#I'm saying this because I got stuck and then I got my mum stuck

[somelegobird]

I found this fluid simulation thing and immediately imagined:

Jay finding it and getting stuck staring at it, he shows it on his phone to Cole who immediately gets stuck staring at it too, then Kai sees them and checks out what's happening on Jay's phone, and he also gets stuck.

Nya later finds them all mesmerised and staring at Jay's phone after hours of wondering where they all were

[woso-dreamzzz]

Knight

Katie McCabe x England!Reader

Summary: You yell at your sister

"Well, well, well," Beth teases the moment she comes in from the showers. Her finger waggles in your direction. "If it isn't the knight in shining armour!"

You sigh, rolling your eyes.

"I think you silenced the whole stadium," Steph agrees with a little laugh," I've never seen you speak so loudly before!"

"Please stop talking."

"I mean, once second Katie's getting tackled and the next you look like you're about to clobber your sister!"

You huff, pulling on your shirt. "She shouldn't have come anywhere near Katie. It was reckless and stupid and Katie could have been seriously hurt!"

The image still replays in your mind. It stayed running on loop throughout the whole of your shower.

You don't know what was up with your sister this whole match but she clearly had it out for Katie. Wherever Katie was, so was your sister, sliding in on Katie's ankle time after time after time.

You'd had enough around the seventieth minute when Beth slid in and sent Katie tumbling to the ground.

And, yeah, maybe you yelled. Maybe you practically silenced the stadium with how loud you'd done it and maybe the almighty Spurs captain that was your sister, was greeted with the reason why everyone always compared you to Mum.

Mum was quiet. Some might even describe her as meek but she could yell. She rarely did but when it happened, everyone knew they had gone a step too far.

You'd always been like Mum, quiet enough that it was almost to your detriment, nervous enough that you didn't fight your own battles sometimes. You looked like her. You sounded like her.

You had her disposition and attitudes.

The colour had drained from Beth's face the moment you raised your voice, echoing across the pitch from your goal at the Arsenal end. She went as white as her shirt and backed up immediately...

And you had gone back into your goal silently.

You should have known no one was going to let it go.

Least of all, your actual girlfriend who, surprisingly, hadn't joined in on the teasing but had stayed stuck to your side ever since the match ended.

She'd shared a shower with you. She's changed with you and now, she was sat in her cubby waiting for you to finish braiding your hair out of your face.

"I think it was very sweet," She says finally, an easy grin on her face," Truly a knight in shining armour."

"Don't you start," You mutter, grabbing your back and throwing it over your shoulder," This is already embarrassing enough. I need to apologise to Beth."

"You don't need to apologise to me!" Arsenal Beth laughs and you roll your eyes again, sticking up your middle finger as you walk out with Katie.

"You looked good though," Katie says as soon as you're out of eavesdropping range of the changing room," Defending me and all that."

You huff. "Beth shouldn't have been going in on you like that and that ref was useless."

"But, still, the shouting? I don't think I've ever heard you shout like that before. Not even when I made your hot chocolate with water."

You stamp your foot childishly. "Hot chocolate made with water is sacrilegious and not acceptable in my house."

Katie rolls her eyes, an arm thrown over your shoulder. "Your sister really got what was coming to her. It's nice that I'm not the one coming away with the yellow today."

"Don't worry," You reply wryly," I'm sure you'll make up for it next match."

"We still up for dinner tonight?"

"So long as Beth keeps her feet to herself."

It was tradition now that at the end of a London Derby, you would go and have dinner with your parents and your sister. Katie too, though she had been a more recent addition since you had started dating.

"Your sister isn't crazy," Katie laughs," But don't worry." She winks at you. "You'll keep her in line, my knight in shining armour."

"Don't call me that," You say with no real bite in your tone," Because then everyone else will call me that too. I've only just shed Pigeon. Don't bring in another one."

"Don't worry," Katie says, sliding into the driver's seat," I won't let anyone else hear me use it."

"Katie-"

"Except maybe your sister but I can't control that."

"What did you say to her today?" You ask, staring out the window as Katie drove to the usual restuarant.

"To who?"

"To my sister. She isn't that aggressive usually and I know you, Katie. You're a shit-stirrer."

"I didn't!"

"I know you," You repeat," Come on, I won't be mad."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Katie sighs. "I made a joke."

"A joke?"

"Yeah."

"About?"

"Our sex life."

You sigh, a little laugh bubbling out from your throat. "Oh, Katie. Not again."

[goldenwilliamson]

hard launch | leah williamson

pairing: leah williamson x reader

a/n: merry christmas!!! enjoy some christmassy awfc fluff x

summary: reader and leah film their parts in the arsenal christmas gifting video. reader receives a gift that shows everyone who's girlfriend she is.

word count: 1.3k

The Arsenal media team had set up a Christmas tree lined with presents for all the girls to open for a video. You obliged happily, excited about having a present to open before Christmas. Leah however had to be convinced.

"It's bad luck! You can't have us opening gifts before Christmas!" She said, her voice firm.

"Ease up Lee, it's just a little present from the club," you said, rubbing the space between her shoulder blades while silently laughing at your girlfriends commitment to tradition.

"My Mum can't find out about this, she'll have a fit," Leah says, eyeing the tree scornfully.

"Well she might see this video when it goes up," Frimmy says from behind the camera.

You move out of the shot now and watch through the screen of the camera as Leah steps into frame and speaks directly to the lens, "Do I look as awkward as I feel? Because I'm sorry Mum, I don't normally do this before Christmas day, I'm being forced to."

Shaking your head, you and many of the other girls watch on in anticipation as Leah unwraps her gift, and when she pulls out the electric keyboard you all exchange knowing glances. It's no secret that learning piano has been Leah's latest mission, and you more than anyone have been along for the journey. Most evenings now your night was soundtracked by Leah sitting at the piano stool, reading her sheet music and practicing.

When she was preparing for her performance with the BBC orchestra you must have heard her play that Shania Twain song about 200 times before you had to cut her off.

"You've got it Leah, I promise," you had stressed to her.

"I'm just so nervous, I need to know I can do it perfectly!" She demanded, starting to play it again.

"Nope. No. I'm sorry, but I'm cutting you off. It's time for bed," you had said. Even though you were always supportive of her endeavours, you knew she was only stressing herself out with the drive for perfection.

"Baby, please just let me practice it one more time, then bed," she pleaded like a little kid asking for five more minutes of play time.

"Fine. Once more. But I am telling you it's been perfect 98% of the times you've played," you said.

She just waved you away and played it once more all the way through, perfectly of course, and then finally conceded to your request. When you finally crawled into bed together that night you turned towards Leah, murmuring into the darkness.

"I'm starting to get worried that I'll have Shania Twain stuck in my head forever."

Leah giggled but reassured you, "I won't be playing it forever. And trust me, I'm sick of it too."

Now today she was sitting down, playing the little electric keyboard and trying to get everyone to guess what she was playing. You knew straight away it was Adele, because she had played it for you just last night, but it took everyone else a little longer to catch on.

Leah, pleased with her present moved along to allow for the next girls to go through. You stepped in, ready to unwrap your presents with Steph and Kyra, but before you got to pull off the paper one of the Arsenal media people pulled you out.

"We'll get you to open yours on your own, Y/N," they told you. You weren't really sure why, but you trusted their vision and waited for your turn.

When you were finally standing in front of the camera after Steph and Kyra, you felt your present through the wrapping and you could tell that it was a piece of clothing. As you pulled it out, you unfolded it to reveal a t-shirt. And you instantly realised why they'd got you to open it on your own. It seemed to be a fan made t-shirt that had pictures of Leah all over the front as well as LEAH WILLIAMSON printed in large pink block letters running down the side.

You bent over laughing, not even sure if you should show it off to the camera. While you and Leah were officially together, it hadn't really been confirmed publicly. The media team knew that and obviously got you on your own so they could easily leave your clip out of the video.

"Really?" You looked up at the small crew, holding the shirt up next to your face.

Leah, watching on began to laugh now, seeing what you'd been given.

"Best present of the day guys!" She exclaimed.

"So ridiculous," you said as all the girls behind the camera laughed.

"Hard launch," Kyra said, teasing you both.

"Shut up," you smiled, "This won't be going on the Instagram," you said assertively, pointing directly down the barrel of the camera.

"Why don't you put in on, Y/N," Leah suggests.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" You narrow your eyes at your girlfriend, knowing how much of a kick she would get out of seeing you wearing the top, looking like a fan.

"Go on," Steph urges you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your training shirt up over your head, receiving playful wolf whistles from the girls before you pull your new t-shirt down over your body. When it was on you held your arms out, showing it off.

"How do I look?" You said, giving a little spin as the girls clapped for you.

Leah walked over towards you and held onto your waist, admiring herself on your shirt.

"I bet this inflates your ego," you say, seeing the cheeky sparkle in her eyes.

Leah didn't even say anything in response, she just moved to stand next to you, threw her arm around your shoulder in a very platonic manner and posed towards the camera.

"I love meeting fans," she said, smiling at her own joke.

"Ha ha," you said sardonically, rolling your eyes and nudging her away from you.

"We should get a photo of this though," Leah said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and handing it off to Steph who snapped a picture of you both. When you looked back at it Leah wore a very cocky smirk and looked as if you were posing for a photo with your favourite footballer.

Katie stood over your shoulder to peer at the photo, "Oh that's got to go in a photo dump girls."

"I don't think so," you said quickly, leaving it there. Though you did wear the top around for the rest of the day, finding it surprisingly comfortable, until you tucked it away into your bag before heading home.

You had honestly forgotten about it until Christmas Day when you were scrolling on Instagram in bed after the long day of festivities and you saw Leah had tagged you in a photo. She was right next to you sitting on her phone with a smirk on her face.

"What have you posted?" You asked, clicking onto it and swiping through the various Christmas photos until you saw your own bashful face reflected in the photo that Steph had taken of you in the shirt. The caption read, Best time of year (love my fans @Y/N.Y/L/N) x.

Katie McCabe had already liked the post and tagged you in a comment, President of the Leah Williamson fan club aren't ya? @Y/N.Y/L/N.

"Leah!" You said sharply, looking at your girlfriend in disbelief.

"What? It's a great photo," she said.

"You're fuelling the fire," you said, referencing the ongoing speculation online about your relationship.

"So what? I don't care if people know we're together, do you?" Leah said simply.

You realised that you also didn't care, in fact you would be proud for people to know, so you shook your head.

"Of course I don't," you said, reassuring her that you were okay with this.

"Good, then stop being grumpy about the photo," she said, leaning over to give you a kiss.

"It's such a bad photo! I genuinely look like a teenage fan girl," you laughed.

"That's what makes it so great," Leah says, giggling at her ability to annoy you.

You shake your head and pick up your phone again, feeling confident in your relationship with Leah, no longer caring if people know or they don't. This leads you to respond to Katie's comment with two simple words that are enough to send all the fans spiralling over the small confirmation: Hard launch?

[newtonsheffield]

The snippet from Surprise Neddy AU! 😍 It's so cute I'm literally melting away.

I think I've already said that I absolutely love that Neddy calls Anthony "my Anthony", but I also love the fact that:

Kate often calls Neddy "Baby"

we get to see Neddy's perspective, his emotions

Anthony wanted to ask Neddy if Kate had said he was a good kisser, but decided against it 🤭

Neddy is a handful. I can already imagine him telling Kate that Anthony said that she is the prettiest girl in the world. And Kate having a similar reaction to Anthony's: wanting to ask Neddy about all the details, but scolding herself internally "Kate, you really shouldn't be quizzing your 3-year-old about your one-night stand ex. Pull yourself together!". 😂

Look Anthony really was desperate to know if three years have been kind to Kate’s memory of their night together. It’s pretty clear that she doesn’t resent him for the fact she got pregnant and had no way to contact him so that’s a bit of a relief. But he’d still like to know that she doesn’t… completely hate the memory of him. You know, just for curiosity’s sake. Doesn’t hurt that she is the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and maybe he himself has thought very fondly of her from time to time and maybe wished he’d been in a position for their relationship to have turned out differently. Doesn’t hurt that they have a beautiful incredible, very cheeky son together who tells him what to buy when they want to take Kate a treat to the office when Anthony takes Neddy to meet her for dinner.

“She likes these ones!” Neddy pointed at a bucket of tulips. “These are her best favourites. And these.” Pink roses.

Anthony cleared his throat, “We’ll get a dozen of each please, wrapped together.”

It feels a bit awkward, walking up to the front desk to ask his way to Kate’s office when the receptionist looks curiously between Neddy, who she must know and him: a man she’s never seen before.

Her hand stretched towards the security button and Anthony leapt in quickly. “We’re here to see Kate Sharma, I’m bringing Neddy.”

“Hi!” Neddy said from beside him as the woman’s shoulders relaxed.

“Hi Neddy, I’ll let your Mum know you’re on your way.”

“This is my Anthony!” Neddy grinned proudly making Anthony’s chest swell with pride. “We’re having pasta for my tea!”

“That’ll be yummy I bet Neddy.”

“Yep!”

Anthony could see Kate at the end of the hall as Neddy ran in a little jog that Anthony easily kept up with. Her brow was furrowed as she spoke with someone on the phone her brow furrowed. Anthony caught their son just before he opened the door and hollered.

“Let’s just wait a second, Buddy.”

Neddy waited exactly one second before he kicked the door Open from Anthony’s arms.

“Amma!”

“Neddy!” Anthony gasped, looking apologetically to Kate. “I said we needed to wait, mate!”

Kate laughed, holding out her arms for him. “It’s okay, i just hung up.”

Neddy scrambled down from Anthony’s arms, running to Kate who scooped him up, kissing the top of his head. “I missed you today baby. Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Yep! We coloured my pictures and Daddy likes Pasta too! And we got you these!”

He gestured for Anthony to bring the flowers forward and he saw a flicker of surprise in Kate’s eyes before she smiled. So beautiful and bright that it stuck in his chest, finding its home there.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

“They’re for pretty girls. Because we’re nice cute boys,”

Kate’s lips twitched in a smirk as she stared at Anthony. “Is that so?”

Anthony shrugged, “What can I say? The kids got it.”

“I remember his Daddy having a little something- something as well.”

“Well, we Bridgerton boys are very handsome. It’s hard to resist us.”

And he could have sworn he heard Kate mutter You’re not wrong.

[helloalycia]

𝐈 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐑 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] // 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: Lucy Gray has always been there for you, the only person you care for as much as you do. So much, in fact, that when you discover Mayfair's plan to have her reaped in the Hunger Games, you know you have to stop it. Even if it means giving up your own life.

warning/s: the usual warnings that come with the Hunger Games.

author's note: okay so someone requested another lucy gray imagine where reader volunteers for her, so that’s what i did but kinda did it a little bit different as the usual volunteering storyline feels very been there done that lol. Hope you all like it anyway! there’s a second part too :)

two / masterlist / wattpad

It had been a long a day, my feet hurting from being stood up for so long and my exhaustion from working a long shift worsening by the second. But as soon as the clock hit 5pm, all my energy returned and I was quick to leave my apron behind as I left. Working at a crockery stall in the markets wasn't a terrible job, and it paid decently, but some days dragged longer than others and I only wished for it to end.

Thankfully, tonight was also a night that the Covey performed at the Hob, so I made my way over there, specifically behind it where the musical group got ready before performances in an abandoned garage they claimed as theirs. I always met before their shows, wanting to wish them luck and also because Lucy Gray, my best friend, would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't stop by beforehand.

"There you are!" Maude Ivory, the youngest of the group, called me over once I stepped in the open door. "You took forever!"

"I'm like two minutes late, Maude Ivory," I defended myself, and a smile fell on my lips when I saw her pouting. "Sorry."

"Can you braid my hair like last time?" she asked politely, already turning around and readying herself for me.

"I sure can," I agreed, smiling at the others as they got ready before moving to braid Maude Ivory's hair.

It didn't take long, just a simple braid around the crown of her head, complementing the rest of her hair that was left out in a way that made her look like a princess. Adorable.

"Oh, I love it!" she gushed, immediately looking in the mirror to appreciate it, and I watched her with a smile. "Thank you, Y/N!"

"No problem," I said dismissively.

"Wow, you look beautiful, Maude Ivory," Lucy Gray appeared beside me, smiling down at the younger girl, and then she gave me a playful look. "Favouritism much?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "All you had to do was ask."

