#georgie was a dull man

[teatimeatwinterpalace]

Like it or not, the one who saved and modernized the monarchy was King George V, not king Edward VII, and this is an undisputed fact that all historians would agree with. After all, It was during the reign of King George V that 13 European Monarchies crumbled to the ground while the british monarchy survived. And it survived because of George V, because of his leadership, his modern statesmanship, his will to embrace and encourage changes, his popularity and the respect that his nation had for him, while he led his country to victory during WW1. He was the FIRST Monarch that brought monarchy close to people, hence why he was nicknamed the People's Monarch or the Citizen Monarch. George reigned during the most difficult times in the history of monarchy and of mankind, but he managed to save his monarchy and to modernize it, setting the path for a Constitutional Modern Monarch*. Your bias cannot change it, because facts dont give a damn about your opinions. A pity that you cannot uplift Edward VII without bringing George down. George wasnt dull, he was quite the character. He was genuine, funny, reproachable, a lover of books and cinema, and most importantly he was a SERIOUS LEADER, who acted exactly as a modern head of state is suppsed to act. Oh and he was a FAITHFUL Husband, he was devoted to his wife and loyal to her throughout their entire marriage. Something that can never be said of Edward VII who was unfaithful and over-indulgent in everything ( Im sure his mistresses would have preferred Handsome George though). If being faithful and family-oriented makes a man dull, than give me dull everyday. Queen Alexandra would've been happy to have married a man like George who never embarrassed and humiliated his wife

Oh my, where does this come from? lmao. Tbh, I deserve this kind of message when it's about Wilhelm. I'm totally biased regarding this rascally young fop (Alexander III said it first!). Badmouthing him is one of my favourite pastime. But George, come on! I never been too harsh with him? EXCEPT, perhaps, when it comes down to the Romanovs, but what can I say? When you don't have a backbone, you really don't…

Yet, I'm a tad puzzled by your message because we are talking about George V right? The one who in April 1905 hadn't seen his children for three months. The one who used to shout at his second son "Get it out" when the poor soul was suffering from stammer. The one who in 1917, while on a stroll in the grounds of Sandringham complained to Nora Wigram that his children always avoided him. Nora retelling this story in one of her letters to her parents said how Mary, David and Bertie became "quite cheerful & entirely flippant, writing their names in the snow" when George and Mary had gone home on said stroll. However, do you know who was ACTUALLY a good father? his cousin *whispering* Nicky.

Faithful yes but let me remind you that their marriage was far from smooth sailing. They lived seperately for months on end. You also must have forgotten the countless letters from George trying to apologise for shutting down, being rude or cold towards May. + May's letters complaining on how he would shut her out. The man was unable to articulate his feelings which led to endless misunderstanding. May who once wrote to George while in Paris : "I quite understand about yr not wishing to come to Paris & am not angry, I only thought it wd be nice change as I find life in general very dull- unless one has a change sometimes." She had wanted him to join her but had received a rebuff instead. May who wrote to his brother in 1900 while she was stuck in the gloomy York Cottage: "It is so dull here & I feel very low & depressed tho' Im pretty well on the whole" (alright she was pregnant at that time, but guess where George was?… out shooting birds).

Led his country to victory during WW1? Hmmm, you really mean George V who was described in 1918 by the Viscount Esher in those terms: "he seems virtually a recluse, steadily devoting himself to good purposes and little works of a good kind, but with not conspicuousness, no assertiveness of the King's position." / "making himself a nonentity" ? While May wrote on 19 november 1916 to her son David about the hospital visits: "They are "assomant" (tiresome) & I dislike them more than words can describe!" and then proceeded to explain how much she enjoyed her shopping trips at Goode's.

I'm teasing because OF COURSE I think George V was a good ruler and perhaps he was the kind of ruler the country needed at that time. He was a great arbitrator and was able to adapt and change despite having conservative views and being very much uneducated. How he dealt with the Irish question is a stellar example! He was an ordinary man who disliked society and suffered from bouts of depression. There is a sentence that struck me in Ridley's book which in my opinion sums up George : "He was a man of disconnected feelings".

I could write PAGES about Bertie's shortcomings and how his shenanigans damaged the monarchy. Yet he was a gifted ruler, very much in tune with his time.

So I guess anon, it comes down to... preference. If you are more into shooting birds and collecting stamps, you do you! I, on the contrary, have a soft spot for cosmopolitan kings with a string of scandals.

Now if you'd excuse me, I'm off painting the town red with Bertie!

[drysdalesworld]

PHASE ONE — always trust the match maker (jamie’s version)

part two

pairing(s): jamie drysdale x fem!reader, platonic!trevor zegras x fem!reader (besties), fem!oc (georgie) x fem!reader (roommates)

genre: a smidge of angst (like talks of breakup/dates gone wrong + reader feeling like she’s not good enough for love), tons of fluff (jamie is a lovesick fool let’s be real), & comfort (in regards to hugs, etc.)

word count: 5.1k+

warning(s): trev thinking he’s cupid, bickering, trevor recruiting readers roommate into his “master plan”, mentions of familial teasing & making reader feel bad about her dating life, drinking + mentions of drinking, mentions of a party, cursing, lowkey moon!reader & sun!jamie, this is literally mostly filler lol

note(s): please remember that this is a work of fiction & nothing the characters in this work say or do is a reflection of them or what they do. i always try to make the reader as racially ambiguous as possible so please let me know if i did not achieve that in this work! :) reader’s job is also mentioned as a journalist. please ignore the numerous amount of times i say painted 😭

It was an ongoing joke between your loved ones that you had bad taste in romantic partners. It somehow always being brought up during family gatherings, giggles gracing their lips as they recalled your past failed relationships and the kinds of people you had brought home throughout the years. You knew that they never truly meant to hurt you with their words but you couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop and frown at their teasing everytime it happened. This was something that followed you from your hometown to your new place of residence in Anaheim, California, even during your near four years of living there. Especially when your good friend of those four years, Trevor Zegras, noticed the pattern one night and the world of your shitty past relationships were revealed to him.

( Trevor glanced at your approaching figure from the corner of his eye as you walked into his and Jamie’s small apartment, having just come back from somewhere as you paused by the doorway to take off your shoes. The man was in the kitchen making himself a bowl of cereal when he had heard the lock and door knob turn.

“What’s up?” He’d asked.

A sigh was the only thing he heard as a response, the sound of your shoes hitting the floor barely a thud on the rugged portion of the entrance, something you had insisted on getting Trevor and Jamie as you had wanted to give their dull and barely decorated apartment some life.

“Alright, I know that sigh. What’s wrong?”.

It creeped you out at first at how well Trevor knew you when you first became friends. He was able to read you like a book, as clear as day. You never met someone like that before. Who took their time in memorizing your little habits and quirks, being able to immediately clock them and check in on you if needed. You had eventually found comfort in that. It was something that you had appreciated about your friend.

“Just a bad date s’all,” you replied, eyes still downturned towards the floor as you make your way to the kitchen, laying your warm and sweaty face onto the cool granite of the counter.

Trevor had turned his body towards you the minute you sighed, concerned laced in his facial features. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you lay against the cold surface.

“A bad date? I didn’t know you went on a date tonight. What happened?” He softly asked.

Another thing you were grateful for was that Trevor wouldn’t immediately start teasing you about something if he saw you in a state like this, upset and flustered. It was something you had addressed to him very early on in your friendship and he respected that.

You briefly contemplated lying to the boy. But you told the truth anyway, deciding that this was something you needed to get off your chest.

“He was just such a…dick, to put it nicely. He was late by nearly an hour and talked about his ex the entire time. He even expected me to get the bill, which I wouldn’t have minded doing but he practically insulted me about my job saying how the only thing journalists do is gossip and shove rumors down everyone's throat. I literally couldn’t wait to leave and get back here”.

Trevor had a frown painted on his lips once you finished explaining. He didn’t know much of your dating history. Only that most of the people you dated were exes for a reason. Hearing about someone treating you like that made him sad and think how you most definitely deserved better.

The brunet didn’t respond to your explanation, only handing you his bowl of cereal and going to pour himself a new one as he lead you to the couch afterwards, eager to take your mind off of the lackluster night. )

You are forever grateful to have someone like Trevor within your life. He treated you like family and never failed to make you feel welcomed within his presence. Something that you very rarely felt with anyone.

And just as you felt a smile spread across your face at the memory of Trevor giving you his last bit of favorite cereal from that night in an effort to make you feel better, your roommate, Georgie, had pulled you out of your thoughts with the wave of her hand passing over your eyes.

“Hello? Earth to (Y/N)”.

You hummed out in acknowledgment, eyes shifting from their glazed over position to the figure of your roommate. She huffed in response.

“Where were you just now, babe? Wait – no. Don’t tell me. I know exactly who you were thinking of,” she smiled, bright teeth on full display as a teasing look spread across her face. “Was it a certain roommate of the Anaheim Ducks player number 11? Or a darked haired man that absolutely cannot play guitar for the life of him?”.

Her words caused you to groan out and roll your eyes, “No. I was not thinking of Jamie, for your information”.

Georgie didn’t seem to believe you, eyes narrowing as she tried to decipher whether or not you were lying to her.

The woman across from you knew of the ‘crush’ you had on the dark haired man. It seemed to be quite obvious to everyone but the man in question. Georgie had commented one too many times on the kind of look you give him when he walks into the room or the kind of smile that subconsciously spreads across your lips when he makes conversation with you, something that Jamie rarely ever does to other people. You always insisted that he must’ve felt comfortable with you to engage in talk with you, but your roommate never failed to point out that he never talks to people first and he always approached you first to talk.

( “Babe, he practically gets excited when he sees you. I mean, dude, he has the biggest smile ever and willingly makes conversation with you first. I don’t see him do that to Trevor every time he sees him”. )

But regardless of the confirmations and signs that Jamie Drysdale may like you the way you like him, you always denied it. He felt too real. Too soft to be tainted and touched by your scarred heart. Too loving to have to put up with you. With the kind of dating history you had, it was hard to believe that you weren’t a problem or a burden to others when in a relationship. Many of your exes had stupid excuses to leave you, all which left you heartbroken. It was hard to not believe the kinds of things they said after every relationship you had ended in a disaster one way or another. You completely believed that it was something you did that made them all leave and you did not want that for Jamie. You didn’t think you’d be able to do that to him nor would you be able to recover from the inevitable heartbreak that awaits you on the other side. It was better to admire him from afar you had decided.

( You did not deserve someone so soft, so loving, and so kind. He looked at the world through rose tinted glasses and you forever had cracked lenses that were barely hanging on the frame of your face. It would never work out. )

Georgie licked her lips as she saw you begin to spiral back into your own head, sighing as she let out a breathy fine and left it at that. She returned to the topic she was discussing with you before she noticed you weren’t even paying attention to the words she was speaking. She wasn’t even entirely sure you were currently listening to her as your eyes began to glaze over once again.

Maybe I should take up Z on his offer, she thought to herself, fingers beginning to twirl around a strand of hair as she continued. Getting J and (Y/N) together is something that definitely needs to happen.

————

“Ah! There she is! The girl of the hour!”.

You wanted to crawl in on yourself and never come out when Trevor’s loud voice reached your ears upon entering his full and cramped apartment. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, raising the box of beers you had picked up at the last minute above your head. More cheers erupted upon your gesture.

Trevor had informed you of his ‘little’ get together approximately an hour before it was planned to start. It was nearing the beginning of the hockey season and he wanted to party and celebrate before his days were filled with hockey and nothing but hockey. He practically pleaded with you to come over when you had declined his offer, comfortably in bed with your comfort movie playing as you got ready to have an early night in. You only caved when Georgie bursted through the door and dragged you out of bed, demanding you accompany her to Trevor’s party. And that’s how you ended up nearly two hours late to his party with beer in hand as an apology with Georgie trailing behind you.

“God bless you sweets,” Trevor mumbled as he engulfed you in a hug, brushing his lips against your hairline, snatching the box of beers from your hands and setting it on the table upon pulling away.

You muttered a yeah yeah before making a beeline for the kitchen fridge, dead set on getting your usual drink. You weren’t a big drinker nor were you able to handle hard alcohol so Trevor always made sure to get you more flavored drinks so you wouldn’t feel left out on the ‘buzz’ of the party.

The cool air of the fridge felt nice on your face compared to the warm heat that began to cling onto your skin from the amount of bodies around you. But as your eyes scanned the fridge and its compartments, you realized Trevor must’ve forgotten to stock up as you couldn’t find a single drink of yours in sight. A frown quickly made its way onto your lips as you realized, already defeated.

“Some people were taking them so I hid them in my room. They might be a little warm if you still want them,” a soft and familiar voice spoke from the right of you, behind the shelter of the silver fridge door.

You slightly stilled upon hearing his voice. But that didn’t stop a smile from making its way onto your face.

“Hey, Jamie,” you spoke, gently closing the door of the fridge, fingers still lightly wrapped around the handle. “That’s nice of you to do. You didn’t have to do that y’know”.

He flashed you his infamous smile, making that warm and fuzzy feeling crawl up your stomach and settle in your chest. “I know. I wanted to. Plus, I know you would’ve given Trevor shit for it and he seems too occupied right now to make a trip to the store for more”.

A giggle left your mouth in response to the man's observation. He wasn’t wrong though. You would've definitely given Trevor shit for not putting the drinks in a safer place, making him feel bad to the point that he would be grabbing his keys and muttering a I’ll be back before exiting through the front door.

“It’s the least I could do for the amount of shit he’s put me through,” you joked, leisurely following Jamie as he led you to his room, weaving through the numerous bodies littered throughout the apartment.

You faintly heard the man chuckle, his head shaking as the fluffy ends of his hair followed the motion of his head. You found yourself smiling harder at the fact that you made Jamie Drysdale laugh, even if it was for a brief moment.

“Well, he definitely deserves it,” he responded, slightly turning towards you as he twisted the door knob of his bedroom door and opened it, revealing his half haphazardly clean room and the brightly colored alcoholic canned beverages on his night stand. “That’s all of what was left. I tried to get more but nobody would budge”.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, eyes trained on the cans. He truly did try to convince those who had the same cans in their hands if they would be willing to trade it for another kind of drink. But they all just looked at him weirdly and declined, practically chugging the liquid in front of him to put more emphasis on their decision. Jamie knew they were one of the only alcoholic drinks that you would consume on nights like these and he didn’t want you to miss out on the fun, if there was even any to start with, just because Trevor wasn’t diligent enough to hide them somewhere else.

Your heart began to swell at the sweet gesture from the boy next to you. It was probably one of the sweetest things someone has done for you in a very long time. It made the warm feeling in your chest grow and spread up into your cheeks.

“Thank you so much, Jimmy. I really appreciate it. This is more than enough, trust me,” you spoke, a gentle smile on your lips as you did so.

Jamie only nodded in reply to your words, copying your smile as he turned his head towards you and away from the condensating cans. The tips of his pale ears tinted pink.

He watched you as you made your way to his night stand and grab a can, promptly opening it before taking a sip. His blue eyes stayed on your figure as you tipped your head back to drink the beverage, lukewarm liquid filling your mouth before sliding down your throat as you swallowed. Jamie found himself copying you subconsciously, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed too. Everything about you seemed to enchant him, never able to take his eyes off of you as you did whatever or talked about whatever. There was just something about you that pulled him in. And he began to find himself addicted to it at times. Always itching for a new fix.

“You want one?” you asked, nodding your head towards the cool cans, effectively pulling Jamie out of his stupor.

“Oh, uh, no. It’s okay. I already had, like, three beers anyway. I think I’m done for the night,” he responded.

He was lying. He only had one. He was too nervous to drink. Trevor had informed him that you were going to be attending the party and he suddenly couldn’t stomach anymore alcohol. It’s not that you made him nervous in a bad way necessarily. The kinds of nerves he experienced around you was hard to put into words but the only thing he could describe it as was something akin to having an elementary school crush. Those excited nerves to see the new kid in school that you found cute. The kind that made him want to pull the flowers from the elderly lady’s garden in his neighborhood and gift them to you as a token of his love. The kind that made him see you everywhere, even in the littlest things.

You narrowed your bright eyes at him, not being able to accurately tell if he was lying. A simple nod of your head was your only response as you took another sip of your drink and sat down on his neatly made bed covers.

You stared at the pictures tapped to his wall. Pictures of his family to his idols scattered the plain white walls of his room. It made you smile that he displayed those he adored and loved on his bedroom walls. You began to wonder what it would look like if he had you on there amongst the pictures of his loved ones. But as quickly as the thought popped into your head, it went away just as fast.

“I must’ve been like, six or something in that picture,” he spoke, gently making his way towards you, pointer finger brushing up against the printed picture of him as a child surrounded by both of his parents and brother, Pre-K graduation certificate tightly grasped in both hands as he brightly and widely smiled at the camera, his freckles danced across the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks. “Had just graduated Pre-K. My parents made such a big deal out of it. I thought it was the best day of my life back then”.

The softness of voice managed to catch you off guard a little, seeing a side of him you never really got the chance to see.

“You look extremely proud of yourself, Drysdale. Very cute too. Your parents look proud too,” you said, tone matched in the same gentleness as his.

A grin made its way onto his face as he angled his head towards yours, eyes gleaming in something you weren’t able to recognize as he sat next to you.

“Oh, I know. Had all the older moms fawning over me and my adorably cute looks,” he joked, chuckling to himself.

You couldn’t help but let out a giggle as well, gently pushing the thigh pressed against yours, shaking your head to yourself. “Of course. I wouldn’t’ve expected anything less, Jamie. Bet you had all the Pre-K girls chasing after you on the blacktop too, huh?”.

“Nah, they had cooties. I couldn’t catch that!” he exclaimed in response, a hearty laugh escaping his soft lips as he gently pushed you with his shoulder, causing you to tip over a bit onto his pillow.

You had only gotten a small whiff of the smell but that was enough to make your insides twist and warmth in your body to completely engulf you. His pillow carried a small smell of his normal scent, something that made your mind entirely short circuit and mouth slightly water. You knew Jamie took well care of himself and smelled good. But getting more than just a quick sniff of it as he leaned in to listen to what you had to say while in a busy, buzzing bar or brushed past you made you slightly freeze in your tracks and just want to drown yourself in whatever he used as cologne.

Geez, get yourself together girl, the voice in your head scolded, shaking its head at your behavior and thoughts.

Jamie had opened his mouth to say something else when the door swung open, bouncing off the wall it had made contact with. A couple had stumbled into the room shortly after, lips and arms entangled with each other as they obviously wanted to find a vacant room for some privacy.

Your jaw dropped open in shock at the sight in front of you, a creeping smile beginning to spread on your lips as you tried not to laugh out loud. A couple just barged into Jamie’s room to try to have a fun time without realizing they were occupying the room.

“Uh,” Jamie coughed, springing up from his seated position to stand up, silence and awkwardness filling the air of the room as the couple halted their movements and quickly pulled away from each other.

Apologizes began spewing from their lips, blushes evident on both of their skins as they back up and out of the room, leaving the door wide open as they left in a hurry.

The laugh you were keeping in finally escaped your mouth as you doubled over, clutching your stomach as you found the entire situation hilarious.

Jamie only looked at you like a wounded puppy, frowning as he whined about the couple trying to hook up in his room and how gross that was especially since the two of you were currently in the room. But he eventually gave in and joined in on your laughing fit, just happy to have had spent some time with you before the both of you were so rudely interrupted.

( “What do you mean some couple barged into his room? Did they think it was empty?” Trevor exclaimed, the tone of it whiny. “Does that mean they didn’t do it?”.

Georgie rolled her eyes at the six foot something man. She shouldn’t’ve even agreed to this stupid plan in the first place. Getting you there was a hassle within itself and then to have Trevor’s ‘spectacular’ idea fall to shit not even an hour and a half into the two of you being there was evidence enough that Trevor Zegras was indeed not a match maker.

“I don’t know, Trev! They just came out of his room like two minutes ago. I was watching the door when I saw the couple approach it. I don’t think (Y/N) and Jamie were able to do anything. Your plan sucked, dude. Major time”.

Trevor only groaned in defeat. The first phase of his plan failed. Big time. And now he had to come up with something else to try to get his roommate and best friend together. And God knows that Trevor Zegras will do anything in his power to make it happen. )

————

You didn’t know why you kept doing this to yourself. Kept going on dates with people who just simply didn’t care for you or cared for what you had to say and just wanted a quick succession for the week. It truly boggled your mind on how you managed to attract these kinds of people and had you wondering if you did anything to deserve this kind of treatment.

As you walked in the pouring rain from another horrible date, you found yourself walking the familiar path to Trevor and Jamie’s apartment. Something you always found yourself doing after a particularly hard day, or awful date in this case. It was like your legs had a mind of their own as you appeared in front of the wood door, knuckles rapping at the hard surface before you could think twice about it.

A barely audible coming! and shuffling came from the other side of the door, it swinging open once the owner of the voice finally managed to get to the wooden door.

“Hey! – Oh. What happened? Why are you soaked?”.

Jamie had stood before you, hair slightly disheveled as he probably was gaming or getting ready for a nap before you had interrupted it with your presence. A frown also made its way onto his lips, the corners of his mouth drooping. He looked legitimately concerned as to why you had shown up at his apartment at seven-thirty at night soaked to the bone with your heels in hand.

You must really look like a mess right now, you whispered to yourself in your head, mentally scolding yourself for disturbing whatever he was doing before you had shown up.

“Are you okay?” He softly asked, ushering you inside the warm apartment with the same amount of gentleness his voice carried. God, that made you want to cry on the spot.

Your wet and cold hand quickly slipped out of his warm calloused ones as you pulled it back, stepping back into the hallway, shaking your head as you went to open your mouth. “It’s not that big of a deal anyway. I don’t know why I stopped by. I’m sorry for disturbing your night”.

Your words seemed to have an effect on Jamie as his frown deepened and hand went out to grasp yours back into his own. Eyes filled with concern as he tried to decipher why you would say that.

It must’ve been a big enough deal for her to end up here, Jamie thought to himself as he knew that his and Trevor’s apartment was often a safe place for you. More like the people renting the space we’re the comfort than the home itself.

“Please,” he pleaded, “Come inside. You don’t have to tell me what happened but at least wait until the rain stops to go back home”.

When you had looked up, Jamie’s blue eyes held such concern that you wanted to comfort him, ignoring your own hurt to make him feel better. Maybe that’s why your relationships always ended badly. You put others needs and feelings before your own, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care with Jamie.

You simply nodded your head to his request, allowing him to gently drag you into the warmer apartment as he took your discarded heels from your hands and dropped them onto the floor, other hand still in your own.

“I can get some of Trevor clothes for you to wear if you’d like. He’s out with Mason and the boys tonight, but he’ll be back soon,” he whispered as if he was scared you’d crack and crumble to the ground in a thousand pieces if he spoke any louder.

“Please,” you muttered, now shaking from the rain you endured only minutes prior. Droplets of water still dropped from the soaked end of your dress and hair.

Jamie mumbled a quick okay before urging you to follow him, your soft hand still grasped in his rough one before he gently dropped it to retrieve some clothes for you.

Upon entering the apartment, its warmth settled itself into your skin, causing a shiver to run through your body, dress still dripping from your walk in the rain. Wrapping your arms around your shaking torso, you shook your head at yourself and began to mumble about how stupid it was to go to Trevor and Jamie’s instead of yours. You didn’t want him seeing you like this. You felt pathetic enough already and didn’t need him judging you for your lackluster of a dating life.

“I couldn’t find anything of Trevor’s that was clean, or that didn’t look suspiciously dirty. So I hope you don’t mind wearing some of mine,” Jamie spoke up, a large sweatshirt and some gray sweatpants in hand. An awkward smile painted his lips as he nervously held out the pieces of clothing for you, heart beating rapidly in his chest as you grabbed the clothes from his grasp.

“Thank you,” you shuttered, lips a paler color as your teeth knocked themselves together.

