#like with the shirt thing like he may be in love with george but he is NAWT sharing that particular shirt and he needs to make that clear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

checkeredflagggs · 2 months ago

Text

Secret Sweethearts

Pairing: pierre gasly x leclerc!reader

summary: las vegas was a lot more exciting then people think

a/n: my first pierre piece! This was requested so I hope you guys like it!!

a/n2: I love Kika but she had to go 😭😭

a/n3: Vegas is the race that keeps on giving

Masterlist | Taglist

Bluesky

user1: no no no you’re on to something

user2: thank god someone else noticed this! I thought for sure after he and Kika split he’d have a couple more months of wild parties…

↳user3: same! Instead he had like a month of pr problems then it went all silent…

↳user2: I don’t know what I miss most — Kika’s Pierre or Party Pierre…

↳user3: hmmm I’m gonna go party pierre cause he lost his T-shirt consistently

↳user2: good point good point

user4: is this a safe place? Can I say something?

↳user5: nope!

↳user6: do it anyway!

↳user4: ummm fuck you both??

↳user6: what did I do!?

user7: user4 was your thought the fact that the after party of George’s race win and Max’s WDC win in Vegas was the last of Pierre’s wild days?

↳user4: it absolutely was

↳user8: ok grandmas. Let’s get you back to your beds

↳user9: no no no let them cook

user10: ok but let’s say user4 and user7 are right?? Bets on the reason why?

↳user11: I’m guessing that he got his socials taken away — can’t have too bad of an image…

↳user12: I mean it’s Vegas…I’m guessing he got married

↳user13: A VEGAS WEDDING?

↳user14: not who I thought would have a Vegas wedding…

↳user13: right?? I always had money on Lando or Charles…

↳user14: same!

↳user11: ok but we don’t know that’s the reason why he changed!

↳user13: let’s be real this makes more sense…

↳user12: it does! If he had his socials taken away for pr, we probably would have seen him on other drivers posts but it’s been a near complete blackout since Vegas!

Private Messages, the Gasly’s and their mothers

Private Messages, y/n and Pascale

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 193,102 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc

y/n_leclerc: Christmas time! Featuring the best ugly Christmas sweaters you’ve ever seen! Mine won — both the worst sweater and the itchiest!

view all comments

user15: ugly sweater or not, you’re still the prettiest!

user16: oh to be y/n leclerc…

maxverstappen1: so how many of those presents are yours?

↳y/n_leclerc: I don’t know what you mean…

↳charles_leclerc: I don’t like your tone…

↳arthur_leclerc: nearly all of them…

↳charles_leclerc: arthur!

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺

↳arthur_leclerc: as it should be! liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl, pascale.leclerc, pierregasly

pierregasly: Joyeux Noel!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci Pierre!

carlossainz55: Feliz Navidad!

↳y/n_leclerc: Merci!

oscarpiastri: Merry Christmas

↳y/n_leclerc: thank you nephew!

↳oscarpiastri: I am 3 years older than you…

↳y/n_leclerc: and yet…

Private Messages, Pascale and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by user, pierregasly, maxverstappen1, and 824,294 others

y/n_leclerc: just some quiet days spent with you, my love 🩷

view all comments

charles_leclerc: What is this?

charles_leclerc: Who is this?

charles_leclerc: What is happening?

charles_leclerc: Answer your phone y/n!

↳user17: oh you know it’s a serious thing when he comments multiple times AND uses correct punctuation and capitalization…

user18: is this y/n leclerc…soft launching…a boyfriend??

↳charles_leclerc: Non!

↳arthur_leclerc: she hasn’t introduced him to us yet so he doesn’t exist and isn’t dating our baby sister!

↳user18: that is absolutely not how it works btw

↳charles_leclerc: yes it is

↳charles_leclerc: Also y/n_leclerc answer your phone!

user19: ok I know what everyone is gonna think but if I may…

↳user20: no. I refuse to believe you again!

↳charles_leclerc: What?

↳user20: don’t listen to her she’s a conspiracy theorist

↳user19: who has frequently been right!

↳charles_leclerc: What do you know?

↳user19: know? Nothing actually liked by y/n_leclerc

arthur_leclerc: Belle petit sœur, qui est cet homme et pourquoi vous impose-t-il les mains? Beautiful little sister, who is that man and why is he laying hands on you?

↳y/n_leclerc: ☺️☺️

↳arthur_leclerc: THATS NOT GONNA WORK THIS TIME!! WHO IS HE??

↳y/n_leclerc: 🥺🥺 why are you yelling at me?

↳charles_leclerc: Arthur stop yelling at y/n! And y/n, ma belle petit sœur, please answer me — who is that man?

pierregasly: little Leclerc has a man now?

↳charles_leclerc: No!

↳y/n_leclerc: yes 🥰🥰

↳pierregasly: he treat you well?

↳charles_leclerc: He doesn’t exist!

↳y/n_leclerc: Pierre, he does…

↳charles_leclerc: …Not! Exist!

user21: I did not have baby Leclerc giving her brothers heart attacks on my bingo card for this year?

↳user22: right? I thought it was going to be the car…

↳user21: oh big same

oscarpiastri: congratulations y/n!

↳charles_leclerc: NON!

↳y/n_leclerc: thanks nephew

↳charles_leclerc: Answer you’re phone please y/n!

user23: ok but does the pink heart mean anything?

↳user24: it absolutely has too… she’s a Ferrari girl to her core, it’s been red her entire life. To switch now?

Bluesky

user25: I’d say you’re crazy and to tell me more!

↳user26: well we know that the Las Vegas GP after party was Pierre’s last public party

↳user27: he has been suspiciously quiet lately

↳user26: right?

user28: wait was y/n in Vegas? I didn’t think she traveled too much for the races?

↳user29: she was! Charles mentioned it during one of the interviews — she just turned 21 and wanted to celebrate in Vegas

↳user30: ok that’s so girlboss slay of her?

↳user29: I guess?? I’m too old to know what those words mean

user31: so we know that Pierre and y/n were in the same city (known for its drunk marriages), Pierre dnfed pretty early on in the race…

↳user32: what are we thinking? That she slipped away from Ferrari to alpine?

↳user31: I mean I would? Better to hang out with someone I know to finish watching the race…

user33: I think it was Alex or Lando? Who posted that there was going to be a big after party — to celebrate both George’s race win and Max’s WDC win

↳user34: it was Alex! And he was also the one that had photos of Pierre cuddling up with some girl

↳user35: Charles posted a picture of the view from his hotel room very early in the night — everyone kinda took it to mean he left the party early cause he was mad at the race

user36: so we have them in the same location, more than likely at the same party, almost certainly with Charles leaving early…

↳user37: in a city known for drunken decisions?

secretly/n: wow you guys are through

user38: ok but what’s the evidence after Vegas? Like divorce exists…

↳user39: vibes mostly…

↳user40: and the pink heart!

↳user38: vibes and a pink heart??

↳user39: the pink heart! She’s always used a red heart (Ferrari forever!!) but when she finally soft launches a man it’s with a pink heart?? Pink like alpine??

f1gossip

liked by user, user, secretly/n and 824,193 others

tagged: y/n_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: with the increased interest in Pierre’s newly quiet public life and the subject of y/n’s soft launch, here comes another twist! Recent pictures from Pierre’s social show the newest Gasly, Simba — while y/n’s latest story has an identical pup getting cozy with her! Could this be the confirmation we’ve all been waiting for?

view all comments

user41: awwwweeee 🥹🥹🥹 shared custody

↳user42: ok but Pierre got simba right after Vegas right?

↳user41: …oh my god you’re right!! They got a dog together!!!

↳user42: they got a dog together 🤗🤗

user43: I’m going to laugh when it’s revealed that they aren’t together…

↳user44: I’m gonna laugh when you release you’re wrong!

user49: ok but simba and the helmets is so adorable ☺️

↳user50: yes!

user51: I don’t know who I’m more jealous of…Pierre, y/n, or simba…

↳user52: it’s a big choice…

secretly/n: damn you guys are fast to put the pieces together…

pierregasly has posted a story, y/n_leclerc has posted a story

[dinner date][my valentine 🩷]

user54 replied proof of relationship!

user55 replied exactly what we’ve been waiting for!

user56 replied are you with y/n right now??

y/n_leclerc replied looking good…and the pizza looks delicious too

↳pierregasly 😆

↳pierregasly right back at you, jolie fille

↳y/n_leclerc 😘💋🩷🩷

charles_leclerc replied ohh? A new love?

↳pierregasly something like that yes…

↳charles_leclerc and you haven’t said a word *smh*

↳pierregasly not yet

user57 replied IS THAT PIERRE

user58 replied omg its happening!!

user59 replied YOURE MATCHING WITH PIERRE YES!!

charles_leclerc replied what’s happening right now? Are you at Pierre’s??

↳y/n_leclerc oh my god leave me alone!

↳y/n_leclerc I’m with my MAN

↳charles_leclerc who doesn’t exist!!

↳y/n_leclerc that’s what you think!

Private Messages, Charles and y/n

Private Messages, Pierre and y/n

y/n_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, pierregasly, and 2,183,193 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, pierregasly, jackdoohan, maxverstappen1, alex_albon, liamlawson30, yukitsunoda0511, isackhadjar

y/n_leclerc: got to go to this cool event, met some weird people, and crashed a redbull family reunion

view all comments

user60: oh god that is pretty much the redbull family isn’t it??

↳user61: so much trauma all in one photo…

pierregasly: weird people??

↳y/n_leclerc: yes! where did all your hair go???

↳user62: she’s speaking for all of us!

oscarpiastri: I see how it is…you spend a couple of hours with your aunt and she doesn’t even acknowledge you…

↳y/n_leclerc: I’m so sorry dearest nephew. How ever could you forgive me?

↳oscarpiastri: I could do with some dog cuddles?

↳y/n_leclerc: sure!

↳charles_leclerc: stop giving away leo!

↳y/n_leclerc: leo?

↳y/n_leclerc: no! I’ll not be doing that

↳user62: she forgot about her nephew Leo and was offering time with simba… liked by secretly/n

alex_albon: A redbull family photo and yet Charles is right in the middle…

↳y/n_leclerc: come on we all know he and max are attached at the hip

↳alex_albon: true true

↳maxverstappen1: what are you talking about?

↳y/n_leclerc: don’t worry about it Yapstappen liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc

user63: ok girl we see you posting the brother and the boyfriend

↳charles_leclerc: Wait what?? What are you talking about? Who???

↳y/n_leclerc: apparently no one because “he doesn’t exist”

↳charles_leclerc: good you’re learning

↳y/n_leclerc: how do I dislike a post

user64: ok but did anyone else catch the looks those 2 were sharing??

↳user65: no! They were legit gazing into each others eyes the entire night

↳user66: are we talking y/n and her man or Charles and his?

↳user65: yes

y/n_leclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 829,103 others

tagged: pierregasly

y/n_leclerc: posting my man while Charles is still busy

view all comments

user67: A HARD LAUNCH?? IN THE MIDDLE OF MY DAY??

user68: good lord what is happening right??

pierregasly: Je t'aime aussi, belle fille. I love you too, beautiful girl

↳y/n_leclerc: Vous êtes de loin la meilleure décision que j'aie jamais prise. You are by far the best decision I ever made

maxverstappen1: he’s gonna go ballistic

↳y/n_leclerc: haha yeah

↳maxverstappen1: you’re a chaotic little thing aren’t you…

↳y/n_leclerc: 🤣🤣

oscarpiastri: Hello. What is this?

↳y/n_leclerc: I believe the youths call it a hard launch?

↳user69: girl you are one of the youths

charles_leclerc: WHAT KS THIS?!?

charles_leclerc: ABSOLUTELY NOT

f1gossip

liked by user1, user2 and 790,469 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, pierregasly

f1gossip: Charles before he saw his sisters post and Charles after her saw his sister post during pre-season testing here in Bahrain

view all comments

user70: you could see the rage grow on his face…

↳user71: oh man could you…I could feel it from here and I’m not even in the same hemisphere

user72: he went through all 5 stages of grief, invented a few new ones, then settled on pure rage

user73: I’m so glad Pierre wasn’t on the track at the same time as Charles…

↳user74: right?

↳user75: I’m sure Pierre is feeling the same

Private Messages, the Leclerc Siblings

Private Messages, Pierre and Charles

f1gossip

liked by user, user, user, and 2,824,348 others

tagged: pierregasly, y/n_gasly

f1gossip: things got heated today during the Australian press conference where Pierre defended his WIFE??

view all comments

user76: I’m so…WHAT

↳user77: speaking for all of us right now…

user78: that interviewer was out of line

↳user79: he’s so lucky that Charles wasn’t there…

↳user80: ok but did you see Max and Oscar? Cause they looked like they wanted to hunt him for sport too

user81: that type of language has no use in today’s questions

↳user82: I’m with the drivers — how fucking dare that sexist piece of shit ask Pierre those questions???

↳user83: if anyone of them had kept at the man I wouldn’t have said anything

↳user84: he had it coming

user85: ok but are we all skipping over the fact THAT PIERRE AND Y/N GOT MARRIED???

↳y/n_gasly: that’s old news I’m afraid

↳user86: Wait? What? Why? When?

↳y/n_gasly: Marriage. Because I love him. Las Vegas!

↳user86: you changed your handle!

user87: this gonna go down in the history books — where were you when you found out that y/n is now a gasly…

↳charles_leclerc: SHES A WHAT NOW??

↳user87: you didn’t know yet?

↳charles_leclerc: KNOW WHAT??

↳user87: man I hate to burst your bubble…

↳charles_leclerc: 😤🤬

Private Messages, the Leclercs and the Gaslys

f1 posted a story, y/n_gasly posted a story

[All’s well now!][My husband and I 🩷]

user88 replied awww the in-laws getting along…

user89 replied my pookies

y/n_gasly replied I better not have to fight my brother for my husband now…

↳f1 we can make no promises…

user90 replied we love to see this!

charles_leclerc replied only temporarily…

pierregasly replied I love you, Lumière de ma vie

↳y/n_gasly I love you too, mon œuf

↳pierregasly 🙄🙄

charles_leclerc replied ABSOLUTELY NOT

arthur_leclerc replied TELL HIM TO GET HIS HANDS OFF YOU

lorenzotl replied how much are they yelling at you?

↳y/n_gasly ehhh I’m mostly ignoring my phone right now 😂😂

↳y/n_gasly they’ll get over it…eventually

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @elliegray2803 @anunstablefangirl

1K notes · View notes

fleurdeladore · 4 months ago

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dating george weasley . . . 💭

✧ his love language is acts of service. peeling oranges for you, holding his hand over sharp corners so you don’t hit your head, pouring your drink before he pours any for himself, and yes — he knows the sidewalk rule. you’ll even find that things you had mentioned needing to do will be done by the time you get around to it. he enjoys helping you anyway he can.

✧ he just has a romantic soul. molly raised him to be a gentleman, and that’s what he strives to be for you.

✧ he carves your name / initials into his broomstick. during quidditch matches, he will always keep an eye out for you in the stands, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t try to show off a bit for you.

✧ he will always lend you his clothes, but especially if you’re in a different house because seeing his favorite slytherin in gryffindor colors makes him all giddy no i’m not projecting.

✧ alternatively, he will constantly try to steal your clothes, wearing your shirt right in front of you like it belonged to him.

✧ he remembers everything about you. your favorite color? your childhood pets name?? the one very niche book you only mentioned once??? all of the above (and you will absolutely be finding that book in his bedroom after the fact).

✧ he loves just being close to you. he’s not overly touchy, but if you’re sitting together, his arm or knee is brushing against yours, or if you’re standing in the hallways, he’s standing behind you with his chin on top of your head or your shoulder.

✧ so much playful banter. he will constantly flirt with you like he isn’t already dating you, and if he makes you blush, you will never hear the end of it until he starts blushing and you get to tease him for it.

✧ he’s the slightly more shy twin (which isn’t saying much when you look at fred), so he will get bashful if you compliment him enough.

✧ he isn’t huge on public displays of affection.

✧ grand gestures are a big deal for him, however. leaving love notes in your textbooks, running straight to you after winning a quidditch match to lift you up and spin you around, waking up extra early to meet you outside your common room every morning (or in front of the fireplace for the gryffindors out there).

✧ when he kisses you, he always cups your face with his soft hands (surprisingly soft for a quidditch player, may i add).

part 1 / ?

#𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 ©#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ george weasley (mona’s version)#george weasley #george weasley headcanon #george weasley headcanons #george weasley hc #george weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter headcanons #hogwarts

1K notes · View notes

emeritusemeritus · 6 months ago

Note

hi hun, i have a story idea for you, reader and fred weasley if that's alright. reader is pregnant and is due to have her baby on new year's eve but she goes into early labour alone after an argument with fred and gives birth on christmas eve just as fred arrives to make up with her⁷

Hi Anon! Wow when I tell you this has consumed me for days, it’s taken so long to write but I just couldn’t stop! Side note, the name of Fred and Reader’s child is a name I’ve loved since I was a kid and finally got to use it in a fic where it fit perfectly. Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: pregnancy and childbirth. Graphic descriptions of pain and labour but not of actual birth. Fast labour, precipitous labour. Reader has the pregnancy emotions. arguments and shouting, minor swearing. Reader hits Fred in the arm. Molly Weasley being the OG midwife. I may have some unresolved birth trauma of my own apparently. Happy ending I promise. Not beta read or spell checked.

Word count: 5.5k

Hark now hear the angels sing [Fred Weasley]

"And... that is the last one, we are officially ready for Christmas!"

You beam as you turn towards Fred, having tied the last bow on the last gift you had to wrap. You look at the pile of gifts and smile, partially because it meant that you no longer had to wrap a single other thing but mostly because it was a stack of gifts for your loved ones. You'd be going to the Burrow tomorrow for Christmas Eve to spend a big family Christmas back at the Weasley home and had made sure that not a single person would be missed in the gift exchange.

It was December 23rd and you couldn't be more excited for the holidays. It had snowed overnight making everything seem so much more magical and it would be the last Christmas as a couple before the little one arrived.

