#and is so reluctant to look away from her even when george calls for him

[pearlcaddy]

LOCKWOOD & CO. 1.04

[shelbgrey]

Hey, sweetie! Could you do something for “Being Harry Potter's twin sister?”. You know... Their whole trajectory, their discovery of Sirius and Remus (who might be her godfather). She has an unusual friendship with Neville and the Weasleys (especially the twins and Fred, who she has a crush on and is fully reciprocated with). Thanks for the attention 🌷🩶.

Being Harry Potter's Twin sister Headcanons:

Paring: Fem!Reader x Brother!Harry Potter, Fem!Reader x Fred Weasley.

Summary: your life as the chosen one's sister.

A/n: so I might split this up with each year. Sorry this took so long and it's not edited.

🧡Master List 🧡Potter MasterList

So I feel like you and Harry would be totally different, and it might sound stereotypical, but you look like your mom with your dad's eyes.

Also you do have a scar, I looks like Harry's but it's on your wrist.

Most muggles and wizards forget your twins beacuse you look nothing alike.

With Harry I think he trusts adults a little too quick, with the treatment the Dursly's caused I think you'd have major trust issues. You only really trust Harry.

Harry is almost extremely over protective of you and sometimes thinks he's the older brother because he happens to be taller and five minutes older. “you know I'm five minutes older than you, right?”

“why does that bloody matter?”

Harry would do anything to keep you safe from Dudley and the other Dursley, I think Petunia would be harsher on you because you remind her so much of Lily and Dudley just think it's a game to terrioz you.

“keep your hands off her!” Harry shouted and pushed your cousin off you aching body.

People Don't know how relieved you were to get your Hogwarts letter.

Year one:

Like I said before you don't trust people as easy as Harry does, so when Hagrid came to rescue you two you were very reluctant and let Harry do most of the talking.

I'd say the Dursly's treatment causes you to be jumpy and very much aware of your surroundings, meaning you were hiding behind Harry when Hagrid came by.

But you learned to trust him during the trip to Digon Ally, he got Harry an owl and you a Ferrett named Seeley.

You also discovered your wand was related to The 'murder' Sirius Black's wand.

The first person you'd actually meet first is Fred and George, Hagrid had taken you to a candy shop in Digon ally and you both were after the last box of all flavor beans.

“you go ahead” he smiled when he saw you flinch back. “no, you” you respond.

Fred shook his head with a smile and handed you the colorful box. “no, you shouldn't take things from a pretty lady” that made you blush and take the box nervously.

And saved by the bell wizard, Harry called your name. “I got it go... Bye”

He didn't even get your name. Fred watched you run away with hearts in his eyes. George looked at him confused when he saw no candy in his hands.

“Georgie, I think I'm in love” he smiled like an idiot.

George, not knowing how to respond smiled.

When you got to Hogwarts you met Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy.

You had found Neville's Toad Trevor and was the one to return him. I think Neville would be star struck with you, your kindness to him and how pretty you were, he definitely had a crush on you immediately.

With Draco he just had infatuation, with Fred and Neville it was actual attraction(Neville more at the time) but with the Blonde Slytherin he saw you as someone he could get back at his parents with. The daughter of Lilly and James, Lucicus hated them and his eyes it would be a perfect opportunity to rebell a little.

You saw right threw him, you may not trust people immediately, but you do like to get to know them before you pass judgment. Draco lost your judgment as soon as he disrespected Ron and the rest of the Weasleys.

“listen you little Ferrett, leave Ron and his family alone”

I don't think the twins would take you being teased lightly, Fred didn't really care what Draco thought about him but him saying something about you or George is usually the last straw.

Anyway, the sorting hat didn't know what house to put you in. He was stuck between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. “your a lot smarter than people give you credit for...your also brave, maybe even braver than your brother”

The hat did consider your feelings, he didn't just put you in Gryffindor because you were afraid to be separated from Harry, he did because he wanted to prove how brave and strong you were.

Gryffindor was ecstatic to have both Potters, especially Fred and George. They both cheered with the rest of their house mates and gave you the empty spot next to them.

With that I think you'd have your own trio, you are very close to Hermione and Ron both, but your defently best friends with the twins.

Your also close with Neville, people might think your a body guard and would even teas him for it, but you actually love Neville company and think he's tougher than he relizes.

Some people might not realize you got on the Quidditch team beofer Harry, you became a Chaser.

During your first game the twins wouldn't leave your side, Fred was afraid you'd get hurt. I think the whole team was considering you were a first year.

Harry's broom was the only one that was supposed to get jinxed but you got in the way. You got swang around like crazy while the twins and Oliver tried to help you. It drove Harry crazy he couldn't help you, but he had his own jinxed broom to deal with too.

Ron and Hermione of course thought it was Snape, but it wasn't. He was concentrated on helping you... Even more than Harry.

You remind him of Lily... like a lot, so I think it would make him less biter towrds you. Yeah it'll hurt him to see you at first, but I think he wouldn't be harsh on you like he is Harry.

During the holiday we know Harry saw your parents in the mirror of erase, but as much as you loved your parents I don't think that's what you saw. You can't change the past, so you just wanted some kind of family. So when you looked in the mirror you saw the Weasleys.

You and the twins had been extremely close, especially Fred. During the holidays Molly sent you a sweater with your initial and Fred got you a paracord bracelet with a heart charm. He and george had matching ones(minus the heart) so at the time it was friendship bracelets.

When you went to see the mirror by your self Professor McGonagall cought you, she really liked you and thought you were a bright student. You don't get to show it much because Hermione always beats you too it.

Speaking of professors and Hogwarts staff, I think Hagrid would help you discover your love for animals and magical creatures. Which ment you were pissed when Draco ragged about Hagrid's baby dragon.

Your love for magical creatures also helps you and the golden trio get passed Fluffy the three headed dog.

You and Hagrid bonded over talking about animals and you guys grew closer because of that.

It still bewilders Ron how you saw innocents in the dog and though he was cute.

You didn't want to go back to the Dursly's, but with the events that transpired this year you were afraid to stay at Hogwarts too, but you couldn't help but love the place, as dangerous as it was it was also safe and full of wonderful people.

Year two:

So for starters I think Doby would annoy the hell out of Harry's sister and I think she would be pissed off he was at the Dursly's warring them instead of Ginny or Hermione or even Colin.

So when you got back from Hogwarts you and Harry did have to share Dudley's second bedroom, it was cramped and always hot, but it was better than living under the staircase.

So, remember when the Dursly's tried to stop Harry from going to the Burow with the Weasley's? Well Harry did get in their little blue Angler, but when he did Vernon grabed you causing Fred to jump through the window and get you.

Molly would be so happy to see you again and even kinda embarrassed Fred. “y/n darling, I'm so glad your hear... Fred hear wouldn't shut up about you all summer”

“mom!” Fred look embarrassed while George was trying to cover his laughter for his brother's sake.

The burow is big but it's also cramped at times, so you and the twins share a room, your best friends and your comfortable with each other. Your just kids right now and there's no dirty thoughts to it just three best friends having a sleep over.

Thoses night Fred found out about your nightmares, George is a heavy but one night you woke up Fred when you were tossing and whimper beacuse of them. You only remember your parents death in your dreams and currently your adventures from last year.

Fred comferted you through out the night. He didn't make you talk about it, just held you. George teased you guys when he woke up the next morning and saw you guy cuddling. You guys let it slide since he didn't know the situation.

But, During your stay I think you'd grow closer to George, your both the quieter of the twins and are usually the followers. You would tell him you hated all the attention being Harry's sister brings.

Fred would get jealous, really jealous but he loves you both too much to bring it up. George knows how much Fred cares about you and your relationship with George is strictly Platonic.

George knows Fred like the back of his hand and he told him that. “you know we're just friends, right? I'd never hurt you like that”

Speaking of friends, since it's ginny's first year you and the twins are all pretty protective, which ment you were about to kick Draco's teath out when he was hassling her at the book shop in Digon ally.

“touch her and it'll be the last thing you ever do”

You also despise Lockheart, You and the twins spend most of the year messing with him. Especially when it comes to quizes about himself.

“my favorite smell isn't the ass of a hairless dog!” Lockheart yelled after reading our answers.

You broke your arm during the Quidditch match where Draco and Harry we're going add it. The people and the teams were too busy watching your brother to realize you got knocked off your broom.

Fred cought you before you could hit the ground and he took you to madam Pomfrey with George and Hagrid's help.

That day you realized since you weren't the chosin one like Harry you weren't that inresting. But that didn't matter to your closest people. To Fred you were the greatest thing to ever enter hogwarts.

He stayed with you the entire time and helped you with assignments till you got better.

You weren't part of this year's adventure. You were too worried about taking care of Ginny and Hermione.

Years 3:

So after the whole blowing up aunt marge incident you went to the Burow(in this universe you go straight there).

You told the twins about aunt Marge and they couldn't stop laughing. You now call it "the incident" and it kinda became inside joke, Ginny getts annoyed with not knowing what it means.

“you keep saying 'the incident'! What doses that mean?”

You did find about Sirius black and that he was Harry's godfather. You would think he'd be yours too but really it was never confirmed since Lilly wanted Remus to be the godfather.

Remus told you about the once playful argument that James and Lily had about that. I think you'd grow really close to Remus.

He's the first adult you trusted immediately. You tell him everything and he becomes the first ever real father figure you've ever had.

Aurther is kinda of a father figure but you don't want to see him that way since your in love with his son.

Anyway, you find out about Remus being a werewolf just beacuse you were wondering around on a full moon, you weren't scared like a normal person should be which suprised him. You promised to never say anything.

It got annoying when Hermione kept asking werewolf questions when she started to have her suspicions.

You were relieved when you found out Sirius didn't actually kill your parents. You found out Sirius was really fun to be around. While Remus was a shoulder to cry on or sortof a body guard, Sirius was c comedic relief and learned how to make you and Harry laugh.

Year 4:

Your fourth year is when Fred and you really started to act on your feelings. When you went to the Quidditch world cup, Fred kissed you after your favorite team won.

Since death eaters showed up it was short lived and you guys didn't really speak of it till later.

You didn't try to get your name in the goblet of fire like your two best friends, nor was your name put in there.

It was bizarre... You wanted to do it just to prove you were just as brave and important as Harry. Fred helped you relize how important and loved you were during the last two summers, but since your name didn't get put in there like Harry's you felt pushed to the side lines again.

Fred was a little bit upset at your mindset. He didn't want you thinking you were useless but he also didn't want you in danger.

“why would you want to! It's dangerous, I don't know what I'd do If you got hurt!”

Then it turned into an argument. “I want to do It because I'm tired of being in his shadow I want to prove I'm just as strong! And why dose it matter if I was in the tournament or not?”

“beacuse I love you! The Wizarding world might not have chosen you but I do... And I know we're just kids but I do know that I love you”

Your heart melt and if felt like all your walls came crashing down. You knew you were important to him, but it finally clicked that you were is first choice from the beginning. No Harry, no chosin crap, he just wanted you.

You had your first real kiss in mouths. A rough but passionate kiss. He poured so mush love and emotion in it, he wanted to prove he wanted you and only you.

Then you became a couple, a few side problems kinda showed up. Hermione and Krum, then you and Neville... He wanted to asks you out so bad but then he finally had the confidence to ask you out he found you and Fred kissing.

You knew when something was bothering Neville, he became stand-offish and wouldn't really talk to you. When he confronted you all his emotions came out. He told you everything and even end his rant that he rather have you as a friend than not having you at all.

“but then I realized our friendship means more to me than anything, I'm happy for you and Fred but I don't want to lose my best friend”

“You won't...”

The Yule Ball was so much fun, you of course went with Fred and everything was perfect.

Having Cedric die was hard, you wernt close to him but having him die made you appreciate you brother again. You two became distant since you felt put on the side lines, but when you thought about Harry dying you couldn't help but cry.

“you and me against the universe” Harry said after you talked about it to him. “I'll always protect you and I'm sorry if you felt like I pushed you away”

Harry really did feel bad, but he felt even worse when he found out about you and Fred. He's been so busy he didn't even know you have a boyfriend for like three months.

He was happy for you both, he trust you'd be treated right and didn't feel like he had to put up an over protective brother facade.

Year 5:

So Remus is defently over protective and put the fear of murlin in Fred, but he knew Fred was a good guy.

You and Fred also worked hard to get Tonks and Remus together. You knew how much he loved her but he wouldn't act upon it.

Also with Voldemort back you were eager to join the order of the Phoenix, even if you weren’t old enough. And you better believe Fred would be right behind you.

“I'm in” you said.

“NO!” Remus and Sirius both said at the same time.

Okay so it's your fith year and Fred's last year, it's kinda of upsetting but it just encourages you guys to make the most of the year.

You love helping the boys sell their products and even help come up with some new ideas.

Rather the product are safe or not your usually the one to sell the product to fellow classmates, especially the females. George says to can sell a drowning man water.

The year was great... Till the pink monster showed up and started changing everything.

She got under Fred's skin like crazy and Umbridge knew it, he didn't really care what she did to him, took away one of his prank toys he doesn't care he'll just make a new one but what he didn't lightly is when you had to endore one of her detentions.

You didn't want the boys knowing or worry Fred and Harry. He accidentally found out when he grabed your soar hand the wrong way.

“I'm gonna end her!”

You had to grabe him and convince him if he did anything he'd get kicked out of school... Which he didn't care.

You knew about them dropping out and you even help plan their excape.

After they left Fred wrote to you almost every day, filling you in about the shop and telling you about the success.

You couldn't be more proud of them and even planed on working there that summer but the end of there made you forget about it.

Sirius had died protecting you, Bellatrix was about to use the same spell on you that she used on Mr. And mrs. Longbottom. Neville tried to protect you but Sirius bet him to it the only cost was his life.

During the summer you mostly stayed with the twins and worked at the shop, things got better and Fred worked hard to cheer you up.

He loves spending most of his time with you and doesn't really care if people see.

“your not supposed to get handsy with the staff” you joked.

“I won't tell if you want”

Year 6:

Not Much happened... That concerned you at least. You spent most of your year hanging out with Neville and Luna.

Harry and the other two were to busy worrying about Draco and you just didn't have the energy to care.

You quite the Quidditch team after an acadent last year so you usually helped Luna or who ever narrat the game.

You did worry about Draco though, he looked so alone and no one really cared, all Harry cared about was proving he was doing something wrong.

He grew so much respect for you when you found him crying, you didn't judge him like he expected... Just let him cry.

You filled Fred and George in about the closet stuff and how the school is going down hill.

After the school year you went home with the twins after Dumbledore's funeral, as awful as it might sound you weren't too affected by his death. You felt like Dumbledore never really cared about you or your brother.

Year 7:

So you spent most of the Summer paining and decorating for Billy's wedding, it was a good distraction.

During the battle of the seven Harry's George protected you because the death eaters would expect you to be with Fred, George got his ear blown off because he was protecting you.

After the wedding got ambushed you ended up going with the golden trio, Fred tried to go after you but Charlie stoped him I'm fear for his brother.

You spent most of the time listing to the radio with Ron, making sure George or Fred's name isn't mentioned.

During the battle of Hogwarts the twins didn't leave your side.

“you okay freddie? Y/n?” George asked.

“I'm scared” you admitted. Fred pulled you to his side and held you while George held your free hand. “I won't let anything hurt you”

When things got really heated during the battle you got separated from the two, you and George ended up meeting up in what used to be the charms room.

You started to panic when you didn't see Fred. “Wait, where's fred”

George couldn't stop you and ran in search for him, before you could even register what was happening Fred shielded you from a killing curse.

Even if your brother won the battle you lost the love of your life, you didn't really want to see anyone except George and even that hurt... Looking at his face and seeing the same eyes and freckles.

George promised if anything happens to Fred he'd make sure you'd be alright.

Super mega happy ending:

So if you chose this ending Fred didn't die, you guys got betten up but that's all.

A year later you guys got married and you worked as the care of magical creatures professor at the school, during the summer you worked with your husband and brother-in-law.

You had twins, a boy and a girl. Fred cried when he found out you'd he having twins.

George and Angelina were of course the god parents.

You are very protective of your kids, always making sure they're okay and on the anniversary of your parents death your twins sleep with you.

Your daughter is just like Fred, a total minnis in the best way possible, your son is the quieter one... Much like you and George.

Your twins joined the Quidditch team and got sorted into Gryffindor like every other Potter and Weasley.

You couldn't be more happy or proud of your family.

[george-weasleys-girl]

Act Like You Mean It

Start here:

Chapter 3

Summary: George and Y/N are oblivious idiots in love who agree to fake date in the attempt to drive away Y/N's unwanted suitor.

~•~

George Weasley x Fem!reader

~•~

"I have everything under control," George huffed.

"Seriously?" Fred was incredulous. "For the past two weeks, you've been fake dating the girl you're in love with instead of actually dating her. That's as far from 'under control' as you can get. How long do you plan on carrying on with this pathetic ruse?"

"As long as it takes to get Montcroix to back off."

"Oh, that's fantastic!" Fred's words dripped with sarcasm. "And what's gonna happen when you have to go back to just being friends? Do you think you can do that? Has that even crossed that lovesick mind of yours?"

George rolled his eyes. "It'll be fine, Freddie."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Look, I know you don't like this," George sighed. "But, I don't have time to keep going in circles with you about it. I need to go take a shower before the party tonight."

"Oh yes, of course! By all means, go. Gotta look good for your pretend girlfriend."

George glared at his twin and stomped out of the room.

~•~

George stood under the shower, the warm water doing nothing to alleviate his frayed nerves. Fred's reaction was the exact reason he'd been reluctant to tell him. He knew his twin would call him out on his bullshit. And then he'd have to face it. Not that mattered anyway. He'd walk to the ends of the earth and beyond for Y/N. Even if it broke his heart.

He sighed and turned off the shower. Wrapping the towel around himself, not bothering to dry off, he went to sit down on one of the benches, a trail of water marking his path.

Why did he think this would be so easy? If anything, it drove home how deeply and irrevocably in love he was with her. He looked down at his empty hands. It'd become instinctive now to reach for Y/N's hand whenever she was near, intertwining their fingers, her small, soft hand enveloped by his large,calloused one; secure and warm. He never wanted to let go, wanting to freeze those moments forever.

It terrified him.

Could he truly go back to the way things were? Could he hold her hand now and then never reach for her again? Could he see her every day and pretend like this was all an act? He honestly didn't know.

Things were so much easier when he didn't know what he was missing.

~•~

Y/N lay on her bed, attempting to read a bit before she had to get ready for the party tonight. But after reading the same paragraph five times and still not knowing what it said, she gave up.

Two weeks had passed since she and George had started "dating," and Montcroix was still hot on her tail. His taunting and improprieties had only worsened as time went on. Holding George back from knocking Byron's head off had become an almost daily occurrence. And it was getting more and more difficult to pull him away. Truthfully, everything was becoming more difficult.

Y/N didn't know how long she could keep pretending, when her love for George was always right there, right on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for the moment to burst forth and shatter the illusion.

And with each passing day, another crack formed.

Every morning, she awoke both dreading and craving his nearness.

His every touch was both wound and salve.

Both misery and bliss.

Salvation and destruction.

Something had to give, and soon. Before she tore herself in two.

~•~

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[muzaktomyears]

As Ringo Starr observed, “There was the love-and-beads personality and the bag of anger.” The first really did blossom in India, whether it meant putting in the hours to learn the sitar under the great Ravi Shankar or finding tranquillity in Rishikesh in the company of the Maharishi. The problem with the spiritual pursuit is that it can be mistaken for a quick road to enlightenment, particularly among Westerners discovering Eastern traditions, and Harrison proved to be no more rapidly enlightened than the next would-be yogi. The Beatles’ press officer Derek Taylor recalled a transatlantic flight on which Harrison was chanting his mantra. When a concerned flight attendant asked if everything was all right, he snapped: “F*** off. Can’t you see I’m meditating?”

quote from the Times review of Philip Norman's George Harrison: The Reluctant Beatle

George Harrison by Philip Norman review — the tetchy, much mocked, reluctant Beatle

Harrison was a sensitive soul overshadowed by his bandmates but he blossomed musically after the Fab Four broke up. By Will Hodgkinson

If the title of Philip Norman’s biography makes you wonder why anyone would be reluctant to be a Beatle, the first few chapters provide the answer. Coming from a loving, supportive, working class family in Liverpool, George Harrison was 14 when an amiable Paul McCartney invited him to join a loosely congregated skiffle group called the Quarrymen. To which the group’s acid-tongued 17-year-old leader John Lennon responded: “Who’s that bloody kid who’s always hanging around?”

