harry wouldn’t be opposed to it; he was in a relationship after all. If she denied it--which was the more likely option--, his heart would break silently in his chest.

Harry numbed himself of the guilt raking at his ankles. He was well aware that this was a private conversation but hey; it was not his fault that he had ears straining to listen to Y/N’s reply.

“Do you still love him?” Connor followed up, voice grim. Almost fearful to find out the truth. Harry was, too.

Y/N paused her thoughts as well as her actions, flinching at the sudden intrusion of Connor’s question. She flinched, yelping a little and jumping backwards when the broken water heater subdued the filtering liquid into a burning hot splatter on her skin. Connor picked his feet up in alarm, grabbing at Y/N’s wrist to see the minor injury on the back of her palm.

“Ow!” Y/N whisper-shouted, soothing the ache by situating it between her thighs before shakily showing it to Connor; the doctor.

“Let me see, baby,”

Harry peeked his head around the corner, almost losing his cover with the way his feet instantaneously wanting to move towards a hurting Y/N. Good thing he caught himself. Surely they would put two and two together and realize that Harry was eavesdropping.

That decision came with a laceration to his heart. Harry got a first-class ticket to register that the couple was everything he and Y/N were. The pet names, the domesticity of their actions. The caring glances and constant check-ups.

Deciding to come out of hiding, Harry almost had a heart attack when he turned the corner and was met face to face with Connor. His brows had dipped in worry, face determined to grab some cream to apply to the burn from their first-aid kit in the bathroom. Harry guessed that his whizzing thoughts failed to hear the quiet instruction.

The man jolted in surprise, stopping quickly in his tracks, “Oh hey! Is Halo asleep?” Connor gave him a smile despite the confusion etching in his forehead. Harry nodded dumbly, lips pursing like a fish. “Y/N’s just burned her hand, nothing too serious though,”

He looked over his shoulder to see Y/N eyeing the both of them suspiciously, still clutching the burnt skin close to her. “Oh, I see,”

Connor smacked a firm hand on his shoulder, stepping around him to grab the cream. Harry walked towards Y/N, noticing that she was soothing the painful ache with ice wrapped in layers of tissue. She was softly hissing through her teeth once in a while.

“You okay?”

She tilted her head at him, appearing to be dazed out in her thoughts. “Yeah, uh, nothing too bad,”

Harry kept his distance, leaning on the other side of the counter. He started off by saying, “Thank you for giving me this chance,”

Y/N graced him with a smile, standing up straighter when Connor appeared with a tube in his hand. Harry watched as he unscrewed the cap, placing it beside her. He squeezed a bit of the cream unto his fingertip before applying it directly on Y/N’s skin. She winced, wanting to pull her wrist away from his grip but Connor didn’t let her, “It’s gonna be fine, baby,”

He pressed a kiss to her temple, continuing to rub circles on the burn until Y/N visibly relaxed through slouched shoulders and less shaky breaths.

Harry was staring at them like a kicked puppy. He was fussy and frustrated all in one. He wanted the attention that Y/N was giving Connor. He wanted to be Connor, but both of them were too wrapped up in their little love bubble to notice Harry’s squinted eyes and pinched brows.

He was frustrated because even if he wasn’t the direct cause of her pain, Harry had somehow found a way to continue hurting her and Connor was always there to pacify his wrongful actions. Harry hated that this was how fate had planned his life.

Harry cleared his throat, raising a fist to his mouth, “Think I should go,” His thumb pointed over his shoulder, “Uh thank you again,”

Y/N snapped her head to him, gaze lowering in a timid manner as if she forgot that he was even there in the first place. Connor was the first to reply, “Alright, man. See you whenever,” He capped the tub, shoving it in his back pocket to return to its place.

She leaned on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips, muttering something in his ear that had Connor teasingly wrapping his hands on her hips. Harry looked away, taking long strides to the entryway instead.

“Harry, wait!”

He shuddered at the memory of the words that had changed his life when Gemma told him the truth. Harry’s shoe was half-way one when he turned around. “Yeah?”

Y/N was holding a folded brochure, “Halo has a recital this weekend for her dance class,” She handed it to him, “Maybe you’d want to go? You can bring Camille if you want but I think it would be better if you didn’t. She’s still new to this and I don’t want her asking too many questions until she can unders--,”

“I’ll go,” Harry cut her off, unfolding the folded paper. The venue was about twenty minutes away from his place. It was only an hour-long considering the skill set of two-year-olds but it was a fun way for parents to cheer on their little ones. Harry’s previously sour mood was now replaced with giddiness at the sight of his daughter in a pretty pink tutu, twirling on her feet. He was sure that Halo was born to become a performer like him.

She sighed in relief, puffing her cheeks out cutely, “It’s a private dance class. Pretty high end so the security should be okay,”

And there it was again. The constant reminder that Harry was otherworldly to some people. As much as he loved living his lifestyle, he sometimes wished that he was a normie. That was a lot to ask for considering his current situation with his daughter, but a man can dream.

“Got it,”

Y/N leaned over to show him the back of the leaflet, “Just show them this ticket and security should let you in. Halo wanted me to give that to you because she was too shy earlier. I know it’s short notice but I guess she was comfortable enough to ask you,”

Harry blushed at the admittance, mentally patting himself at the back for making his daughter feel at ease in a short amount of time.

“I’ll be there,” He pushed his heel to adorn his sneakers. Y/N bit her lip, she looked hesitant, “It’s okay if you don’t want to go, by the way. I can explain that you’re busy. She’ll probably understand,”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Harry wasn’t going to ruin his progressive relationship with his daughter on ‘probably’. “Y/N, s’alright. No problem, yeah? I’ll be there,”

Where was he?

It was two days after the dinner and Harry’s promise of attending Halo’s recital was vanishing with each passing second. Every time the hand of the clock ticked to indicate that another minute had elapsed. Harry still wasn’t jogging through the carpeted middle of the small theatre to where Connor and Y/N were seated. Two empty seats were left at the end of the aisle to aid Harry--and possibly Camille--a smooth arrival without creating any distractions.

There were only five minutes left before the stage crew were to dim the spotlights illuminating the room. Y/N was checking her watch what felt like every second, clicking her phone on and off once in a while worried that something may have happened to Harry. Maybe security wouldn’t let him in. The gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach suggested that Harry just forgot the event tonight but Y/N would cross the bridge when they got to it. Regardless, her nerves were left unsettled as swallowing proved to be more difficult with the way a sip of her water had her gulping audibly. Connor wasn’t there to lend a soft hand on her upper back to help her breathe.

Speaking of, Connor had taken the initiative to visit Halo backstage. The ballet teacher was growing weary of the way the little dancer ran out from beside the stage to stop in front of her parents, asking, “Where’s Hawwy?”.

Halo had done it three times in hopes of receiving an answer aside from, “He’s not here yet,” Y/N tucked a fallen strand of hair from the otherwise sleek bun from beside her cheeks. Her daughter’s form slouching as her pretty eyes watered slightly, “He’s not coming? You told me he was coming, mama,”

Y/N glanced at Connor nervously, being met with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look which didn’t really help the situation. Luckily, the teacher had approached them with a clipboard on hand, searching for the ballerina. The teacher had suggested that one of them stay with her behind the curtain until the show began. Connor volunteered.

“Better hope he comes or else we’ll have to deal with the consequences. I really don’t want to see her heartbroken before of a promise he couldn’t keep,” Connor muttered, following the woman but not before thumbing circles on Y/N’s flushed cheek.

Y/N knew that he meant well. She also didn’t want to comfort a heartbroken Halo because Harry failed to show up where he promised he would be. And now, with a little less than two minutes before showtime, Connor was sent back beside her. Parents were being ushered to find their seats before the lights dimmed and it would be difficult to maneuver through knees and legs.

“Is he here?” Connor questioned, draping a hand on her shaking knee. Y/N shook her head, casting another glance at the auditorium doors. He waved at Halo who peeked her head between the silk curtains, wandering eyes looking at the empty seat beside Y/N.

“No. Hasn’t texted or answered his phone either,” Y/N was about to dial Harry’s contact once more in a desperate attempt to reach him. However, the dimming lights indicated that it was too late. Connor laced their fingers together, offering apologetic eyes and a tight-lipped smile; they would have to nurse a broken heart later tonight.

Harry was in the middle of buttoning his patterned shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror to silently judge his fashion choice for the night. Was it too much for a kids’ ballet recital? He deemed that it was, stretching his arms to remove the fabric adorning his chest, moving to grab the pink, flamingo patterned shirt instead. He took his time, granted that he had about an hour before the recital started.