Your eyes avoided Jamie’s as you made your way to the guest bathroom, stripping yourself of your sopping clothes and quickly changing into the dry ones of Jamie’s. Albeit him not being a very tall man, the ends of his sweater sleeves still managed to cover the entirety of your hands and engulf you in a comforting way.

The feeling of wearing Jamie’s clothes was very different from wearing Trevor’s. You never felt warm or giddy wearing Trevor’s stuff. It was always something normal between the two of you that neither of you thought twice about. But with Jamie, it felt different. A good different. Like there was more to it than just wearing his clothes. It comforted you in a way that Trevor’s wasn’t able to.

A soft knock came from the other side of the door as you wiped the remnants of your makeup away, “Do you want some hot chocolate? I could make some for you if you’d like. Warm you up a bit”.

A pang of guilt erupted within your chest, feeling bad for having Jamie do all of this for you when he didn’t even know why you had showed up at his front door upset and wet from the rain. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. With you.

Your hesitation and lack of an answer allowed Jamie to believe that you weren’t in the mood for one. But he’d make you a cup anyway. Just in case.

Minutes had passed before you exited the bathroom, hair thrown up in a towel to dry and body now warm and skin back to its original hue. Jamie was propped up against the counter, elbows on the cool surface as he hurriedly typed away on his phone, thick eyebrows drawn slightly together as he focused on the screen in front of him. You assumed he was texting Trevor and updating him on your presence in their apartment. Another pang of guilt struck.

“If you need, I can leave. Don’t want to be too much trouble,” you spoke up, nervously picking at the nail beds of your fingers from where you stood.

The dark haired man slightly jumped, surprised to have not heard you exit the bathroom. He turned to face you, placing his phone onto the counter as it continued to buzz. “No,” he spoke, “You don’t need to. I want to help you and it is not any trouble at all. You were in need and I want to be there for you”.

The words he spoke to you made you want to cry all over again. No one’s ever made it a point to you that they genuinely wanted to help you. Jamie seemed honest enough in what he said and the concern painted on his face was enough to convince you that this was alright. That it was alright for him to help you and be there for you, even if you didn’t believe it yourself.

You gently smiled, “Is the hot chocolate still an offer?”.

“When is it not,” he smiled back, reaching for the tucked away microwave in the corner, opening it to reveal a still steaming cup of hot cocoa.

————

“Hey! So sorry for not getting here fast enough. Traffic was literally the worst. And Mason! Don’t get me started on – Oh”.

Trevor stopped in his tracks, jaw open in shock as he began to properly process the scene in front of him. The poor boy had to rush from the bar he was at with Mason and the others once he was sober enough to drive back. But the LA traffic had gotten the best of him and caused him to come back home more than an hour later than intended. He was utterly disheveled once he managed to unlock the door of his apartment and squeeze through the opening, apologizing for being late. When Jamie had texted him about you showing up at their door soaked and barefoot and that he probably should come back to the apartment, he nearly choked on the beer that was making its way down his throat. He read and responded to the text at seven-forty-five but had now just gotten back home, which was at nine o’clock.

“Looks like she didn’t need much of my comforting after all,” he whispered to himself as his eyes danced from you and Jamie’s intertwined bodies.

Trevor could only assume that Jamie had offered to watch your favorite comfort movie in an attempt to cheer you up, the end credits of Coraline on pause as the screen displayed the director and producer of the movie. Another thing he could most definitely assume was that halfway through the movie, you fell asleep on Jamie, which caused him to try to shift you into a more comfortable position only for you to cling onto him for his warmth, forcing yourself closer to his body heat as he gave up and just settled into the position he was currently in.

The brunet only snorted and shook his head at the two peacefully sleeping. There’s absolutely no way he was going to allow either of them to forget this moment. Even when the both of you would deny and deny the fact. Perhaps his plan was working, slowly but surely.

Now, he thought, onto phase two.

—

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[stationintern]

author's note

draco/harry G, 1,322 featuring author Draco Malfoy, his unemployed husband, and an interviewer who seems a little too fixated on their gay little life. but that's just the way of fanfiction baby

BY GEORGIE HARKINS

NOVEMBER 17, 2023

“Draco, one of your admirers is here,” was the first thing I heard upon arriving at Draco Black’s modest country home. After being greeted by a luscious, wild front garden and a rather cantankerous tabby, I was met at the door by Black’s husband, who identified me quite correctly. 

To say it was a surprise to receive the invite for an informal interview would be an understatement. Black, while well-known and heavily awarded, has never been seen in public, and has asked that I keep my descriptions of him, his family, and his home to a minimum. Though, I will do my best, despite the restrictions, to paint of picture of the man behind some of the most inventive and mature fantasy novels the literature world has seen in quite some time. 

A story of the heir to a great name and fortune, caught up in a war steeped in the supremacy of magical people over their non-magical counterparts. The early books paint a picture of childlike wonder, excitement, and naivety, with the threat of what is to come in the later books just around the corner. A devastating struggle between dark and light, with our anti-hero caught up in the shadows, unsure of whether to escape and lose all he holds dear, or stay and sink deeper into the mire. The tale has earned him critical acclaim and household recognition, but, admirably, he’s maintained his privacy, and let his work speak for itself.

The inside of his home–bright, airy, full of greenery–is in sharp contrast to the usually bleak settings of his novels. Decay, both social and physical, has been a key theme across his series of fantasy novels: The Poisoned Heir. Despite this, he surrounds himself with life. We sat down at the kitchen table, where I asked him about this.

“I feel… to write about the breaking down of all we hold dear, we must first appreciate what we have,” Black said, cradling a clay mug of Assam, his preferred brew, “I’ve loved, lost, and rebuilt. We all have. But, to write it on such a grand scale can send me into a sort of… spiral. So, I try to find joy and life in anything I can outside of my work.”

One thing I noticed about Black was the way he seemed to take his time while speaking. I watched him grasp for words from the surrounding air, and told him so.

He laughed, “When I was a boy, I had a quick, sharp tongue. It hasn’t dulled with age, but it’s definitely slowed, and that’s a good thing.”

“A very good thing!” came the voice of his husband from the adjoining living room.

“I’m conducting an interview!” Black called back.

“I’m conducting an interview! ” came the voice again.

“Excuse him.”

“No, no. It’s lovely,” I said, “How long have you two been married?”

His husband is an “unemployed layabout”, in Black’s terms, not mine, whom he met during his days in secondary school. Though they didn’t reconnect until much later in life. He showed me pictures of them together, young and rowdy, casting uneasy glances at each other among friends. Walking down the hallway crowded with photos, I followed their life. From unsure crooked smiles to comfortable family candids, Black claims their love story is one for the ages.

“Twenty years, now. Two children, all grown up.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” Black replied, looking down into the remains of his tea, pensive, “You know, it was Harry who convinced me to finally publish my novels. I’d thought about it for years, had them all written out.”

“All seven?”

“All seven, just sitting in a drawer!”

“If you hadn’t originally planned on publishing them, then what was the purpose?” I asked. 

Seven novels chronicling the tense political schism in a society of magic users, the journey from innocence to awakening, a war to end all wars– sat in a drawer collecting dust. Except, Black said, his children did hear the same story growing up. Though, less polished. I was reminded of a photo I saw in that hallway, of a little blonde girl resting on a younger Black’s knee, reading from what looked to be some sort of parchment.

“It was therapeutic. A… retelling of my entire life in a way that seemed just as all-encompassing as it felt when it was happening. I was raised to have an incredibly skewed moral compass, and as time went on I began to heal, and reframe, but there was always this need to let it out. All of it, every last bit, so I could see it laid out before me.”

“So, you wrote.”

Black nodded, “I wrote. Only then could I truly understand myself and the world around me.”

“Based on what you’ve said, is it correct to assume that the main character is based on yourself?” 

“In a sense. I think my biggest fear during the publishing process was that people would not sympathize with Lucien… that they would see his redemption as undeserved, a feeling I’ve carried my whole life.”

Lucien, the anti-hero of the series, received mixed reviews in the press. His many crimes were never glossed over in the books, as the character struggled internally throughout– sometimes excusing himself, other times devolving into self-loathing and punishment. Some critics claimed that the character was too far gone to receive a happy ending, while others lauded Black for his ability to write such a morally dubious character in a way that could be seen as relatable or understandable by the end. 

“Did you get the reaction you were hoping for?”

“To this day, I’m still not quite sure. In the end, though, I realized that I didn’t need people to understand or sympathize with him, I just needed them to see him.”

“Well, he’s been seen by over fifty million readers. How does that make you feel?”

“Rather exposed, wouldn’t you think?”

“I would,” I agreed, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to pivot a bit here, into something that may be a bit more personal.”

“Please.”

 “You received criticism after the fourth instalment, in which Lucien realizes that he is gay, from both sides of the political spectrum. Some on the right were disappointed in his being gay at all, while the left felt that you were painting queer people in a poor light in an already intense political landscape. What would your response be to these critics?”

Black leaned back in his chair, comically stroking his chin, “I think I’d say… that I don’t fucking care what they think.”

“That’s quite blunt.”

“I’ve never been one for cutting verbal corners. More fictional queer people should be horrible and evil, until they equal the numbers of their real-world, heterosexual counterparts.”

“Well said.”

“Do you have anything else you’d like to ask me? I’m afraid my daughter will be arriving for lunch in just a few minutes.”

I thought about this for a few moments. Did I want to ask him about his current writing process? If we should be expecting a new work anytime soon? Ultimately, I decided on a question I felt would cater to him, as he’d given me this unique opportunity in the first place.

“Is there any specific character based on your husband in the books?”

A laugh resounded from the living room, and Black’s mouth turned up in a shy smile.

“Why, his school rival, of course,” Black replied.

“The one who Lucien beat to a pulp on the Quitchball field?” I replied, admittedly flabbergasted.

“Quite so.”

Harry joined us then in the kitchen, ruffling Black’s hair a bit before picking up the mugs we’d been drinking from, “I’ll have you know, Georgie, that I was the one who did most of the beating. You can go and tell that to the press.”

“Oh, I will,” I promised, and now I have.

if you'd like to say some kind things, or make unintelligible sounds, feel free to check this out over on ao3!

[stray-kaz]

Stuck in the Middle With You : a George Karim x f!reader oneshot

Anonymous request: a fic in which reader takes the place of Lucy in the possession of Annabel Ward and George takes the place of Lockwood. Let the madness ensue.

A/N: Pretend that in the above gif, George is saying: “I think something’s wrong with *insert name here*.”

18+ with characters who are of age.

“Something is wrong with both of the girls” George announced, half falling into the chair opposite Lockwood in the sitting room.

He glanced up from the paper he was reading.

“What now?”

“I have now found both of them, one after the other, doing things that should get them acquitted, Lockwood. First, Lucy taking a bath with her clothes on, and just now, I caught the love of my life staring like a zombie at Annabel’s ring spinning on top of her desk. Just sitting there, staring. I tell you, they’re both losing it.”

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose.

“The love of your life, eh?” he mused, trying and failing to hide a grin.

George showed him two unfriendly fingers and Lockwood snickered.

“If you tell her I said that, I will kill you and your ghost.”

“Lockwood?”

There was a brief knock and the two boys looked at the door to see Lucy waiting there, and you standing a little behind her, your gaze dancing between George and the carpet.

“We need to find out what happened to Annabel Ward” Lucy said quietly, but firm. “We aren’t going to be able to sleep until we do.”

George looked at you and saw the purple circles beneath your eyes and clenched his hands together in his lap.

“So who...?” Lockwood trailed off, glancing between the two of you.

You raised a hand.

“Me.”

George shot out of his seat like a rocket, deep armchair be damned. 

“No!”

His exclamation shocked you, and heat filled your cheeks.

“Why not?” you demanded. “You think I’m not strong enough?”

George stammered as as he struggled to respond.

“That’s not it!” he managed eventually. 

You propped your hands on your hips, creasing your nightie at your hips and tightening it across your chest and stomach. George looked down, muttering to himself. You stepped toward him as Lockwood and Lucy watched, intrigued.

“Then why?” you asked.

George lifted his head to meet your eyes, your head tipped back a little for his height.

“Because I don’t want you to” he said softly.

You blinked up at him; his eyes were dark and luminous behind his glasses, his mouth set in a firm line; his jaw shook a bit.

“Lucy is exhausted” you told him.

“So are you” he retorted, avoiding eye contact.

“But I didn’t just almost drown myself” you reminded him, apologetically glancing over your shoulder at Lucy; she gave you a half smile in return.

Lockwood came over and draped an arm across your shoulders. George glowered at the casual touch, jealous of Lockwood’s ability to do that without screwing it up.

“Come on then” he said, ruffling your hair. “George, prep us, would you?”

George opened his mouth to protest, but Lockwood winked at him so he shut it, confused. He turned and shuffled out of the room, heading for the basement.

Fifteen minutes later, you were seated on a chair in front of pulled curtains, gripping the edges with anxious fingers. George paused in front of you, his gaze serious.

“I’m right here” he said quietly, surprising you. “I won’t leave you. If she takes any liberties...”

His voice tailed away as his mind recoiled from the idea of anyone or anything taking liberties with your body.

You nodded, focused on him.

“I know, Georgie” you murmured. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

He went to stand with the other two and you slowly folded your fingers over the delicate ring resting on your palm, and they watched as a gentle glow took over your body. You closed your eyes and George wrapped his hand around the edge of the door, welcoming the dull pain as the wood dug hard into his skin.

“She loves him, I think” you said softly, tilting your head to one side. “The man who gave this to her.”

Lockwood put a hand on George’s shoulder to steady him as a dreamy smile unfurled across your mouth.

“They’re playing her favourite song. She wants him to dance with her, but he won’t do it.”

You stood up slowly and walked towards them, hands outstretched until you came into contact with a stunned and slightly afraid George. You cupped his cheek gently and pushed your fingertips into his hair, his skin warm against your own.

“I love you” you said clearly, and Lockwood’s grip on George’s shoulder tightened. “You know I love you. I’d never cheat. You’re all I want.”

George’s mouth opened slightly and then his eyebrows drew together in a frown as you grabbed his hands to pull them onto your shoulders and then tried to withdraw while simultaneously holding onto him. Fear changed your voice and George thought he might faint.

“But you love me” you whimpered, your eyes rolling a little in your skull. “You would never hurt me!”

You wrapped your fingers tightly around George’s wrists, so hard he couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d made an attempt. Lockwood’s brown eyes were wide and Lucy was staring worriedly at you as you started shaking.

“Stop! Stop!” you cried out, as you started to choke on nothing.

You lifted your hands away from George to your own throat, your eyes widening.

“No” he breathed out, raising a hand to try and pull at yours, free you.

Lockwood raced past you and flung the curtains wide open, letting early light flood the room. The chair you had been sitting on previously flew through the air. Lucy flung herself to the side and George pushed you down to the floor, his body shielding yours. His right hand felt along your arm until it reached your hand, at which point he pried open your fingers and flicked the ring away, skittering across the floor to land at Lockwood’s feet. He bent to pick it up and returned it to its silver glass case.

“Is she all right?” he asked George, concerned.

George scrambled off you and helped you to sit, your gaze now perfectly clear and entirely your own, your face hot to the touch. You shook your head groggily and rubbed your eyes.

“He choked her to death” you said, visibly upset.

George looked to Lockwood, who gestured wildly at you. He gingerly reached for you and touched your shoulders, and you folded into him, your breath falling hot under his collar. At an unusual loss for words, he began to hum a discordant tune and run his hands up and down your back, feeling the cotton of your nightie shift and give with each pass of his palms.

Lucy eyed Lockwood and jerked her head at the doorway, and he followed her out of the room, leaving you two to rock together on the floor.

Later, George walked you to your room you shared with Lucy, when she wasn’t in with Lockwood. You turned in the doorway to face him, soft cotton swishing around your knees.

“Thank you, Georgie” you said quietly. “Good...morning.”

He nodded, a little stiff.

“Good morning.”

Just before he could leave, you reached out and took his hand, squeezing briefly before dropping it once more. And as you slowly closed your door, he stared down at his hand as if he had never before seen it in his life.

You slept fitfully for a few hours, tossing and turning, until the room became too bright to bear and the thoughts in your head buzzed louder than a hive of bees. That was when you gave in and swung yourself out of bed, padding on bare feet downstairs to George’s door. It was slightly ajar, but you knocked all the same. He liked his privacy, and so did you.

“Yes?”

His voice, thick and raspy from sleep, arrived a few seconds late and then he appeared in the doorway, curls in utter disarray and no glasses. The sight weakened your knees even as it strengthened your resolve. He blinked at you; you were close enough to see and to focus on, but he didn’t understand what you would be doing at his door after everything that happened only a few hours ago.

“Georgie?”

“Yeah...”

You took a deep breath in and released it slowly, your fingers toying with the hem of your nightie. George caught a flash of inner thigh and his jaw tightened briefly.

“Those things I said before. That wasn’t just Annabel.”

George stared at you, one hand on the door, the other in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“What are you saying?” he asked slowly, aware of his pulse increasing and the light flush to your skin as you looked up at him.

You slowly stepped closer and lifted your hands to his face, sliding gently over his skin and into his dark hair. His eyes fluttered closed and then open again, focusing hopefully on yours even as his pupils expanded and he found himself thinking about where that flash of inner thigh led to.

“I love you” you whispered, biting your bottom lip. “You’re all I want, George Karim. Is there any way that you...that you feel the same?”

He let go of his resignation, his deferred hope, and he grabbed hold of you instead. He smoothed his hands up your arms and down your back, grabbing fistfuls of fabric over your backside as his lips collided with yours, his heart a raging inferno in his chest.

You whimpered and tightened your grip on his hair, nerves singing and pulse bounding. George pulled you inside his room and reached around you to push the door shut, all with his eyes closed, refusing to stop kissing you. He had wanted to kiss you since the day you arrived three months ago, and now he didn’t think he’d survive if you ever asked him to stop.

And then your hands were gone from his hair and he would have complained loudly about it if he wasn’t too busy losing his mind at the feel of your hands slipping underneath the oversized t-shirt he slept in and searching hungrily for his warm skin. Your blunt fingernails scraped over the arrow of dark hair low on his abdomen and he gasped into your mouth as his hips jerked, connecting fiercely with yours.

You hesitated against him and he pulled back, scrambled for a way to rectify the situation.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said hastily, eyes wide and blown out, wild and black.

You shook your head and yanked his t-shirt off, your gaze running over him as he stared at you, biting his lip. 

“George” you said softly. “Can I touch you?”

His mouth fell open and a broken whine escaped before he could stop it. You held out a hand to him and he clasped it gently before running his fingers up to your wrist and loosely wrapping them around it. He tugged your hand forward gently until you were a hair’s breadth away from the obvious stretch in his grey sweats. You looked up at him with big eyes and he was done for.

“Aw, hell” he muttered, and pulled your hand the rest of the way onto the material covering him, hissing through his teeth as you palmed him through the barrier.

He swore as you curled your fingers around what you could manage with fabric in the way, teasing and stroking. He looked down at you, mapping your way around him.

“Love” he said thickly, his voice suddenly husky again; the pet name and the sound set up a throbbing heat between your legs that had you shifting on your feet and clenching on nothing; he saw. “It’s hardly fair, is it? Are we taking turns or something?”

You removed your hand from him and stepped back, stretching your arms above your head in silent invitation. George bit his lip and lowered his hands to the hem of your nightie, lifting the fabric up and off over your head, leaving you naked except for your plain black underwear. You watched him gaze at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and the heat of it rushed to your belly and made you squirm.

George reached out and drew you back to him by your hips, groaning when the tips of your breasts brushed his chest and his covered erection settled against your lower belly. 

“Georgie, you can touch me if you like” you murmured, arching one eyebrow.

He stared at you breathlessly, dark eyes wide and wild.

“Where?” he demanded.

You smiled and nudged your nose against his.

“Wherever you want to.”

He groaned, slid one hand up and one hand down. His left, slightly less dexterous, palmed and knuckled your breast and his right dove past the elastic band of your underwear, slender fingers questing. You widened your stance, your head dropping to his shoulder, as the hard base of his palm bumped against your clit and his middle finger swept through the wetness already dampening your underwear.

Your body moved of its own accord, rolling down against his hand as he leaned his cheek atop your head. The tender gesture, in your current situation, felt like the sun shining on you and you shuffled nearer, pressing your hand against his heart. It cantered against your palm, a horse running wild. He was warm and good to you, his lone finger curling and stroking inside you, and you took a chance.

George’s eyes flew open and then shut hard, all senses on high alert, as you found him inside his sweats and straining boxers, your fingers gently circling him, memorising the hard and smooth of silky skin. You lifted your head from his shoulder to look into his eyes, and his breath caught. Your beautiful eyes were almost all pupil, but you were still looking at him like he was the most precious thing on earth, even as you gave a few experimental tugs and he growled at you.

The slightly feral sound sent another roiling wave of heat through you and you shimmied out of your underwear, George’s finger still up to the knuckle inside of you. You tucked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and stretched it out a little.

“May I?” you asked quietly.

George nodded frantically and you bit back a smile as you pushed his sweats and underwear down his legs and waited for him to kick them away before bearing him down onto his bed. You glimpsed his surprise before kissing it away, your lips landing all over his face before they reached his again, already parted and waiting for you.

You settled your knees to either side of him, more than a little enjoying the writhing movements he was making under you, the tip of him just barely making contact with your entrance when he raised his hips high enough off the bed.

“Quit the torture, would you?” he griped, his palms roughing over the twin curves of your hips. 

“Do you love me, Georgie?” you asked him, readying yourself for the inevitable plunge.

He rolled his eyes, even as his mouth opened to give the answer.

“Infuriating, beautiful menace, yes, I love you!”

You sank down on him with a gasping moan and he could have sworn he’d died and gone to heaven.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Angel With A Ticket

George Weasley x Knight Bus Conductor Reader

You’ve worked on the knight bus for so long, and saw such a variety of faces. What happens when you meet a face that normally smiles, but can’t seem to plaster one on?

Can be read as romantic or platonic

Warnings: Angst, Mention of Death, Vague setting, Implied self harm, Survivors Guilt, George Weasley Deserves To Mourn, Dead Fred, Reader is everyone’s therapist, ya know?

“Hey-! We got one-!” The familiar bobble of the shrunken head would alert you, as you hurried down the stairs of the upper floors. Your bag nearly sending you flying, with its weight. Had the head laugh, before you flicked its forgotten nose. Getting a whine.

“Let’s see who the poor sap in distress is this time-“ You hummed, as the bus gave its sharp stop. Your body having grown used to such a swing, and able to remain standing. “Ya can handle a bus, but not a bag. Magical~!” The head mocked, as the doors opened.

Your eyes couldn’t help but widen, as you saw who was standing there. Was a Weasley, and by the fact a sparkling W pin was on the pocket….It was a twin. Couldn’t be. Twins come in pairs. Where’s the other half? Must be some trick of the eyes. Where is the second in command? You would jump off the bus, and have a look around. Trying to find him.

“It’s just me….” The twin said, with a defeated sigh. “It’s going to be just me. Forever…..Can I just come on already-?” The twin said, as he rubbed at his arms. Suit jacket seeming a mess, and not quite as dapper as it normally was. You tilted your head, as you gave him a better look. Wondering what he was on about.

Normally such vivid eyes were dull, freckled smile missing, and by god so was an ear. Where did his ear go? That’s when it all dawned on you. That same baggy eye look you’ve seen so much of so recently. That was the face of someone who’s been through war. Oh no.

“I’m…..So sorry.” You whispered, as it was hard to process. The idea that twins weren’t twins anymore. “I-“ You didn’t know what else to say, and it didn’t seem like he did either. Just handing over the ticket, and you were quick to autopilot through the transaction. He would climb himself onto the bus, and the energy changed.