With one final proud look towards your pile, you gather the scissors and tape into the little bag to store them and tried to stand up from your place on the floor, realising quickly that it probably wasn't the best idea to wrap the gifts on the floor at 39 weeks pregnant. You wince at the sharp pain that runs down the length of your back at any form of movement and momentarily swallow your pride as you call out your husband.

"Little help?" You asked Fred who was sat on the sofa in your little home, tinkering with a string of lights that just didn't seem to want to work. He looks up and starts chuckling at your pathetic attempts at getting up and stretches his hand out for you to take. He lifts you with ease, something you're very impressed by factoring in your current size and giggle when he places a delicate kiss onto your nose. His hand wraps around your waist, his palm pressed against the curve of your belly with his thumb stroking the stretched skin through your T-shirt.

"Did we wrap anything for Fred jr?" He asks, smirking at you with those mischief filled eyes that you love so much.

"No. Mainly because there is, and will be, no such person."

"Oh come on sweetheart, don't you want a tiny little me running around?" His eyebrows jump up and down for effect, fingers still lovingly stroking your bump.

"I'm hoping for a George," you deadpan, breaking into a laugh when he suddenly pulls you gently towards him by tickling your side. "Anyway, she's a girl."

"Oh yeah? Mother's intuition?" Fred teases, his eyes gazing over your bump as if he's trying to see something that's not there, like an obvious clue of what gender your baby will be.

"Something like that," you smile, reaching up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his smiling lips.

Suddenly, you pull away from Fred with a brief push to his chest, showing your panicked face and the tears that are starting to well in your eyes, all glimmer of happiness gone.

"Princ-."

"I didn't get her anything!" You suddenly cry out, cutting Fred off as he notices the rather sudden change in your demeanour, your voice trembling as the feeling of complete grief consumes you. "What if she comes early and we didn't get her anything? She'll think that we don't love her! Or she'll think that Santa forgot her!"

Tears are streaming down your face now, your breaths coming quicker and quicker as guilt and shame fill your mind. What kind of mother doesn't buy her own baby a Christmas gift?

"Between the cot, the pram and the clothes we've bought for them, plus not to mention the entire house we bought after finding out they were on the way, I'd say they've had enough."

The glare that you shoot at Fred is enough to silence him instantly, the venomous look in your eyes rivalling his own mothers as he quickly realised this is not a time to make jokes.

"This little one isn't due until after Christmas," he says with a much gentler tone now, placing his hand back onto your bump. "They don't need a Christmas present, they'll already have everything they need when they pop out." He regrets his choice of words the second your eyes shoot up to his, knowing that 'pop' made it sound like an easy thing to do, which he'd been warned from almost every female member of his family that it was far from easy.

"When our baby's born," he says, trying again. "They'll have me and their beautiful mummy. And a whole family that loves them, what else could they need?"

Surprisingly, his words do offer comfort and a wave of relief washes over you as you feel calmed by the idea that the baby really did have everything they would need.

"Sorry," you say, feeling a fresh wave of shame taking over you at your slight overreaction, but Fred steps in again to give you a tight squeeze.

"Already the best mum," he whispers, rocking you gently as you stand holding each other, the Christmas lights illuminating the room in a magical display. You feel a little wiggle in your tummy and smile to yourself, your hand slipping down to cradle the spot where you could feel your little one stretching and rolling.

Everything was set for your arrival at the Burrow in the morning, the suitcase was packed with a mixture of your clothes and Fred's, everything down to your spare toothbrush. The gifts were wrapped and the cookies you'd baked earlier that mornings had been placed into a cute metal tin with a bow, placed on the table beside the front door so that you wouldn't forget them.

"Want me to load the car now?" Fred asks, poking his head around the bedroom door.

"I can help," you offer, only to be shut down a moment later by your husband.

"You will do not such thing," he says firmly, though his eyes are soft. "You are going to park your gorgeous little bum down onto the nearest, softest surface and rest."

"But."

"Doctor's orders princess," he winks, making you smile and relent, though you were hardly going to turn down the offer of sitting down for a while before bed, knowing you'd have an early start in the morning. Your back was twinging with discomfort, a crampy feeling radiating between your pelvis and your hips that made you curse yourself for the stupid idea of wrapping presents on a hard floor.

You walked downstairs to grab a warm drink and sit on the sofa with the hope of a warm fire and a Christmas film, stopping to peek out of the Christmas light filled window to watch Fred trying to fit all the presents in the boot of the car. Since you were so far into your pregnancy, almost every magical transportation option was now deemed unsafe, leaving you with only a handful of options for reaching the Burrow. Percy had very graciously secured a ministry car for you to borrow over the holidays, a fact that he was insistent upon repeating whenever it was even vaguely mentioned in conversation, including the precarious nature of securing the car during the ministry's busiest season. Regardless of your brother in laws self importance, you were thankful for his gesture and though the drive would be long, you were actually looking forward to it. You'd prepped snacks, both muggle and magical, had ensured to the point of obsession that the radio was fixed upon the muggle Christmas station so that your entire drive down would be filled with only the cheesiest Christmas songs and you'd even prepped some hot chocolate for the drive, placing two matching Christmas travel cups beside the kettle ready to make just before you left.

A loud crash pulled your attention right back to Fred as you watched him scrambling onto his feet, an array of once neatly wrapped packages on the floor around him. He looks around nervously before catching sight of you in the window, eyes widening, before he attempts to pick up the dropped presents.

Instantly you were moving to the door, your mind spiralling at the idea that they might be broken or wet from the snow, or if Fred was hurt in the skirmish.

"Are you okay?" You ask slightly breathlessly as you scramble to the door, trying to place your shoes on as quickly as you could.

"Sweetheart stay inside, it's icy and you're not coming out here until I can clear it," he says holding up a hand, eyes fixed on your bump as if you accentuate his words.

"What happened?" You ask, trying to steal a glance around his body to look for any damage to the presents that he was slowly picking up, stacking them high in his arms as he attempts to talk to you through a vision blocking stack of presents.

"Well I was trying to balance these ones and the bottom one slipped."

"You can't stack that many! No wonder they bloody fell!" You say, anger simmering under the surface as you watch more and more presents dangerously wobbling in his arms, swaying with the wind and from every movement he makes. "Stop stacking them so high."

"I can do it."

"Obviously you can't!" You snap, feeling the anger rising now from his obvious lack of care to the gifts that you had so painstakingly picked out and wrapped. "What if they're all broken?!"

"They're not all broken," he snarks.

"All? You mean there's broken ones?!" You exclaim, hardly able to push down your anger anymore. You and Fred hardly every argued, but when you did it was almost always a big one that lasted no more than five minutes before you were making up, sometimes longer if he was in the mood to sulk. Uncaring about the ice, you step outside and rush over to the back of the car where Fred continues to pick up the last of the presents from the ground, cringing at what follows when he picks up the very last one.

The telltale sound of damaged box fills your ears at a painfully ironic moment, the sound so obviously being something broken, shattered with the pieces rattling about inside. You gasp as you look upon the misshapen box, seeing the distinctive green wrapping paper all torn and wilted from the snow, knowing instantly what was inside, undoubtedly shattered beyond repair.

You're completely heartbroken at the sight before you and more angry with Fred than you ever remember being.

"You stupid git!" You say, hitting his arm as he turns to you with a look of apologetic shame, though you don't even remotely fall for it, too enraged to give a single thought to his feelings. "I told you that you couldn't carry that many! Now look what you've done!" The box falls from his hands again and lands in a heap on the floor, an ominous rattling crying out all the way down until it crashes upon making contact with the snow.

"It's just a present," he mumbles, trying to downplay the situation as he turns back towards the car, away from your body. His words and aversion to the situation only fuel your anger in the moment, seeing visions of his younger self so uncaring for the consequences of his actions even if it both directly and indirectly affected others.

"It's not just a present you git! It was Fleur's only Christmas present! You have no idea how long it took me to find it," you say, tears welling up in your eyes again as the anger turns to sorrow.'you knew how much she adored snow-globes, something from her childhood that she'd told you about in great detail one night at the Burrow. You'd gone searching around muggle antique stores for something within the brief and had been completely overwhelmed by the beauty of the snowglobe you found for her. It was a little over the budget but you didn't care, knowing how much she would love the beautifully ornate pink and gold filigree on the side, the tiny carousel horses inside that spun around with fine gold glitter covering the beautiful scene. It was decadent and beautiful, and now shattered in a box on your front drive, the glittery water leaking out of a large crack in the box and onto the snow.

"Just give her one of Ginny's," he says defensively, the hint of a shrug ghosting his coat-covered shoulders.

"Oh yeah perfect, because I'm sure she'd love a mug that says Mrs Potter to be!"

You march away from him in a foul mood, stomping your way back into the house as you close the door with a resounding slam, the wreath on the door quivering with the force.

It was the evening before Christmas Eve, you didn't have anything else to give her and you certainly couldn't show up empty handed for only one person, especially one that had become a good friend to you and who had admittedly struggled to fit in with the family at first. You felt wretched and suddenly wanted to stay at home, the idea of going to the Burrow now making you feel physically sick.

You winced as the pain in your back suddenly increased, making you grab ahold of the table beside the door for support as you felt it radiate through your back and settle into your pelvis.

"Look, why don't we just drop by somewhere on the way to mums? See if we can get a replacement." Fred says as he steps through the door, inevitably trailing snow throughout the hallway. You straighten up, recovering from the cramps and turn to him in disbelief, fresh annoyance consuming you again.

"It can't be replaced it was antique!"

"Well something similar then," he mumbles. You don't even fight his words, realising that he didn't have any semblance of idea of how hard you'd worked to make everything perfect for Christmas.

"You haven't even apologised," you huff, kicking off your shoes and wandering towards the kitchen, cringing at the pain that still remains in your lower back.

"What for?!" He asks, sounding mystified. "Hardly my fault I slipped, ice is icy funnily enough."

"Oh piss off Fred, you know it wasn't the ice," you spit out, reaching for a mug as you flick the kettle on again.

"I've had enough of this," he says angrily, marching right back out of the hall towards the front door that slams shut behind him. The silence that follows is almost suffocating as you stand looking at the place he stood only moments before.

The tears flowed freely now, though the gut wrenching sobs had stopped eventually. It had been around half an hour since your argument with Fred when you walked over to the door to attempt to reconcile, not wanting the stupid argument to ruin the last night in your home before tomorrows journey. It was getting late and you wanted to go to bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally and knew that stopping off somewhere tomorrow for a replacement gift for Fleur would only make your wake up call earlier. You sucked in a sharp breath when you stood up from the sofa, feeling a sharp pain shoot right up your pelvis and down your leg right to your toes, the cramping immediately resuming. You let out a few steady breaths and grabbed hold of your bump as if to help calm the pain and waddled towards the door.

When you saw that the car was no longer outside, with no sign of Fred anywhere and only tyre marks in the snow as proof, you knew instantly that he had left. Tears began to prickle at your eyes and you closed the door slowly with a weak shove, the tears coming once again. Fred had never left during an argument, had never just upped and decided to flee. You felt miserably guilty for your overreaction, even if it did seem deserved, and wished more than anything that you could just fix it and go to bed.

You went to make another cup of tea, needing the warmth and the comfort from the drink, the fire having long since died and the room feeling uncommonly chilly. A sharp pain suddenly radiated through your lower abdomen, like a crushing pain that tightened around your hips like a belt that was too small and you gasped, clutching hold of the counter as you waited for it to disappear. During your scramble to reach out for something solid to rest upon, the mug had been knocked to the side and you watched as your favourite mug tumbled to the floor, splintering at your feet into little ceramic shards.

The pain was increasing rather than disappearing and you felt the tightness all over your bump now. When it finally began to abate after a few seconds, your legs felt wobbly and you felt shaken, heart pounding and breathing unsteady as you tried to calm yourself. You barely managed to make it over to the sofa when the pain started again, radiating through your body with increasing intensity that felt like a wave slow building until it crashed upon the sand. You gripped the arm of the sofa as the apex of the pain consumed your body again, this time lasting even longer than before.

When the pain peaked, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the sofa, you realised with a sheer sense of panic that you were completely alone. You couldn't use the floo, couldn't apparate and now you also had no car to get you anywhere or to anyone. Your owl was delivering a message to the Burrow and still hadn't returned, clearly having flown to Wheezes instead, leaving you owl-less. You took long steady breaths when you could, relishing in the few moments of relief that came between your pains. It couldn't be labour, it just couldn't, even though logically you knew that it was more than possible as babies came when they were ready, not when you wanted them to.

You sighed when you felt another wave of pain starting in your extremities, rapidly increasing to a crushing pain around you back and in your last parts. The pain made you breathless and you could hardly believe how quickly things had escalated as you knelt on the floor trying to keep yourself calm but failing miserably in the middle of what you absolutely would not believe, but logically knew, was labour. You choked on a sob when you thought of Fred, that he'd left you at your most vulnerable time, that he'd miss the birth of your child and that you'd have to do this all alone. The plans you'd made for your birth were now completed ruined and you would no longer have the support of Molly, who had been overjoyed at being asked to support you. She was more than just your mother-in-law and after birthing seven children, there was no one else you trusted to guide you through labour. But now completely alone and trapped at home, would you survive? Women died in childbirth all the time, especially when birthing alone. What if the baby didn't survive? What if the cord was around their neck and you didn't know?

Almost like a switch had gone off in your mind, you focused on the task at hand, pushing all fear inducting thoughts out of your head and focused instead of what would be needed if you were going to do this alone. Warm towels, water, somewhere comfy for you to labour, somewhere warm and soft for the baby, baby clothes and a multitude of blankets. You looked towards the stairs and took a deep breath, trying your hardest to time yourself so that in the brief moments of reprieve you could climb the stairs to fetch what you'd need.

It took much longer than expected to collect everything you'd need, having to stop multiple times to cling onto the nearest surface and ride out the wave of pain that you could tell was getting worse and closer together. You'd barely made it down the stairs when another wave of pain hit you, making you stumble down the last step. You cried out at the searing pain that shot through you at the inadvertent step you'd taken, a lighting bolt of agony coursing through your pelvis, around your bump and settling deep in your groin. Your breath was shaky as you tried to recover from the pain but it didn't wane this time and instead focused purely in the centre of your pelvis. You notice by chance that it's past midnight now, the jingle of the little Christmas-themed muggle clock taunting you as to the announcement of a new day. Christmas Eve and you were alone, left to give birth entirely alone.

It takes everything you gave no to cry out, focusing instead on taking deep breaths and emitting a low groan as a way of vocalising your pain. You eventually make it back to the sofa, surrounded by all the things you'd need and allow yourself a little sob as you look at the equipment surrounding you, like an ominous scene of foreboding. Whatever motivation and strength you had previously momentarily slipped away and you allowed yourself to cry, both for the unrelenting pain and for your heartbreaking situation.

You let out another cry when a pain much stronger and more direct than before hits you full on, a crushing feeling from the inside that makes you feel lightheaded. You scramble to look down when you suddenly feel something wet beneath you, bringing your hand up to your legs to try and decipher what had caused it. You fight through another pain to pry off your wet bottoms and cast them aside, praying that you don't see any blood between your thighs. It's clear, the liquid that drips down your thighs, small sudden gushes turning to small drops as you battle to get a towel underneath you.

You're on all fours again, trying your hardest to take stabilising breaths when you hear the sound of the front door open.

"Fred!" You cry out in hope and desperation, the wail that falls from your lips an accumulation of the physical and emotional pain. It's the scream that you had wanted so desperately to let out as your body burns internally.

He's beside you in seconds and couldn't have been quicker if he'd apparated between the door and the living room. Your head falls forward as another contraction takes over, the sudden need to push consuming every instinct within you.

"I'm here sweetheart, I'm here it's okay," he coos, his hand instinctively reaching for your lower back as you circle your hips, trying desperately to bring relief.

You look up into his eyes and can see that he looks completely torn, eyes washing over your form as his mind whirls trying to formulate a plan. He looks completely overwhelmed under the surface, as much as he's pretending to be calm, panicked by the sudden chance in circumstances.

"Look sweetheart, I need to fetch mum, I'll be back in five minutes tops, I'll apparate right there and right back, can you handle that?"

He barely gets the words out before you scramble to reach out for him, clutching the bottom of his shirt desperately as you cringe from the movement of your torso.

"No please Freddie, please don't leave me alone again," you beg, already crying from the thought alone as you cling into him, tears streaming down your face. You're terrified of being alone again, desperate for him to stay by your side. You're scared and in pain, unable to think clearly.

"I won't leave," he says with a nod, trying to calm you, his brows knitting together as he tries to think of a backup. It's too late to drive you to St Mungo's and there's no way to side along apparate with you safely, especially now that labour had begun.

He does the only thing he can think of and pulls out his wand to cast his patronus, watching with a dwindling sense of hope that it would reach its destination quickly.

He pockets his wand again and turns his full attention back to you, trying to push some pressure into your back to relieve the pain in anyway he can, gently reminding you to take slow and deep breaths. There's so much that he needs to say to you, to apologise for, but that can wait until later, knowing that his focus had to be on you right now.

"Fred I need to push," you say with staggered breaths, a thin sheet of sweat covering your forehead.

"I know sweetheart, just a couple more minutes okay?" He says, still squatting down beside you. He prays to Merlin and to anyone else that might be listening for this to go well, for his patronus to have worked and failing that, for it to be an easy birth. He wasn't prepared for this, just a prankster turned businessman that had no knowledge of women's bodies beyond putting the baby there... getting it out was a completely different matter.

"That's it sweetheart, you are doing so well, I'm so proud of you," he says, pushing back your hair that had stuck to your sweaty head, reaching for one of the little hand towels towels and enchanting it so that it was wet and cool before rubbing it softly over your forehead. You moan out and he hardly knows if it's because of the cooling sensation or because of the pain, but when you pull his washcloth holding hand back up to your forehead, he's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You are so strong princess, you're doing so well," he coos, trying his hardest to support you in your time of need. Truthfully, he was baffled how your body was doing this. You looked like you were in excruciating pain but yet you still carried on for the sake of the baby, your strength and resilience astounding him.