He smoothed the fabric over his broad shoulders, pausing when Camille walked in. Harry locked his green eyes at her through the mirror as she walked to their shared bed, sitting at the foot of it.

“What d’ya think?”

She hummed in response, absentmindedly nodding in agreement when Harry asked if it was good. Both Camille and Harry had talked about his relationship with Halo as soon as she landed at the airport. He didn’t want to keep any secrets from her. Fortunately, Camille was very understanding of his situation, offering him support and encouragement to build a bond with his daughter.

What Camille didn’t reveal was that she was a bit antsy of Harry’s relationship with Y/N. She meant everything she had said to him, but it was no guarantee that Harry would ignite another connection with his ex-girlfriend. Not that Camille didn’t trust him. It was just a bit concerning because she believed that how a relationship starts is how it will end. Harry certainly had a history of straying away from his present partner.

Harry was currently in their walk-in closet, finding a pair of slacks that weren't too formal or casual. Camille mulled the thoughts in her head. She loved Harry dearly and would do anything for him. Well, anything except having children of their own. He had mostly accepted her decision, only wincing a little when the topic of a family was brought up by mutual friends and family once in a while.

Truth to be told, Camille was scared. She was afraid that Harry would leave for Y/N because she had Halo. They were the family that he had always wanted and although Camille wasn’t too keen on giving him the same; she was debating on it.

“How’s this, Cam?” Harry retreated with two pairs of pants. On one hand was a pair of straight-leg skinny jeans that he hadn’t worn in years. The other held brown, corduroy, striped slacks. “Or this one?”

She bit her lip, standing up slowly, walking over to him. “What do I think?”

He nodded, innocently jutting his bottom lip at her as he looked back and forth.

Camille swathed her hands on his shoulders, ghosting her mouth over his ear, “I think I like you better without them,” Her finger traced his collarbone, swirling at the dip of his throat. “Without anything,”

Harry gulped harshly. He felt Camille unbuttoning his shirt, gliding her palms downwards until she was cupping his bulge, “Camille, wait,” He flicked his watch to check the time. It took twenty minutes to get there, maybe even more with traffic and parking.

She dragged him to the bed by the ends of his opened shirt, locking her lips with his plush ones. He rested a knee on the mattress, his hands at the back of her head as Camille continued to pull him down.

Pulling away, Harry panted, “What are you doin’?” He laid his creased forehead on hers.

Camille supported herself on her hands, moving her face back until she was able to get a clear view of his perplexed expression, “I was thinking that maybe we could. . . try having a baby, H,” Her voice was soft, almost timid and she was doing her best not to break eye contact to show her sincerity.

Harry gasped in surprise, “Wha--? Really? Are you serious?” His tone gained a pitch as excitement enthralled his senses. The smile on his face was wide and reached his bright eyes. “Baby, are you sure?”

Camille nodded, grinning softly. “Yes,’

“Oh my--this is. . .,” Harry pulled at the locks of his hair, pacing around the room. “This is great! Our own family. Jesus. I can’t believe it,” Tears sprung on his corneas.

He kneeled between her legs, taking her wrist and pressing a gentle kiss on her skin, murmuring ‘I love you’ repeatedly.

“Are you going to keep doing that?” Camille asked, spreading her legs rhetorically. Harry observed her position, nodding enthusiastically.

Another glance at his watch indicated that Harry was absolutely pushing it with being late to Halo’s recital. Yet one enchanting kiss from Camille wiped his thoughts clean. He was getting what he wanted; a family of his own.

Harry puffed a breath of air from his plump lips, chest weighing heavy with the pressure that came from Camille’s head. Her blonde strands were splayed all over his inked chest, fingertips softly tracing over the detailed butterfly on his belly. The giant smile spread over his cheeks made the muscles hurt, yet Harry couldn’t help the expression from overtaking his face.

He was happy.

Camille nuzzled her face closer to him, only looking up when she felt Harry thread his digits through her hair, “Do you think we did it?”

Harry chuckled, wrinkling the skin under his chin as he captured her gaze, “If not, we can always try again, no?” He leaned over to press a kiss on her hairline, breathing deeply to catch the last scent of her shampoo.

The woman cast a glance over the shimmering metal-wrapped around Harry’s wrist, the hands of the watch ticking with each second passing by. “Wanna try again now?”

Harry blinked his lids, tired from their ministration. However, the enthralling feeling boiled from deep within his chest, excitement buzzing all over his vein. The throbbing itch on his fingertip had him doubting the events of today. Like a red shoe-string knot tied over his index, Harry felt like he was missing out on something important.

The discarded shirt laying limply on the floor had Harry’s thoughts humming with whispering desire. Was he too fascinated with the prospective idea of starting his own family that he forgot about the one he already had?

With that thought zooming in his brain, Harry sat up with intensity, accidentally jolting Camille’s upper half with a quiet ‘oomph’ slipping past her lips.

“Sorry! Sorry Cam,” Harry yelled over his shoulder, bending down to grab his shirt. He trudged down the steps, sliding his taut arms over the holes of the shirt as he scrambled to button the stubborn links to close the shirt.

He almost lost his balance on the last couple of steps because of his socked feet against the varnished wood, catching himself at the last minute with a ringed-hand clutching the railing tightly. Harry reached the foyer dresser where he kept his essentials--his keys and leather wallet--, patting down the back pocket of his dress pants to check if he had his phone with him.

Harry paused for a few seconds once he slammed the front door shut, catching his breath. He watched the last rays of sunset projecting over the horizon from where his mansion stood from the hills, wondering if he was too late. Clicking his phone on, Harry’s eyes bulged from the white letters bolding the time.

A few minutes left before Halo’s recital was yet to begin and Harry had to figure out some magical way to make his twenty-minute trek shortened into a mere five minutes. Not including the time he had already wasted frozen on his porch step because of idling fear creeping up his spine. He was scared because there was no way that Harry would be able to make it on time-- he knew that. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

Y/N cheered Halo on when the curtains swayed to reveal the tiny dancers. Her fluffy tutu made her look absolutely adorable as she stood on her tiptoes, gracing her arms over her head with a practiced smile on her face. The music from the speakers shifted the mood to gather the guests’ attention to the girls on stage, parents cooing at the sight of their small children dancing their hearts out.

Y/N was unofficially assigned to gesture with silent claps and bold thumbs ups’ whenever Halo happened to glance over in their direction. Connor squared his fingers to clutch the edges of his phone, the red button rippling as the time duration changed, recording the whole performance from start to finish.

Despite the fact that the dance classes’ media team made an announcement that a professional videographer would be capturing the whole thing, Y/N wasn’t going to let memories of her child be left in clear-cut transitions. Both her and Connor wanted the recital captured from their point of view. To be reminded of the time Halo rewarded their sleepless nights with a proud, gleaming smile because of how talented and well-rounded she was at such a young age---it was all worth it.

For a moment, Y/N was reminded of the empty seat beside her, the cushions cold and not at all moulded to the shape of Harry’s body. She wondered if his expression would mirror hers; brows drawn in, eyes wide and lips slightly agape as their little girl gave them a subtle wave before doing a twirl.

Y/N couldn’t help but notice Halo’s dimmed features when she caught sight of the gap beside her mum, her ballet slippers skidding of the varnished flooring of the stage, causing little Halo to stumble and fall hard on her knees. A loud thud echoed throughout the auditorium from the hollowness of the flooring, her head staring down at her hands, shoulders slouched as her tutu spread over her minuscule limbs.

Connor shifted his device lower, peaking over his hands to see the child glance around helplessly. Her lashes fluttered around the room; the concerned faces of the audience, her teachers’ gesticulate hands urging her to stand tall, and finally, to her parents’ gentle encouragement.

Y/N shared a quick look with Connor before the couple directed tender smiles to Halo.Y/N mouthed silent cheers, watching Halo’s lips morph upwards, green eyes gleaming against the reflection of the stage light. With one last hopefully glance at the doors, Halo’s pink tights stretched over her knees gathering the strength to push herself up. She shook her head, her adolescent thoughts wondering why she ever put her trust in Harry.

Halo didn’t even know him that well! He was just a person that showed her much of what she wanted, enabling her to the type of love that felt so natural to the point that she pondered why Harry hadn’t been there to drop her off on her first day of preschool. Or made pancakes for breakfast with the small breaks of flour fights in between while Y/N slept soundly in bed. Why Harry’s eyes were the same shade as hers and how her tiny fingers fit perfectly well on the dimples on his cheeks---the same one she had on her plush ones!