The man was normally a beacon of energy and positivity. Didn’t seem like that would be what the bus would feel tonight. With him on the bus, you saw he had no bags. Made you curious why he would be on the bus at all. From what you recall, from your school days, those twins mastered apparation very young.

“Got any beds available?” He asked you, and a nod was what you gave him. “Second floor, to your right.” You said, only to watch him climb up the stairs. It was still hard to comprehend such a livley man went so limp. Probably better to not let him know you didn’t know which twin he was.

“Georgie boy sure has handled it the best he can. Poor child.” Dre said, as if reading your mind. “Still runnen that shop. Maken sure them kids get their fix and be all smiles. Doing the lords work, that be sure.” He sighed, making you wonder if he could breath at all.

“Can’t imagine running a shop you built from the ground up, with your twin, all by yourself.” You admit, as the bus would snap back into the road again. Moving at speeds that could kill. “Why else ya think he’s here? Ain’t the first time.” Dre explained.

That made sense, now that you thought about it. When you weren’t on shift, he must sometimes come sleep on the bus. Just to be somewhere different. This poor man. You didn’t know why, but you wanted to help. Maybe because you knew those twins gave the world everything. And Fred seemed to prove it, with his own life.

Up the stairs you went, to see the many other sleeping passengers. Many a young teen running away from home, to mothers escaping house holds that didn’t want them. So many sad story’s the bus held. All giving them a needed moments rest, before their next stop. Now the infamous George Weasley was in that pile.

You would dance around the sliding beds, as to soon stand next to his own. To look down, as he made sure to have his working ear face the world. Dress jacket would be tossed over the metal head board, and shoes kicked off, as he tried to get some sleep. Struggling, as you saw his eyes flutter behind his lids. The way he would rub his arms, as if they were always in pain. Attacked by the chill.

“Need a blanket….or something-?” You awkwardly asked, getting a snort from him. “Rather have my brother back, but ‘pose that’s a bit harder. Huh?” He more so muttered, as you let him vent. Seemed he was surprised you did. Was sitting up even, with a brow raised.

“Not gonna tell me that I’m being to blunt, or intense-?” He puzzled. “What-? No….You lost your identical twin. Everyone here has their own story, and ways to deal with trauma. Like hell I’m going to tell you to shut up. If it helps it helps.” You scoffed, as you took offense. Thinking he thought you were fragile. You work on the Knight Bus. Fragile doesn’t exist in that sentence.

“Sure seems like everyone else does. Ya know-?” He begins, and you happily let him. Taking a seat on the bed, and soon did your song and dance. Many a patron would sob their woes to you. That’s just what the Knight Bus was meant for. To let struggling wizards, and witches, get some clarity. And he was no exception.

His head was soon in your lap, as he went on about his woes. How his family more so was pretending Fred didn’t even exist, afraid to even say his name around him. Like it would trigger him to hurt himself more. Acting like he didn’t exist for his sake. Made him just act out more. He was just able to finally vent to someone about it all, and you happily listened.

You let him sniffle, and wiped his tears away, as he goes on about how he could have saved him. If he had just not lost his ear, and was forced to tend to the people in the medical station. That he could have prevented his death, if he didn’t lose his ear. You didn’t dare interrupt, and just let him mourn. Might be the first time he did.

It wouldn’t be long before he was able to finally sleep. They always fell asleep like that. Cry out their sorrows, and you would listen. Let them know that someone was there for them. You would gently rest his head on the pillow, making sure he slept on his left side, before pulling a blanket over him.

“Sleep well, big guy. Do it for Fred.” You whispered, as you would slip back down the stairs. As you did, you couldn’t help but feel a chill run through you. As if some ghost was running up the stairs. You brushed it off as in coming London rain, before you leaned over the railing. Back to your post, with Dre.

“Hope ya know he’s gonna be a regular.” Dre warned you. “And-?” You smarted, getting a smile. “Guess you are cut out for this job.” He laughed, as you rolled your eyes. Despite it all, you did glance up. Knowing that ray of sunshine was up there. You worried, and maybe it was about time someone did for him. “Sleep well.” You whispered, as the bus made its next stop.

“Oye-!” You shouted, as you hopped off the bus. “Come on. Don’t wait for the grass ta grow, it’s time to go-!” You tried to joke, as you grabbed the runaways bags. Helping them on, before you vanished into the night. Leaving behind only the sounds of screeching tires.

[angy-mouse]

Obsession Part 2

I'm gonna be real, I'm not thrilled with either of these, but theyre very feel goody to write

part 1

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Dream let out a noise that can only be described as ‘God, strike me now’. “Just when I thought the crappy punch was the most disgusting thing here,” he snapped, throwing back the last of his beer in hopes of dulling his growing headache. 

George scoffed, downing a swig of his own drink and leaning back against the wall- entirely too close to Dream for his own liking, but he didn’t have much choice. Dream was here for the same reason he was: this was the best spot to watch you dance with your little dorm friends. “Insults? What are we, in middle school? You’re pathetic.”

“... You look good.”

George chuckled at the unspoken question. “Yeah, razor blades in the soap bar is such an amateur move, I almost felt bad for you.” Dream simply clicked his tongue. “Speaking of, I saw your car out front.”

“Neighbor asked how I found such a dedicated mechanic. You really couldn’t get in, cut my brakes, and get out without being seen? Sounds like you’re the amateur.”

“Are you kidding me? I scaled that fence in under ten seconds, easy. In and out in a minute, only thing I didn’t account for was you living next to a damn Karen.”

Dream peeled his eyes off you for the first time that night to raise an eyebrow. “How’d you get in the garage, anyway?”

George let out a snicker as he swirled his drink around in its plastic cup. “Oh, yeah, I had to break open the back window. Might wanna get that fixed, the frame cracked easier than an egg.” 

“You’re such a cocky little bastard. You really think my baby would like such a creep?”

“My darling told me herself how much she likes my ingenuity. What she’d never like is some meathead-”

“Oh, I’m a meathead, am I? Funny, ‘cause she was just telling me she loves my emotional intelligence.”

“Please, you wrote her a few frilly poems- that’s practically nothing compared to how much I’ve helped her with coursework.”

“You just can’t take a hint, can you? I feel bad for you, so I’ll tell you straight: she’s using you. She’d be stupid not to take advantage-”

George’s blade dug into Dream’s side, hidden from the horde of drunks by his sleeve. “Don’t you dare insult her!”

“-of a smarmy, pathetic-”

“Hey, knock it off!”

They both snapped to attention at your beautiful voice, filled with far more resentment than you’d ever used with them. There you were, as gorgeous as ever in your favorite dress, pushing away some drunk, insignificant, unworthy frat boy who dared to touch your perfect body.

“He’s mine,” Dream growled out without a second thought, seeing red as you (always too sweet, too kind) tried to push the insect away gently, only to have him push up against you again. He was already fantasizing about how satisfying it would be to feel the crack of bones under his hand, and how with each fracture he’d reiterate don’t touch what’s mine.

“I’ve got her.” George couldn’t believe how he could let this happen. He should have clocked the drunk as soon as he was within arm’s reach of you. He wanted to blame Dream for distracting him, maybe cut him up a bit to relieve some tension, but that was the easy way out. He should have been watching you, protecting you. This couldn’t happen again.

He came up behind you and wrapped long fingers around your wrist, spinning you to face him. “Hey, luv,” he chirped, covering up the choking sound as Dream wrapped his arm around the bastard’s neck and hauled him away the second your back was turned. 

“Georgie!” He nearly moaned as you wrapped your arms around him, stumbling in your heels and pressing against him for stability. “I didn’t know you were- oh, Georgie, this is-” You visibly blanked when you turned around and the man wasn’t there. “Where’d he go?”

“I think you’ve been drinking too much, darling,” George hummed into your ear, one hand on your waist to keep you steady and against him as the other plucked your cup out of your hand. He took a small, testing sip and felt his blood boil. “That cunt spiked it? He’s gonna fucking wish we turned him in to the cops.”

“Hey,” you slurred with a giggle, hands pressed against his chest giving a tug on his shirt. “That’s mine, silly. I- can I-” You whined when the words wouldn’t come out, crashing your forehead down on his collarbone, snuggling into his neck. God, you were close. Your breath washed over his neck as you sighed, blood rushing through his veins practically under your lips. What he wouldn’t do-

No. He’d gotten distracted once tonight, it wouldn’t happen again.

“Oops,” he mumbled out dryly as he let the plastic cup fall to the floor, giving it a kick to make sure everything spilled out and started soaking into the carpet. He was confident absolutely no one would notice the stain among the others. “Why don’t we get you back to your dorm, and you can have a drink there, okay?” That drink was going to be a bottle of water he personally checked over for tampering, but you didn’t need to know that.

“But I love this song,” you hummed, jerking away from him so suddenly he had to tighten his grip to keep you upright. “Ooh, dance with me, Georgie!”

You moved like sin in that tight dress, but he steeled his nerves and guided you towards the front door. “Let’s dance outside, luv. Come on, this way.” You caught sight of the punch bowl and started changing direction. “No- okay, new plan,” George huffed. He grabbed your hand and twirled you, making you cheer, and promptly threw you over his shoulder.

“Whoooa! I’m so high up, Georgie! You’re so tall!”

“Sure am, darling.” He tried his absolute damnedest to keep his hands respectful. You were going to be sober when he touched you intimately for the first time- sober and begging for it. But your skirt was scooching up with every step, and the only way to stop it was a hand just barely under your ass. He thought if you were having a similar issue with the top and decided he might have to kill everyone there just to make sure they didn’t see you like that and live. Probably only a couple of hundred people in the house who would have to die. He could live with those numbers. Except Dream’s nostrils flared when he saw George carrying you, so he thought he might not live to get the job done. “Drink was salty,” he relayed, and just like that Dream’s anger was put back on the bastard they let get to you.

“Put her down-”

“Dreamy?” You tried to twist around, and it made it harder for George to hold you, so he complied, biting his tongue as you ran into Dream’s chest. “Hi, Dreamy! Georgie and I are gonna dance- dance with us!”

“Oh no, baby, we’re gonna get you home,” he purred, rubbing your back with one hand and yanking your skirt down with the other. “Come on, you can sit up front-”

“Is that safe?”

“Did you fix it since I got at it?”

“I just replaced the brakes yesterday.”

“Did you fuck with anything else?”

George sighed in relief. “Alright. You heard him, luv, go on.”

They watched you falter at his words, spinning around. “You’re coming, too… right?” They looked at each other, wondering how much longer they could be within arms reach without killing each other. “Come on, Georgie-” You gasped, falling against Dream and smacking his chest. “We can have a sleepover! Slumber party! Oh, please, Dreamy, please!”

“How could I say no to you, sweetheart?” “Especially when you say my name so pretty, begging for me so nice.” “Just climb in, baby, we’re gonna have a nice slumber party.”

You fell asleep less than halfway home. Barely stirred as Dream carried you in and George took off your shoes to put you in bed.

“What the fuck are you doing,” George hissed, breath catching in his throat as you groaned in your sleep, but unable to let Dream get away scot-free.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.” Your dorm key was easy to find, one of three things in the tiny purse you took partying, and Dream kept a quick mold kit in his glove box just in case. “Besides, we both know you’re gonna lift this off me, then I’ll strangle you to get it back, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Ooh, that’s a big word for you.” Dream replaced your key and slipped the kit into his back pocket to free up his hands to offer George a double middle-finger salute. “Charming. If you’re done…” He motioned to the door, making sure it was locked behind them. They walked in silence back to Dream’s car, but George broke the peace as he leaned back against the hood. “So what happened to the prick?”

Dream let out a deep sigh, leaning against the driver’s side door. “Couldn’t kill him,” he mourned. “Too many people saw us leave together.”

“He spiked lovely’s drink.” His voice was thick in disgust as he started flicking his knife open and closed- he needed to make something bleed.  

“Broke his nose,” Dream mused like he hadn’t heard. His voice was quiet as he thought back, trying to recall all the cracks he heard. “Dislocated shoulder- left. The arm he kept putting around her. Broke a few toes when I stomped on his foot…” He pulled a student I.D. card out of his front pocket. “And swiped this and a few hundred bucks.”  He let George snatch it, blade glinting in the streetlamp as he started flicking it faster, practicing basic tricks- warming up. Dream watched the blade move with practiced precision, rolling over George’s wrist without the slightest mark left behind. 

“... I’ll share him for a copy of baby’s schedule.”

[herequeerexitentialfear]

The count has been brought back to Georgie's attention as he ascends to his role as commander of the fifth crusade. those musing thoughts take a sharp turn into his complicated feelings about the counts cousin who put Georgie in his new role.

-

Georgie will admit he's been avoiding the count. Being forced to help Gwerm was bad enough, he needed to focus, not deal with another noble man-child, even if he was funny.

Still, he had seen the man every time he entered and exited his room at the tavern, in the chair surrounded by books, juxtaposed against the storyteller. If pressed the count would probably make some snide comment about shining brighter when contrasted against the dull and ugly things in life.

For all Georgie loves punching nobles in the face, he doesn't need more enemies now, so the count was left alone. Not put in danger, not talked to. Just left alone.

He was surprised that the count had come with them. He wasn't surprised by him trying to leave.

He was shocked that the queen wanted to keep him around, and he enjoyed the cheap jab he got in at him.

But yet. Better the devil you know, and better the arrogant noble you find occasionally funny than the one that sickens you to your core. 

He remembers the jab about how many resource’s went into elongating the queen's life.

Taking a deep breath he evaluated. Maybe if he visits said arrogant noble, it will all snap into place. The count is just a pretty child snapping at his better cousins heels in jealousy, and the queen is an upright and noble person who deserves to use all those resources and coin that could save so many liv- 

Hah. he can try to convince himself of that, but he can't convince himself that he will succeed.

He puts the papers he's been reading down, thanks Anevia for her counsel, and steps out of the commande- His tent. It's his tent now, his desk and his seat and his burden.

It disgusts him. She disgusts him. She acts so high and mighty then she turns around and acts like he's her equal? Like he's one of the crusaders that practically worships her as a goddess in her own right? Like she has any right to control his life and command him? He is no citizen of hers, and he wants to go home.

But good people exist here too. And he has been given a burden yes, but also power. Power to change the world how he wants.

He has a funny feeling she will come to regret that. He can't wait.

[gazellion]

NINE

Words: 4122 A/N: Season 1 is officially done! Hope you all enjoyed it, can't wait for what and who Season 2 brings (McSteamy) I can't wait for the Dream Team that I have in mind. (Skylar, Mark, and Derek) Also, I want to bring out Skylar's fun side more. She doesn't portray it a lot of the time in the hospital because she considers it unprofessional, but her guard is going to come down more and more as time goes on. [ Masterlist ]

GROWING UP, SKYLAR was used to waking up early. She would wake up at dawn to help out her dad on the farm. She never minded it as long as she got a proper night's sleep. She did, however, mind being woken up by yelling in the hallway, an occurrence that had become too frequent in her new home.

"You know what? It's not a big deal," Izzie told George as Skylar rubbed her eyes and got out of bed with a sigh. As she opened her door, Izzie kept talking. "You don't have to lie, I get it, you have needs." She smiled at the boy as Skylar looked at them with slightly tangled hair.

"What is going on out here?" Skylar asked the two as Meredith opened her bedroom door.

"Nothing!" George was way too quick to answer.

"Nothing..." Izzie agreed, trailing off, making it more suspenseful than it had to be.

As Goerge walked away from the three women, Izzie explained, "He's freaked out 'cause I caught him playing with little Jimmy and the twins." Skylar's eyes widened at that. She wasn't expecting that, she didn't know what she was expecting, but definitely not that.

"I have a girlfriend," George defended himself.

"We know you do, Georgie. It's okay if you still want to have some...fun...alone," Skylar assured him, staring at Izzie who was holding in a laugh at her friend's bewildered face.

"This sounds like fun out here," Derek stated as he joined the three girls in the hallway while putting on his shirt. Izzie rushed into the bathroom before anyone else stole it.

"There's never a dull moment here, Derek," Skylar replied with a smile. She was getting used to Shepherd living with them, and the man in general. She approved of their relationship since it made Meredith shine. The redhead looked behind her to see if she could enter the bathroom to take a shower since there was no way she would be able to fall back asleep now. But then she saw the door closed. "Izzie!"

"Sorry, Sky! Life is for the fast."

❰ ❱

Skylar was just finishing up her rounds that morning when she ran into Izzie. The two friends walked through the hallways, talking about the patients that they had that day and gossiping about small things like who stole fries from the cafeteria last week. They arrived at one of the nurse's stations where George and his new girlfriend, Olivia, were talking to each other. Skylar had seen the two first, a grin forming on her lips. She poked the blonde in the side and pointed out the couple standing near the desk. "Ooh," Izzie let out and stopped near the couple. "Hi, George." Skylar smiled at the couple as a greeting.

"Hey."

"Olivia," she greeted the redhead.

"Hi, Dr. Stevens, Dr. Kepner," Olivia greeted the two surgeons before looking at George again with a loving look. "I'll see you later." George said goodbye and she left the three of them alone. Without his girlfriend, he awkwardly leaned against the desk, telling his two roommates that Olivia was into him.

"I'm happy for you, George. She's also really cute, so go you..." Skylar awkwardly said, still hung up on that psychic case and what he said to her. "So this morning you really weren't..." She was the first one of the two to say something. She didn't really tease him that much this morning, Izzie more so even before she got up.

"Anytime you want to apologize..."

"Then what were you doing in the bathroom for so long?" Izzie questioned as she wrote something down on the chart that she was holding.

George swallowed, not wanting to answer the question. He told them he had to go and left in a hurry. The two girls looked at each other in confusion. "Okay, then? That was totally not weird. Something's going on with him."

"Yeah. Something's definitely up and it's not his new girlfriend. It's something else," Izzie agreed before they parted and went different ways.

❰ ❱

"Hey, Dr. Kepner. Whose labs are we grabbing today?" The lab tech, Matthew, spoke, giving Skylar a warm smile. She returned it, leaning on the small counter.

"Hey. I'm looking for Dr. Shepherd's latest patient? Joseph..." She pulled out her chart, struggling to remember the last name. She was on Shepherd's service today and he didn't have anything major planned so she was just doing pre and post-op check-ups.

Matthew shook his head. "Finch, yeah, I know. Shepherd made them fast track, said he wanted to get the guy out in a couple hours. Give me a few alright? Let me make sure they're done."

Skylar gave him a small thanks and leaned against the wall to wait, flipping through the chart and reading over it. She hadn't helped Shepherd with this surgery but still wanted to read through all the notes.

Matthew called her name and handed her the labs but before they could say goodbye, George pushed past Skylar's shoulder. He must not have noticed her, which wasn't surprising given the state he was in. He looked winded and pale, and Skylar furrowed her brows at her friend's obvious anxiety.

"Hi, uh, results for George O'Malley?" He muttered to the tech, keeping his head down. Skylar's brows raised and her eyes widened. George was sick?

"I don't see it here," Matthew replied, looking up at George. "What's the name again?"

Before George could respond to the question, Skylar stepped up next to him. "George O'Malley." George jumped, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He hissed, staring at her.

She looked at him, her eyes full of worry. She raised her labs for Shepherd half-heartedly. "I had to grab some labs for Dr. Shepherd. George, are you sick?" Her voice was shaky, and George slightly relaxed.

Matthew handed George the results, looking unimpressed with the doctor. "Here you go."

George gave him a thanks, trying to shove the papers behind his back. Skylar let out a groan of protest, trying to reach around him to grab them. "Goerge! George, let me see. Maybe I can help? See what you're dealing with and help you figure out what to do!"

"N-no! I know...I know what I'll have to do! Sky, stop it!"

"Woah, woah, what are you two doing?" Izzie laughed, leaning toward the lab window. She set down some blood tests. "Franklin, Jordan, I need this back ASAP."

"Yeah, of course you do," Matthew grumbled, disappearing with the tests.

Izzie noticed that the two were fighting over a lab result and quickly grabbed the results from George, letting her eyes dance across them. "What is this? Some cool surgery you don't want us in?" Skylar craned her head to read it, slightly struggling to see because George kept pushing her out of the way. "Syphilis? That's surgical. Who has syphilis?" Izzie loudly asked. Skylar's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock as she stared at George.

He protested, grabbing Izzie by the wrist and wrapping his arm around Skylar's waist, dragging the two into an empty research room. Izzie soon caught on, a shocked laugh escaping her.

"You have syphilis?!"

The other two both shushed her. Skylar took the labs out of Izzie's hand, reading them over to try and make sure they didn't just read the labs wrong or mix them up with someone else's. Her brows furrowed as she continued to read them.

"I don't know how this happened!" George whined, hitting his head against the wall.

Izzie snorted, shaking her head. "Of course you do. God, Olivia must really be getting around!"

Skylar's head snapped up, her expression was slightly angry toward the blonde. "Izzie, that is not okay. And it's not funny either. One of the first things they taught in pre-med was to never judge someone. Okay?" George gave Skylar a grateful look, Izzie just staring at her with wide eyes, shocked at the redhead's outburst. She truly did not like Izzie's jokes sometimes.

"Sky's right. Anyways, Olivia isn't like that! And besides, why did your mind automatically go to her and not me?" At a flat look from Izzie, George let out an offended gasp. "You don't know! Maybe I've been sleeping around, maybe I got ladies." At Izzie's look once again, he said, "Shut up! What am I gonna do?"

Skylar handed him the results and put a comforting smile on her face, her voice soft and soothing, "You'll need a couple of doses of Penicillin, okay? Then it'll be knocked out of your system." George felt himself calm down and looked at her with wonder in his eyes. This must be how she talks to her patients, and, boy, did it work. He had to learn how to do that. Skylar gave his arm one last squeeze before grabbing her own lab results. "I have to get these to Shepherd, okay? But I'll find you later and we'll figure this out, okay?"

She moved and gave him a quick, warm hug before she rushed down the hall, knowing she had to run if she didn't want Shepherd to yell at her for being slow.

George and Izzie were silent for a moment before George completely lost it. Izzie felt dread fill her, wishing she could call Skylar back here to handle her best friend again.

"What am I gonna say to Olivia?!"

❰ ❱

Skylar leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She was glad to be outside for a while. Being cooped up in a hospital for hours and running around between Shepherd's post-op patients became tiring after a while. The redhead needed her lunchtime or else she wouldn't survive the rest of the day. Izzie and Cristina were sitting next to her, Izzie in the middle of feeling Cristina's forehead, which was a bit warm. Skylar hadn't been the only one to notice that Cristina wasn't acting like herself, though she was the only one that knew why. She watched her two friends as she ate from the cup of applesauce. "Maybe you should get yourself checked out, Cristina. You feel a little warm."

Cristina removed Izzie's hand from her forehead. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You haven't been acting like yourself today. You've been quiet," Izzie said, placing her empty soda can on her tray.

"Like I said, I'm fine. Maybe I just don't like you. Ever think of that?" Izzie rolled her eyes, knowing that Cristina was lying. She might be a stone-cold bitch who loved work more than anything else, but she loved her fellow interns. Then George and Alex arrived and took a place at their table. "Hey, syph-boy."

"Cristina..." Skylar warningly said, not wanting George to know that she knew, but it was too late already.

George's head snapped toward Izzie and Skylar, his eyes seething with anger. "You told her?"

"Just Cristina," Izzie said, gesturing to the woman.

"'Syph-boy,'" Alex repeated. "It's got a nice ring to it. Kind of like superboy, only diseased," he teased.

"Izzie didn't have to say a word." Cristina shook her head. "Around here, the only thing that spreads faster than disease is gossip."

"That's not true," George disagreed. "Just because Izzie can't keep her mouth shut doesn't mean everyone knows."

"How are you feeling?" Meredith asked George as soon as she joined the group at their lunch table. "Sorry about the syphilis."

"Everybody in this hospital knows?" He groaned.

"Knows you're a player," Alex finished the sentence with a huge smirk on his face.