It didn’t help that Lennon’s guardian, Aunt Mimi, a frightful snob, took in Harrison’s teddy boy gear, Scouse accent and sticky-out ears and dismissed him as exactly the kind of riff-raff her nephew should not be hanging around with. As Lennon recalled, “He came round to [Aunt Mimi’s house] one day and asked me to go to the pictures with him. I pretended I was too busy.”

Did it get better for that bloody kid once he was officially a Beatle? No, it did not. So quiet that one early associate remembered him as “the Invisible Man”, Harrison was routinely subjected to all manner of indignities — he lost his virginity in a Hamburg bunk bed while John, Paul and the band’s original drummer Pete Best looked on; and when he vomited on the floor of a Hamburg flat in a drunken stupor one night, the other Beatles christened his puke of shame “the Thing” and decorated it with matchsticks.

Given this early treatment, you can see why it was so hard for Harrison to be taken seriously by his tormentors in the years to come. It meant that however good his songs were — and few can argue that Isn’t It a Pity and All Things Must Pass are not profound, moving highlights of the hippie era — Harrison was forever struggling to get them onto Beatles records.

He must have felt his moment had come when All Things Must Pass, his triple album released in November 1970 in the wake of the Beatles falling apart, stamped all over the others’ solo efforts by going straight to No 1. Yet, like an older brother who knows how to twist the knife, Lennon even cut that down. “Every time I put the radio on, it’s ‘Oh my Lord,’” Lennon said of My Sweet Lord. “I’m beginning to think there must be a God.” Lennon appraised Harrison’s signature spiritual singalong with a demeaning “all right”, claiming that Harrison only ever managed to bash out a tune in the first place because “he was working with two f***ing brilliant songwriters and he learned a lot from us”.

Norman has fashioned an authoritative portrait of Harrison that leaves you liking and feeling sympathy for his subject while being fully aware of the tetchiness — quite common among people aiming for a higher state of consciousness, funnily enough — that was never far away.

As Ringo Starr observed, “There was the love-and-beads personality and the bag of anger.” The first really did blossom in India, whether it meant putting in the hours to learn the sitar under the great Ravi Shankar or finding tranquillity in Rishikesh in the company of the Maharishi. The problem with the spiritual pursuit is that it can be mistaken for a quick road to enlightenment, particularly among Westerners discovering Eastern traditions, and Harrison proved to be no more rapidly enlightened than the next would-be yogi. The Beatles’ press officer Derek Taylor recalled a transatlantic flight on which Harrison was chanting his mantra. When a concerned flight attendant asked if everything was all right, he snapped: “F*** off. Can’t you see I’m meditating?”

One person who did understand Harrison was his first wife, Pattie Boyd. She lived with him in a gothic mansion near Henley called Friar Park, filled with Hare Krishnas and rockers, leading her to ask Harrison’s assistant Chris O’Dell, “What’s he got in his hands today, the prayer beads or the cocaine?” Boyd made up a third of the most famous love triangle in rock history, with Eric Clapton not only writing Layla about her, but also consulting the New Orleans musician Dr John, who he suspected of having voodoo powers, about casting a spell to make Boyd fall in love with him. After Harrison caught her canoodling with Clapton in the garden of Robert Stigwood’s house, Clapton announced, in the faux casual argot of the era, “I have to tell you, man, I’m in love with your wife.” Harrison dealt with it the only way an emotionally constipated former Beatle knew how: by challenging Clapton to a guitar duel.

All of this is imparted in an affectionate but detached tone, leading to an impression of a man who, although burdened with an apparent inability to lighten up, generally sought to do the right thing. His 1971 Concert for Bangladesh started the trend for charity rock endeavours and collected together everyone from Bob Dylan to Shankar in what Rolling Stone magazine called “a brief incandescent revival of all that was best in the Sixties”. He funded Monty Python’s Life of Brian by actually betting the house on it, negotiating a bank loan secured against Friar Park.

By the time he settled down with his second wife, Olivia, and their son, Dhani, he seemed to have arrived at some kind of actual peace rather than just the prayer bead-wearing sort. He reconciled with McCartney while working on the enormous Beatles Anthology project in the mid-Nineties and rediscovered his sense of humour too. In 1999, after a mentally ill intruder at Friar Park stabbed him repeatedly, Harrison announced that the intruder “certainly wasn’t auditioning for the Traveling Wilburys”.

Norman is something of a one-man Beatles industry. In 1981 he published the million-selling Shout! The True Story of the Beatles before continuing with biographies of Lennon and McCartney, but hopes of writing one on Harrison were dashed in November 2001 after a mean-spirited obituary he wrote ensured he would receive no cooperation from Olivia or Dhani.

In the event it doesn’t seem to have mattered too much, with Boyd in particular helping to fill out the story of a sensitive man and the part he played in late 20th-century life. Harrison doesn’t come across as a reluctant Beatle as such, more a normal guy who found himself in extraordinary circumstances and, lacking McCartney’s professionalism or Lennon’s cynicism, didn’t know how to handle it. The quiet Beatle, only 58 when he died, was simply trying to work it all out, just like the rest of us.

(source)

[queencharlott]

The Farmer's Wife: Chapter 7 (Epilogue 2)

chapter index • ← previous chapter

“Lottie,” he whispered breathlessly. George felt his brain reconnect with his body, his fingers outstretching to find his wife. His bleary eyes regained their focus, and he was startled to find that the familiar stone walls of his house were not his own. Had he been kidnapped?

A rush of adrenaline through his body. He paid no mind to where he was, but where was Lottie? He needed her warmth. He needed her soft brown skin, her gentle breath, her sweet voice. He needed her. 

“Lottie?” he cried out, panic seeping into his voice. His throat was tight. He did not know where he was. The four poster bed was unfamiliar.

“Darling?” said a voice in the doorway. George still did not fully comprehend his surroundings. He had not processed them until he found his dearest Lottie. Enrobed in a dressing gown, the Queen had rushed over to her husband’s side. She knelt by the edge of the bed and grabbed his shaking hands in hers. Her touch was instant relief.

“George, darling, what’s wrong?” Charlotte was no stranger to asking this question. If she had asked it a thousand times, she would ask it ten thousand more. 

“I– I–” he choked, his face flushed and sweaty. “You…” He extricated his hands from hers and cupped her face. Those eyes. That skin. Her hair. She was real, yes. She was there. But what was real? The dream… hallucination… whatever it was… it was real to him then, too.

“Lottie,” he repeated. She seemed a bit taken aback. He had never once called her by a nickname. He frowned, trying to put together reality. Was he not Farmer George? Was she not his Lottie?

“Yes, dear,” she said quickly. The years had taught her to play along. It helped coax him back into this reality. Sometimes she was his Venus. This time, she would be his Lottie. “I am here. Your Lottie is here.” In their twenty long years together, he had never called her such a nickname. It did not take long for her to realize. She was the Lottie to his Farmer George. 

Disappointment crept upon him, pouncing like a jungle cat as he came to. He was King George. He was not Farmer George. “We had the most amazing life,” he said somberly. She did not speak, but nodded, her brows wrinkling as she pondered what to do. It hadn’t been the first time he had lost track of reality and it wouldn’t be the last. Charlotte only wished she could occupy his dreams too, to live entire lives with him over and over again without the pesky limits of this life.

“I would love to be a vagabond through your thoughts,” she said quietly. When she slept or when her mind wandered, she only wished she could meet him in liminal space between heaven and Earth. Was it lonely there, in his thoughts?

“You already are.” He wiped the falling tear from her face. He was always remorseful at the pain that he caused. Out of all the things his mind might invent for him, he was grateful that this time was a pleasant journey. He only needed to reassure her.

“Do not cry for me, darling,” he said softly. “You are in my every thought. My heart calls your name and your heart always answers. It does not matter where I am. My soul will always find you.”

She released a reluctant breath, wiping her tears away. He made it difficult to pull oneself together. She climbed back into bed with him, examining every detail of his face. She knew it too well to know when his mind was elsewhere. He only looked back at her with those starry eyes. He was not upset. Quite the opposite, really. 

 “So, Farmer George,” she said, “Tell me about our life.” He grinned. She laughed.

In his dreams, he was not mad. In his dreams, he still had her. She was his constant, his grounding. He would never be lost, not even in the depths of his mind, without her.

chapter index • ← previous chapter

[dreamsfreckles]

[6:57p.m.] Whatever Idiot

~

Dream x reader

Fluff

Wholesome bf content 😌 - enjoy!

~

You furrowed your brows in thought.

As much as you loved watching him game with his friends, you got bored sometimes. It’s not like he left you out or ignored you, but today you were craving a little extra love from your 6’3 boyfriend. “Dream,”as his buddies called him, was playing minecraft yet again, just messing around in the SMP. You came to his house an hour or two ago and talked for a bit before he hopped online with the boys. You didn’t mind, of course. Sometimes you’d play with him, while other times you’d just watch; either way it was equally as entertaining. However, today felt super long, even kind of rough. All you wanted to do once the day ended was to fall into your wonderful boyfriend’s arms... But that was kind of hard to do when he was sitting in front of his desk, clicking away on his keyboard and mouse.

You debated your options.

You could bother him to attract his attention, or you could patiently wait for him like the good girlfriend you are...

After much reluctance, you simply decided to just lay on his bed and scroll through tiktok for the time being.

As you aimlessly pass by hundreds of videos... One of them catches your attention.

There’s a video of a girl setting up her phone on a surface to point at a boy who looks to be gaming on a computer.

That looks familiar to your situation...

She then proceeds to walk over to him, sit down facing him in his lap, and then hug him closely whilst he continues playing on the device.

Your heart flutters watching the video.

That was so cute... What would Clay do if you did that to him..?

Glancing up to him from your spot on his bed, you analyze his set up. Is there room for you to fit in his lap? Is there anything that you could potentially knock over? You sit up more to get a better look. He has space in between himself and the desk that looks to be enough space to crawl into... He also looks calm, so you shouldn’t be interupting anything special...

Deciding that this was your chance, you softly stood from your spot on the bed and padded over to the side of him.

“No, Sapnap, you can’t build that here, it’s-“ Clay spoke into his mic, probably ordering Sapnap around.

With a flushed face, you move to stand more in front of him, causing him to look from his monitor, up to you.

“Babe-“

You wordlessly swing your right leg over his thighs and gently sit yourself down in his lap, facing him, and then wrapping your arms around him. Clay froze, his face heating up as he processed what you just did. You relax into his embrace and nuzzle into the side of his neck.

Finally content with your guys’s proximity, you sigh out the four words you have yet to say to him that night.

“I love you, Clay.”

With his game already paused and mic muted, Clay wraps his arms around you and rests his head on yours. He was smiling, his heart filled with warmth. He didnt realize how much he missed being this close to you.

“I love you too.”

After hugging in silence for a few minutes, Clay’s curiosity got the best of him. “Baby?”

“Hmm?” You breathe out.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks softly.

“Huggin’ you.”

Clay chuckles, closing his eyes once again, and rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“You are being very cute right now.” He confesses, with a light smirk.

Your lips lift into a smile. “I know.”

Clay lets out a soft wheeze, running his fingers through your hair. “Was I ignoring you too much for your liking? You feeling clingy?” He asked jokingly.

You squeeze him a little tighter. “Lil’ bit.”

Clay chcukles, yet again, and crushes you harder into the hug, causing you to let out a strained squeak. “ClAy! tOo mUcH!” You mangage to yell out, successfully making Clay bubble into a fit of wheezes and giggles. Finally feeling merciful, he lets go of you and allows you to sit up and look down at him. Clay gazes at you with stars in his eyes. Every time he looks at you, a wave of excitment hits him. Being with you was always fun; even if you both were sitting in silence, scrolling through Instagram, or watching youtube together.

Clay’s mind started to wander to how you both got into this situation in the first place. You must’ve gotten a little bored while he was playing. You were usually quite content when he played. Maybe you weren’t. Were you always bored when he played? Were you getting sick of his gaming habits? Worry flashed over Clay for a moment. No... You would say something if you got bored... right? Clay didn’t think it was that deep. If there was a real problem, you probably wouldn’t be in his lap...

Right..?

“Clay?” You broke him from his trance. “Oh.” He blinked. “yeah?” You giggled at his dopey face. “You looked a little concerned for a second.” You admitted, bringing your hand up to his face to pinch his cheekbone. Suddenly, a thought washes over you. “Wait.” You panic. “Is there something on my face?” Clay almost laughed. Almost. He felt a wave mischief wash over him. “Yes, actually.” He smirks. “There’s a very tiny spider on your forehead.” Your eyes widen for a moment and it looks like you’re about to spaz out; but before you do, you realize the look on his face is most definitely cap. You immediately glare at him and smack his shoulder. “I hate you.” You scoffed, getting up from his lap. Clay giggles and tries to tug you back. “Wait, I was kidding!” He draws out, whining at your departure from his lap. You hop back into your original spot and scoff. “Yeah, whatever, go back to blowing George or something.” Clay’s jaw drops at your words. “WhaT DID YOU JUST SAY?” He starts to get up from the chair. You look up from your phone, knowing what’s about to happen. “Nope. Nope. Go back to your desk, I’m not starting this with you again.” You deny, shaking your head and directing him to sit back down. Clay stares at you in disbelief. “Wh-“ he looks back to his computer and then back to you. “What do you mean ‘starting this again’-“ he mocks in your voice. You burst out laughing, denying him from coming any closer. “I meAN-“ you say exhasporatedly. “We both know what the fuck you’re about to do and I CAN’T-“ before you could finish your sentence, you were already being thrown over his shoulder. “CLAY!” You screech. “I’M SERIOUS CLAY, I CAN’T-“ Clay shakes his head, already done with you. “Nope you got on my nerves, this is your punishment.” Clay walks out of his room, through the kitchen, and out the patio door, heading straight for his pool. “CLAY I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU-“ and with one final curse from you, Clay flings himself, with you over his shoulder, into his backyard pool.

Clay is already laughing as you rise to the surface of the water, a glare on your face. Clay is wheezing with laughter. You almost felt concerned that he wasn’t breathing. Almost. As his wheezing turns to laughing and laughing turns to giggling, he finally was to the point where he could function. You raise your eyebrows. “Done?” You ask. Clay lets out one last chcukle, walking towards your body half submerged in the water. “Not quite.” He states suggestively, walking up to you until you’re an inch apart in the middle of the pool.

Now, there’s no way you’re letting him back you up against the pool wall like some PUSSY. So you stood your ground in your sopping wet sweatshirt. If anything, YOU were the one who was going to be backing HIM up against some wall.

Clay stares at you expectingly, water driping from his wet hair. You stare right back at him, no sign of emotion. He looks back and fourth between both of your eyes, trying to make you break. However, your stare is much stronger and is quickly causing Clay to panic. You stare harder. ‘Break, break’ you chant in your head. Clays eyes squint. You follow suit.

Clay blinks.

“FUCK”

“HAHAHA IDIOT I WIN!” You rejoice.

Clay sighs, running his hands over his face. “Whatever.” He deadpans. “Lets just get out of here.” He mopes, walking to the stairs of the pool.

You giggle. “Someone’s a sore loser...” you poke, causing Clay to look back at you with a fierce look in his eyes. You laugh and swim up to him, latching yourself onto his wet t-shirt-clad back. “Stop giving me that look, you puppy. I know who you truly are.” You smile up at him innocently. Clay rolls his eyes and smiles.

“Whatever, idiot.”

Lol, hope you liked it! This was my first try writing with the dream team and I plan to write more! Let me know if you have any feedback! Also, I can take requests if anyone is interested :3 thx!

[plant-flwrs]

Heyy!! I wish you would write a fic where Fred is lowkey really into Shakespear and Romeo and Juliet and tries to woo the reader cs she’s muggleborn? Idk but it would be so cute!! 🥺

romeo and juliet // fred weasley

masterlist!

summary: Fred reads Romeo and Juliet and can’t help but fall in love

a/n: schools out, so hopefully that means more time for writing! thanks for the request anon i thought it was adorable, hope you like it!!

(2.5k)

At first, it was a secret. Fred had no intention of actually enjoying it. He had simply accepted the book Professor Lupin had lent him, thumbed through it, and stayed up all night to read it by accident.

Maybe it was because Lupin had seen the way Fred looked at you across the class, separated by hidden bloodlines and upbringings. You, with your muggle pens that you smuggled in. You, with your muggle records you used an entire bag to carry onto the train. You, with your muggle magazines that spread through the common room like wildfire. You, with those weird little things called cigarettes that you sold in your third year to the older students. You, with the way the older pureblood witches would sit and ask you to do their hair for them because only you could do all the newest muggle styles. You, with your reluctance to Quidditch but your love for soccer.

Fred was gone, absolutely gone for you. He was even more behind than usual in class because he couldn't help but find you with his eyes, no matter the room you were in or the distance between you both. Remus Lupin, the secret romantic, asked Fred to stay after class.

"Mr. Weasley," Professor Lupin called, feet kicked up on his desk while he levitated a novel wandlessly in front of him. A half-eaten apple rested on a napkin beside a chocolate wrapper and Fred was forced to remember the breakfast he had barely eaten, choosing to instead pretend he hadn't noticed the fact you had only sat a few seats away.

Fred stood in front of Lupin's desk, waiting as the room emptied out and George shot him a wink from the doorway.

"Yes, Professor?" Fred rocked on his feet, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robe. He tried not to wonder if you had noticed that he had been called behind, or if you had noticed him at all. He vaguely registered that this might what his brother would call 'pathetic'.

"You never turned in that essay on wandless defenses," Lupin said slowly, the book moving to rest on his desk as he moved his feet to the ground.

Fred was quiet, biting the inside of his cheek as he couldn't seem to recall the last time a teacher had bothered to talk to him about his assignments instead of deeming him a 'lost cause' or a student who 'simply wouldn't apply themselves'.

Professor Lupin sighed, moving again to stand. Fred thought he caught a flash of pain on the professor's face, perhaps a wince as he stood, but the moment was gone before Lupin was giving Fred a calculating and sympathetic glance.

"Do you need an extension?" Remus offered, leaning his hip against the desk and inclining his head to show Fred the importance of this offering.

"I'd appreciate that, Professor," Fred admitted.

They were silent again, Remus still looking at Fred like he was something to figure out. Remus shifted, eyes dropped to his desk and lips lifting.

"What's got you so preoccupied?"

Fred was blushing before he could think of a lie, and then he realized he didn't want to lie. He hadn't even told George about his crush on you- no doubt it was obvious. Fred had had flings and crushes on loads of girls, all fun and easy, but this felt heavier. He didn't want to have a fling with you.

"I guess-" Fred sighed, removing his hands from his robes and wiping them on his trousers, "I've just been distracted recently. A lot on my mind."

"Ah," Remus smiled fondly, nodding slowly.

A book began to move from a pile in the corner, elegantly and easily avoiding the tall stacks of clutter and various lumps of papers to levitate to Fred. Fred reached out for it, moving it in his hand to read the cover. Romeo and Juliet.

"I'll make you a deal, Fred," Professor Lupin said, his voice sounding so mischievous that Fred was surprised he hadn't become ten years younger right in front of him. "You can either write the essay on wandless defenses, or you can read that and write an essay on 'Romeo and Juliet'."

Fred thumbed through the book, eyebrows furrowed. He had never liked reading, most of the books at the Burrow belonged to Bill, Percy, or his father. He was pretty sure that George would find Fred reading Shakespeare to be just as funny as the time they released Cornish Pixies in the Slytherin changing rooms.

"Yeah, alright."

Fred managed to eat dinner that night, with you safely at the opposite end of the table. The curtains to his fourposter had been closed for hours and the light from his wand had been steadily bright for just as long. He had gone from laying on his back, head propped up beneath his arms, to resting his back against the headboard, to sitting upright in the center of his bed, head propped on his fist, to laying on his stomach, to laying on his back again with his head at the foot of his bed, and soon enough, the sun was flooding through a crack in the curtains. He had just finished Romeo and Juliet when he heard the showers starting.

"Lupin!"

Remus stopped and watched Fred catch up to him. He looked tired and simultaneously wide awake, his hair was a mess, and Remus was almost certain that he was wearing his pajama pants beneath his school robes.