The pain in the child’s chest was confusing for her to fully comprehend, yet Halo understood enough that it had to do with Harry's absence in a performance that she was excited for him to attend. Halo tried her best not to look at where her parents stayed seated because she knew that that empty seat would make her lose focus and that was exactly what happened.

With the remaining minutes of the set, Halo blocked the sight of the unoccupied chair, opting to watch her parents instead until the set came to an end and she was to switch costumes for her the grand finale with the rest of the students later on in the evening.

Harry slammed the end of his palm against the leather material of the horn, honking blaring sounds that hurt his own ears. Cursing under his breath, he huffed at the driver who flipped him off for not running through the yellow light, causing Harry to get stuck behind him. He could’ve pressed on the pedal and speedily grasped through the next intersection. Albeit unsafe, but that was the last thing on Harry’s mind.

The digital clock on the dash switched to ten minutes after the performance. Harry was hoping that there was some sort of technical difficulties that pushed the designated time back. Possibly rowdy parents were unable to find their seats because of excitement. And as ashamed as Harry was, he hoped that a child had thrown a fit about performing because that always ate uptime.

His fingertips tapped in a staccato pattern against the rim of the wheel while the other pinched the skin of his bottom lip between his index and thumb. Sweat formed on his hairline, only then did he notice the heat turned up to the highest level from the night before. Harry adjusted the knob, feeling immense coolness from the air vents, thinking once more when the light turned green.

It was an asshole move to honk 0.001 before the light turned green, but every nerve in his being urged Harry to move faster and quicker. He really wished that he could snap his fingers to erase the traffic ahead of him, his mind immediately crossing the bridge to wonder if there was even any parking at the lot--but that was a problem that he’ll handle once he gets out of the congested roadway.

Harry knew better than to text and drive, knowing that his attention span wasn’t meant to be split. Not when his gaze was wild on the road, eyes bouncing back and forth from the time to the seemingly endless traffic. He attached his phone on the car mount, speaking hoarsely to ask Siri to ‘call Y/N’

After the call went straight to voicemail, Harry spewed the words clawing up his throat, “Hello? Y/N? It’s Harry. I’m sorry that I didn’t make it on time. S-something came up and I’m runnin’ a bit late--fucking shit!”

His foot slammed hard on the brake pedal when a sneaky traffic light switched to red. “Sorry I-I’m almost there,”

The beep sounded a few seconds after. Harry was grateful because he had no more words to say after that, realizing that whatever he had to say had to be spoken in person. It was much more sincere--and with the way, his chest was being burdened with guilt---apologies over the phone were never going to fix this.

“Mumma! Dada!” Halo squealed, running over to the both of them. Y/N and Connor were down on one knee, greeting Halo from her height with an engulfing hug with the child in the middle.

The medal on her chest bounced against her body, wrapping her short arms around both of their necks. The couple showered her chubby cheeks with endless kisses, making Halo giggle with delight.

“I’m so proud of you, angel,” Y/N spoke, grazing a thumb over her hairline. Connor handed her a mini-bouquet of flowers which she accepted with glee. “Thank you!”

The dance teacher, Mrs. Dabney, approached the couple armed with compliments for little Halo.

“She truly does deserve that award. Halo comes to class with a friendly aura. Always eager to learn,” Mrs. Dabney shared, evoking a heartwarming feeling in both Connor and Y/N. “You two did a great job raising her,”

Y/N blushed, glancing in amazement at her child. Connor chuckled, kissing Y/N’s temple, “It’s mostly her doing. Such an angel,”

Halo’s grip loosened the slightest bit on Y/N’s and Connor’s hand, zoning out when the adults got into specifics of the choreography and future tuition prices due to the expansion of the dance studio. Looking around to see the families celebrating with the performers, Halo couldn’t help but let curiosity take over her.

Where was Harry?

“It was great seeing you guys,” Mrs. Dabney concluded, rubbing Y/N’s shoulder softly.

Connor examined the emptying room, seeing the families exit through the doors, probably heading out for dinner. The rumbling of his tummy reminded him he was hungry too.

“Ready to go, love?” He asked. Y/N nodded, pursing her lips at Halo’s sad expression.

“Yeah, it’d be best to take this off of her mind,” She kneeled down to Halo’s level, lifting her wobbly chin. Y/N’s heart shattered upon seeing the teary irises staring back at her, “He didn’t come, Mumma. Hawwy didn’t come,”

Halo’s tiny whimpers were a stab to the heart, nearly dropping her mini-bouquet as she sobbed into her mothers’ arms. Her salty tears damped the skin of her neck. “I know, bubba,”

Y/N made eye contact with Connor, who offered her a sympathetic smile, stroking the nape of Halo’s neck in a comforting manner.

Connor crouched down as well, muttering quiet phrases of ‘it’s okay, angel. “How about we get something cake, yeah? ‘Know y’like those, don’t you?”

Halo lifted her splotchy face-off of Y/N, swiping a small finger under her eyes. “A cake?

Her pretty pupils dilated with the light, as well as the prospective concept of her favourite treat dangling under her nose. “Yeah, baby. A chocolate cake,” Y/N voiced out, aiming to remove the pain from the little girls’ heart.

“That’s right, Halo. You can have as much as you’d like,”

Y/N squinted her eyes, she really wasn’t up to a sugar-high Halo nearing bedtime but she guesses it was better than nursing a mopey one. Connor mouthed a ‘what?’, his grin betraying him.

“Alright, let’s go,”

Harry frantically rammed his thumb on the key fob to lock his car. The latch of the door barely grazed past the edge of his sleeve before it slammed shut. He inhaled deeply, not taking notice of the nearly empty parking lot as he ran as fast as he could. Harry’s many experienced years of physical activity--including yoga, football (soccer) and early morning jogs-- have made this so much easier on his calves and asthmatic lungs.

“Fuck,” He whispered out, tightly closing his eyes, backtracking the progress he had made. He unlocked the car, hastily walking over to the passenger’s side to retrieve Honey the Bear situated on the leather seat. With the stuffed animal gripped tightly in his hand, Harry boosted his speed once again towards the entrance.

He stopped in his tracks abruptly when a family opened the door from the inside, almost hitting him square in the nose if his fast reflexes didn’t halt his frame. Harry smiled apologetically, large hands clasping in front of him as he bowed slightly to show sincerity. He could see the flash of recognition whizz past the man’s eyes.

Before he could say anything, the little girl coming to about hip level tugged on his pants, reflecting his attention to her. Harry quickly slipped past the opening, adjusting his vision to the dim lighting. He jogged down the slanted flooring, the carpet aiding him not to skid, especially since he was not wearing sneakers.

Harry panted with exertion, feeling the uneasiness weighing in from the tips of his fingertips, buzzing through his forearms and embedding itself in his taut biceps. His shoulders slumped, using his arms to propel himself towards the front faster. The emptiness of the room should already tell him what he was frightened to face. However, Harry wouldn’t let this stop him.

He dashed straight to the backstage area, not caring if he was caught since he really wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. Still clutching the toy in his palms, he peeked his head in every room he found only to conclude that it was barren of life, lights switched off and the only sound that echoed was the radio somewhere in the area.

Harry could feel his slim hopes dwindle down the drain. He rested his lumbar on the wooden stage, staring at the Honey the Bear and wondering if it was worth it to miss Halo’s recital for selfish reasons. But was it really selfish?

Halo would have a half-sibling. She would be an older sister. Surely, it wasn’t too selfish of a deed, right?

He sighed lowly. Disappointment showing with the way Harry closed his green eyes in realization. The sound of rolling wheels snapped him out of his destructive thoughts, making contact with the janitor sweeping the dusted floor covered in pink confetti and ruffles. The broom shifted the dirt into one area.

The janitor took note of the paper that Harry held in his hand--his ticket that granted him access to the venue. “A bit late, huh?”

Harry chuckled bitterly at the sarcastic humour. Of course, he was too late, emphasized by the emptiness of the room and the barren reverberation of his voice.

“Just a bit, I guess.”

“Got a lot to make up for, then?” The man asked him, whistling during the pauses they took in the conversation.

Harry nodded, nudging his chin outwards. “S’messy out there, yeah?”

“After every show,”

Harry glanced around at the amount of tidying there was to do, halting suddenly at the row near the stage. He briskly walked over the little ways towards the spot, focusing his gaze on the stickman drawing on the blank paper, moving slightly with the wind.

“Harry”

The label at the centre of the page was capitalized in black marker with stars around his name. Brown circles of curly hair rested on the oblong shaped face that Halo had drawn. His arms, legs and body were thin lines but the smile on the drawings’ face was wide--similar to the one Halo had drawn in her bedroom. The sheet was crumbled, creasing more with the compression of Harry’s grip.