He jolts when he hears the telltale roar of flames in the fireplace and his heart leaps at the thought, had his patronus worked?

"Where is my, oh my dear!" Molly Weasley steps out of the floo induced flames of their fireplace and directly into the living room, giving herself a good shake as she spots her daughter in law on all fours in obvious labour. She pulls out her wand and casts a spell over herself that cleans off any sign of fireplace soot, then blasts the fireplace so that the regular flames resume to heat the home.

"Oh my dear," she rushes over, moving to kneel beside her daughter in law whose face scrunched up in pain, a silent scream of anguish falling from her lips.

"You should have got me sooner!" She points an accusing finger at her son who looks equal parts guilty and mortified as she strikes your hair out of your face, her eyes flicking between concern and anger between the two of you.

"I... I told him it wouldn't be yet," you stammer, hardly able to form the words. "I need to push!"

"Fred make yourself useful! Just like your father sat idly about, fetch some more towels and pillows from the bed, honestly you men." Molly surges into caring mode and for once Fred does exactly as she says without any backchat or hesitation. Her very presence is reassuring to you and you feel instantly calmed just by having her by your side.

"Well I have to say it, you do make beautiful babies," Molly coos as she looks at the three of you huddled together on the bed. Fred looks tired but peaceful, his arm wrapped protectively around you as your new baby stays latched on to your breast, bundled in soft blankets that her grandma had knitted especially for her. You're exhausted but overwhelmingly happy, and perhaps a little bit shocked by how quickly everything had progressed throughout the day and night.

"Right I'm off, as long as you're all okay? Oh I can't wait to tell your father he'll be overjoyed! I'm only an owl away if you need anything and I mean that, yes?"

"Thank you, for allowing me to experience this. I have a feeling this little one will be my favourite yet," Molly smiles as she leans down to glide her fingers across the little one's cheek lovingly. She looks up to you and smiles warmly, leaning down to give you a kiss on top of your head. "And very well done dear, you did brilliantly."

Fred walks his mother out, knowing that she had never liked apparating and would be using the floo to get home. You can hear their voices as they go downstairs but you can't hear what's being said and you look down at the cooing baby in your arms, watching her closed eyes and quick but steady breaths. She really is perfect, her little button nose, long lashes and tuft of distinctive red hair that was currently hidden beneath her little hat. 10 fingers, 10 toes and a striking resemblance to her dad that after the intense labour you'd just endured felt like a hilarous but tiny smack in the face.

When Fred returns, he's beaming. He pauses, leaning against the doorframe as he looks at the sight before him, his girls.

"How are you feeling sweetheart?" He asks, gently climbing onto the bed beside you.

"Exhausted," you say with a laugh, trying hard not to jiggle the little one too much with your laughter. "But I'm happy."

"Me too. Here, let me take her so you can get some rest."

You want to protest but you're worried your eyes will close at any second even though you're trying your hardest to keep them open, your body just too exhausted. You hand Fred the sleeping baby, passing her over gently like she could shatter at any moment from being so fragile and within moments of your head touching the pillow, you're out like a light.

"Wait till you meet your uncle George, and auntie Ginny, and uncle Percy, and Ron, and Charlie and Bill... there's a lot of them to remember I know, but it's mainly uncle George and Auntie Angelina you have to remember kid. Don't even get me started on the others, aunt Hermione, uncle Harry, auntie Fleur and then there's your granny and grandad."

"Trying to bore her back to sleep with your family tree?" You smile, noticing Fred and your little girl cuddled together in the little armchair in the corner next to her bassinet. He huffs a laugh, turning to you with so much adoration in his eyes that it momentarily leaves you breathless.

"Just getting her up to speed," he smirks, reaching down with his hand to grab her hand gently, "you going to say good morning to your beautiful mummy?" He gently manipulated her hand so that she gives you a little wave and you laugh, sitting up in bed with a slight wince.

"So I guess Fred Jr is off the table now eh?" He says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he stands up from the chair, bringing your daughter over to you, her face a perfect picture of contentment.

"It was never on the table," you say with a smirk, greedily reaching for your daughter.

"Well you surprised us little one," Fred says to his daughter as she begins to stir. "Thought we'd be naming you something new yearsey, but you're a little Christmas Angel."

As if the concept of time and days had just returned to you, you realise that your daughter was born on Christmas Eve, your own little Christmas miracle.

"Holly?" Fred suggests, your nose scrunching up at the suggestion, not liking how obvious it was.

"What about Evangeline?" You ask, looking down at the sweet face, trying to weight up what name suited her the most. "Nickname Eve or Evie?"

"Evangeline Weasley..." Fred muses, as if trying it out for himself, "I love it." He beams, as if the missing puzzle piece has just slotted in to place.

"Merry Christmas little Evangeline," he coos, watching as she yawns, her eyes opening with a little squint as if by some miracle, answering to her name. Fred kisses you and you're happier than you've felt in a long time, the heartbreak of yesterday long forgotten and forgiven as you celebrate your first Christmas together as a family of 3.

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withleeknow · 1 year ago

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magnolia.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, kinda fluffy, kinda angsty idek, hurt/comfort; unedited and self-indulgent as hell !! word count: 0.4k listen to 🎧: hold my girl - george ezra

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

sometimes, it's crazy just how in tune minho is with you, how he can sense that something's wrong before you even have to say it.

he knows all of your signs - smiles that don't quite reach your eyes; soft, barely audible sighs instead of frustrated ones like when you're angry; talking about insignificant things throughout dinner with a distinct lack of energy just for the sake of holding a conversation and not letting your home fall into a state of depressing silence. an overall aloofness that can't simply be blamed on exhaustion.

when you're upset, you shut down.

minho doesn't need you to justify your defense mechanism, doesn't try to coax you out of your shell because he's the same way. when something is eating away at him, he detaches himself from the world too.

in those instances, the last thing he wants is for someone else to offer unhelpful advice when no one but him knows what's going through his mind.

there are some things that you just have to process on your own, some motions you have go through by yourself.

minho can only be by your side while you deal with your inner turmoil. hold your hand and give you a shoulder to lean on, whatever you need until you're ready to come back to him again.

that's what he does this time too. he doesn't ask you any questions; he just puts on the kettle and lights your favorite vanilla and magnolia scented candle. makes you a steaming mug of tea and peels some oranges, arranging the slices neatly on a plate afterward. then he sits on the couch next to you, a random movie playing on the tv that no one's really watching.

at some point, you move closer to tuck yourself under his arm. minho instantly pulls you to rest against his body, a hand on your shoulder giving you comforting squeezes over your sweatshirt.

just the two of you, the willingness to be there for the other especially when it's hard, and the occasional meows reverberating from somewhere nearby.

when he thinks you might've fallen asleep just like that, you start sniffling. the ache that minho feels in his chest is almost immediate.

even then, all he says is, "i'm here."

you meekly nod in acknowledgment as you continue to cry, painful sobs making you fist the material of his shirt in your hands.

he knows that you'll talk when you want to, when you're ready. he gets that in this moment, you just don't have the capacity to articulate your thoughts and explain your feelings in a way that other people could understand.

so he simply presses a kiss to your forehead and hugs you a little closer. he sits with you until it passes. he loves you enough to wait for you, to hold you through all of the lowest lows.

"i'm here. i love you. i'm right here."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz1skz @jazziwritesthings (italicized = can't tag)

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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fallingforyouforeverr · 1 year ago

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hey I’ve just found your account and I loooove your writing!! could you do some arthur tv with a singer gf hcs?

𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐓𝐕 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐟:

summary: how arthur would react to his partner being a singer

author's note: hey guys! sorry that I kinda disappeared for a while but I'm back now and I've got some ideas im working on rn so hopefully I can finish those soon. tysm for the request anon, hope you enjoy reading :)

please consider checking out my masterlist

-> he's your biggest fan

-> goes to all your important shows/events to cheer you on, and brings along as many of his/your friends and family as he can

-> would seriously contemplate wearing a shirt with a massive picture of your face on it just to see your reaction

-> one of the rare occasions that he refuses to take photos with fans because he doesn't want to take the attention off you. instead, he just tells them to 'take photos of the real star of the show'

-> as soon as you finish your last song, this man is sprinting backstage so he can meet you as soon as you come off

-> genuinely in awe of your voice. god forbid someone lets arthur choose the playlist for a party because it would be 90% your music, 10% songs george or chris forced him to include

-> drives his housemates crazy by having your music playing constantly. if anyone tries to tell him to shut up, he just turns it up louder

-> whenever you release new songs, arthur promotes them all over his socials, and replies to every comment praising you, giving his own opinions on each of your songs

-> always uses your music in the background of his videos or his instagram. he just loves to show off how talented his wonderful girlfriend is!

-> wears your merch all the time, even more than his friends' or even his own merch; he loves having something that represents you on him, even when you can't be there

-> besides, sometimes people ask him about the merch he is wearing, which means he can do his favourite thing – talk about you

-> fans have made so many cute compilations of him rambling about you and always point out his adorable reaction every time someone mentions your name or one of your songs

-> arthur would be honoured if you ever mentioned him in your music, and if you were to write a whole song about him, the poor guy would almost faint from happiness

-> he also loves it when you sing for him. you may sing in front of people all the time, but when it's just the two of you late at night, it feels so much more intimate and special

-> always asks you to sing when he can't sleep or has had a bad day, your voice seems to relax him like nothing else

-> also, you and arthur hill would be instant besties as you both understand each other in a way that your non-musician friends can't. you guys would totally be each other's opening acts for basically every show, and the fans and arthur absolutely adore it

#arthurtv #arthur frederick x reader #arthur frederick #arthur tv #arthur hill #george clarke #arthurtv x reader #cariad rambles

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lovings4turn · 1 year ago

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જ⁀➴ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋 . . . (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares.

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 becca's 'be my valentine' special #george russell #george russell x reader #george russell x you #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you

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sophie-hatter-jenkins · 2 months ago

Text

Part 11: Curly

A March 2025 Hinny Microfic for @ginnystrophyhusband using Prompt 12

765 words (believe it or not, I've cut this viciously! It was a lot longer a couple of hours ago)

All the March prompts that I write will be set in the same universe as, and form a prequel to, this fic. Hopefully they'll all stand alone, but they'll also form a little story of their own, which is why they're numbered.

Fair warning - it's going to be fluffy!

Read them all from the beginning on AO3

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

By the time Ginny moves to Pembrokeshire it is high summer. West Wales is experiencing one of its infrequent but absolutely ferocious heatwaves. There’s a breeze coming in off the Atlantic, but even that can’t do more than temper the worst of the sweltering heat.

It is not weather that favours any of the Weasleys, but despite this, Ty Môr is a hive of activity. There’s an absolute mountain of stuff to move, and Ginny’s both grateful and relieved that she has such a big family to help out, even if they are all wilting in the heat. As well as Harry, Ginny and her parents, Ron and Hermione are here, plus Bill, George and Percy. Everyone is pitching in, and there are people everywhere, fetching boxes, carrying furniture, or finishing off all the little jobs that need to be done.

Ginny stands at the centre of it all, opening box after box and telling people where everything should go; this drawer for that, that cupboard for this, getting it all just where she wants it.

Or at least, that’s what she’s trying to do.

It starts well enough, but by late morning, things are threatening to unravel. Ginny’s hot and sticky. There are a lot of decisions to be made, everyone has questions, and she hasn’t stopped all morning so she’s feeling pretty frazzled. It would be a lot more manageable, she feels, if she wasn’t being so thoroughly undermined by her mother.

Molly Weasley sticks to her daughter like glue, and is apparently hell bent on telling her that every single choice is terribly wrong and will inevitably lead to domestic disaster—when she’s not gazing at Ginny with teary eyes and muttering things about ‘her baby being so grown-up’, that is.

It is driving Ginny absolutely nuts.

By the time as the sun creeps up towards its apex, she’s bitten her tongue so many times that she’s in danger of severing it, along with the thin thread of sanity to which she is clinging. She desperately doesn’t want a fight, because she loves her mum and she knows it’s coming from a good place, but it can’t last; Ginny is too hot, too irritated and too stressed. There’s an explosion coming, and isn’t going to be able to stop it.

That’s when Harry arrives, as though she’s somehow summoned him in her hour of need.

He’s a welcome sight at any time, but especially now, wearing an old t-shirt that drapes appealingly from his angular shoulders, and a pair of cut-offs that Ginny’s particularly fond of, which may or may not have something to do with the way they fit so snugly to his hips.

He’s helping Hermione to levitate another stack of boxes into the kitchen, and though they’re busy with their task, Harry’s eyes still go straight to Ginny. He takes one look at her expression and immediately sets down his boxes, whispering something to Hermione, who nods briskly.

“Molly?” says Harry, approaching them. “Did you say you’d got some lunch for everyone? I think the troops are getting hungry.”

Molly checks her watch. “Gracious is that the time? I’ve got some Cornish pasties ready to go in the oven, but the boys must be about ready to eat their own fingers!”

“They’ll be fine for a little while I’m sure, especially if there are pasties on offer,” he reassures her. “If you need a hand, why don’t I come with you? Hermione can help Ginny here.”

“Oh! Well, that’s very kind of you, dear.” Ginny isn’t sure whether her mum is talking to Harry or Hermione, and she thinks that her mum probably isn’t either. “But are you sure you’ll manage without me?”

This is very definitely aimed at Ginny. “Yes mum. We’ll be fine.” She tries not to look too thrilled by the idea. “I’d love a pasty too”

“Thought as much,” says Harry, shooting her a cocky grin. Ginny blows him a kiss in return.

“I won’t be long!” her mum promises, but Harry’s already guiding Molly towards the front door, heading for the spot beyond the gate where they can apparate.

Ginny breathes a sigh of relief.

Hermione laughs, tucking her curly hair behind her ear. “Harry rather got the impression that was how you felt.”

“Am I really that transparent?” wonders Ginny.

Hermione shakes her head. “I think it’s more that he just knows you really well. You and your mum.”

Ginny leans back against the kitchen counter. “Well, he was right about more than one thing.”

Hermione quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yes?”

“I’m bloody starving.”

#harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #harry potter fanfiction #ginnystrophyhusband

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live-laugh-lenney · 1 year ago

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Hey I was wondering if you could write a little something about being on tour with George and Max like how max has Andrew with him no worries if not love your writing x

oh, imagine all the mischief they'd get up to... :'))

george loves it.

he loves waking up and seeing yn in the crew bunk opposite him on the tour bus, wearing an oversized t-shirt from their merch collection, curled up underneath the blanket she'd brought to add to her home comforts on the bus. he loves cosying up with her on the sofa in the made-up living space area, munching on snacks that they would buy from the service stations they stop at on the way to each location, as they watch the world go by on their travels to the next tour location. he loves getting to stay up late with her after each show is finished, talking nonsense and having the bus to themselves as max has his snooze in the bedroom at the end. there's just something relaxing, for him, that helps him wind down after each show with her being right beside him.

she's there during the meet and greets, too.

usually sat in the background or loitering by the set on the stage as she watches the two of them hug or take gifts from those who had brought them something special, and she listens as they say hello to everyone who had paid for tickets to see them before each of the shows. and, every so often, someone would recognise yn and they'd come over and say hello to her and include her in their conversations which she absolutely adores. (and sometimes, they bring gifts just for her and she doesn't know whether to cry on the spot or hug them or do both - which george loves to see happen and he's always standing behind with a massive grin on his face as he watches her interact with his fans).

her and max would be chaos.

they'd constantly 'bicker' over george and during the london show, she would make an appearance on stage with a 'query that she needs help with' and it would simply be about how there's some guy who won't leave her boyfriend alone - much like andrew did at the recent london show at the weekend.

"tonight, we thought we'd welcome a few special guests who have a few issues of their own that we most definitely are qualified to help with," george introduces the next, and final, segment of the london show and it's the time when the audience understands why the two arthur's and herself had been announced as guests for the show, "so, without further ado, can we please welcome onto the stage... our very first guest and my very lovely girlfriend, yn!"

she's met with cheers and blinding lights shining upon her as she steps from behind the wings of the stage and makes herself known to those in the audience. her cheeks heating up, already sweating from the stage lights that were intensely lighting her up, and her legs were like jelly as she with the phone in her hand.

"i'm actually really thankful you guys chose my query," she says into the microphone once the cheers had subsided, "i think it's getting worse and i was in desperate need of some answers."

"and how may we help you, dear yn?"

"you see, my boyfriend is currently on tour with his podcast co-host and i'm pretty certain said co-host has a thing for said boyfriend," she says playfully and max feigns shock, holding his hand to his chest with his mouth gaped open, "he's very forward with advances."

"how forward?" max asks.

"well, i'm currently visiting my boyfriend and there's been times when i come back from the toilet and said co-host is in my place beside him. he likes to cuddle with him a lot, too, which makes me feel very jealous," yn frowns playfully and her brows furrow dramatically and it makes the audience laugh loudly, "i was hoping for some alone time since it's been a while since i've seen him but, i'm scared i'm being replaced unwillingly."

"have you tried anything to stop this?" george asks, trying his best to hold back the laughter that was building up within him, "maybe, we should get our own bus?"

"or, you know, you should just consider the option of a throuple?"

shepherd's bush fills with cheers and claps and george just shakes his head at how max encourages the crowd to go louder with over-the-top hand movements to increase the volume. and yn can't help but giggle as george rolls his eyes.

"a throuple?"

"i'm sure said co-host is happy to share," max looks over at george as george's eyes are trained on yn, smirks on both of their lips, "i mean, if you're happy to share, that is."

"i don't know," yn pretends to think about it, tapping her chin with her finger before she placed both of her hands on her hips, "my boyfriend is very handsome, you see, so i really understand why he's in such demand by this co-host."

"maybe said boyfriend has eyes for his girlfriend and only her?" she hears george say into his microphone as the audience cheers at her previous statement, "have you asked him that? you're very beautiful so maybe he doesn't see what's happening because he's distracted by how you are? maybe he just loves you so much that he can't see what's happening?"

max pretends to gag and yn snickers softly at his actions.