"Mr. Weasley," Remus said cordially, continuing his walk to the greenhouse.

"I wanted to talk to you about that book you lent me-"

"Oh, you can keep it, if you'd like. I've read it dozens of times."

Fred hesitated, a wide smile spreading over his face, "Oh, thanks, Professor! It's just, I wanted to tell you I really liked it."

"You've finished it, then?" Remus asked with an impressed smile.

"Read it last night," Fred admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"I look forward to the essay, then," Lupin said with a kind smile and a nod, turning into the greenhouses and leaving Fred in the corridor.

Inside his robes, he felt the weight of the tiny book against his chest. He kept it in a pocket there, fingers itching to hold it and read it again.

He couldn't help the roaring thoughts in his head. The idea that you were his Juliet, that you and he could find a hidden love, just for you two, amongst your external differences. He was oddly disappointed by the ending and decided he might not completely finish the book if he read it again, perhaps pretend it ended differently. He leaned his back against the stone wall behind him, fighting a blushing smile from his face.

So, Fred loved Shakespeare in secret. He loved reading in secret. He loved the weight of the book in his hands in secret. He loved the words and the phrases in secret. He loved the way it made him think in secret. He loved you in secret. He loved in secret.

Until you started dating Thomas Meadowbrooke. Thomas was a Ravenclaw, wickedly smart, handsome, kind, and the victim of many of the Weasley twins' pranks for a while. George didn't directly ask Fred why they were suddenly pranking this one boy so relentlessly all of a sudden, but he didn't need to.

Thomas wore blazers with patches on the elbows and combed his silky hair down the middle. He always had a flower in his coat pocket to give to you and he always carried a book of poetry with him. He was sensitive and wistful in all the ways girls loved, including you.

You thought Thomas was painfully boring. He would fawn over you in the most annoying ways, giving you poems that he wrote (horrendously awful, they were) and quoting lines from old and boring books to you. He didn't listen to Joan Jett or Janis Joplin and he cringed when you played your records. He suggested Bach or Debussy instead. He was boring.

You had only agreed to go out with him because he asked. Thomas Meadowbrooke may have been able to put a cornish pixie to sleep just by talking to it, but he was undeniably handsome. Well, he was more handsome before he had fallen victim to a particularly entertaining Weasley twin prank that turned his hair gelled and spiked up for a few days.

You broke up with Thomas soon after. He took it well, saying it gave him fuel to finish some poetry he hadn't been inspired enough for before.

Remus heard this gossip quite excitedly.

"She did, did she?" Remus tilted his head, a coy smirk on his lips.

The smell of fertilizer was strong, but he learned not to mind it as he watched the merry witch digging in various pots.

"He was quite heartbroken, the poor thing. Filius said that when he did routine bed checks, he could hear Thomas crying for weeks!" Professor Sprout sighed, patting down the soil and checking for weeds.

"Teen romance is always quite fickle," Remus commented, following Pomona as she moved to the next pot.

"Says you!" Pomona playfully scolded Remus, her red cheeks filling as she smiled.

Remus chuckled, thinking back to Sirius who would sneak into his office later to distract him from grading papers.

"You know, Pomona," Remus said in that voice of his, the one that got Sprout to drop her trowel and lean in close to hear the latest gossip. "I think Fred Weasley's got a bit of a crush on Y/n."

Pomona gasped, dirty hand flying to cover her mouth. She paused, scrunching up her face and sticking her tongue out to spit out the clump of dirt.

"He hasn't!" she continued, not minding Remus' amused smile and the clean rag he offered her to wipe her hands.

"He's always staring at her," Remus said, thinking on it. "I reckon he's quite the secret romantic."

Pomona cooed and awed as she continued to tend to her plants, she and Remus trading anymore gossip that they could think of.

The weather changed at quite a convenient time for Fred. With the slightly warm but still a bit chilled fall weather, Fred could dawn his lighter coats. His lighter coats that happened to have wonderfully shaped pockets on the inside, just the right size for a book.

Fred wondered if you had gone out with Thomas because Ravenclaw book nerds were your type, or if you had broken up with him because Ravenclaw book nerds weren't your type. Fred had spent almost all of the warm weather contemplating how he was going to continue to live if he was determined to remain secretly in love with you. By fall he had figured it out.

Fred wasn't going to hide anything, not the books he had recently begun to love, or the way he loved so strongly. He wasn't going to miss meals because you were so distracting. He wasn't going to suffocate under his crush on you.

It was a beautiful day. George was up in the dorms with Lee working on a prank and Fred had decided to take a walk down to the Black Lake. His lighter coat was a bit heavier because of the book in the pocket, and Fred pushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked down at the ground to avoid stepping on tree roots. He found a nice spot beneath a tree, resting against the trunk and reading.

"Hey, Fred," a voice called, coming closer as they easily avoided the maze of tree roots.

Fred looked up to see you, in those perfect muggle clothes you wore any chance you could, hair styled in that wonderful muggle way, one of those muggle cigarettes tucked behind your ear, walking towards him.

"Hey," he responded, surprised by how easy his voice sounded.

"Have you been reviewing at all for Lupin's?" You sat next to Fred like it was the easiest thing in the world, brushing your shoulder against his.

"No, not really," Fred closed his book with his thumb tucked between the pages saving his spot.

"Mmm," you hummed, leaning your head back against the tree and closing your eyes. "What're you reading?"

"Romeo and Juliet," Fred replied, looking at your profile while he had the chance.

"Didn't think that was your thing," you said playfully, opening one eye to catch Fred looking at you.

He flushed and turned his gaze to his hands in his lap. "Me neither," he admitted, swallowing.

"I always liked ‘The Taming of the Shrew’, personally."

Fred smiled to himself, because of course, you had also read Shakespeare, and of course, you would have a cool favorite.

"I like that one, too," Fred said lamely, enjoying the way you were smiling at him.

By winter, Fred had devised a plan. It was perfect, more perfect than any prank he had created or any Zonko's product he had bought. He would die if he kept all this love to himself, so he decided all he needed was one kiss.

The Yule Ball was in full swing, the classical and slow music long forgotten as everyone moved to the dance floor and rocked to the loud and fast rhythm. Fred had seen you when you first arrived, noticing with glee that you were alone, and hadn't lost sight of you since. He had removed himself from the heavily crowded dance floor, stumbling to the table with the juice he and George had spiked hours earlier. He loosened the collar of his robes and pushed his already disheveled hair out of his face.

You watched Fred move through the crowd like a tornado, a mass of energy that you felt required to look at and admire. He strode to the table, a quiet and self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he took a long sip of punch.

Fred caught you staring at him with pleasant unexpectedness. You looked just as beautiful as you did when the night started, skin glowing and everything dawned upon you with your magical muggle-ness. Fred put his cup down, a comfortable pink hue warming his cheeks, and approached you. He touched his hand to yours.

"Hey, Fred," you said with an entertained smirk, glancing down at his hand on yours.

"I need you to do me a favor," he slurred, voice easy and breath warm as it landed on your skin.

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to kiss me," Fred pulled his mouth away from your ear, looking to your face.

He didn't have much of an opportunity, though, before your lips were on his and you stole his breath. He tasted of the spiked punch and his hands were trembling and careful as they rested on your waist. You grabbed a fistful of his robes, pulling him close to you with urgency.

He pulled away, lips red and swollen, with his eyes still closed.

"I need you to do me a favor," you said, mouth hovering above his.

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me," you whispered, just loud enough for Fred to hear.

He listened, and held onto you with less trembling and more confidence as you kissed for the second time.

[stylistiquements]

Day 1 : Soap Bubbles.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : You're being introduce to the internet in a peculiar way, it's up to you to decide what you're going to do with it.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.4k | W: written part underneath

𐐪𐑂 Warning : very few swears

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

The coffee that sinks inside your stomach brings out a grimace and a click of your tongue where the taste stains; too bitter, too acidic but you’ll drink it anyway and to the last drop; there is something about the idea of spending time with three best friends that is so made of spring and honey that you wish to miss none of it.

“Someone is lurking,” George contemplates out loud, and the call goes silent for a second as if to look for the intruder. And it would so easy to flinch, to hit the back pedal, because you almost feel like one being exposed front stage like that. But today- today is not that day.

It's not that you don't want to join the discussion, it's that it takes a second to warm up, to absorb the energy and become one with it.

And sometimes, all it takes is Sapnap to exclaim, “Panini head, my beloved!” for your smile synchronizes with his chuckles. Somehow, once noticed by the right person, life flows back naturally.

George and Dream greets you in trailing unison, like two kids forced to greet their unwelcomed aunt on a sunday afternoon.

“H-hey troublemakers,” you finally say. Your voice is still quiet, not reluctant, but rather uncertain. It doesn't bother anyone.

“I’m beating Dream’s ass at chess and he’s bitter,” Sap explains, and you silently nod, as if they were able to see you.

A long silence follows along, rythmed by clicks of mouses and keyboards and it falls in your ears like high droplets. It's comfortable. It's intimate, shared with friends only.

"We haven't heard from you in a while," Dream says. "I mean ... before the clout fiasco."

You wouldn't exactly call it a fiasco, even though you don't really like the idea of being perceived a little too closely from the eyes of twitter.com, but you do agree anyway, "I've been caught up on college essays lately."

"That sucks," George probably adds.

“Good thing you’re here, then,” Dream notes, simple as a breath. “This is a worry-free zone.”

It hovers for a second, carried by George’s approval hum.

You squint suspiciously, detective mode, at the profile pictures that light on and off before your eyes, “Thanks, dream.”

He scoffs a “sure” and you’re not sure why you sense a bit of irony stuck on the back of his teeth. You're so tempted to call him out, but you don't. Instead, you write a mental note of this odd moment.

“It’s because I told him about your three brothers and now he’s scared they’re gonna find him and kick his ass,” Sap explains as if he just read your mind.

Sometimes, there’s this thing in the air, though you’re miles away. Something like a connection. There’s this thing when you don’t need to talk for Sap to understand. Sharing one brain cell, you dismiss ironically. Probably coincidences and predictability, but it always sounds a little special, a little like something you’d wish to be out of this world, like morning dew and fairy circles. And it makes you feel safe, at home, just like snuggling up in the sheets during a stormy night. Your smile washes up the sleeve of your hoodie, covered palm carefully hiding your chuckles.

“Three older brothers,” George muses, and there’s no telling if it’s something meant for you to hear. “That’s kinda scary.”

“You better be scared, one of them is probably your FBI agent,” you tease mindlessly, though there's nothing scary about those three grown men.

“I’m British, Bunny,” he points out. Whether the exasperation in his tone is fake or genuine, that, you can’t tell, but you play it cool, grin carved so deep it almost hurts. Dream’s wheezes rise and fall in the background.

“Say that to his face then,” you outbid smirkingly after a second of silence, heels growing into the carpet to make your chair spin slowly left and right, so breezily.

“I’d praise you for the rest of my life if you-Oooooooh your ass is wacked. Your ass is so wacked, dude. You fucked up so bad,” Sapnap chokes out between strings of giggles.

“Oh no, my streamer is losing his game?” You theatrically pout. “My streamer Dreamwastaken, have you met him? Guess you don’t need any of my brothers to kick your ass.”

“Okay yeah- no- it’s not my fault if your- they’re distracting me, okay?” Dream defends.

Slowly, the energy lowers again and the call remembers peace as Dream admits defeat.

“I’m not playing against you anymore,” he mumbles through greeted teeth, your hoodie shelters a muffled giggle. “Let’s talk about y/n’s twitter fame instead.”

“Let’s just not-” you mutter, both because seeing Dream lose at something is a miracle that has to be witnessed once and because you’re somewhat reluctant. “Let’s just not talk about that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea it would draw this much attention to you,” Sap admits.

“Well, you talk about her all the time it was only a matter of time before twitter finds out,” George taunts and you secretly smile, listening to the way your best friend tries to defend himself, mind flooded with the last memories you have of when you were able to see those chuckles for real.

“Yeah, Quackity already told me you guys talk behind my back,” you fakely muse. “That’s totally fine, I don’t wanna know what you guys are talking about at all.” It’s a lie, obviously, the idea creeps upon your mind with assumptions you can’t quite get a grip of nor let go.

“You and Quackity talk?’ Sapnap asks, hint of surprise, and you hum.

“Or rather, he talks to me. He keeps calling-.” Shit. The forsaken word traps itself into your mouth. It’s too silly anyway.

“Come on, just say it,” Dream pushes as if he knew too much, more than you even do, and your cheeks flush mindlessly. You don’t notice.

“Dream, quit it!” You demand.

“Quit what?”

“You talk as if you knew more than anyone did.”

“Maybe I just do,” he coos, so dream-like.

Oblivious or careless, Sapnap asks, “Is Quackity bothering you or something?”

“He-" you begin but stop to look for the right way to put it, "He triggers my flight or fight response.”

"I mean, duh," Sapnap probably rolls his eyes.

"But I like him. He's funny."

After a second of silence, George says, “Well that was unexpected.”

“Not so much, I think we’re both chaotic neutral people.”

“What is that neutral chaotic thing anyway?” Dream is confused.

Roll up your sleeve girl boss because now is your time to shine! You offer your best dream smp alignment chart to the classroom. They're speechless, but they listen carefully.

"Then you're more chaotic good than neutral. You're too sweet anyway," Sap says.

"I'd even say lawful good," George debates.

"That's because you haven't seen Bunny during her crazy cat hour."

"True," you note.

"She'll go absolutely batshit."

“What?" George burst between confusion and surprise. "We've never seen you like that."

"A lady never reveal her secrets," you retort. No one answer.

It leaves a second for your mind to enjoy peace. For your eyes to lay on c!tubbo on lawful good and think true, then on c!dream on chaotic evil and think also very true. You huff and it's like a wave; as sarcasm leaves your breath, an idea comes in.

"Sap, check your DMs," you request.

Surrounded by the evening lull, Sapnap’s laugh pops like soap bubbles, "God, you’re so stupid. Why can't you just marry me?"

“So, is it Sapnap approved?” You chuckle lightly to prevent Sapnap’s morning fresh laugh to fill your chest and leak everywhere.

“Just press ‘send tweet’ please,” he confirms with leftovers of a smile in his voice.

"George, get me out of here. They're doing it again," Dream whines.

"Doing what?" He asks, unbothered.

"Act like they're alone in the convo. Just get a room." And you don't get to stand up for yourself that you and your best friend are actually sent to another room.

"Well this one is chaotic evil confirmed," you mumble as you roll your eyes but the vibes are much peaceful, much more comfortable in here. "So ... hi."

"Hi," he chuckles in return.

Maybe that's for the best; a moment that needs to stay a little timeless, secretive and special. It hasn't happened in so long, you don't even remember the last time it did.

"I'm glad you're here. I miss you, you know?" He says, and it's hard to not feel so bittersweet about it. It's hard when longing involves a craved touch, a real smile and an eye contact. Your shoulder sinks in the chair a little harder.

"I miss you too. I'll be here soon," you promise. And soon couldn't come any sooner.

But the conversation, soft and free, will wash up any worries, as always, and you'll end up talking about everything and nothing, about streams and planned videos and college and god knows what. As long as it makes the two of you happy and smiling. Just like the old days, you'll both think and it's fair to say until the evening turns into night and night turns into fatigue.

"Are you sure you're okay about that clout?" He asks once again. "I know you don't like being exposed like that."

"Yeah, yeah don't worry too much about it. I'll try to make good use of it."

"I'm sure you will," he murmurs, but oh boy did he not know what was about to come until you two meet.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge

A/N : so first of all it has come to my attention that 129 days from now on is actually my birthday so that's a weird coincidence lol. Hi how are you guys?? welcome to the first part I hope you liked it. I'm fairly new to the mcyt community and that's the first time I write for them, so bear with me. Feedbacks are always appreciated. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

[rogue-durin-16]

MISS SLYTHERIN

Summary: Fred meets the perfect girl at the beginning of his seventh year; although he is reluctant to ask her out, the universe keeps throwing her into every place Fred finds himself in, even in the most unexpected one; the Quidditch pitch.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: mostly fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language and a little tiny bit of slut shaming (?) and making out

A/N: I was on the subway listening to Sweet Dreams and my brain went 'hOLd oN— bEAteR ReAdER 👁️👄👁️!' so here we are. Kinda long but worth it. Enjoy this <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It was the first Saturday of the scholar year, and the first ten days tended to be the definition of chaos, so I had volunteered to help my House's prefects with the first years; I was in sixth year, so my first two weeks were mostly free anyway.

I was on my way to the dungeons to pick up the group of kids the prefects had assigned me when I bumped into my Ravenclaw friends, and I decided to chat a bit with them to catch up.

I had my back against one of the hallway's walls, therefore I saw the pair of towering, lean, redheaded figures jogging towards my friends to give them a jump scare.

"That's about it real— AAH!" My friend jolted at the infamous' twins, bumping them for scaring her. "Idiots!"

"Sorry, love." One of them passed his arms over two of my friends' shoulders, while his twin brother's eyes roamed over the circle, tilting his head in confusion when he reached me. "Hello?"

"Hey." I gave them a subtle wave and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Oh, right!" My friend turned to me and pointed at the boy whose arm rested on her. "This is George and that's—"

"Fred Weasley." He introduced himself, offering me his hand to shake with a half smile that promised everything but boredom.

Giving his hand a firm shake, I responded, "Y/n Y/l/n." Our eyes locked; we didn't even attempt to hide the fact that we were measuring one another, and I knew I would have to endure the teasing on my friends' behalf later, but there was something in Fred's gaze that made me extremely curious about his intentions.

I let go of his hand, only for him to take a couple of steps in my direction to stand closer. "And how is it that I've never seen you before, Y/n Y/l/n?" He inquired, leaning on his shoulder against the wall.

"I reckon you don't look much at the Slytherin table?"

His body tensed. "Oh?"

"Oh." I chuckled at his shock. "Scared much?"

The corner of his lips twitched up again. "Should I?"

"Guess that's on you to decide." We lingered on each other's gaze for a bit too long. "I think I'll get going." I was the one to avert my eyes in order to talk to my friends, who were already giving me that look. "See you lat— Oi!" Fred swooped the bag I was carrying off my shoulder and hung it on his.

"I'll carry this for you."

"I'm heading to my House."

"Where else would you be heading?" I turned to my friends in confusion, but they only shrugged; I didn't even have time to ask them what was he up to. "C'mon, Miss Slytherin!"

My eyes got big at the name and I spun around, rushing to catch up with him. "I can carry my own bag, you know that right?"

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to walk with you." I quirked a brow at him when the ginger winked. "Tell me something."

"Like what?" I questioned, a confused yet amused grin dancing on my lips.

He shrugged, averting his gaze to nonchalantly look to the front "Dunno," He changed my bag to his other arm so it wouldn't be between us. "What do you think about Umbridge?"

"Well, she's got terrible taste in clothing." He laughed, and so did I. Just like that, we fell in a quite fluid and enjoyable conversation.

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

FRED'S P. O. V.

"—And not only that, she's so smart—" I groaned burying my face in my bed's pillow, very aware that I had been talking about Y/n to George and Lee for at least fifteen minutes. "Yesterday she held my hand and I think my face turned red."

Lee's snort was followed by George's words. "So are you gonna ask her out or...?"

I grimaced. The last couple of weeks, somehow I had managed to bump into Y/n everywhere. It was as if the universe was throwing me towards her, but there was a voice in the back of my head that stopped me from making a move. "What if she says no?"

"Freddie, she blantantly flirts with you every time you see her." George stated with his eyebrows raised. "Just ask her out, mate."

"Aight," I nodded. "I'll do it next time I see her."

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

READER'S P. O. V.

When Adrian Pucey informed me that Crabbe wouldn't be able to play in the upcoming Quidditch match, I instantly regretted accepting my friends' dare of showing up at Quidditch tryouts.

Though I didn't put much effort on it, I got in the team as a reserve, and the moment had come for me to shine. How lovely.

I couldn't really back out of that one, so that's how I ended up in the Slytherin changing room before a match that would be played in the worst conditions. Since I was in deep already, I thought I might as well go for the win with everything I had.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I gestured the kid to come closer, which he did with reluctancy. "Don't give me that look— I don't like you either."

"What."

"You're not half as good as Potter—" Before he started the rant of insults, I spoke again. "Shut it. You're not half as good but you're faster." My words were clear and slow, making sure he would understand. "Keep your eyes on Potter— if he moves, you move."