He messed up. Really bad.

With a sleeping Halo nuzzled under the crook of Connor’s arm, the little family cuddle on the soft cushions of the couch with a Barbie Mermaidia movie playing on the screen.

It was only about halfway through the plot when Halo fell asleep. Her hair was freshly washed, smelling like grapefruit and berries. The tendrils of her hair were released from the tight bun which sat at the top of her head for the majority of the night.

Her tired body was exhausted from the activities of the day, begging for relaxation and sleep that came easily with the way her tummy was filled with yummy food. Halo mumbled something in her sleep when the doorbell rang. The loud sound ringing through the house.

Connor hummed in his sleep, shifting his neck to rest more comfortably on the neck of the couch. Y/N rubbed her eyes clearly, checking the time and wondering who could possibly be ringing the doorbell at this hour. She stretched her arms over her head, releasing a sleepy yawn.

She stuffed her feet into her slippers, shuffling the soft footwear towards the front door. Y/N peaked through the hole to find Harry’s face filled with worry. Rolling her eyes, Y/N unlocked the barricade, swinging the door open.

“What do you want?”

“Look, before you say anything,”

Harry paused, looking up at Y/N with a pleading gaze.

“I told you not to hurt her. I told you that you had one chance and you messed that up,”

“I know but I was--” Harry shut his mouth instantly. What was his excuse?

Y/N raised a brow, annoyance wafting from her body language and the firm tone of her voice. “Well?”

He gulped hard, shown by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “There was traffic. . .”

The woman in front of him laughed humorously, “Oh there was traffic? That’s what you’re going with? You could’ve left your house early, you know?”

He agreed with her, “I know, but I--Camille, s-she told me--”

“Camille?’

Y/N crossed her arms, kicking off the doorframe where she previously rested her body.

Scratching the nape of his neck nervously, Harry meekly responded. “Camille said that she wanted to start a family. She didn’t want to before but she must’ve changed her mind,”

Harry’s usually syrupy speech increased in speed. The information swirling around Y/N’s head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. He missed his daughter’s recital for what?

Y/N shook her head to herself. There was absolutely no way that she could get herself to think that Harry was capable of doing that but the facts were stacking up against him.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” She spoke, hating the way a pleading tone was drifting in and out. “Oh God, you did!”

Harry didn’t say anything; he could barely move. He stayed stoic and let his silence do the talking.

“You missed your daughter’s recital to have sex?” Y/N said incredulously, trying to keep her volume down to no wake up the sleeping individuals in the living room. “You’re despicable,”

“Y/N, you have to understand. I just wanted--,” Harry paused, his gaze landing on the small child creeping behind her mum.

Y/N snapped her neck to look behind her, seeing Halo walking over towards them in the chilly night air. “I’m sorry, did Mumma wake you up, bub?” She stroked her head softly, feeling Halo nod.

“Hawwy?”

“Hi, my love,” Harry greeted, crouching down to get closer to her. However, the child moved away from him, hiding behind her mothers’ leg. Harry felt the pinch in his heart at the action.

“You didn’t go,” Halo said, stating the obvious, yet both Harry and Y/N knew that the statement ran deeper beneath the surface. “You pwomised Mumma you’d come. I was waiting fo’ you,”

“I know, baby,” He cooed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t make it, angel. I promise I’ll come to the next one,”

Y/N snickered under her breath, like hell she was inviting him again. Harry stared at her briefly with pain in his eyes.

“Look who I brought,” He revealed Honey the Bear in her sight, giving a smile in hopes that that would make everything better. Halo merely stared at the toy in his hand, a sad pout on her lips. She was even hesitant to make eye contact with Harry.

With a bit of coaxing, Halo took the bear from Harry, inspecting the animal with a careful gaze before throwing it on the dirty ground. Y/N tensed at the action while Harry audibly gasped.

“I don’t want it and I don’t want you!” Halo ran back inside the house, disappearing through the wall that separated the living room.

Harry slowly picked up the dirtied fur, holding it by the clean area. Y/N felt bad for him but she knew that he deserved it. There was only so much she can do to console the child to forgive him and Halo was pretty adamant about not doing so from their talk earlier.

“I hope it was worth it, Harry.”

“No no no, please. Give me one more chance,” Harry slumped his knobby knees on the welcome mat, grasping at Y/N’s exposed ankles from the short stature of her pyjama pants.

Y/N tried to kick him off, but he was insisting. “Get off of me, Harry!”

“Not until you give me another chance. I can fix this,”

“No, you can’t,” Y/N stayed firm, “I made it very clear that if you hurt her, it’s over. And you did. Over what? So you can have sex while Halo spent her time looking for you? Do you know how helpless I felt seeing the way she looked at the door, hoping that you would walk through?”

Harry expected that, but it did not do grace to the guilt that was mounting.

“She fell, Harry. Halo stumbled on her spin and she fell because she saw the empty seats beside me and saw that you weren’t there,”

Harry stood up to his full height, staring at Y/N and waiting for her to tell him that it was all made up. “I-I didn’t mean to,”

“Of course, you didn’t. You never mean anything, do you, Harry?” Y/N stated exasperatedly, “You didn’t mean it when you said you loved me, that we would wed and that we would start a family. You didn’t mean jack-shit when you promised not to hurt Halo--your daughter--but you did. You didn’t mean it then and you don’t mean it now. So please, save both of us the energy because we both know that you’ll break it over and over again,”

“T-that’s not true,”

“Is it not? You hurt me. I’m still hurting from what you did to me and I tried so hard to protect Halo from you. I gave you a chance because I couldn’t take the burden that Halo might never meet her real father and this is what you do?” Y/N closed the door behind her when she took notice of her voice rising.

“All you do is hurt people, Harry! You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You wanted a family so bad that you leave the one you could’ve had to start a new one,”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry said more firmly. “You would’ve never let me back into your life and you know it,”

“That’s not the point! I wanted you to be present in her life, not mine,” Y/N coughed a little, lifting a balled fist towards her mouth, “We have a child together for God’s sake. I love you, Harry. I still do and I don’t think I’ll ever stop because every time I look at Halo, I’m reminded of you. The good, the bad, the happy and painful memories. I can see it all playing in my head when she looks at me with those big green eyes or gives me a smile and your dimple pops into my mind,”

Y/N sighed, “I love you but I know my limit. I wanted you around for Halo, and now--I understand why we would have never worked out. You’re too selfish,”

“Selfish? That’s hardly fair, love. I tried my best, didn’t I?”

“That’s not enough. You’re too enthralled by the idea of this perfect family that you run back and forth between Halo and I or Camille. When the other doesn’t play out the way that you want, you change gears so fast to the other. That’s selfish in and of itself.”

Y/N lingered her hand on the golden doorknob, twisting the mechanic to open the door. “You can’t just leave when things don’t go your way, Harry. That’s not how it works.”

“What does?” Harry stuttered out.

“That’s not how love works,” Y/N smiled sadly, looking into his eyes as if trying to take him back to their relationship years prior. “That’s not how a family works.”

Harry’s expression crumpled, wrinkled his eyes and dampened his rosy cheeks.

“I hope you find your happiness one day, Harry. It wasn’t with me and it’s not with Halo. Wherever it is, don’t mess it up as you did with us.”

Harry was rendered speechless.

His mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. The arm of Honey the Bear dangling from his fingertips as he watched the door shut behind her.

Over the years, Harry had tried desperately to get in contact with Y/N and Halo. All he wanted was his family back. His relationship with Camille was spiralling down the drain with each passing day, dwindling hopelessly, and Harry felt helpless.

He had overheard that Y/N and Connor had moved houses-- somewhere a few miles away. He had persuaded her old landlady to give him her forwarding address, and he had flown out that very weekend. He wanted his family back-- no, he desperately needed them.

He doesn't know what exactly he's expecting when he shows up at the doorstep, but Y/N's harsh tone of voice and unwelcoming demeanour was not it. He had hoped-- prayed, that there might be a sliver of a chance that she might forgive him; that Halo might forgive him. He hadn't seen the little girl since that night; Y/N hadn't allowed it.

"Come here again and there will be a restraining order sitting on your doorstep, Harry, I promise you that. And unlike some people, I keep my promises."

"A restraining order--? Y/N that's not fair!"

"Take it up legally if you'd like. Want to have a custody battle? Bring it on. Let's see whose side the judge is on after they find out that you cheated on me while I was pregnant with Halo."