"The pot calls the kettle black," Skylar muttered but everyone was able to hear it. She looked at George, a sad smile on her lips. "Don't worry about the gossip train, George. Everyone will forget about it in a week. Just talk to O—"

"Everybody's got a secret. Just be glad yours is out in the open," Alex interrupted Skylar, who was going to tell George to talk to Olivia about it so it doesn't ruin their relationship.

"Oh, yeah, Alex? What's yours?" Cristina questioned him.

"You show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Alex replied with a smirk, his mind in the gutter. Cristina didn't reply, she was too busy looking at Buke who walked by. Luckily for her, no one noticed, not even Skylar which meant she was doing a good job at hiding the relationship—if you could even call it that. "I bet you've got some seriously kinky skeletons in your closet."

Cristina hummed to herself. "No, if anyone here has kinky secrets, it's definitely Red. No offense."

"None taken," Skylar smiled, taking another bite of her lunch. "It's probably true."

"Besides," Cristina continued. "What's in my closet is none of your business."

"Well, I don't have any secrets. My life is boring," Izzie mentioned while shrugging her shoulders and continuing to eat.

"Everybody's got something to hide," Meredith ominously replied. Everyone at the table turned to stare at her. Skylar was watching her with her eyes raised but had a feeling that she was subtly talking about Derek and how he refused to share things about his life.

❰ ❱

"I have a cute butt too, want to see?" Skylar heard Alex's voice from behind an exam curtain. Curious, she pulled it open to find Alex and Meredith standing behind George as he leaned over a table with his pants pulled down.

Skylar raised her brows, releasing a breathy laugh. "This is not what I was expecting."

"Sky! The curtain!" George shouted.

Closing the divider, she walked around the table to stand next to Alex. "Oh, get out. You're doing it wrong," Meredith told him, judging his technique.

"Be my guest," he said, handing the shot of penicillin over to her and leaving the area.

"Alex!" George called out. "Don't leave me with—"

"What are you doing here?" Izzie asked, joining the three the same way Skylar had. George quickly pulled the curtain shut once again.

"Breaking George's spirit," he muttered in embarrassment.

"Curing George's syph," Skylar informed. "We just need to give him a shot in the ass, and he should be good to go."

"I don't like needles," George sighed.

"Good thing you became a doctor, then," Meredith smirked.

"Just man up," Skylar said, annoyed with George's whining. "Take the shot in the ass." As much as George wanted to glare at her, he couldn't since she was behind him.

"Okay, other side," Meredith informed him.

"Izzie?" They heard Cristina call out.

"Yeah?" She called back, causing Cristina to pull the curtains open once again and join them, much to George's dismay.

"Mr. Franklin's procedure has been scheduled for after lunch—" She cut herself off after she saw George bent over the bed. "Oh, what are we doing?"

"We're saving George from a future of festering sores and insanity," Skylar dramatically said.

"Oh, cute butt," Cristina complimented him as she stood next to Meredith.

"Adorable, isn't it?" Skylar agreed.

"Told you," Meredith smirked.

"It is cute. Like a baby's," Izzie nodded.

They all jumped a bit when George shot up, pulling up his scrub pants and tying them. "You know, I have spent hours, days, years, imagining myself half-naked in a room with four women. The reality is so much better," he sarcastically said before storming out, leaving the four girls to laugh at that.

Skylar almost felt bad for him. But it was partly his fault in the end—and Olivia's—because they didn't use protection.

"Oh, I think he's gonna cry," Cristina teased.

❰ ❱

Due to the syphilis outbreak throughout the hospital, the interns and nurses were called into a safe sex demonstration in the conference room. Skylar hadn't slept with anyone since Alex, and she was pretty sure—as a doctor herself—that if she had anything she would have known by now, so she didn't understand why she had to be there, but went anyway.

As everyone gathered, the Chief started his speech. "Three interns, four residents and six nurses on this surgical floor have been diagnosed with...syphilis." Skylar, standing in between Cristina and Meredith, looked at George who was sitting in front of her.

"There are over 70,000 new cases every year," Patricia continued as Olivia looked at George. "Undiagnosed, syphilis can lead to blindness, insanity and death." George felt extremely embarrassed and continued to look down at his lap. Skylar looked over at him a couple of times, feeling extremely bad for the poor guy. It really wasn't his day.

"If you are having unprotected sex with another member of the staff, get tested," Richard advised, staring at the people in front of them. He couldn't believe that this was happening on his surgical floor, and he couldn't believe that he was just finding out about it. "This is not a request." Everyone laughed, but Webber didn't. "Patricia will now give you a safe-sex demonstration." The laughing continued as Patricia stood up, holding a condom in one hand and a banana in the other. Skylar rolled her eyes.

"This is worse than highschool," she whined, facing Cristina who nodded in agreement.

❰ ❱

Answering Shepherd's page, Skylar snuck into the room where he was going over MRI scans. The Chief was standing beside him, and she gave him a small smile. However, the Chief turned to Shepherd, furious. "You told an intern?" He accused.

Skylar stopped in her tracks, her face falling. Derek sighed, looking at Richard.

"Dr. Kepner is the best intern out of all of them, Richard. She'll keep the secret and do it efficiently. And besides, I need some help."

Skylar cleared her throat, fidgeting with her fingers. "What exactly is going on?" She asked. Richard flared his nostrils, turning to the girl for a moment.

He finally looked back at Derek and nodded. "Fine, but the rest are my people only. This is done tonight." Richard walked past Skylar, not looking back. Once the door was closed, she looked at Derek.

"Dr. Shepherd?"

"What I tell you does not leave this room. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Derek sighed, pointing at the films. Skylar walked over and peered up at them, her eyes widening. "He has a tumor? Pressing against his optic nerve?" She asked, her voice shocked. Derek nodded, pulling the films off of the light.

"Yes, he does. And I am going to remove it, and I want you to help me. Think you can handle it?"

Skylar turned to him, nodding quickly, "Yes, Dr. Shepherd.

He smiled, quickly patting her back as they both walked out of the room. "Good. I knew you were the one for the job. Just keep an eye on your pager, and don't tell anyone."

Derek turned, leaving Skylar in the middle of the hallway. She felt a smile pull on her lips, internally squealing. But she quickly composed herself, telling herself that she shouldn't be excited when the Chief of Surgery has a brain tumor. She took a deep breath and turned around, leaving the spot as though nothing had happened.

❰ ❱

Later that day, Derek and Skylar approached Bailey and Meredith on the staircase, who were also in on the Chief's surgery. With a shared look between the two, they spoke in unison. "How goes our special super secret silent sunset surgery?"

"We've been practicing that," Derek said.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Skylar smirked.

"You have too much time on your hands," Bailey shook her head. "Tell the Chief I'll be there. Just let me know when and where. I'm in."

❰ ❱

"Is the gallery locked up?" The Chief asked Skylar, prepping himself for surgery. She was already scrubbed in, and she gave him a nod.

"Yes, sir. Locked up and has a 'closed for maintenance' sign on it. You don't have to worry about anything," she reassured.

Derek nodded, giving Richard an 'I told you so' look. "Like I said, Richard. She's the best intern we have, no need to worry about her."

Richard just stayed silent, giving the anesthesiologist a weary look. "You're not gonna be too liberal with those benzos, right?" He slowly lay on the table.

"You know, doctors make the worst patients. You should just breathe in the happy gas. Stop running my O.R. I got you covered," Dr. Shepherd replied, giving Skylar and Bailey a look, indicating that they were about to start.

Skylar gave the Chief a comforting smile. "We're going to take care of you, Chief. Just trust Dr. Shepherd."

❰ ❱

"Okay, I've sutured the drain in place. The staples look fine. All right, we're done here. Dr. Bailey, you want to wrap him?" Dr. Shepherd spoke, placing the last of his instruments in the tray beside him. Skylar took a look at his work, her eyes full of awe. She would never grow tired or be unimpressed with Derek Shepherd's work, that was something she was 100 percent sure of.

Dr. Bailey responded with a "Yes," looking at Skylar when she asked a question.

"Do you believe that his optic nerve is damaged?" She asked Dr. Shepherd, her voice somewhat quiet, almost like she was worried that the Chief would hear. "Or do we just need to wait and see?"

Derek gave her a small, sad smile. "Sadly, Dr. Kepner, we're going to have to wait and see." He gave Dr. Bailey a look, tearing off his gloves. "He'll need to be watched carefully for the next few hours."

Bailey looked at Skylar. "You can monitor him, alright? Page Yang and Stevens, have them watch over your patients."

Skylar gave her a look. "They aren't answering their pages, Dr. Bailey. Do you want me to page Dr. Grey?"

Bailey suspiciously raised a brow. "They aren't answering their pages? Do you know why, Kepner?"

She shook her head. "No, ma'am. All I know is that Alex, uh...Dr. Karev was complaining before the surgery, saying that they weren't answering him."

Bailey narrowed her eyes, her voice harsh. "Take over for me. I know exactly where they are," she spoke to the only other surgeon. She pointed at Skylar, causing the girl to take a small step back. "You, monitor him. I mean it!"

Once Dr. Bailey disappeared, Skylar looked at the other surgeon. "She still scares me." The surgeon laughed before starting to close Dr. Webber's head.

❰ ❱

After the Chief's successful surgery, Skylar, Meredith, Izzie, and Cristina went back to the locker room to change out of their scrubs and head home for the day. What they didn't expect, however, was to see the girl who gave George syphilis nervously talking to him in the center of the room.

"George," Olivia sighed. "I want you to understand, when we started dating, I was already kind of seeing someone. I didn't know how much I'd like you, and when I realized, I broke it off with the other guy—"

"Other guy?" George heavily frowned. "Who's the other guy?"

Olivia sheepishly looked behind the brunette, causing George to turn around to see Alex uncomfortable standing there.

"Oh, shit," Cristina whispered under her breath.

"This isn't going to be good," Skylar cringed.

"You and Alex?" George screamed, immediately jumping on Alex and punching him. "You gave me syphilis?!"

"George!" The girls all shouted, trying to pry him off the other man. Skylar pulled George back and held him as Cristina stood in front of him. Meredith held Alex back, Izzie in the middle of both boys.

"Calm down," she whispered in his ear.

"I can't—"

"Hey," she snapped, forcing him to look at her as Meredith helped Alex get up from the floor. "Look at me. Follow my breathing." He reluctantly did as told while the others watched the girl in wonder. Eventually, George was no longer panting and was only slightly out of breath. "Calm down," she soothingly whispered, slightly massaging his shoulders.

"She's a miracle worker," Izzie said in wonder.

After convincing George to leave the room and get some air, Skylar turned to Alex with a brow raised and a hand on her hip. "I regret sleeping with you."

❰ ❱

"I was going to grab a drink with Derek at Joe's. Do you want to join?" Meredith asked Skylar on their way to the front lobby.

"Yeah, I'll meet you there," she agreed, leaving the building through the glass doors as Meredith headed over to talk to Derek.

On her way out, Skylar looked back once more to see one of her best friends and Derek. A small smile appeared on her lips as she watched the happy couple, but it quickly faded when she bumped into someone. Their shoulders had hit each other. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Have a good night." The stranger with beautiful red hair smiled before walking into the hospital. Skylar wanted to thank her, but she was already too far gone. Skylar couldn't help but wonder who that woman had been on her way to her car. There was this certain thing about her that made Skylar want to get to know her.

[ Masterlist ] [ Eight ] [ Ten ]

[bibliocratic]

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

--

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

--

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

--

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

--

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

--

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

--

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

--

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

[harrysweasleys]

show and tell // g.w

summary: the four times george shows you he loves you before he says it for the first time.

warnings: injury, blood, broken bones, sickness, mentions of nudity and food

word count: 5k

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! i hope you all enjoy :) x

———————————————————————

one

It was mid-march and the spring sunshine felt as if it were everlasting. From the moment you woke up, to the late evening, the golden rays illuminated the fields around the Burrow and brought a sense of warmth and comfort. As if you were away from the rest of the world, practically untouched by civilization.

It was the epitome of peaceful.

Even in the peak of the afternoon, while Molly and Arthur bustled about the house, and while the gaggle of Weasley children decided to take advantage of the weather and challenge one another to a playful Quidditch game.

You weren’t really sure why they chose to call it playful, per say. They were all awfully competitive. Last week, Ginny was knocked off of her broom and into the pond. Luckily, she sustained no injuries, but it was still a rather intense sight. About a month back, Bill had decided to join, and had to use his wand to repair a black eye.

Safe to say, as you sat on a small lounge chair and watched over, that you were nervous. Your eyes felt as if they were locked on George’s every move. That if you looked away, he’d end up toppling to the ground in a mess of long limbs and ginger hair.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” Ginny called down to you, hovering a few feet away on her rather mangled broom that she most likely used in childhood before she got her much nicer one for the Gryffindor team.

You shook your head, squinting as you looked up, “I’ll pass. I’m much better as a spectator.”

She shrugged, her braid flipping over her shoulder as she took off back towards the make-shift pitch.

The game went as it always did — the same teams, the same keepers, the same chasers and beaters, and of course, Harry and Ginny as rival seekers. Nothing was really new there.

George looked rather at ease on his broom. It was a sight you loved to see. You knew that work stressed him out, that he was always trying to improve every aspect of his business and it was one of the things that swirled in his mind constantly. But seeing him here, in what appeared to be his element, brought a smile to your face.

Unfortunately, that smile was wiped off rather quickly when he collided with Ginny not even five minutes into the match. She ended up collecting her wits and balance, staying up in the air. George, however, did not.

Luckily for him, he was only a few feet off the ground. But the sickening crunch that he made when he landed flat on his face was the furthest thing from “lucky” that you could think of.

You shot up off of your chair in a panicked heartbeat, rushing over to where his body lay limp on the ground. You could feel your body grow warm in worry.

“George!” you crouched next to him and placed one of your hands on his forearm, “Georgie, are you okay?”

He let out a groan, rolling over onto his back. A stream of blood rushed down from his nose, which already looked off coloured and crooked. Broken, no doubt.

“Is it bad?” he asked, his eyes squinted shut.

You winced, trying to avoid looking at the damage on his face, “I’m really not the person to ask.”

He began to sit up, groaning a bit as he did so, and slowly opened his eyes. He brought one of his hands — one that was already covered in a mixture of dirt and sweat — and brought it to his face, wiping it across his mouth and chin.

As he pulled it away and spotted the crimson liquid on his fingertips, he let out a mutter of a curse.

“I’m bowing out of the match,” he called up to his siblings, all hovering nearby to see if he was alright, before pointing at his face, “I’m gonna go clean this up.”

His hair was matted down to his head from sweat, as well as his clothes practically clinging to his body, but you wasted no time in grabbing on to him to hoist him up. You weren’t overly familiar with injuries, since you were in no means a Healer, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to help.

“Let’s get you to the washroom,” you held his arm, leading him into the house and guiding him since his head was tilted back, pinching his nose to prevent any more bleeding.

On the way into the tiny washroom, you grabbed your wand that was sitting on the dining room table. Hermione had taught you the spell for repairing a broken nose, and though you’ve never performed it before, you had to give it a shot.

“I should be alright,” he muttered with his hand still pinched on his nose, his other free hand rummaging across the cluttered countertop to try and find the tissues.

You gently whacked his hand away, “Stop. Let me help.”

You began guiding him over to the edge of the countertop, bringing him closer until yourself pinned right between his body and the sink. So, you gave him a little shove, hopped up onto the cold tile, and brought him close. His body stood between your legs, your feet immediately wrapping around his torso so that he could stand still and close, enough so that you could try your best to fix the damage from his fall.

“If I wasn’t bleeding, I’d rather enjoy this position,” you could hear the handsome smirk in his voice, even as you grabbed a handful of tissues and placed them under the running water of the sink.

“Oh, shove it,” you chuckled, taking one of the wet tissues and turning to face him. He was still pinching his nose, but he was now facing you.

You began to dab at his chin, glad that the blood hadn’t had time to dry so it was rather easy to wipe off. He didn’t wince, but then again, you imagined a majority of the pain was probably in his nose. George had a high tolerance for pain, which was something that was probably built up after years of testing products on himself. Especially those damn nosebleed nougats.

“Oh, wait, I’m an idiot,” you scoffed, pressing the tissue to his face with one hand as you reached for your wand with the other, “Let me fix your nose first.”

His eyes widened at the sight of the wand in your hand, and he shuffled back a few inches, “Merlin, are you sure? You’ve never fixed a nose before.”

You tossed the used tissue into the bin before grabbing another one, this time holding it right against his nostrils, “Just let me do this. It’s one spell, how hard can it be?”

The hesitation flashed through his eyes before he slowly nodded his head, “Fine, fine, I trust you.”

Through the nervous beating of your heart, you managed to smile. Those three words caused all of your unease to drift away, your focus landing solely on the one word you had to mutter.

He took a step back, this time in confidence.

Instead of making the poor man wait in pain while you went over the consequences in your head, you lifted your wand and spoke, “Episkey.”

The crunch was quiet, but George’s eyes shot open and he bit down on his lower lip, a muffled shout of pain getting stuck in his throat as one of his hands grabbed your thigh, giving it a squeeze that was bound to leave a bruise.

“Oh, Merlin, are you okay?” you asked, tossing your wand aside and placing your hands on either side of his face. His cheeks were awfully warm despite how pale they had just become, and you felt the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped back between your open legs. His grip on your thigh didn’t lighten up, and you felt a surge of guilt bubble up into your belly.

“Georgie?” you asked more softly this time, one of your hands running through his sticky hair, “Did I make it worse?”

He shook his head, not exactly speaking, but giving you the answer you needed, “‘s fine.”

You gave a small pout, taking your hands away from him to avoid causing overstimulation. Though, as soon as your hands left his skin, he put his own hands on yours and guided them back up into his hair.

You gave him a puzzled look as you began to run your fingers along his scalp again, but he quickly answered your silent question, “Feels nice.”

His smirk returned to his lips and you rolled your eyes, immediately realizing you fell into his trap, “Oh, you little git. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

His laughter echoed in the small bathroom and managed to ease all of the worry and panic that was swarming through your mind, “No, it does hurt, but it’s not that bad. I do really like you playing nurse though, love. I should fall off my broom more often, yeah?”

You tossed a tissue at him, your own laughter bubbling in your chest, “Don’t you dare think about it, Weasley.”

“C’mon, love,” he grinned, bringing his face closer to yours, only to have you push him away.

“We are cleaning up the mess that is your face before you kiss me,” you smirked, holding up another tissue. He rolled his eyes and let out a groan, but he let you continue dabbing at his skin until he was all cleaned up. His nose was left with some light bruising, but you barely even focused on that after his little painful performance he decided to put on.

It really was never a dull moment.

———————————————————————

two

George’s birthday came around way too quickly for your liking. You remembered New Years Eve as clearly as if it were yesterday, and now here you were, on April the first, knocking loudly at his door at nearly eight thirty in the morning.

It was still early in the day — you guys would be headed to the burrow for dinner with his family in the late afternoon — but you decided to pay him a little surprise and pop by his flat with a few gifts and sweets in the morning before being whisked away. You always enjoyed the private moments between the two of you, and this was no different.

His face appeared in the doorway mere seconds later, his hair sticking up in countless spots, and his baggy jammies hanging loosely around his body. His cheeks were flushed pink at the sight of you standing there; a bag of gifts in one hand and a plate with a tiny cupcake in the other, one little candle on the top with a flame that you had enchanted not to burn out until he made his wish.

“Happy birthday!” you grinned, flashing him your best smile despite the urge to laugh at his disheveled appearance. He seemed to have just gotten out of bed. You had spent the night with George before, usually if he had the next day off and the two of you could laze around in the morning, and there was one conclusion you could make from it.

George was not a morning person.

However, through his sleepy state, he shot you a bright smile, “Look at you, coming by to be my gift.”

You rolled your eyes as he moved aside, letting you walk into his flat, “I’m not the gift. But I do come bearing some.” You placed the bag on the floor and stuck out the plate, handing him the cupcake. His smile never faded as he took it from you, holding it in one hand and the other went to his chin, pretending to ponder.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes scanning over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. He looked deep in thought.

“Gotta make a wish, right?” he replied, “Though, you’re all I could ever wish for and you’re right here.”

You felt an eruption of fluttering in your chest at his sweet words — he really was quite the flirt — but you brushed it aside and removed your coat, placing it on the hook behind you before turning back to him, “Make your wish, you idiot.”

He smirked, shooting you a cheeky wink before he closed his eyes and blew on the candle, the little flame dying down quickly.

“See?” you chuckled, now removing your shoes so you could properly enter the flat, “Was that so hard?”

He stuck out his tongue, one of his fingers dipping into the icing of the cupcake. You were too busy focusing on carrying the bag of gifts, however, that you hadn’t noticed his icing covered finger reaching in your direction. So, as you turned back to face him, it smeared across your cheek.

“That’s what you get for being mean on my birthday,” he raised an eyebrow, proceeding to walk over to the couch in the living room, your own footsteps following closely behind him. The icing was sticky against your skin, but you were too busy trying to get even to even bother wiping it off.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing the cupcake out of his grasp and holding it away from him, scooping up some of the icing and smearing it across his lips. 

He looked quite amused, nodding his head slowly as he started licking his lips, “Nice try, love.”

“Oi, just shut up and sit down,” you scoffed, grabbing a tissue from the end table and wiping the icing off of your face, tossing the tissue in the bin before reaching over and grabbing a box out of the bag, “Now. Let me spoil you, yeah?”

You sat next to him on the couch and placed the box in his lap.

He leaned over and pressed his lips against your cheek, placing a delicate kiss before pulling away, “You already spoil me enough just being with me.”

You shook your head and let out a laugh, motioning your head in the direction of the box once again, before he finally proceeded to open it.

It didn’t take long for him to go through his gifts. Five boxes later, and he now had a few new things for around the house. Not that he needed appliances, really. He was a wizard. But he had mentioned to you a few times that he was starting to attempt doing a few things the “muggle way.”

“This is all brilliant,” he grinned, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side, “Thank you, love.”

You leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his jawline, not missing the way his body shivered at your touch. It brought you a sense of pride, honestly, the fact that you were able to have this affect on him.

“However, there is one more gift to open,” he said, sitting up from his spot on the couch so quickly it nearly knocked you backwards.

“There is?” you asked, peering around the flat to see if there was another parcel. Maybe Fred had stopped by to give his twin a gift before the party at the Burrow.

“Sit right here,” he held up one finger before bolting into the bedroom, disappearing from view for a few moments. Maybe his parents had dropped something off?

He came back into the living room, a box in his hands with big letters on the side that read Y/N. You furrowed your eyebrows as he placed it in your lap, a pleased grin on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” you asked, not even masking your confusion, “It’s your birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He nodded, the smirk still on his lips, “Why, yes, I haven’t forgotten. But I figured for my birthday, what I want to do is spoil my girl.”

You shook your head, letting your head fall back onto the couch cushion — the couch that had once belonged to his brother Bill before he moved in with Fleur — and let out a laugh, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Just open it,” he placed a kiss on your temple, your heart in your chest feeling like it was about to burst.

You let out a breathy laugh and began to unwrap the box, opening it up to reveal a lumpy knitted sweater, the first letter of your name written out in the centre of it. It was perfect. Homely, and clearly made with love. You knew Molly knitted these for her children every year, but you didn’t expect to get one so soon, let alone ever.

“Oh, George. Your mum made me one?” you asked, voice filled with awe as you picked up the jumper, holding it against your chest as if you were hugging it. This honestly meant more to you than you could express.

“No,” he grinned, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually made that. Mum taught me a few years back and I never thought it would come in handy, but here we are.”

Your eyes widened at his words, heart so full that you could barely find the words to reply. If you weren’t so shocked, you might find yourself word-vomiting a bunch of lovey dovey nonsense. But you couldn’t. You honestly couldn’t speak.

“You’re part of the family now,” he broke the silence, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and giving a small twirl, “I want you to know that.”