He seemed to hesitate, weary of my advice, but then he gave me a subtle nod and walked away.

"C'mon, on your feet everyone!" Our captain called us and we obeyed; as we approached our entrance to the pitch, thunders could be heard louder and louder. "We're not only for the win, we're gonna crush them." He shouted, partially so we could hear him over the racket of the storm and the muffled hubbub of the crowd, but also because he wanted us to know how serious he was about it. "Glasses!" I took a deep breath, grasping the bat "Broomsticks!" The gate opened as I mounted my broomstick. "UP!"

"AND HERE COMES SLYTHERIN!!" We heard Lee Jordan's voice as we took off to go around the pitch in formation.

Even before we flew over the Ravenclaw stands, obnoxiously loud cheers of my friends could be heard, and I couldn't help but laugh.

FRED'S P. O. V.

"The hell are they cheering on?" I frowned at the Ravenclaw stands going nuts when our rivals passed over them. "It's bloody Slytherin!"

My brother, who was waiting besides me for the match to start, scanned the stands, and then the opposite team; in an instant, he stood upright and nudged me with his bat. "Oi, look!" George called my attention over the roaring crowd after the Slytherin team had passed over our heads. "The beater! Number 6!"

I looked for their number 6 in the pitch, only finding what George was talking about when they stopped at their starting points. Squinting my eyes, I managed to read through the rain the back of the robe. "Y/l/n— Y/n?!" George laughed loudly, following Angelina's cue and flying to his respective mark in the circle.

"Move!" Katie yelled, flying past me and snapping me out of my awe. Had she always been a beater?

When I reached them, I saw Y/n meticulously making sure she had everything secured.

Our eyes, despite the glasses and the pouring rain, managed to meet seconds before Madam Hooch's blowed her whistle, and I would have sworn she gave me a smile.

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

"FRED PAY ATTENTION!" Not even Angelina's yells were enough to bring my mind back to the match, something I regretted instantly; a bludger had been beaten in her direction and nearly knocked her out of the broom. "FUCK!" The quaffle fell from her arm, only to be picked up by one of the Slytherin chasers. "I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!"

"Sorry!"

"Freddie what the hell!" George had flown to us, probably in hopes to stop the bludger from clocking Angelina. "Will you focus?!"

"Yeah— Sorry!" I apologised again— well, it was more like a grunt rather than an apology. "Go back to Harry!"

"Defend our bloody chasers!" He scolded me before heading off.

I forced myself to keep my eyes on the bludgers and not on Y/n.

The rain kept getting heavier; not even the Impervious charm seemed to work repelling the water from the glasses anymore.

I was cold, drenched, tired and befuddled; my legs were stiff and my arms numb, so I definitely did not see it coming; for that matter, I thought it was a strong blow of wind at first, so the shock that struck me when I was knocked off my broom was a big one.

I heard loud gasps and a scream or two coming from the stands, followed by Lee commenting something about the beater being beaten; in another situation —one where it wouldn't be fucking pouring and I could climb back up to my broom—, I would probably have laughed at it.

But right now, with the hand I held my bat in slipping off the broomstick, the last thing I wanted to do was laugh.

READER'S P. O. V.

Once I had dodged the bludger away from Pucey, my eyes roamed around looking for the other one. which had just been beaten away by Goyle and, intentionally or not, the bludger went straight to Fred.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw his broom flip due to the hit, leaving him clinging onto it.

My eyes went straight to his brother, who was way to far to help, and then to their captain, who was adamant to score points.

"Fuck." I groaned through gritted teeth as I turned my broomstick and flew towards the Gryffindor beater in distress.

"Y/L/N STRAYS FROM HER POSITION AND— FLIES TO WEASLEY?" Jordan's commentaries reached my ears right when I got to Fred. I stretched my arm and grabbed his hand just in time for him not to slip off the broom. He gripped onto my hold for dear life as I used my broom as a leverage to pull him back up, a groan escaping my lips. "LOOKS LIKE NOT ALL SLYTHERINS ARE ARSES!"

I waited until he was steadily secured to let go of his hand. "Next time let go of the bat!" I advised with a teasing grin before flying off to my previous position.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, Y/L/N" I knew I was going to get shit for what I had just done, but I was expecting my captain to wait until the match had ended.

"HE WAS GONNA FALL OFF!" I yelled, louder than necessary.

"WELL LET HIM FALL THE FUCK OFF!" The captain retorted, venom dripping off his tongue. "WITH ANY LUCK HE'LL KILL HIMSELF OFF!" I didn't expect those words to come out, not even from that mouth.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" I beat an incoming bludger away from us before shouting, "SUCK MY METAPHORICAL DICK, YEAH?!" And with that, I flew off to defend Malfoy, who was rushing to Potter. Surprisingly enough, he had followed my advice. I flew on Malfoy's track, dodging a bludger away twice until he gave a final sprint and caught the snitch.

"SLYTHERIN WINS!"

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

The team started to celebrate as soon as we landed, and I thought I would take advantage of that and change into dry clothes, but I didn't have the chance before someone called my name from the entrance.

"Psst— Y/n." I turned around to see Fred standing there.

"Do you have a death wish?" I spoke quietly, though a smile appeared on my gaze as soon as I saw him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping me out there." His cold fingertips brushed my wet cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and he leaned on to place a kiss there. "Aw you're blushing!"

"I'm not blushing, I'm cold," I excused myself, averting my eyes from him.

Maybe it was his loud snort, or maybe the fact that I was missing, but the changing room fell silent as my team's attention was directed to us.

"Oi!" My captain looked Fred up and down, stepping to where we stood. "You're not welcome here."

"Chill," Fred shrugged, his hand lingering on my forearm. "I was congratulating her on her victory." His tone foreshadowed chaos. "Since, you know, it's obviously her doing." I glared at the ginger my hand going to his forearm, silently warning him to stop. "Can't command your own team, can you?"

his arm folded so his palm would be on my forearm too, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"She should've let you fall off that hand-me-down broom of yours." Fred's grip on my forearm tightened; by the look on his face and the way his jaw clenched, I could tell my teammate had successfully hit a nerve.

"Shut the hell up, will you?" I snapped. "Can't you enjoy the victory without being an arse?"

"You fucking slut—"

"Imaginative." I cut him off, unbothered. "Want a cookie for the effort?"

"Listen now—" Just as he went to grab my bicep, a large hand pushed my captain away, making him stumble back.

"C'mon, mate, give me a reason to beat the shit out of you." Fred said, pulling me to stand besides him instead of between them. Fred's switch was about to flip, and I was desperate for a professor to step in.

As if I had summoned them, i caught a glimpse of Snape and McGonagall walking in my direction from the stairs of the teachers's tower.

"I'd love to see you try." The boy in front of us scoffed. "There's already too much ginger scum besmearing the pure blood, I'll be glad to send you straight to the hosp—"

It was far from expected it would be me punching that asshole strong enough to make him trip and fall.

"Miss Y/l/n!" Oh, right. McGonagall. "Ten points from Slytherin!"

"And fifty points for Slytherin." Snape added in his usual unimpressed tone. "Due to the comradeship you've shown during the match." I widened my eyes at the statement. "Though I can't ignore this, so Y/l/n, turn up in my class tomorrow morning for your punishment. Now, shall we, Minerva?"

"We're leaving too." I informed Fred in low voice, grabbing my bag before pulling him out of the Slytherin changing room.

"That was one hell of a punch." He observed with a chuckle once we were out. "Remind me not to mess with you."

I breathed out a laugh and we fell silent as we walked under the stands towards the exit, the only noise being the rain ricocheting on its structure.

"Thank you." He whispered, his fingers brushing against mines and consequently sending shivers down my spine. "For sticking up for me."

"I expect a reward at the least." I replied, playfully bumping his shoulder before letting my fingers intertwine with his.

"What would that be?" He inquired, that half smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

I shrugged, looking ahead of us with a grin of my own. "That's up to you."

"Will a kiss do?" He mused.

"Depends on how good the kiss is." I begged for my cheeks not yo turn bright red.

In a swift movement he spun me around and his lips landed on mines. His free hand, initially on my cheek, travelled down to my hips, pulling my flush against him while my own hands tangled on his damp hair.

Probably it wasn't a short kiss, but it felt like it when his mouth left mine, and I couldn't help the sight of displeasure that escaped my vocal cords.

He chuckled, our eyes fluttering open at the same time. "Was it good enough?" He teased with a quirked brow.

"Dunno." I muttered, my eyes falling on his lips again. "I think you'll need to try again—"

"To be sure." He finished, and I could only nod; I wouldn't mind the teasing as long as his lips came back to mines.

This time the kiss was deeper, my hands roaming over his wet robes and his over mines; it was only when my back was met with a post that I realized he was backing me into the darker part of the framework, which I did not oppose to.

Quiet moans began to be breathed into the kiss when he nibbled on my lower lip or my hands tugged on his locks.

We had to pull away when steps and voices where heard coming from both changing rooms.

"I think we should kiss more often." He suggested breathless against my lips.

"Agreed."

"I think you should go out with me too."

I had to bite back a laugh. "Agreed again."

"Well, that was easy." The surprised on his gaze was way too amusing.

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"Duh!"

"You're an idiot, Fred Weasley."

"Aw but you love it." He wiggled his brows at me and I smacked his chest.

[heliads]

The Only Reason

Y/N L/N is one of the smartest Gryffindors in her year, so of course Fred and George Weasley ask her to help them with a prank. The only problem is that Y/N is beginning to fall for Fred, even though she knows he’s only paying attention to her because of the prank, right?

masterlist

“What do you think about Fred and George Weasley?”

You look up at the sound of your friend’s voice. You and Hermione Granger are sitting out in a leaf-strewn courtyard, bookbags balanced on crumbling stone benches as you attempt to muddle your way through the latest round of essays. You had been working in silence for some time now, or at least until Hermione had asked you this altogether unexpected question.

You frown. “I don’t know. I haven’t given them much thought at all.” Hermione furrows her brow in confusion. “Why not? They’re in your year, aren’t they?” You shrug. “I don’t know everyone my age. Why do you ask?” Hermione shoots you a furtive look, but can’t hide a smile. “Don’t look now, but they keep staring at you from across the courtyard.” 

Slowly, casually, you glance around the courtyard, allowing your gaze to pass unconcernedly over the redheaded twins. Sure enough, their eyes keep flickering from each other to you, back and back again. You look back at Hermione, noticing her gleeful expression. “Did you put them up to this? I haven’t seen you look so excited over something since Lavender Brown tripped and fell in the halls.”

Hermione groans at that. “First of all, that was pretty funny. Second of all, I didn’t make them do anything. I don’t think someone could do that if they tried. They tend to have a mind of their own.” You laugh at that. “You can say that again. All I know about them is their pranks, and those tend to be fairly noticeable. They had this one in my first year, before you got here, where they flooded an entire hallway with nothing but bright orange ink. Stained everything. It was awful.”

Hermione grins. “Their pranks do tend to be fairly interesting, don’t they?” You nod, smiling. You’ve been friends with Hermione ever since she had first come to Hogwarts. You were exactly one year older than her, but you still became fast friends. You had similar interests- namely, studying and trying to know everything under the sun. It was no surprise that the two of you were friends, there was practically no way that you wouldn’t be close. Besides, Hermione said that she first got to know you because you reminded her of an older sibling. It was lonely being an only child, she said, and you were especially nice because you could talk about the whole wizardry thing without a care in the world.

Hermione, however, is still caught up over the issue of the Weasley twins. Suddenly, she stands up. “I’m going to head off down the halls for a couple of minutes. I want to see if they come over here.” You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You’re invested in this, I can tell.” Hermione tilts her head in acknowledgement. “They’re either going to prank you or talk to you. If it’s a prank, I don’t want to be here, and if it’s a conversation, they probably don’t want me here.” Her voice is factual, as if explaining a simple set of directions. You laugh. “I appreciate you planning this out. I’ll be here, waiting for your swift return.”

Hermione takes one last look at the twins before disappearing back into the halls, leaving behind her bags as if she’ll only be gone a moment. You have a feeling that she’s currently looping back through the corridors nearest you, hoping to find a place where she can watch what will happen and listen in on any auspicious conversations. You yourself have no idea what’s about to happen, but it turns out Hermione is proven right as the twins start walking over to you mere seconds after she leaves.

They swoop down, sitting closely on either side of you. You glance up from your parchment. “What do you two want?” The one on your left- George- clicks his tongue. “That isn’t a very nice way to greet people, you know.” You look over at him, unconcerned. “It also isn’t nice to be staring at people for a long time, but you tell me.” Fred, on your other side, flashes you a grin that seems brighter than the sun. “See, we’re already off to a good start. Friends already.”

The two of them lean in closer to you, as if about to impart some deep secret upon you. “We need your help, Y/N.” “For a prank.” “For a very important prank.” You raise your eyebrows. “And why would I want to help you with a prank?” Fred raises a finger to make a point. “A very important prank, actually. You would want to help us because you would get to use all of your incredible knowledge of magic to work on new and exciting spells. It’s a golden opportunity.”

George spreads his hands in front of the three of you like he’s envisioning the future prank. “You’re one of the smartest Gryffindors in our year, that’s common knowledge. With your spells and our natural prank aptitude, we’ll be unstoppable. Besides, it’s only one project. Won’t even take up that much of your time.” You look between the two of them. “Somehow, I’m not feeling very convinced. Appreciate the flattery, though.” Fred frowns. “Why not?” You turn your attention back to your quill. “As much fun as it would be to do your homework and get nothing in return, I’m not feeling it. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to turn it down.”

George rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. It’s just a light spell or two, nothing major. You’ll forget about it by the end of the day.” You stand, sweeping your still incomplete essays into your bag. “Then I suppose you’ll be able to do it yourself, won’t you?” With that, you stride briskly away, ignoring the sounds of the twins’ disappointed voices.

You don’t get far into the halls before someone jogs up behind you. You glance over your shoulder to see who’s following you, but decisively turn back around once you realize it’s Fred. He, however, seems undaunted by this, and matches your pace to walk side by side with you. “I’d like to apologize for upsetting you. We didn’t mean to bother you, we just wanted to see if you’d be interested in the prank.” You shrug. “If you’re hoping that I’ll change my mind just because you’re nice to me, think again. I’m not that desperate for attention.”

Fred laughs, and the sound is surprisingly clear, ringing out like a bell. “I never thought you were. That’s exactly why we asked.” You look at him, feigning distress. “I thought you asked because I was the smartest Gryffindor of our year.” Fred grins. “That too. We can have multiple reasons.” You stop walking, and he stops with you. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know anything about this prank or what it means. There are plenty of other bookish Gryffindors, I’d suggest you ask them.” Fred starts to speak, but you hold up a hand. “The prank will probably work better if you don’t have to keep fighting your textbook. I’ll see you around.” You continue walking down the hallway, and this time, Fred doesn’t follow you. You’re not sure why that makes you feel so alone.

You’re out on a visit to Hogsmeade, snow crunching underneath your boots. It was supposed to be a nice day, with the sun shining down over the crested roofs, but a newly arrived torrential downpour begs to differ. You lost your friend group after the rain started, and now have to face the undesirable task of navigating your way back to Hogwarts in the freezing rain. You’d taken refuge in one of the many shops lining the crooked streets, and now venture outside the door, arms wrapped around you. You’re still sheltered from the rain under a lopsided awning, and you’re just starting to force yourself out into the rain when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You spin around to see Fred standing next to you, a dark umbrella leaned against his shoulder. He gestures up at it. “Never understood my dad’s obsession with muggle things, but I can appreciate this one. Walk back with me? It’s nicer than running through the rain.” You accept his invitation with relief- you don’t much fancy the idea of making the trip back to school in this awful weather.

The two of you begin the walk back, shoulders pressed together as you huddle underneath the stretched black fabric. You shiver slightly against the chill. “If you’re going to all this effort to recruit me for the prank, I think I’d better agree to get you to stop following me.” Fred puts on a mock pout. “I go so far as to offer you my brolly and you call me a stalker? If that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll leave you here instead.” He pretends to shove you out of the welcome shade of the umbrella and you shriek in protest, clinging to his arm.

“That’s cruel. Wickedly cruel. I can’t believe you.” Fred laughs. “Many can’t. I’m terrible.” You mutter under your breath, “You are if you keep pushing me out from under the umbrella,” and Fred grins before reaching his arm around you to pull you closer, away from the offending raindrops. “Oh come on, we’re friends. I would never try it again, I’m worried you’ll hex me.” You sigh in irritation, trying to ignore the hammering of your heart. “I just might, honestly.”

The journey back to school is over faster than you’d like, and you’re almost reluctant to trade the brief spot of refuge under Fred’s umbrella for the broad expanses under the Hogwarts roof. Even after the two of you part ways and you walk through the stone corridors, you can still feel Fred’s arm wrapped around you, holding you close against the bitter cold of the rainfall. You’re not sure why you’re so caught up in that moment. Maybe it just caught you by surprise, you reason. Or maybe you’re beginning to think about a certain Fred Weasley far more than you should.

You don’t think you could go back to studying right now if you tried, so you instead choose to continue your ramblings through the halls, looping around stone passageways until you’re certain you’re going to wear out your shoes. Eventually, you begin the climb back to Gryffindor Tower, but pause by an open door when you hear a pair of familiar voices. Fred and George are in some empty classroom, most likely practicing for that all too important prank. You intend to keep walking by, at least until you realize that they’re talking about you.

George is currently speaking. “You know, for someone who chose Y/N L/N just because she was the smartest in our year, you’re getting awfully close to her. I thought this wasn’t personal.” Fred throws something at his brother. “Ok, I offered her my umbrella. So what? It’s not like I gave Angelina Johnson my scarf at Quidditch practice and told her she could keep it and think of me.” George, however, remains unaffected. “We’re not talking about my relationship with Angelina, we’re talking about you and Y/N. Did anyone ever tell you that this is just for the prank? I mean, I didn’t expect you to fully propose marriage but you seem like you’re days away.”

Fred’s laugh feels like it cuts you to the core. “It’s not like that, George. Like you said, it’s just a prank. What, did you want me to walk past her with an umbrella and leave her to walk through the storm? I’m not a complete git, you know.” George tosses back some joking retort, but you’re too far away from the room to hear it. You’re heading back to the common room, back to the one place where you can find your friends and talk with them and pretend everything is fine. Of course it was just for the prank. What other reason could he possibly have to want to talk to you? Boys like him don’t share their umbrellas, boys like him don’t spend time with you unless it could help them. You would do well to remember that.

You’re coincidentally absent when the twins return to the common room that night, murmuring something about wanting an early night’s sleep to your friends just before they arrive. You lie awake in your bed almost the entire night, eyes trained on the ceiling above you. There’s only one thing you can do now, and that’s to agree to take part in their prank. Maybe once you help them, Fred will finally be done messing with you, and you’ll be left alone. Maybe then you can finally get over him.

You sit down next to them at the long Gryffindor table in the Great Hall that next morning to tell them about your changed decision. It almost hurts to see how excited Fred is that you’ve agreed to help. He looks so sincere that you’d almost believe he was genuinely happy to be working with you. It’s a shame that none of that is true, that he only ever spoke to you because you had a reputation for being particularly smart. It’s a shame that this will hurt you twice as hard when it’s over.

The prank itself is relatively simple, and all you have to do is a few intricate delayed transfiguration spells over the intended objects. Fred and George have assured you that they’ll handle the prank itself and no one will know you were ever involved in it so your sterling reputation will remain pristine as always. Their concern is touching, were it not for the fact that you know the real reason they don’t want anyone to know you were working with them. Why make it seem like the bookish Gryffindor girl is a close friend of the infamous Weasley twins?

At long last, the prank is over. You’ve been putting on the finishing touches alone with Fred, doing your best (and failing) to think of him as nothing but an acquaintance, someone who you’ll have no problems leaving behind after today. When it’s clear that the project is complete, you stand up, brushing dust off of your hands. “Well, that was fun. See you, I guess.” Fred stands up too. “Why does that sound like a permanent goodbye?”

You look back at him, forcing your gaze to remain cool. “We both know how this works. We weren’t friends before you needed my help, I’m assuming that we won’t be friends after this.” Fred shakes his head. “That’s not what I want.” You spread your hands in front of you. “That’s exactly what you want. This whole thing was just for the prank, nothing else. I heard you say it.” Fred’s face falls. “You heard-” His voice trails off. You nod. “Yeah. And it’s fine, I completely understand. Like I said, that’s how it works.”