"i don't think my boyfriend would like to hear you say that, george clarke," yn teases and george stands from his seat, walking around the desk he was sat at to stand beside her, "you know what, i think i'm just being silly because the co-host is so gay. unless-"

"nope," george shakes his head and stands beside her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as the crowd coos and cheers at what they were witnessing. and away from the microphone, he whispers, "i love you. nothing to worry about," into her ear and it's enough for her to melt under him.

"give it up for yn, ladies and gents," max grins widely and gives her a theatrical applaud himself, standing up to give her a hug, "i feel so accomplished tonight, we've helped so many people."

and when the show finishes, like she does every night, she joins them as they do a mini meet-and-greet with those who were waiting by the stage door in hopes of seeing them after the show. and she happily takes photos with those who asked her and has conversations with those who ask her questions and want to talk to her opposed to max and george.

it's always fun and the two weeks she spends on tour is something she speaks about for ages.

mini tiktok vlogs on her days spent with them, instagram q&a's about what she got up to and what her favourite night was, posting tweets during the shows as little updates for those that never got tickets. it's like a two week holiday for her and she has the best time. xx

#george clarkey #george clarkey imagines #george clarkey fics #george clarkey blurbs #george clarkey headcannons #george clarke #george clarke imagines #george clarke fics #george clarke blurbs #george clarke headcannons

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takingchences · 3 months ago

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 prologue

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes

series masterlist + playlist + other works

*** Friendly reminder that this chapter takes place in season 1 to give you a glimpse of their relationship. The rest of the story will follow season 3 ***

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

How does one describe Savanna Rios? She's like Regina George, but meaner and hotter. Love her or hate her, Vanna commanded respect. She was the only student at Beacon Hills High Coach Finstock couldn't intimidate. The man likened the teen to his younger, female counterpart. He enjoyed watching her terrorize Greenberg and all the other idiots and delinquents that annoyed him.

Stiles Stilinski worshipped the ground she walked on. He'd been head over heels for the girl since she'd moved to town in the first grade. Vanna, Stiles, and a girl named Heather had all been close as kids, but drifted apart as they grew older. Nowadays, the three hardly spoke at all. Vanna socialized with the popular clique, Heather transferred schools, and Stiles was always getting into trouble with his best friend Scott McCall. Speaking of which....

"Oh, God. Look at them," one of her cheerleaders, Mallory, nudged Vanna's side. She snickered, pointing at the two dark haired boys talking animatedly. Scott quickly lowered his shirt after Stiles reached out to touch the bandage around his waist, glancing around nervously.

"So lame, right?" Harley from her other side joined in. Vanna ignored them. The girls were more like followers than friends. They trailed after her like ducklings that imprinted on the first thing they saw. With no free will or opinions of their own, they only said what they thought the ravenette wanted to hear. Just like everyone else.

"That is freakin' awesome," they overheard Stiles Stilinski saying. "I mean, this is seriously going to be the best thing that's happened to this town since Vanna Rios moved-"

"Stiles," his friend Scott McCall sighed, spotting the Devil herself in her uniform walking towards them with two other cheerleaders by her side. Stiles noticed her too, brushing a hand over his buzzed hair. "She doesn't even know your name."

"She knows my name, okay?" Stiles argued, straightening his shirt. "Hey, Vanna!" The boy called out, holding his hand up with a goofy grin. "You look... like you're gonna ignore me." He continued, his voice growing quieter as she strutted by without a glance.

Vanna stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned, looking straight at them. "Bilinski!" The ravenette called out, her straight, chest-length hair blowing softly in the breeze. Stiles and Scott froze, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Vanna snapped her fingers and pointed down at her spotless white cheer shoe, where one of the laces had come loose.

"On it!" The pale boy tripped over himself from how quickly he ran over to help her. He crouched down and retied her shoelace as she braced her right foot against his knee. Her two minions giggled above him, exchanging smirks. Vanna smiled down at the boy condescendingly with her arms crossed.

"Thanks, Biles." The head cheerleader walked away with her two shadows as they laughed and shook their heads in pity.

Stiles returned to Scott's side with a sigh, refusing to acknowledge the look of see what I mean? on Scott's face. "See? Just like I said. She knows most of my name." The pale boy finally admitted, his hazel eyes locked on Vanna's figure.

"Uh-huh." Scott quietly agreed, the two climbing the steps and entering the school. "I don't get it. Why do let her walk all over you like that?" Scott asked as they headed for their lockers.

"I don't know what to tell you, Scott. Alright? Pretty privilege is real." Stiles gestured wildly with his hands. "She could back over me with her car and I'd pay for any damages my body may have caused her paint job." The boy stared off into the distance, where Vanna could be seen giggling with Danny Mahealani. Vanny and Danny. The two, like Scott and Stiles, had developed a deep, sibling-like bond over the years and were rarely seen without the other.

"And why 'Biles,' anyway?" The tan boy shook his head with a confused look.

"Because," Stiles rolled his eyes, putting in his combination code. "When we were kids we went on a field trip to the zoo and she dared me to eat one of the food pellets. I did it—like an idiot—and barfed in front of the entire class."

The shaggy haired male snorted. "Why the hell did you agree to that?"

Stiles pursed his lips, pulling out his textbooks for first and second period. "She's very persuasive."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Beacon Hills was always a little out of the ordinary compared to Vanna's memories of San Diego. But lately things in the small California town were getting too strange to turn a blind eye.

Firstly, half of a girl's dead body was found naked in the woods. There weren't any leads to go off of just yet, but the police believed the Jane Doe to be a victim of an animal attack. Secondly, benchwarmer Scott McCall was suddenly a lacrosse god. Word has it that he actually flipped over his teammates to score a goal at tryouts. Then, days later, a half-dead man was found mauled in the back of a bus at the school. Yeah, things were definitely getting hairy in Beacon Hills.

"We'll figure it out-" Stiles tried to reassure a panicked Scott. Suddenly, they were joined by a third person.

"Figure what out?" Lydia sat down, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing with every movement. The two boys stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes, dumbstruck by her arrival.

"Uh-" Scott glanced frantically between Stiles and Lydia. "Just, uh... homework."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed lamely. He leaned across the table. "Why is she sitting with us?" He whispered to the werewolf, who shook his head in bewilderment.

Allison and Greenberg sat down next. "Hey," Allison greeted the table with a bright grin.

Danny appeared a moment later, noticing all the available seats were by Stiles. The lacrosse goalie sighed heavily and sat down, purposefully leaving a chair between them as he avoided eye contact with the pale boy. Stiles nearly choked on air as he realized what was happening. Because if Danny was sitting with them then-

"Why the hell are you sitting over here?" Vanna stopped at Danny's side with a grimace, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "We don't like these people."

"Play nice, Vanny." He pulled the chair next to him out from the table with a small smile. "Sit down." The cheerleader rolled her eyes but obeyed. She pulled a box of Reese's Pieces out of her bag and tore the tab open.

"Oh," Danny's expression grew smug. "Chocolate and peanut butter. I see your secret admirer is back." He held out a hand and she poured some into his palm.

"Duh." Vanna tossed her long, glossy hair over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand, a genuine smile on her face as she spoke with her best friend. "I'm the hottest piece of ass at this school."

Stiles made a noise of agreement, his cheeks turning red as he continued to stare at his dream girl sitting inches away from him with a hand over his mouth. "S-secret admirer?" His voice was a few octaves higher than usual. He cleared his throat, fidgeting in the hard plastic chair.

"Oh, yeah!" Allison gasped. "Lydia mentioned something about that. Somebody puts candy in your locker on Wednesdays, right?"

Vanna nodded, crossing her legs. The movement caused her skirt to ride up her thigh. Stiles forced himself to avert his eyes. "Get up," Jackson stormed over, glaring down at Greenberg.

"Why do you never ask Danny to get up?"

"Because I don't stare at his girlfriend's coin slot or up his ex's skirt." The goalie sassed.

Vanna groaned with a grimace, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "God, did you have to remind me about that dark time in my life?" Greenberg reluctantly moved and Jackson claimed the spot at the head of the table. "It was a two week fling in middle school. Do I have to carry that shame with me for the rest of my life?"

"Yes." Stiles answered aloud. She narrowed her eyes threateningly at the buzz-haired boy. He chuckled awkwardly, making finger guns.

"So, I hear they're saying it was some kind of animal attack." Danny bit into his apple.

Allison frowned. "Another one?"

The boy shrugged. "It's probably a cougar."

"I heard mountain lion," Jackson argued.

"A cougar is a mountain lion."

"A cougar is a mountain lion, dumbass."

The table went silent.

Lydia and Vanna shared a look before the redhead backtracked. "Isn't it?" The Latina rolled her eyes before tossing a candy into her mouth. Was there a better combination than velvety milk chocolate and creamy peanut butter?

"Who cares? The guy's probably just some homeless tweaker looking to die anyway." The lacrosse king said dismissively.

Stiles sat up, looking at his his phone. "Hey, I just found out who it is. Check it out." The group all leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the video playing on his phone. Stiles stopped breathing as he felt Vanna's hair brush against his cheek. Having the scent of coconut and peaches so close made him blush furiously.

Any other day, Scott would've laughed at how fast the poor boy's heart was racing from such a small interaction, but he had other things on his mind at the moment.

"I-I know that guy." He explained how he knew the victim, looking understandably freaked out. After hearing more details of the alleged animal attack, the mood was pretty bleak. It was only made worse as Lydia suggested a double date. Vanna watched, amused, as Stiles made hilarious faces during the couples' conversation. He looked physically pained the longer it dragged on. She giggled quietly.

"... you know what else sounds fun? Stabbing myself in the face with this fork," Jackson deadpanned.

"Do we all get a turn?" The lacrosse captain flipped off the ravenette.

"Vanny, Danny" Lydia pipped up, batting her eyes innocently. "Do you want-"

"No way," she denied. "I'd choose death by mountain lion before going on a group date with you losers." Her best friend nodded in agreement.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Another animal attack. Another dead body. This time, Lydia and Jackson were witnesses.

Now, Vanna wasn't exactly close with either of them. Jackson and her butted heads more times than not, which forced poor Danny into the roll of peacemaker. Lydia could be nice when she wanted to be. Some days the two girls got along fine, while others they were at each other's throats. There wasn't any personal beef (contrary to popular belief). The two girls simply didn't know how to get along. They were pit against each other so often, constantly compared to the other that it drove them both crazy. It wasn't a competition. They could both be beautiful, intelligent women. Having one there didn't take away from the other's value.

Then, as if things couldn't get any more fucked up, Vanna was then trapped inside the school with Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. Oh, not to mention a psycho killer was also in the building, hunting them down.

Despite the late hour, Vanna had still been at the school. The cheerleaders had been tasked with helping make decorations for the winter formal. Most of the squad had stayed after practice to help, but Vanna eventually sent them all home while she swept up the glitter on Coach's floor and laid the posters they'd painted out to dry.

She'd run into Scott and Stiles after going to investigate the strange sounds coming through the intercom. She'd floored the young werewolf with a strong uppercut, mistaking him for a burglar in the dark hallway.

After scrambling to find an excuse for breaking in, Scott left to find Allison after receiving a text while Stiles guided Vanna back to the lobby. All night, even while they were running and hiding from whatever it was that was chasing them—because it sure as Hell wasn't human—Stiles kept her within reach, constantly adjusting so that he was placed slightly in front of her.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Vanna didn't try to bite back her smart comments. It was obvious that Scott and Stiles were lying through their teeth about the killer's identity and why he was now targeting them. The only pieces of their story that rang true were the parts about the janitor being dead and someone being after them. There was real shock and fear there. It was obvious when they'd screamed at the sight of her in the hallway earlier that they'd been fleeing something or someone.

"What are we gonna do? Throw acid at him?" Stiles had joked once they'd taken shelter in a chemistry classroom on the second floor.

"No, like a fire bomb. In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail." Lydia corrected him, moving towards the locked cabinet.

"Self-igniting...?" Stiles frowned.

"Molotov cocktail." The group stared at Lydia in confusion. "What?" She fidgeted. "I read it somewhere."

Stiles sighed, gesturing towards the cabinet. "We don't have a key for that either..."

He was cut off by the sound of glass shattering. Vanna set down the barstool she'd used to bust out the glass and reached into the empty panels in the cabinet door to remove the chemicals they would need. She shrugged. "I found a key." Her expression dared someone to say something. The teens wisely chose to remain silent.

Jackson snorted, stepping over the broken glass to help her grab the needed materials. The rest shook off their dazed expressions and got to work measuring out whatever chemicals Lydia instructed them to use. "Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid." Lydia held a hand out. Her boyfriend hesitated before grabbing the bottle next to the one he'd originally reached for. Vanna narrowed her eyes from beside Stiles. Lydia mixed it all together before handing the weapon off to Scott.

"No," Allison blocked his path as he moved to leave. "No, this is insane. You can't do this. You can't go out there, Scott."

"We can't just sit here waiting for Stiles' dad to check his messages," the shaggy-haired boy argued.

"You could die," she stressed tearfully. "Don't you get that? He's already killed three people."

"And we're next," he reminded her, gently nudging her aside. "Somebody has to do something."

"Scott, just stop!" The brunnette panicked. "Do you remember... do you remember when you told me you knew whether I was lying or not? That I had a tell? Well, so do you. You're a horrible liar and you've been lying all night." She's not as oblivious as I thought, Vanna observed the scene from where she was perched on the edge of her usual desk.

"Just, please, please don't go. Please don't leave us," Allison pleaded. "Please?"

Scott stared at her for a moment before looking at Stiles. "Lock it behind me." His girlfriend pulled him into a desperate kiss, making the cheerleader roll her eyes in disgust. Scott left the classroom in total silence.

"So... we're just not going to talk about how painfully awkward that was to watch?" Lydia bobbed her head, swaying from side to side. "Okay."

Vanna picked at her chipped nails. Tonight's harrowing events had destroyed her manicure. She'd have to get them redone before winter formal. "I mean, I almost volunteered to take his place just to get away from your whiny as-"

"Van." Stiles shot her a look that she understood to mean behave. Her nose crinkled in annoyance.

Allison didn't react, far too busy pacing the room. "I don't get this. I don't get why he'd go out there and leave us. And I can't-" she dropped her hands from where they'd been fiddling with her hair to stare at them. "I can't stop my hands from shaking," she whimpered. Jackson moved to comfort the girl, under the watchful eyes of Lydia and Savanna. The redhead quickly turned away with a pained expression.

Jackson Whittemore had ruined Lydia Martin. He'd taken a strong, smart, confident girl and broken her down emotionally. She was forced to hide parts of herself that he didn't like or appreciate in order to receive the same affection he'd given the new girl for free. Savanna tore people down because they mostly deserved it. Jackson made people miserable for the hell of it. And now, he'd set his sights on someone that was already taken with zero regard for the girl whose heart he owned completely.

At least Lydia looked as fed up with the situation and Allison as Savanna herself felt. It wasn't often that the two agreed on something, but this was one of those rare moments where they could come together and support each other. Coffee brown eyes met green and the two girls shared a look of understanding.

Stiles was scared shitless. His best friend was out there, alone, risking his life. The Alpha was lurking somewhere in the shadows waiting for him. His dad could check his phone and arrive any minute. He was currently trapped in a classroom with the biggest douchebag he's ever met, an emotional wreck, the secret genius of Beacon Hills High, and his tormentor/crush.

"Hey," he slid into the spot next to her on the desk. Vanna side eyed him but chose not to comment on his proximity. "I just, uh... I want you to know that there's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried." She lifted her brow pointedly. "I can handle myself."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "I saw the way you took down that cabinet door." She bit her lip to contain her smile, but the boy still noticed. "And that right hook you threw at Scott earlier?" He nudged her arm with his elbow. "Badass." It completely took them by surprise how the petite girl had knocked a werewolf flat on his ass with one blow.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. It wasn't her usual cruel or smug smile, either. This one was genuine.

"Turns out you have a pretty nasty right hook yourself." She jerked her chin in Jackson's direction. His jaw was already starting to bruise.

"Ah-yeah, that." Stiles blushed, flexing his stiff knuckles. He'd definitely have to ice them if they ever got out of here. "It actually felt pretty good."

"It's not Derek that's after us, is it?" Savanna whispered, not wanting to be heard by the others. Stiles stiffened, his hazel eyes going wide.

"Wha-what?" He stuttered, avoiding eye contact. He shook his head with a look of disbelief. "Scott said-"

"I know what Scott said." Stiles felt trapped by her intense stare. "But as we've already established tonight, you're both terrible liars. So who's really out there? The Alpha?"

"How-" he gaped, looking at the others warily before leaning closer. "How do you know about that?" He whispered.

"I heard you and Scott talking in the cafeteria."

The two teens were locked in a battle of wills. Stiles crumbled under her knowing gaze. "You can't tell anybody." He stressed, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

"Who would I tell? I don't even know what we're talking about." She rolled her eyes. "But it sounds gang related. So, who is this guy?"

Stiles exhaled through his nose, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know."

Savanna always thought of herself as superior, but it wasn't because of a complex or anything. She really was different from everyone around her. Her senses and reflexes were far better than your average person. She could smell things others couldn't, like the pack of mint mojito gum Stiles always carried on him. She could hear things, too... and this was the first time all night she hadn't heard his heartbeat spike.

Stiles was telling her the truth.

The seven students were now scattered across the parking lot of the high school. Stiles' dad had shown up just in time with reinforcements after Scott had locked them in from the outside, sealing them inside with no chance of escape. Vanna finished giving her statement to the kind officer and headed towards her car. She'd just tossed her cheer bag in the backseat when Stiles appeared. "Hey," he smiled breathlessly, having run all the way over to talk to her. "About earlier..." he started, leaning awkwardly against her car.

"I didn't say anything to the police, if that's what you came to ask." She crossed her arms.