"I didn't know you were bloody pregnant, dammit!" He yelled, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Oh wow! That makes it all better! You didn't know I was pregnant so you cheated on me. Nice. Great going, Harry!"

"Please for heaven's SAKE stop fucking calling me that!"

"Get out, Harry. Leave. I don't want you here. She doesn't either. And if you think I'm joking about getting a restraining order-- think again. I'm serious. Do not come near my daughter."

"She's my daughter too!," He all but shouted, "you can't keep her away from me!"

"Watch me."

And with that, she slams the door shut in his face, ignoring his incessant knocking and pleading through the wooden panel.

It was years later.

It was a cold February morning, and Harry was fresh out of a hot shower, and he put on a woollen jumper to keep from freezing.

The weather was distasteful, dull and cold, but a smile pulled on Harry's lips. It was her birthday. His little girl's birthday. So what if he hadn't seen her in 10 years? So what if Y/N hadn't spoken to him in a decade? Tears stung in his eyes at the thought that he was missing yet another of his baby girl's birthdays. Except, she wasn't really a baby anymore. She turned 13 today.

There was nobody on the planet he felt more love for than that little girl, of that he was certain.

So when Harry sat down with his letter pad and ink pen, his thoughts drifted to the short span of time he had spent with her. He reminisced on her sweet smile, the tiny dimple that carved into her cheek. Her tiny lips quirked into open-mouthed laughter. He walked to his closet and picked up Honey the Bear from among his clothes.

"Hi," he grinned, talking to the bear as if he were 5.

He sat the bear in his lap and sat at his dining table, and began to write. To his daughter, his little love. He knew that a letter wouldn't make up for what he'd put her through. He didn't even know if he was going to send her this letter, or if Y/N would let her read it.

But what's the harm in trying?

From 'Hawwy',

Hi, my love

______

Reading this again brought a lot of emotions to the surface

[sithsecrets]

exchange | din djarin x reader

the crest’s one and only crewmember buys mando a few shirts, and he gives her a gift in return.

---

2k words

mentions: none, this is fluff!

this is part 1 of my valentine’s week special! you can find the other parts here!

---

You take notice of it when you’re doing the laundry.

Mando’s got the Crest cruising through hyperspace, course set for Nevarro, and you’re catching on up on chores in the meantime. The baby’s three little outfits are clean and stain-free, you’ve set aside a pair of your own pants for mending, and Mando… Mando, you come to find out, has two shirts. Total. As in, two shirts including the one he’s currently wearing under his armor. You know he had more than that the last time you did the washing, but— but shit, he got cut by a quarry last week, and another one of his beat-up long-sleeves ripped and bit the dust shortly after that. So yep, Mando’s small wardrobe is now even smaller, and that makes you sigh. Even now, the brown cloth you have in your hands feels thin and worn, rough fibers catching your fingers every now and then. You think about telling Mando that he needs some new clothes, but you know he’ll just put it off or insist that whatever he has now is fine. And so you decide that you’ll resolve the issue yourself, knowing that something from the bazaar will probably do.

Sure enough, you find just what you need. The textile vendor says he can match Mando’s measurements without a problem after you show him Mando’s singular extra shirt, and a droid whips up the garments for you right there. You come away with two black and two brown, all long-sleeves and all made from the same material Mando seems to preder. Two are a bit thicker than the others— something for him to wear in the cold— and you decide that they’ll do nicely for his needs. Back on the Crest, you leave the stack of clothes on Mando’s bed and then promptly forget about them, distracted by the baby’s antics further back in the hull.

Mando asks you about the shirts later, holding the stack out to you like he’s looking for an explanation.

“What are these?” he asks, and you’re too busy with dinner to make a big deal of it.

“Those are for you,” you tell him, cutting the heat under the stew you’re making. The baby’s trying to get his hands in the pot, so you snatch him up, settling the little green boy on your hip as you add the finishing touches on tonight’s meal. “I realized you had like, two shirts when I was doing laundry on the way here.”

Mando sounds absolutely floored. “You bought these for me?”

That earns him a little laugh, and you hand him the baby. “No, Mando, I stole them off an Imperial transport vessel. Yes, I bought them for you! What kind of crewmember would I be if I let you run around looking ragged?”

“I…” Mando trails off, settling the Child in his arms. “Thank you.”

And then the two of you don’t talk about it again, the matter quickly forgotten in the midst of the evening ritual and your departure from Nevarro.

Week later, the Crest touches down on a distant planet, a place you’ve never been that Mando knows well. He tells you that the three of you will be spending some time here, and that makes you happy. It seems like a nice place, and the locals are kind.

Two days into this little excursion, you’re about to crawl in bed, only or stop short when you see a little satin pouch sitting on top of the covers. It’s pale blue, blue like the sky on your home planet, and no bigger than your palm. Curious, you pick it up gently, examining the little white embroidery on the edge, the way the drawstring pulls the fabric together just so. It pulls open easily, and you dump the contents into your palm without a second thought.

Scores of pale, pearly little beads glint in the light, strung neatly on a thin, delicate chain. Nothing about the trinket is particularly special, but it’s the simplicity that makes it stunning, in your eyes. You’ve had jewelry over the course of your lifetime, naturally, but never anything so dainty and pretty as this. The beads and the way they’re strung are styles unique to this planet, and you’ve seen countless people wearing necklaces similar to this one over the past few days.

There’s only one person that could have placed this here for you to find, and you go up to the cockpit to speak with him not five minutes after his gift falls in your hand.

Mando’s a bit busy when you go up there, fiddling with something on his vambrace in the pilot’s chair. You feel a little shy as you come to stand before him, the string of beads dangling from your fingers.

“Did you buy me this?” you ask softly, and that’s when Mando finally looks up at you.

“I—” The helmet tilts in the direction of your hand, and it’s like he’s a whole different person. Mando becomes nervous, back stiffening in his chair as he looks from you, to the necklace, and then back again. “I, um. Yeah, I did.”

Just hearing him say it makes you feel lightheaded, but you tell yourself not to get your hopes up. “What for?”

Mando stutters terribly, but he does manage to give you an explanation. “You— Well, you got me those shirts a few weeks ago, and you take good care of the baby. And the ship. And me. I just— I thought you’d like it, that’s all.”

You study the beads carefully for a moment, admiring the way they shimmer in your hand.

“I don’t just like it,” you declare, “I love it.”

And then you’re threading Mando’s give around your neck, reaching behind your head to do up the clasp. The jewelry is just as light as you thought it would be, sitting daintily against your collarbones. Mando watches you do all of this, and not the hundredth time do you wish you could see his face.

“Thank you, Mando, really.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

---

“Ah, so my suspicions were correct.”

The sound of the fruit vendors voice catches your attention, and you find yourself face-to-face with her satisfied smile when you lift your head up. You’ve been doing business with her every so often for almost a week now, always intrigued by the selection she has to offer. She also likes the baby, and he’s more than happy to coo at her for a free morsel or two.

“Excuse me?” you blurt, completely lost here. The old woman shakes her head at you, white braid swishing from side to side behind her back, and the smile on her face only deepens.

“Your necklace, child,” she says, pointing at the beads strung around your throat. You touch it on impulse, the baby wriggling in your other arm, and grow even more confused.

“I don’t understand,” you tell her, feeling stupid now, but the old woman just laughs. Her wrinkled fingers are soft on your cheek, the mirth in her eyes unmistakable.

“You don’t have to be secretive with me, my dear,” she chuckles, “I knew you were the Mandalorian’s woman from the minute I saw the both of you together. No man watches a woman that closely if he doesn’t care for her. And now he’s gotten you a necklace, so.”

She punctuates this with a shrug, behaving as if the meaning of your new accessory should be obvious, and you think you might actually pass out.

“I—” You huff, grasping for the right words. “I’m not— I don’t know the ways of this planet,” you say finally, mostly because it’s the truth and mostly because you don’t know how to so much as mention anything else the fruit vendor’s said.

It feels like you’ve been slapped across the face, like someone picked you up and shook you and until your brain rattled around too hard in your skull. Mando knows this place, he knows this city... Custom and culture are sacred to him, even if they have nothing to do with his own, and you find it difficult to believe that Mando gave you this gift without first considering its meaning. This is the man who speaks with the Tuskens, a man who has committed himself to a creed, a man who never wants to be rude or imposing unless he’s dealing with an enemy—

No. No, Mando definitely bought this for you on purpose.

In the thirty seconds it takes for you to form these thoughts, the fruit vendor comes to realize that your confusion was no act. You must look terrible, for she puts a hand on your arm as if to keep you upright.