You have been doing your best to keep your voice level, to keep all emotion off of your face, but it’s growing difficult to remain so unbroken. You feel like your heart is cracking apart with every word you say, so you turn to go. You’ve done what you had to, now he can at least let you go put yourself back together when you’re alone. But he doesn’t- instead, you feel a hand close around your wrist and Fred guides you back to face him once more. “I don’t want that. I know that’s what I said, but I don’t feel like that anymore. Yes, it all started for the prank, but I don’t want to go back to being strangers. I don’t want you to leave again.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Of all the ways you thought this goodbye would end, this was certainly not what you had imagined. Fred searches your face, looking for any possible hint of how you’re feeling. “If you really want to go and never see me again, that’s okay. I was just hoping that you might feel differently.” You stare at him for a second, then nod. “I do. I mean, I didn’t really want to go, I just heard you, and-” Your voice drops away. “I’m used to people leaving. I figured I should get used to one more person.” Fred takes your hand, pulling you close. “I’m not going to leave, Y/N. Promise.”

[causeiwanttoandican]

The Times

Prince William’s close friends on what makes him tick — and why he’s not trapped

March 20 2021, 6:00pm

As the world devours the Harry and Meghan interview, what’s going on with the brother who was left behind? He’s embracing his destiny, William’s close friends tell the Sunday Times royal correspondent, Roya Nikkhah

Next month Prince William will celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary — the day he became a duke and embarked on the most formative decade of his life. Back then, the tentative 28-year-old newlywed was not ready to devote himself entirely to royal duties. A decade on, he is in a very different position.

The job of being the heir to the heir to the throne, of finding a balance between life and duty, is difficult at the best of times. These are not the best of times. In their bombshell interview with Oprah Winfrey this month the Duke and Duchess of Sussex accused the royal family and the institution around it of racism and callous disregard for a suicidal newcomer, among many other damning charges. Harry the spare also declared that William was trapped within “the system … My brother can’t leave that system, but I have.”

In the immediate aftermath of the interview William was “reeling”, a source close to the duke says. “His head is all over the place on it.” Four days after the Sussexes had their say, he hit back during an engagement with the Duchess of Cambridge at a school in east London. Asked about accusations of racism, William retorted with restrained fury: “We’re very much not a racist family.” He also confirmed that he hadn’t spoken to Harry yet, “but will do”. By the weekend it emerged they had “been in contact”.

William is thought to have been less than thrilled a few days later when that conversation made global headlines after the American presenter Gayle King, a close friend of the Sussexes, revealed live on air that it had not been an easy chat: “I did actually call them to see how they were feeling,” she told viewers. “Harry has talked to his brother and he had talked to his father too. The word I was given was that those conversations were not productive.” The intervention prompted a senior royal source to say that “none of the households will be giving a running commentary on private conversations”.

A close friend of both brothers says Harry’s “trapped” comment was “way off the mark”, insisting that William does not see it that way. “He has a path set for him and he’s completely accepting of his role. He is very much his grandmother’s grandson in that respect of duty and service.”

When the Queen turned 90 nearly five years ago William admitted “the challenge” that “occupies a lot of thinking space” is how to “modernise and develop” the royal family, and make it “relevant in the next 20 years’ time”. Twenty years now seems like a very long time. In the hours and days after the Oprah broadcast, William was at the heart of all discussions with the Queen and the Prince of Wales about how to respond to the Sussexes. He was keen that the issue of race should be acknowledged in the Queen’s statement as an area of particular concern that “will be addressed”.

William has always railed against being a “ribbon-cutter royal” and the issues he champions — mental health, battling racism in football, homelessness and his ramped-up eco-warrior role — are a window into where the future King William V will take the House of Windsor. A friend says: “He’s a small-c conservative. He values tradition and the need to go around the country, but he realises he can make a difference beyond traditional royal duties.”

Today royal popularity is, to put it mildly, in a state of flux, but William’s strategy has been working. Post-Oprah, he ranks just below the Queen at the top of a YouGov poll of royals. Not so long ago such a position looked like a long shot, when the “workshy Wills” and “reluctant royal” tags plagued him and he was clocking up fewer days of royal work than his nonagenarian grandparents. Pictures of him hitting the ski slopes and clubs of Swiss resort Verbier in March 2017, missing a Commonwealth service that even the Duke of York flew back for, didn’t help.

After the lasting PR gold dust of the Cambridges’ 2011 wedding and the births of Prince George and Princess Charlotte, it was the first public nosedive for William, who was still working as an air ambulance pilot. “That pissed him off,” a friend says. “He was leaving home at 5.30am, getting home after dark and saving lives in between, but people were still being critical of his commitment to his [other] job.” William was based at Cambridge airport with East Anglian Air Ambulance for two years, where he was on call for “some very sad, dark moments”, often working “on very traumatic jobs involving children”. He later acknowledged that “after I had my own children … the relation between the job and the personal life was what really took me over the edge, and I started feeling things that I have never felt before”. But it was a job he loved, because of “working in a team … that’s something that my other job doesn’t necessarily do. You are more out there on your own.”

A former royal aide says: “Immediately after their wedding he had a very clear idea of the pace at which he wanted to take things.” William was adamant he wouldn’t curtail his day jobs, first as an RAF search and rescue helicopter pilot in Anglesey and then with the air ambulance. “If you’re not careful, duty can weigh you down an awful lot at an early age,” he said, insisting he didn’t “lie awake waiting or hoping” to be king. He delayed full-time royal duties until the autumn of 2017, when, acknowledging the Cambridges’ future required more time at “monarchy HQ”, they moved from Norfolk to London and George started school.

He’d had to fight his corner for the air ambulance role. A source close to William reveals “there were lots of raised eyebrows in the Palace when he wanted to do that. While the Queen and his father backed him, some senior courtiers questioned whether it was becoming of a future king to be doing a middle-class role, hanging out with ordinary people. They thought he wouldn’t stick it out, he’d find it boring, or was doing it out of stubbornness to put off royal duties. He was pretty bloody-minded about it, and determined that other people’s expectations in the media or the system shouldn’t get in the way of his own values.” In the wake of Harry and Meghan’s interview much has been speculated about the extent to which royal life is dictated by Palace officials, but it is clear that William has managed to forge his own path. Who knows how high those senior courtiers’ eyebrows rose in 2019, when William spent three weeks shadowing the spooks of MI5, MI6 and GCHQ to learn how they combat terrorism. He insisted on being called “Will” and lunching in the canteen every day.

Those closest to the duke say his resistance to the idea of full-time royal duties stemmed not only from a desire to achieve something for himself but also from a fear of the impact on his family life. Miguel Head worked alongside the prince for ten years until 2018, as William, Kate and Harry’s communications secretary and later as William’s private secretary. “In his role everyone’s going to tell you you’re marvellous,” Head says. “The RAF and air ambulance jobs were about knowing what his abilities were, what he was good at in his own right. Without that he’d still be hankering for something that was his own.” After children came along he says William developed a “visceral determination to give them a life of consistency and privacy that were missing for large parts of his own childhood”.

Another close aide says the plan enabling the Cambridges to have a few years of “normal” married life, away from the full-time glare of the royal spotlight, paid dividends: “For years, the battles around privacy and paparazzi intrusion were all-consuming. He wanted to know, could we build them a credible plan allowing them a family life while slowly increasing the profile of official life? It took years to get there, but the success of that plan allowed him to be confident and content in his role. He’s not worried about his kids’ privacy any more and he has been able to be the kind of dad he wants to be.”

“Marriage maketh the man,” a friend says. “Catherine’s groundedness has been the critical anchor. And where his relationship with the media was once all fury and frustration, he now understands using the power of modern media, so the public feel they’re getting enough access.”

The children’s birthdays are marked with photographs — often taken by the Duchess of Cambridge — and there has been a noticeable increase in their public appearances of late. While not “officially” staged, William was happy to let George and Charlotte be photographed at their first Aston Villa match with Mum and Dad in 2019. Pandemic set pieces have shown the family clapping for the NHS on the steps of Anmer Hall, their Norfolk home, and, before Christmas, their first red-carpet appearance together for an evening at the panto with key workers and their children.

As they celebrate their anniversary on April 29, friends who joined the Cambridges on their wedding day tell me the partnership’s equal footing is key to its success. “They’ve got a solid relationship and she gives him confidence,” one says. “There is no jealousy, no friction, they are happy for each other’s successes.” In private William talks as passionately about Kate’s work as his own campaigns, and takes pride in her growing confidence on the public stage.

William has said his grandmother’s approach to being head of state is to take “more of a passive role. She’s above politics and is very much away from it.” He doesn’t plan to meddle in party politics, but he was not happy about the unenviable position the government put the Queen in with the 2019 proroguing of parliament, which was later ruled to be unlawful and forced an apology from Boris Johnson to the monarch. Constitutionally the Queen had no alternative other than to act on the advice of her government, but in William’s reign there will be “more private, robust challenging of advice”. His last three private secretaries — Christian Jones, Simon Case, now the cabinet secretary, and Head — had all worked in government departments, helping William to keep his finger on the political pulse. The new incumbent, the Whitehall heavyweight Jean-Christophe Gray, who served as David Cameron’s spokesman, continues in that vein.

The former Conservative leader Lord Hague of Richmond was last year appointed as chairman of the Royal Foundation to develop William’s work on mental health, the environment and a raft of new support programmes for key workers. “People internationally and nationally respect his credibility and knowledge on these issues,” Hague says. “He’s very persuasive. You only see that behind the scenes. He knows what he wants and he goes out to get it.”

Charlie Mayhew, chief executive of the conservation charity Tusk, has known William since he was 20. In 2005 Tusk and Centrepoint, the homelessness charity championed by Princess Diana, were the first patronages William took on. “In those early years I kept having to pinch myself to remember how young he was,” Mayhew says. “He was much more mature than his age and very aware of his destiny coming down the track. He had a sincerity, but never without wicked humour. His teasing is merciless.”

William knows some people see his passion for conservation as a posh man’s part-time hobby, but Mayhew says the duke’s “genuine and huge knowledge” undermines that view. “He’ll call and WhatsApp to flag up something that I haven’t even seen in the conservation space. He can be impatient to get things done.” Last year William launched the Earthshot prize, a £50 million Nobel-style environmental award to galvanise solutions to global problems over the next decade. He believes “conservation and the environment … shouldn’t be a luxury, it’s a necessity”, Mayhew says. “That’s the drum he wants to beat. He’s got a megaphone and wants to use it in the most constructive way. He speaks for that next generation and I think they can relate to it.”

A turning point for William was his 2015 official visit to China, one of the world’s largest consumers of ivory, where he met President Xi and condemned the illegal wildlife trade as a “vicious form of criminality”. Unlike his father, who has refused to visit the People’s Republic over its human rights record and treatment of Tibet, William’s view was that despite the UK’s fractious relationship with China, “we’ve got to engage”.

“It was very political, raising the illegal wildlife trade in China. I’m sure the diplomats were having all sort of nightmares in advance,” says Mayhew, who joined the duke in China. “But he was gathering greater confidence that he had the ability to be a mouthpiece for the issue.” Mayhew reveals that while William was visiting Japan before China, he still hadn’t secured a meeting with Xi. “But when the Chinese saw all the high-level meetings he was having in Japan, they changed their minds and Xi made time for him.” Later that year, as Xi began a UK state visit, William appeared on Chinese television condemning the ivory trade. Two years later China banned the trade.

In 2018 he spent months prepping for his most high-stakes overseas visit yet, to Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories that summer. Navigating the diplomatic tightrope walk between Jerusalem and the West Bank, he visited a Palestinian refugee camp in Ramallah. As he travelled back to Jerusalem, he changed his speech for a reception with young Israelis and Palestinians to strengthen his solidarity with the latter: “My message tonight is that you have not been forgotten … The United Kingdom stands with you.” It was a bold move, but both sides hailed his visit a success and the officials breathed a sigh of relief. To the delight of the travelling press pack, William’s engagements on the final day were brought forward, allowing the diplomat duke and president of the Football Association to land back in the UK in time to watch England’s World Cup tie.

Ask him if he’s a peacemaker and William will laugh, saying Kate is the mediator. But according to a source close to William and Harry, his bridge-building skills were deployed in the lead-up to Harry and Meghan’s wedding in 2018, when tensions in the Kensington Palace household, then still shared by the brothers, were running high: “Every time there was a drama, or a member of staff on the verge of quitting, William would personally try and sort it out.”

As the brothers clashed more over the substance and style of their work, and the family hierarchy that William is a stickler for but Harry is less keen on, a split was inevitable. When they finally divided their households in March 2019, it had been a long time coming. But he never thought that a year later his brother would up sticks for America.

The pair went for a long walk to clear the air after the “Sandringham summit” when the Megxit deal was hammered out, but did not part shores as friends. What upset William the most was Harry and Meghan’s surprise launch of their “Sussex Royal” website before the summit, which featured their blueprint wish list of a part-time, commercial royal future. Later, when the Queen decreed they could no longer use “royal” in their future ventures, their website hit back with this bold statement: “While there is not any jurisdiction by The Monarchy … over the use of the word ‘Royal’ overseas, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex do not intend to use ‘Sussex Royal’ … or … ‘Royal’ …” Both “the content and that it’s still online is staggering”, a senior royal source says. “That was it for William, he felt they’d blindsided the Queen in such an insulting and disrespectful way,” says a source close to him, who reveals it was still at the forefront of William’s mind at the Commonwealth Day service one year ago. It was the Sussexes’ final engagement as working royals, and the froideur between them and the rest of the family was unmistakable.

It is a year since the Sussexes left for California and William misses Harry. “Once he got over the anger of how things happened, he was left with the absence of his brother,” an aide says. “They shared everything about their lives, an office, a foundation, meetings together most days and there was a lot of fun along the way. He’ll miss it for ever.” A close friend says William “definitely feels the pressure now it’s all on him — his future looks different because of his brother’s choices, it’s not easy.” Another friend says: “It’s still raw. He’s very upset by what’s happened, though absolutely intent that he and Harry’s relationship will heal in time.”

After lobbing bombs in his Oprah interview, Harry said: “I love William to bits … We’ve been through hell together … we have a shared experience … The relationship is space at the moment, and time heals all things, hopefully.” Harry would be wise not to set his stopwatch.

The first test will come this summer, when the brothers could be reunited for a series of family engagements including the Duke of Edinburgh’s 100th birthday and the Queen’s birthday parade in June. In July they are scheduled to unveil a statue of their mother at Kensington Palace, marking what would have been Diana’s 60th birthday, an emotionally charged occasion with the world watching.

While a chasm has opened up between the brothers, William has grown closer to the Queen and Prince Charles. He has helped them to navigate their way through Megxit, Prince Andrew’s removal from public life following the Jeffrey Epstein scandal and, now, the Oprah controversy. “That has changed the way the Queen sees him and values his input,” a courtier says. William also feels his relationship with his grandmother has “massively improved” in recent years and their views are “more aligned than ever”.

Friends say there has also been a “renaissance” in William and Charles’s relationship. “As the years passed there were strains imposed by the system — money, work, competition, Diana,” one says. “Part of William’s evolution is that as he has become closer to his father, he sees their similarities. At William’s wedding there was a gag in one of the speeches that he was more like his father than he’d ever admit, which made a lot of us laugh. As their respective destinies get closer, it weighs more heavily on them and strengthens the bond. The rift with Harry has also brought them closer.”

William is said to hate “flummery”, though the role of future king comes with plenty of bowing and scraping. But in 2017, for the first time publicly, he didn’t get his way. As a new parent worried about rising teenage suicide rates, he had spent a year convening a Cyberbullying Taskforce with big cheeses from tech and social media giants including Facebook, Snapchat, Apple, Google and Twitter. He wanted them to adopt industry-wide guidelines creating safer online spaces for children. According to William the meetings at Kensington Palace got “fruity” and the tech giants didn’t come close to the change he wanted. He was furious.

Tessy Ojo, chief executive of the Diana Award youth charity, sat on the taskforce. “He was deeply disappointed,” she says. “He didn’t come into it as ‘the duke’, he gave emotional pleas as a father.” William has since publicly condemned social media giants for their “false choice of profits over values” and privately offered support to the family of Molly Russell, who took her life at 14 after viewing images of self-harm online. Ojo believes it is William’s “lived experience of the fragility of life that guides the work he does”.

It also shapes the way he and Kate are raising their family. William has said he is determined that the grandchildren Diana never knew should “know who she was and that she existed”. He “constantly” talks to his children “about Granny Diana” at bedtime, so that they know “there are two grandmothers in their lives”. Earlier this month on Mother’s Day, Kensington Palace’s social media feeds published George, Charlotte and Louis’s cards paying tribute to “Granny Diana”, revealing it is an annual ritual for the Cambridge children. After a difficult few weeks for William, a line in Charlotte’s card provided poignant insight into how he is feeling: “Papa is missing you.”

He is on course to be a more modern monarch than any before him, but William is still a creature of habit at heart. He has the same tight circle of friends from his schooldays, one of whom says that, with William, “it’s all about trust and loyalty”. He plays five-a-side football in his Villa socks when he can, goes to the Chelsea Harbour Club gym he went to as a child with his mother and has a “smart casual” public uniform of chinos, jacket, blue shirt and no tie.

“William’s not trying to be down with the kids,” a friend says. “He never wants to be painted as irrelevant or dull, though he’s allergic to being compared to celebrities. The public doesn’t always get to see his funny side, but otherwise he’s the same in private as in public. He once said, ‘I’ll be in the public eye all my life. I can’t hide who I am because I’ll be found out.’ ”

In 2019, during a visit to a youth homelessness charity supporting LGBT people, William was asked how he would feel if one of his children was gay. “Absolutely fine,” he replied. “I fully support whatever decision they make, but it does worry me from a parent’s point of view how many barriers, hateful words, persecution and discrimination might come.” Such a personal exchange was a radical departure from royal engagement small talk. But William, the first in his family to be photographed for the cover of a gay magazine, had personally put the issue on the agenda.

As president of Bafta he gave the academy a diplomatic dressing down in his speech at last year’s ceremony, expressing his “frustration” over the lack of diversity: “In 2020, and not for the first time in the last few years, we find ourselves talking again about the need to do more to ensure diversity in the sector and in the awards process — that simply cannot be right in this day and age.” The 2021 nominees announced this month suggest his words hit home.

William “thinks the public look to him to keep royal work looking modern”, a confidante says. “The Queen and Prince of Wales are providing continuity and stability. He’s carving out his own relationship with diverse communities. He sees it all as a way of doing things now that will help a smooth transition when the time comes.”

Since the start of the coronavirus pandemic, as a former frontline worker himself, William has led the royal charge supporting key workers. “Now, more than ever, he knows what his role in public life is, and he sees the value in it,” a close aide says. Chatting to NHS workers in January, William said: “Something that I noticed from my brief spell flying the air ambulance … is that when you see so much death and so much bereavement, it does impact how you see the world … as a … darker, blacker place.” Soon after the first lockdown was announced, the Cambridges’ Royal Foundation launched Our Frontline, a round-the-clock mental health and bereavement service for key workers.

Miguel Head says the future King William will continue to campaign on his big issues: “I can’t see him backing away from causes he’s passionate about. And while he’s not someone who loves ceremony, he knows the importance of it. When he gets the top job he won’t do away with it all. He’s mindful the monarchy represents something timeless that’s above all of us, and many people like the magic and theatre of it.”

Roya Nikkhah

Roya is royal correspondent at The Sunday Times. Over more than a decade she has covered royal events for the BBC, interviewed the Prince of Wales and Prince Harry and presented the films Prince William, Monarch in the Making and Meghan and Harry: The Baby Years.

[babemendesbarnes]

A two way deal | one shot

Paring: Bucky x DemonFem!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Bucky is tired. He hasn’t gotten a single good night of sleep in decades, and he’s done with the nightmares. Hearing about a certain woman who makes deals that could get him what he needed sounds like a miracle. Only when Bucky does find her, it’s no miracle, and she’s no saint.

Warnings: 18+ only, SMUT, talk of religious subjects (devil, hell...)

A/N: This is inspired by the character Maze in the show Lucifer, I absolutely love her arc. This is initially a one shot, but I liked it so much I might write another part. Also my first smut. Tell me what you think!

The club lights flashed red and you downed your vodka shot, body getting warmer by the second. Excitement ran through your veins as the familiar feeling clouded your thoughts.