Stiles blinked, mouth gaping like a fish for a moment. "No, that's... I didn't-"

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Good night," she interrupted, dipping under his arm to slip into the driver's seat. The pale boy watched with sad eyes as she drove off. He'd really thought they'd gotten somewhere tonight. She hadn't made fun of him or insulted him all night. In fact, she'd called him by his name and had actually smiled at things he'd said.

Sheriff Stilinski pulled up next to him in his squad car and rolled down the passenger window. "Get in." His son climbed into the car and settled back into the seat with a sigh. Noah looked over at his son, noticing his disappointment. "Girl trouble?" He asked.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Well, I am a cop," Noah pulled the car into the driveway and parked, though neither of them made an attempt to exit the vehicle. "And believe it or not, I was your age once."

"I just thought after everything that happened tonight," Stiles squeezed his eye shut, dragging a hand down his face. "I dunno."

Noah reached across the console to squeeze his son's shoulder. "Son, girls like that eat guys like you for breakfast. You're better off."

Stiles disagreed.

He wasn't in love with the idea of her like so many others—this gorgeous, seemingly-perfect girl. She was so much more than the stereotypical mean girl. They only looked at the surface level. Sure, she'd called him Biles Bilinski as a joke since grade school. And yes, she was the one who broke into his locker last year and covered his stuff with whipped cream... but she was also the same girl he'd befriended as a kid. The one who'd given him a piggyback ride home after scraping his knee on the playground. The one who'd dressed up as Belle for a month and a half straight because she was her favorite Disney princess. Stiles knew her before she was the girl she is today. He'd seen sides of her that she keeps hidden away from others and herself.

Everyone made fun of him for chasing after a girl he could never have, including his best friend. Even his own father encouraged him to stop wasting his time on Savanna Rios. But Stiles Stilinski is stubborn and persistent. There was always a chance that things between them could change. If he'd learned anything in the weeks following Scott's transformation, it was that in Beacon Hills, nothing is impossible.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

"Are you not freaking out?" Stiles and Scott walked out of the locker room after Coach announced the new co-captains. "I'm freaking out."

"What's the point? It's just a stupid title." Scott was still moping. Stiles had taken him out the night before to drink and help him get over Allison dumping him. Unfortunately, they learned that werewolves can't get drunk and Scott had ended up babysitting his wasted best friend. The full moon was coming and not even the announcement of his new position as co-captain could get him out of his funk. "I could practically smell the jealousy in there."

"Wait," Stiles threw an arm out, stopping Scott in the middle of the hallway. "You can smell jealousy?"

"Yeah, the full moon is turning everything up to 10."

"So you can pick up on stuff like," the pale stared down the hall at a group of cheerleaders talking. "I don't know, desire?"

Scott gave him a small, knowing smirk. "Desire?"

"Like, sexual desire." Stiles elaborated.

"Sexual desire?" Scott repeated with high brows.

His friend was growing impatient. "Yes, Scott, sexual desire. Lust, passion, arousal." He rolled the "r" with his tongue. The werewolf spotted a familiar face among the group of girls.

"You mean Savanna."

"No," Stiles immediately denied. "In a general, broad sense. Can you determine sexual desire?"

"From Vanna to you?"

"Fine, yes." Stiles clenched his teeth. "From Vanna to me. Look, I need to know if I have a chance with this girl. Okay? I've been obsessing over her since we were freakin' seven."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Scott suggested.

"To save myself the utterly crushing humiliation, thank you very much." The paler boy said in an obvious tone. "So can you please just go up and ask her if she likes me? See if her heartbeat rises or pheromones come out," he waved his hand around his head.

"Alright," Scott gave in, unhappily walking towards the group of cheerleaders.

Stiles watched him in disbelief. "I love you," he called after his friend in excitement. "I love you. You're my best friend in the whole world."

The group fell quiet as Scott approached, the girls eyeing him up in down in confusion and curiosity. "Can we, uh, talk for a second?" He asked the ravenette. Vanna frowned but agreed, walking with him over to coach's office. Vanna leaned her hip against the edge of the desk.

"Is this about the other night?"

"Do you know if Allison still likes me?" He asked with those sad, puppy dog eyes. Vanna scoffed, crossing her arms with a sneer.

"How the hell would I know? We're not friends."

"You hang out in the same circle." He shrugged, moving closer. "I thought you might've heard something."

"Well, I didn't. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you, so..." she tried to move around him to get to the door but was blocked.

"I was trying to protect you," he stated in a low voice, taking another step towards her. Vanna refused to retreat and held her chin up confidently, even when her instincts were telling her that something was wrong. This was not the Scott McCall she was used to. "All of you. Why can't you see that?"

"McCall-" she placed a hand on his chest to keep some distance between them.

He inched closer, inhaling deeply. "You smell... good." His nose brushed the skin of her neck as he leaned in to sniff her once more. His strong hands gripped her hips painfully, rooting her in place. Vanna fisted a handful of his long, curly hair and yanked, forcing his head back and away from her.

"Do not touch me." She hissed, her pupil's dilated as they made eye contact. She threw him to the side and stormed out of the office with a slam of the door.

Turns out, after Scott had made an aggressive pass at her, he'd turned around and made out with Lydia Martin. Then, as if he was trying to incur the infamous wrath of Rios, he injured Danny during lacrosse practice. Everyone stopped what they were doing to rush to the boy's side.

The ravenette shoved people out of the way to kneel next to him. "Danny? Are you okay?" Her hands hovered over him, not wanting to injure him further. Jackson joined her a second later. "Where does it hurt, Dan?"

The goalie laid flat on his back, blinking slowly in confusion.

"Dude!" Stiles walked over to Scott and removed his helmet. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" Scott snapped back. "He's twice the size of me."

"But everybody likes Danny." Coach moved to the side to allow the sports medic through. Vanna and Jackson stayed by their hurt friend. "Now everybody's gonna hate you."

"I don't care." He stormed off.

Vanna squeezed her best friend's hand in reassurance and comfort as the medic tested Danny for a head injury. The cheerleader and Jackson each took an arm and propped Danny between them, walking him to the locker room to be examined further.

"Control your dog, Stilinski." She spat as they passed him.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

"I brought you some water," Stiles walked into Scott's dark bedroom. The boy in question was lying on the floor chained to the radiator. Stiles held up a bottle of water and a dog bowl with his friend's name written on it in sharpie. He poured the bottle out and set the bowl on the ground a little ways from Scott.

The werewolf threw the full bowl at Stiles' back as he made to leave. "I'm gonna kill you!" He growled.

"You ruined it, Scott." Stiles whipped around, pretty pissed off himself. "Okay? Van told everyone what you did. That's my... like, the one girl that I..." he struggled to voice his concerns as so many thoughts and emotions flowed through him. "And you know, the past three hours I've been thinking, 'it's probably just the full moon,' you know? 'He probably doesn't even know what he's doing. Tomorrow he'll be back to normal and he probably won't even remember what a complete dumbass he's been. A son of a bitch, a freakin' unbelievable piece of crap friend-"

"She came onto me."

"What?" Stiles breathed.

"She was all over me," Scott smirked darkly up at him. "She wanted me, man, and she smelled amazing." Stiles left, sliding down the wall just outside the bedroom. He shook his head, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as Scott continued to spew bullshit. Stiles had waited for the girl outside the locker rooms and begged her to tell him what happened. She'd cursed both boys in Spanish before telling him how Scott had practically forced himself on her. "I've never smelled anything like that before."

#teen wolf #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #noah stilinski #jackson whittemore #danny mahealani

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

the last great american dynasty

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.8k (whoops)

summary:

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up.

He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream

author's note:

inspo board this work is inspired by taylor swift's song "the last great american dynasty" and is part of the folklore album anthology! if you enjoy, please consider reblogging/commenting and make sure to check out the other works by the amazing collaborators on this project.

tags/warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, work contains journal entries as part of the plot, porn with plot, pre-outbreak!joel, grandma is a named OFC, sassy reader, dirty talk, teasing, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paint as a flirting mechanism, mild enemies to lovers, pet names. let me know if there are any missing!

August 20, 1948

I have arrived in Texas. I am uncertain where to go or what to do. For so long I’ve answered only to George, but now I am my own woman and the world before me has suddenly become much bigger, seemingly overnight.

I just hope it will be good for me.

-R

PRESENT DAY

If there’s one thing you never expected, it’s to inherit a mansion from a grandmother that you’ve never spoken to. As far as you were aware that kind of thing only happened in movies, so receiving a phone call from an estate lawyer that had been trying to locate you for a whole year since this mystery woman’s passing was a complete shock.

Now you find yourself with a car full of your belongings driving cross country to a sleepy suburb of Austin, Texas. The first stop is the lawyer’s office, where a secretary eyes you warily as you sit in the lobby of the lush office suite, fingers toying with a loose thread on the t-shirt you’d been wearing for the last eight-hour leg of your road trip.

A voice calls your name from a door just past the secretary’s desk, an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face smiling kindly at you. You stand, shaking his hand as you pass by him into his office. He gestures to the wingback chairs that face his impressive dark wood desk. You take in the diplomas on the wall and the floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes.

“I appreciate you comin’ all the way out here so quickly. You were quite the tough one to find,” the man says with a chuckle. He pulls out a thick envelope, cream colored with swooping, swirling handwriting across the front reading your name. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine. She established a trust in your name not long after you were born.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still a little confused. I didn’t even know I had a grandmother,” you admit quietly. He nods solemnly.

“She never told me all the details, but there had been a falling out between her and her daughter. They kept their distance after that.” When you don’t say anything, mind too busy racing with the questions that you suppose only your mom can answer now, he continues. “Would you like the review the details of the trust?”

“Um, sure. I guess that’s why I’m here, after all.”

He slips a piece of paper from the folder, sliding it across the desk. The same swirling handwriting fills the page.

My Dearest,

You may not know me, but I’ve watched you grow in photographs and letters since you were born. You mean the world to me, even if I could not fit in the world that your mother created for you. I respected that choice, hurt though it may have. She had her own path to forge, just as I did, and just as you will. I am eternally grateful for the parts of her life she did share after she left.

In the event of my passing, I leave my estate to you in its entirety. I built my true happiness in those walls, and I hope you can do the same.

-R

You read the letter twice, eyes stinging with tears. A tissue box slides across the desk, and you pluck two sheets out gratefully.

“In this envelope are the more official documents. The deed transfer that will need your signature, beneficiary statements for her banking and savings accounts, things like that. My office will handle all the paperwork filing,” the man says. A few more forms are laid out on the desk, and you lean forward to read them.

“Holy shit,” you snap, eyes wide as you swipe the beneficiary statement from the wood. “There must be too many zeroes in this, right? Or a rogue comma? That can’t be the right amount.”

“I assure you that’s the correct amount,” he says with a laugh. “And if you’ll sign down there, it’ll be transferred to your name and designated account.”

Your mouth goes dry as you read through the rest of the documents. In addition to the sizeable amount of money about to hit your bank account, there’s a five-bedroom house being transferred into your name, as well as a safety deposit box. You sign each form where directed, sliding them back over to the lawyer.

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding a house key out to you. He drops it into your open palm. “Good luck.”

“I wish they would just put that place up for sale already,” Joel grumbles from the passenger seat of his brother’s truck as they drive by the out-of-place 1920s Victorian home on their way to a job site.

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past year since that poor old woman passed,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Give it up, brother. Your dream house is just goin’ to rot away before your eyes.”

“Don’t you say that,” Joel replies. He doesn’t need Tommy speaking his fear into the universe.

The house has already been showing signs of falling apart in the last ten years Joel has lived in the neighborhood. The roof needs work, the shutters need replacing, the lawn is overgrown, and there’s a sizable hole in the wrap-around porch that seems to get bigger over time.

He’s wanted that house since the first time he saw it while he was house hunting ten years ago, a then three-year-old Sarah on his hip as he toured a nice little house that was available in the neighborhood at the time. While the home he’s built with his daughter through long days of hard work is nothing to scoff at, he’s always dreamed of something with more character and story.

He just hopes he’ll get his chance.

You stare up at the old house in front of you, shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful house, though there’s no denying its seen better days – two stories with large bay windows on both floors, white wood siding and chipped red shutters that are clinging to their rusty hardware, a large wrap around porch that has vines encroaching on the banisters, a lawn overgrown with weeds. You tentatively climb the steps of the porch, peeking nervously into the large hole in the wood to the left of the front door.

“That’s private property,” a gruff voice calls out, making you jump. You turn, finding a man standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ain’t supposed to be snoopin’ around.”

“Actually—”

“Why don’t you just head home, sweetheart, and I won’t have to call the cops,” the stranger says, cutting you off. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“This is—”

The man huffs, arms dropping as he digs in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cell phone. “Seriously, I’ll give you until the count of three. We don’t need trouble around this neighborhood, alright?”

The nerve, you think, narrowing your eyes at the man. Since he clearly doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you decide to take a different route. You reach into the pocket of your shorts, pulling out the key that the lawyer had given you earlier that day. You take a sideways step closer to the door, keeping your eyes on the man as you pointedly insert the key into the lock and opening the heavy wood door.

His mouth drops open in surprise and you smile at him.

“You were saying?”

Joel had seen the car parked in the driveway of the empty house when Tommy dropped him off after work. He’d quickly checked on Sarah, newly thirteen and fiercely independent, finding her working on her homework at the kitchen table, before making his way across the street.

He hadn’t expected to find a gorgeous woman snooping around the old house, curves hugged in denim shorts and a tank top that made his mouth water. He also hadn’t expected the woman to produce a key from the pocket of those sinfully tight shorts.

“You were saying?” You ask, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrows raised at him. When Joel doesn’t immediately reply, still too stunned that you have access to the house, you turn and walk through the door, shutting it behind you.

He finally shakes himself of his shock, bounding up the steps and knocking on the door. You pull it back open.

“I’ll buy it from you,” Joel says immediately.

“Excuse me?” You reply, your hands moving to your hips. “It’s not for sale.”

“Come on, what’s a girl like you need all this space for?” Your mouth drops open, pretty lips stretched wide in surprise and Joel struggles to keep his thoughts from drifting to sinful places.

“A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re young, that’s all. You don’t need a house this big and this much of a project!”

“What makes you think I don’t have a big ol’ family I’m moving in here? Four kids and a loving husband?!”

Joel blinks. “You got four kids and a lovin’ husband?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.” You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s not for sale. Now get off my porch before I call the cops on you.”

With that final word, the door shuts in Joel’s face again, the sound of your retreating footsteps signaling the end of the discussion.

November 12, 1948

There’s a gentleman who comes into the diner every Tuesday. He always sits in one of my booths, with his perfect hair and suit and handsome face distracting me until he leaves. Some of the other waitresses try talking to him but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They’ve whispered to me before that he comes from money - oil, or something, not that it matters.

His name is William, and I think he’s trying to steal my heart.

-R

“So, let me get this straight. First, you threatened to call the police on this woman. Then, rather than introducin’ yourself or welcomin’ her to the neighborhood or even apologizin’, you just go straight to tellin’ her she doesn’t need a house that big and that you wanna buy it from her. Did I hear that right?” Tommy says, watching Joel as he throws together dinner the following evening.

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sarah says. Joel huffs.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He sips his beer as his daughter and brother share a look. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” they say in tandem. Joel narrows his eyes as Sarah breaks out in giggles. Tommy stands, heading to Joel’s pantry and rifling through the shelves until he finds an unopened bottle of whiskey buried in the back.

“What are you doin’ with that?” Joel asks.

“Welcomin’ your new neighbor like the gentleman I am. Sarah, watch the pasta while I show your dad how it’s done,” Tommy replies, heading for the front door, Joel trailing behind him.

Tommy crosses the street with quick steps, eyeing the porch dubiously as he knocks on the door. Joel stands beside him, hands shoved in his pockets as he curses under his breath about his brother’s stupid antics.

You open the door, dressed this time in a pretty sundress that makes Joel’s mouth go dry. Tommy flashes you a grin and Joel can’t help the annoyance he feels when his brother’s eyes trail over your body.

“Hey there! I’m Tommy Miller, you may have met my dumbass brother over here the other day. I’m certain he didn’t make the best impression, so I just wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” he says, holding the whiskey out to you.

You introduce yourself, ignoring Joel. “Thank you so much, Tommy. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure thing,” his traitorous brother replies, stepping over the threshold. When Joel makes a move to follow, you give him a pointed look before shutting the door in his face.

“You want a beer, Tommy?” You ask the handsome man in your kitchen. You can’t help but be impressed by the genetics of the Miller family, both men tall and tan and handsome as hell. Sure, one of them could use a lesson on manners, but you’ll admit that since your confrontation your mind has drifted to thoughts of brown eyes and soft dark hair that belong to the brother you left on the porch out of spite.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says politely. You open the dated refrigerator and grab two beer bottles, popping the caps against the countertop and handing one to him. “This sure is a nice place.”

“Thanks. I just inherited it from my grandma,” you explain. “It’s a little…dated.”

He chuckles. “We call it ‘character’ in contractin’.”

“That what you guys do, then? Contracting?”

“Sure is. Miller Brothers Contracting and Construction.” Tommy scratches at the label on the bottle before saying, “Look, I know my brother can come off the wrong way. He didn’t get the social genes. But he’s a good guy, and he’s loved this house since the first time he saw it. Always wanted to buy it, fix it up, raise his little girl here. Maybe add to his family one day.”

You look around the rundown kitchen. You’ve only been here a day and you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. The electrical and plumbing are all outdated, the appliances need replacing, the floors need to be refurbished, and that’s just the first floor. You could use some help with it all, and maybe the grumpy contractor next door who cares about the house could help you with it all.

“I appreciate that he loves the house but…I never met my grandma. Never even knew who she was or that she was even alive, and it’s the only connection I have to her. I don’t know if this is going to be my forever but…I want to at least give it a shot.”

Tommy smiles. “We could help with that.”

It feels like ages before Tommy’s stepping back out onto the porch, a beer in his hand that makes Joel frown.

“Y’all were havin’ drinks while I sat out here like an ass?” He asks incredulously. Tommy throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes, and if you don’t quit your whinin’ I’m not goin’ to tell you about our lovely conversation,” the younger man says as he walks with Joel back to his house.