She immediately took a seat on the chair Maude Ivory was moments ago. When I didn't move, she glanced over her shoulder at me with a knowing nod. "Well, go on then."

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly before moving to braid her hair next, squeezing her shoulder slightly in retaliation, and I knew she was smiling all the same. As I'd done many times before, I combed out Lucy Gray's curly hair with my fingers, unknotting it the best I could, before separating it into two parts and giving her two over-the-shoulder braids.

"You done?" she asked impatiently, definitely trying to annoy me.

I finished tying off the second braid before rounding the chair to take a look. Her brown eyes looked up at me adorably, and even though she did nothing special, my heart fluttered in my chest at the attention.

Okay, so maybe I liked her a little more than friends, but I couldn't help it. She was the only person I had in my life that meant something to me, the only one who truly cared. After becoming friends many years ago because we happened to play in the park together as kids, she was stuck with me, and I suppose my gratitude for having her in my life turned into adoration somewhere along the way.

The only real family I had was my father, but he had been bitter towards me since my mum died only a few years after I was born. He hated me without saying it, and I sought love in friendship with Lucy Gray. Though, it was so much more than that on my end. But she could never know, for I'd rather have her in my life like this than not at all. And I would never risk jeopardising that, ever.

"Don't move," I warned her, before leaving the garage for a moment to pick a flower I'd seen just outside.

When I returned, I was surprised to see her sat how I'd left her, though pouting. I carefully slid the flower at the top of her braid, near her ear, and stepped back to admire my work.

"You're done, Little Miss Impatient," I finally said with a stifled smile.

She gave me a disapproving look before moving to the mirror to check it out. Her facade faltered as a warm smile tugged at her lips and she admired the view.

"Okay, I'll let you off since this is pretty nice," she said jokingly.

"Wow, only nice? I thought it was much more than that," I played along.

Her smile widened as she approached me, before kissing me on the cheek and hugging me briefly. I was expecting neither, my brain short circuiting as quickly as she pulled away.

"It's beautiful, Y/N, thank you," she said truthfully, losing her humour. When I didn't know what to say, too busy trying not to think about her lips against my cheek, she said, "You're stayin', right?"

I blinked, dazed. "Huh?"

She began to chuckle, and then her question truly sank in and I cleared my throat, nodding.

"I– yes, I am," I said, giving her a small smile. "Where else would I be?"

She rolled her eyes playfully before turning to the others. "Right, guys, are we ready to blow everyone's socks off?!"

As always, I enjoyed my evening at the Hob, cheering the Covey on and staying for all their performances as promised. It was always so lovely in there, except for the occasional fight that would break out between the miners and Peacekeepers, but none of that happened tonight. I was tired by the end of it all, as were the others, but as we all walked out together, Lucy Gray tugged my hand back.

"Hm?" I said, yawning as I looked to her.

"Are you in a rush to get home?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"No, why?" I asked curiously.

Excited, she said, "Come to the lake with me."

I quirked a brow. "Now?"

Expression softening, she nodded. "Yeah, it'll be nice. It's a clear night too."

Another yawn escaped my lips and I covered my mouth before shaking my head. "I dunno, I'm a little tired and it's getting late."

"C'mon," she insisted, before grabbing my hand and forcing me to follow her, but not before looking to the others and adding, "I'll see you guys later!"

"Don't make too much noise when you're back!" Barb Azure, the eldest of their group, warned her.

"I won't," Lucy Gray mumbled, and then we were off and I just about managed to wish everyone a goodnight behind me before we were too far from them.

"How aren't you tired?" I asked as I fell into step with her, accepting my defeat and knowing I couldn't really decline her offer anyway. "You've been onstage all night."

She shrugged. "I'm a little tired, but I wanted to spend more time with you. You've been workin' loads lately."

I sighed, feeling a little bad. "Sorry, it's the house. Payments are falling behind and my dad is getting on my back and–"

"Hey, I'm not complainin'," she stopped me. "I just miss you."

A small smile crept on my lips at her unwavering honesty – that was one thing I'd always envied about her. She could say how she was feeling without overthinking how it could be perceived, whereas I was the complete opposite.

"I'm right here," I assured her, and then she glanced at me with a smile that warmed my heart.

"How is he?" she asked. "He still standoffish with you?"

"Isn't he always?" I said, a little bitterly, before shaking my head. "Never mind him anyway. Doesn't matter."

Probably sensing my mood, she said, "You're right, it doesn't. You have me."

I was glad it was dark out, otherwise she would've seen the pink dusting my cheeks.

We continued our walk to the lake, talking and trying to stay awake long enough to make it there. It was a long walk on a regular day, but tonight it felt even longer because of the constant stepping around and trying to find our way in the dim light of the moon peeking through the trees. Still, it was comforting to be around Lucy Gray instead of back home where my dad would no doubt be on my case, so I savoured the time together.

By the time we reached the lake – in particular, a spot where a cabin sat, with a dock and boat beside it – Lucy Gray and I were wide awake, any hint of exhaustion for the evening dispersing with our trek. We both took a seat at the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the side, and she nudged my arm gently.

"Look how pretty the water looks," she said with amazement, and I hummed in agreement.

It was beautiful out tonight, the lull of the water lapping over itself and shimmering in the moonlight providing the perfect view for a perfect evening. Being out here always put me at ease, but being out here with Lucy Gray was indescribable.

After a moment of quiet, she nudged me again and I took the hint, following her lead as we both lay on our backs to look up at the night sky. If the view before was great, then this was amazing. Stars filled the sky, dazzling and bright and filling me with a sense of awe. It was different than seeing the stars from my house – this was all open, isolated, peaceful. I loved it.

"How many have times have you been here at night?" I asked Lucy Gray curiously.

"Not a lot," she assured, "but enough to know that it'a perfect for stargazin', and you love that, so I wanted to show you."

I chuckled a little. "I do. Thanks."

Another quiet enveloped us, only the sound of the water, the trees rustling gently and some birds in the distance to be heard. I could have stayed like this forever. It certainly would have been an upgrade from my usual life.

"Did you see Billy Taupe earlier?" Lucy Gray asked suddenly.

Billy Taupe was her ex-boyfriend and an ex-member of the Covey, but we'd all be ignoring him for a few weeks now after we'd discovered he'd cheated on Lucy Gray with the mayor's daughter. As a result, him and said daughter, Mayfair Lipp, weren't fond of us, especially Mayfair, who seemed to hold a personal vendetta against Lucy Gray.

I nodded, glancing at her, but she was still looking at the sky. "Yeah. I avoided him, but him and Mayfair were glaring at me for sure."

She exhaled quietly, troubled.

"Did he say something?" I asked, attention fully on her now.

"He confronted me between one of my performances," she admitted, piquing both my interest and concern. "Started talkin' about how I needed to stop badmouthin' him to the rest of the Covey."

I furrowed my brows. "You haven't though. If anything, you barely mention him."

"Well, he doesn't seem to think that," she said with an eye roll.

I frowned, hating to see her upset at the likes of him yet again. "If he keeps bothering you, tell me. I'll have a word with him."

As if I'd said something hilarious, she began to smile and then laughter spilled from her lips. "You're cute, and I appreciate it, but you shouldn't get involved. Him and Mayfair are capable of a lot."

"Lucy Gray–" I started, ready to retort, but she cut me off with a serious stare, her smile fading.

"Promise me, Y/N," she said sternly, dark eyes boring into mine.

I gave in instantly, embarrassingly enough. "I promise."

Visibly relieved, she relaxed and nodded slightly before sitting up and stretching her arms. I watched for a moment, though thoughts of Billy Taupe and his foulness stuck in my mind. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Same with Mayfair? Didn't they have anything better to do?

"Say, you ever been for an evenin' swim under the stars?"

I blinked, barely paying attention. "What?"

She glanced down at me with a smirk, before standing up and beginning to step out of her dress. Realising what she was doing, I sat up and started to protest.

"Lucy Gray, it's gonna be cold and dark and–"

But she beat me to it, her dress pooling by my feet as she dove in from the edge of the dock. I wiped my face with mild annoyance as she splashed me, watching as she resurfaced with a laugh.

"C'mon, you gon' leave me hangin'?!" she exclaimed.

I narrowed my eyes at her with distaste, but as always, I couldn't say no to her. So, grumbling to myself petulantly, I stepped out of my own clothes and dove right into the water next to her. It was cold, as suspected, but as I resurfaced, my body was already getting used to the temperature. It was still the middle of summer, so it was actually quite refreshing in the evening heat, though my complaints of it being dark were still valid.

"Not bad, right?" Lucy Gray asked me with a grin.

I pushed my hair from my eyes and gave her a reluctant glance. "I suppose not."

Her grin only widened, and then she looked up, eyes reflecting the moonlight and shimmering like the water. "Look."

I looked up too, amazed by the sight of the sky yet again, but before I could say anything, Lucy Gray splashed my face with water, making me shriek with surprise.

"Lucy Gray!" I scolded, wiping my eyes as she laughed. "You did that on purpose!"

Her laughter only increased, and then I was attempting to splash her back, but she was swimming backwards and then I was swimming after her, her laughter filling the silence of the woods and brightening up the place more than the moon ever could. I eventually grabbed her and splashed her face enough for her to spit it out and cease her laughter.

"Okay, okay, you win!" she gave in, wiping her eyes before playfully glaring at me.

It was my turn to laugh and she rolled her eyes lightheartedly before swimming around me yet again.

We stayed there for a little longer, splashing about and talking about everything and nothing. It was easy to forget everything waiting for me back home, or my job that I didn't want to go to, or the reality of our lives. No, all I had to focus on right now was Lucy Gray's voice, her company, her.

But it was seriously getting late, no doubt past midnight now, and all good things couldn't last forever. We were floating on our backs, staring at the sky in a comfortable silence, and I hated that I had to interrupt it.

"We should go back," I said reluctantly, stopping floating. "If my dad realises–"

"Right, yeah," she agreed apologetically. "Come on."

We both climbed out the lake in a peaceful silence, tugging on our clothes and shoes and squeezing the water from our hair the best we could. As I was doing just that, I felt her eyes on me and looked up with a confused smile.

"What?" I asked, feeling the last of the water drip down my wrists as I let go of my hair.

She began to smile unabashedly. "I'm glad I have you. Thanks for coming tonight. For being here."

My face was heating up, but I played it off with a playful eye roll. "Weirdo."

She chuckled quietly, shaking her head, before leading the way back to the Seam.

It had been a long day at work and the last thing I wanted was to come home to my father being grumpy, and yet that was what I'd gotten a few days later.

As soon as I walked in, I saw him home too, looking around the kitchen with a clenched jaw. He must have just got back from the mines, judging from the coal dust covering his clothes and skin.

"Hey, dad," I greeted politely, though already feeling tense because he didn't seem to be in a good mood.

"The hell is all this?" he asked me, ignoring my greeting and instead motioning to the dishes on the table.

"What do you mean?" I asked with confusion, leaving my bag by the door.

"It's a mess in here," he said with irritation. "Did you not clean up?"

"Dad, I've been at work all day," I reminded him, sensing he'd had a bad day at work, because he wasn't usually this hostile. "When would I have cleaned up?"

He raised his eyebrows, as if I'd said something absurd. "Excuse me?"

I swallowed hard, not liking the way he sneered at me. "I–," I started, but stopped because I didn't know what to say. Technically, they were his dishes. His mess.

"Y'know, I work really hard to keep us alive," he said with a glare. "And the least you could do is keep the place tidy. You do fuck all anyway!"

I clenched my jaw, frowning and trying my best to contain my annoyance. "I know you do. But these were your dishes. From breakfast. I didn't even eat, I just left."

"Oh, so it's my fault?! That what you're saying?!"

"You're not listening!" I couldn't help but shout, getting sick and tired of his behaviour. "Look, you might have had a bad day at work, but you can't just take it out on me!"

"You don't know what I get up to at work!" he shouted right back. "It's not like yours, standing there, looking pretty! It's hard labour! Something you could never understand!" Then he motioned around and added, "Clearly! This place is a tip!"

I clenched my fists behind my back, but my anger was building up. "It's a tip because of you, dad! You leave it a mess! Then you come back and you blame it on me!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" he yelled. "Have some respect!"

"Then actually try and listen to what I'm–!"

I couldn't even finish because he suddenly slapped me across the face, a sharp, blinding slap that knocked me off my feet for a second, leaving me stumbling into the kitchen table. I blinked, tears pooling in my eyes.

"Clean this place up," he snapped, before turning around to go to his room, slamming the door behind him.

I breathed out slowly, eyes burning now, and tried to ignore the pins and needles on my cheek. It wasn't the first time he'd hit me, and I should have been used to it, but it still took me by surprise sometimes. I hated it. I hated him. I would have done anything to leave, but I had nowhere to go.

Needing to get out of there as I calmed down, I left through the front door, waiting by the side of the house. I took in some fresh air and wiped furiously at my tears. He was the worst father a child could ask for, but he was the only one I had.

My face was hot and I was glad I couldn't see my reflection, knowing it would just be red on one side. As I finished wiping the last of my tears, I heard footsteps from behind me and sucked up a breath before turning around, worried it might be my father, back for round two. Thankfully it wasn't, but it was Lucy Gray.

She was smiling at first, then her eyes took in my expression and it faded instantly.

"What happened?" she asked straight away, stopping before me.

"Nothing," I assured her, though my cheek was still flaming, and she wasn't stupid.

She looked back at my house, and then back to me with a frown. "He was upset again, wasn't he?"

I looked to my shoes shamefully, not needing to answer. She knew what he was like, but it was something I hated to put on her. Nonetheless, she understood, and she touched my cheek gently, making me wince.

"You should stay with us," she muttered, trying to find my eyes, but I wouldn't look up. "We'll always have room for you, Y/N."

"I can't," I said with embarrassment. "And he's not always like this. It's– I'm handling it."

"No, you're not," she said, letting go of my cheek.

I didn't want to argue, nor did I want her pity, so I cleared my throat and looked up with the intention to change the subject. "What did you come here for anyway?"

She wasn't happy as she gave me a worried look. "Y/N–"

"Lucy Gray," I pleaded, before she could say anything more.

Giving in, she exhaled quietly. "I wanted to see if you wanted to go on a picnic with us tomorrow. You're not workin', right?"

At the sound of something much nicer, I relaxed and nodded. "I'd like that."

She seemed to relax too. "Good." Then she glanced over her shoulder at the house again, before adding, "You're stayin' with us tonight."

"I'm not–"

"You are," she insisted stubbornly. "You still have a few things left from last time."

I sighed tiredly. "I have to clean up. He's gonna be mad."

"We'll clean up together, then you're comin'," she reasoned.

"I'll do it myself," I told her, shaking my head. "You know he doesn't like me hanging around with you."

She looked ready to protest, but I shot her a pleading look. The last thing I wanted was to set him off again, especially in front of Lucy Gray. Thankfully, she seemed to get this and nodded reluctantly.

"Fine, but hurry up," she gave in, taking my hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "I don't like you in there alone."

"I'll be quick," I promised, before leaving her to clean up.

My dad was still sulking in his room, so I was able to clean up quickly and let him know where I was going. He didn't answer, nor did he stop me, so I left and met Lucy Gray back outside. She took my hand without question, not letting go until we reached her place. I was glad not to be alone tonight.

A week later, it was another fun evening at the Hob where I watched my best friend perform and I didn't have to worry about work or my dad or anything. It was just like any other evening there, nothing out of the ordinary, or so I thought.

During one of Maude Ivory's talented solos, I got up to the go to the toilet, making it a quick one so I wouldn't miss a thing. But as I left the women's toilets, I caught sight of Billy Taupe and Mayfair chatting around the corner in hushed voices. I didn't care at first, trying to ignore they existed for Lucy Gray's sake, but then they mentioned the singer herself and I couldn't help but eavesdrop a little.

"...doesn't know when to keep her trap shut and herself to herself," Mayfair was saying bitterly.

"She's a singer," Billy Taupe reminded her. "That's what she does. Just ignore it."

Mayfair scoffed. "She thinks she has everyone in this town wrapped around her finger because, what, she can sing? And put on a little show? Well, you know what, we'll see how she sings her way out of the reaping!"

I froze from behind the wall, wondering what she meant by that.

"What?" Billy Taupe asked, just as confused but suspicious as I.