Something was different though.

Everything was so much stronger this time. The feeling so powerful you were forced to close your eyes, the fake human color being replaced by their true shade of black. 

You could feel his memories, almost taste how they haunted him.

The second he sat on the table across from you, everything slowed down. The music beat got sexier, tempting, as the air got thicker. His piercing blue eyes examined you from head to toe, searching for threats in your tight leather pants and black corset. 

You could see the disappointment in the brunette woman sitting with her legs on top of yours as she realized you would be busy. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, you whispered that you would find her later, gently patting her legs for her to leave.

Bucky didn’t stop staring at you for even a second.

"Didn’t take you for a club kind of man, Mr. Barnes."

If the super-soldier was surprised you knew who he was, he didn’t show it, his eyes still fixed on yours as you took him in.

He wasn’t dressed properly for the club, his dark jeans, black shirt, and leather jacket standing out from all the expensive suits you saw all night. And yet, the man looked better than anything you had ever laid your eyes on. 

The contrast of his apparent demeanor to the things you saw in his head was admirable. The former Soldat knew how to show just what he wanted to, his face not giving in the demons dancing on his mind.

His hands tucked in his pockets, you ponder if he’s still afraid of his own body.

Wakanda might have given him a new vibranium arm, yet you wonder if he still sees blood whenever he looks at it. 

"I heard you make deals."

Bucky seemed reluctant to speak at first, although his voice was still steady.

He didn’t want to be here, but to be honest, none of your clients ever did, so you were pretty used to this. The only reason they come to you is that they’re always just way too desperate, just like he is.

"You heard right, Mr. Barnes." you crossed your legs slowly as you called for the waiter to bring you a martini. "And a whiskey for the gentleman, please."

"I’m not drinking." you waved the waiter off, ignoring completely what Bucky had just said.

Surprising you was difficult. You’ve lived long enough to see just about everything, and well, you were created in the pits of hell, so there were not that many things that could amaze you. And yet, there was so much about the man in front of you that just picked your curiosity.

The brave Sergeant Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando that gave his life for his country. The infamous Winter Soldier, tortured and manipulated, stripped of his humanity. And now? A fucked up super-soldier with no family, no friends, and a man out of his time.

That’s something not even a demon sees every day.

The drinks were set on the table and you pushed his whiskey to him, watching him through your lashes, a smile planted on your lips as he took a big gulp. The tip of your red bottoms slightly brushing against his leg.

"Tell me, Mr. Barnes, " your body fell slightly forward, your tongue wetted your red-painted lips as his gaze followed every move. "what is it that you desire?" 

Bucky felt lightheaded.

The sound of your voice dripped with something he couldn’t recognize, and yet, so desperately craved. He suddenly couldn’t form words.

"I need..." Bucky felt nervous, "I can’t..." his mind going against his commands and his eyes focused on the contour of your lips, how soft your skin would be upon his touch. So lost in thought he forgot he should probably finish his sentence. 

You saw right through him though.

"You want them gone. Don’t you?" the world seemed to fade around your form. Your head tilted to the side as you so sweetly said the exact words he needed to hear. "You want the demons to go away."

Bucky never thought he could feel this again, to feel... understanding. And it only took a demon to do so. 

Rounding the big red seat and dragging your body closer to Bucky, your lips brushed against his ear. 

"You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?" His body stiffening as your nails traced his flesh arm. 

"I have." his words were a little bit harsher this time. Your eyes locked and your hand touched his chest, the sound of his heart beating faster, almost as loud as the music.

"Let me take care of you, James." your voice just above a whisper, his fate settled as he silently consented.

You got up and signaled for him to follow. 

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice, his body aching to be close to yours again.

This was not something he should feel. The priest of the small Brooklyn church he went to every Sunday morning used to lecture about how the Devil and his demons could lurk you in, bringing you to their sins just to drag you to hell. 

But it was Bucky who came looking for the wicked, all you did was welcome his desires with open arms.

You two walked into an elevator, and you instantly felt his stare on you.

The last bit of sanity in the 106 years old man screamed at him, begging him to run. Demons were not givers, whatever they gave, came with a cost, and for someone like him, owning a favor was not a possible option.

"What’s the price?" His hands began to sweat, your answer being able to end the last ounce of hope Bucky had.

The metal doors reopened, revealing a breathtaking penthouse. "Don’t worry about it, I have no interest on bring the Soldat back, Mr. Barnes."

That was all it took for him to finally exhale the breath he didn't even notice he was holding. 

Maybe stricking a deal with a demon could end well. Okay, probably not, but still. How the fuck did he even end up here anyway? 

Well, too late to back out now.

Bucky looked around, the Los Angeles skyline visible through the giant glass walls, a bar filled with alcohol he had never even seen before, and a large grey couch next to a bookcase filled with books from probably before he was even born.

You grabbed two glasses and poured a black licor on them. Opening a glass door, Bucky followed you as your arms leaned against the balcony’s railing, giving him his drink as you watched the city.

"What is this?" he reflected your stance. The usually loud noises of the big city down below now quiet, you're breathing the only sound he could hear.

"Something special." His suspicious gaze made you laugh, the sound alone being able to wash Bucky’s distress away. "Don't worry, tastes like wine."

You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, the soft Autumn breeze hitting your hair, the soft strands dancing in the air, hitting Bucky’s face a couple of times. 

"Can I look?" your voice broke over the silence and Bucky didn’t need to ask what you were talking about. 

"Haven’t you already?" you chuckled and a smirk played on your lips. "A little bit. Just the things I already knew. But for this... I have to see everything."

You knew what Hydra had done to the man. Although, by the few things you noticed about Bucky, you were pretty sure the torture inflicted upon him was not the biggest issue here.

"I would say going inside my mind is like walking through hell, but I’m guessing that’s not a problem for you."

Leading him to sit on the couch, Bucky noticed how you seemed to avoid answering the comment. 

Everything about you confused Bucky so much, and every damn word you said just filled him with more questions.

"Sit." 

You sat next to him, the tips of your fingers slowly touching the side of his head. If he noticed you wondered around his mind earlier without touching him, he didn’t complain about you doing it differently this time.

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat as images started to flood his head.

Both your chest’s rising and falling fast, his anxiety at watching his memories traveling to you.

A small Brooklyn apartment. George, Winifred, Rebecca. Dark alleys. Steve. World War II. 107th. Europe. Hydra. Captain America. Howling Commandos. Fall. Hydra. Pain. Erase. Cryo. Isaiah. President. Cryo. Stark. Gun. Cryo. Erase. Red Room. Blood. Cryo. Fury. Bucky?. Steve?. Erase. Lake. Steve. Zemo. King. Winter Soldier. Siberia. Stark. Sam. Wakanda. White Wolf. Thanos. Shield. Walker. Karli. Sam. Captain America.

Bucky’s hands are shaking against the couch. 

As you open your eyes, you see his tear-stained cheeks, and only when his long fingers gently wipe your face, you realize yours were too.

It never felt this personal, to look into someone’s head. You just took what you needed and that was it. Not this time thought. An urge to give the man any possible comfort made you get up in a rush and almost fly to get a refill.

Bucky starts to calm down and when his eyes follow you, he finally sees a black shining piano in the corner of the room that weirdly seemed to call out to him.

"You play?" your voice took him out of his thoughts. He left the couch and took a few steps towards you, who was now leaning on the instrument.

"My ma taught me before the war." you smiled softly and told him to go ahead. "Oh, no. I probably don’t even know how to anymore." he all of a sudden felt shy under your gaze.

You walked slowly to him, taking his vibranium hand in such a natural way, Bucky wondered how you had never done that before. 

Taking him to the piano, you both sat down, sharing the small seat.

"This is not something you forget," leading his hand to the keyboard, you placed your fingers on top of his, pushing the keys down, and shortly, a soft jazz melody echoed in the room as your skilled hands moved in sync. "there are some things no one can take from you, James, not even time."

As both your hands kept making music, your eyes locked and Bucky forgot all about the definitions he heard all his life about the divine and the profane. 

Your smile felt like heaven, only your lips were sin.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, his eyes asking for permission you happily granted, your lips meeting as you pulled him to you.

The kiss was eager, your lips moving fast as you didn’t waste a second to open your mouth and welcome Bucky’s tongue. 

You climbed his lap, your hands running through his short locks as he kissed along your neck.

Lust almost felt like a drug. You were sure you were addicted. 

Between gasps and shivers, you fell to your knees and heard him take a shaky breath. Placing your hands on his face, you pulled Bucky down to look you in the eyes.

"When was the last time someone made you feel good, James?" Bucky gasped as your delicate fingers slowly undid his belt, your voice sweet like honey. "Answer me, baby."

"I... I can’t even remember it." 

You chuckled lightly, pushing his jeans down, your nails trailing along his strong thighs, wet kisses following the path of the fading red lines. "Let me make you feel good, James."

Your light touches and lust dripping voice made Bucky feel like he could come undone by this alone, his hands holding tightly onto the piano bench.

Your tongue traced the trimmed hairs on his abdomen, your own personal path to paradise, disappearing into his black boxers.  You pulled at his shirt, ripping and throwing it somewhere in the room.

"What do you want, James? Tell me." you pulled his boxers down, Bucky quietly moaned as his cock sprung free.

Your mouth salivated at the sight of Bucky’s hard cock, his impressive length making your walls clench around nothing, panties ruined at the thought of him inside you.

"Your mouth. Please, Y/N, I need your mouth." The desperation in James's voice only made you want to pleasure him even more, eager to hear his sweet sounds.

Your hands pumped him before your tongue traced the vein running along the side of his cock. You licked him top to bottom a few times, his pleas finally attended as you swirled your tongue over his tip, relaxing your jaw and taking him in your mouth. Each time going further down his length, you hollowed your cheeks, a raspy moan he let out going straight to your core.

"Fuck, doll." Bucky wrapped his hands on your hair, pushing you further down his dick, saliva dripping down his balls. "You look so fucking good with your mouth wrapped around my cock."

His sudden vocality only spurred you, moaning when his tip reached the back of your throat.

"That’s it doll. Come on, take everything." 

Bucky’s head fell back as you choked on him, his grip moving your head to take him faster, a familiar feeling of pleasure he missed so much clouding all his senses.

"Shit... I’m not gonna last long, doll." you took your lips off of him just for a second. 

With puffy, red, and wet lips, you glanced at him with lazy eyes, the sight alone bringing him closer to falling apart. "Come for me, Bucky."

Your lips wrapped around his dick again, and with two more hard thrusts, Bucky came with a groan. You swallowed every drop he gave you.

"Holy fuck." he swore as his breathing calmed down and you gave him a mischievous smile.

"Not exactly holy, Sargeant." you both chuckled and it didn’t go unnoticed by you the twist on his face at the use of his old title.

Bucky kicked off his jeans and picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your back hit a wall as he kissed your neck, biting and sucking on the soft skin. 

You moaned when he found a sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone, his mouth leaving red marks behind. You jumped out of his embrace and led him to your bed, throwing him into the mattress.

His stare never left your body. At every piece of clothing you removed, the blue in his eyes seemed to disappear even more, his pupils so blown out it reminded you of your own.

"You have been bad, Sargeant." 

You crawled into the bed, taking your time on getting on top of him. The feeling of your hot, wet core against his skin made Bucky’s cock impossibly harder. Your hand pulled at his hair, forcing him to look at you, a raspy moan escaping Bucky’s lips. "You like being bad, James?"

"No." his answer made you chuckle.

"No?" your lips kissed his jawline, licking every piece of skin you found, your teeth biting his earlobe. "But look at you, Sargeant, falling apart on my hands."

Your hands rested against his chest as you bent forward, guiding his cock into your core.

"Fuck." you both moaned as his tip slowly entered you.

Bucky’s hands had a tight bruising hold on your hips, he slowly helped you sink down his length.  You didn’t wait before moving your hips back and forth, loving the pain of being stretched out by him.

"Shit, you feel so good around me, doll."

Bucky pulled you to him, his mouth catching one of your breasts, biting and kissing your nipple, his hand caressing the other as you bounced on his cock.

You tugged harder on his brown locks as he started to thrust up, fucking you harder. You nearly screamed his name when he found that special place inside you, hitting it with every thrust of his hips. 

"You’re so fucking tight." Bucky let out a groan as your pussy squeezed the shit out of him.

Everything was way too much. You felt dizzy as you met his hard, frenetic thrusts. His cold vibranium fingers found your clit, drawing fast circles, bringing you even closer to the edge. 

"Bucky! Fuck, I’m gonna..."

You pushed his body down, your hands grabbing his throat and giving it just a little bit of pressure, his eyes rolling back, and his deep moans getting louder.

Your veins turned to fire, your whole body shaking as you felt the waves of euphoria taking over. You threw your head back, tears falling as the strong orgasm hit you, your eyes turning into their natural black as you stared at the ceiling.

"Come here, doll." he tried pulling you to him, but you just pushed him further down. 

Bucky pushed himself up, pulling you by your neck, his hands forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched as his hands held your cheeks with a tenderness you had never known, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss. Your mind was spinning at the sudden change.

Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky´s beautiful blue eyes stared at your empty ones like they held the keys to Eden. 

"You’re not scared of me?" the confused, bitter tone on your voice made Bucky’s heart break in two, cause he recognized that. He heard it in his own voice every damn day. 

"Are you, of me?" a tear fell down your cheek, his thump gently brushing it away. You knew every part of him, so the quiet 'no' you whispered made Bucky’s smile grow. "There you go, sweetheart."

For some reason, after that, everything seemed to change. Bucky turned you both around, your back hitting the mattress as he slowly pulled out, just to fill you up completely again.

His thrusts became harder and faster as he chased his own orgasm, driving you into your second one, but somehow, it felt more caring, personal.

Your nails scratched his back, leaving red angry lines behind, a reminder you would leave on him of this night. 

Your legs hugged Bucky’s form, urging him to hit deeper inside of you, if that was even possible. His vibranium digits finding your clit again.

"One more, doll." his hands brushed the hairs out of your face, his eyes filled with unfamiliar adoration. "Come for me." 

He kissed you gently as you felt his dick ripping you apart, ruining you just the way you liked.

You came again, milking his cock and triggering his own orgasm. 

"Fuck, Y/N!" Bucky came hard, chanting your name as his cum shot deep inside you.

After you both felt like you could breathe again, Bucky slowly slipped out and fell next to you on the bed.

His eyes had already started to close, his chest falling and rising evenly as he searched for your body, pulling you close to him.

You both fell asleep and for the first time in decades, Bucky’s demons didn’t haunt him in his dreams.

The sun was rising and you had been awake for a long time, your mind racing as the events of just a few hours ago played in your head.

Demons weren’t born. They were forged in hell. 

You were made with one purpose only, to serve Lucifer and torture the souls that lost themselves into perdition. The lack of your own soul was never a problem as you spent your days in the pits of hell. But now? Joining Lucifer on Earth showed you just how much you couldn’t have.

Bucky reminded you of what you couldn’t have.

As the man woke up, he felt an unusual sense of cold enveloping him, and that’s when he noticed your body was no longer pressed against his.

Opening his eyes, he noticed a small note resting on top of the pillow you had laid in, all night long, as he held you in his arms.

I’m not one to break a deal, your nightmares were gone for this night just like they always will be from now on. 

Don’t worry about your part of the deal, you’ve paid me already.

And before you get any ideas, I’m not a name on your make amends list, you can’t help me, Mr. Barnes. Do not come looking for me again.

Sweet dreams, James.

[weasleylangs]

bunny rabbits & a clover patch - g.w

Pairing: George x Fem!Reader Summary: All the times Y/N and George spent their days in the clover patch next to her house. Warnings: Minor character death (Y/N’s mother, it’s in the second paragraph), I guess a mention of the war but it’s like one or two lines  and it’s super brief like blink and you’ll miss it. Word Count: 4.8k 

A/N: A huge thank you to @whiz-bangs78​ who sent me this ask for a made up title game that inspired his entire fic (although I changed the title a smidge)! Requests are open and constructive criticism is always appreciated! This is my new baby, my most favourite thing I’ve ever written so please be nice

Please let me know if you’re interested in being added to a tag list!

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

Y/N is five years old when she moves from the bustling city of Bristol to the quaint, little magical village of Ottery St. Catchpole. She’s just now starting to get her magic, little spurts here and there. Recently she dropped a ball down the stairs of the townhouse she and her dad live in and she somehow levitated it for two seconds before it slammed into a mirror and broke it.

Y/N’s dad is a muggle, her mother was a witch and unfortunately passed shortly after she was born. Being a single dad is hard, and being the single dad to a witch when you’re a muggle is even harder, so her dad did the only logical thing he could think of.

He knew his late wife dreamed of raising Y/N surrounded by magic, to give her the childhood she never had. Y/N’s mother was an extremely gifted muggle-born witch and she wanted nothing more than to raise her children with magic in tow. So when Y/N started to exhibit magical symptoms, he reached out to some of his late wife’s friends to find the best magical village in England. If it was magic she wanted, it was magic she was going to get.

That’s how he ends up here, in a tiny cottage for two on the outskirts of the village. 

He looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. It’s the address of the ‘nicest wizarding family you will ever meet’ and it turns out it’s the house on the plot of land next to his own. Scrawled in messy handwriting is the name Arthur and Molly Weasley.

He’d gotten the note from a friend, someone who works at the ministry with Arthur. He can’t provide a magical childhood for his daughter, but he hopes the lovely family that resides next to him in Ottery St. Catchpole can.

They’ve only just moved in when there’s a knock at the door. Y/N screams in excitement as her dad opens the door and she’s met with a pudgy looking woman with fiery red hair and two identically looking boys next to her. One of the boys is missing his two front teeth in the bottom row, grinning widely and the other boy is clinging to his mother’s leg, clearly more cautious than his exuberant sibling.

Y/N immediately decides they’re going to be her best friends. Even if boys have cooties and are sometimes gross. 

“I’m Y/N!” she exclaims loudly, much to the dismay of her father who reminds her to use her inside voice. This makes her pout unhappily and in turn, makes the boy clinging to his mother’s leg smile.

“I’m George!” He replies, equally loud in fashion hoping to cheer the girl up. This was not George’s best idea, however, as it then causes the missing-toothed child to declare himself as Fred so loud, Molly and Y/N’s father sends them outside. 

They sit themselves down on the clover patch to the right of the house and start getting to know each other. Y/N learns there're five other Weasley siblings, their youngest being their only sister named Ginny, she's a mere two years old and their oldest is William, who they both affectionately call Billy, and Y/N learns he's almost thirteen.

“Wow,” Y/N says, suddenly feeling extremely jealous. She’s an only child and while she’s only five, she has a child’s intuition that her dad isn’t ready to meet someone and bring more siblings into her life. “I’m jealous. I wish I had brothers and sisters.”

Fred puffs up his chest and grins, “We’ll be your brothers!” The grin on his face is 100% sincere and he looks so happy to gain another sister. 

“Really?” Y/N questions looking at George for approval. “Of course. Are we best friends now?” He questions and Y/N eagerly nods her head.

The three of them spend their time playing tag or showing each other their ‘accidental magic’. Molly at one point calls out the window at the twins telling them they know better than to encourage underage magic but when George winks at Y/N as he somehow manages to turn her hair blue for two seconds it’s clear he doesn’t care about his mother’s warning.

“It’s okay,” he starts when he sees the look of fear rise in Y/N’s eyes, “we’re only five. If someone comes they’ll just see three magical kids and leave.” 

Soon enough, Molly is muttering apologies about staying so late and trying to round up the boys to go back to their own home. Fred ends up in a tree, saying he wants to stay and poking his tongue out at his mother. 

George however, is timidly looking at the clover patch they were all sitting in and plucks one, handing it to Y/N. When she examines it, she notices it’s almost a four-leaf clover, the stem is there if you look close enough, but the leaf itself is missing. “Almost luck, for you!” 

He runs away at that, looking almost borderline shy and when Fred chases him all the way home, Y/N is convinced these boys will be her friends for life. 

-

They’re eight now, and it’s a regular occurrence for Y/N and the twins to be seen together. Their parents have started referring to them as the ‘mischief trio’ because whenever the three of them are together, no one can turn their back for a second without something happening.

Y/N’s currently at The Burrow, convincing the twins to come to see her new pet bunny rabbits. Fred is reluctant, wanting to stay and play on his toy broom and trying to convince George he wants to do the same.