You felt an itchiness in the back of your throat and you knew your emotions would get the best of you, so instead of speaking up, you decided to toss your arms around his neck and hold him as close as possible, the new jumper squeezed between the two of you as if it were holding you together. Which, in a way, it was.

George really was amazing, and there was no doubt that you were starting to fall for him. But this gesture, this gift, was beyond that.

It showed you that maybe, possibly, he was the one.

———————————————————————

three

Two days after George’s birthday, which had been a long and tiring evening at the Burrow celebrating another year of Fred and George, you found yourself feeling a little under the weather.

It was most likely not from Molly’s meal assortment, but possibly from standing outside in the chilly weather to watch the fun little firework display the twins had decided to put on for themselves. Plus, you were pretty sure Charlie had shown up with a cold as well.

You had woken up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, your head unfortunately feeling quite congested as well. As if a throbbing migraine was bubbling just below the surface.

To simply put it, you were most likely coming down with said cold.

You had woken up in a rush, immediately reaching for the tissue box to clear your sinuses, but in the process of doing so, happened to wake up the ever-so-sleepy George next to you.

His arm retracted from around your waist and he rubbed his eyes with his hand, squinting to look over at you, “Are you okay?”

His voice was heavily laced with sleep and you felt bad for waking him up, but the gross feeling of sickness was a little too overbearing for you to really worry about disrupting his sleep schedule.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you replied, holding a tissue to your nose, “I think I stood a little too close to Charlie and he passed his germs onto me.”

George’s head fell back onto his pillow, “Git.” You let out a small laugh as he shoved the blanket off of his body and onto yours, all the warmth that his body produced now gone as he got out of bed. A whine left your throat and you reached out, trying to grab his hand and pull him back down.

He tossed on a shirt and turned to face you, “Be back in a second, love. Just gotta do something.”

A pout made its way onto your lips as he left the room, his disheveled morning hair disappearing through the bedroom door. You didn’t necessarily want to pass your possible sickness onto him — you’d only end up feeling guilty and responsible — but you already missed the comfort that he brought when he laid next to you. Even though he had been gone for a total of ten seconds.

You could hear noises as he rummaged through the kitchen, but you didn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. The throbbing in your head would make it hard for you to even have proper balance. You didn’t want to make it worse.

It didn’t take long for George to return, a small tray in his hands and a smile on his lips. You sat up properly, trying to get a peek as to what he had with him.

“For you, my princess,” he gave you a quick wink, placing the tray next to you on the bed.

Your heart swelled. He had brought you breakfast. A plate filled with fruits and a cup of tea sat nearly on the tray, smelling and looking more delicious than ever. Maybe it was because of the thought and love he put into it, but you honestly couldn’t wait to dive in.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked softly, looking up at him as you moved the tray onto your lap.

“I did,” he slid back under the blankets next to you, one of his hands finding yours and giving it a light squeeze, “The tea will help soothe your throat and the vitamins in the fruits will help you feel better.”

The smile on your face was so wide, you swore it reaches your ears, “Georgie, this is so sweet.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m the best.”

You gave him a poke in the shoulder, laughing at his cockiness, “That you are. That you are.”

———————————————————————

four

Unfortunately, George had caught your cold. And he loved to complain about it. Every second he could possibly find to bring it up, he would. Not to blame you, of course, but to milk it as much as possible so that you could take care of him. 

Not that you could do much, really, since you were still nursing your own annoying sickness. But you did try to help as much as you could. You’d made a soup, he’d make the tea. It was a compromise that helped the both of you.

However, one afternoon, when the two of you started to feel better, George had decided to take matters into his own hands and bring a little life back to the flat. 

“Dance with me,” he spoke out of the blue, coming up to you on the couch where you were currently quite content reading away.

“What?” you placed your bookmark in your page, placing the book onto the cushion next to you, “Now?”

He nodded, picking his wand up off of the end table and pointing it in the direction of the little radio by the window. An old tune — one that sounded a lot like the song that played at the Yule Ball, funnily enough — started playing throughout the room.

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips as you placed your hand in his, “Since when are you a dancer, George Weasley?”

“For you, always,” he smirked, leading you to the open area of the room, one of his hands immediately finding your lower back. You felt your chest grow fluttery at his touch, every previous thought leaving your body as you melted into him.

Your hand linked in his, the other one resting against his shoulder. His eyes found yours and he gave you a genuine smile. Nothing cocky or teasing. Just a real, fond smile. 

“What’s this for, then?” you found your voice, the two of you moving in slow circles around the small space.

It wasn’t much, and neither of you were good at it, but it was romantic. You hadn’t even noticed that George had used his wand to light a few candles, the light of the flames dancing against the walls. 

“What?” he asked with a slight upturn of his chin, “Can’t a bloke just dance with his girl?”

You ignored the feeling of your heart swelling and gave him a grin, “Yes, actually. I think he can.”

The music was soft, but it was enough to really set the mood. As if you were a princess dancing with her prince, the world disappearing around the both of you and leaving you alone to dance under the moonlight. Or, really, the two of you alone in a small London flat. But a girl can dream, right?

George’s chest was warm as you pressed your forehead against it, revelling in this feeling of privacy and intimacy. You felt untouchable. 

“You’re really special, you know that?” his voice was soft, mouth close to your ear as he mumbled the words. 

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There was something in his eyes — love, pride, admiration, or something similar — and you really did feel like you were all he could see. Like he had eyes only for you. 

“Could say the same about you,” your voice matched his in softness, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. 

He beat you to the action, though, as he tilted his head down and closed the space between the two of you, warm lips pressed softly against yours. A million different feelings bubbled in the pit of your belly and you swore you would crack under the heavy blissful peace that soared through you. 

You loved him. 

There was no way you could deny it. 

Especially as the two of you stood there; lips moulded together as if they were meant to be, your bodies pressed against one another, and an unspoken mutual feeling of adoration passing between you two. 

You really did love him. And you hoped he loved you back. 

———————————————————————

one

The water of the bath was awfully warm. Perfect to contrast the gloomy grey skies and heavy raindrops that came down loudly against the window. For nearly mid-April, the weather was still awfully dreary. 

George’s fingers traced up and down your arms, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake despite the warmth of the bath water. It was warm enough to cause light steam to build on the mirror, and for the two glasses on the edge of the tub to build condensation, but not warm enough to deter your body’s natural reaction to George. 

Your head was resting against his chest, one of his hands against your skin and the other in your wet hair — which much to your dismay, was let down from the ponytail in which it was previously in. George’s orders, of course. 

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, his head leaned back against the tub, his own hair sticking up in spikes after he dipped his head under water, “So do I, actually.”

“It’s the soap, you goon,” you giggled, “That’s what soap does.”

“Goon?” he lifted his head, causing you to turn around and face him, your own body still resting against his, the feeling of his bare skin against yours causing a warmth to spread in your chest. 

“You’re a cute goon, though,” you winked, lifting one of your hands to flatten down his hair, “So it’s fine.”

He nodded, “Right. You’re lucky I love you.”

Not only did it feel like time stood still, but it felt like the both of you did too. The water went silent at the lack of movement, and the eye contact between the both of you felt so prolonged that neither of you could blink. 

Did he just say what you thought he said?

You knew, undoubtedly, that you had fallen head over feels for the ginger boy in front of you. He was the perfect partner in every sense of the word, really. He was caring, he was gentle, he was exciting, and he loved you. 

“You love me?” your voice felt as if it were bound to crack. You didn’t want to move or sit up, too afraid to disturb the moment. To break the connection that had been built with those three words. 

It was as if he himself wasn’t sure he had said them, but by the light smile that graced his gorgeous freckled face, you could tell he meant it. 

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “I dunno why it took me so bloody long to say it. But yes, I love you.”

A weight felt like it had been lifted off of your shoulders at the confession, a wave of powerful emotions threatening to smother you in replacement. 

“I love you too,” you didn’t even hesitate to say the words as you were so utterly sure of them. 

The tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink as his smile grew, lopsided and genuine, “That’s good, then.”

It was nearly impossible to hide your pure thrill, arms finding their way around his neck in an instant. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his right back around you, holding your body against his as if he were too bloody pleased to let go. 

“I love you,” he said again, so softly you barely even registered. If you were an inch further away, you might not have even heard it. 

You placed a light kiss on the underside of his jaw, once again relishing in the pride that blossomed at his involuntary shiver, “I love you too, Georgie.”

And Godric, did you ever. 

———

[comfortwriting]

A Triwizard Baby Part 3 - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Part 3 of my 'Triwizard Baby' mini-series, please read Parts 1 and 2 if you haven't already. Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of smut/light smut.

After that night, Fred dreamt of you more often, and the pain inside of him spread throughout his body, his twin looked at him differently, everyone in Hogwarts looked at him differently now - how could they not? He knocked you up and toyed with your feelings, breaking your heart.

You couldn't believe how fast the months went by as your bump grew in size and your pregnancy journey progressed now reaching halfway through seven months pregnant; being in your third trimester made you incredibly tired, sore, moody, and irritable, and with the final task of the Triwizard Tournament one week away, you felt nervous and slightly on edge.

"What have you decided?" Your mother smiled at you, pulling your hand in hers.

You smiled and stared at your bump, your hand resting on it, you looked up at your mum "I'm keeping it, I want this baby, I want to raise them."

Madame Pomfrey sat across the room, smiling at you, putting together your delivery bag, which was empty - aside from a pack of nappies and one baby bottle.

"Do you need a top-up of your potion?" she asked, nodding to your bump.

Shaking your head you smiled "No, everyone will know soon enough."

"I'm so proud of you, Y/N." Your mother smiled and squeezed your hand "You won't be going through this alone." she reassured you.

You nodded your head, thanking your mum and pulling her into a hug.

"I had you very young" she sighed "I'll make sure that you won't struggle like me and your father did."

"Now," Madame Pomfrey sighed "We need to make a plan for the birth."

Sitting on your bed in your pyjamas, stroking your bump whilst catching up on the classwork you had missed due to constantly being tired and sick, your friends talked amongst themselves, the bedroom now warm and cosy.

"I think it's amazing that you're keeping the baby!" Katie beamed from across the room, flashing you a smile "When we get out of here, we can all move in together and help you raise the baby."

Your heart warmed at the idea and a smile formed on your face, knowing that you had supportive friends helped numb the pain of Fred's absence when you no longer passing in the halls or sharing a class together.

"Really?" you looked up, smiling at your friends, putting down your quill and rolling up your parchment.

"Of course," Angelina smiled "It's what friends are for, and we'll obviously need a strong quidditch player in your family!"

Your heart instantly lost its warmth and started to fall victim to the freezing cold.

but my baby does have a strong quidditch player in the family, their dad is one of the most amazing beaters Gryffindor has ever seen...

"We'll be living in a big house, we'll have our dream jobs, and we'll be helping you raise your baby." Angelina smiled "The world is your oyster!"

Fred waited for his brother to laugh at his joke, but he didn't, which had become a regular occurrence after George found out the truth - and when Fred got with his crush, but it wasn't just George who brushed Fred aside, and he couldn't pretend to not notice anymore.

"Shall we get started on planning our business then, Georgie?" Fred asked eagerly, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

George shook his head, a plain expression on his face "No, I can't actually, I've uh.. got plans." he slowly got out of his chair, and walked away from his brother, hoping Fred would be too tired to care.

"Plans?" Fred asked, following him "Without me?"

George stared at his twin, he hated him right now.

"Yeah, without you." George walked away, cursing under his breath.

'If mum and dad knew, they would be so ashamed' George thought, starting to think of what clothes the baby would need, the clothes that his brother couldn't provide.

Fred rolled his eyes and puffed out his chest, the pain of his best friend hating him, and the other avoiding him, started to chip away at his ego. He didn't want to plan the business alone, and he couldn't plan it with anyone else. Fred couldn't handle being lonely when he wanted company, so he searched for Angelina, finally catching up to her on the Quidditch pitch.

"Oi!" he called out, panting, out of breath from running "Angelina, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this afternoon?"

Angelina stared at Fred, clearly uninterested and more excited about something else.

"Sorry Fred, I can't."

Fred sighed, 'why is everyone avoiding me?'

"Why?" he asked, frowning "You're always free on weekends."

"I've got plans!" Angelina smiled, unable to hold her emotions back, the bottle lid slowly starting to tremble as the liquid inside bubbled up.

"What's going on?" Fred asked again, slightly puzzled as he had never seen her so excited.

"You don't know?!" Angelina gasped "Me, George, and the girls are planning a surprise baby shower for Y/N!" she beamed.

Fred's heart dropped, his heartbeat thumped in his ears, a lump formed in his throat.

baby shower... for Y/N... and George is involved...

Angelina continued to ramble on excitedly, Fred couldn't pay attention, he felt sick, the quidditch pitch wouldn't stop spinning.

How could she be pregnant - do I... do I know the guy? She never told me...

"She's in her third trimester already and she doesn't have a single thing for the baby! Can you believe that? Poor girl!"

George. He's done this. He's been seeing her behind my back.

Fred remembered how you and George got close just before the second tournament, when began to you avoided him and constantly turned him down, spending more time with his twin who was a stranger just months earlier.

"No..." Fred mumbled, "I can't."

"Well, I better get going, baby shopping and all!"

Fred nodded and parted from Angelina, he bunched his hands into fists, tears formed in his beautiful eyes, storming back into Hogwarts he looked everywhere for you, finally finding you in the dim and surprisingly empty library. He couldn't believe his eyes, you were sitting back in your chair, flicking through your charms textbook, your bump huge and the empty potion bottle sitting on the table, staring at Fred, calling him closer.

She's pregnant and she couldn't even tell me.

Looking up, your eyes landed on Fred, your heart skipping a beat, your stomach doing little flips as the father of your child walked up to you, his eyes fixated on your bump.

"So it's true" his voice croaked "you are pregnant."

You swallowed hard, you wanted to tell him the truth, right here, right now - but you couldn't, the damage has already been done, you couldn't get attached to a man who couldn't settle for you, for now, you have a piece of him - and that's enough for you.

"Yeah" you replied "It's uh, scary."

George held the long roll of parchment in his hands, going through the long list whilst Angelina, Katie, Lee, and Matt searched the shops, turning them inside out to find your stuff.

"We've got enough bottles, nappies, and clothes." Lee smiled, picking up the tiniest pair of newborn socks with tiny broomstick patterns on them.

"You can cross the crib off your list too" Matt walked over, carrying a white crib in his arms, covered in astrology symbols "Think this one will do?"

George examined the crib closely and smiled at the thought of his niece or nephew sleeping through the night with a blanket and soft toy beside them.

"It's perfect." George smiled "Y/N will love it."

The more you and Fred spoke in the library, the more you realised just how much you needed him, and how hard bringing up this baby without him would be, the urge to come clean getting stronger and stronger, but you kept quiet. You couldn't put such a burden on your best friend who couldn't possibly entertain the idea of having a child so early on in his life, after all, he had been the reason why many girls before you were in the hospital wing according to Madame Pomfrey. How many other girls struggled to tell him? Did they even go through with the pregnancy? You didn't know.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Fred asked softly, now sitting on the table, closing your charms book.

because you're my best friend and the baby inside of me is yours, you can't even remember what happened that night.

"I-I don't know" you sighed "I got scared, I thought you'd hate me."

"Why would I hate you? Y/N you're my best friend!"

Exactly, I'm not your girlfriend, I'm just your friend.

"My best friend is having a baby and I didn't even know!" Fred laughed, shaking his head, staring at your bump again.

Your baby, oh Freddie... if only you knew.

"Yeah..." you laughed it off "Sorry about that."

"Can you at least tell me who the father is?" Fred asked, swallowing hard, unsure whether or not he actually wanted to know.

It's you, Freddie, it's you...

"I can" you replied, "but I won't."

Fred tutted "Can you at least give me a clue?"

You sighed and nodded a clue won't hurt, "Okay, shoot."

"Do I know him?" Fred asked, getting heart palpitations.

"Yes," you replied "You know him really well."

"Is he my best friend or classmate, or something?" Fred asked quickly, his mouth going dry, his heart thumping, his ears burning, his heartbreaking into pieces.

"A bit of both" you replied.

Seeing Fred get so choked up and upset made you feel guilty. Why couldn't you just tell him? Spit it out and act as if worse things have happened between the both of you.

"Does..." Fred tried to swallow the enlarged lump in his throat "Does he know?"

Give it up, Y/N, stop playing with him, just tell him the truth.

You nodded your head "he knows I'm pregnant" you paused "but he doesn't know it's his."

"Is George the dad?" Fred asked.

You wanted to laugh, at times you wished the dad was George, but the two of them were so different, and you always preferred Fred.

"What makes you think that?" You asked, crossing your arms, staring into Fred's dull brown eyes.

Fred sighed "He knows you're pregnant but he never mentioned it to me, if he knew that baby was his... he would've told me, Y/N." He paused "The two of you got close just before you drifted from me."

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, if only I could tell you, make you understand.

"Well," you sighed, torturing yourself even more "I'm still not telling you."

"I wish you would," Fred mumbled, "because I would do anything to be him right now."

Your heart dropped again, sinking deeper into your tummy like an anchor into the ocean.

He wishes he was the dad... that must mean... he can't be? can he...

Fred leaned over to you, his gentle hand resting on your cheek, his thumb tracing circles into your skin, your scents engulfing one another, his nose brushing up against yours, and finally, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, his lips connected with yours.

Fireworks erupted between your lips, sparks flying in every direction, the feeling of him spooning you in bed after hooking up filled your head, your heart craving the intimacy that got you into this muddle in the first place.

Fred pulled away for a moment, pursing his lips and licking them, your cheeks went red, the two of you silent, staring at one another until your lips collided once more until Fred's lips attacked your neck, and the two of you exposed yourselves to one another.

This wasn't like the night you both shared together for the first time - for starters, the two of you were sober, and instead of being fueled by lust, love had taken over, steering the wheel and controlling the wand, the father of your baby now making love to you, showing you his vulnerabilities - allowing you to look through the window of his soul.

Fred's hands, fingers, mouth, his sex, all felt so incredible, making you feel above the clouds, loved and cared for, you didn't want him to pull out, to get dressed and disappear again, you wanted to be with him, forever.

Pulling out and quickly getting dressed, wiping away the beads of sweat from his forehead, Fred helped you put on your shirt and jeans, before his hand rested on your bump, his eyes focusing on it, pouring his heart and soul into the image of him being the father of that baby, something he wanted more than anything.

"I wish they were mine." Fred croaked, picking up his bag and leaving the library.

Guilt, pain, and regret flowed through your bloodstream, you felt queasy, your face went hot and tears pooled into your eyes, your vision going glassy, grabbing your book, you swallowed down the lump in your throat and left the library, running to your dorm room, collapsing on the bed, torn up to shreds.

"I'm so glad we've managed to get Y/N what she needed." Angelina smiled, carrying the shopping full of baby clothes, shoes, and toys.

"Me too" George smiled, unsure of what else to say, his mind constantly thinking about you and Fred.

Angelina could sense the tension, George wasn't usually this quiet in her company "Everything alright, George?" she asked "Is Fred okay too? He seemed a little upset earlier."

"Why do you ask?" George replied, growing concerned for his twin, thinking that perhaps staying to plan the business would have been the better option.

Angelina stared at her shoes "He just didn't seem so thrilled when I told him about the party-"

"You told him?!"

Shit! If he knows... does Angelina know he's the dad? Was she the one who told him?

"Well yeah?" Angelina replied, "He's her best friend, isn't he invited?"

Brilliant, this is just brilliant.

"No! He wasn't even aware she's pregnant!"

"George I'm sorry, I just assumed... why hasn't she told him?"

George paused, this wasn't his secret to spill, but he decided to do it anyway.

George pulled Angelina aside the footpath, sighing and taking a deep breath "because he's the father, and Y/N doesn't want him to know."

Angelina and George sprinted back to the castle, the feeling in George's stomach grew too strong to ignore and he knew that if he didn't speak to his brother, everything would fall apart. Angelina needed to find you, to tell you the mistake she made and promise to fix things, her heart racing, feeling guilty for any trouble she might have caused.

Angelina burst into the dorm room, you wiped away your tears and sat up in your bed, clutching onto your jumper.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell me what?"

"That Fred is the dad!"

You buried your head in your hands, pressing your palms against your closed eyes "because" you mumbled into them "I know you and Katie both fancy him, I didn't want our friendship to be ruined over him knocking me up."

Angelina sat on your bed next to you, wrapping her arm around you "Don't be silly, Y/N. Katie only had a tiny crush on him which is long gone, and I prefer George." she smiled.

You looked up at her and smiled back, blinking away the stars in your vision.

"You're the one who got Y/N knocked up then" Fred glared at his brother "The baby is yours, thought you deserved to know!"

George scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head, gritting his teeth "Freddie, don't be stupid mate-"

"How could you do this to me?!" Fred yelled "To her!" Fred grabbed his trunk, packing away his clothes and books.

George stayed silent, staring at his broken brother, trying to speak but unable to find the words.

"You fucked the girl of my dreams behind my back, you've gotten her pregnant and I have to live with that!" Fred yelled again, slamming his trunk shut, now carrying it.

"Fred-"

"Fuck off, George!"Fred snapped "I can't trust you anymore."

Fred stormed out of the dorm room, out of the common room and down the halls, his throat sore, his eyes tear-filled, focussing on a safe place to rest his head. In front of him, a door enlarges from the bricks out of nowhere, he opened the door and walked inside, slamming the door behind him as he hid away in the room of requirement.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh @cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts @cavalinhox @purple-vodka-99 @simpforweasleys2 @dracoismybabey @statellitespidey @xuminghaosworld @michael-loves-chickens

[plant-flwrs]

hi! i absolutely love your writing!! can i request a pureblood slytherin (kinda mysterious?) reader x george? muggle-borns call her the child of the cheshire cat bc her mischievous smile says it all. so when the twins escape the professor, she answers in riddles to not blow their cover. you can add on to that, thank you!! 🧡🧡

mischief // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love your request so much!! i’m sleep deprived rn so i apologize if none of this is coherent or good, but my tiny brain did it’s best. hope u like it!!

summary: George falls for the mischievous pureblood Slytherin who couldn’t care less about blood status.

(3.1k)

------

“You’ve never seen Alice in Wonderland?”

“No,” Ron groaned, annoyed with Hermione’s better-than tone.

“When would he have seen Alice in Wonderland, Hermione?” Harry asked, also annoyed with the two’s constant bickering.

“It is a book too, you know, he could have picked it up and read it any time he liked,” Hermione defended, sticking her little nose into the air with purpose.

“Will you just tell me what it means?” Ron pressed.

“It’s a reference. The Cheshire Cat is a mischievously annoying animal. It would mislead and annoy Alice,” Hermione explained, trying to simplify the characterization for Ron.

“So why do they call her that?”

“Because she gives us the creeps, she’s evil looking,” Harry answered, shuddering his shoulders slightly. 

“She’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, “if you gave her a chance.”

Harry rolled his eyes, having little sympathy for any pureblood Slytherin. Ron’s face showed him to be in deep thought, and Hermione returned to her Divination work.

You were perched in a shadowed corner of the library, twisting the ends of your hair in your fingers. Pansy sat across from you, reading her Potions textbook with great concentration. You hummed to yourself, a dull smile on your lips.

“Y/n,” Pansy spoke slowly, tearing her eyes away from the textbook and showing it to you, “do you know what this means?”

You looked intently into the notebook, your head nodding slowly as you read the page.

“Yeah, it’s applying the absorbing properties in lizard scales to the enlarging properties of ogre’s root. All the other stuff is there to make sure you don’t die, probably,” you said, handing Pansy the textbook back.

She made an “oh” noise, finally understanding the potion.

“I don’t think this school could be any more boring if it tried,” you groaned.

Pansy gave you an entertained smile and returned to her book.

Your gaze had drifted to look out of the window when you heard a loud crash.