“My dear, surely— I mean, the two of you care for this baby, and he is always watching over you. I simply thought there was something there, several people in this market did. Forgive me, please, I had no idea—”

“No, no, forgive me,” you blurt, rushing to reassure the woman that she has caused no offense. “I had no idea what these meant. I would have— Maker above, I should have—”

The old woman’s bewilderment matches your own, and you realize that you’re raving like a lunatic.

“I have to go!”

And then you are going, going and going until you’re back on the Crest. The baby seems content to laze about in his pram, thank the stars, and you put him down almost without a second thought, mind racing a thousand kilometers a second. You clamor up to the cockpit like a woman possessed, the noise movement drawing you there. Sure enough, Mando’s right where you thought he would be, parked in his pilot’s chair and fiddling with something on one of his blasters. He doesn’t even turn to look at you when you come up, completely calm despite your frantic movement.

“How was the—?”

“Why did you buy me this?” you cut, bisecting his question with one of your own. Mando’s hands still at once, and he tucks the gun back in the holster at his side.

“Someone told you,” he declares, finally turning to face you. All you can do is nod, heart beating so hard it almost hurts. You can almost taste it, this thing you’ve been wanting for months now, it’s right there on your tongue— but you don’t want to speak, don’t want to be the first one to suggest it. It’s never worked out for you in the past, and with a man like Mando thrown into the equation, you’re not sure what that kind of bravery might get you.

Mando sighs, heavy and tired. You watch him more closely than you’ve watched anyone before in your life as he stands, coming to face you. It’s cramped in this little room, and if you took even just half a step forward, the two of you would be pressed flush. He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there and stands there until you can’t take it anymore.

“If you didn’t mean it like that, Mando, it’s fine, but I just want to know—”

“I… I’m not good at talking.” These first words have you cutting yourself short, and Mando continues like you never spoke in the first place. “To people, I mean. I can do what I need to do to conduct business, but other than that, I’m useless when it comes to things like this.”

“You talk to the baby,” you offer, and Mando nods.

“I do talk to the baby. Sometimes I even talk to you, but not enough.” He takes in a deep breath, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. “That’s why I did this.”

Mando runs his fingers along the beads at your throat, and it takes all you have not to fall down.

“This… This said everything for me. Or it was supposed to, at least.”

You melt at that, shoulders sagging. “Mando, I didn’t know, not until today.”

“I know,” he says companionably. “It’s not your fault I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” you declare, shaking your head. Mando brings his hand up, pressing it to your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life.

“If I’m not a coward, what am I then?”

All you can do is smile. “You’re mine.”

[sonnet009]

Wilder: Amir’s Story (Route Summary)

PROLOGUE:

MC decides to flee Ziya alone. A rotund wine merchant named Barlow offers her a timely rescue, smuggling her out in one of the wagons in his caravan. On their journey across the Shining Sands MC learns that Barlow is a wealthy and ambitious man who can afford not only a team of djinn guards but even a pleasure slave. It is this pleasure slave who warns MC that Barlow intends to ransom her back to Ziya and urges her to leave the caravan. Though MC suspects the surly Jamal just wants to no longer share his wagon, she takes his advice and flees from Barlow under cover of darkness.

CHAPTER I:

A sandstorm drives MC up into the Western Hills. There she is captured by a tribe of wild djinn and presented to the tribe's chief, Amir, who takes great interest in her and decides, instead of killing her, to keep her as some sort of prisoner. MC cannot understand the djinn tongue and Amir cannot speak hers, and so their interactions are fraught with misunderstandings, frustration, and mistrust.

As her time with the tribe passes MC is treated with contempt by most of them, attempts an unsuccessful escape, and continues to butt heads with Amir – an arrogant man-child with no manners as far as she can tell. She also meets Hani – an older ex-slave who is also an outcast among the tribe. Hani speaks both the human and djinn tongue and, being a kind woman, starts translating for MC and Amir. As MC and Amir start trying by themselves to learn parts of each other's language, their relationship begins to slowly improve.

Every night after dinner Amir will tell animated, theatrical tales for the enjoyment of his tribe, while Hani translates them for MC. Hani also teaches her things about the tribe, such as the fact that Amir went from orphan to the youngest and strongest rahki (chief) in the Hills, and how MC should watch out for Amir's closest friend, the hateful and vicious Kherga.

CHAPTER II:

Amir decrees that MC is no longer a captive but a guest of the tribe, allowing her freedom to move about the camp. This is an unpopular decision among his people, especially with Kherga. As the days and weeks pass, MC spends time with many of the tribe, pitching in with chores, and finds that not only is she growing stronger and hardier but that some of the tribe members seem to be warming to her – and she to them.

One morning a hunting party, led by Kherga, is about to head out. Amir impulsively invites MC to join, to Kherga's disgust. MC fails rather spectacularly at hunting a wild boar and cuts her legs on an undergrowth of thorns – the hunters find this uproariously funny. Amir takes MC to a nearby river where she can wash her injury while he leaps into the water and splashes around like a child. He tries to coax her in as well and is dismayed to learn that she cannot swim. In turn, MC learns that Amir is picking up the human tongue much quicker than she the djinn tongue. He acts the immature fool, but he is very intelligent and an enthusiastic learner.

After bonding, the two return to camp. The atmosphere turns dark. Kherga holds court and has been whipping the tribe into an angry frenzy. MC doesn't need to speak the language to know that her continued presence here is the main cause of contention. Kherga challenges Amir's leadership and the two fight. But when some of the djinn grab MC in the chaos, Amir immediately abandons the challenge to force them to release her. As the tribe surrounds the two of them it is clear that Amir has lost his place as chief. He throws MC over his shoulder and runs, pursued by his former brothers and sisters, until he reaches the mountains known as the Knives – a place where the tribe will not follow.

CHAPTER III:

As soon as they are clear of the tribe Amir just stops and sits on the ground, shattered by disbelief and grief. MC believes the coup to be her fault but Amir is quietly firm that it is his. They have nowhere to go but forward, so they journey on. Amir is despondent and distracted; entirely unlike the djinn that MC had been getting to know.

Suddenly Amir goes entirely still, alert in a way he hasn't been for days now. He has sensed Hamza and his men approaching from behind. A battle ensues in which Amir brutally takes down any man who dares attack him – and MC does her own share of violence, shocking herself. But when Hamza is at his mercy Amir refuses to kill a helpless foe and instead takes MC's hand and starts running. Newly alive and euphoric from battle Amir pulls MC into a kiss – then, once the adrenaline fades, collapses from his wounds.

MC and Amir shelter in a cave while she tends to his injuries. He requests more lessons in the human tongue while he recovers and in return she asks for more traditional djinn stories. They are soon on the move again and make it to the other side of the Knives. As they continue on their journey they share more stories and lessons – and learn that there is a particular insult that both their cultures share. “Ki bo ki,” Amir teaches MC. “Fuck yourself,” she teaches him in turn.

CHAPTER IV:

Amir follows MC even past the Knives, into the farmland on the other side. He has nowhere else to go and neither seem to want to part just yet. He is also as excited as a child to see so many new sights. The two run into a blind woman on the road and help lift her cart out of a ditch. In thanks, she offers them lunch.

Once they reach the lady's farm she offers them both some of her produce and some clothes for Amir – at MC's request. Amir hates the shirt and he doubly hates the trousers, but MC insists that he keep them on while they are in human lands.

On the road again it isn't too long before they are waylaid by bandits who demand all their money, possessions, and Amir himself. Amir doesn't understand what is happening until MC explains the situation to him, after which he confidently tells the bandits to fuck themselves. After easily defeating the men, Amir and MC go through their ill-gotten belongings and find some broken slave bands. Amir agrees to wear them in order to fool any humans they may meet in the town ahead, but both he and MC feel disgusted by the performance.

CHAPTER V:

Now in the port town of Dijarah, Amir is amazed by the place but simply does not blend in. A man who takes offence to Amir spits at his feet, shocking the former rahki who has never been so affronted or so lost. He and MC stop at an inn for dinner, sharing a table despite the taboo, and learn that they have come to town on the right night – the Fish Festival is tonight.

Neither MC or Amir have ever attended a festival and let their excitement and curiosity overpower their common sense. When night falls they walk the now colourful streets, enjoying the food stalls, the games, and... the alcohol. Another first. They sit together at the water's edge and share another kiss, this one not fuelled by adrenaline but their shared sorrow at the thought of parting. MC shares the whole story of her escape from Ziya and journey to Umar. Amir vows to see MC safely onto a ship but then he must return home to the Hills, to seek justice and redemption with his tribe.