"She may have the looks, honey, but I have the connections," Mayfair continued, her hushed voice growing increasingly more annoyed as she spoke. "You just wait until reaping day. Lucy Gray won't be bothering anyone for much longer."

My eyes widened at her threat. What the hell was she talking about?

"What are you–" Billy Taupe started, but the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath my weight made him stop, and I cursed inwardly.

Before they could even consider investigating, I slipped away between the doors unnoticed, back into the main room where everybody was distracted by the singing, dancing and drinking. My head was reeling though, trying to piece together what I'd just heard.

There was no way Mayfair would do what she was implying, right? She wouldn't just sabotage the reaping because of a feud, surely? Would she? If she did, then that would mean Lucy Gray would be chosen as tribute and–

Oh, God. If she was chosen, she'd be shipped off to partake in the Hunger Games and that was it. She wasn't a fighter, she was a performer. And the Games was no place for someone like her. I'd never see her again. And her family– oh, no. No, this couldn't happen!

What could I do to stop this? Mayfair would never listen to reason, especially not from me. It wasn't fair, any of it.

Suddenly, I felt nauseous at the thought of everything playing out just as Mayfair wanted. Needing some fresh air, feeling overly stuffy in the Hob, I pushed past everyone and stepped outside, ignoring those who were enjoying a cigarette or drink and trying not to throw up.

I couldn't lose Lucy Gray like this, not because of some stupid feud. How badly could Mayfair hate her to do this? The Covey would be broken without her. She was too valuable to everyone. And she was all I had.

"Y/N?"

I turned around, seeing Lucy Gray approaching me with a concerned smile on her lips.

"What happened?" she asked, stopping before me.

I blinked, my thoughts still racing around. "What?"

"You left lookin' upset," she said worriedly. "What happened?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, shaking my head. "Nothing. I just feel sick. Might've eaten something funny."

Her smile faded, replaced by a concerned frown. "Oh, gosh, do you wanna go home? Go to ours? I can walk you back. The others won't mind if I leave a little early."

She was watching me carefully, patiently, dark eyes flittering around my face as if she'd find the problem just like that. She was too kind for her own good and I couldn't help but think about how unfair this all was. She wasn't a bad person at all. How could Mayfair do this? Why couldn't I do anything about it? There had to be something!

"Y/N?" Lucy Gray said, before pressing the back of her hand to my forehead with concentration. "Hmm, you do feel a little warm."

It wasn't fair.

Without thinking, I hugged her tightly, promising myself there and then that I would fix this. She wasn't going to be subjected to Mayfair's wrath, not if I could help it.

"Woah, what's gotten into you?" she said with surprise, but returned the hug.

"Sorry," I mumbled, before pulling back and clearing my throat. "I just need some water. I'll be fine."

She quirked a brow. "You're sure?"

I nodded, trying my hardest not to worry her anymore.

"Okay... good," she said with relief, before a smile curled on her lips. "I've got a new song I want you to hear."

I returned her smile, letting her tug my hand and lead me back inside, but the truth of what I knew was already starting to suffocate me.

For days I mulled it over, trying to convince myself that maybe I misheard or misinterpreted Mayfair's words. Or that, maybe, Mayfair didn't have as much power as she was letting on.

But deep down, I knew it was true, and she was just petty enough to send Lucy Gray to her death. Which then brought me to my next problem: what could I do to stop it?

Mayfair was the mayor's daughter and the mayor was the one who chose the names for the reaping. It was pretty solid, with no interference from me able to stop it. But what was I to do? Do I tell Lucy Gray? Her family? At least, if I did, it would give them time to prepare. But how exactly? Would it not be easier to just let it play out as to not ruin their last moments together?

I didn't know, and it was so much information to carry, eating away at me little by little. What I did know was that I couldn't lose Lucy Gray. What would my life even look like if she was gone? What would the Covey do without her?

Lucy Gray was loved, needed, wanted. She couldn't die, not when she'd be so dearly missed and had so much left to give. If only I could take her place... I knew I would if I could. Nobody needed me or cared for me, nobody but her. But she'd get over my death. And my dad couldn't care less. If it meant saving Lucy Gray, I would do it. After all, I loved her.

But I couldn't, because it was her name to be picked, not mine. And with her name, she'd walk onstage and I'd never see her again. How could I change that?

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

BLUE- PROLOUGUE

Summary - Y/N Dursley had always been the ideal daughter, doting, loving and obedient. However, she gets a letter saying she's a witch and is invited to attend Hogwarts, her parents are quick to turn on her. All she has after her parents turn on her is her cousin Harry. But, she falls in love slowly with the friend of her cousin's enemy, Theodore Nott.

Word count - 1711

Warnings - Female reader, use of Y/N, Dursley's treatment of Harry, talks of Voldemort

Author's Note - Welcome to BLUE! I've been planning this series for a long time now and I've finally been able to sit down and start writing it! I currently don't know what house to place the reader in so if you want to be part of the decision head over to my poll to vote on her house! It's been a long time since I've last posted a fic but I'm finally back! I'm gonna try my best to stay on top of my updating and keep posting. I do have a lot of requests to fulfill so I'll start working on those as I wait for the poll results! Lots of love to all of you and thank you for your patience!

THERE WILL BE A TAGLIST SO PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

She has always been the ideal daughter and the ideal sister, treating her family with nothing but love and respect. She wished she could say the same for her brother, Dudley. Now Dudley was the most typical spoiled brat there was, he treated his parents like they were made of money and his sister as a servant. When it came to their cousin however, the poor boy was stuck under the stairs, being left out of many things because of who his parents were. Now she didn’t understand what was wrong with the boy, she was close with the boy, he was her best friend and she was his. 

They were close in age which aided in their closeness, her parents disliking her being so close with the boy but not saying anything in fear of upsetting their beloved daughter. The Dursley girl, who had a heart of gold, used any allowance given to her to get new things for her cousin who was stuck under the stairs. She shared whatever she could with him, whether it be food, clothes, books or toys. On her birthdays, she chose to celebrate with Harry, always making sure she included the boy in her special day.

On Harry’s birthdays, she was always the only one to get the boy a present, she would save up her allowance as well as any birthday money to get the boy new clothes, toys, books, games and whatever else she could think of. She never understood the animosity between her parents and her cousin but she never questioned it in fear of being yelled at by them.

It was Dudley’s birthday, he had requested they go to the zoo for the day. It was a nice change of pace, actually doing something everyone enjoyed on the spoiled boy’s birthday. She was squished in the backseat between her brother and her cousin, hating every second of it because Dudley kept trying to pull Harry’s hair and pulled hers on one too many occasions. “Stop pulling my hair! Mum, tell him to stop!” The girl complained to her mother.

“Leave your sister alone, Dudley. This is supposed to be a happy day, not one filled with complaining,” Her mother lightly scolded. The long necked woman’s last comment hurt her daughter but that’s what always happened when she would complain about Dudley.

As Vernon parked the car and the family walked into the zoo, Dudley ran ahead trying to pull his sister along with him. She pulled her arm away from him and stuck by Harry’s side instead. The day at the zoo was rather uneventful until the end of the trip when Dudley somehow got stuck in a snake enclosure and the snake got out. However poor Harry was locked into his ‘room’ under the stairs for a week. She would sneak the boy out at night so he could eat something and actually move around.

Now it was a couple weeks later, close to Harry’s birthday, she had already gotten him his present which was clothes that actually fit him. Harry was bringing in the post, handing his cousin a letter addressed to her, keeping a letter for himself and handing his uncle the rest of the post. “Harry, give me your letter, they’re gonna take it, we can open them later,” She whispered to her cousin. He handed over his letter and she hid them in the cupboard under the stairs. 

Later on that night, she snuck downstairs and unlocked Harry’s door to find the boy awake, holding their letters in his hand. “You first,” Harry said, putting her letter in her open hand. She let out a breath as she broke the seal and pulled the letter out. 

“Dear Miss Dursley, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of supplies needed for the school year. The term starts on September 1st, we await your owl until July 31st. Sincerely Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress,” She read the letter aloud, “I’m a witch? They’re real?”

Harry left her questions unanswered as he opened his own letter, “My letter says the same. I don’t understand.”

The two of them stayed up the rest of the night, rereading their letters over and over. They stayed awake until the sun rose and Petunia began to walk down the stairs. “What are you doing awake? It’s a Saturday, you usually sleep in,” Her mother questioned.

“Harry and I got the same letter in the post yesterday. It was strange, it was from a school called Hogwarts,” She explained to her mother.

“Vernon! Get up!” The woman shouted to her husband. The fat man came down the stairs at a snail’s pace.

“What is it, Petunia?” The woman ripped the two letters from her daughter’s hand, leaving a large paper cut on her palm as her mother handed the letters over. Her father’s face paled, ripping up the letters.

As the days flew by, the letters flew in by the hundreds, both of them receiving letter after letter until Vernon decided to take them to a remote island to get away from the letters. However, instead, at midnight on Harry’s birthday, a large man had knocked the door down looking for the two. Standing up to the adults and telling them that the two children’s names had been put down since they had been born. The girl was surprised to hear about how her aunt had actually died and about Hogwarts itself. Right then, Hagrid, who had finally introduced himself, brought the two to London.

They had traveled to a place called Diagon Alley, where Hagrid brought the two to the wizards bank to fetch money out of Harry’s vault before starting their shopping spree. They went to all of the shops, the last stop being Ollivanders to get their wands. Harry went first, trying out two other wands before finding his match. It was a little harder for her, trying five wands before she finally found her match. 

Hagrid knocked on the window, holding up a snow owl in a cage and a calico cat in another. They ended their day getting something to eat at the leaky cauldron, Hagrid finally telling Harry how he got his scar, how Voldemort killed his parents and tried to kill him even though he was a baby. That night, neither of them could sleep, staying up all night going through their lists and triple checking they got everything they needed for the first term. The next morning was the day they actually got to see the cryptic school.

Hagrid only gave them their tickets when they got to King Cross Station, telling them to follow their tickets before disappearing. The two cousins tried to find the platform and resorted to asking a guard at the station who was no help at all. That’s when they saw a family of redheads talking about muggles. They looked at each other with a nervous smile before choosing to approach the older woman.

“Excuse me, how do you get…” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask his question but the woman was quick to understand.

“Onto the platform, of course dear. It’s Ron’s first time as well. All you have to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten. If you’re a bit nervous, it’s better to do it at a bit of a run,” The woman explained to the two. So together they jogged at the wall as the woman instructed, finding their way to the platform.

“Woah,” Y/N said in awe, taking in her surroundings. 

They were able to find a compartment containing the same boy they met earlier, asking if it was okay if they sat with him. “I’m Ron Weasley,” The boy introduced himself.

“Y/N Dursley and Harry Potter,” Her cousin introduced them both.

“You’re Harry Potter! Do you have the…you know?”

“The scar?” The girl finished his question for him. The redhead nodded and Harry lifted his hair to reveal the lighting bolt scar on his forehead. The three bonded on the train ride to Hogwarts, getting all of the sweets from the trolley and meeting yet another first year by the name of Hermione Granger. She was looking for a boy’s toad before instructing the three to change into their robes. They all did and just as they finished the train had stopped. All of the students had filed out of the train, meeting up with Hagrid who led them to the boats that would take them to the castle.

The view was breathtaking, the only lights coming from the lanterns on the boats and the castle itself. It was like a dream, she had to pinch herself to convince herself she wasn’t actually dreaming. When she winced she deduced that she wasn’t dreaming and this was actually real. Hagrid led them to one of the professors, the same professor who signed their letters. She was leading them up to the Great Hall for the sorting.

“There are four houses, they will be your home for the next few months until summer, they are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin,” The professor explained to the group.

“There's not a witch or wizard from Slytherin that hasn’t gone bad,” Ron whispered to the cousins. 

“So it’s true what they say, Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. Draco, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott,” A blond boy interrupted from behind them.

Harry and Draco had a quite heated exchange before the lot of them finally followed the older professor into the Great Hall. The sorting ceremony dragged, Harry getting placed into Gryffindor along with Herminone, Ron and the boy who lost his toad, Neville.

“Y/N Dursley,” The professor called. She walked up to the stool on shaky legs before sitting, the hat getting placed onto her head. The hat coming to life spooked her a bit but she was able to relax for a second.

“Hmmm, you’re a tough one to place, you’re intelligent, brave, loyal and clever. Big traits of all four houses, but where to put you? You would do great things in all houses…Ahhh… I got it, better be…”

[squirrel-gay]

Enid: Yeah my mum loves the scars

they remind her of me wolfing out, that i'm no longer a disgrace

Wednesday: I like looking at them

they remind me of your love for me

Excuse me, but consider this: Enid doesn't like her scars, because they get more attention than she ever did. It's the first thing her mother notices, and she almost cries of joy because she didn't believe it when they told her she'd finally turned. Enid catches her mom looking proudly at her scars from time to time, which is more attention than she ever gave her before. "Let me get a good look at you" she says, turning Enid's head to the side, tracing the scars. Enid wants to run away. Her mom doesn't say "I'm glad you're okay" she doesn't ask if it hurt. She says "finally" because Enid almost dying is less important than her wolfing out.

Enid starts wearing her hair in a way that hides them as much as possible. Until one day Wednesday asks her about it, "do you regret how you got your scars?" and Enid's words get stuck in her throat. And Wednesday, carefully tracing the area on Enid's cheek so she doesn't touch still healing wounds, tells her that they're just a visual representation of her choices. A part of her now, sure, but they're more like a footnote, an added detail to the intricacy of her. And when Wednesday looks at them she remembers how she saved her life that day.

"If you regret saving me, that's okay, but I can't bear to see you hiding yourself like this"

And Enid stops her then, because she would never regret what she did that day.

"It's just... it feels like my scars are the only thing mum loves about me"

And Wednesday says her mom's a fool, because "What's not to love about you?"

[katz-chow]

inspired by the post you made of having a child by your hip and then him walking in and going to kiss his "pretty girls"

So, here this, Simon Riley, bad mood, and tired, just came from base to his home, his wife and daughter in the kitchen, unaware. He was going to be grumpy all night long when he heard the babbles from his baby daughter, his wife trying to teach her how to say 'mum' after the kid said 'dada' first.

Bare with me, make it extra fluffy, I'm taking it so fluffy it roots your teeth from how cute it is. The dream he never knew would happen, was now in front of him.

anyway, you'll probs get a smut req from me after this one

a/n: i did not see this until it was like an hour before i wrote and posted this. my bad, man.

warnings: fem!reader, baby, stressed out simon, fluff, domestic, maternity leave, what a family man

Simon was not a stranger to stress and aching muscles, it came almost like sleep to an already dying body. He saw himself as that whenever it got quiet and lonely. Thankfully, nowadays he finds himself in the comfort and joy of people that enjoy his company to any extent. So this stress came in a familiar yet unexpected, especially when it came in a form of 12 hours of office work and not dirt, grime, and blood. Also unusual is how this tsunami toppled him down, so close to the place he called home, in a neighborhood where only old people find themselves retiring to and grand kids running along the street.

He pulled up to the light of his home, which seemed unchanged to when he left the same house earlier that day, completely with the total darkness that consumed the sky. Keys in one hand and a lunch box in the other, he unlocked the front door and was met with the warm glow of lamp lights. The smell of dinner drifted in the air, inviting him into bliss and heat, compared to the cold and damp night outside.

One lock clicked, the other one followed, and then the tumbling of his steel-toed boots against the hardwood. A quiet draft moved around the living and dining room, a remnant of a busy, eventful day still present along the floor. Wooden peg dolls lay slain from a fight hours ago, Lego bricks scattered around from an explosion that seemed to have been devastating for the population and infrastructure of the city, how cute.

His ear perked up at the sound of soft cooing followed by the shrill of your baby voice for your girl. Behind the door to the nursery propped you up against the wall, slumped down onto the floor. The little cow onesie sat on your lap, leaning against your thighs as you held her hands, bouncing her up and down.

"Can you say 'mama?'" You whispered sing-songy, slowing down the last part, making it easier for the baby to understand. The little one giggled at you and forced you to wave your hand with its tight grip on one of your fingers.

Simon couldn't help but shake his head and roll his eyes, your diabolical plan of getting her to say 'mama' instead of 'dada' has started-which was especially unfair because you got parental leave before he did. "I heard that."