In the kitchen, Sarah is pouring the pasta sauce and ground beef over the noodles. Joel takes over and waves her away, mumbling his thanks as he mixes the ingredients together. He sets up two plates, setting one in front of his daughter and sitting down with the other. Tommy makes an affronted sound before fixing his own plate.

“So?” Joel asks. Tommy slurps at his food.

“Was the lady nice?” Sarah asks.

“No,” Joel replies at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.”

Joel glares at Tommy. “You gonna tell me what she said or what?”

“She ain’t sellin’,” Tommy finally says. “But, she wants to fix the place up. Offered our services so you could get your grubby fuckin’ hands in there.”

“Language,” Joel says, eyes flicking to Sarah. The girl rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“Yep. Better start callin’ the guys. From what I saw we’re dealin’ with electrical from the 50s, plumbing from who knows when, not to mention the HVAC and roof will need to be upgraded, too.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before grinning at Joel. “You up for the challenge?”

“Hell yeah.”

August 23, 1949

William and I have just been married.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But he is truly the light of my life.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. I’m still not abreast of all these new societal expectations that surround a man like William, but I’m willing to try. Today he will be taking me around to view houses in the more opulent neighborhoods, the type of homes I used to gawk at but one of them will be mine.

I must be dreaming.

-R

Joel and Tommy start working on the house right away. Every day there’s a line of pick-up trucks parked on the curb and the sounds of construction start early in the morning and continue into the late evening. The electrician and plumber come through first, updating the wiring and pipes through the whole house. The roofers and HVAC come through next, replacing the crumbling shingles and dated central unit with a split system for each level of the house.

It’s not until the big projects are done that you get to have fun with the place, which is how you found yourself methodically painting the front door a muted lime green early one morning.

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

You sigh. Despite Tommy’s assurances that Joel is a great guy beneath the grumpy control freak exterior, you’ve continued to only get the side of the man that grates your nerves.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m painting the door.”

“You can’t paint the door that color,” Joel says, heavy footsteps stomping up your newly repaired porch.

“Says who?” You retort. You smear another stroke of paint over the sanded wood.

“Me, for one. The historical society, for two.” He pulls the brush from your hand and holds it above his head and out of your reach. The movement drags his shirt up, exposing a strip of tan belly with a trail of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. “Why are you bein’ a pain in the ass?”

“I was put on this earth simply to make your life more difficult, Joel Miller. Isn’t that obvious?” You reply sarcastically. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you got that right. “What are you even doing over here? It’s Saturday.”

“We’re goin’ to the store. You gotta start pickin’ stuff out for the bathrooms and kitchen,” he says, tossing the paint brush into the tray. “And then we’re gettin’ a new color to cover this up.”

Joel leaves the porch and you follow behind him to the black pick-up truck idling by the sidewalk. He opens the passenger door for you and you raise your eyebrow at the gesture but climb inside.

January 3, 1950

Our New Year’s party is the talk of the town. There were so many people in the house I began to lose count. William had so much champagne ordered I swear we could fill an entire swimming pool with it all.

The ladies at the club have already begun to ask when we would host our next event. I can’t wait to plan another.

-R

“Can you please focus?” Joel begs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He’s laid out three tile combinations, one for each bathroom in the home, and he needs you to look at them but you keep getting distracted.

“You’re no fun,” you huff. You examine the tiles, pointing to a turquoise blue one he’s picked for the shower in the master. “I love that.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She can be reasoned with.”

You giggle and Joel can’t help the smile it prompts from him, the sound of your laugh so sweet compared to your sharp tongue.

“I like the white and blue combinations for upstairs, but in that powder room I want a pink theme,” you tell him. Your eyes search the displays, landing on a blush pink glass subway tile option. “Like this!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Joel replies without thinking, taking the sample from you and comparing it next to the floor tile he’d chosen for that bathroom. When he glances at you, you’re giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, shaking your head. “What about the kitchen?”

“What were you thinking for in there?”

“Green cabinets. White and black backsplash, the kind with the little hexagons that look like flowers. I gotta pick out appliances now that the electrical can sustain newer ones, too.” You pause. “And how do you feel about wallpaper?”

“It’s the devil,” Joel replies.

Your grin is downright mischievous. “Excellent.”

February 2, 1956

William had a heart attack. It scared me so badly that I haven’t let him out of my sight since. The doctor said he’s been working too hard, drinking too much, and not sleeping enough. Maybe the parties have started to be too much for him.

I’ve been feeling unlike myself. Tired, nauseated. Hopefully my heart isn’t troubled, too.

-R

Joel places a hefty order for all the items you’ve picked out today from nearly every aisle of the store - tile for the bathrooms and kitchen, vanities and plumbing fixtures, countertops, lighting, and appliances. While he’s preoccupied with calculations and measurements and pricing things out, you pick out paint and wallpaper for the projects you’ll be able to do on your own.

He finds you a while later, a cart full of paint buckets and supplies. To your surprise, he grins.

“More paint, huh? You pick a new one for the door?” He asks. You smile back at him, butterflies erupting in your tummy.

“Yep. Does navy blue suffice, your highness? I thought we could paint the trim the same color.”

Joel nods. “Good choice. Look, I’ve kept you here so long for all the orderin’. You wanna get lunch?”

“Careful, Joel. I’m like a stray cat - once you start feeding me, I might never leave,” you reply with a laugh. You push your heavy cart of paint towards the exit.

You miss the soft smile he gives to your retreating figure.

September 23, 1956

Our daughter is here. She’s the sweetest little thing, though she can screech like a banshee when she sees fit. William is so besotted, he keeps looking between the two of us with stars in his eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

I love them both with my whole heart and soul.

-R

Joel takes you to a retro family diner with black-and-white checkerboard flooring and red vinyl accents with a vintage jukebox in the corner. You’re delighted by the themed menu, eyes immediately zeroing in on the classic malt shakes and french fries.

Over lunch, Joel actually opens up to you. He tells you about going into construction right out of high school and dragging Tommy into it when he’d gotten back from serving his tour with the Army. He talks about his daughter, Sarah, and you can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you watch his eyes light up while he talks about his little girl. She’s at a sleepover this weekend, which gave him the extra time to visit the home improvement store this morning.

In turn, you tell him about getting the call from the lawyer one afternoon that changed your life forever. How you’d packed up everything you owned and driven across the country to find out that you had a grandmother that your mother never told you about that left you her entire estate.

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Joel says when you’ve paused to take a sip of your chocolate shake.

“Excuse me?” A voice asks. You both look up at the elderly woman dressed in a t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo and pressed slacks. She smiles. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and ever since you sat down I’ve been wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to place your face and it’s just hit me.”

She holds out a framed black and white photo of six waitresses standing beneath the same sign that’s still out front, all of them grinning at the camera. There’s one face, however, that looks familiar despite you never having seen her.

“Her name was Rebecca. We used to work together. That’s me, right there,” she says, pointing to the girl standing to the woman’s left. “Rolled up to town at eighteen, fresh off a divorce and hardly a penny to her name. My daddy, god rest his soul, he owned the restaurant and gave her a job when she’d come through lookin’ for work.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “This is insane. Do you have any other pictures?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “‘Fraid not, darlin’. Just the one. But I know she kept a lot of journals. Was always scribblin’ in one and spent what little extra cash she had makin’ sure she had a new notebook ready. Maybe they’re still around?”

July 16, 1958

William…

William is gone. My light, my love, my world. The doctor said his heart just…stopped. In his sleep, right beside me.

I have to continue to live with a hole in my own heart, the piece that William stole years ago gone with him.

But I have to be strong for our daughter. Our brave girl, my little bird.

-R

When Joel brings you back to the house, you stare up at the facade, wondering if the journals the woman had spoken about could still be inside. Lost in thought, your eyes land on the little window that sits above the bay windows on the second floor, where the master bedroom is. You’ve been sleeping in that room for months now and you know there’s no window there that you can see from the inside.

“Hey, Joel?” You call out, eyes still fixed on the little window like it might disappear if you look away. “This place is only two stories. How come there’s a window there?”

He looks up at the roof. “Huh. Might be decorative?”

“Or it might be a secret room,” you tell him.

“Okay, Sherlock. Let’s go see.”

You lead him upstairs to the master bedroom, most of your grandma’s furniture still present save for the bed that you replaced upon arriving. You stare up at the ceiling, but it’s smooth - no trap doors to be found.

“If I were a secret door, where would I hide?” You ask.

Joel, who’d been poking his head into the walk-in closet, replies, “Probably the closet.”

There’s a creak of old hinges as Joel reaches up high and tugs the brass pull handle fixed in the ceiling. A descending ladder falls to the ground and you both stare at each other in surprise.

“I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Joel offers, sprinting from the room. You stare up at the hole in the ceiling, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

He returns quickly. “I��ll go up first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you tease, watching as he ascends the ladder, your eyes shamelessly fixed to his ass as he climbs. You hear the click of the flashlight and see the sweep of the beam through the opening in the ceiling. “Anything?”

“Lots of suitcases. Hang on, let me grab one of the small ones,” he calls down. There’s the sound of something being dragged across the floor before he’s slowly lowering a leather suitcase into your hands.

It’s surprisingly heavy and you drag it by the handle to the bedroom, kneeling on the ground to pop the latches and open the dusty lid. Inside are stacks of leather bound notebooks, edges of the pages yellow with age.

“I’ll be damned,” Joel says, wiping his palms against his jeans. “We found the journals.”

Joel drags the suitcase downstairs, setting it in the living room for you while you order pizza and open a bottle of wine for the occasion. You sit beside each other on the couch and he hands you a journal that you carefully open.

May 17, 1974

We had another argument last night. She claims that I’ve been too overbearing, too protective, too stifling, but what else is a mother meant to do?

-R

May 18, 1974

Her bed was cold and empty this morning. Her piggy bank smashed to bits on the floor and her drawers cleared. Despite my tight grip, my little bird has flown away.

It appears that history does repeat itself. Imagine that.

-R

“Holy shit,” you say, sitting back on the couch with your glass of wine in one hand and one of your grandma’s journals in the other. “She ran away.”

“Who did?” Joel asks, biting into a slice of pizza.

“My mom. She just…packed up and disappeared.” You glance at him. “Guess that’s why I never knew about her.”

“Maybe you should stop uncoverin’ dark family secrets for the night,” Joel suggests. “You know, the dining room could stand to be painted.”

You glance over to the room in question. Joel must have set down the drop cloth on the floor while you’d been engrossed in your discovery.

“Sure. Why not,” you acquiesce.

October 29, 1976

I’ve received an envelope of photographs in the mail, pictures of my daughter holding a little baby. She’s written notes on the back of each one. I’m a grandmother.

My daughter looks happy. Healthy. That’s all I can ask. She didn’t provide a return address.

As for the baby…I love her so much. She takes my breath away. I keep one of the photos on me at all times.

-R

Joel turns on the radio while he works, humming along to the classic rock station selections. He’s been working on painting the wall near the wood molding while he left you with a paint roller to cover the middle of the wall. He looks up at you occasionally, admiring the way your muscles work as you wash the wall with color.

You must sense that he’s watching, turning your head over your shoulder and looking at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. You smile at him, setting the roller in the tray. He can’t help but look at your ass in your tight leggings as you bend over.

You straighten up, walking over to him. There’s a glint in your eye that has Joel on high alert.

“You got a little something on your face,” you tell him.

“No, I don’t,” he counters. He’s a master at painting. He knows damn well he doesn’t have a drop on him.

“Yeah, you do,” you argue. You reach out, and your fingers smooth across his forehead. “Right there!”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise and he lets out a bark of laughter, bringing his fingers up to his forehead. When he pulls his hand away, they’re stained blue and you’re grinning at him like a mad woman.

“Yeah? Well, you got some right—“ He smears his paintbrush across your chest and you try to step back, but it’s too late. “—there,” he finishes.

You rush back to the paint tray and dip your hands in the liquid, brandishing your palms like weapons. He starts to advance on you, smirking as you back up.

“Stay back,” you command. Joel laughs, dodging your swinging arms as he charges, dropping low to press a shoulder into your belly, dragging you down to the ground in a heap of limbs.

He presses his body to yours as he reaches an arm out to the paint tray, covering his own hand in paint. Your eyes go wide and you squirm beneath him, your paint covered palms reaching up under his shirt to press the cold liquid to his ribs. He flinches away, giving you enough room to scramble out from under him.

Joel grabs your arm, paint smearing on your skin as he tugs you back down. You wrestle together, paint getting everywhere as he lets you straddle his waist. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing tightly as he stares up into your face.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice low. Your lashes flutter, hips canting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groans, hands urging you to do it again.

“What’s my prize?”

Joel slips his fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, dragging the paint stained material up and over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze burns across your newly exposed skin.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He says, a hand sliding up your belly to palm one of your breasts. Your head drops back as you moan.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his eyes grow darker, his gaze more heated. “Come on, Miller. What’s my prize?”

With a growl Joel sits up, wrapping an arm around your low back and twisting your bodies until you’re on your back, staring up at him as his lips stretch in a devious smirk. His fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings, sliding the fabric down your legs. His touch paints your skin blue as he does.

His hands press your thighs apart, opening you up. Your cheeks heat as he stares down at you like he’s trying to commit every curve of you to his memory. Finally, he leans in and you can feel his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

Joel’s tongue traces through your slick folds, a broad stroke that has you gasping and arching your back. He hums against your sensitive flesh as he repeats the languid motion, his stubble catching on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, paint catching on the strands as you tug and pull. He groans against you, tongue moving faster as he circles your clit before pulling it between his lips. A hand leaves your thigh, the one not coated in paint, and two thick fingers press to your entrance, sliding inside of you as you gasp out Joel’s name.

“Christ,” he groans as he presses in deep before withdrawing slowly, curling his digits against your front wall, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, pretty girl. That for me?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, breathless as you work your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Joel watches you, his lips and chin shiny from his efforts. “Joel, please!”

“Please what?” His hand moves faster, fingers pressing harder as his lips spread in a lascivious grin that makes your toes curl. “Come on, baby, ask me real nice and I’ll give you anythin’. Ain��t that right? You know damn well you’ve had me wrapped around your sassy little finger since the moment we met, don’t you?”

You whine, nodding your head quickly. “Knew you were a glutton for punishment.”

“Could say that again,” he says, chuckling as he lands a smash to the outside of your thigh with his free hand. “Now, come on, baby. Follow directions. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna cum, Joel. Please!”

“Good girl,” he growls, lowering his lips to your pussy to lick at your clit. He hums as he lavishes the sensitive bud with attention and it’s the final push you need over the razor's edge you’d been teetering on since he started. You press your thighs against his head as your nerves light up and your muscles go tight with pleasure, his movements slowing as he works you through your release.

Your muscles go limp, head dropping back to the floor with a thunk. Joel sits up, crawling up your body and trailing kisses across your tummy and chest in the patches of skin not covered by paint. He grips your chin, holding you steady as his lips press to yours in a kiss so deep you worry you’re at risk of drowning.

Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the leather free of the loops in a frenzy. He stands quickly, freeing himself of his jeans and boxers in one motion before reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off while you admire his labor-toned body.

Joel drops to his knees, pressing his hips to yours and dragging the thick head of his cock through your sensitive pussy, bumping your clit and making you both groan in tandem. His forearms rest on the floor beside your head as he teases you like this, slow drags of his length through your wetness, the tantalizing catch of him at your aching hole. You tilt your hips slightly, hoping he gets the hint, and he chuckles.

“You know the drill, baby,” he says, breathless with his own desire. “Just say the word.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please.”

His cock slips inside of you with little resistance, the stretch of him making you gasp. His eyes remain fixed to yours as he bottoms out and you smile up at him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Joel gives a small, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. He does it again, a sharper snap of his hips making you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulder. He builds his own rhythm, one that has your hips chasing his on every pull from your body, one that has you chanting his name and staring up at him like he’s a god and you’re simply a sacrifice on his altar.

He sits back on his heels, the angle changing as your hips get lifted onto his lap. His hands wrap around your waist, fingertips pressing tightly to your ribs as he uses your body for his pleasure, pounding into you roughly.

“Cum for me again,” he demands, bringing a thumb to your clit in quick circles. “Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum on my cock. Was so pretty on my fingers.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the near overstimulation but you nod, wanting to give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll keep touching you, holding you, looking at you.

You cum again with a shout of his name and he groans, deep and visceral as he presses in deep, holding your hips to his as his cock pulses inside of you with his release.

Joel slowly lowers your hips to the ground, withdrawing from your body as he does. He flops gracelessly to the floor beside you, sweat damp chest heaving with exertion. His head turns to yours, grin wide and eyes bright.

“You’re covered in paint,” he comments, reaching out to run his hand across a streak on your collarbone.

“So are you,” you reply, mimicking the gesture against his ribs.

“What do you say to a shower?”

You smirk at him before jumping up and racing to the doorway.

“I’d say last one there doesn’t get the hot water!”

You can hear his curse as you rush up the stairs, making it halfway before a strong arm wraps around you and stops you in your tracks, your laughter echoing through the house.

June 27, 1993

The neighborhood has changed so vastly. Much of the older homes have been torn down and replaced with less handsome architecture. The residents grow younger while I continue to age. Just last week a handsome young man and his darling daughter moved in down the street. He looks exhausted. I remember those days.

Not all the neighbors are lovely. Harold next door has an annoying dog that barks at all hours. He prances her around like a show pony, when she’s just a yappy little creature.

-R

ONE YEAR LATER

The house is finally finished. All the tile has been laid, everything has been painted, appliances delivered, holes repaired, fixtures installed, and wallpaper glued. You go downstairs for coffee in the morning, you take it to the parlor room you’ve made into a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves display every journal you’d unearthed from the hiding place in the attic, each one read through cover to cover.

When you finally told your mom about what you’d been up to, her surprise and hurt could be felt even through the phone. You mailed one of her mother’s journals to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said the next time you spoke. “So much time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken.”