The fall asleep there by the water and wake wrapped around each other and facing the bemusement of the dock worker who finds them. MC finds a ship heading for Umar but is reluctant to book passage and say goodbye to Amir right then and there. Amir feels the same, casually suggesting breakfast in an attempt to distract her. But things are soon thrown into chaos as Hamza appears, spotting them and giving chase. Amir helps MC hide in a crate being loaded onto the ship from before, gives her knuckles a kiss, then leads Hamza away through the crowd. As the crate is loaded onto the ship, MC waits in the dark. A stowaway. Alone.

CHAPTER VI:

MC hides in the cargo hold, the ship having left port. She is alone, hopelessly worried about Amir, and heartbroken to know that she will never see him again. Then he pops out of the crate next to hers exclaiming, “MC!” and clapping his hand over her mouth to muffle her startled scream. Turns out he lost Hamza and doubled back to join her, unable to leave things as they were. Their days as stowaways begin. They pass time with stories and Amir finally tells MC about the expectation his tribe had for him to take a mate, and how it was part fascination and part rebellion that led him to claim MC as his when she was brought before him.

The confinement soon takes its toll on Amir who hates being unable to see the sky. MC makes him promise to stay hidden but he soon breaks it, discovered by sailors who take him before the ship's captain. MC follows in a panic and offers all the money she has – but the captain is surprisingly friendly, saying Amir has told him of her plight and that he is happy to give them passage to freedom in Umar. He gives them a cabin and asks in return only that MC remembers him and mentions him to all of her highborn friends and family as the gracious captain that saved her life.

One night there is a terrible storm. MC finds Amir up on deck, naked, arms outstretched, face raised to the rain. As the thunder and lightning crack around them, MC and Amir embrace passionately. They spend the night together in their cabin, primal desperation eventually turning to gentle intimacy, and fall asleep as close as two people can be.

CHAPTER VII:

Upon arrival in Umar the captain directs MC and Amir to a safe place to stay called Minerva's. It soon becomes apparent that Minerva's is a pleasure house. They stay the night anyway, though Amir barricades their door with heavy furniture just to be safe from everyone's... rapt attention. In the morning a free djinn called Royo appears to escort them to her employer, the merchant-turned-lord Yasir. It seems the good captain tried to sell them out but, fortunately for them, Yasir has no interest in cooperating with Ziya.

At Yasir's estate there is one more surprise waiting – Uncle Makram. He and MC share a tearful reunion and he vows that he will keep her safe from now on. MC also makes him promise to ensure Amir is returned safely to his homeland. Bemused, Makram agrees. The arrival of a righteous and unstoppable Hamza breaks the peace of Yasir's estate. He demands that MC be turned over to his custody immediately.

Makram is the one to stand up to Hamza. He calls in the Heartseer who long ago proclaimed MC guilty of murder and has him confess to lying about what he saw – though he will answer none of Hamza's questions as to why. Makram, Hamza and Yasir go to another room and, when they return, Hamza seems cowed and ground under Makram's heel. Though still clearly disturbed, he apologises to MC and declares her innocent.

CHAPTER VIII:

MC, Amir, Makram, and Hamza are journeying back to Ziya together. They are currently passing through the Shining Sands in a carriage manned by a driver generously gifted by Yasir. When they pass close by to the Hills, the carriage stops to allow Amir to disembark.

Amir and MC stand in the starlight, sand under their feet, and know that this time they must say goodbye. MC asks for one last story and Amir tells her the tale of two legendary djinn lovers and the reysoko (blood bond) they shared by marking each other's flesh and drinking each other's blood, making them inseparable by even death. Unable to embrace under the scrutiny of the others MC and Amir must then simply say farewell and part ways. Amir heads off, up towards the Hills. MC returns to the carriage.

As the journey to Ziya continues through the night, MC suddenly realises that Hamza is no longer sitting out beside the driver. She forces Makram to admit what he, Yasir and Hamza discussed in that private room back in Umar – a plan to blame the shah's murder on a djinn plot, claiming that Ran was an assassin from Amir's tribe. As they speak, Hamza has met with a squad of his best men and they are following Amir's tracks to lead them to his people. MC slaps her uncle and leaps from the carriage, unhitching a horse and riding as fast as she can back towards the Hills to warn Amir and the tribe.

CHAPTER IX:

But by the time MC makes it to the camp there are already signs of a razing. Some djinn lie dead. Hani is leading many of the survivors in an attempt to avoid the soldiers by moving about the forest – as she knows the human tongue she alone is able to eavesdrop on their plans and work around them. MC leads a squad of Hamza's men away from them and into the undergrowth of thorns that she once blundered into, back when she briefly lived here.

She finds Hamza and Kherga, surrounded by dead djinn and humans alike, circling each other and both badly wounded. Hamza lands the killing blow on Kherga just as Amir comes running onto the scene, howling in grief and fury. Amir faces Hamza and they fight once more. This time, when Hamza is at his mercy, Amir does not hesitate to kill him.

When the last of the soldiers limp away in defeat, the tribe comes back together. Silently they build a giant pyre and burn their dead upon it. Amir watches Kherga's body burn, clasping MC's hand tightly in his. They stand there until the fire burns out and Amir's brothers' and sisters' souls have flown to the sky.

BITTER END:

The tribe reinstate Amir as their chief. After the ceremony Amir escorts MC to the edge of the Hills. Though she will miss him, she simply cannot leave behind civilisation. Whether she will stay in Ziya or begin a new life in some other city, she is not sure. But she has a choice, which is more than she has ever had before.

They share one final embrace, then MC turns and walks away. She feels Amir's eyes on her back until he is so far away that he is no longer even a blur on the horizon.

SWEET END:

With newfound respect and gratitude for Hani, and with Amir's blessing, the tribe choose her as their new chief. After the ceremony Amir escorts MC to the edge of the Hills to say a final farewell. MC makes it ten steps before turning and running back to Amir. She asks if she can stay with him. He is kissing her before she finishes the question.

Free from their old responsibilities, MC and Amir find a place to settle in the Hills just for themselves. Amir is teaching her to swim. Exhausted from the lessons (and perhaps more than that) they lie on the bank, lazily playing with each other's hair. Just like the legendary lovers that Amir once told her about, he marks MC's shoulder with a bite. She does the same to him, and their bond is forever sealed.

[aimeelouart]

I dunno how you feel about Rufus, but I think it’d be kind of interesting to see if he found a young time travel Cloud instead of the 1sts. Like it starts off where he like “oh another shinra bastard” but by the end evolves to “if anyone hurts Cloud I’d kill everyone in this tower and then myself” lol

The Tanuki of Shinra Tower - 2106 words, roughly the same continuity as SSC, so Cloud looks like a kid

--

Rufus blinked at the little blond child, freezing halfway through his office door. The little blond child glared back from the wall, a knife clenched between his teeth. Slowly, he slid back into the vent he was hanging out of and pulled the cover closed behind him.

“Huh,” said Rufus. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed Veld’s office.

⁠—

The child was back, this time raiding the break room for food at the asscrack of dawn. He paused when Rufus came in, eyes briefly flitting down to where Rufus’s guns were holstered, before apparently dismissing him as unimportant and going back to rooting through the fridge.

Rufus narrowed his eyes, a little insulted but more than curious enough to set his annoyance aside for the moment. He realized what he hadn’t the first time⁠: the tiny little thing had mako in his bright blue eyes. The tiny little thing had a SOLDIER’s enhancements. So Rufus leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms over his chest, observing as the child picked up a container of leftover wutaian noodles, sniffed it, made a face, and put it back.

Had his father handed one of his bastard children over to Science? It didn’t seem like something he’d do, but at the same time it didn’t seem like something he wouldn’t do. And if the little thing was an experiment, why was he running amok like this? Veld hadn’t had a clue that a blond child was loose in the vents when he’d first called, though Rufus and the Turks in general were starting to think the kid had something to do with the many mysterious happenings around the Tower.

The kid finished his raid as Rufus watched thoughtfully, standing up with an apple in his mouth and a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. He kicked the fridge door shut, cast Rufus one last uninterested look, and scrambled back into the open vent, closing it behind him with his bare feet.

“Huh,” said Rufus.

He mentally dubbed the child Tanuki and set the coffee to brewing before he went back to his office and called Veld again.

⁠—

The Turks weren’t making much progress on tracking Tanuki down, which was, frankly, hilarious. Some wild theories were being thrown around, mostly for entertainment and venting frustration that they were somehow losing to a child whose age wasn’t even in the double digits. The most popular theory was that Tanuki was actually a very lifelike robot.