You look up at him from your spot of the fluffy rug, sticking out your tongue at him. 'How mature,' he thought as he sank down next to you. He raked a hand through his hair, resting his head against the wall as you rested yours onto his shoulder. Your cowpoke stuck her tongue out at him as he peaked open of his eyes to glare at her. "Already putting my own kid against me, how considerate of you, Lovie."

You giggled at him and thus, your baby girl also giggled, following in her mama's steps. The three of you settled down, Simon taking her from your lap and into his own, holding her close as she snuggled up into his uniform. You held onto his bicep, leaning into him. Soft lips meet your forehead as normal, just like the hundreds of times before this moment. "You got home late."

"I know, I'm sorry..." he sighed, eyes heavy and heart full,domestic life looked good on him. What looked even better was his beautiful girls in his grasp, shielding them away from the horrors of war that he fought all those years ago. This was it.

"I'm glad you're home though... we already had dinner and she insisted that we stay up to wait for you." You laughed. You missed him and the days that he wasn't so caught up, working overtime. You know why though, so paternity leave wouldn't be so out of reach.

He let out a soft laugh smiling and making funny faces at your little calf. "Yeah, I saw the destruction and war crimes the two of you caused out there."

"Womp, womp." You shrugged and let in a deep breath, content with the little family the two of you had created in a span of a few years. This is what life is supposed to be like; simple, warm, and your kids mocking you at the ripe age of 10 months.

Simon Riley, a man built on anger, pain, and built walls, is no longer just that. He's no longer just a soldier, a pawn that's willing to do anything for the greater good, sacrificing sleep, time, and himself. No, Simon Riley can no longer do that, he needs to come home at the end of day, see his girls terrorize the squirrels outside, see his girls nuzzled up watching tv, see his girls make fun of him, and most importantly, see his girls sleeping soundly in his arms.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter eight

summary: you and luca pick up where you left off a week ago.

warnings: fluff, smut (18+ only), literally just p*rn FOR the plot. big note on consent: there is protected (then sort of) unprotected sex in this chapter. the biggest point i'd like to make here is that both characters consent to both kinds and have a very open and honest conversation about it which, if you take away anything from this chapter, it's PLEASE HAVE HONEST CONVERSATIONS WITH THE PEOPLE YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH FOR EVERYONE'S SAFETY. ok rant over.

word count: 4.9k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: another busy week ahead of me so I wanted to get this out here ASAP, but most likely won't be able to get the following chapter out for a bit. obviously, we don't know what happens w/ marcus' mom, but in this world, she doesn't die opening night of The Bear.

on another note: you guys are seriously the best and leave the sweetest and most excited comments/reblogs. i seriously love it when you guys scream at me in gifs/memes/all caps. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part seven | masterlist | part nine

“Yeah uh, everything’s been goin’ good. I think Carm’s still trying to deal with everything that happened since opening – I don’t know if you heard but – but… it’s been good,” Marcus says over his FaceTime call with his mentor. 

“No, I hadn’t. Eh, haven’t talked to him much since before you visited,” Luca answers, hesitant to ask about what happened during that first night. 

“Got locked in the fridge and kinda lost it but… he’s doin’ okay,” Marcus explains, summing up the events of The Bear’s friends and family night. 

“How are you doing? How’s your mum?” Luca asks, changing the subject from Carmen to his mentee. 

He’s had more contact with Marcus – knows more of what’s going on in Marcus’ life than Carmen’s for a bit now – and Luca wants to make sure he’s being a good friend to him, considering he’d heard about Marcus’ mom’s emergency the night of The Bear’s friends and family night. 

“She’s hangin’ on but… it’s not lookin’ great. It’s hard, man. I’m… doin’ the best I can,” Marcus admits, solemnly. 

“I can only imagine,” Luca empathizes, because he can’t bear the thought of losing his own mum. 

“But uh… anyways, what’s up? What’s new with you?” Marcus asks, his voice much more energetic from the prospect of changing the subject. 

“You sure you want to hear about me?” Luca hesitates cautiously. 

“Yeah, man,” Marcus agrees. Luca can hear something so sure in his voice, as if Marcus is in dire need of a distraction – to talk about anything but his sick mom. “Shit. I’d love to hear about someone else’s drama for once,”

Luca chuckles softly, his voice light as he replies, “No drama on my end. Though. Ehm… I met a girl. I actually kinda have you to thank for it, mate.” 

“What do you mean?” Marcus questions. 

“Well. All that talk about inspiration…” Luca says, thinking about how what he’s just makes sense. 

“... you know, about being open to things outside the kitchen…. After you left, it made me realize that it’d be a while since I’d taken my own advice. Got stuck on a menu, went out for inspiration, and, well you know what they say: the rest is history.”

He knows it’s not as simple as that, but it seems like Marcus needs a little good news right now. 

“Oh shit! How’s that going?” Marcus asks, his tone much lighter now. 

“I’m positively chuffed, mate,” Luca chuckles, unable to hide the i’m-very-much-enamored smile that spreads across his face.

“The fuck does that even mean, man?” Marcus teases with a laugh at the oh-so-posh-sounding expression. 

Luca laughs again before explaining, “It means I'm pretty damn smitten.” 

“Shit,” Marcus sighs. 

He can see it all over his face as he continues to see his mentor. 

“You’re a goner, man.”

-------------------------------

Luca walks you home this Saturday evening after his regular dinner date at your restaurant. While you had a steady flow of business tonight, Mathilde and the rest of your kitchen staff made it a point to rally so that you could join him for a bit. It’s been a week since your unplanned sleepover with Luca (and your pleasantly surprising sexy morning after), and you haven’t stopped thinking about it. 

Haven’t stopped thinking about him:

The way he called you ‘love.’ The way he watched you fall apart with the most pleased look on his face. The way his fingers felt inside of you. 

“Luca,” you begin. 

The two of you stand across from one another, at a crossroads. The night could end here. You could say your goodbyes, give him a goodnight kiss, and go your separate ways, but that’s far from the option you’d prefer.

“Yes, love?” he asks you, as if he’s waiting for you to ask first.

There it is again. 

Love. 

Your eyes flicker from the cobblestone streets then back up to him as you the words fall out of your mouth:

“Do you… wanna come up?” 

Something flashes across Luca’s face as he opens mouth to say something, pausing for a moment before answering, as if it’s an agreement to what you’re really asking, an ever-so confident,

“Yes.” 

You smile, take a breath, then grab his hand as you turn towards the door to your building. As Luca follows you, the only sound between the two of you are your footsteps as you make your way up the stairs. The tension between you is thick, the anticipation of what happens next palpable, that takes shape as a pregnant silence. Luca is more-than-patient as you unlock your door, welcoming him into your home once again, before locking your front door behind you. He’s busy removing his shoes as you giggle, taking yours off as well. 

Once both of you are barefoot, you reach for him, pulling him towards you so that he towers over you, your back pressed against the front door once again. 

“This feels… eerily familiar,” Luca jokes softly, so close to kissing you that it hurts. 

“Yeah,” you agree, under your breath. This is exactly where he had you a week ago, before you both decided not to do the thing you were about to do. “Think you might wanna… pick up where we left off? Now that neither of us are plastered?”

Luca waits a beat, leaning in and ghosting his lips over yours, causing you to gasp in response to his teasing. 

“Do you?” he asks, his voice steady.

He wants to know that you’re sure. Wants to know that you want this as much as him. That you haven’t stopped thinking about the other day when he watched you fall apart on his fingers and how it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Yes,” you answer, your voice unwavering. 

He swears under his breath before his mouth is on yours, kissing you so deeply that your head spins. You make a mental note to tell him later how absolutely perfect his lips are – how deliciously plump they are, how they feel perfect against yours, how talented they are. You kiss him back, allowing him to steal the air from your lungs as he does it, crowding you up against your front door. 

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. You push your body against his, surprised at how steady his hands are, while yours feel so desperate, so frenzied, when he reaches for you. 

His hands are all over you, leaving confident, strong touches all over your body: pulling you in closer to him by your hips, stroking up and down your back, sliding underneath the hem of your shirt like he’s already done this with you a thousand times before. With his hands already underneath your shirt, exploring new territory, and his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, his name leaves your lips like something between a sigh and a moan. 

He hums in response, pulling back for a moment. Your heart skips as a beath, as blue eyes lock with yours in a heated, lust-filled standoff. 

“Come with me,” you whisper, causing Luca to move aside, letting you lead him towards your bedroom. 

On the way there, you flip a hallway light on so that you can at least see where you’re going. You feel his fingers tangle with yours as he grabs your hand, his heart pounding in his chest. As soon as you reach your bedroom, you sit him down on your neatly-made bed, before turning on a small, soft, golden lamp that feels like candlelight. 

It’s just enough – more of a nightlight than a lamp, really.

You approach him without a word, and Luca marvels at you. You’re a sight for sore eyes: your hair messy from the heated makeout against your front door, your lips kiss-swollen from the fact that he can barely keep his hands, let alone his mouth off of you, your pupils blow wide with desire for him and only him. You pull your shirt over your head as you climb on to his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press a searing kiss to his lips. 

“My god,” he murmurs, his hands coming up to meet the newly exposed skin. You settle into his lap, pressing your hips against his, arching your back into him in response to each touch. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

You giggle before thanking him.

“Yeah, and I know that you know you’re hot,” you tease him in between kisses, because the man must know what he looks like, right? Luca mutters something about how he wasn’t trying to solicit a compliment from you as he lays back on your bed, taking you with him.

His hands hungrily grab at exposed flesh: the sides of your back, your breasts, the straps of your bra, just to pull them down enough to think he’s going to take it off. Impatiently, you grind your hips against where a tent in his pants has begun to form, earning a moan from his lips as he bucks his hips up to meet your clothed core. 

“We should um-,” you start, already so turned on by the way Luca’s body moves against yours that you think you should bring this up sooner rather than later. “Things we should talk about….”

“Yes, my love?” Luca asks, grinding against you again. 

You moan in response, throwing your head back as you giggle, knowing that he’s teasing you – testing your patience. 

You settle down, just for a moment, both hands going to his well-toned chest. Luca’s hands still around your hips as you say:

“I have condoms. In my nightstand. And I’m also on the pill. I… just got back on it.” 

Just got back on it when you started seeing him – you know, just in case this became a thing. 

“I haven’t been tested since my yearly physical which was… almost a year ago… but I also haven’t exactly been having sex so,” you add, your eyes flickering away for just a moment before returning to Luca’s very blue ones. 

“That’s very sexy,” he smiles up at you, his hands softly stroking your hips. 

“What?” you ask with a giggle, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you shoot him a quizzical look. 

“This… very direct communication,” he replies with a smirk, grinding his hips back up into yours again. 

“Luca!” you squeal in response, catching yourself against him so that you don’t lose your balance. 

He grins before answering, “My last test was three months ago at my yearly physical. Clean bill of health.” He pauses before saying the next thing. 

“And I’m not seeing anyone else.”

You nod, leaning down to kiss him in understanding, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he replies, bringing you down once more for another passionate makeout. 

Luca is right. It’s an even bigger turn on, the open communication, and now that you’ve gotten that conversation out of the way, you’re ready to dive in head first to exactly where you hope this is going. Getting undressed is a sexy, dreamy blur. You’re practically tearing Luca’s shirt over his head, unable to hide the fact that your jaw is near-on the floor as you take it in the hard planes of his abdomen. He expertly removes your bra, and before you know it, he’s gotten you onto your back, and you’re kicking your pants off to the bottom of the bed. 

Luca pins both of your hands to the bed overhead with one of his hands – his fingers laced with some of yours as he holds them in place – while his other hand once again makes its way between your legs. You gasp in anticipation, unable to stop the confession that comes out of your mouth. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that. About you. All week,” you whisper, eager to have him touch you again. 

“That so?” Luca asks cockily, in between kisses. 

“Yes,” you gasp, squirming underneath your touch as two his fingers dance over your clothed core. 

From the wetness pooling between your legs up to your clit, the way he touches you sets off sparks all over your body. You pant, unable to think straight as Luca pulls your pantied aside, his fingertips meeting your wetness immediately. He moans in response to this discovery, his forehead pressed against yours, and you cry out when he finally gives you what you’ve been begging for, as he slips a finger into you. 

“Luca,” you sigh, like you’ve gotten the only thing that could remedy your restlessness as of late. 

Luca kisses you again, his tongue slipping into your mouth for a millionth time tonight as he begins sliding his finger in and out of you. 

“You’re so wet, love,” he coos, teasingly, into your mouth. “It’s too easy. The way my fingers slide in and out of you.” He pushes another finger into you, beginning to stretch you again at a deliciously slow pace. “You want me this much?”

And all you can do is moan, arch your back in response to the pleasure he brings you, his hand keeping both of yours above your head while he has you at his mercy. 

“So good,” you cry, as you breathe heavily. “So good. It feels-. Fuck.” 

He chuckles cruelly, breaking the kiss between you as he pulls his fingers from you. You whimper in response, impatiently, greedily. The man has you under a sexual spell and you could care less about anything else right now. 

“I already know how you feel about my fingers. Think I should give you my mouth too, hm?” he rasps, his question anything but rhetorical. 

Luca releases your hands that he’s pinned to the mattress, beginning to kiss down your jaw, your neck, your bare torso, pausing to take each of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flickering across them like it’s a goddamn preview. 

“I need to hear you say it,” he commands, his voice quiet yet dominant. Luca pauses, his journey south, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses across your belly as he looks up at you with piercing blue eyes. 

“D’you want my mouth? Will you let me taste you?” 

“Please,” you’re too quick, too eager to respond when you’re looking down at him, looking down at the sight before you. 

Without hesitation, Luca tears your panties down your legs, impatiently tossing them behind him. He begins kissing the inside of your right thigh, alternating between soft kisses, and gentle love bites that have you squealing in delight. You let out soft moans in anticipation, sure that whatever happens next will bring you to an early grave. 

A hiss in pleasure escapes your lips as you feel the heat of his breath fan over you, but before your brain can even catch up, Luca’s licking a broad stripe up your core, parting you open for him and only him. 

You cry out, your head thrown back as he buries his face between your legs, tracing fierce abstract shapes over your clit. He moans against you, the vibrations too much as you surrender to him. He alternated between sucking and licking, and it’s not till he’s pushing two fingers back into you that your hands are grasping at the sheets, grabbing at the back of his head as your body writhes in pleasure. 

You can feel it, that spark so deep in your belly, the coil that winds itself so tightly that the only thing it can do to relieve any tension is to snap. 

“Luca. I’m gonna cum,” you beg him, a desperate whine in your voice. “Please don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t. It’s as if he couldn’t bear the thought of it – like he could never be cruel enough to deny you what you’re asking for when your voice sounds so sweet, so desperate, so on fire for him.

Using his fingers and his mouth in tandem, he’s relentless in bringing you to your climax, so determined to keep his name on your lips with every gasp, moan, and exhale.

And god, does he love the way it sounds: when you’re moaning it, when you’re begging him not to stop, when you make it sound like a symphony – like he’s just created a goddamn masterpiece. 

He’s left you breathless, and all you can do is breathe, allowing your brain to catch up with the pleasure your body has just experienced. Luca makes his way back up to you before pressing a searing kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, and you have no intention of stopping now. 

You can feel the weight of him as he folds his body over yours. Curious hands begin to move as you become more and more interested in exploring Luca’s body. His muscles flex underneath your fingertips as a reminder of the sheer strength of the man above you. Luca groans as you cup him over his pants, before you begin to undo his pants.

“Do you… want to grab a condom?” he asks softly. 

You pause, your hands to meet his gaze with your own. 

“Uh.. yeah,” you reply. You had every intention of returning the favor, but perhaps that’s something you’ll save for tomorrow. “Let me just um….” 

You sit up, and Luca pulls back, kneeling on the bed as he finishes the job, undoing the button on his pants as you open your nightstand to grab a condom. You place the condom down on the bed next to you, before laying down, your legs spread enough so that Luca can settle between them as you watch him slide his pants and briefs down over his erection. 

Holy. Shit. 

The man’s an adonis. 

And…

Well, you know you shouldn’t be surprised. 

He’s 6’ 3” for godssake. 

But as you see his cock standing tall, hard, precum leaking from the tip, you’re glad you’ve had quite the night of foreplay so far, especially since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a lover. Instead of hesitating, you sit up just for a moment so that you can pull him over you, pulling Luca down to you for a kiss. He’s quick to respond, using one tatted hand to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss as he lays over you once again. 