Your head snapped to where it came from and your legs were moving before you had realized where they were going.

You came to stand right in front of three crashed bookshelves, little Cornish Pixies rolling around in all the books that lay on the floor.

You watched two red-headed boys doubled over trying to catch the Pixies in their outstretched hands.

“What happened here, boys?” you drawled, leaning against a book shelf that still stood upright.

“Shit!” one of them shouted, clutching his chest with this hand, “Scared us.”

“You gonna stand there, or help us?” the other said, not lifting his eyes from the Pixie he just managed to shove in his pocket.

“I think I’ll watch for now,” you quipped, a smirk reaching your mouth.

You watched them attempt to gather all the Pixies, until all three of your heads shot up at the heavy footsteps of McGonagall. 

“What on earth?” she started, and you watched the twins duck behind some standing bookshelves a few feet away.

“Did you see who did this?” she asked you, her suspicious eye trained on you.

“Did what?”

“This!” she shouted, her hands flailing towards the fallen shelves and books littering the ground

“What about this?” you asked, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Why are there shelves knocked down and books everywhere?” 

“Are they not supposed to be like this?” you nearly broke your act, a smile threatening your lips, but managed to keep a straight face. McGonagall looked infuriated.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Where who went?”

“The people who did this! Unless it was you?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“Who did what?”

“This!” she repeated, her face turning red.

“Oh! I think they went that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, the opposite way the twins went.

“She’s brilliant,” George whispered to his brother from behind the shelves.

“You can say that again, Georgie,” Fred answered, watching you in awe as you waved off McGonagall.

They crept form behind their hiding places, stepping cautiously around the fallen books. 

“How did you do that?” George asked, looking at you in awe.

“Do what?”

Fred smiled at you, quite entertained. George just stared, his mouth hanging open in amazement. 

You sauntered off, sitting back down with Pansy.

“Jaw up, George, you’re drooling,” Fred taunted his brother, bumping into George’s shoulder.

The two left the library, sneaking past Madam Pince. George watched you smooth down your green tie with your delicate touch, your eyes locking with his. He admired the mischievous grin on your lips, and he gulped when you winked at him. He just met The Child of The Cheshire Cat. And he was in love with her.

The two boys peered around the corner, Fred crouched below George. They watched you carefully taking a bobby pin to Snape’s door, your fingers jutting back and forth against the pressure you applied.

George watched you pull your lips between your teeth. He watched the curve of your body as you stood on the tips of your toes, bent at the knees and leaning close to the door. Your skirt itched dangerously up, exposing more and more of your thighs.

Fred’s eyes were trained on your mischievous actions, but all George could focus on was you. He tried to stop thinking about you, but ever since that day in the library he couldn’t get you out of his head. It became even harder when Fred insisted you join them in their pranks from now on.

You stood suddenly, your skirt falling back into place, much to George’s dismay. You turned towards the boys, smirking at them. Fred sprang from his place behind the wall. George stumbled to follow after his brother.

You bent the bobby pin back into place and George watched you tuck it seamlessly into your hair. 

“All in a day’s work, boys,” you said, breaking the silence that had formed around the three of you while they stared at you in awe.

“You’re brilliant,” Fred mumbled, gripping your shoulders and kissing your cheek briskly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. George debated if he should copy his brother’s actions, take advantage of the situation to make an excuse to be that close to you. Before he could, he realized he had been staring at you for far too long. He coughed awkwardly and casted his gaze to the ground. You quirked an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and followed Fred into the potions class.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” you whispered into the dark room.

“We need more Ashwinder eggs for our products,” you heard Fred whisper back to you a few feet away, “running low on our supplies.”

“So you thought Snape wouldn’t mind letting you borrow some of his?” you teased, and heard Fred snort from where he was.

“Of course not,” George said from behind you, “as you may know, he’s a very generous man.”

“Always been supportive of us,” Fred joined, the smirk very loud in his voice.

George was close to you in the dark, you could tell. He must have been inches away from you, waiting for Fred to gather what he needed. You could hear his breathing, not that it was labored, and felt his presence.

“Fred, will you hurry it up?” George snapped at Fred.  You turned to where his voice came from, the deepness in his whisper surprising you.

“Scared?” you teased.

You heard George’s low chuckle, and suddenly two hands snaked their way onto your sides. George’s long fingers gripped your sides, making your entire body jolt. You jumped at the sudden touch, and heard George chuckle even more.

“Scared?” he murmured, his hands still on your sides but his fingers considerably looser.

You met his hands with yours, putting them on top of his for some reassurance that you weren’t imagining it. Your touch was featherlight over his rough hands, and you realized how small your hands were next to his. You felt the veins on the top of his hands and traced over them before you knew what you were doing. George’s chuckle stopped at the touch, and the only noise in the room was the occasional clink of two glass bottles bumping into each other as Fred looked for the eggs.

The two of you stood in silence, George’s body inching closer to yours from behind you. Soon, your back was against his chest, and he trapped you in his arms. Your arms leaned against his, hands still atop his hands. You felt safe in George’s arms. You didn’t care if Snape came in at that minute, you just wanted George to hold you.

“Got ‘em!” Fred called out, a few clinking noises heard.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice closer to you now.

George started to turn, turning you with him. He gave you one last squeeze, moving his hands a little lower on your hips before releasing you completely. You let your hands fall from his, and moved from your spot against his chest.

The moment of intimacy in the dark had caused a blush to spread across your cheeks, and George saw it the second you three reached the dimly lit hallway. You avoided his eyes, looking at Fred and the three glass bottles he was slipping in his pockets.

“What are you going to use those for?” you whispered, following them down the hallway.

“Our luck and love potions,” Fred answered, his hand ghosting over the eggs in his pocket.

You nodded approvingly, taking a glance over your shoulder to make sure you were still in the clear. The three of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, well you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” Fred asked, looking down at you from a few steps above you.

They both towered over you, but the look in George’s eyes made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“My common room is down here,” you lifted your hand to point your thumb over your shoulder.

“Oh right,” Fred said, smiling, “sometimes you’re so much fun we forget you’re a Slytherin.”

“Shut up,” you said, laughing. 

The boys watched you walk away. Fred smiled at the memory of the successful night they had, and George smiled at the way your skirt moved across your hips and swayed side to side.

“And where were you?” Draco Malfoy’s sneer was on you immediately after you crept into the common room. He was lounging on the couch, face illuminated by the dwindling fire on front of him.

“Where was who?” you smirked, starting your usual act.

Draco smirked back at you, aware of your reputation.

“Off with the Weasleys? You’ve been spending a lot of time with them recently. If anyone had some sense they might begin to question you aligning yourself with blood traitors,” Draco drawled.

You furrowed your brows, feeling incapable of deflecting that like you usually would. You were never one to focus on your blood status, but you figured you didn’t have to since you were a pureblood. Draco was obsessed with his blood status, you knew that, everyone knew that. Why was he so concerned with yours all of a sudden?

“Why do you care, Draco?”

Draco’s cold laugh echoed off the walls of the dungeon.

“I try to look out for my housemates,” he said, “especially the incredibly attractive ones.”

Your face twisted with disgust before you could help it. You walked past him and up the stairs, hearing his laugh continue from behind you.

Up in your room, you reflected on your night. You couldn’t help but lift your hands to where George’s had been earlier. You closed your eyes, imagining him still there with you, his chest a hard presence behind you. You breathed in deep, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. A smile was on your lips before you knew it, and you realized you wanted George to hold you more often.

The next day at breakfast, you had filled your plate with food and talked with Pansy.

“So,” she started, glancing at you over her Charms textbook, “where were you off to last night?”

You smiled at her, looking down at your plate. When you looked back up at her, you noticed Draco watching you a few seats down. You gave him a glare, and he smirked at you.

“I was with Fred and George,” you turned your attention back to Pansy.

“The Weasleys? Why were you with the Weasleys?” Pansy tried to hide the repulsion in her voice, and barely managed to.

“They’re my friends,” you defended, furrowing your brow at her.

“Since when?”

You didn’t answer her, feeling that whatever said wouldn’t matter much to her.

Pansy gave you a suspicious look and returned to her textbook and breakfast.

You looked down at your plate, not daring a glance at Pansy or an accidental look at Draco. You felt isolated, the green tie around your neck becoming too suffocating all of a sudden.

You stood from the table, leaving breakfast early. You walked to the empty hallway and felt a little better in the quiet.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice call for you.

When you turned in the direction of the Great Hall, you saw George. He was walking cautiously towards you, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

George had closed the distance between you, coming to stand right in front of you. You turned from him, leaning against the wall. He did too, and you felt his arm against yours.

“Fred and I were going to talk to you after breakfast,” he said, “but since you’re already here.”

“More late night sneaking around?”

“You could say that,” he smiled down at you.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you. You felt your heart stop beating, the air stuck in your throat. Your eyes danced all over his face, focusing on the strength of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his nose, the smile lines marked on his cheeks, the look in his eyes. 

He didn’t know what was happening. You turned towards him, leaning closer. You closed the distance and your hands were in his hair. He barely had time to close his eyes before you pulled away. You leaned back against the wall for a second, shook your head, and started to walk away.

You felt like an idiot. You had no idea why you just kissed George, probably ruining the only genuine friendship you had made at Hogwarts. You walked away from him, hoping that the sooner you left, the easier he would forget it happened.

You were only a few feet away before his hand was wrapped around your wrist.

“George, I’m sorr-”

He cut you off with his lips, his hands cupping your face.

He pulled you back to the wall, pushing you against it. The force nearly made your legs tremble from under you, but you forced them to stay still. 

His hands ran down your body, moving from your face and down to their spot on your hips. He squeezed them like he did last night. You couldn’t help the reaction it caused, lurching your hips into his at the touch. He groaned into your mouth, pushing his face harder against yours. His nose pressed against your cheek, your chins bumping as you passionately moved against each other. 

“Well, this is awfully disappointing.” You barely registered the voice, and George certainly didn’t.

You opened your eyes, still kissing George and glanced to the sound. Draco stood there, an evil smirk on his mouth. You slowly pulled away from George, and he trailed after you, trying to continue the kiss. It wasn’t until you turned your head to look at Draco that George even realized he was there.

“Get out of here Malfoy,” George said, his voice gruff and annoyed.

He moved back towards you, expecting Draco to scurry off. Draco stayed put, and you pulled back from George.

“What do you want, Draco?” you said, still pushed against the wall with George leaning on you.

You didn’t even bother to fix your messy hair, adjust your skirt, or tuck your shirt back in. All of which were messed up by George’s roaming hands.

“Just wanted to make sure my eyes didn’t deceive me,” he snarled, “Saw a Weasel chasing after you, but I didn’t think it would have been this bad.”

“What are you on about?” George said, and you could feel his body tensing with anger.

“Well I have to report this to the Sacred 28,” he explained, casting a fake innocent look over his evil features, “they’ll have to know that the Y/l/n family are now blood traitors.”

“Malfoy, you’re the only one who still cares about that,” you sneered.

You would have felt a bit intimated by Malfoy if it weren’t for George. You knew Malfoy was one of the smartest students in his year and had no doubt he knew some dark spells that you couldn’t have dreamed of. But George made you feel safe. When George was there you didn’t even think about the danger Malfoy threatened.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started to saunter over to the two of you, “your father still seems to care.”

George moved you from the wall, putting himself between you and Draco. 

Draco was right about your father. He cared a great deal about his status and the power it held. He had grown to accept your disobedience, but you had never strayed this far from his ideals.

“You’re pathetic, Malfoy,” George spat from in front of you. You squeezed his arm warningly, and he glanced down at you. The second he saw your scared expression, his gaze softened.

“Shove off,” you managed, your voice nearly sounding afraid.

“Alright,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “fine, be that way.”

He walked back into the hall, and George turned to you with concern on his face.

“Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t care about what my father thinks,” you admitted, furrowing your brow.

“Are you sure?” George asked you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, looking up at George’s brown eyes, “You mean more to me than any useless blood status.”

George softened. He literally felt himself melt at your words. He took a few large steps, a goofy smile plastered in his face, and backed you against the wall again.

“That was adorable,” he said, sounding giddy.

You laughed, moving closer to his face. Your smiles connected, quickly changing to a heated kiss once again.

[mslynnwrites]

jmart touching 35 (kissing their bruises and scars) for the prompt ask game?

This one got a bit spicy; the ending can definitely be interpreted as a fade to black. But honestly? Jmart smooches are lovely and deserved and I very much enjoy writing one (1) pining Jon.

So uh. Please enjoy like. 1300 words of Jon and Martin kinda making out lol

Jonathan Sims was not a brave man; he’d come to terms with that a long time ago. So when Martin smiled at him from the other side of the sofa, so bright and radiant and beautiful, he did not have the willpower to do anything more than smile back.

Admittedly, he was...well, to be quite honest, he was afraid, as he always seemed to be these days. Whatever their relationship had grown to over the past few years was something he couldn’t risk ruining, especially not now.

That said, though, even he could no longer hide the fact that he was madly in love.

He’d known, of course, for quite a while, now. He’d even confided in Georgie a couple times on the matter. He just...never had the strength to actually tell Martin. After all, how could he ever possibly explain how Martin’s smiles made his heart pound and gooseflesh rise on his arms? Or that his gentle, caring touches (however rare they sadly seemed to be), were nothing like the Circus—that he wanted Martin to hold him with his wide, warm arms? Or that his laugh made thrills run down his spine?

Or that he desperately, painfully, wanted him to kiss him?

He knew he was touch-starved; it wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to make. His grandmother hadn’t been one for casual touch, and, save for Georgie, neither had any of his past partners. Georgie knew he liked to be held. Martin did not.

And it wasn’t like that was his fault! He almost certainly just wanted to ensure he didn’t upset Jon—not after the Circus had done...all that. But...Jon didn’t have the strength to tell him.

So instead, he just mirrored Martin’s smile and hoped the longing desperation wasn’t too evident on his face.

It didn’t seem to work, as Martin’s brow pinched together. “Jon? Are you all right?”

Jon didn’t trust himself to speak; he was completely lost in Martin’s sky-coloured eyes. Honestly, falling at terminal velocity through endless blue sky wasn’t as terrifying as telling Martin how he felt. His mouth was dry, just like it had been when a dirty rag had been shoved in it. He could still taste it.

Against his will (everything always was), his hand reached up and stroked at the thin scar across his throat. His hand was too deadened from Jude Perry’s parting gift for him to feel it, but he could feel the sting of bruised flesh around his wrists and ankles where he’d been tied down for so long.

He didn’t know how to speak. Words wouldn’t come. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and his throat was tight. He so desperately wanted Martin to hold him.

Very slowly, Martin reached out and took Jon’s dead hand into his own two. Warmth seeped from them. Jon fought the urge to collapse against him.

“Jon,” Martin said quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jon sniffed and smiled wryly. They both were well aware how much of a lie that was.

Martin’s thumbs massaged into Jon’s scarred palm, and the warmth trickled up his arm. Finally. A touch that felt good. A touch given by someone who didn’t want to hurt him. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

Martin sighed, and Jon felt him tug his hand upward. He didn’t trust himself to open his eyes. Besides, what if Martin stopped touching him? Stopped holding his hand the way he’d always wanted and left him empty and cold and alone?

There was a gentle pressure on his wrist, but it didn’t hurt. He risked cracking open one eye to see what it was.

Martin pulled back from the gentle kiss on Jon’s wrist when he caught his eye. He held Jon’s hand against his chest, and although his senses were dulled by shock and scarred flesh, he could feel the steady thrum of Martin’s heartbeat against his palm. Martin’s other hand came up to caress his cheek and brush away a tear he hadn’t known he’d shed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob.

The hand on his cheek disappeared, only to return lightly pressing against his back, pulling him in.

Jon fell against Martin and stopped fighting the tears.

It’d been a long time since he’d cried. Sure, he’d shed a few tears here and there out of anger or frustration, but...he was pretty sure he hadn’t had a proper cry since he and Georgie had broken up. And he’d been alone, of course.

But this time, Martin was there, holding him tight and close. Jon pushed closer, praying Martin would hold him tighter.

Instead, Martin pulled back. He gently clutched his shoulders, and they were so close that Jon could see the miniscule shift in his eyes as he searched Jon’s own. Then his hand was on his chin, pulling Jon’s lips up to meet his own.

There were still tears on his face. He knew he looked a mess, and desperate, and scared. Martin was kissing him.

He reached up, balling Martin’s jumper into his fist and pulling him into him, following every desire to deepen the kiss until all he felt was Martin.

But Martin pulled back, cupping his face in his hands. His own face was splotchy red from tears. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “I won’t leave you.”

Even after everything they had been through, everything they had seen, everything Jon had become, Martin wouldn’t leave him.

Another kiss pressed into his forehead, then his temple. Jon closed his eyes and let the sensation of being loved shoot through his body like cannons at each kiss. He knew his skin, though soft thanks to Nikola, was still patchy and broken and ruined from all the awful things he’d experienced. And yet, Martin’s lips ran lovingly over each scar on his face, his hands, his neck. He sighed with a pleasure he hadn’t thought he was capable of anymore.

Martin ran a hand through his hair, and Jon shivered. He could feel Martin’s grin against his neck. His other hand caressed down his spine. He tucked Jon’s head against his neck and held him close.

“I-I…” Martin started with a strained voice. Jon felt him swallow back a sob. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when...when you needed me most. I’m sorry I didn’t come looking for you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jon croaked. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I could’ve tried.”

“Elias wouldn’t have told you anything.”

Martin chuckled dryly. “I’d’ve made him.” He sighed. “But...I didn’t. And I let you- let you suffer.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jon repeated, curling into him.

Martin pulled back ever so slightly, just far enough to look him in the eyes. “But I keep just- just standing by while you get hurt, a-and tortured! It’s- I hate it!” Jon didn’t miss the wobble in voice.

“These things…,” Jon said, “there isn’t exactly a-a counter. You...I can’t expect protection, and I wouldn’t want- want you to get hurt alongside me.”

“I know,” Martin murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t want to be there when- when you need me.”

Jon let himself smile slightly, in spite of the sting in his eyes. “You’re here, now.”

Martin snorted. “Yeah...g-guess I am, huh?” He pulled away just long enough to kiss the red ring around one of Jon’s wrists. “I…” His breath hitched with words unspoken.

Jon decided to finish the sentence for him. “I love you,” he breathed.

Martin tensed slightly against him. Then he smiled. He’d never looked more beautiful. “I love you, too,” he whispered. He kissed one of the pockmark scars on Jon’s chin. “And I won’t leave you. I won’t just stand by and watch anymore.”

Jon followed his lips and threw every inch of passion he could muster into it. He knew it was more than he deserved, but although he was a coward, he was also quite selfish. And if Martin was willing to kiss him, then who was he to leave him wanting?

[coolepowersthings]

You’re Not Wrong

pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader

summary: Y/N has someone in her life to take care of her physical needs, but who she really wants is her friend, George Weasley. What will happen when he confronts her about her taste in men?

warnings: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex, sex with multiple partners, oral, dirty talk.

Authors Note: So friends, I haven’t written any fanfiction in quite a while, and I decided to jump back in by writing my first NSFW story. This is pretty much just smut, if I’m honest. It’s also my first try at writing something so explicit, and so I’m not sure how I feel about it, but at this point it is what it is! I hope you enjoy it!  ______________________________________________________________

There was something incredible feeling about the ache you felt in your torso the morning after. You stretch out across the bed and let the dull feeling reach across your body. It hadn’t been the best sex of your life, but it had been enough to make you feel less dull, to provide your body with the dim buzzing that made you feel more alive. Jeff was already up, and the smell of coffee was almost enough to make you roll out of bed and throw on the t-shirt you had discarded last night. Instead, you pull the comforter over your head and give yourself a few more moments of quiet.

Jeff was not who you wanted to be with. It was not Jeff’s hands you wanted on your body, not his lips that you hoped to feel ghosting over your skin. But you knew having the man you really wanted was a fantasy, and so for now, Jeff would have to do.

Sighing, you decide to get up, get dressed, and pad down to Jeff’s kitchen to get some coffee and head home. Jeff wasn’t a bad guy. You had met one night at the pub and hit it off well enough. So, every time you felt an ache that needed to be filled, Jeff seemed like a safe bet. Normally, though, the ache was brought on by a very different person. The large, steady hands, the knowing smirk, the red hair that you would give anything to run your hands through. Yes, George Weasley was who you really wanted, and he was one person you knew you could not have.

“Morning Y/N,” Jeff said, smiling at you over his cup. “Sleep well?”

You humm and accept the cup out of his hands.

“You’re already dressed? I hoped maybe you’d stay for a while.”

“I can’t today,” you say. “I have some errands to run, and then I’m due in the shop at one.”

“Always at the bloody shop,” Jeff mumbles.

“You know I am. The boys need help, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t assist?”

Jeff just looks at you.

                                                  “Oi! Y/N!” Fred calls as you make your way into the bustling shop. “About time you showed up, we’re slammed!”

“I told you I’d be here this afternoon Freddie!” you call back, taking the apron that he throws to you and tying it around your waist. “Where do you want me?”

“Well isn’t that a loaded question,” came a softer voice from behind you.

“Cheeky,” you say, glancing at George. “Especially from someone who supposedly needs my help.”

“I always need you, and it’s never stopped me from being cheeky before.”

You smile up at him, hoping he can’t tell the effect he has on you. Although, if he can, then you’ve been a lost cause for a long time. It seems like forever ago that you stopped thinking of George as a friend and started thinking of him as something more, but as far as you could tell, he had no idea. He flirted with you, of course. But that was just his way. Fred teased you too, but Fred felt like a brother – one who ruffled your hair and poked fun at you when you dropped someone’s change or knocked something off a shelf. George’s teasing had an edge, a clear flirtation that made your face tint crimson and that you thought about when you were alone at night. Even the nights you spent with Jeff, George was never far from your thoughts. Still, you know you had been friends too long to start something with him. Fred and George were your best friends – you’d been through everything together, and you wouldn’t take the chance of ruining things now. Besides, if George felt the same way, he’d surely have made it known by now.

“Just point me in the right direction,” you say, rolling your eyes.

George smiles at you, and you hear Fred scoff. “Take over the registers, would you?” Fred finally said. “I need cheeky here to help me in the back room.”

 When the store finally closed for the day, you were utterly exhausted. The twins hadn’t been kidding, the store had been packed until George had locked the door at closing time. You had rung up the last customer and were now counting out the till for the day. Fred was sweeping, and he passed the register as he made his way through the store.

“Big plans tonight, Y/N?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you say, keeping your eyes on the galleons you were counting. Even after years of being in the wizarding world, you still had a harder time counting out gold than muggle money.

“Does that mean you’re going to see old Jeffy boy?”

You heard a snort from behind you.

“Well he’s nothing but ordinary, is he?” says George, carrying a box past you and towards a depleted looking display.

“Jeff’s nice,” you say, glaring at him. You watch him set the heavy box down, his arm muscles clearly flexing under his shirt. You suppose glaring would work better, you realize, if you weren’t using it as an excuse to openly stare.

“Nice isn’t much of a compliment, you know,” George says.

You shrug. “Well, he is nice. Nice enough for now.”

“Yeah, and they’re keeping it casual, remember?” says Fred. “I think ‘nice’ is fine for our little Y/N’s fling.” He winks at you. “Just don’t go getting your heart broken, yeah? I would hate to have to beat up the ‘nice’ guy.”

“Someone can’t break your heart if they don’t have it, Freddie,” you say. “Besides, if someone hurt me, I’d be the one doing the beating.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he says chuckling, as he takes the broom and heads to the back.

George still stands at the display, emptying the box and arranging the merchandise, his back to you. He was strangely quiet, and you watched him as he worked. He seemed agitated. He kept running a hand through his hair in clear annoyance, his red hair standing straight up. You thought about what it would feel like to be the one with your fingers in his hair, to grasp onto it and tug as he assaulted your mouth, your neck, your body. You watched his large hands as they filled the shelves, sure and steady. Is that how they would feel if he touched you? Strong. Controlled. You shivered. You had to stop this line of thinking if you wanted to help finish closing the store, and you knew it wasn’t wise to daydream about your crush when he was this close to you.  