Fred, as usual, has an evil plan that involves the beater’s bat in their quidditch kit and Percy’s head after he told their mum that Fred was trying to fly Charlie’s broom yesterday. This resulted in Fred getting no dessert after dinner and the eight-year-old boy wants revenge.

“I don’t know, Freddie,” George starts, looking at the small girl to his left. They might only be children, but the twins are already growing taller and Y/N can barely keep up anymore, “I kind of want to meet the bunnies.” 

“Come on, Georgie! Percy’s a prat and we need to get him back!” Fred dramatically exclaims as he flops his body onto the couch in the living room. As usual, it’s we, Y/N is always roped into the twins’ plans, and while she usually doesn’t mind, today isn’t the day for it. Fred never really knows when it’s time to be quiet, always wanting to be on the go and this pops an idea into Y/N’s head.

“Daddy got cows recently,” she begins and she notices how that immediately grabs Fred’s attention. He loves cows, whenever he’s in the car with Y/N and her father he points them out every time they see one, “you sure you don’t want to come to meet them?” 

Fred is out the door quicker than you can say pranks, running towards the fence that divides their two properties. Y/N and George have to stop and tell Molly where they’re going because Fred left so hastily, that he didn’t even tell anyone before. After Molly sighs and gives them permission that the twins don't really care if they get, George grabs Y/N’s hand and runs out the door after his brother.

When they finally catch up to him, Fred's face is bright red from exertion, almost matching his hair and his eyes are bright and wide. Y/N’s dad only got two cows at first, testing the waters with how he’d feel looking after them but Fred is in absolute awe. 

George pushes him over the fence as he’s laughing, telling him to hurry up so they can get out of the blasting summer sun. George and Y/N slowly make their way back over to the clover patch and Fred stays near the cows. He’s watching them shyly and Y/N thinks this is the only time he’s ever seen him calm and quiet- not wanting to scare the cows. 

“This is Ruby,” Y/N says as she places the small, white rabbit on George’s lap. He looks nervous like he’s worried about dropping or squeezing the bunny rabbit too hard but when he settles, the bunny is content sitting in his lap.

“This is Cutiepie, I named him!” Y/N says proudly about the black bunny rabbit in her hands, “he’s my best friend.” 

George looks up at Y/N at that and before he can say anything, Y/N is giggling, “Don’t look so worried, Georgie. You’ll always be my number one...” she pauses for a moment, and looks between Fred and the bunny rabbit in her hand before giggling, “just don’t tell Freddie.”  

The two of them sit in comfortable silence, admiring the two bunnies as they eventually clamper down their laps and start hopping around. George is mesmerised- the only pets he’s ever had have been the chickens, an owl and the gnomes if you count them and he hopes Y/N will have him over every day to play with the bunnies. And hang out with her of course. 

“Why did you want to come to hang out with the bunnies?” Y/N soon questions, curious as to why George chose the calmness over chaos. They both look over at Fred, who’s now bent at the knees looking like he’s going to run at a cow.

“I don’t know,” George shrugs, he didn’t know why he wanted to spend time sitting in one spot instead of pranking his older brother with Fred, “Bunnies are cool, I’ve never met a bunny before.”

Y/N hums in agreement, she thinks bunnies are the coolest pets someone could have and she’s glad George agrees. If George didn’t like bunnies, she thinks she’d have to demote him to number two best friend and while she loves Fred, she doesn’t want to do that.

- 

It’s the day the three of them have been waiting for as long as they can remember. They’re on Platform 9 ¾, trying to get away from their parents and onto the train.

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetie,” her dad says, and Y/N thinks she might cry. She’s never been far away from her dad for long periods of time. The longest she’s ever been away from him was two days and even then, she was just at The Burrow.

But now she’s leaving for school and it’s all the way in Scotland, which to an 11-year-old moving away for magical boarding school, is forever away from her family. Tears well up in her eyes and her dad pulls her into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says pulling away and wiping the tears that have fallen from his daughter’s eyes, “your mother would be proud too. Now remember, stick with Percy and Charlie, Molly told me they’ll look after you.” Bill had graduated earlier in the year, leaving the 2nd and 3rd oldest Weasley brothers to mentor ‘mischief trio’ as they navigated Hogwarts. 

“Please make sure the twins don’t get into too much trouble,” Molly says, pulling the small girl into a hug, but she knows it’s useless. Where Fred and George go, Y/N goes too and detention is included. 

They eventually make it onto the train, Y/N noticing the tears in her dad’s eyes as he waves to her. They look around for a few moments, trying to find an empty compartment. 

They eventually find one with just one boy in it who looks around their age. He’s got dreadlocks in his hair and he already looks bored. When he notices the doors open, he smiles widely and ushers the three of them to come sit with him.

“I’m Lee,” he introduces himself and after the introductions are done they find out he’s also in their year and convinced he’s going to be in Gryffindor.

“Us too!” The twins shout at the same time. Their entire family are in Gryffindor and while the Weasley’s are by no means a strict wizarding family, the twins would feel quite odd if they weren’t sorted into Gryffindor.

Y/N however, did not know what house she’d be sorted into. Her mother had been in Ravenclaw but she didn’t believe she had any of the Ravenclaw attributes. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice George shuffling closer to her and tapping her gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Y/N nods her head, contemplating if she should express her worry to George. She knows it’s silly, but now she’s starting to get a bit worked up. Worried that after all these years, her and George will drift apart, especially if they’re in different houses and definitely if she’s in Slytherin. “Just worried. What if… What if we drift apart, Georgie?” she whispers.

George hates to admit he’s had the same worry and the look on Y/N’s face tells George this is the first time she’s even considered this and it’s killing him. He’s grown quite affectionate for Y/N over their six years of friendship. Molly and Y/N’s dad have jokingly asked when’s the wedding numerous times and while they both yell about cooties, George’s face gets the tiniest bit red every single time the joke is mentioned. 

“I promise we won’t. Remember what I said the day we became friends? Best friends, and best friends are a forever kind of thing,” he promises, holding out his pinky for Y/N to wrap her own around and they stamp each other’s thumb with their own. Their way of promising each other. 

“Remember, if you break the promise, Georgie, your thumb breaks,” she says with full sincerity and George remembers the one time he gave her this exact threat. She had cried for 20 minutes thinking that she’d accidentally made an Unbreakable Vow over getting ice-cream with him at Diagon Alley and poor nine-year-old George was forced into comforting Y/N and apologised profusely.

Fred and Lee are talking animatedly about quidditch (Fred can’t wait to be a beater and while Lee isn’t big on sports, he thinks he’d be a great commentator) when Y/N spots George rifling through his bag. 

He pulls out a photograph and smiles as he looks down at it. It’s the last picture they took together before summer ended. Y/N’s dad took it on his muggle camera so it’s not moving, but George doesn’t mind. They’re smiling widely, bigger than they’ve ever smiled before and holding their wands they just got at Diagon Alley. They, of course, are standing in their clover patch, Y/N trying to hold the black bunny rabbit and wand at the same time and her dad clicked the capture button just as Cutiepie tried to jump out of Y/N’s arms. 

It makes him laugh every time he looks at it, but seeing the worry still in Y/N’s brow, he thinks she needs the photo more than he does. “Here,” he says, nudging her briefly and handing her the photo. “When you’re worried we’re drifting, look at this and remember you’re stuck with me forever.”

Y/N’s eyes well with tears, this is the sweetest gesture anyone has ever done for her. “Thanks, Georgie. You’re stuck with me as well,” she says, tucking the picture into her robe pocket that rests over her heart.

- 

Summer of ‘92 arrives fast and once again, Y/N spends most of her time at The Burrow causing mayhem. Today, her dad’s at work and while he 100% trusts his daughter to be home alone, he does not trust her best friends, so she waltzes over to The Burrow, walking in like she’s lived there her whole life, kisses Molly hello on the cheek and runs around, trying to find her boys. 

It’s scorching, way too hot for summer in Devon and all the Weasley siblings who still live at home have decided to go swimming in the pond. They started playing Marco Polo until Fred started cheating by running outside of the pond so he wouldn’t get caught and then tried to play Chicken fight until Ginny fell off of George’s shoulders and almost hit her head. 

Now, everyone’s calmed down and just relaxing. George and Y/N are cuddled up and floating around and it’s making her heart race. In the last year, her feelings for George have developed from platonic to romantic and being this close to him, while not unusual, is making her heart race. But it doesn’t last long, and soon enough Fred splashes them to get their attention.

“I’m tired and I need a nap, I’m going inside,” Fred says, eyeing his best friends. He’s had the assumption that something is going on with them for a while, and while he’d love to meddle, this is George and Y/N and there’s an unspoken rule between the three of them that involves not messing with each other.

So George and Y/N decide to get out of the pond and make their way over to Y/N’s house. They sit themselves down in their clover patch and quickly get the bunnies out. It’s a tradition at this point, and this is their spot. This is the place they tell each other everything, almost everything in Y/N’s case and the place nothing else matters but each other.

Cutiepie and Ruby are getting older now, but they’ve had babies and now there’s plenty of bunnies surrounding the pair of friends. George picks one of the babies up and nurses it, having gotten over his fear of squishing them long ago. He pulls faces at them that cause Y/N to laugh and George loves it.

He loves making her laugh.

“How weird is it that we had You-Know-Who on the back of Quirrell's head, teaching us all year?” George says. They both heard the stories first hand from Harry, Ron and Hermione. The school year they just finished being ridiculous for the three first years, but Y/N can’t help the anxious bubble forming in her throat.

“I’m scared, Georgie,” she says, turning to face him and the fear in her eyes is obvious, “We’re only young but whatever’s happening seems like it’s going to be happening fast now Harry’s at school.” She sniffles, and George thinks he’s put his foot in his mouth. So he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He shuffles closer to Y/N and wraps his arms around her, difficult because of the two bunnies in their laps but he makes it work. “I’m always going to protect you, don’t worry,” he says confidently. He doesn’t know how or when he’d need to protect her, but she must know just how much she means to him.

They sit in silence, just listening to each other breathing and patting the bunnies in their lap. The silence between them is always comfortable, nine years of friendship does that to you. But George is itching to ask something, ask something that could change everything. He’s noticed, recently, that while himself and Fred are at quidditch practice, Y/N and Lee are getting closer. 

Sometimes, when Oliver sets quidditch practice on the weekends, Y/N and Lee go to Hogsmeade together and George wonders why he has an icky feeling in his stomach when he hears about their days when that happens. 

“Can I ask you something?” George asks and there’s no backing out now. He has no plans to confess, not at age 14 when he doesn’t think he needs a relationship, but he needs to know or he might, as Fred would say dramatically, die. When Y/N hums in agreement and turns to remove herself from his arms, his heart starts beating faster and before he can even stop himself, he’s blurting out the question-

“Are you dating Lee?” 

Y/N stares at him in shock, not entirely convinced he hasn’t picked up her feelings for him and then she laughs. She laughs hard. And George is so confused that he starts laughing as well.

“Me and Lee?” She questions between giggles, “There’s no way, he’s like,” she laughs again at the thought of her and Lee dating, “he’s like in love with Angelina. It’s ridiculous.” 

George realises how dumb he sounds. Lee’s feelings for Angelina have been so obvious, especially when he decides to comment on how good-looking she is during matches now that he’s the quidditch commentator. But George always thought he was joking and from his perspective, it always seemed like Lee had a small thing for Y/N. 

“Lee and I are a no go,” she says when George doesn’t say anything besides his awkward laughter, “I.. I think I like someone else, but I don’t know. I’m 14 for crying out loud,” she laughs, “I don’t know what love is.”

She’s lying, she’s 100% sure love is what she feels with George Weasley. The way she feels with the twins is different. Fred is chaos personified and she knows if she’s ever hurt, Fred will be the first person to go after whoever hurt her, no matter who it is. But George is comforting, like home-cooked meals and Molly’s sweaters personified and she’s sure this is what love is. 

George pretends to agree, they’re both as clueless as each other in regards to their feelings. George knows what love is, and it’s what he feels for his best friend who’s sitting with him in their tiny clover patch.

- 

Y/N’s heart is aching. She hasn’t seen the twins in weeks and without seeing George every day, her days are a little bit duller. She understands he’s been busy, after all, opening the most anticipated joke shop in Diagon Alley is bound to take up most of your time, but Y/N misses the days when she could yell for her best friend and he’d come running, no questions asked. 

Y/N’s short term boyfriend has just broken up with her and she longs for the comfort she knows the lanky, 18-year-old ginger could give her. They weren’t together long and she knows she should never have tried to date someone while she thinks she’s still in love with George, but it still hurts.

So, she’s sitting in the clover patch as usual. She still lives at home, her father being accommodating while there’s a war raging in the Wizarding World and he understands it’s hard to get a job these days. 

She always sits there when she needs the comfort of George and he’s nowhere near. Today is one of those days. Everything is building up and she needs him but she doesn’t want to be a bother. They owl back and forth most days and he’s always talking about how much work he has to do.

She’s been laying in the clover patch, their clover patch, for so long the sun is starting to set and when she sits up she sees him.

George doesn’t miss the red-rimmed eyes and the messy hair that’s covered in grass. He notices the confused look on her face and he picks up a clover and conjures it into a bouquet of wildflowers as he walks over to her.

“Hi, darling,” he says, sitting down and passing her the bouquet. Y/N is trying her hardest to pretend like her heart isn’t swooning but it is, and it’s all George’s fault. “Your dad owled me. Said you needed some George time,” he chuckles quietly and Y/N lets out a groan.

Of course, her dad decided to meddle. 

“Hey, don’t stress,” George says as he sees the look of annoyance on her face, “I don’t mind. I told you I’m always here for you, didn’t I?” She hates that he’s right.

“You did,” she starts, “but you’ve been so busy. You don’t deserve to be forced into listening to my boy troubles.” She’s mocking herself now and George lightly pushes her and shakes his head. Anything upsetting Y/N is worth listening too and he’d listen to her drone on about a broken muggle device if it meant she wasn’t bottling her emotions up. 

“Sean broke up with me, said I wasn’t in it enough for him, which…” She trails off, debating whether she should continue, “he wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t in it enough for him but it still sucks,” she mutters. 

George is well aware she just got out of a relationship and he’s also well aware they’ve been friends, for now, thirteen years and if anything was going to happen between them, it would have happened by now. But he can’t help but feel the slightest bit happy when he hears they’ve broken up. 

“Do you want to talk about why?” He enquires trying to be a good friend. Y/N falls flat on her back and sighs as she looks up at the sky above her, “I’ve been in love with the same person since I was 14 and I think I was trying to get over him? Or is that too specific?” she laughs but George knows she isn’t joking. 

“Why… Why haven’t you told them?” He asks, hoping to all four founders of Hogwarts that Y/N is talking about him. She looks at him, a glint in her eye and she decides she needs answers. She needs to know if her feelings for George Weasley are ever going to be reciprocated or if she needs to get over him.

“Scared. We’ve been friends for so long…” She hints and she hopes to Godric he gets the hint and doesn’t think she’s talking about Fred, but decides to say more just in case, “He’s tall, funny, ginger, an incredible quidditch player, great with animals…”

“You like Charlie?” He teases to hide the excitement bubbling in his chest and she has to resist the urge to slap him. But she caught the glint of happiness in her eyes and he doesn’t even have to speak for her to know her feelings are reciprocated.

She launches herself into his lap, almost pressing him into a bunny when he falls backwards and she straddles his waist, pressing kisses over his cheeks, “No! I love you, George Fabian Weasley!” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he exclaims, swatting her away, “What if I didn’t love you back?” He teases, eyebrows raised and Y/N lets out a cackle of laughter, “I know you, George Weasley, the look in your eye made it obvious you were excited I love you.”

It’s George’s turn to smile like an idiot as he rolls them over and presses his lips to hers, finally. Thirteen years of friendship, four years of loving her and he was not prepared for this kiss to knock the wind out of his lungs. All the love he feels for her is reciprocated and he feels like the happiest man in the entire world. 

When they pull apart, George’s eyes are transfixed on hers. The redness disappearing and being replaced by what he can only assume is absolute pure joy. She blushes and turns her head, not being able to handle the attention he’s giving her and when George tries to follow her eyes, his own eye catches something.

He reaches up above her head and plucks something out of the ground before showing it to her. “A four-leaf clover,” he whispers and George can’t help but think it’s fate. The day they became friends he’d found almost a four-leaf clover and the day they became more, he found a real one.

“Your lucky day, boyfriend,” she winks as she pulls him into another kiss, but he stops her and she gives him a pout, “Who said I was your boyfriend?” He teases and the look of fear that flickers across Y/N’s face is reminiscent of the day he threatened her with a broken thumb.

“I- I- Sorry, I assum-” He cuts her off with a kiss, laughing against her lips, “You just didn’t give me a chance to ask you, darling,” he says as he pulls away and Y/N’s face is as red as a tomato in embarrassment and he kisses both her cheeks in reassurance.

“Y/N Y/L/N, would you please be my girlfriend?” he asks, but it’s almost phrased like a statement, like she has no other choice and honestly, Y/N doesn’t mind.

When she pretends to think about it, George waggles his eyebrows and waves the four-leaf clover in her face and she pulls him into a kiss again, hoping that a ‘yes, I’ll be yours for the rest of my days’ is obvious.