Your right hand makes it way between you, beginning to stroke him, earning a hiss of pleasure from Luca as you wrap your hand around his thick length. He bucks into your hand and you stroke up and down his erection a few times before guiding him towards you, allowing him to use your slick as lubricant as the two of you grind against each. 

You know you should do the responsible thing, but you can’t help wondering what it would feel like too. But there’s time for that. Another time for that… 

As if he’s read your mind, Luca grabs the condom next to you, before sitting up. He carefully rips open the foil packet before tossing it somewhere on the floor, giving both hands the freedom to slide the latex over his hard on. And then he’s back on you, folding his body over yours as you make room for him between your legs, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. 

“You sure you want to do this?” he asks, and you think you’ll melt with how damn considerate he is. 

“Yes, baby,” you whisper back, it being the first time you’ve called him that. “Yes.” 

With your ‘yes’ Luca reaches down, pressing his thick tip against your opening, then begins to push in. You both gasp at the contact as he holds your gaze, and you feel the slightest pinch as he stretches you open. Luca caresses the side of your face, watching you for any sign, any kind of reaction that you’d want to stop. He keeps his eyes on you, pushing deeper, and then deeper, till he bottoms out.

Leaning his forehead against yours as he pauses, he’s got to focus on not cumming right then and there. 

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he exhales, letting the way you feel take over him. You’re all warm, wet, pulsing heat and it feels too fucking good. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust to his size, before beginning to give him a few experimental movements, grinding your hips where the two of you are connected. Without having to say a word, Luca understands, dragging his hard length out of you at an unbearably slow pace, before pushing back into you, eliciting moans from the both of you this time. 

“Do that again,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering close and you focus on the delicious drag of his cock. 

He does it again, this time thrusting a little bit harder into you, causing you to moan a little louder this time. His mouth is back on yours as he begins to set a rhythm, thrusting in and out of you while you meet his hips with yours, rocking against him at a pace that matches. It’s as if Luca’s begun to map out your body, wanting to memorize every little thing that makes you tick, that makes you scream, causes you to grasp at any grabbable surface – the sheets, his hair, his back. 

His mouth is back on yours, swallowing your moans as he continues to fuck you. You’ve settled into a rhythm that feels just right – something that you can get completely lost in. It could be minutes, hours, days that you’ve been here, chasing mutual pleasure, wrapped up in each other’s arms like you need it to breathe. The way he moves against you is strong, yet gentle as Luca makes love to you, whispering the filthiest things into your mouth, into your ears, the soft canvas of your skin, as if he’s engraving them in stone.

You take me so well. So fucking pretty like this. My beautiful girl. 

“Luca,” you gasp, as he gives you a particularly euphoric thrust. 

“Hm?” he hums in response. 

“Let me ride you,” you request, your eyelids heavy as he stays close to you. 

“Yeah?” he asks you, one expressive eyebrow raising up. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

Luca kisses you deeply before pausing, pulling out of you and rolling over onto his back. He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven as he watches you climb on top of him, your disheveled sex hair and desire to fuck him seem to awaken something primal in him. As you hover over him, your knees framing his hips, you line yourself up with him before taking him once again. 

Luca groans, letting his hands trace gentle patterns up and down your body – his hands smooth over your ass and caress your breasts, as calloused fingertips drag across your stomach, your shoulders, your ribcage – as if he's writing a love letter against your skin. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. 

He moans, closing his eyes as you begin moving your hips over him, forward and back, beginning to ride him like you’d asked to earlier. Large hands make their way to your hips, as you continue your movements, this time leaning down to kiss him. Luca moans into your mouth as your tongues tangle together, your hips never ceasing their grind against him. 

It feels too good. 

You feel too good.

You break the kiss this time, placing your hands on Luca’s chest for leverage as you begin to speed up your pace, letting out a moan as you fuck yourself on your lover. Back arched, hair messy, and your head thrown back, you’re completely lost in the way that he feels inside of you. 

“Look at you,” Luca marvels, hands everywhere as you bring yourself closer to your second orgasm of the night. “My god, love.” 

And before you know it, Luca’s sitting up, sitting tall, wrapping one of his long arms around your torso while the other braces against the bed behind him. He’s thrusting his hips up into you, his hand moving to the small of your back to keep you in perfect harmony with him. The way he hits the back of you with each thrust, how deep he is, how good it feels has you so, so close for the second time tonight. You cry out in response to a particularly hard thrust as your body slumps, resting your forehead against Luca’s shoulder. 

You are no longer in control. It’s funny really – and sweet – that he let you think even for a second that you could be. But when he’s bouncing you up and down like this over his hard length, thrusts becoming more erratic, more chaotic, sloppier, you have no choice but to surrender to him. You hold onto his back and his shoulders for dear life as he fucks up into you and you can tell he’s close too. 

“God, you’re so good. You’re so fucking good at this,” you whine, all nerves, and explosive pleasure behind your admission. 

“I’m close. Baby, are you-?” Luca struggles to get out, the tension in his brow telling you everything you need to know. 

“Yes. Harder. Fuck. I’m gonna cum,” you sob, sure that your neighbors will send you the dirtiest or looks when you run into them in the hallway tomorrow. 

You cry out as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing hasty circles against you in an effort to take you there with him. All you can do is moan as you busy your mouth with leaving kisses and love bites against his shoulders and chest. 

It’s somehow too much and not enough all at once as your orgasm rips through you, your entire body contracting against his. You bite down on Luca’s shoulder, and you think the pain and pleasure combined is what gets him across the finish line as he fucks you through your climax. Before you can properly come down, it’s one, two, and then a third hard thrust up into you before he lets out a primal grunt, pressing your hips down hard against his. 

Luca stills inside of you, panting as the ripples of pleasure course through his body, his ears ringing from how hard he came. His eyes meet yours, and he chuckles, moving a piece of hair from your face before tucking it behind your ear. 

“Hi,” he smiles, watching you carefully. 

“How ya doin?” you ask him, teasingly. 

He shakes his head with a laugh before pulling you towards him so that he can kiss you once again. 

“I’m great,” he answers, in between kisses. 

“Me too,” you agree as your lips curl into a smile against his. You press one more kiss to his lips before pulling back. As you climb off of his lap, allowing him to slip out of you, the two of you hit the mattress like you’ve just run a marathon. 

“Come here, love,” he says, encouraging you closer to him. 

More than happy to oblige, you curl up to his side, one of your legs wrapping around his as you lay on your side. You giggle, settling into the softness of moment, pressed up against the guy that just fucked your brains out. 

“What?” he asks, in regards to your laugh. 

“I just-,” you start, before giggling again. “That was really hot.”

Luca gives you a comforting squeeze, hugging you closer to him as you relax even further into his body. 

“Yeah it was,” he agrees, a grin spreading across his lips. 

He looks over at you to see that you’re on your way to being fast asleep. You’ve closed your eyes, so perfectly tucked underneath his arm as you rest against his body. Luca places a gentle kiss on top of your head as he grins to himself again. He’s not sure what to call it – this thing he’s feeling – because it’s too soon to call it anything, but whatever it is, he knows that his friend was right: 

He’s a goner. 

-------------------------------

Luca doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve this, but as he watches you take him into your mouth, he knows he must’ve done something right. Your name escapes his lips like a prayer as you spend your morning going down on him, completely incapable of ignoring the hard-on you woke up to minutes ago.

You’d promptly pushed him onto his back before asking if you could. 

And who was he to say no?

“Shit,” he hisses, as your tongue runs over the head of his hard, leaking cock.

“Wait, just-. I don’t want to cum yet. I-,” Luca stammers out, using all of his self control not to cum in your mouth right then and there. “I want to fuck you again.” 

His words shoot straight to your core as you release him, climbing back over his body and letting him roll you onto your back. 

“Do you want me to grab a condom?” he asks you, nipping at your jaw as his fingers discover that you’re already ready for him. 

His words from last night echo in your head: 

And I’m not seeing anyone else. 

“No,” you say, immediately searching his face for some kind of negative reaction. “Is that okay?” 

He nods, one side of his mouth turns up into that crooked smile that makes your heart race. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, his head spinning as he lines himself up with your entrance, beginning to push in. 

“Of course it is, love.”

[pressplay-if]

I saw that the single mum route is the less angsty when it comes to family stuff. Which is lovely. However, it reminded me of something I was thinking the other day. I was trying to figure out what kind of depressive thoughts my MC may have (as I'm still deciding if he'll have depression or social anxiety). And since I always pick the single mother route (I love the idea of MC being the poor friend of the band), I got some ideas.

Basically, I guess my MC would feel a lot of guilt. He knows that his mother is busy with so much work not out of being a workaholic, but by need. Need that is significantly exacerbated by MC's existence. I do imagine a young MC especially feeling guilty and as a burden to their mum, since the poor woman has to raise them and work full time.

This is further increased as the years come by and MC decides to dedicate their lives to a band. A high reward but high risk kind of job. My MC could easily fail to achieve any major success. And then what? It's very easy to feel guilt. Maybe he should have tried to find a more stable job? Something to help his mother so she can lower her workload significantly?

Then again, I am sure my MC's mother would prefer MC to go after his dreams. So, I imagine, MC is also in a weird position where he also would feel guilt if he didn't pursue the music life. Because he is sure his mother would know, and she would feel bad. His mother could easily blame herself that her child is leaving their dream behind. And my MC couldn't bear such idea. So, he is stuck in a weird limbo.

Of course this may be just me overthinking. But it could be some kind of ideas that my MC could fester on his mind as he grows up. Since it's very easy to go from guilt to be burden, to guilt about existing, and then to decide to remove himself from life as that would, in a way, "fix the problem" (which is not true, of course, since suicide doesn't fix things).

Well, I'll stop rambling. This is perhaps a bit of a downer, so I understand if you prefer to ignore it. In any case this basically comes from me thinking a lot about my MC and this IF.

Why would I ignore it I love long asks. Although it does make me think that perhaps (given the current state of the hospitalization interlude) MC may need more options to describe their depressive thoughts. Bc in the interlude, it's all mostly symptom-based, and there's more screentime to MC getting better than MC experiencing the depression. This is partly for the sake of brevity (I'm worried about the interlude getting to long, given it's just another flashback basically, albeit a really important one). But the MC CAN in fact say they felt like a burden to their single mother in a later decision (not chapter 2, it's when they move out).

[toomuchracket]

haunted house (dad!george x reader fluff)

more promptober! just a fun fic about you and the kids making plans for when george gets home. enjoy! <3

the bell for the end of the day rings just as you make it through the school gates, wet autumn leaves on the ground and the wriggly three-year-old in your arms doing nothing but hindering an already-running-late you. panting slightly, you carefully set cara down and try to catch your breath, ruffling her hair as she clings to your leg.

you're not really sure why you rushed, to be honest; connor's the most laid-back five-year-old you've ever heard of, with a habit of swanning out of school a few minutes after most of his classmates have bolted out of the playground, and you know you would have been there waiting for him in plenty of time had you walked from the car instead of running. still, you don't want to chance it, you'd rather wait for your son than have it be the other way around.

and you do wait - seven minutes (and three games of hopscotch with your daughter) after the school day ends, connor finally deigns to leave the building, chatting away to dylan as they wander over to you. at the sight of her brother and for-all-intents-and-purposes cousin, cara speeds over to them to say hello; when the three of them walk closer to you, you can see the smug little grin on her face at getting to hang out with the “big kids”, even though there's barely two years between her and them.

you grin back at them, amused at the (classic daniel/healy) height difference between the two five-year-olds. “hi, munchkins. y'alright? took you a while to leave school today.”

“dyl couldn't find her water bottle, mum,” connor throws himself into a cuddle, which you reciprocate eagerly. “but i helped her.”

your goddaughter corroborates this, giving you a hug of her own in greeting. “yeah cos we have the same one and no-one else has it because they're from our dads’ work. but mine has an sticker that's pink,” she almost whacks you with said water bottle in her haste to show you the barbie sticker half-stuck over the 75 logo. “it was at the sink and not my seat.”

“oh, well, that's good you got it,” you pat her head. “did your dad tell you this morning that it would be me picking you up because mummy's not feeling well?”

“yeah. he said baby's making her tummy sore, so i'm going home in the car with you.”

“that's right,” you take cara's hand, heading out towards the almost-empty car park. “let's go to the car now, babies.”

“mum!” connor looks aghast. “we're not babies. i'm five.”

“i'm nearly six,” dylan says proudly. “when baby gets here i'll be six. and lena will be four. and you too, cara.”

your youngest looks at you, brow furrowed; you have to stop yourself giggling at how much she looks like george. “i'll be four?”

“yes, angel. you and lena won't be the tiny babies any more, will you? we'll all have an actual baby to look after.”

cara hums, too preoccupied to be excited about the thought of a new friend. “will i get a party when i'm four?”

“oh, i think so,” you unlock the car, scooping her up with a kiss to her cheek before settling her into her carseat. “you know what dad and matty are like. any excuse to celebrate! right, dyl, you get in there, darling, watch your step,” fastening her seatbelt, you shout across the girls to your son. “you alright, con?”

“mhmm!”

you check anyway - he's fine - before getting in yourself. “alright, munchkins, home time.”

what should only be a ten-minute drive to the healy house actually ends up being twenty-five because of traffic, but it's pleasant enough - the kids are good as gold, patiently playing i spy, softly giggling the whole time and warming your heart. you knew all along that your babies would be best friends with your best friends’, but seeing dylan - tiny for her age, shockingly tentative from birth - yap and laugh along with your two like this is a heartwarming (and only slightly terrifying) indication that the kids will genuinely end up being as close (read: codependent) as their fathers are.

their fathers, who are still at the studio working diligently, you learn when your friend waddles (there's no other word for it) out to the car to get dylan despite you yelling “stay there! i'll bring her up!” repeatedly when you reach her house. she rolls her eyes as she tells you, absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump, an air of vague exhaustion hanging around her. “according to matthew, they're working on until half 6 tonight, so they can take the weekend off and do final tweaks on monday, and that's them done,” she scoffs. “can you believe that?”

“of course not. george has been promising to be home at half 4 for the past three weeks,” you snort. “and as for final tweaks…”

“oh, another month, at least.”

“literally. that baby girl of yours might arrive before they send that final mix off.”

“don't, i'm actually nervous about that,” she giggles, cradling her stomach before pulling you into a hug. “i'd better go before elena tries to cut her own hair again. d'you want to do dinner next friday, us and the kids - and the boys, if they ever unchain themselves from that mixing desk?”

“i'll bring starters and dessert,” you kiss her cheek. “take it easy, alright?”

“yeah. hope you get to see your husband this weekend, babe!”

“you too!”

you really, really hope you do; after an hour in tesco, you and the kids get home well after george's originally-planned home time, and your heart sinks when you unlock the door to the lights still off and no sign of him, other than the half-drunk coffee he left this morning and a couple of cigarette butts in the kitchen ashtray. moments like these are sometimes harder than when he's actually away touring, you think - it's less upsetting missing george when there are oceans between you than it is when you're ships in the night in the same house.

still, you've got the kids to keep you distracted from being melancholy; it's impossible to be anything other than overjoyed when your sweet babies insist on group cuddles on the sofa while you watch another episode of balamory, or when the two of them run to get their stepstools so they can watch you make fajitas for dinner with genuine interest (well, connor more than cara), or during dinner itself, when connor collapses into contagious giggles at the sight of his little sister’s face covered in guacamole. but they miss their dad, too, despite all the happiness, as admitted by cara while she's clinging onto you in piggyback while you do the dishes. “when's daddy home?”

you sigh, doing your best to keep the sadness out of it. “m'not sure yet, angel. he'll phone when he's leaving his work, though.”

“‘kay,” she digs her little chin into your shoulder, only slightly uncomfortably for you. “will he read me a story?”

“i bet he will,” you put away the last plate, wiping your hands before swinging her round to hold her in front of you; once her laughter subsides, you speak again. “daddy loves reading stories to you and connor.”

cara nods. “and he hasn't done it in ages.”

well, four days, but to a three-year-old… that probably feels like an eternity. the thought brings a lump to your throat. “he will, though, soon, munchkin. daddy will be home soon, and he'll read you a bedtime story,” biting back a sniffle, you spot a parenting advantage. “that is, if you brush your teeth extra well once you put your pyjamas on. yeah?”