Rufus’s personal favorite theory was that Tanuki was the hellspawn of Scarlett and his father. Scarlett, being a heartless bitch, had dumped her newborn baby in a reactor, from which he had then emerged filled with the wrath of the gods and spite enough to kill all of Shinra by a thousand petty cuts.

Considering how often the coffee makers in the executive floors had been mysteriously sabotaged, it seemed about right.

Rufus came back to his office from an executive meeting that had lasted well past 9pm, exhausted and determined to pick up Darkstar so that they could go home immediately. He found his dog, certainly, curled up in the corner of his office on her bed. 

He also found Tanuki, sleeping like a pup against the barrel of her chest.

Starry raised her head and whined very very softly, short tail wagging as if to say ‘look what I have!’ Rufus toed off his shoes and crept over to crouch just out of arm’s reach, observing the boy’s sleeping face. Of course his murderous (pushover) guard hound would be the first to pin the child down. He shook his head and patted her flank. Her tail wagged harder.

The child woke all at once, eyes flying open and landing squarely on Rufus. It was impressive. He’d seen Turks who had far less control over themselves so soon after waking.

“Oh. You,” said the child in a sleep-roughened voice. He rubbed briefly at his eyes, yawning without actually opening his mouth. “Tell Darkstar to get off me.” One of her heavy forelegs was laid over his waist, keeping him trapped curled up against her. Mako strength or not, it was probably difficult to wiggle out from under a heavy, stubborn dog.

A little smile curled at Rufus’s lips. The kid was fearless. He liked it, especially in a maybe-possibly little half-brother. “Why would I do that instead of, say, calling a Turk while you’re stuck here?”

The kid shot him a wry look that didn’t quite fit his soft young face. “I could kill either or both of you instead,” he said with not an ounce of false bravado. Pointedly, he tapped the hilt of the knife at his waist with one finger.

“Then why don’t you?” Rufus was curious. What exactly were the kid’s goals here? Based on his preternatural skillset, he could probably have killed every single person in the Tower and gotten away with it.

“Too much trouble. I’d prefer you alive.” He reached up and scratched Starry behind the ear. She leaned into it, tail and tentacle waving happily. “And Darkstar is the most tolerable out of all of you.”

Fair enough. Rufus was satisfied for now. He whistled and Darkstar got up with a deeply reluctant whine, slinking sulkily over to his side. Tanuki got up too, stretching fluidly, and headed for the vents.

“Do you have a name?” Rufus asked impulsively.

The kid climbed up and slid into the vent feet-first, pausing to look at Rufus. A tiny, shit-eating grin curled at his lips. “All things considered,” he said, “I think the nickname you gave me is good enough for now. I’ll tell you when you’ve earned my name.” Then he closed the grate and vanished.

Rufus huffed. Alright then.

⁠—

The tiny acts of sabotage continued apace, much to the Turks’ frustration. Veld still had yet to see Tanuki himself, though a few of the younger Turks had caught glimpses. That might have been deliberate on Tanuki’s part⁠—he seemed to be something of a little shit. Rufus himself had semi-frequent, if unpredictable, conversations with the child, mostly when he caught him stealing food from the break room. 

Or from his desk. Tanuki was shameless.

The child would pass on information when it suited him⁠—flash drives, printed files, occasionally physical evidence. It all seemed very random, but Rufus guessed that there was some kind of connection between everything. Whatever it was, it was inscrutable, even to Veld.

Or at least, it was until nearly all of Science was demolished in one fell swoop.

The chaos was incredible. As the reports rolled in, it seemed that dozens upon dozens of small events had neatly lined up to kill the top scientists and send the whole department screeching to a halt. Hojo was dead, killed by one of his own experiments. Hollander was dead, drowned in a vat of mako. Every fire sprinkler in the whole building had gone off and didn’t shut off for nearly thirty minutes. The physical damage was incalculable.

And Rufus had a feeling it was all Tanuki’s doing.

Oh, he had no evidence. But arranging something so grand in scale would certainly explain why someone of his skills had been doing nothing but relatively harmless sabotage for nearly three months. Veld agreed, when he voiced his thoughts. No one had any idea where the little gremlin was, or how he’d done any of it.

Rufus got part of an answer when he retired to his executive apartment at the top of the Tower, unwilling to go to his preferred home in the city proper when there was still so much work to do. Starry perked up the moment the front door opened, whining and bounding away from his side. Eyes narrowed, Rufus drew his weapons and crept into the apartment. If Starry was whining instead of growling, it was probably fine, but one could never be too cautious.

He followed the sound of Starry’s whines into the master bedroom. There was a trail of blood leading from the windows to the en-suite bathroom. When he entered, he found Tanuki curled up in the bathtub, head pillowed on a folded-up towel with Starry nosing at his hair. His hand was pressed over his stomach. Bright crimson soaked into his shirt and dripped trickled into the bathtub, flowing steadily down the soft incline and into the drain. His lips were tinged blue, cheeks pale, the dark circles beneath his eyes stark.

“Shit,” Rufus breathed, fumbling to holster his guns and pull out his PHS as he quickly crossed over to kneel by the tub. “Kid.”

Tanuki didn’t open his eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “Did you know...that…Hojo is...actually a...good shot?”

“Was,” Rufus corrected, hitting the speed-dial for Veld’s personal phone. It was the first time he’d ever used it.

Tanuki huffed a laugh. “Was,” he agreed. “Sorry. Tried not to bleed too much on your fancy expensive carpet.”

“Oh, make no mistake,” Rufus said, shucking off his white jacket and shifting the PHS to his other ear, “you’ll be cleaning it up later.”

“Sure,” the kid agreed, breezily enough that it made Rufus’s stomach twist strangely.

Veld picked up. “Rufus?”

“Tanuki is shot and bleeding out in my bathtub. Executive suite. Send medical assistance.” He paused. “SOLDIER kit, a surgeon if you can manage it.”

“Understood.” Veld hung up.

Rufus got another towel and pressed it against Tanuki’s torso, gently moving aside the little hand that could no longer press down with mako strength to staunch the bleeding. “Hold on, kid,” he told his maybe-possibly⁠ little...no, his definitely little brother. Because Rufus said so, and what he said went.  “Help is coming.”

Tanuki didn’t say much of anything.

⁠—

The kid lived, though it was touch and go for a while. They couldn’t risk taking him down to the non-science medical floors just yet, so Veld came personally escorting one of the Turks' own medics. Assisting in emergency surgery on a mako-enhanced child on the floor of his bathroom was certainly not something Rufus was ever going to forget.

Eventually, though, long after his knees had gone numb and his back started cramping, the last bullet was fished out and the wound closed with a Cura, cast by Veld because the medic was exhausted. Rufus washed the blood from himself, then helped the medic wash the blood off the kid. They put him in Rufus’s bed, covers tucked up to his chin with heating pads (and Starry) around him to help as he recovered from blood loss.

The medic left, escorted back to her own floor by a younger Turk. Veld and Rufus both watched Tanuki sleep, lost in their thoughts.

“Did you know that Hojo was actually a good shot?” Rufus said abruptly.

Veld looked at him from the corner of his eye. “...no. That, I did not know.”

Rufus fished a bloodied USB drive out of his pants⁠—the same USB drive Tanuki had been clutching in his free hand. On its side, a neat label read ‘For Verdot: Valentine & Gast.’ He handed it over.

“I have a feeling he wasn’t just being glib about his own injuries,” he said, a wry, tired smirk pulling at his lips. “He’s a little shit like that.”

Veld read the label and slowly⁠—so slowly⁠—slipped the drive into his inner suit pocket. “Hm,” he said, a strange tightness in the corners of his eyes. It softened a little when he looked back at the kid. He leaned over, briefly resting his hand on top of Tanuki’s wild blond hair. “Get some rest,” he told Rufus, standing upright and straightening his suit jacket. “We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

On that cheerful note, he left.

Rufus glanced at his newfound little brother and sighed. Great. Now he had to sleep on the couch.

⁠—

When Rufus woke up the next day (late, because he deserved it for once, goddammit) he found Tanuki mysteriously missing and his fridge quite a bit emptier than it had been before he’d gone to sleep. He shambled around a bit, checking to make sure the kid hadn’t gone and holed himself up in a closet like a real tanuki or anything equally ridiculous.

There was a note on one of the pillows on his bed. In a surprisingly elegant hand, it read ‘call me Cloud.’ When he flipped it over, the other side had the name and number of a carpet cleaning company. Rufus threw his head back and laughed, startling Starry.

Yeah. Tanuki⁠—Cloud⁠—was going to be just fine.