You don’t begrudge her decisions. Your grandma left you her story, and through that you’ve been able to know her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs precede Joel’s appearance in the study, his hair messy from sleep and his eyes half shut. He drops beside you on the couch, grabbing your coffee from your hands and taking a sip of it.

“Is it everything you’ve always wanted?” You ask him, tilting your head to his shoulder. You still remember the way he’d been desperate to buy the house from you and you laugh at how the world works, given that he now wakes up in bed beside you and is tasked with the lawn maintenance every weekend. He presses a kiss to your head.

“It’s even better.”

June 29, 1993

I don’t think the dog will be bothering the neighborhood again anytime soon.

Turns out he doesn’t hold as much pride for the dog when she’s been dyed lime green.

Imagine that.

-R

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #tlou fic #taylor swift folklore #folklore anthology #joel miller folklore

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lovebotmo · 1 year ago

Text

like the movies

chapter five - late library nights

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 1337

author's note: hello friends!!! it has almost been a month and i would like to offer my sincerest apologies!!!! i have entered my final semester of university so things have been rather hectic. i appreciate all the love you guys have given this series this far <3 thanks for being the absolute best. kiss kiss

also if i missed you for the taglist plz let me know!!! its been a min hehe

song inspiration: bewitched by laufey

Thanks to Lavender’s rather loose lips, the entire student body of Hogwarts seemed to be buzzing about your secret, not-so-secret admirer. Three days later and you could still hear the giggles of second-year girls as they discussed just who your mystery man could be steps behind you and your friends. You even had to endure a public love confession from both Fred and George, the red-headed twins bickering and quarreling over who loved you more in their newest prank. They both claimed to have been your secret admirer and demanded that you choose the twin you cared for more. It quickly devolved into a passionate, highly embarrassing competition that had the crowd which had slowly grown howling in laughter. George had even torn his shirt open, claiming that ‘the fires of love were burning within him and that clothes could not contain his ardent affection any longer.’ The whole affair might have been more comical had you not been its victim. Suffice to say you were adequately embarrassed, as if the burning blush on your face had not been enough evidence to that fact.

However, even with all the attention now placed on you and your secret admirer, no one had sincerely come forward to claim responsibility. You could hardly blame them, given the reactions of your fellow students. Still, you couldn’t help yourself grow more and more curious as days continued to pass without any additional clues.

“So…I hear you’ve got yourself a bit of an admirer, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned towards Theo to find a smirk resting smugly on his face. “Merlin, not you too, Theo. I swear it’s impossible to go ten minutes without someone mentioning it.”

Theo laughed at your response and the obvious annoyance in your expression. “Bit of a touchy subject?”

You sighed. “Sorry. It’s just—bloody hell, I’ve got loads of people coming up to me trying to chat about it and well, it’s a bit much.”

The tall Slytherin nodded as he scanned his Potions textbook, looking for the next set of directions for the Wolfsbane potion you were currently brewing. “I didn’t mean to pry, really—”

“No, no it’s all right. I’m just a bit on edge recently.” You and Theo both reached for the crushed moonstone, hands bumping clumsily into each other. “Sorry, ‘m all over the place today.”

Theo gave you a gentle smile before grasping the vial, gingerly adding it before meeting your eyes with his own. “S’all right. Besides, we both know it’s better if I handle things, considering I’m the better Potions student any—ow!” Theo rubbed his arm where you had lightly smacked him.

“Just because you beat me by one whole point on the last test doesn’t mean—”

“It means I am better than—Salazar, woman!” This time Theo rubbed his other arm which you may or may not have hit. “You’ve got to come up with a better comeback than physical assault. I could report you to Slughorn, you know.”

“Oh please, you’d never snitch on me, Theo. We’re potions partners after all—you’re stuck with me.”

A wide grin made its way onto Theo’s face, along with the faintest blush that he desperately hoped you couldn’t see in the dim lighting of the classroom. “Yeah, ‘spose I am.” Realizing he was looking at you in a bit of a daze, he cleared his throat. “I forgot to mention, Pucey’s set a last-minute quidditch practice for this afternoon. I know we’re meant to work on the project for anti-venoms, but is there any chance we could push it until later?”

“Tsk, tsk, Theodore. Choosing quidditch over Potions, eh? And you call yourself the best Potions student?” you teased. Theo let out a sharp laugh, dropping three murtlap tentacles into the cauldron bubbling before you. “That works for me, actually. Where did you want to meet?”

“I can catch up with you on the quidditch pitch. We can head over to the library from there.” Stirring the concoction clockwise, Theo looked at you from the corner of his eye, “Thanks for being flexible.”

“’Course. It’s what you would expect from the best Potions student, right?”

“Alright, pipe down.”

“You’re no fun, Theo.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now hand me the wolfsbane leaves.”

“Only if you admit I’m the better Potions student.”

“Y/n.”

“…Here you go.”

Tugging at the sleeves of your sweater, you made your way towards the quidditch pitch, just as the sun was starting to set over the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. The practice had evidently just ended as players began to descend from the sky at the sound of Captain Adrian Pucey’s dismissal. Walking over, you saw Theo dismounting from his broom alongside Enzo. Upon spotting you, the pair walked over to greet you.

“Rough practice, huh?” The boys before you were out of breath, chests heaving with obvious exhaustion.

Enzo gave you a look, “You’ve no idea.” Beside him, Theo nodded in agreement.

“Pucey’s got his tail in a twist about the game this weekend against Gryffindor,” Theo said. “We can’t catch a break.” Theo grabbed the end of his practice jersey to wipe at the sweat on his brow, revealing a lean, toned abdomen. His tongue swiped quickly at his pink lips as he continued to breathe heavily. As he let go of his jersey, one of his hands went to run through his unruly curls and you couldn’t help but stare at the more than pleasant image before you.

Fucking hell…Godric save me.

As if sensing your train of thought, Enzo smirked, mirth dancing in his eyes.

The sound of Theo’s Italian accent broke your reverie. “I’ve got to hit the showers, so I’ll be ten minutes or so. You alright with waiting?”

Clutching your Potions textbook to your chest, you nodded, giving Enzo’s look of obvious amusement a glare. “’M fine. Go ahead.”

Theo flashed that wide grin of his that you were becoming fond of before trotting off to join the other players in the locker rooms. By now, Enzo’s grin had become a full-on beam.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Enzo—well, don’t think it.”

The Slytherin raised his hands in mock confusion. “What could you possibly mean, Y/n? I was just wondering—”

“Enzo, don’t make me hit you with this book.”

“Jeez, I guess Theo wasn’t lying when he said you were violent.”

“Hey!”

Hours later in the library, you swore words were beginning to dance off the pages of the endless tomes you and Theo had been rummaging through for your upcoming project. Beside you, Theo seemed to feel the same exhaustion, groaning as his forehead dropped onto one of the thick volumes.

Grasping your quill, you gently brushed the feather by Theo’s ear to grasp his attention. Still faceplanted in a book, the tired boy simply turned his head towards you rather than sitting upright.

“I reckon we call it a night, yeah?” Theo’s curls shook as he nodded his head, eyes beginning to droop in exhaustion. “You’ve probably got to be up early for the game tomorrow too.” Your Potions partner glared at you for the reminder before finally sitting up.

You began to tidy up the sprawled-out texts before Theo broke the quiet resting over the library. “You going?”

Turning to look at him, you paused, “Going to what?”

Theo laughed softly, “The game, Y/n.”

“Oh.” You grinned sheepishly, “I don’t know. Hadn’t decided yet.”

Theo hummed at your response. Moving sluggishly, he began to help you pack up.

“Well…you should go. It’s supposed to be a good one.” You met Theo’s eyes that were already peering into yours.

“You want me to go, huh? To show off or something?”

Theo laughed at you, gently flicking one of your hands reaching for a stray quill. “Or something.”

You smiled, “Well, if you want me there, I’m there.”

Having finished packing up, Theo stood in front of you and mirrored your grin. “Well, I do…want you there, that is.”

Walking out of the library together, you gently bumped the taller boy’s shoulder. “Then, I’m there.”

taglist: @melllinaa, @randomgurl2326, @lovelyygirl8, @abaker74, @mypolicemanharryyy, @vanevafu, @laceandsuch, @agent-tempest, @themarauderswife7, @adoraspace, @spencerreidsthings, @crimsntwlip, @readingthingsonhere, @sbrn0905, @violet2022, @aemiliazzz, & @hoeforvinniehackerrr

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mirkwoodshewolf · 29 days ago

Text

Even when I'm not; Fred Weasley x reader

*Author's note*

I hate to do this to you all but this idea was buzzing around my head after listening to the song 'Even when I'm not' from the Wild Robot soundtrack so I've done an AU where Fred lives, now I'm afraid you'll all have to read a cannon fic where Fred is dead and reader has learned to move on. Now I've seen many fics where reader and George end up together after Fred's death and I'm just thinking 'ehhh......that's not the best way to go about it, esp. with reader having been Fred's partner'. Now I'm NOT shaming anyone but it's just not my cup of tea BUT I do have the reader and George being very close friends, hell brother and sister at this point always and forever. But I hope you all enjoy this nonetheless.

Taglist:

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@waddles03

@queen-paladin

@plethora-of-things

@psychosupernatural

@remussl0vers

____________________________________________________

It had been a long time since I had been here, seven years in fact. However it had been ten years since I lost you. The last time I ever heard your voice, felt your touch, the last time I—I ever felt your kiss. You left this world too soon and it broke me.

I tried to move on and help your family but it soon became too much. There were too many memories to the point where I couldn’t even stay in London anymore. I had left to travel the world and try to find myself again. It took time but slowly I began to move on and your death didn’t hurt as much but now there are things that are reigniting that pain that I—I don’t want to lose you forever.

So I came back here, specifically to Diagon Alley and headed towards a shop that I hadn’t stepped foot in since the grand opening. Your shop, Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Just seeing your face outside of the shop on the large display with the rabbit under the top hat, I felt a pang in my chest but I knew if I didn’t go in now, I’d regret it forever.

I opened the door and heard the silly little bell (that actually sounded like a funny whistle) jingle above me. The whiz-bangs flying across the store, customers filled just like they were opening day, the display of puking pastilles and skiving snack boxes was the first thing you saw when you stepped into the store.

I stroked the spine of the boxes and smiled solemnly as I remember you once slipping me a fainting fancy before catching me and mockingly said.

“I knew you had fallen for me love but I didn’t think you’d take it literally.” I shook my head fondly at the memory before passing through the rest of the store. A new generation of Hogwarts students picking and choosing which tricks and pranks they’d be taking for the upcoming school year and it did warm my heart to see that this shop was still going strong if not stronger than when the twins first opened it.

That’s when I saw the love potions display and swallowed a lump in my throat but walked over to it. I picked up one of the jars and I could swear I almost felt the phantom touch of your arms wrap around me like you’d usually hold me and your voice whispered in my ear.

“They may actually work, but I don’t need one to fall in love with you.”

“Hello love, what can I do for you?” I smiled hearing that friendly voice that I hadn’t heard since I had left England.

“Yes, I was hoping to actually run into you.” I said turning around and when he saw me, the cheeky smile on his face vanished and his eyes widened in shock.

“(Y-Y/n)?”

“Hi Georgie-boy.” I set the love potion down back onto the display. “I—it’s been a long time and I—” he immediately grabbed me by my shirt collar and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Coulda let me know you were coming in advance sis?” just hearing him call me that made tears of happiness fall down my face as I buried my face into his chest.

“Did you seriously grow another foot taller I swear.” The rumble from his chest as he laughed was comforting as he separated us from his hug and I said with a warm smile. “It really is good to see you again George.”

“Same with you. You look great.” He cupped the side of my face and I nuzzled into his touch.

“Flatter as always.”

“It’s not flattery unless it’s the truth.”

“Now I can see business wise that things have been booming with WWW, but how’s—you know?”

“The family’s been good. We try to go about each day as best we can. Some good days some bad, particularly around the Christmas holiday and—April 1st.” I nodded solemnly. “But what about you? Your last letter I ever got from you, you were in Norway.”

“Yeah I…..like I had said just been traveling a lot. Not really getting involved in any wizarding communities, just seeing out the Muggles around the world live their normal non-magic lives. The sights were beautiful and cultures were vast.” George looked at me and he said.

“Why don’t we catch up in the flat upstairs? Have a cuppa.”

“George I couldn’t impose or turn you away from your work.”

“Nonsense, I got some help. Oi Ronald!”

“What I’m doing inventory like you asked!” Ron said coming out from the back. When he saw me, he became shocked and whispered my name.

“Hey Ron,” I took notice of the wedding band on his left finger and continued, “Sorry I couldn’t make the wedding, but congrats on you and Hermione finally getting together.”

“(N/n) and I are gonna pop upstairs to catch up, I need you to man the store for a bit.” George told him.

“Yeah, yeah sure fine. And thanks (Y/n). Hermione did want you in the wedding but you weren’t—you know. Reachable.”

“Don’t go blaming her Ronald now get back to work!” I patted George’s arm as I lead us up the stairs towards the flat above the shop.

It had looked a bit emptier than it once was. Half the stuff that once belonged to Fred had been taken away and there was hardly any furniture except a table, a couch and a chair.

“This is only really used for any overnight stays I do here in the shop. Angelina and I managed to find a place together.”

“Wait, you and Angelina Johnson? Since when did that happen?”

“Not too long ago, about less than a year. We only just moved in together about a month ago.”

“Wow, congrats.” George waved his wand and the kitchen started to prepare a cup of tea for the both of us. Cups soon levitated toward us as the teapot came over and poured us a cup of chamomile tea.

“You still like chamomile right? Or do you want something else?”

“That’s the one thing that’ll never change about me Georgie.”

“Good cause that’s really all I’ve got in regards to tea.” We both softly laughed as we gently clinged our cups together before taking a sip. “Now, you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“C’mon (Y/n) I’m not stupid. I’ve known you practically my whole life. You don’t think I don’t know when something’s really on your mind? Plus you’ve been fiddling with your left ring finger ever since I saw you by the love potion display.” I looked down and set me teacup down sighing heavily.

“I never could hide anything from you guys, could I?”

“Never, so come on out with it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me his full attention. I turned to face him on the couch and took a deep breath before once again fiddling with my left ring finger.

“Three years ago, when I was in Haarlem, a city outside of Amsterdam in the Netherlands. I—I met someone.” I looked at him anxiously trying to get a read on George’s emotions.

“Uh-huh.” He encouraged me to go on.

“His name is Luuk and he’s a muggle. Or a Can’t-spell as they’re referred to in the North. His family is one of the big fishing companies that supplies his city. We met while I was out in the market looking at some tulips and we got to know each other. We became close until he—asked me out on a date.”

“And did this date lead to others?”

“Yeah. It did. I…..really came to care for him. We continued to see each other until I became comfortable enough to tell him that I was a witch. And amazingly he accepted it. Didn’t deter him or scare him away. He even joked that I should come along some of the fishing trips to help bring in more game to blow out their competitions.” George and I laughed softly.

“He sounds like a nice chap.”

“He really is Georgie.”

“Yet why do I feel like there’s a but coming into play here?” he asked curiously.

“Two days ago when we were out in the tulip fields that Haarlem is famous for, he…..he got down on one knee and proposed to me.” George let out a gasp and covered his mouth with his hand. “I—I didn’t give him an answer, yet. I told him that before I did I needed to get some answers first back home, clear some stuff up. Because being in that tulip field and seeing him show me the ring it—it brought me back to that night at the Burrow when—when Freddie did the same thing. It was right before the battle at Hogwarts and I……”

Tears stung in my eyes as I reached down into my shirt and pulled out the necklace that had Fred’s engagement ring that he had given me. I felt Georgie’s strong arms pull me once again into a comforting embrace.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about him Georgie since meeting Luuk. I-I miss him so much! I—I want to move on but now I feel more than ever he’s trying to pull me back in! Why did he have to leave us? Leave me?! Why!?”

“I know. I think about that question every day for the past ten years. I had to be honest with Angelina and tell her that I didn’t want any mirrors or reflective surfaces, because all I see is him.” George rubbed my back in comforting circles.

“Am I being selfish for wanting to let him go? I…..I feel like such a terrible person.”

“Hey, you listen to me (Y/n) (l/n).” he cupped my face in his hands forcing me to look him in the eye. “You are the smartest, funniest, wittiest, and bravest witch I have ever known. You’re strong, kind, always willing to help someone out. So to even hear your name and the word terrible or any other sort of negative comment is rubbish!” he wiped my tears away. “You said Lukk is a nice guy, does he make you laugh?”

“Yes.”

“Is he there to comfort you and be there for you on your bad days?”

“With a bowl of ice cream biscuits and a bottle of Gin.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“As happy as I’ve been ever since the war.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about. Listen, you and Fred were meant for each other, although you pining rotters wouldn’t admit it until our 6th year at the Yule Ball.” I punched his chest which made him chuckle softly. “But if there’s anything I know that Fred would want from you, it’s for you to be happy. Even if it can’t be with him. So no you aren’t a terrible person for finding someone new. I think—these feelings you’ve been having is Fred telling you that it’s okay to move on. Don’t compare Luuk to him, so long as you’re happy, he’s okay with it.”

“Thank you George. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.” I whimpered as I hugged him, burying my face into his neck.

“You’ll always be my sister (Y/n), whether you marry a Weasley or not.” I smiled as I held onto Georgie tighter. “However before you tell this bloke yes, I think mum would like to know about this first. She’d have my head if she found out I knew you had gotten married and didn’t tell her.” We both laughed and I said after wiped away my tears.

“I was planning on going there next, care to come along?”

“And leave poor Ikkle-Ronniekins to man the shop alone?” he exaggerated in faux shock before a cheshire grin came across his face, “You read my mind. Come on.” He held my hands and together we both apparated to the Burrows.

Meeting the Weasley clan once again after so long was like coming home to family. My parents had been killed shortly after Voldemort’s return leaving me under the care of the Weasley’s since our mothers were close with each other back in their Hogwarts days and our dads were coworkers at the Ministry (both having a fascination with Muggles).