“yeah!”

ironically, coincidentally, whatever you want to call it, the omw home text from george flashes up on your watch during cara's bathtime, the last step in what her dad likes to call “the ‘pre-bedtime routine’ routine”. she squeals when you tell her, kicking her little legs with such enthusiasm that half the bathwater ends up over you, and her brother rushes into the room in a panic. “what's going on? why is cara screaming? is she ok?”

wriggling even as you lift her into a cosy towel, cara answers. “yeah! daddy's coming to read us a story!”

“oh!” your son's face lights up. “really, mummy?”

“yes, darling, he just sent a message,” you confirm. “d'you want to go and choose a book while i get cara into her pyjamas? and then we can wait for him together?”

“mhmm” connor moves to leave, but turns back in the doorway to look at the two of you. there's a familiar smile on his face, and you're not sure whether to be worried about whatever sneaky thing he's about to suggest or pissed off that both of your kids look nothing like you. “or…”

you brace yourself. “or what, con?”

“we don't wait and we hide and then jump out and surprise him.”

the laugh escapes your lips before you even realise. fuck it. “alright. let's do it…”

the cheers you get in response are deafening.

“... but,” you raise your eyebrows pointedly. “only if you pick a book for your bedtime story now, connor,” matching his nods, you turn to your youngest in her towel cocoon. “and you brush your teeth properly, like we agreed earlier.”

cara nods so excitedly that the towel falls off her head. connor laughs, and you can't help chuckling either. “okay, babies - don't get stroppy, con, you're gonna be my babies forever, alright? anyway,” you ruffle his hair. “we'll hide in the wardrobe in your room. d'you want to wait there for me and cara, munchkin?”

“yeah!” he darts off, and seconds later you hear him rifling through the little bookshelf in his bedroom. “i picked a book!”

“good boy!” you call, before turning back to your still-beaming girl. “will you be good, madam?”

she nods sweetly. and she really is - there isn't a peep of a complaint at all. not while you're drying and dressing her, not during teeth-brushing, not even when you've got her sat on the bathroom counter as you brush and braid her hair, which is usually something she prefers george doing “cos it's not sore when daddy does it”. 

whatever. at least you still have hair.

hyper-aware of the fact that time is of the essence, you comb through cara's fringe once more, before scooping her up into your arms and kissing her little cheek. “what do we think, munchkin - d'you think you look good?”

“hmmm,” cara squints at her reflection, then grins. “yeah!”

“i think so too. shall we go and get connor and wait for daddy?”

a nod against your shoulder, and off you go on the short jaunt to your son's room. connor's already sitting in the massive built-in wardrobe, book in hand and an eager smile on his face. you smile in return, settling down beside him and pulling the cupboard door almost fully-closed; you're careful to leave a crack in front of you, so you'll be able to see your husband when he arrives. which, actually, should be imminently, so you'd better come up with a game plan. you tug your kids close to you. “so, when daddy gets here-”

“mum, why are you being quiet?” the confusion is evident on connor's sweet little face even in the minimal light. “dad isn't here yet.”

he's got a point. you blink. “true. anyway, like i was saying, when he does get here… wait for me to open the door, and then you can jump on daddy, yeah?”

“can we shout too?”

“i don't see why not. but no bad words, you - just because you've heard matty say them doesn't mean you can,” you point at connor, before turning to cara. “and no screaming from you, you hear me?”

“yes, mummy.”

“good,” your eyes widen at the sound of the front door opening, closely followed by george shouting a greeting as he dumps his bag, and your voice shifts to a whisper. “quiet, now, alright? let's see how long it takes daddy to find us.”

there's a whispered chorus of agreements, and then - miraculously - your kids go silent, aside from the quick little huffs of air signifying silent giggling; these get more frequent when you all hear george wandering around downstairs, calling your names in turn and humming to himself in bewilderment. when his footsteps become audible on the stairs, cara practically wraps herself around your arm, all but shaking with kinetic energy and clutching her brother's hand as they hear their father reach the landing. 

you, too, are laughing to yourself as you listen to george opening and closing doors in search, monologuing as he goes. “nowhere to be seen and they've left every bloody light in the building on. s'like blackpool illuminations,” comes the gravel grumbling so characteristic to the love of your life, as he wanders into what you know is the bathroom; he sniffs loudly, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. “strawberry shampoo… cara's bedtime routine. maybe everyone's in,” another door opens. “here! oh. empty. must be in connor's room, then.”

three strides across the landing, and there he is - george, his tiredness obvious even through the tiny crack between wardrobe doors. he turns slowly, taking in the emptiness of the room (and making your heart glow when you catch a glimpse of his pretty face), and - as if by magic - stops with his back to the wardrobe, muttering “where are they?” to himself.

partially out of slight guilt for putting him through this, but mostly because you think connor and cara might explode if you make them wait any longer to surprise their dad, you push the wardrobe doors open. the kids fly out, little voices shouting “hi dad!” and “we're here!” as little bodies land on george's massive one; he gasps in shock, and you're extremely thankful for the victorian high ceilings in your house, because your husband's head (and the rest of him, probably) would absolutely have hit anything lower when he jumped in abject terror. he sinks to the floor, head in his hands. “jesus christ,” he sighs, before standing and tucking a kid under each arm, swinging them around and filling the room with laughter. “you meanies, surprising me like that. i thought you'd all run away and left me!”

“we would never,” you step forward, taking cara into your own arms and pecking george on the lips. “we like playing tricks on you too much.”

“yes, that one's obvious,” george rolls his eyes; his face breaks into a big smile, and he kisses your nose. “hi, by the way, angel. thanks for the interesting welcome home.”

“i wish i could take credit.”

“oh? it wasn't mummy?” george dramatically looks from kid to kid. “who's the evil genius among us, then?”

cara giggles, nuzzling her head into your neck. “connor.”

“reeeeeeeeally?” george cocks his head to look at his boy, who's grinning from ear to ear. “s'that right, munchkin? it was your idea?”

connor giggles. “yeah.”

“in that case, then,” george tickles your son through his t-shirt, smiling at the raucous giggles that follow - from cara, too, actually. “say sorry, and i'll stop.”

“sorry! sorrysorrysorry!” connor's laughs fade to little hums, and he snuggles into his dad while they both catch their breath. “mummy planned it though. tickle her!”

george winks at you. “oh, i will, later. but first,” he flicks your son on the nose. “bathtime? and then a bedtime story for the little ones?”

cara nods. “and then mummy and daddy bedtime?”

“once i've redone your hair, munchkin? i think so,” your husband smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “of sorts, at least. you up for that, sweetheart?”

“oh, absolutely.”

[fangisms]

all of the girls you loved

A/N: i am a SUCKER for a good song fic and obvi a sucker for some good Taylor content (gif creds: @merakiaes)

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Every woman that he knew brought him here. You want to teach him how forever feels. 2.6k words.

Warnings: so much crying why am i in a mood, fluff mostly!, song fic, song lyrics, pet names (poppet, dear), heartbreak, brief angst, ONE FUCKING CURSE WORD. jealousy, being stood up

1984

"your mother brought you up loyal and kind"

You'd been chasing the little red haired boy through the train station for the better part of the last ten minutes. But only because he tugged at your hair and stuck his tongue out at you. He started it. He's got this worn grey sweater, and you can tell his jeans were hand-me-downs from the patchwork in the knees. Probably from the boy, his older brother, with the wavy red hair carrying far too many books and stumbling up the train's steps.

Your antagonist giggles and ducks behind the brick pillar in the center of the station. You roll your eyes and round the otherside, tapping on his shoulder with a grin. He yelps and skitters away behind his mother. She has a small baby tucked in her arm and another cooing from a pram decorated with ribbons, lace, and wicker.

"Georgie!" She scolds him for tugging on her skirt before looking down to see your little face staring back at her. "Hello, dear, what's your name?"

The boy peeks his head out from behind her leg, round cheeks flushed a soft pink from all the running. You fold your arms over your chest and scowl at him.

"Determined little thing, aren't you?" she says with a sweet smile and kind eyes, "Have you been terrorizing this young lady?"

"It's not my fault, mum! She looks funny!"

"George. That's not how we talk about other people, now, is it?" she warns.

"No, mum."

"No, of course it's not. Now, you apologize this instant. Your brothers give me enough grief as is."

His wicked gaze meets yours, and you scowl hard as you can back at him. He squints. You purse your lips.

"I'm sorry because my mum told me so!"

You pout, "apology not accepted! I hope I never see you again!"

And with that, he watched the little girl with the wild hair and the polka-dotted pinafore skip away. Never to be seen again. Until the next year. And each year following the last.

1994

"teenage love taught you there's good in goodbye"

George has got a mouth full of the loudest bubblegum in existence when he comes roaring up behind you in the hallway, laying his arm across your shoulders.

"Evening, poppet. I assume you've heard the news," he chirps, smacking his gum in your ear proudly.

"You're disgusting, George," you say, shrugging his arm away but still matching his pace, "and I don't care that you bribed Niamh Ward into being your date to the Yule Ball."

"I didn't bribe her! She asked me and I said 'yes'"—he blows a gummy bubble in your face, and it bursts with a ringing pop—"D'you reckon she'll kiss me if I dance well enough?"

He twirls off down the hallway, ending his mini routine with a flourish of jazz hands.

"I don't reckon any girl will ever want to kiss you with moves like that."

"Oh, you're just a cynic. I'm perfectly snoggable, whether I can dance or not." He takes your wrist and drapes your arm in the crook of his own, and you scoff when he leans in to pop another bubble in your face. "Who's taking you to the ball, anyway? That Durmstrang halfwit?"

You yank your arm away and stop dead in your tracks. It's a well-known fact that you'd been waiting for George to ask you to the Yule Ball since first year. You thought for sure he'd ask you. But the time came and went and you each found other dates, other outfits, other plans. And you hate that deep down, a small part of you is still waiting for him to ask you. But you'd never do that to Niamh. Not even for George.

"As a matter of fact, yes," you say, "and his name is Johan—"

"What kind of name is Johan?"

He's still smacking his gum like he knows exactly how to get on your nerves. And after all these years, it's no wonder.

"You're so immature. I'll see you later."

"Oh, come on—"

"No, George," you huff, not turning around until you clear the corner and wipe your wet cheek with the sleeve of your robes.

...

The Great Hall has never looked more decadent. Draped in glitz and the magic of the holidays. Everyone's absolutely buzzing with excitement, ever-present gossip, and the beauty of students dressed to the nines. And in the midst of it all, you still spot him from across the room.

Of course, Johan is the perfect gentleman. He even asked if you'd like to match your gown to his traditional red dress robes. It was a lovely idea, and it wasn't hard to pick out a lovely chiffon, maroon dress. He said you looked beautiful and danced with you most of the night, but there was still that sickly ache in your chest like flesh and tendon left split by two cold hands. George's hands.

After you told Johan you didn't feel well, he left you alone at one of the shimmering tables. You felt bad practically leading him on, but it's not like you'd been lying about your attraction to him. Just about your attraction to George.

You don't turn to face the person who plops onto the stool beside you. You're pretty dedicated to flicking the thin straw around the rim of your glass at this point.

"I left my date to come talk to you, so you better have a stellar reason for looking so glum."

George. You know he's trying to cheer you up. And he knows it's not exactly working how he'd hoped. "Come on, poppet. It's the Yule Ball. You've been looking forward to this for, what, six years?"

He hates that when you turn to face him, you've got tears dripping from your chin, jaw, nose, lashes. He hates that there's a small part of him that wishes he could have fixed it for you. 

"What's wrong?" he whispers, scooting closer and catching a slow tear slipping over your cheekbone. You flinch away and lean your head in your hand, closing your eyes.

"You have no idea."

George chortles and shrugs, "well, yeah. That's sort of why I'm asking." You land a hearty wallop on his arm, not even looking when you swing your fist at him. "Alright, that was deserved. Now, tell me. I don't like it when you shut me out."

"Why are you doing this, George? Why don't you just leave me alone? Go hang out with Niamh or something," you say. It's accusatory, sure, but that's the point. The inflection was aimed for the heart. Spear tipped with arsenic just to make it sting more.

He chews the inside of his cheek, rubbing the back of his neck when you dodge his gaze and sniffle.

"That might be a tad difficult seeing how she stood me up."

Shit.

"George, I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's okay. She caught a... a stomach bug, or something. Spent all morning hunched over the girl’s toilet," he mumbles, loosening his tie. And you catch just the smallest smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. Like there's some kind of amusement in his own misery. "I feel bad for her, honestly."

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea." You grab his hand and lean closer. He looks tired up close. Like the light usually at home in his eyes as twinkled out and left him dimmed.

"You've nothing to be sorry for. Fate is fate, after all." He brushes his hair out of his face and takes a deep breath, squeezing your hand. "Dance with me?"

Yes, of course, you want to shriek. I'd love nothing more from the boy who used to yank on my hair and call me names and tell me he loved my sparkly shoes. An honor, you think, but the words don't reach. Just a smile.

"Sure," you say, letting him tug you in the direction of the crowd. The right direction, you think, the direction you've longed for. Then he spins you into his chest, and you feel the shallow rumble of his laugh in your fingertips.

"Was Johan a better dancer than me?" he says, swaying your bodies like tender obligation. You cock an eyebrow.

"Johan stepped on my toes every four steps and nearly tore my dress."

"...So?"

"Yes," you tease.

"Shut up. Let me make this dance a good one. For you."

You look up at him and he thinks he's never seen someone look so clueless and yet so completely beautiful. From the gloss on your lips to the gems on your shoes and even now, mascara smudged and hands shaky, he thinks he'd like to look at you for as long as you'll let him. And when you shuffle closer between songs, he has to catch his breath against your temple.

"Your hair's gotten so long, Georgie," you whisper, slipping your hand up and over his shoulder, to the back of his neck with a smile pressed to his warm cheek.

"Like it?"

"I’ll always like it."

He pleads to Merlin you can't feel the rattletrap pounding of his heart. His hand moves of its own volition, spread across the small of your back like he's seen in some romance films. The slow dance scene is always the most romantic. The pinnacle of their love thus far. The event to dissolve any prejudice leftover in their heads, and any pride hidden in the last cracks in their hearts.

"George, I have to tell you something important—"

"Shh, poppet, just dance with me a little longer."

And you suppose. It could wait that little while longer. Another dance. Another day. It'd come up again and break your heart, but it'd be too pressing to put off eventually.

So you let him hold your hand a little tighter, sway you in circles a little slower, and keep your heart beating a little louder.

1996

"every woman that you knew brought you here // i wanna teach you how forever feels"

The something important you had tried to tell George that night was that you'd be staying with your estranged aunt in Spain over the course of the next school year. Your final school year. You'd be leaving Hogwarts—leaving George—and spending the year homeschooling over in Spain.

You left that Spring to spend your days in the Spanish countryside, drinking in the sunshine and dancing to the music of the cicadas. It had devastated George. It had devastated all of the Weasleys. They were so used to housing you most summers, and the change was quite unwelcome. Less place settings, less baggage clunking up the stairs, less laughter. He could only hope you were happy. And that he'd be able to see you again one day in the future.

"Georgie?"

You caught him off guard. He nearly tripped and cracked a tooth on the steps when you called his name. He and his twin brother had made a spectacle of Ninety-three Diagon Alley in the time you'd been away. And you had just happened to wander in and find him hurrying up the technicolor stairs after his brother.

Nothing felt real when he met your eyes for the first time in a year and change. The sirens and bells and sparklers went fuzzy as he realized just how beautiful you'd gotten since he last saw you. Beautiful enough to make him wildly nervous. Enough to make him sweat.

"My Poppet." He says it gently, grinning when you bat your lashes and hold your arms out.

"Christ, I've missed you, George," you huff, burying your face in his shoulder when he wraps his arms around you.

"You have no idea."

You tease him with a laugh, "Well, yeah," pulling away to wrap your lithe fingers around his tie. "Look at your hair! It's so short!"

"Like it?" He runs his fingers through the scruff at the back of his head. You squint and pat the soft tufts at the top of his head.

"I love it. You know I do."

He sighs, ushering you to the back of the shop all while trying to conceal a giddy smile.

"I've had an entire year to reflect on all the reasons why you abandoned me, poppet. I made a list"—He takes your wrist and drapes your arm in the crook of his own—"Starting with that time I told you your unicorn shirt was quote, unquote, 'for babies'."