Luckily, Fred returns and offers a distraction from your thoughts.

“Well, we’re swept and sorted,” he says. “If you’re done with the deposit, I’ll run it over to Gringotts before I meet up with Angelina.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

“Brilliant. You don’t mind finishing up here with Georgie, do you?”

“I suppose the hot date can wait,” you laugh at him.

George snorts. Fred raises his brows at you and then chuckles. “Ok, thanks so much for the help, Y/N!” he says, giving you a quick hug and heading to the door.

Once he leaves, you set your eyes back on George.

“What is your problem?”

“What?” he says. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Well you certainly seem to. Every time Fred or I so much as mention my life, you seem to have a quick retort.”

“We’ve always bantered with each other, Y/N. I don’t see why it would be different now.”

“We have, but why is it that I get the feeling today that you really mean it. You don’t have to be so mean about Jeff, that’s all.”

“Oh, like you really care about that tosser.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Be serious, Y/N. There is nothing remotely hot about any dates you have with that boy. He is the most average piece of white toast I have ever met.”

You glare at him again, offended. Jeff may not be your soulmate, but he truly is a nice person. And he helps you cure the ache that exists in the pit of your belly every time you leave the presence of the man currently in front of you.

“Well, better to be white toast than a complete ass,” you say. “My gosh, do you hear yourself?”

George was looking at you now. He had put down the box and crossed his arms across his chest. His brown eyes were intense, and he scowled at you as if he could see right through you. Your hand twitched, the desire to smooth out his wrinkled brow making itself known, even in your anger.

“Oh, I hear myself. And I hear you too. That wasn’t much of an argument, love. And I’m not an ass, I’m just being honest.”

Your anger swelled at how smug he was, but the unexpected endearment only managed to increase the desire you also felt for him, bubbling just below the surface. How could one man make you feel so much at once?

He walked towards you and you took a step back, your body now stuck between his piercing look and the counter. “You deserve more than that, you know?” he tilted his head to the side. “Or maybe you don’t know? All those boys you were with at school were never good enough for you either.”

 “All those boys? Merlin, George. You make me sound like a floosy,” you say, trying to hold on to your anger even though his close proximity was making your legs feel weak.  

“No, never that,” George said, his eyes softening. “I just don’t like to see you hurt. And you pick guys that are all wrong for you, Y/N.”

“Oh really? Then what guys are right for me, George,” you say. You sounded braver than you felt, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to tell you who would be a proper beau for you in the eyes of George Weasley.

“I only have one in mind,” he says. Then he steps forward, pulling you into him and crashing his lips to yours.

The kiss was intense, and at first you didn’t react, caught off guard by this sudden shift from anger to intimacy. But it didn’t take long to process what was happening. George, your George, was kissing you. Before he could change his mind, before he could pull away, which you were sure he would, you reached your arms up around him, your fingers tangling in his hair. Recognizing that you were kissing him back, George pushed into the kiss even further, licking into your mouth. His hands held your hips, tightly, his fingers sliding under the bottom of your shirt and pressing into the flesh below. He left your mouth and started kissing down your neck, hot, hungry, kissing and biting his way. He kissed back up to your ear and sucked on the tender flesh there.

“Oh, George,” you let out in a breathy moan.

“Fuck,” he says, pushing his body flush against yours. You could feel him, his desire pressed hard against your stomach. But despite his body’s reaction to you, saying his name seemed to have stopped his assault on your neck. He pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark.

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” he says.

 “Never,” you say, pulling him in to kiss you again. “I want this. I want you.”

As his lips met yours again, his hands go to your waist before making their way around your body and to your ass. He squeezes, hard, and then lifts you up off the floor and slides you onto the counter. He nudges his way between your legs, his hardness pressed against where you want him most, his hands moving upwards to hold your face for just a moment, before moving back down to your waist and pulling your shirt over your head.

“Here?” you whisper, looking around you as he started kissing down your neck again, headed for your breast.

“Do you have objections?” he asks, unclasping your lacy bra and tossing it to the side.

Somewhere in your fuzzy brain, you feel like there is a reason you should not be doing this with George in a very public shop, but you aren’t sure you really care at the moment what those reasons are.

“No,” you breathed out, as his mouth begins sucking on your taut nipple. “Godric, push me against the front window and I won’t complain.”

You feel him smile against your breast.

“I knew you didn’t like nice guys,” he says, his mouth biting down, gently.

You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you.

“Too many clothes,” you say, pulling at his shirt. He stands back up and brings his mouth back to yours, giving you access to unbutton his shirt and push it off of him. You linger on his arms, his muscles flexing under your touch, before moving down to his trousers and pushing them down. His dark grey boxer briefs are all that hide him from you now, and as you pull them away from his body and push them down, you almost gasp at how large he is. He stepped back to kick the remnants of his clothes away, and you place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him lightly so that he backs away farther, slipping off the desk and onto your knees.

“Oh,” he moans out, as you take him into your mouth. You look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he says. You hum and he throws his head back, moaning again. His hands go to your hair, tangling in the long strands and applying just enough pressure for you to know when he particularly likes something. After a few minutes, you feel him jerk slightly, and then his hands move to your shoulders, pushing you gently away.

“Not that I haven’t dreamed of coming in your mouth,” he says, pulling you up to your feet, his mouth close to your ear, “but I want to be inside you.” You shiver and move to pull off your skirt.

“Let me,” he says, grabbing your hands and releasing them from the fabric. But rather than pull the skirt down, he skims his hands down the fabric and then back up your thighs to your panties, pulling them down with a quick tug. You raise an eyebrow at him for a moment, but then he is touching you, his hands making quick work, his fingers circling your clit before finding their way inside you. You moan, arching back against the counter.

“So wet for me, love,” he says. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside of you.” You whimper, and then he twists his hand, his fingers finding new purchase in just the right spot and his other hand rubbing at your clit in unison. “Oh!” you cry out, your hands pulling at his hair. He smirks at you “Keep making those pretty sounds for me love. I’m going to make you come from my fingers first, and then from my cock.” “Oh fuck, George,” you mewl, the intensity building inside of you. “That’s it love, say my name,” George replies. With a final flick of his fingers you come undone.

Gasping and trying to come back down for your high, you almost don’t notice as George takes hold of you, cradling you into his arms for just a moment, and laying softer kisses on your neck before moving up to your ear and nibbling there. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, you?” he asks. All you can manage is to moan as he continues his attack on your body with his mouth. “I hated the other men you were with, not because of who they were, but because they got to be with you. Merlin, you’re gorgeous. And smart and funny.” He stops and looked at you, his eyes taking on a serious expression. “I want you, Y/N. Not just now, but always, do you understand? This isn’t just a fling for me. I want all of you.” Without a second thought, you nod, placing your hands on either side of his face and pulling him to your mouth for a kiss. This time, the kiss starts out slow and sweet, but it quickly turns back to something more, the fire still lit inside of both of you. George’s hands are on your waste, pushing down your skirt so it puddles at your feet, and then lifting you back up onto the counter, stepping between your legs and aligning himself at your entrance.

“Sure?” he whispers one more time against your lips. “Yes,” you breath out, and then he is pushing in, filling you. He stills for just a moment before he starts moving inside of you, your foreheads pressed together, your breathing mingled and heavy. He kisses you hard on the mouth and then pulls back, his eyes looking down to watch where your two bodies are joined. “You’re fucking perfect,” he says, lifting your leg up so that it is over his shoulder, allowing him deeper, hitting the spot that longs for him most. “Oh!” you gasp. “You feel so good.” He smirks “You feel amazing, so tight and wet.” He brings his other hand back to your clit again. “Come for me again love.” And you do, the feeling of his hands and his body and being like this with George all taking over. “I’m almost there,” he pants out against your shoulder, “want to spill it all in you. Can I?” You nod against his neck “Come in me, now George,” you say. You feel him shudder at your words, his body moving faster until he reaches his release, your name spilling from his mouth as he finishes. He buries his head in your shoulder as he pants, both of you trying to catch your breath. You are the first to giggle. He lifts his head and looks at you questioningly, but then his smile breaks out wide, and he is also laughing, the two of you smiling and holding onto each other and laughing.

“Well, I suppose it took us long enough to get around to that,” you say, still smiling at him. He grins back and pulls you in for a soft kiss. “This is just the beginning, love,” he says. “Now, what say you to going and cleaning up together in my bath, hmm? I mean, we’ll shower together, obviously, to save water.” You smack him lightly on the arm. “You’re incorrigible, George Weasley,” you say. You look at him then with puppy dog eyes. “And what about my hot date?” He looks at you in mock disbelief for a moment. “Darling, I’m the hottest day you’ll ever have.” He winks and then picks you up, carrying you bridal style up to the twins flat. “You’re not wrong, George,” you say, nuzzling into him. “You’re not wrong.”

[voiceless-terror]

would you consider writing me some precanon jongeorgie angst. bc i imagine they probably bonded over their interest in the supernatural but never. you know. actually talked about their personal experiences/trauma. just give me a little of both of them handling that trauma very badly while never admitting their closest brush with the supernatural. or something. idk.

Hello anon! I haven’t written Jon/Georgie yet, but this prompt was too good to pass up. Hope you like!

Being with Georgie was easy. It shouldn’t have been, not for him.

But it was.

She carried herself with the utmost surety: of her opinions, of her feelings, of her place in the world. It wasn’t arrogance, more like confidence and something else Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was a blankness in her eyes sometimes. Not an absence of feeling but an absence of...understanding, maybe. Of empathy. Georgie saw the world in black and white; she knew exactly what was right and what was wrong. She was blunt. She bulldozed over others in conversations, pointed out flaws that polite society knew to overlook and not name. Jon admired it, as much as it made him cringe.

But it was complemented by her fierce capacity for loving, her clever, teasing words, the way her fingers ran through his hair when he was stressed. That black and white view could quiet his mind like no other- ‘yes, Jon’, ‘no, Jon.’  She listened to his incessant rambling, nodding in the right places and adding her own commentary. She filled out the crosswords in the morning, her brow furrowed in concentration, colorful nails tapping at the table. She never wanted help, stubborn to a fault. Her dark skin ethereal in the morning light, the way her voice was low and croaky before her coffee. The ease with which she said ‘I love you.’ 

He remembered the day she first approached him, all ripped-tights and smudged, smoky eyeshadow. Just leaned against the wall on that chilly fall night and snatched the cigarette right from his hand, an eyebrow flicked upward as she took a drag. He couldn’t get a word out, just silently took her phone when she offered it and typed in a number with shaking hands. A year later and she was still that same girl, though he’d seen her stash of manga and her weird cat memorabilia. She was whole, real. It was comfortable.

“I’m not really sure if I should go.” They’re curled up on the couch, Jon leaning into the warm bulk of her. “All of the others are going, though.”

“It’s not like you’re close, right?” Jon’s petting the Admiral, the new addition to the household fitting in seamlessly. “I’m sure she won’t take it as an insult. You can always say you’re busy. Who was it, again? Her father?”

“Yeah.” Georgie’s shifting against him, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It’s odd- she’s not usually so awkward about these things. If there’s something she doesn’t want to talk about, she shuts it down right away. This seems...different. “And no, not close. But everyone else is going- they want to show their support, I guess. It would be awkward if I didn’t.”

Perhaps Georgie didn’t like funerals. You’re not supposed to, of course. Maybe it was a phobia, a perfectly valid one. Plenty of people don’t like to see the reminder of death laid out before them. Jon’s been to a few in his lifetime- for his Gran’s friend, for a distant cousin.

For his parents.

He doesn’t remember his father’s, he might not have even gone. He was only two at the time. He distantly remembers his mother’s; it wasn’t well attended, he sat in the front row with his Gran. He doesn’t even remember crying, if he even realized the thing in the box was his mother, dead and gone.

Needless to say, he understands Georgie’s sentiments. “You don’t have to go, not if...not if you don’t like it. Plenty of people are uncomfortable with death-” This was the wrong thing to say, for Georgie tensed instantly, leaning away from him.

“That’s not it at all,” she says, snatching her legs out from where Jon’s leaning comfortable against them. “It’s- it’s the performance of it all. All those people standing around a body, sniffling and moaning-”

Jon tried for levity, bristling at her tone. “People grieve, they need closure-”

Georgie snorted, this time shoving him away on the couch, the Admiral jumping from Jon’s lap at the movement. Her words became impassioned, as if Jon needed to know, needed to understand. “Cremate them, then! Say a few words, scatter the ashes, whatever. But having the body on display like that?” She gets up, starts to pace. Jon’s never seen her like this. “Paint the corpse, dress it up, pretend it’s a person still but it’s not, and everyone’s just standing there around it, praying over it and watching it like it’s not just rotting meat you put lipstick on-”

“Georgie!”

“I can’t stand it.” She stops in front of him, chest heaving and eyes aflame. “What’s so monumental about it? We live, we die- and her father was old, it was bound to happen sometime. No need to make such a to-do. It’s- it’s just disgusting, is what it is.” She didn’t continue, and an awkward silence permeated the room. 

Georgie got worked up about things on occasion. But the wild look in her eye, the total sense of incomprehension was...disconcerting. He agreed with her on certain points, of course, but the vehemence behind them- something wasn’t right. But it didn’t feel right to pry, either, and Georgie surely wouldn’t appreciate it.

“You could just say you’re busy, you don’t have to go,” he tries tentatively. She seems to deflate where she stands, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. So he stands up, taking her hand in his. She lets him, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “But if you do, I can come with you. If you’d like.”

They stand in the very back row of the church after awkwardly greeting her grieving coworker. Georgie’s nails dig painfully into his arm, but he says nothing. They leave after ten minutes and stop at an Indian buffet on the way home. He silently watches her dig into a curry, his own untouched.

___________

When she first met Jon, she thought he was utterly out of her league.

It was her first semester back at school, she was an absolute fucking mess- drinking at all hours, barely present in her classes. She was out at the bar with a few new friends, most of whom she’d already forgotten the names of, and saw him standing there under a single flickering lamp, a cigarette dangling from long, slender fingers, raven hair back in a messy bun. Not many people could pull that off but he looked almost effortlessly cool (a thing she’d later find laughable for ever thinking) in his dingy leather jacket, his eyes far away and shadowed. She wondered what made him lose sleep. He had an odd, crooked little smile on his face and she was filled with liquid courage. The look he gave her when she took that cigarette out of his hand made her knees weak, and he took the proffered phone like he was only a little impressed. She sent a text to his phone and left, so embarrassed she went straight home.

He never did text her. To be fair, she never expected him to.

But she found him not two days later, hunched over a table in the campus library. She did a double take- surely this couldn’t be him, her impossibly handsome, silent figure who she surely dreamed up. But there was no mistaking that hair, those eyes. He was smaller, somehow diminished in his baggy jumper and wire-rimmed glasses, tapping a pencil against his textbook in irritation. Before she knew it she found herself picking up her phone, sending a text to the number with no name. And sure enough, his phone buzzed.

They went out on their first date a day later.

Jon was a ball of nerves, awkward and not at all like the man she thought she met that night. Somehow, the real Jon was better. She liked the way he blushed and stammered, the way a touch of her hand left him flustered and unable to speak. The way he could talk for hours about nothing at all, making even the most dull of subjects seem interesting with that voice of his- a voice surely meant for radio or T.V., something Jon himself endlessly scoffed at whenever she brought it up. They would sit in front of the telly for hours, marathoning ridiculous ghost hunting shows and pointing out the obvious fakes. Jon had a weakness for ghost stories, just like she did. “Most of them are absolute drivel, of course,” he said.

Most of them. 

They found comfort in each other, their small island of two, had no need for other company. Georgie had never been able to relate to someone so well, not since Alex, and Jon was never fond of crowds. Three months in he tried to break up with her, saying he could never give her what ‘she needed’ but she stopped that in its tracks- Georgie would be the one who decided what she did and didn’t need, thank you very much. She liked the way he leaned into her on movie nights, like her touch was the only thing that mattered. The sincerity in his eyes whenever he complimented her in that earnest, awkward way of his. He challenged her when he thought she was wrong, sometimes their fights lasted days. But they always came back to one another, each knowing they had no one else who understood them. Was it healthy? Georgie couldn’t answer that, she didn’t know herself. Jon probably didn’t either. But she loved him, in her way. 

That night they have a few glasses of wine, and Jon’s regaling her with some ridiculous story from his youth- apparently he was somewhat of a delinquent, wandering about at all hours. She laughs in delight, imagining a small, serious Jon climbing fences and evading the law. But suddenly Jon stops, his eyes going wide and his face growing ashen as he stares unblinking at the table.

It’s a spider- a tiny thing, really. Georgie’s been seeing a lot of them lately, and she really should be better about dusting the place. But Jon- Jon looks absolutely terrified, like the thing’s bound to leap out and kill him. She opens her mouth to tease, an instinctive reaction, but is instead startled by the loud smack of a hand against the table. Jon had smashed it certainly, but he lifts his hand and stares at it in wide-eyed horror, as if whatever he sees is nine times worse than the original thing.

“Jon-”

The chair hits the ground as he stumbles to her bathroom with heavy, labored breathing. She gets up slowly, approaching as quietly as possible to find him hyperventilating against the sink, the faucet on full blast as he washes his hand- scratches it, really. He’s mumbling frantically under his breath.

“...so many legs, get off, get off-”

She makes her presence known as not to startle him, approaching from the side and gently wrapping a hand around his arm once she sees him drawing blood. He starts anyway, his movements jerky and frenzied as he rips his arm away like her touch burns.

“It’s just a spider Jon,” she says softly, lifting her hands to show she means no harm. “It’s okay, you got it, it’s dead now-”

“But what if it isn’t!” He spits, slamming his hands on the marble rim of the sink and leaving bloody prints in his wake. He’s breathing so fast she thinks he might pass out. “What if it isn’t?”

She has no answer to that.

It takes about two hours, a hot shower and a stiff drink for him to calm down. They lay on the couch, watching something stupid, mind-numbing. She runs her fingers through his hair. He always liked that. She doesn’t say a word, he’s exhausted, and she knows from experience that pushing him will just lead to another fit like before. The next day, he brings her Hungarian by way of apology. They eat in a more comfortable silence, Jon gradually warming up as the evening goes on. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She spends the weekend cleaning her flat, standing on a chair and vacuuming at the cobwebs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440474

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine being Sirius’s daughter {Part 3}

Part one

Part two

-Remus never told you that he still believed your father was guilty, his heart was in a state of heartbreak whenever he would look at you, your eyes filled with hope that you could somehow set him free. Remus wanted so desperately to have your blind, bias belief, I mean what little girl wants to believe her dad was a spy for the enemy and was responsible for the death of most of your family, which was the only reason he couldn’t forgive Sirius for his crimes.

-You and the boys wrote each other daily during the winter break.

-On Christmas Remus surprised you with a book by Lockheart, “Everyone says he is very popular amongst the female readers.”

“He also is a fiction writer, I mean there is no way that someone with a face like his could be the smartest ravenclaw there ever was.”

-Remus chuckled at your response, and then surprised you with a trip to Hogwarts, his backpack filled with presents from you both. When you arrived in Dumbledore’s office you immediately wanted to go find Hagrid, to which the two men stated was okay, “We will meet you at his hut shortly.” Dumbledore answered as you raced from the office towards the spiral stairs.

“I know that look Remus, what is on your mind?”

“You promised me he would never get in contact with her while she was here.” His voice was low

“I did, and I have...”

“He has been writing her since she arrived Albus, and now I just had to tell my daughter that he has been writing to her constantly! I had to look my daughter in the eyes and lie to her that I believed her father was innocent. How can I believe a man who betrayed his friends, who murdered them all, almost got his own godson killed, and not once thought about his incredibly smart, talented, humble, compassionate little girl? I wanted to avoid this Albus, but it seemed I can not trust anyone but my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Albus asked, Remus hadn’t even realized he kept calling you his daughter, normally he would just call you his niece, or by name. His eyes softened towards the headmaster as he hissed, “Well she might as well be.”

-Dumbledore reassured him that Sirius posed no real threat to you or him, “He is locked away in a cell, never to be freed again.”

-When they went to the Hut with McGonnagall, and some of the other professors, when they opened the door, they saw you sitting on the couch opposite the armchair, your coat discarded, revealing your maroon and gold stripped sweater. A mug was in between your hands, whip cream towering over the top of it as you looked at Hagrid, who was telling you a story about Bowtruckles. Your giggles filled the small space as they all filed into the room. That’s when Hagrid turned around and stood, ready to prepare hot chocolate for everyone, as Remus pushed by and sat beside you on the couch.

-The day after Christmas you went to Diagon Alley to try to find a good gift for Fred. You searched high and low, but nothing stood out to you. That was until you saw the window display of the Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Uncle Mooney, how realistic would it be to hex my bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm?”

-Quite, why?”

“Because I think I found the gift I want to get Fred.” You answered with a smile before opening the shop door.

-One night while Remus was sipping his tea, he looked up at you, curled up at the end of the sofa, reading a book in one of your oversized sweaters, the glow of the fire illuminated your face, as your tea sat beside you, “You know who you look like right now?”

“Your niece?”

“No, you look just like your Aunt Lily. I mean she was a bookworm, intelligent witch, who was somehow involved with the pranksters of Gryffindor.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled, before Remus smiled, a ping of sadness overcoming him as he missed his friends... the only real family he ever had. You could tell he was off suddenly, and looking at him as he sipped his tea again you asked, “Uncle Mooney, tell me about your time at Hogwarts?”

-You both stayed up most of the night, chuckling at the stories he told. By the time you went to bed, the fire was down to just glowing embers, both of your teas cold, but you were happy, and that night you both slept in until noon.

-When the full moon occurred you went to Hagrid’s hut, and spent the day with him walking in the forbidden forest in the snow.

-When you left to go back to Hogwarts, you looked at your uncle on the station, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes Love?”

“No more secrets okay, I mean I would hope you trust me enough to tell me anything, cause I certainly trust you.”

-Of course Love.” He smiled before pulling you in for a hug, and handing you a chocolate bar, “For the journey.”

-When you found the booth that the twins and Lee were hiding in your whole face lit up, and you were quick to slip in next to Fred as they all were laughing at the story of how Fred and George turned Percy’s hair pink by adding some of their mom’s herbs to his shampoo, and how it backfired when everyone’s had turned pink.

-Once the train started to move however you smiled, “Okay, so shall we exchange?”

-In a circle you each gave your gifts one by one, Fred got Lee, Lee got George, George had gotten you, and you had gotten Fred. You decided to go in the same order you drew names, meaning Fred went first.

-Fred reached in his bag and pulled out a rectangular box, and handed it over to you, “Here, I hope you like it.”

When you opened it, you noticed the dull blue of the tissue paper, and slowly pulled it back to reveal the knitted yarn, the collar was a pastel purple color, while the rest of the sweater was a minty green, your first initial in the same pastel purple. As you held it up, you couldn’t suppress a smile, “I love it.”

-George got Lee the same present, except his was Gryffindor colors.

-Both boys were estact that you liked their gifts.

-Lee handed George a box, and when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with all different sorts of candy. However when he reached inside he withdrew a gameboy.

“The muggles use it to play video games, I figured it might be an interesting gift, and something your dad would love to learn about.”

-Once it was your turn you smiled towards Fred, “You can’t be mad.”

“How could I ever be mad at you?” He chuckled as you smiled wide, before opening your charmed bag and reaching all the way into it, the boys eyes widening as you exclaimed, “Got it.”

-The package was as neatly wrapped as it could be, the paper was a matte blue, with a green ribbon on top. Using both hands you extended it towards Fred, “I figured if you and Georgie were going to someday be real quidditch players, you might as well have a good broom.”