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 5

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 5

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter >

~~~~~~

Dream felt you shift into him, his arms tightened around you to keep you steady. The two of you were almost to the mines. Spirit was running through the snow like a champ. When it was just starting to snow again, he sighed in annoyance. George and Sapnap were going to have a hell of a time getting back. He just hoped Techno wouldn’t cause too much trouble… ‘Should’ve just left him. He wanted to be alone anyway.’ Dream thought to himself rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

 He looked down at the patch job he did on your shoulder, pleased that it still was holding, even if it was bloody. You were going to need a real doctor soon, between that and your sickness, you really weren’t doing well. You were hot to the touch and it was worrying.

It had taken around two hours, but he could see the community village everyone lived in or nearby. It was surreal seeing it without life. Everyone had been evacuated underground. He even saw his old home; it was weird to think that his home wasn’t his anymore. So many memories happened behind those walls.

“Dream!” A voice called from the community mineshaft. A hooded shadowy figure waved cheerfully. Dream smiled at BadBoyHalo from behind the mask, happy to see him. Bad was carrying supplies and he was struggling to keep them in his arms when he waved to Dream. His tail swishing back and forth. Dream steered Spirit up to the mine. “Who’s that? And where’s George and Sapnap?” Bad’s eyes flicked from you to the surrounding area, looking for Dream’s team.

 “Bad, I’m going to need help, with her.” Dream carefully jumped down from the horse, keeping you in his arms. “The others are fine, but she is sick and injured.” Bad’s tail swish in curiosity. His eyes flicked to the bloody mess that was your shoulder. “Please tell me we have health potions.”

 “We might…” Bad looked up in thought. “But the amount of injured people we have, might have used up all the glistering melons we had… The food situation isn’t any better…” Bad looked back to Dream, as he grabbed ahold of Spirits reigns.

 “Once Phil gets here, we can start production.” Dream started pushing past Bad into the mine. It was a long way down, but he had been through these mines many times. He was just thankful the mine had been widened so Bad could follow with Spirit.

 “I don’t know if the doctor will help her right away…” Bad peered over Dreams shoulder at you.

 “Why’s that?” Dream asked his arms tightening around your frame.

 “He’s… not the nicest doctor around.” Bad hesitated. “He has a huge room full of patients, I think it’s wearing him thin.”

 “Is he from our village?” Dream was trying to think of who it could be.

 “No, he’s not. But he’s all we have.” Bad sighed. Dream could hear the exhaustion in Bad’s voice.

 “We will see what happens.” Dream shrugged. It didn’t take long for him to reach the end of the staircase and it led to a short hallway, with an iron door at the end of it. He could hear an immense amount of activity on the other side of the door.

 “Are you ready?” Bad asked with a tint of excitement. Dream slightly nodded his eyes trained on the door. There used to be a small room on the other side of that door. But with the amount of activity, he was hearing, he didn’t think it was that small anymore. When The iron door was just in front of him, Bad reached around and pulled the lever for Dream.

 Through the door… A man-made cavern lied in wait for them. Dream felt his eyes widen at the sight of it. People had carved out holes into the sides of the walls, working on where their houses were going to be. People on the ground floor were rebuilding shops and other buildings. The ceiling of the cavern was covered in clusters of glowstone.

 “Med bay is this way.” Bad pulled at Dreams sleeve and led him to their destination, Spirit still in hand. There were still parts being worked on in the cavern, but Dream watched the activity around him. A tree farm was being built, the huge hole was already carved out and Tubbo was seen placing around bee houses near the trees. Awesamdude was placing down grass, while showing a reluctant Tommy how to farm. None of them paid Dream any mind and they kept working on their project. Bad pointed out something ahead of them.

 “We can keep Spirit here.” Bad said cheerfully. He was pointing at a nicely half-built stable. Where other horses were being kept. Dream nodded and Bad handed the horse off to a nice enough woman manning the stables. Dream promised the horse he would be back, receiving a nudge from Spirits nose. Spirit did well in the last two days, he was proud of that horse.

“Bad… This is amazing,” Dream couldn’t stop staring. The glowstone from above shimmered and cast a nice warm glow on everything. The best part about all this though… Was it wasn’t cold. It was a little humid, but it was going to work out.

 “I don’t think anyone slept,” Bad beamed, “I’m glad you like it, because this is going to be our new home! Might as well make the best of it.” It wasn’t long, before Bad stopped in front of a blank cave wall with nothing but a wooden door leading into it. “This is it. I hope he helps your friend out quickly. I gotta go find Skeppy.” Bad, with his arms still full of supplies, gave Dream a half wave before he walked back the way they had come.

 Dream had kicked at the door, trying to simulate a knocking sound. A few seconds had gone by and a woman had answered the door. It was Nihachu. She had looked tired. She hadn’t got a wink of sleep it seemed. Her eyes scanned over you and she brought her hand up to her mouth.

 “Oh no!” She held the door open for Dream to come through. The inside was just as plain as the outside and Dream bit his cheek looking at the long line of other patients. Niki followed his gaze, and she had anticipated what he was going to say next. She had heard it from all the others before him, but he had to try.

 “She’s in really bad shape, Niki.” Dream stated, almost pleading.

 “It-” Niki was tripping over her words. “We have others in bad spots…” The look she gave Dream was apologetic. “It’s not my call, Dream…”

 “She’s sick and injured,” Dream swallowed dryly. “She needs medical attention now.” Niki opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off completely by a voice behind her. The owner of the voice had just walked into the room.

 “If she’s sick, leave. I will not have her contaminating my other patients and worsening their lives more.” The voice came from an older man with a rather large nose. “We run on a first come first serve basis here. You can’t just expect to jump ahead of these people.” He motioned to the people in the waiting room. Dream supposed he was right… but having a closer look at the people waiting in the room, they had only suffered minor injuries. You had a hole in your shoulder…

 “I don’t give a fuck,” Dream spat stepping toward the doctor in an almost menacing way. “This woman was stabbed, and you think a swollen ankle trumps that?” Dream motioned to someone who had a swollen ankle resting up above their heart.

 “Listen.” The doctor hissed, his eyes narrowing at Dream. “No, I do not think that a swollen ankle is more important than a stab wound… That’s preposterous. What I do think is… That she could make the people who have bad wounds worse. They do not need to get sick. We don’t have the resources for illness here.” The doctor turned away from Dream, this made Dreams blood boil. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. And that girl in her condition will die anyway. I can’t waste resources on someone who I think will die.” With that he turned to Niki. “Miss Nihachu, please escort this man out.” And with that he was gone, walking into the backroom where the groans of the wounded were.

 Niki hesitantly stepped up and Dream stepped away from her. If his mask wasn’t on, she could’ve been able to see the daggers he was glaring at her. She bit her lip and turned, walking to a bag left on the ground. She fished around it and when she found a pouch that she was looking for, she stood and handed it to Dream. Dream felt the stares of all the other people in the room boring into his back.

 “I-I’m going to have to ask you to please leave…” She didn’t want to say it, but she had to, and he knew it. Taking the pouch, he gives her one last look, wishing she had taken his side. “Dream… I wouldn’t stand for this if others didn’t need my help. Find my bakery, Its one of the spruce buildings by the entrance. The key is in there.” She whispered, pointing at the pouch. “She can use my bed in the back, and you can use what I have left in that pouch.” Niki gave him a sad look. “Good luck.” Her eyes flicked to your wound. The bloody material needed changing.

 Dream huffed, retracing his steps, his legs moving on a new sense of urgency. If the doctor could take one look at you and think you were on the brink of death… Then he had to hurry. He couldn’t bring himself to just easily give up on you or anyone else. He wanted to help lead these people and how could he lead the people if he couldn’t save even one?

 When the plain square building, that was still under construction, entered his vision, he breathed a sigh of relief. The sign from Niki’s old bakery leaning against the wall next to the heavy spruce door. At least it had walls and a roof. When he walked up to the door, he kneeled, setting you briefly onto the ground. He opened the pouch and fished out a key. The pouch seemed to be a mini first aid kit. A small vial of health potion sat in the pouch along with bandages sutures gauze, and some hydrogen peroxide. Taking the vial in hand he examined it. He didn’t think it was enough to close a wound like yours, but it could help. He quickly unlocks the bakery and promptly gets you inside.

 There was no furniture in the main room, but he remembered Niki said something about the bed in the back room, he wouldn’t bloody her bed… So, he opted to clean your wound on the floor. The inside of the bakery was bare bones, the walls didn’t have any insulation yet and the floors were still stone. ‘This would do for now.’ Dream thought to himself while carrying you to the middle of the room, a lantern hung just above his head. Lying you down on the stone floor, he lit the lantern, and carefully sat down next to your body. He inched himself closer to you and brought your head to rest on his leg. Peeling back the sloppy patchwork and cringing when some of it stuck to your skin. He took his mask off to get a good look at the wound.

 “Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. It looked as though an infection was starting to set in. Taking some of the gauze he soaks it in the hydrogen peroxide, dabbing at the skin around the wound cleaning it. The peroxide bubbled on contact. He cleaned your wound as best as he could and waited for the peroxide to dry. He then took the healing potion into his hand, uncorking the small vial. This amount would have been great for small wounds but not for some thing as big as this.

 He pours the vial of health potion into your wound, careful not to spill it. Just as expected, it only heals a tiny bit of the wound. Any progress was progress. He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over the sutures still resting in the pouch. That was when he felt you stir below him. His eyes meet yours and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt a blush creep up on his cheeks, and it never occurred to him that you might wake up in the middle of him tending to you, especially at the worst part to come.

 ~~

 Your eyes fluttered open to a dark room, and you were thrown for a loop between the pain in your shoulder and the dizziness. The only thing grounding you was the persons leg your head was resting on. When you finally had focused in, your eyes met a pair of green ones. A halo of light circled around his head and you reached up, your fingers caressing his face. You were questioning if you were alive at this point. He slightly leaned his face into your touch, and you felt your heart flutter.

 “Is this real?” Your voice was hoarse, your throat ached, and your lungs burned. His hand came up and around yours, tenderly holding it.

 “Do I feel real to you?” His fingers interlaced with yours and he gave your hand a squeeze. You gave a nod pretending that you didn’t feel the blush that spread on your cheeks. Hearing him chuckle he lets go of your hand. “I’m Dream, what’s your name?”

 Your throat burned as you uttered your name to him, trying to clear your airway, “Where’s Techno?” You asked your eyes searching around the barren room for him. An irritated look crossed over Dreams features at the mention of Techno, for a split second, though you had missed the look altogether.

 “Not sure…” He said leaning down over your shoulder, “He’s on his way here, but knowing him he’s not going to stay anyway. He’s not the best person to be around anyway.” You were surprised by his words. He seemed fine to you… When you gave him a questioning look, he sighed, and he showed you his neck. You had to sit up a bit to see it fully. On the back of his neck, was a scar, just under his hairline on his neck.

 “O-Oh.” You bit your lip, you quickly set your head on his leg again, your body needed to rest and you sitting up was taking a toll on you, even if it was just for a second.

 “Techno,” Dream began, as he inspected your shoulder, “isn’t to be trusted. I nearly lost my head to him. He can’t control himself, and I would hate to see you getting hurt because you don’t know what he’s capable of.” Dream withdrew a suture. You weren’t sure that he was talking about the same man… He seemed very caring, it seemed like he had a hard time showing it sometimes. He even had his tender moments when you two had shared the bed for warmth. You had woken up many times during that night and when you would move, his arms would instinctively pull you closer even though he was asleep. Is that why he moved away from other people? Because this was what others thought of him?

 “I-,” you hesitated, “I’ll be careful, I promise.” Your eyes flicked up to Dreams again. He gave you a soft smile and brushed some hair from your face.

 “Do what you want, I won’t stop you. But if you need my help… Come find me, and I’ll be there.” He spoke the last words earnestly. You would remember that. After a few moments of silence, he changed the topic to your shoulder. “This is going to hurt… Badly.” He warned. You gave a nod and swallowed back your fear.

 “Let’s just get this over with…” You eye the suture in his hand. He gives you a nod.

 “Don’t worry… I’ll take care of you.” His words echoed in your head. The next few minutes were filled with excruciating pain.

 --

 Techno rode in the back of the caravan with Philza. Phil was on his back trying to get some sleep, his hat covering his face, and Techno let his eyes wander over the sling Phil had his arm in. He felt horrible, he had lost control… Again… And in the heat of the moment, he would have killed Philza. Guilt riddled his thoughts.

 “Mate.” Phil said, “I told you, you can’t blame yourself for this…” He sighed. “I’m just happy you’re alive.” Techno was silent. “You can’t let it eat at you, and I can feel your self-loathing from here.” He could hear the smile in Phil’s voice. Techno inwardly sighed, ‘If only it were that easy Phil…’ He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. The silence that followed rolled into minutes.

 “So…” Phil started as he peeked out from under his hat at Techno. “You found a girl?” Phil let out a laugh as Techno looked away sheepishly. “I approve, but you’re going to have to teach her how to defend herself better.” Phil joked.

 “We’re just friends, Phil.” Techno said in a huff.

 “For now,” Phil repositioned the hat back over his face again. “I still have to apologize to her.” Phil simply said, “Maybe we can work off of that.” Techno looked over at Phil with irritation. He just wanted the subject dropped.

 When there was nothing, but silence coupled together with light snores from Philza, Techno sighed and lied down himself. His eyes staring up at the fabric of the caravan. He wanted to take you to Nihachu’s bakery and find out your favorite foods. He would help you build your house. He wanted to be there as a familiar face, as a… friend.

 ‘She’ll leave, once she figures out what you are.’

 ‘She’s going to betray you.’ The voices rang clear through his mind. He was so exhausted; he couldn’t even push the voices away in his mind. He wanted to give you a chance, and he would do just that. He felt his eyes become heavy, and before he knew it, he had drifted away into the land of sleep.

[spencers-renaissance]

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

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[mariamermaid]

Spontaneous

Fred Weasley x fem Reader

Summary: Fred and you loved to be spontaneous. Ever since your time in Hogwarts, there wasn´t a day filled with tediousness. But when Fred suddenly decides that it´s time to get married, things go wild…

Words: 2k

 You didn´t hear the door close behind Fred. Instead you sat in the bathtub, filled with bubbles and candles spread around the rim of the tub. Music from the record player filled the apartment with soft tunes. It was natural that you flinched when the door suddenly opened and a gasp escaped your lips.

“God, Fred, what are you doing here? I thought you´d be at work all day!” You exclaimed after your initial surprise. You weren´t wrong, he usually was at work and when he came back from the shop he shared with George, he was usually very tired. Tired but happy. A flicker of a smile when he saw what you had cooked for him, but today? Today was different.

It wasn´t even 11 a.m., you had a free day, and there he stood; in the middle of the rather small bathroom with a grin from ear to ear. His eyes glowing in excitement.

“What?” You asked confused and leaned to the brim of the tub, but all he did was stare at you. He soaked in the view of you, covered in foam and your hair messily put up.

As quick as he had entered the room, he suddenly kneeled down to you, both of his hand grabbing the tub. It was the same look he had when coming up with new ideas.

“Do you want to marry me?”

His face was only inches away and a tint of blush crept on his cheeks. Completely taken back, you couldn´t help but simply stare.

“What?”

His hands grabbed yours, not caring about the water dripping over. “Do you want to marry me?”

He paused for a second. “Because I realized that I can´t imagine not marrying you! You know, I was at the store with George and it was like any other day and yet it wasn´t! I just knew, so I rushed back to you!” He started rambling until you interrupted with laughter.

He had joked about it since you started dating back in your days in Hogwarts. He would marry you one day, but Fred joked a lot if the day was long. On the other hand, you neither questioned marrying him.

“Yes, you idiot! Of course, I´ll marry you!” You finally exclaimed and he pressed his lips firmly on yours. Softly, he started pulling you up and lifting you out of the tub.

“Fred, you´re making a mess! The water…” You giggled in between kisses but he shook his head.

“No time, love. I already called the register office, there´s an open slot at 3 o´clock!”

“Wait what?!”

“I told you I want to marry you, why wait?” He sat you down on your feet again and wrapped a towel around your dripping body, so you wouldn´t get cold. “Fred, I… You…” There was no physical way you would bring out anything but stammering. Instead, you were just shaking your head. Smiling.

“You´re unbelievable.” “But it´s a reason why you love me, right?”

“Yes, I love you more than anything.” You pressed another kiss on his lips, short but passionate.

“No, excuse me, I have to get ready for my wedding day!”

  George wasn´t as enthusiastic about randomly closing the shop without an explanation, but Fred begged long enough, telling him to meet him in London. Before George could object, Fred ended the call. “You didn´t even tell him!” You shouted from your shared bedroom and Fred´s head popped in; eyebrows raised. “Yeah, but he´ll find out soon enough.”

“Then call your sister, we need a second witness to a marriage. And Ginny just told me yesterday that she´d be in the city anyways!”

“Should I tell her why we need her so urgent?”

“Nope, she´ll figure it out later”, you grinned and your fiancé nodded agreeing.

“What about your parents, love?”

“They´re visiting Charlie.”

“But telling them? In any way?” You wondered and Fred came back to sit on the bed. “Well, sure mum´s gonna be a little angry, but we can have a bigger feast when we´re all in town! Ron is with Hermione in Austria, Bill and Fleur have been dealing with the house. Maybe we set a date or something, but the free appointment is only today, anyways we have to wait at least six months!” You sighed while fixing your hair.

“Molly is gonna rip off your head.” “Why only mine?”

“Darling, she won´t rip off her new daughter-in-law´s head.”

 “Come one, hurry, we have only an hour left!” Fred, who was tall and usually bragged about his long legs, was a few feet behind you. “Do you think we even find a dress?” He asked.

“I don´t want anything special, after all this is just the official marriage service, not the actual ceremony with friends and family. But maybe something to look at least a little put together? You´re wearing a shirt and a tie as well!”

“Love, you always look put together and astonishing pretty.” Laughing, you jokingly hit his shoulder. “If you don´t stop flirting, I might have to put a ring on you!”

Fred opened the door of the shop for you and while you entered, your mouth fell open and you admired the view of dresses. A saleslady quickly approached the two of you, who were clearly overwhelmed. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I´m looking for a formal dress for the register office”, you explained and she nodded smiling. “So, when is the date, if I may ask?” “In about an hour”, Fred shrugged reluctant and watched grinningly how the face of the saleslady dropped. He enjoyed this a little too much.

“Oh dear, then we better begin…”

The first dress was a nightmare, the cut made you look uncomfortable and the material was itchy. While you waited in the fitting room, the saleswoman searched for a new dress. Fred casually joined her. “Ehm, I actually have to pick something up, a surprise for her”, he cleared his throat and she nodded understanding. “I think I can handle it, any last preferences maybe?”

“Actually, I saw this red dress in the front room?” The saleslady nodded in excitement and Fred thanked her before leaving the shop. The dress was the perfect Gryffindor red, it immediately reminded of your school times. You wore a similar one to the ball with Fred. But this one was made of a sleek satin material, the cut dropped off shoulder and it was tighter, hugging your body in the right places without being uncomfortable. You starred at yourself in the mirror.

“It´s perfect! Where´s Fred, I need to show him?” The saleswoman smirked knowingly.

“Your fiancé had to do some last-minute preparation, he told me that he would meet you at the register office”, she stated how Fred had previously explained. You furrowed your brows, but then you nodded as well. He was going to love you in the dress.

 You saw the two red-heads, George and Ginny waiting across the street. You had thrown over your normal black coat, the dark heels and beneath the dress, nice and hidden. At least for now. George had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face a little bitter and not very amused. Ginny spotted you firstly and embraced you. She seemed confused as well.

“Y/n, what is going on? Fred sounded so urgent on the phone?” Her brother nodded agreeing. “What is so important that we had to close the shop?” Before you could speak up, Fred suddenly popped up and joined your group, pressing a quick kiss on top of your head.

“Everything´s ready”, he nodded towards you. “Ready for what?” George continued bickering.

“Y/n and I are getting married.”

While Ginny let out a small scream of surprise, hugging you tightly the next second, George patted his brother on the shoulder. “You two were always spontaneous, I shouldn´t be surprised.”

There was no time for congratulations, the four of you hurried inside the large building and after asking for the directions and a waiting time of almost five minutes, you entered the office of Mrs. Carter. You took off your coat, both Fred and Ginny let out a small gasp. “You´re looking stunning”, Fred whispered and placed another kiss on your cheek. Mrs. Carter, who watched the two of you closely, nodded politely while shaking your hand and showing your seats.

“So, you´re Mr. Weasley, Fred right?” She asked while organizing a few papers. Fred nodded. “And you´re the lucky girl, who he surprised?” “Yes, very much.”

“I see you brought your witnesses”, she stopped a little confused when looking up and finding George, right next to Ginny. “Yeah, I´m Fred´s twin brother, and this is our sister Ginny.” The four of you grinned widely. “Big family I see”, Mrs. Carter smiled warmly.

“Then let´s get started, shall we? I need you to sign the papers here, they declare that you´re both here willingly today.” The two of you took the pen and signed ahead.

“Y/n, are you taking on Fred´s last name?” You stopped in your tracks, looking unsure back and forth between Mrs. Carter and Fred. “Y/N Weasley has a good ring to it, I have to admit”, Fred shrugged innocently. It wasn´t something you actually had discussed, but it felt right. So, you went with it.

“Yes, Y/n Weasley it is.” Mrs. Carter handed you the papers for the name change.

“Do you forge the marriage with rings or without?”

“Without”, you spoke up without even thinking, but Fred grabbed your hand, holding you back. “Actually”, he paused while taking out a small velvet box. Amazed you starred at him. “I do have rings.”

“Fred, you didn´t have to”, you trailed off softly, but he shook his head serious. “Just because we´re doing this so spontaneous, doesn´t mean we´re not doing it right.”

You melted at his words and it felt like falling in love with him all over again. It was you and him, sneaking out of the common room or skipping class to make out behind corners. The kisses after won Quidditch games. Running away hand in hand after those many pranks. Quiet nights on the couch, watching the fire and snow falling outside. Walking down hand in hand to the ball. Drunken nights filled with deep conversations on the astronomy tower. Christmas mornings with the entire family and baking cookies together. Falling into each other arms after the battle, knowing that you both survived.

All those moments leading up to the present, it was destiny.

“You´re amazing”, you breathed and kissed Fred softly. He put on the ring on your finger, you did the same with his. Mrs. Carter was beaming and Ginny took a handkerchief, wiping away a few tears. It was a beautiful scene. “Last papers to sign now, then your wife and husband!”

 Two weeks later you found yourself at the burrow, both Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur and Ron and Hermione had come home within the past few days. A reunion was long after-due. And Ginny continued to claim that she would explode, if you didn´t tell soon. You were all seated around the long table in the dining area, chatting about the vacation and other miscellaneous things. Molly had baked pie and you had brought some chocolate mousse as well. Arthur, who sat at the end of the table, Fred and you next to him, then George and Ron, rose from his chair. It was late in the afternoon and most of you enjoyed a cup of tea or coffee, there was no intention of champagne, at least not yet. Molly joined her husband. As always, they smiled happily seeing all their children and family together.

“You know, even though it´s nothing too special, it´s always nice to see the family back together!” He exclaimed and, in the mean-time, you and Fred exchanged knowing looks. Fred rose from his chair, patting his father on the shoulder.

“Actually, dad, there are some news”, he paused, waiting for you to join his side.

“I would like for everyone to meet my official wife, Y/n. We got married two weeks ago!”