"You have to include my stunning defense, Weasley"—you clear your throat—"'I am a baby, and you're just a rotten little boy!'"

"How could I forget?" He pushes open a door to the very neglected office towards the back of the building. Papers stacked on the desk, a cobweb in the corner. Well-loved. "A little privacy, mademoiselle?"

"I'd be delighted."

He sweeps the dust off a brown leather chair by the desk, offering the seat to you with a shy smile.

"Oh, George," you whisper, fiddling with the clasp of your purse with watery eyes and a pout like the one you gave him the first time he saw you.

"Come here, sweetheart," he says, hurrying you into his embrace with the feeling of being gutted by your sad eyes weighing heavy on him.

"There's just so much"—you gasp and cover your mouth when you sob—"So much I've missed and so much I want to tell you and so much I wish I had seen and done with you..."

"I know. I know, I feel the same," he huffs, "I missed you more than words can describe. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you, I thought—"

"No. No, poppet, of course not"—he holds you tighter, pressing you to the curves of his body, holding you like clay and hot glass—"You came back, that's all I could ever ask for."

You pull back and let him wipe the tears from your cheeks, leaving faint kisses on each temple. And when he finally tears himself away from your skin, he's only left desperate for the contact. His thumb brushes you cheek, and you hold his wrist, lashes fluttering to meet his soft gaze. Desperation. Exhaustion. Relief. It's all there in the palm of your hand, and just at his fingertips.

Twelve years is far too long to be loving anyone the way you love each other. Completely but without the parts of love we sometimes need most. The honesty and openness, the comfort, and more than ever, the kisses. He curses his wild eyes for sweeping the length of your parted lips. His wild eyes giving away his secrets and calling him a damned fool.

You catch his mouth with yours, innocent at first peck, but he kisses you back, unsure of where his hands should go, wanting perfection, especially when your nose bumps his and makes you smile into the wetness of the kisses.

"I want everything," you whisper, forced to choose between air and George, "I have loved you since the day we met."

"That's very cheesy, my dear." He rests his forehead against yours, cupping the side of your neck, thumb resting gingerly over the column of your throat. Just to hold something delicate. Fragile. His.

"Think you can do better?"

"Hmm," he clears his throat, "You stole my heart and... I don't think I want it back."

"Gross! You win."

"I meant it."

He winks and pecks your bottom lip sweetly, only to realize you're tearing up, head tilted back and hands fanning at your eyes. He holds your waist and you shake your head with a defeated laugh.

"I'm such a crybaby."

"My favorite."

"You're awful, Georgie."

"I know," he says, finally, "I know."

masterlist

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend II

Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader

Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: Ona's tipsy

It's hard to hate Ona.

You kind of wish you could regardless of the truce you have going on with her.

She's over all the time. She's always in your house and your face and you hate that she asks about school.

It was always Keira's job to help you with your homework. You miss Keira a lot which is probably why you stick heavily to her side when your Mum hosts a bonding night for the team.

You sit next to her and let her give you a hug that you sag happily into. You used to see Keira all the time but it's Ona that you see more often now.

It's strange but you're working on it because you think your Mum is really in love with Ona and she's so happy so you're sucking it up.

It doesn't mean that you don't stick to Keira whenever you can.

Originally, you thought it would get you some respite from Ona but it seemed that even Keira had a good relationship with her so, as you sat at the kitchen table, leaning against Keira as she helped you with your homework, Ona appeared out of seemingly thin air.

Her cheeks have a red kind of sheen that you know comes from the alcohol in her glass. She's a little tipsy, just like most of the girls in the house.

"You're so smart," She giggles as you scrawl down the equation Keira explains to you," Both of you. So smart." She breaks off into a fit of giggles and Keira leaves your side to guide Ona into a chair.

"How about we sit down?" Keira says as she takes the drink from Ona," And have some water."

Ona's giggling again and it's a little unnerving. She reaches across the table and holds the hand you're not using to write. Another wave of giggles. "You're so smart. Is it hard? Being smart all the time?"

"It must be," You mutter," Because this is my birthday party and I'm stuck doing homework."

You hadn't really wanted to do anything for your birthday. You didn't have any friends at your new school (the accent of your spoken Spanish tended to put people off) but your Mum took any excuse to get a bit tipsy without consequences and the team had ended up around your place to 'celebrate' which really acted as a dual celebration of the big one they just had over Real Madrid.

"That's sad," Ona says," I wasn't good at school. You're doing it in a different language."

You sigh softly, shaking your head in amusement as she continues to talk earnestly to you, making sure to keep eye contact so she's sure that you're understanding her.

"Lucy's so proud of you, she tells me all the time."

That shocks you a little bit. You hadn't really considered what your Mum and Ona talked about when you weren't there. Truly, you had imagined that their time was taken up by kissing.

"I want you to like me," Ona continues, still giggling and completely flushed in the face," How can I make you like me more? Arcade? Food? Food! Let's order food!"

"Let's not order food," Mum says as she approaches. She's not as tipsy as Ona is but there's a little flush to her skin. "Because then we've got to pay for everyone's."

"No!" Ona says with that dopey smile that she always gets when your Mum is holding her. "Just for the birthday girl." She looks at you again. "Ooh! Let's get cake!"

Mum laughs, leaning down to whisper in Ona's ear about something.

Keira, who you thought would be fairly awkward around the couple, just shakes her head fondly. "You two are gross," She declares with a laugh, confiscating both of their drinks. She's the most sober person in the house. "You're already lovey-dovey at practice."

Mum laughs. "This is my house, Kei. I can be lovey-dovey if I want."

"You're scarring her!" She says," Look at her!"

You've got your nose all wrinkled up in disgust and Mum leans over to pinch at her cheek.

"Don't lie, Kei! She loves this!"

You push her away in annoyance and try to throw your pen at her but you're caught off guard by Ona hugging you tight. You didn't realise she was such a sentimental drunk.

"You're so smart."

Oh, she's back on that.

"Lucy, tell her she's smart!"

"Very smart," Mum says. You're trapped by Ona so can't escape when Mum places a big, wet kiss on your cheek and then grabs you in a headlock. "My smart little girl!"

"Mum!" You cry out," Let go! Come on, let go!"

"No!" Mum laughs," You're a proper teenager now! My little birthday girl!"

"It's your birthday!" Ona exclaims like it's the first time she's heard the news," I got you a gift!" She pats wildly at her pockets before coming up empty. "Lucy, where's my gift?"

Mum's only half paying attention as she rubs her knuckles against your hair as you fight to get away, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks. "Er...I don't know? I think you called it an experience?"

"Ah! Ah!" You had to admit (begrudgingly), Ona jumping up and down in triumph was kind of cute. "We will go to the beach! There is an arcade there! A big one! Bigger than the one here!"

It stumped you for a moment. Your love for arcades wasn't something that you talked a lot about but clearly, Ona remembered. She's smiling at you now and you tear your gaze away to look at your Mum.

"Really? And you're okay with going?"

"I'm going to the beach," Mum says," You and Ona can waste all the money you want but I'm working on my tan."

Ona sticks her tongue out. "Buzzkill."

[tasteleeknow]

Knife kink? 👀

18+ content. minors dni. knife play.

Minho is safe. It's one of the first feelings you'd had about him. He was walking comfort, gentle and soft spoken. Even when he got excitable, bouncy and a little loud, it would only take a gentle word and he'd calm—adjusting to your mood.

It's why you're completely relaxed when you hand him your small folding knife—the one you usually kept buried in your backpack—and ask him to help you with your dress.

He looks between you and the knife held closed in his hand, clearly confused.

"The zip is stuck," you explain, turning your back to him. "I need you to cut it."

"Cut... the dress?"

"Mm, please."

"I might be able to—"

"Just cut it, please. It's stuck and I wanna resuse the fabric for something else anyway."

He's quiet for a moment. You brush your hair over your shoulder, holding out of the way for him.

"What if I... cut you?" he murmurs. "There's scissors somewhere—"

"You won't."

You feel him step in closer, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck as he leans in to inspect where the zip is caught. "Don't move," he says finally.

You hum in acknowledgement. Scissors were boring.

Then he's pulling the fabric from your skin, creating as much distance between you and the place he'll cut as he can. You can't see how he does it, you don't need to. You're as calm as if he was brushing your hair. He's more careful with you than you'd ever be with yourself.

Then the fabric tears. You hear the knife clatter on the bench. A second later and his hands work to shred the dress until you're forced to hold the fabric onto your body with your hands across your chest.

"There," he whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder. "Good?"

You turn to face him. "No."

"No?"

"I need more help."

His eyes drop as you release the dress, letting it fall to your ankles. Then he's reaching for your underwear, tugging at the elastic and letting it snap back against your skin lightly. "You can't take these off yourself?"

You shake your head.

He huffs out a breathy laugh. "Why is that?"

"Because I want you to cut them off me."

He steps into you, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. His brown eyes are a little hooded, lashes long and dark. "Why?" he whispers.

You mirror his actions, looping your arms around his neck so you can play with the hair at the back of his head. "I remember once—I must've been 10 or 11—I went to a museum with my class. There was this big sword on the wall and I remember looking around at all the people in the room and feeling anxious about it. I've always been like that. Even in the kitchen when my mum was sharpening one the knives I was on always a little on edge. She could drop it on her toes or accidentally turn at wrong time as I'm walking past..." You trail one of your hands down over his shoulder, fingers gently stroking over his skin until they rest at his throat. He doesn't react, even as you give an experimental squeeze. "I noticed the other day, when you were making dinner. I was so relaxed. It's a lot for me, to be completely free of it. No anxiety at all. You can stand there behind me with a knife practically brushing my skin and—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, forcing your fingers into the sides of his neck a little in the second before you can react and pull them away.

When he releases you he has the knife in his hand. You hadn't noticed him pick it up from the bench. He drops to his knees.

You keep a handful of his soft hair between your fingers as he slips the knife between your skin and the fabric of your underwear—at the side; at your hip. He keeps the blade facing away from you, his arms working to keep you steady as he cuts the fabric off you.

He leans forward when he's done, his lips soft against your thigh. "You're so soft," he whispers. He's making a trail with his lips, towards your centre. "So perfect."

[helloalycia]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 [𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄] — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: as you struggle to accept Lucy Gray's absence, Mayfair continues to push your buttons, landing you in hot water with your parents.

warning/s: mentions of the Hunger Games (duh) and mild violence.

author's note: here is the final part! also happy new year everyone, forgot to say it! hope you like this one :)

one / two / masterlist / wattpad

It was difficult to keep up with the Games as they went on during the week. I'd never had need to before, but this year was different for obvious reasons.

The electricity in District 12 was shit enough as is, but even worse so was the signal on the TV when it did occasionally work. I caught the Games and interviews a few times, but not for very long and never did I actually see Lucy Gray, only some of the other tributes or very dark scenes of the arena. She could have died already for all I knew, but deep in my heart, I just couldn't believe that.

I tried to be there for the Covey as much as I could, checking in on them at least once a day throughout the week, and they did the same for me, the lot of us forming a sort of support group. And I also had Y/BF/N to keep me sane throughout it all, but the only people who didn't understand my change in attitude were my parents. I couldn't blame them of course, considering they didn't know what Lucy Gray was to me, but it was still hard.

One evening at dinner time, my appetite wasn't very big. It hadn't been since Lucy Gray had left, but it was beginning to be ruined entirely when my dad started talking about the Games as a pastime.

"...keep getting a bunch of comms from the Capitol about how popular it is this year," he was saying, a mere comment but one that upset me because all I could think about was Lucy Gray. "Apparently Lucy Gray is a popular contender. The Capitol love her singing."

My fork dropped from my hand as a frown curled on my lips. How dare the Capitol love her, only to send her to her death for their entertainment.

"What's wrong?" my dad asked, but my mum shook her head at him. Not seeming to get the hint, he said, "What? She's been off all night. I'm just asking."

She shook her head again, making him sigh with offence, and I couldn't take sitting here for much longer.

"Can I please be excused?" I asked without looking at either of them.

"Of course, honey," my mum said sympathetically, and I was grateful that she seemed emotionally aware enough to notice something was up.

Leaving the dining room immediately, I headed straight for my bedroom and got straight into bed, needing the comfort and warmth of my duvet. It was lame to imagine it was Lucy Gray here with me, I knew it, but I did it anyway.

I should have said it back. Why didn't I say it back? I knew I loved her, I had loved her for a while now. How couldn't I? But I didn't say it and I fucking should have. God, I was a fool.

About twenty minutes later, a knock on my door pulled me from my disassociation, and when I didn't answer, my dad stuck his head through the door. Once he spotted me, he let himself in a took a seat at the edge of my bed, a guilty expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, which surprised me. "I've been so busy at work that I haven't realised how hard it must be seeing one of your schoolmates in the Games."

That wasn't it at all, but I shrugged anyway.

"She was a friend," he noticed. "Wasn't she?"

I couldn't answer, not without my heart breaking at the truth of who she was to me.

He sighed gently. "She was bad news, Y/N."

I clenched my jaw at his biased opinion. "Forget it–"

"Wait," he cut me off. "Let me finish."

I looked up at him, glaring, but he didn't let it faze him.

"She's bad news, but she was still a good girl. And I'm sorry for what she's going through," he said, in his strange way of trying to understand.

It was the best I would get from him, especially since he didn't know the truth, so I accepted it. "Thank you."

He leaned down to hug me, and like the little girl I was, I let my daddy comfort me like he used to.

"Me and your mother are worried about you," he said once he pulled back. "Please eat more."

I nodded reluctantly. The last thing I wanted to do was worry them. He seemed to accept my answer, as he relaxed a little then left me to get some sleep.

Once again, it was a difficult night.

She could still be alive, that was what I kept telling myself. The Games hadn't ended, not that I knew of, and though I didn't truly know if she had died in the few days it had been going on, I kept telling myself the opposite. She could still be hiding from everyone, or somehow got lucky and taken out her opponents. I wasn't sure, but thinking anything else was breaking me.

I was at the markets with Y/BF/N, helping her pick up some bits for her parents and trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn't be thinking of Lucy Gray, when none other than Mayfair decided to piss me off.

"Well, if it isn't Y/L/N," she said with amusement, Billy Taupe at her side. "Haven't seen you around much. Not since your little songbird left."

I rolled my eyes and ignored her taunting, not in the mood to put up with her. Y/BF/N ignored her too, the two of us looking at some shirts for her mum, but Mayfair wasn't getting the hint.

"You're lookin' a little rough," she continued. "Not doin' so hot without her?"

"You okay?" Y/BF/N said quietly for me to hear, and I nodded.

"She won't be doin' much singing in the arena, I suppose," Mayfair added. "Other priorities and such."

"Will you shut up?" I snapped at her, knowing she wasn't going to leave if I didn't speak.

"Or what?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, as if daring me.

I clenched my jaw, glaring at her, but Y/BF/N squeezed my arm gently.

"Forget her," she reminded me, and I would have listened, but Mayfair didn't know when to shut up, and I just couldn't take her attitude anymore.

"It's where she belongs," she said, my final straw. "She's not so charmin' when she's dead–"

I smacked her hard across the face, making a few passers-by stop to witness the commotion, and Billy Taupe and Y/BF/N gasped with surprise. It felt good, I wouldn't lie, especially when I saw the redness on Mayfair's cheek.

Mayfair glared fiercely before lungeing at me, sending me backwards into the vegetable stand. The breath was knocked out of me, and then she yanked on my hair harshly, making me scream at the suddenness of it all. I shoved her backwards and she grabbed my jacket in the process, forcing me to get out of it before she could have me in her clutches. Furious, I lunged for her with every intention to punch that smug smile right off her face, but someone blocked my way and held me at bay.

It was a peacekeeper, and they were doing the same with her, and I wouldn't have doubted she was my mirror at the moment – angry and red-faced.

That was how I found myself sat in my dad's office for the second time in my life, though this time Mayfair was seated beside me, and her father was here too.

"...and it doesn't make sense why you were both fighting!" my father was saying with confusion. "You're both friends, aren't you?"

I scoffed at that, crossing my arms defensively. The mayor shook his head with disapproval, before looking to his daughter.

"Are you gonna tell me why you fought?" he asked her, opting for a gentler approach.

The two of them had been trying to get to the bottom of our fight for ten minutes now, but neither Mayfair and I were willing to talk.