-When he unwrapped it, he was blown away to see the Comet 260, his hands slightly going over the wood as he admired it. However he stopped for a moment at the handle, “Why did you engrave a G in it?”

“Oh bloody hell, that one was meant for George, give me a second.” You exclaimed reaching back in to pull out another one, this time wrapped in orange paper with a yellow bow, “This one is yours Freddie, I mean I couldn’t get one brother a broom and not the other.”

“You got a present in there for me too?” Lee joked as you reached in and withdrew a box wrapped in green paper, which held a box microphone. “Of course.” However they didn’t see the second small box you withdrew, and as George and Lee admired the Gameboy, you gently tapped Fred on the leg, “Here’s one more gift, and I promise, it isn’t another broom.”

- As he opened it, he noticed it was also charmed with the Undetectable expansion charm. Reaching inside he withdrew a Jersey, which was maroon and gold, and had the snitch embroidered onto it.

“Figured you could be the most official looking player when you match up with your siblings.” You whispered

“You really didn’t have to.” He replied, tears in his eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder, “No, but what are friends for, we are supposed to support each other’s dreams.”

-After that, you and Fred were always close, Lee used to joke that he liked hanging out with you far more than his own twin brother.

-About a month after arriving, at the feast table Albus leaned over to McGonagall, “10 Galleons says that Fred and [Y/N] are dating by their seventh year?”

“I say it will be by their fifth year.” She replied, before reaching her hand out to shake on it

-You never told the boys you knew who created the map, nor did you tell your father that George and Fred were using it to prank students and staff during the school year.

-Sirius wrote you once a week.

- You were in all the same classes as the boys, and it made it so much easier for you to help them with homework. The boys were pretty bright, however they would sometimes get carried away thinking about who to prank and how. Occasionally you would chime in, but most times you would just chuckle and shake your head.

-Percy always looked at you and asked how you could be friends with people like his younger brothers, to which you always gave a witty response. The responses would always cause Fred and George to laugh.

-One night Lee looked at you, both of the twins were running late to dinner, meaning it was just you and Lee for a while. Knowing that the food would disappear probably before the boys made it to the Great Hall, you made a plate for both boys, and made sure to grab an extra pudding for Fred.

“You never get me an extra pudding?” Lee faked whined as you raised an eyebrow, “Lee, I literally gave you my pudding yesterday.” 

-When the boys arrived Fred sat across from you, and smiled, “No way, you snagged me an extra pudding.”

“What are friends for?” You smiled as George looked at his plate, which you had put extra turkey on for him, a smile on his face as he looked at his friends.

“You know something, we should all get together this summer.” George suggested, as you raised an eyebrow, “George it’s only March.”

“Yeah, and school ends soon. Then we have to go 3 months without seeing each other. We could ask our mum, I am sure you all could stay in our room.”

“My parents would probably be okay with that, what about you [Y/N]?”

“I’m sure it would be okay, I can ask him.” You let it slip, as they all looked towards you.

“Don’t you mean them?” George asked

“Um..... no. I ummmm live with my uncle.” You answered, you had never told them you didn’t have a mom, or that your father was in Azkaban on a false charge, or that your uncle who you lived with was a werewolf.”

-The boys went silent, and after several seconds, they began their regular banter.

-The next day you wrote Remus, and asked what he would think about you spending some time with the Weasleys at the burrow. He replied within the week and said it would be fine with him, as long as you never returned on a full moon, or the day after.

-When George and Fred asked their parents, Arthur expressed some concern to Molly in private, “I mean how do we know we can trust her, what if she is just like her father?”

“She is just a little girl Art, besides she has basically lived with Remus her whole life. He would never let her grow up to be a monster. Let’s just give her a chance, besides the boys will be heartbroken if we say Lee can come and not [Y/N].”

- The first time you went to the Burrow, you used Floo powder to get there, your eyes widened as you took in the scenery. Everything about the burrow looked homey, and you were fascinated by the use of magic throughout the home. The needle moving to create a sweater, the sponge moving itself in a circular motion on the dishes, the stove turning itself off as the kettle whistled, the broom sweeping into the dust pan, as the mop followed behind. The dry dishes putting themselves away, as you exited the mantle.

-Molly rounded the corner as you stepped out, her round face dressed with a smile as she extended her arms, “You must be [Y/N], it is so nice to finally meet you my dear.” She quickly advanced towards you as she wrapped you in a hug, “I hope you got here alright.”

“Of course Mrs. Weasley, thank you so much for allowing me to stay for a while in your lovely home.”

“Of course my dear, and no need for formality here, Molly is fine.” She smiled, before calling, “Boys! [Y/N] is here!”

-You couldn’t help but smile as 3 pairs of feet came raising down the stairs, and tackled you onto the couch. The room erupting into a fit of laughter as the boys all dog piled you, and as they stood up (After Molly telling them to), Fred reached out to help you up.

-You slept in the twins room, the boys had made up two cots for you and Lee. Your cot was closer to Fred’s bed. Most nights after the rest of the house had fallen asleep, you and the boys would stay up quietly giggling at future pranks.

-Ron and Ginny loved having you around, whenever they would try to hang out with their two older brothers they would say that they were busy with their friends, yet you would say, “If you want we can do something, who needs these losers anyway to have fun.”

-You always offered to help Molly with the chores, and some nights you even convinced the boys to help.

-One night while you were doing chores with Molly, she leaned over, “I never thanked you by the way.”

“For what?”

“Fred and George were so excited when they got home, they wanted to show us the new brooms they had written us so much about. I know it is just a material object, but most people don’t know that the boys are skilled quidditch players. They just see the jokes, and the pranks, which leads them to get labeled as the general prankster. I can’t tell you how many times the boys have gotten rubber chickens, and whoopie cushions, or little fireworks. You actually showed that you listen to them, and that is all a mother can ask of her children’s friends.”

“No problem Molly, they are wonderful boys.” You smiled, as Ginny raced into the kitchen, “Hey [Y/N], do you think we can have a girls night?”

“Of course.” You smiled.

-You always helped with the twin’s chores, which Molly thought was wonderful.

-You hated weeding the garden though, so you would just lay in the grass and read while the boys labored in the dirt.

-You were only supposed to stay for two weeks, however you ended up staying for a whole month. Lee left after the two weeks though.

-Whenever they would play quidditch in the garden George was insistent on having you on their team, you were an okay player. Whenever you all had some free time between chores, Fred and George would teach you how to play, helping you learn strategies.

-When you went home each of the Weasleys gave you a hug, Molly of course looked at you and smiled, “Now don’t be a stranger, you are welcome anytime.”

“Really, if you don’t mind me asking, may I come stay August 6th?”

“That’s next week?” George replied, his tone questioning as you smiled, it wouldn’t be for too long, just a day or two, my Uncle is going to be out of town for those days. I didn’t want to spend the day alone.”

“Of course Love, whatever you need.” Arthur smiled, his whole attitude towards you altered after your first visit to the burrow.

-After that visit, you spent all the full moons at the Burrow. None of them ever asked why you always stayed on full moons, nor did the professors ask why you stopped coming to Hogwarts.

-Remus hated when you were away, the cabin was so quiet, but he couldn’t stop you. He knew your father was the same way during summer breaks so he could only imagine it was the Black genes in you. You however always came back with a smile plastered on your face, and spent the week telling him all about what you did.

-When you went shopping for your supplies for your second year, Molly and Arthur invited you and Remus to join them, which you eagerly agreed to.

-The plan was to meet at the Burrow, as soon as the twins heard the sound of an Apparition spell, they were out the door. Immediately they had you wrapped in a hug, your arms hanging around both of their necks as they gripped you tightly. Pulling away they then looked at Remus.

“You must be Mister Lupin, pleasure to see you again sir.” They both said at the same time, hands rocketing out for a handshake. He just looked at the pair and replied, “And you must be George,” he pointed to George, “And Fred.” He pointed to Fred before reaching out and shaking both of their hands.

“Blimey, not even our own mum can tell us apart like that.” George joked as you immediately piped up, “Your mum can tell you apart just fine, it is just the two of you that like to switch identities to see if anyone will notice.”

-Next out the door was Ron, his kind of grown out red mop blowing in the wind as he raced over and into your arms, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too kid.”

-Fred and George rolled their eyes at the interaction, both of them had figured out during your first stay that Ron had developed some little crush on you, Remus of course saw the eye rolls and whispered, “Now don’t tell me you never had a crush on one of your brother’s friends when you were his age?”

-while all the kids raced around the yard before going, Remus talked with Arthur and Molly. Of course the awkward subject came up, “So does she know...”

“Yes, she knows exactly what her father did, and as much as I hate it, she believes he was framed. However we don’t discuss the topic of her father unless absolutely necessary. I would hope the same is being done here.”

“Of course Remus.” Molly replied, shooting Arthur a disapproving look, “Our kids don’t know anything about him, and I doubt she has told any of them.”

“I mean Fred and George might know, seeing how close they are.” Athur piped up, but Remus just looked at him, “No they don’t, she would never risk losing your boys. I dare say she would protect them with her life if she had too.”

“Just as her father was supposed to?” The response was automatic, Arthur hadn’t even thought of it when it slipped out, and he immediately regretted it, whispering an apology as Remus shot him a disapproving look, as Molly gave him the look of death. However all Remus replied with was, “She is nothing like her father.”

- The twins and you wanted ventured out on your own as soon as you arrived to Diagon Alley, Remus chuckling as you looked at him quickly, “You can join us if you like.”

“Are you sure darling, I would hate to spoil your fun?” He replied as George laughed

“Nonsense Mr. Lupin, [Y/N] tells us you were quite the prankster when you were our age, we would love to hear more about it. Maybe get some ideas.” Fred smiled, as Remus looked towards the ground, a ping of sadness entering his heart as he chuckled, “Now Fred, I was not the prankster of the group, that title was held by [Y/N]’s father, and her Uncle James.”

-After going to a few shops looking for supplies, the four of you all went to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and got some ice cream. As you sat at the table Fred and George asked Remus what it was like when he was at Hogwarts. As you licked your cone you couldn’t help but chuckle as Remus’s face lit up, telling Jame’s and Sirius’s prank stories to the twins.

-Their personal favorite was when Sirius and James had discovered a new muggle song, and somehow disguised a boom box in the Great Hall, and turned it to Maximum volume. The entire day the Hall was filled with Don’t Go Breaking my Heart by Thin Lizzy, on a loop. They earned two days of detention with Flich, in which he had them polish all of the trophies in case.

-At one point while you were shopping, Fred picked up a flower on the side of the road, and paid 15 Sickles for it, he then walked up beside you and leaned over, “Figured you might like this.”

“You bought me a Garden Rose, is it bewitched?”

“Course not, can’t a boy just buy his best friend a pretty flower?” He smiled as you cautiously took it from him, and thanked him.

-Remus was watching you both from a distance, and smiled as he thought of his niece falling in love, and was hopeful that it was at least with one of the Weasley boys.

-When it was time to part ways Fred asked Remus, “Sir, do you mind if one day, George and I come over, and stay for a week? We would love to see what your home looks like, and to hear more stories?”

“Unfortunately boys, I don’t think that is possible, however I would be more than happy to come to the burrow whenever you want to tell you more.”

-Remus didn’t know how to explain the scratches that were randomly scattered along the interior and exterior of the cottage.

-When you got home, Remus looked at you with a smile, “I like those two.”

“I knew you would.” You smiled, as you put your bags down, and dropped your garden rose into a vase.

-You sent your father letters all about the Weasley twins, and told him how they looked up to him and Uncle Prongs after Remus shared their stories. You had no idea how much it meant to him that Remus was still talking about him.

-When it was time for you all to go back, Remus stood on the platform with you, “Now don’t let those boys rope you into any pranks that will get you expelled.”

“Course Uncle Mooney.” You replied, before wrapping him into a hug. As you pulled away you saw two tuffs of red hair race over, “Come on [Y/N], Lee’s already on the train saving us a booth.” George whined as they both grabbed your hands and led you away, while shouting, “Good to see you Mr. Lupin.”

-When you started your second year you noticed you were in all the opposite classes as the boys. Your smile dropping as you tried to envision classes without your best friends.

-That first night in the common room the four of you all sat around in the corner, the moonlight pouring into the window as you watched Lee and Fred compet in a game of Wizards Chess, George scribbling down prank ideas. Finally he looked at you, “How do you think we can pull off your father’s prank?”

“What?”

“You know the one where they blasted muggle music throughout the Great Hall?”

“Don’t you think that will be too odvious, I mean the only people who would know about that would be [Y/N], we would be had for sure.” Lee replied, before saying, “Pawn to E6.”

“Besides, I think we can pull off far better pranks then my dad and his friends, I mean you two are the Weasley Twins, greatest pranksters to ever attend Hogwarts.” You smiled as Fred slightly blushed.

-Lee and George both noticed how Fred blushed, and when you went to bed that night both of them looked at him, “Okay, spit it out.”

“Spit out what Lee?” He asked confused.

“Do you have a crush on our very own Miss Black?” George asked, as Fred began to stutter, causing both boys to smile.

“Blimey Fred, why don’t you just tell her then.”

“It’s not that simple Georgie, I mean... what if she doesn’t feel the same, how will that affect the group. We can’t lose her, she is the brains behind a quarter of these pranks.”

-The rest of the term you helped the boys with all of their schoolwork, as normal.

-You were the top of your class, all the professors were proud of your work, even Snape.

-Most nights you and the boys would end up sitting at the table in the corner, or on the love seats that were against one of the farthest walls. Whenever you were on the loveseats, Lee and George would make sure you and Fred were on the same sofa, and whenever you’ll would sit at the table they would arrange the seats so that you were also next to Fred. You didn’t think anything of it, but Fred knew what they were trying to do, and he would always just stare at them with dirty looks when you weren’t looking.

-When they tried out for the Quidditch team, you were sitting in the stands, your scarf and hat on as you watched them prove their skills, your applause Louder than everyone else’s as you cheered them on.

-When George and Fred made the Quidditch team, you were the first person to congratulate them, a huge smile on your face as you leapt into Fred’s arms, as he twirled you around. Then you went to hug George, and looked at them both, “I am so bloody proud of you.”

-Hagrid sat with you at every game, and afterwards you would go to the hut with him and share a cup of tea.

-Remus wrote you often, and told you about the woods, and the lilies. However he wasn’t a fan of how quiet it was, and often found himself playing music throughout the cabin. The records that he had were classics that he had collected over the years, but he always found himself gravitating towards the small collection of records that Lily had given him. They were some of her favorites, and he had given him a few copies of them once they were out of school. The genre of them varied.

-Every once and a while however his fingers would find the section of records that were not his... they belonged to Sirius. He had taken them when he went to the house to collect your things, he wasn’t sure why he had the urge to take them from the house with your stuff, but he didn’t feel right leaving the house without them. He would take the vinyl disk out of the sleeve and spin it between his fingers a few times before placing it on the player, his body slumping into the armchair after putting the needle on. His eyes would shut as he put his fingers to his temple, the familiar melodies filling the space as he remembered the days he would go to Sirius’s flat and he would be blasting the record player. Most times you were resting on his hip, a huge smile on your face as he twirled you around and danced to the beat. Your giggles almost drowned out by the guitars, and drums. As Remus listened to them, tears would normally slid down his cheeks, as he thought to himself, “Why Pads, why did you do it?”

-Before leaving for Christmas break, you did the secret Santa again, this time you drew Lee’s name.

-That Christmas break you went to the cabin, and stayed with Remus the whole time, both of you just enjoying the comfort of being together. He would sometimes find himself chuckling as you sat at the dining room table and wrote letters to the boys, and your father.

-You were laughing when on Christmas Day you found a present under the tree addressed to you from the Weasleys. You opened it to find that you once again had received a Christmas sweater, this time it was purple and blue, there was a note attached that read, “You might as well be part of the family.”

-On the last night you and Remus were sitting in the living room, the fire roaring as you looked toward Remus, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes love.”

“Do you ever wonder how Harry is?” This wasn’t the first time you had asked about Harry, but this was the first time in a while. Your head was resting on your knees as he spoke, “I am sure Harry is just fine, I am sure he is sitting at his Aunt Petunia’s right now surrounded by all his presents, and is filled with fmdread that school is going to start back up.”

“I hope so.” You answered with a smile. You had no idea though that Remus was slightly filled with doubt. Every time he would think about Harry, he would remember what James used to tell him about Petunia Evans, and how she was a arrogant, closed minded bitch when it came to anything in her sister’s life.

-When you got on the train you were excited to see the three boys, all of them wearing their Weasley sweaters. George laughing as he looked towards you, “I love that we are all matching, it’s almost like we planned this.”

“Too bad we didn’t.” Fred barked, as you plopped down next to Lee, your back leaning against the wall of the booth as you put your legs over his lap. His arms laying over your legs as you spoke to the twins across from you both.

-Finally after swapping stories of the break Lee smiled, “Time for secret Santa?”

“Course it is, I’ll go first.” George replied, as he reached into his bag and withdrew a small box, thrusting it towards Fred, “Here you go Fred.”

“You got me?” He asked, taking the box in hand, “You told me that you had gotten Lee.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell you that I drew your name out of the hat and that I bought you your present right in front of you. That would ruin the whole tradition.” George replied as you smiled, “He has a point Freddie.”

-When Fred opened the box he was greeted by a whole box full of dungbombs. He chuckled as he carefully removed one and whispered, “Wicked.”

-Next was Lee, who handed a gift towards George, “I can’t top the gift [Y/N] got you last year, but I sure as hell can try.”

-In the box was a Gryffindor colored Hackey Sack which George twirled between his fingers, “What is it?”

“You kick it, when we get to Hogwarts I can show you how to play with it.” Lee smiled as you reached into your bag and withdrew a box, the boys all chuckling at the fact that your bag was still charmed from last Christmas. “Here Lee, just promise me you won’t use it to blow us up.”

“I promise, however are you trying to tell me you bought me a bomb?”

“You’re just gonna have to open it to find out.” You smiled as he tore the paper slightly and revealed that logo of Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. “No way.” Lee gasped as you smiled.

“Figured we could light it off down by the lake.” You replied as Fred pulled a rectangular, brightly wrapped present out of his bag, the ribbon on top of it still in tact as he placed it on his lap. Your eyes still on Lee, he was taking in the smallest details of your face, and watching how the fluorescent lighting in the booth made your eyes twinkle slightly. After a few minutes though he noticed you had looked towards him, a smile plastered on your face as you asked, “So guess that just leaves you Freddie.”

“Ummm yeah.” He answered, looking down quickly, before sticking his hand out towards you, the present grasped tightly between his fingers as he said, “Looks like I got you again.”

-You carefully unwrapped the paper, and smiled as you revealed the limited edition cover of Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them. You smiled wide as you looked up, “Fred, I love it.” You smiled as you slowly opened it and looked at the updated drawings.

-You spent the rest of the train ride reading, while the boys groaned about going back to class.

-When you went to get off you were walking beside Fred, and bumped your shoulder into his, “Thank you again, I really do love it.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled

- After a month back at Hogwarts you found yourself sitting in the common room, and heard the portrait open, the room filled with the giggles of the three boys you valued, your eyes raising from your parchmentad you looked at them. “What did you do?”

“We may have just set off a bunch of dungbombs in Snape’s classroom.” George gasped while trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh bloody hell.” You sighed, “he is going to assign your class extra homework now you know?”

“Worth it.” Lee replied as Fred flopped down on the couch next to you, and added, “Besides he will have no clue who did it.”

“You really think he won’t put it together?” You asked, your eyes meeting his as he answered, “Nope.”

-The next day they came in with a groan, and looked at you, “Want to help us with our Potions homework?”

“He figured it out, didn’t he?” You smiled, your eyes never leaving your book as George groaned, “Yup.”

“Told you.” You responded, as the three boys flopped around you.

-You used to sit in your dormitory with the Marauders Map, and study it for hours, watching as the little footsteps moved across the parchment. It made you feel closer to the Marauders.

-You alternated which spare jersey you wore to the games, since George and Fred had both given you their spares to wear.

-Towards the end of the year you found yourself helping the boys more with the pranks, which they loved because you were always telling them how not to get caught.

-At the end of the year you went straight to the Burrow, since it was a full moon. You smiled walking into the Burrow, a sense of home washing over you as Ron raced into the kitchen, and looked at you, “Bloody hell, I am starting Hogwarts this year, where did the year go?”

-And that’s when it hit you... Harry Potter was starting at Hogwarts next term.

-When you went back to the cabin you closed the door and slowly slid down it, the sounds of your father’s records filling the space as Remus sat in the armchair. Your trunk abandoned next to you as you leaned your head back, your thoughts filled with the idea of Harry coming to Hogwarts. You wondered if he knew who you and Remus were, or if you were long forgotten. You wondered if he knew about your father, you were sure he would have, even if he lived with muggles. Would he judge you? Would he be angry at you for your father’s false crimes?

-Remus turned in the chair, and watched you sit there, knowing that the wheels were turning in your head. Finally after five minutes he rose slowly as turned the music down, before making his way towards you and kneeling in front of you, “Would you like to go out tonight?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want my love.”

-You chose Hogwarts, and you ended up sitting in Dumbledore’s office with Remus, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. You were all smiles and laughing as you listened to them share stories.

-That summer you spent another month at the Burrow, most days you would lay in the sun with the Twins, and discuss possibly opening a joke shop in the future, which was the twin’s dream.

-Molly always told you that you didn’t have to help with chores, however you would always smile and reply, “You really think Freddie and Georgie will do chores if I don’t help.”

-Sometimes at night you and the boys would lay out in the grass and look at the stars, the cool summer air breezing over your forms as you all laid with your heads pointed towards each other. A few times you had fallen asleep while you all were out there, which resulted in Fred carrying you upstairs to your cot. George would always trail behind, slightly chuckling as he wondered when you and his older brother would get together finally.

-Ginny and you would sometimes sit in the couch and just talk, or you would braid her long, ginger hair. Ron would occasionally join as well but Ginny always looked at him and snapped, “Piss off, she doesn’t like you like that.”

-One day while you brushed her hair she asked you if you could ever see yourself dating one of her brothers. You smiled and replied, “Who knows, maybe one day I will, however that is probably going to be the day that I lose all my sanity.”

-On your last night there, you and the twins snuck out to the roof, and sat out there for hours. However at one point George went inside to pee, leaving you and Fred alone.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet as you looked towards him, the wind picking up a strand of your hair as you smeirked, “Hey.”

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want it to make things awkward between us.”

Your heart rate escalated, and your palms became sweaty, you were hoping he would finally ask you out, “Nothing you ask me would make stuff awkward Freddie.”

He scooted closer to you, maintaining eye contact as he did, soon you were shoulder to shoulder as he took a deep breath.

“You gonna ask me, or should I wait for tomorrow?” You teased as he let out a chuckle.

“No.” He looked at his hands, which were entangling in each other, and then back at you, his eyes glassy as he whispered, “Why do you live with Mr. Lupin?”

“What?”

“Like what happened to your parents?”

“Well... my mom didn’t tell my dad at first that she was pregnant. He didn’t find out I even existed until I was 6 months old, when she dropped me off at his flat and disappeared. I was starting to display accidental magic, and she freaked out because she was a muggle. I lived with my dad until November of 1981, that’s when I moved in with Uncle Lupin. My dad, ummm, got arrested on false charges.”

“What were they?”

“Murder, and everyone also pinned him as a death eater. He didn’t do anything though.”

“So your father is in...”

“Azkaban.....” you were silent for a second, before looking up towards the stars, “Yeah, he is.”

-There was silence between you and Fred, neither one sure what to say, until his hand slowly glided towards your leg, and he gently placed it down on your thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it again, I just wanted to know.”

“It’s fine Freddie, really.” You replied, before leaning over and resting your head in his shoulder, your eyes closing as you took a deep breath of the summer air, wishing that life could have been slightly different.

Part Four

Part Five