"Why don't you tell them why you got bitch slapped?" I finally spoke, looking to Mayfair with a sneer.

"Y/N!" my dad scolded, but Mayfair spoke up a second afterwards, meeting my glare.

"Why don't you tell your dad why you're so upset about the chosen District 12 girl tribute this year?"

I pressed my lips together to contain every insult that was threatening to be said, instead settling on burning holes into Mayfair's face. Neither of us spoke, knowing we couldn't admit to anything, even if we wanted to get each other into trouble.

Everybody knew Mayfair had something to do with Lucy Gray's reaping, but there was no physical proof, and her admitting why she was fighting with me in the first place would be all the evidence my dad needed to intervene. Similarly, my dad could never find out exactly what Lucy Gray meant to me and why I was so defensive against Mayfair. So, we were at a stalemate.

"Fine," the mayor decided, sounding tired. "We'll agree to disagree, but this behaviour is not tolerated."

"You'll avoid each other if you have to, but I don't want to see this happen again," my dad ordered.

I rolled my eyes as Mayfair scoffed under her breath. We were soon dismissed, escorted home separately, and though my mum tried to get the truth out of me, I was unwilling to share it. I was just surprised I hadn't received a punishment from my dad, especially when he came home later that evening. For whatever reason, he let it slide.

I'd just have to avoid Mayfair, it seemed. Easier said than done, but it was better than ripping her head off out of pure anger. I'd never hated someone so much in my life, but fighting her wouldn't bring me back Lucy Gray, no matter how much I wanted it to.

It was a few days later when I was bringing some tea into my dad's study, per my mum's request, when I saw him ending a phone call with a surprised look on his face. I set the tea down on his desk before glancing at him with concern.

"You okay?" I asked. "Who was that?"

He blinked, as if still digesting whatever he'd heard. "It was the Capitol. Apparently I'm to escort home the winner of the Hunger Games."

I furrowed my eyebrows, unsure if I'd heard correctly. "What? You're what?"

"That songbird, your schoolmate, Lucy Gray Baird," he clarified. "She won."

My breathing hitched as I widened my eyes. Lucy Gray had won? She'd won the Hunger Games? She was alive?

"Lucy Gray– she's coming home?" I asked, feeling the rate of my heart increasing with every piece of information discovered. "When?"

"Tomorrow morning," my dad answered, taking the cup of tea.

Tomorrow. She was coming home tomorrow!

"The Covey," I got out, struggling to contain my excitement, bewilderment and surprise all at once, "do they know?"

My dad quirked a brow at my reaction. "I'll be sure to let them know. I'm sure they'll want to be there at the station when she arrives."

Oh, they were going to be so happy to have Lucy Gray back! How I wished I could see their reaction when my dad told them. And tomorrow morning – I could be there too, when they greeted her at the station! I could finally see her and touch her and hold her and–

"You know you won't be there, right?" my dad burst my bubble in seconds. "I know I said she was a good girl, but this changes things, Y/N. She's dangerous. Who knows what she did to win the Games? How many kids do you think she killed in there?"

"As many as she needed to," I said sternly. "It was the Games. That's how you play them."

He shook his head, disagreeing. "I want you nowhere near her or them. You hear me?"

"I go to school with them," I reminded him through gritted teeth.

"You know what I mean."

I swallowed thickly, in disbelief that he would create a villain of her for something she was forced to do. But what was I to expect from a man who never trusted the Covey in the first place? Sure, they were good for a party, but to have them in your circle was a different story. I hated that he thought that.

No, there was no way he was going to stop me from seeing her. Not after she finally made it out alive.

My dad wasn't joking when he said he didn't want me at the station to greet Lucy Gray. As if he expected me to disobey him, he left some peacekeepers to guard the area, only letting the Covey there to pick her up.

I had no choice but to wait not far out from the station, out of sight from the peacekeepers but directly on the only route back to their house in the Seam, so they'd have to pass me to get home. The Covey knew of my plan, so I found myself waiting there eagerly for Lucy Gray's arrival.

No matter how hard I tried to plan what I would do and say once I saw her, nothing seemed right. I decided to just let it be and do what felt right in the moment, but just the thought of seeing her again after a whole week and a half which felt like much longer left me nervous.

I checked my watch. 10am. Her train should have been pulling in now. I made sure I looked somewhat presentable before waiting another ten minutes, and then I heard footsteps. I turned around and saw the Covey, all chatting away with Lucy Gray in the middle.

She looked stunning, a little underweight, but with that same positive glow that only she could possess with a single smile. Already, tears were forming in my eyes because I was finally seeing her again in person, it wasn't my dreams.

Her eyes soon found mine and she slowed down, smile fading once she realised it was me. I wet my lips, straightening up subconsciously, and approached her.

"We'll give you a minute," Barb Azure said, squeezing my shoulder with a relieved smile, before leading the others away.

I glanced at them, before returning my attention to Lucy Gray, who was single-handedly warming my heart. She was back. She was alive. I hadn't missed my chance.

Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her tightly, eyes closing as tears dropped down my cheeks. "I love you too," I muttered into her shoulder. "So much."

I felt her arms wrapping around me too, and then she began to laugh quietly, sending shivers all over my skin. I didn't let go, not for a whole minute, and neither did she. Never again did I think I'd be able to hold her so close, let alone tell her I loved her too.

"You did it," I said, pulling back slightly, and I realised she was crying too.

She nodded in response, and I lifted my hand to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away her tears.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see you at the station," I said quickly. "My dad said no and he had guards there so I couldn't–"

She cut me off with a kiss, brief but delicate, making the fireworks in my chest explode at the contact.

"I missed you so goddamn much," she said once she pulled away, resting her forehead on mine.

"I missed you too," was all I could say, and even then it didn't feel like enough.

The way I missed her was indescribable. A part of me had been missing this whole time, and now that she was back, I felt whole again. I couldn't lose her again, I just couldn't.

Losing Lucy Gray and being lucky enough to get her back only made me realise one thing: life was too short to hide what meant the most to you. And though Lucy Gray was adamant on not causing trouble between my family and I, happy to be my secret, I just couldn't take it any longer.

Sneaking around and lying to my parents wasn't worth it, and Lucy Gray deserved so much better than that, especially after all she'd faced. So, I finally had the guts to tell my parents the truth.

About a week after the Games ended, I found my parents sat in the living room, the one day off my dad had which meant they were both present.

"Mum, dad, I need to tell you something important," I said when I found the courage.

My mum, who was reading a book, looked up at me, sensing my nerves. "Honey, you okay?"

I nodded, then stood in front of the couch before them. My dad lowered his newspaper and quirked a brow, both confused and intrigued by my entry.

"I just need you to listen before you reply," I said carefully. "Please, don't be angry."

"Well, now you're worrying us," my dad said, straightening up in his seat. "You in trouble?"

I shook my head, before taking a deep breath. "So, you know Lucy Gray, the girl who–"

"Won the Hunger Games, yes we know," my dad finished for me.

"Your school friend, right?" my mum asked.

I nodded. "Yes, she's... she's much more than that though." At this, my dad raised both his eyebrows, so I quickly added, "I know you wanted me to stay away from her and her family, but they aren't bad people. They're just a little different. They only have each other."

"That's not an excuse for the things they get up to," my dad retorted, but my mum nudged him and shot him a look that told him to pipe down.

"Thanks," I said to her gratefully, before continuing, "So, yeah, Lucy Gray. Well, the thing is..." Now or never. "I'm in love with her. And she's in love with me. And I don't want you to hate me or be disappointed, because I can't help who I'm in love with."

My dad wore a blank expression, as my mum was surprised and tried to digest my words. I stayed quiet for a moment, giving them chance to process and also calm my racing heart.

"Being in love with her doesn't change a thing," I explained, unable to stay quiet for too long. "I'm still doing well in school, still on track for the job at the Justice Building, but I love her. And I want to be with her without having to hide it from you both. She's more than a friend, always has been."

My palms were growing increasingly sweaty as neither of them said anything, and I soon wondered if I'd spoken at all because of their silence. But then my dad stood up and glared at me, and I knew it was real.

"Are you crazy, Y/N?! Lucy Gray?! You're in love with the Covey girl?!" he yelled. "What the hell are you thinking?!"

"Y/D/N, calm down–" my mum said, standing up too.

"Calm down?! She's throwing her future away for nothing!" he shouted, before shaking her hands off and leaving the room suddenly.

As the echo of the door slamming filled the silence, I hugged myself uncomfortably and waited for round two with my mum.

"Give him time," she said softly, surprising me. I looked up, and she rested a hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you for telling us the truth. Couldn't have been easy with your father's attitude."

I blinked, sighing with relief. She wasn't angry.

"Lucy Gray seems lovely," she added with a warm smile. "It's a shame that she was picked for the Games, but her positivity hasn't faltered, that much is clear. She's strong."

"She is," I agreed, still in disbelief that my mum wasn't upset with me.

She pulled me in for a hug, squeezing me gently. "I should've known it was something more when you were acting all weird when she was gone. I'm sorry that you couldn't trust me."

"It's not you," I assured her, pulling apart. "I just wasn't sure how to say it, knowing how dad feels about them."

"Oh, I'll sort him out," she said dismissively. "Now come here. I wasn't finished with the hug."

I laughed, letting her pull me in for an even tighter embrace.

"You gonna tell me what the surprise is or are you just gonna keep dragging me behind you?"

Lucy Gray scoffed dramatically at my words, not stopping as she dragged me by the hand, leading me to the meadow. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I just told you, would it, darlin'?"

I tried not to laugh at how easily frustrated she could get with my impatience. Ever since I'd told my parents the truth about us, of which my dad eventually came around to the idea thanks to my mum, I no longer had to sneak around with Lucy Gray. And today, she'd quite literally dragged me all the way from my house and out here to the meadow for a 'surprise'.

After much playful protesting from me and groaning from Lucy Gray, we finally reached her favourite spot at the top of the meadow. A giant tree sat on the brow of the hill that overlooked the whole field, with another log beneath it that Lucy Gray loved to visit to write songs or be alone. Already waiting for us was her guitar, propped up against the log.

"Am I about to be serenaded again?" I teased, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"Shut up and sit down," she ordered lightheartedly, and I laughed as I did just that.

She grabbed her guitar before sitting next to me, facing me slightly. Really, I'd been eager to hear her sing for me since she did last time (which now felt like so long ago). Since she'd been back from the Games, she'd returned to performing in the Hob as usual, of which I'd watched with adoration. But this was different, less of a performance and much more intimate than being on a stage could allow.

"So, I don't know if you remember that song I was writin' for you before... y'know," she began in an uncharacteristically shy voice, "but I finally finished it."

"Lucy Gray, of course I remember," I told her with a small smile. "It's the best thing anyone's ever done for me."

She began to smile too, nodding. "Right. Well, like I said, I managed to finish it. And I'd like to sing it for you, if you'll let me."

I nodded encouragingly, getting comfortable on the log and admiring her as she also got ready. Licking her lips, she began to strum her guitar, starting off quiet before settling on a rhythm that was dreamy and delicate and soothing.

"Love songs are fleeting,

but the melodies stick with you.

I have learned your heart,

and memorised the tune.

It's my favourite,

I'll sing it in any occasion.

It'll be my soundtrack,

beyond our youth."

Just like she did the last time, her voice was soft but strong, quiet but powerful, and her eyes were closed as she felt the meaning of every word. Even after hearing it a second time, I was hanging onto her every word, eager to hear the rest.

"Honey now we're older,

but we'll never age.

I don't think my love will

ever start to fade.

My attachment to you

isn't subject to change.

My heart’s yours forever

and always."

She gave me a comforting smile that sent a warmth all over my body as she finished the chorus, and I didn't know what to do. Her words were beautiful, and I felt too lucky to have someone who felt that way about me.

"Every note you hum,

is a classic through and through.

I'll add them to a list called

'All Things I Look Forward To'.

It's my favourite,

even if no one will play it.

I only want a future

filled with you."

Again, even after hearing it a second time, I was in awe. Tears of happiness pooled in my eyes as she moved onto the chorus again, her voice smooth and stunning, lulling me into her trance. She hummed as she played, building up to the bridge, and I never wanted her to stop.

"I'll sing it it still in 10 years time

20, 30, 99.

I'll dance as long as I can stand,

partner for life take my hand.

We'll set the record for strongest love,

keep the vinyl free of dust.

Spin it soft eternally

and my dear you'll sing with me."

I wiped at my tears, embarrassed and simultaneously unbothered because nobody had ever made me feel this way before. She saw a future with me? She'd looked that far ahead and saw me by her side?

"Honey now we're older,

but we'll never age.

I don't think my love will

ever start to fade.

My attachment to you

isn't subject to change.

My heart's yours forever

and always."

She kept playing, notes as delicate as they were at the start, and hummed along until she faded the whole thing out, and then we were sat in silence as her words carried into the meadow.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, her shy smile returning as she set the guitar down.

"What do I think...," I repeated quietly, still reeling from her song. "I think that I didn't expect you to beat what you sang last time. That, surely, you couldn't improve it. But you proved me wrong and did just that."

She let out a chuckle, rolling her eyes to distract from the pink dusting her cheeks.

"Lucy Gray, I think you just made me fall even more in love with you, which is a feat considering I'm already in way too deep," I said lightheartedly, but I meant every word.

She wasn't sure what to say, and I couldn't think of anything more to add that would show her how she'd made me feel. So, I leaned forward and I kissed her. Resting my hand on the back of her neck, I pulled her close, pressing my lips to hers and sighing contently when she fell right into it.

I could have kissed her all day, but air became a problem and I remembered what I wanted to say to her.

"The song," I breathed out, meeting her honey-golden eyes. "What you said? It's the same for me too. Forever and always. I feel the same way. It's beautiful, Lucy Gray."

As if that was what she'd wanted to hear, her shoulders relaxed and she smiled beautifully. "I'm so glad you like it, Y/N."

I mirrored her smile before leaning again, this time taking it slower and appreciating the feeling of her so close to me. It was a feeling I was certain I could never forget.

[kieren-fucking-walker]

Hey folks!

A few people asked if I was okay after my other post so I thought I'd give a general update as to Life Things (tm).

My mum finally left my dad, nys sister got married and he wasn't invited to the wedding and the way he acted was enough to make her leave. My youngest sister (still an adult) was left alone with my dad in the house and I had to talk her through packing a bag and leaving without him noticing. They both left pretty much everything behind and we don't know if they'll be able to get it back. They're at my grandparents now which is further away from both of their workplaces and a very temporary solution, but safe at least. My youngest sister is disabled and she needs support nobody can really give her at the moment, but she's safe.

I lost Juniper (one of my cats) a few weeks back. It was old age, but I wasn't able to be with her and it still doesn't quite feel real. I miss her so much, and I feel very bad about not being able to be with her (a very good friend was though, she was loved and wasn't alone thank god.) Sage is looking for her sometimes but seems to have some understanding of what's happened since he saw her briefly afterwards, she's buried in my best friends garden having a new adventure.

My landlord put my rent up by £100, but hasn't fixed a lot of the things wrong with the flat. The cost of heating this place is ridiculously high, so I'm trying to put the heating on as little as possible even though it's dropping into the minus degrees. Apparently they're set to go up even more in the new year because this country wants to kill us I guess.

My disabilities are all flaring up at once, I've had to take unpaid leave from work, I've not been able to afford the physio sessions that stave off the joint issues, or the food that helps keep my protein levels up because it is expensive and I need to eat something at least. I'm very very lucky that we have the NHS and all of my medications now qualify so at least I get those.

It's coming up to Christmas, I don't know what it's going to be like this year. My family is scattered and all in precarious situations, none of us have much to spare and most of us don't have a permanent home or more than a suitcase of stuff. I need to get Sage his vaccinations, and I feel terrible about leaving him alone in the cattery over Christmas.

That is to say that life is a lot. It's good things, but unstable. My dad is harassing us all, but we aren't stuck with him. I can't afford to keep my disabilities at bay, but my family is safer even if they need more support. Mentally at least I'm okay, I think.

If you'd like to help out, my PayPal is here and my Ko-Fi is here. If you can't or just don't want to this is not for you, god knows we're all going through hard times at the moment and the world is going to shit, but if you do and you're able it will be much appreciated by me and my family.

Finally here is a picture of my beautiful Juniper. Rest in peace my darling.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, and thank you for reading 💜