So when Molly saw me, she literally let out a scream as she raced over to me and gave me the biggest and tightest hug all while kissing my face feverishly. Bless Arthur he had rushed in from the gardens thinking his wife was in trouble but when he saw that it was me, he was there with open arms and a fatherly hug.

I was given a warm, Weasley family teatime as Molly demanded to tell her everything that I had been up to these past seven years. Like I did with George, I told them about Luuk and my relationship with him, and being the only parents I had left, they gave me their approval and even Molly said to me.

“I know how much you had loved my son Freddie, but I’m happy that you managed to find happiness with someone else to love. And I know he would’ve wanted that for you (Y/n) dear. But we insist on meeting this young man first before any wedding plannings can happen.”

Arthur was over the moon that Luuk was a muggle and he asked me all sorts of questions in regards to his family’s ‘fishing business’ so Molly had to step in and tell her husband.

“You can get all your answers from the man himself when he comes over. But don’t overwhelm the poor lad. When can we meet him (Y/n)?”

“I can call him and ask him if he’d be willing to fly into London tonight?”

“Fly? But how can muggles fly they don’t have brooms.” Asked Arthur.

“They have these things called airplanes that can take them long distances or across oceans Arthur.” I explained.

“Fascinating, Ary-planes.” Oh how I’ve missed his mispronunciation on certain muggle words. How I’ve missed being with the Weasleys.

The next few days Lukk got to know my family and of course he loved just how hospitable and motherly Molly was and was happy to answer any questions that Arthur had. Ginny, who had came in from her Professional Quidditch tournament when Luuk had came over was overjoyed to see me but demanded to know who I had brought.

Within an hour, Luuk had won Ginny over but of course it seemed that the approval Luuk was really looking forward to was George’s. Like after the family dinner, I had caught sight of both him and George talking with each other outside in the gardens. I couldn’t hear what all was being said but when George had caught sight of me standing at the back door, he and Luuk proudly shook hands with each other and Luuk came over to me.

“I love your family and it is clear that they love and care deeply for you. I’ll do my best to show you how much I love and care about you every day for the rest of my life, do I have your answer now?” he once again showed me his ring and I looked up at him and smiled.

“Yes Luuk.” He smiled and placed the ring over my finger and we kissed each other lovingly as he lifted me up and spun me around.

The weeks ahead was Molly Weasley’s wedding planning as we had agreed to have the wedding here at the Burrow. Much like with Bill and Fleur’s wedding, we had the tents all set up, tulips were the main flower displays and bouquet that I wanted. Molly, Hermione, Ginny and Fleur came with me to pick out my wedding dress as well as the bridesmaids dresses.

And even though it’s tradition of the father to give away the bride on her wedding day, I had actually asked George being my brother now and forever to be the one to give me away. He’ll deny this but there were some tears shedded as he gladly accepted the offer.

Then on the night before my wedding day as I slept in Ginny’s room I woke up to this blue light being cast over me followed by the sound of faint chirping. I woke up and was surprised to see a Patronus charm was flying over me, and not just any Patronus.

A Magpie.

The Magpie flew over my head chirping before landing at my feet looking at me. It ruffled its wings before flying out of the window. I grabbed my robe and quietly raced out of the Weasley home and followed the Magpie as it flew past the fields surrounding the burrow.

In the dark of the night, the blue light of the Magpie was my only source of light and I followed the sound of its call before I stopped and was shocked to see who now stood before me.

“It can’t be.” I whispered.

“You’re not going mental love.” He said with that grin that made my stomach flutter. I walked over to him and he looked just as handsome as he did before. He wore the same outfit he had been wearing during the battle, those warm brown-green eyes looking at me with such love and admiration.

“Freddie.”

“Hello (Y/n).”

“How—how is…..”

“Shhh, best not to question it. You look beautiful, but you always look beautiful.”

“Flirt.” His grin slightly widened.

“I’m really happy for you (Y/n).”

“I just wish it had been you that I would meet down the aisle.”

“So do I. But Luuk’s a great chap. I know he’ll make you happy. You deserve happiness, like I always say, ‘The world shines brighter with just a bit of laughter’.” I giggled softly which made him chuckle and he placed his hand under my chin raising it up to look at him. “See, there’s that beautiful smile I love.”

“Fred, I—I just want you to know that no matter how much I love Luuk, you’ll always hold a special place in my heart.”

“I know. But you don’t have to compare the two of us anymore love. He makes you happy and that’s all I could ask for in a partner that isn’t me.”

“That’s exactly what George had told me.”

“Coming from the less attractive twin he’s not wrong.” We both laughed as I shoved him. I felt Fred’s arms wrap around me as he said to me as he leaned his forehead against mine, “But always know this (Y/n), I’ll always love you and I’ll never stop. I’ll always be there even when I’m not. And I’ll be waiting right here when your time comes.”

“You promise?”

“Always love.” He then gave me a loving kiss at the center of my forehead “But for now, you have another chap to get married to. So you need to wake up, wake up, wake up.”

“Wake up. C’mon (Y/n) wake up!” Ginny’s voice called out to me as I felt my shoulder being shook around. I let out a gasp and looked up to see that I was once again in Ginny’s room. “Hey, hey easy, sorry didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no Gin you-you didn’t I was…..” I felt this warmth overcome my body. A warmth that I hadn’t felt since Fred was still around. However this time the warmth was for Luuk and realizing what today was, I got up and said to my little sis, “Come on, breakfast downstairs then we need to get ready. I promised I’d do the hair charm for you right?”

“Right, you should really teach me how to do that. Not even Hermione is able to do it properly.”

“Well when you’re the number one student in potions you pick up a thing or two. So c’mon let’s go I’m starving and I call first dibs on your mum’s pancakes before Ron wakes up.”

“Best hurry then cause I saw him heading downstairs already.” The two of us raced out and quick as I could, I pulled Ron back from grabbing the first pancake batches from his plate.

“Hey! Those are mine!”

“My wedding day, I call first dibs!”

“Best let her Ron less you want to face the wrath of Bridezilla!” joked George as he came down and held his brother in a headlock while giving him a noogie. Ron struggled to get out of George’s grip before Molly scolded them to not rough-house in the kitchen.

The whole morning was spent getting ready for the wedding and as guests started coming in and settling into the seats, the ceremony soon began right at 11o’clock on the dot. The wedding was beautiful and the music was lovely as it played when I walked down the aisle with George at my side. He kissed my cheek before giving me away to Luuk and taking his seat beside his brothers and parents in the front row.

Luuk and I said our vows to teach other but I had taken notice that since the ceremony began, standing behind Luuk on the top of one of the tents was a Magpie bird watching us intently. I smiled warmly before turning my attention fully onto the man I would come to marry and who would make me happy just like my first love did.

Yes I did love Fred Weasley and I will always love him, but I knew he wanted me to focus on myself. Find someone new who would make me as happy as he used to make me. And Luuk was it for me, a man who had accepted me for who I am and who comforted me whenever my grief became too much for me to bare.

As we placed our wedding rings on the other’s ring finger and said our I do’s, we kissed each other as husband and wife and when I had turn to look, the Magpie was gone but I knew that I would always be watched over and loved in both the physical and the afterlife by two men who loved me the most.

*11 years later*

I walked through King’s Cross station with my son who was pushing his cart ahead of him while my husband walked behind me with our twin daughters who were nine years old. We came to Platform 9 and ¾ and I stood by my son and said to him.

“Together.” I held onto his cart and placed a hand on his back as the two of us took off in a run until we came across the other side and there she stood, The Hogwarts Express. We walked together until we spotted Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione with their own kids who were starting their Hogwarts journey (with Harry and Ginny’s daughter Rose starting off her first year like my own son was).

“Well it’s about time you lot showed up. Got lost in the tulip fields did yah?” George’s voice rang out.

“Lay off them. My husband the jokester.” Angelina said coming over to George’s side wrapping her arm around his. Soon George’s and Angelina’s daughters Anna, Marissa and Haley came and greeted my son.

“Feeling a bit out-numbered Georgie?” Luuk asked.

“I don’t mind. Growing up in a house full of boys, it’s nice to have the house with girls as beautiful as their mum.” George took his arm out from Angelina’s grasp and wrapped it over her shoulders.

“Being a girl dad suits you. You always were the more sensitive and emotionally smarter of the pair.” I said.

“So Freddie, you looking forward to joining us at Hogwarts?” asked Anna who was a third year while her sisters were in their second year.

“I’m a little nervous to be honest. What if I don’t get into Gryffindor?”

“Fredrick Gideon Janssen.” I said kneeling down beside him. “It doesn’t matter what house you end up being sorted in, we’ll still love you either way.”

“Your mother’s right,” George said kneeling down in front of him. “Even though Gryffindor is the best house in Hogwarts, if you do end up being sorted into a different house, it won’t change anything about you. Whichever house you get in, they’ll have to watch out because you were named after one of the best pranksters Hogwarts has ever known. Being second after me.” He gave his godson a wink.

“Alright Georgie don’t be filling his head with lies.”

“Lies!”

“Yes, everyone knows that the best prankster was me.”

“Oh rubbish! Don’t listen to your mother on that.” I scoffed and shoved George harshly. “Here, to get you started though I want you to take these.” George reached into his suit pocket and pulled out some puking pastilles. “In case you want to get out of class or prank some buggers who give you a hard time.” He winked at my son as he gladly took the puking pastilles box from his godfather.

“Thanks uncle George.”

“Anytime lad.”

“But don’t be taking those every day. Education is important son.” Luuk told him.

“Yes dad.” Fred whined. George gave him another wink before mouthing out.

“Don’t listen to him.”

“Alright before your godfather turns you into a mini-delinquent you lot best be getting on the train. Write to us every night Fred, I mean it.”

“I will mum.”

“Don’t worry Aunt (Y/n) we’ll make sure to look after him.” Marissa said as she placed a hand on Freddie’s back and he and the Weasley girls took off for the train. We joined with the rest of the parents to see our kids sitting in their own compartment with chocolate frogs hopping onto the window or the brief sight of a Weasley Whiz-bang flying past them.

I giggled as I remember my times boarding the Hogwarts express with the twins, Lee and Angelina and as we waved goodbye to our kids as the train took off, I knew that he was going to be okay. He was going to have the best seven years of his life now that there wasn’t the impending doom of the Dark Lord returning or any Death Eaters attacking the school.

“Good luck, my little Magpie.” I whispered as Luuk wrapped his arms around me and I felt George’s hand on my shoulder.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley angst #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction

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axelsagewrites · 2 years ago

Note

Hello! I don't know if you're still writing from Harry Potter, but do you write about George Weasley and the fem Slytherin reader? It would be interesting to have a Gryffindor Weasley and a Slytherin side by side. Fire and gunpowder are dangerous together.😅😂

I hope you write<3 I love your works

George Weasley*The Deal

Pairing: f!slytherin reader x george weasley

Summary: after a deal is struck the reader starts to fall for her new study buddy however once she learns what house he is she's worried that may change the terms and conditions

Warnings: none

Masterlist Here

Despite literally having magic your schools’ uniforms were one of the most uncomfortable things you had ever worn so as soon as class was done for the day you slipped back into some comfy clothes. You in all your wisdom had put off doing Flitwick’s charms essay until the last minute, yet again, so once class was over you quickly changed and headed to the library for a long night.

There was one long table running down the library but sitting their felt too exposed, so you instead searched for a free desk between the shelves. You eventually found a free two-person desk in the last of the rows of the shelves. Luckily for you this was the section you needed to be in anyhow. You dumped your back at the free seat then turned your attention to the recommended reading list. An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms. This would either be fascinating or mind numbing but there was no way to tell. As you looked through the row, knowing it must be on this bookcase, dread filled you when you realised that it had been lovingly places on top of the bookshelf by some uncaring overly tall person. You huffed, wondering if it was worth it to ask madam Pince for assistance but unfortunately, she still hadn’t forgiven you for your first-year prank. Usually this would be a great chance to practise your magic, but you had left your wand in your school cloak like a first year so instead you pointlessly tried to reach up, but your fingertips only grazed the second highest shelf.

“Need a hand?” You jumped at the voice, spinning round to see an overly tall person smirking with his own book bag over his shoulder. His hair was fiery and dishevelled like he had been flying a broom upside down and backwards. His shirt was untucked, crinkled, and you wondered if it was baggy by choice or just the only one long enough to fit.

You hated asking for help, despised it even, but desperate times. You stepped back from the bookshelf, gesturing towards it to let him in but he just cocked an eyebrow. You sighed before looking at him in his annoyingly cute face, “Please can you pass me the book?”

“Of course, I can,” he said, stretching up to reach the shelf that was even almost too high for him. He held the book in his hands with a triumph smile, ignoring your outstretched hand and keeping the book for himself. “Say thank you,” he said, his smile never wavering.

“Thank you,” you said, trying to reach out and snatch the book only for him to pull it away and read the cover, “Hey! I said thank you,” you protested.

He ignored you for a moment as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, scanning over it briefly before looking back to you, “You any better at sharing than you are at waiting?” The stranger asked but the longer you looked at him you wondered where you knew him from.

You internally groaned when he held up the piece of paper out to you, seeing the same reading list you had been given. “I suppose we can share,” you said, grabbing the book out of his hands at last, “As long as you can keep up,”

“Speak for yourself love,” he said with a grin as he moved to take the free seat at the desk, dropping his bag down before plopping into the chair, “I’m George by the way,” he said, watching you as you moved to sit down. “Do you have a name?” He asked as you pulled out your parchment and quill.

You rolled your eyes before looking up from your bag, “(Y/N),” you finally answered as George began to pull out his own supplies.

As you flipped through the pages, taking turns picking pages and copying down tables, you let yourself sneak a few glances between notes. Cute freckles scattered across with cheeks and his eyelashes were long enough to make you jealous. Each time George caught your eyes he wore that dumb little smirk but for some reason each time he smirked or his hand brush yours you felt your skin heat up.

“We should take a break,” George said, slumping back in his seat and yawning.

You looked at him, wide eyed, “Its due tomorrow,”

“We have time,”

“The library shuts in an hour,”

“Five minutes,”

“No,”

“Why not?”

“I said so,”

“That’s not a reason,”

“Is too,”

“You’ll fail,”

“Why do you care?” He said making you groan and screw your eyes shut.

“You’re almost done,” you sighed not answering his question, “You’ve only got the end of that paragraph and a conclusion,”

“I do?” George asked suddenly sitting up to look over his parchment, “Ha I didn’t realise I’d done so much,” he said with a dopey grin, “We should study together more often,”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop a smile, “We’ll see but for now we work,”

“Give you a deal,” George said, sitting back in his chair again making you groan and turn to face him, “i’ll do this if you go to Hogsmeade with me Saturday,”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” George said as he crossed his arms, “That’s the deal love. Take it or leave it,”

You rolled your eyes and forced a sigh despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach, “Only if you finish your essay and stop calling me love,”

“You’ve got yourself a deal doll,” Goerge said, sticking his hand out with a goofy smile. You rolled your eyes with a light laugh as you shook on your new deal. “See you at one,”

For some reason you never saw George around the next day, and you wondered where you were supposed to meet him tomorrow. When you realised, he wasn’t in your charms class you figured he must be in the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor class however you couldn’t spot him at either of their tables at lunch. When Saturday came and you stood at the gates waiting for him to show part of you wondered if it had been a cruel joke all along and soon laughter would ring out across the courtyard.

You turned to head back up to the castle after standing in the cold for ten minutes, but it had felt like an hour. Your eyes were trained on the ground, trying not to let your tears pool when you felt someone bump into your shoulder, “Watch it,” you said, turning around to glare at the culprit.

“Sorry doll,” George said with a dopey smile. He turned to wave off his friends, one of which you figured must be his twin he had failed to mention. “Hope you weren’t trying to ditch me,” he said, ignoring the wolf whistles from his friends.

You laughed in relief, hitting his shoulder, “You twat I thought you ditched me,”

“Never,” he said confidently as he started to walk back down to the gates, “You’re stuck with me now doll,”

Despite knowing that his friends were staring at you both the entire time you managed to enjoy your time in the three broomsticks. George was shocked when you were the one to ask to go to zonkos but could never say no the joke shop.

“We should swap out Trelawney teacups with one of these,” you joked, holding up a nose biting teacup.

“I like how you think love,”

“You’re not allowed to call me that remember,” you said but it came out as more of a laugh as the teacup tried to bite your finger.

George chuckled as he pried the teacup out your hands, “Sorry doll,” he corrected his mistake with his usual cheeky smile.

That cheeky smile was something you knew had to see again when you flopped down on your dorm bed. However, you realised you still didn’t know his house. The next day at breakfast your eyes scanned the great hall, looking for the fiery red head suddenly occupying your mind. Usually, you were so tired in the mornings you never looked up from your plate but now you found yourself staring across the hall. You knew he wasn’t a Slytherin since you would’ve noticed that hair in your common room. All the Ravenclaws sat slumped at their table, rings around their eyes from reading all night but no George.

That wasn’t shocking though, while you could tell he was smart George never seemed to care about that part of school. Hufflepuff seemed kind of fitting, he was a massive goofball after all. However, then your eyes fell on the explosion of laughs as the red headed twins entered the great hall with a gaggle of other late Gryffindor on their tales.

Gryffindor’s. Fuck. Your eyes shot back to your toast, and you wondered if the whole time he knew you were a Slytherin. You thought it was pretty obvious after all. Maybe George knew and just didn’t care. You spent the rest of breakfast internally scolding yourself for judging him so harshly.

George had agreed to meet up Monday night in the library, claiming it was a time to study but you had other intentions. As you finished your last class, potions which you usually enjoyed, you realised you were far too tired to walk from the castle’s basement to the dorms just to then hike to the library.

You were in the library first; at the same table you had met waiting for George to appear. Your fingers ran over the soft fabric of your tie, debating whether to shove it in your bag or not. As you pondered a loud hey broke you from your thoughts. You looked up as madam Pince shushed George from the other side of the library.

There he stood, his cheeky grin and warm eyes with yep, a Gryffindor tie hanging loosely round his crumpled collar. George cocked his head, his eyes locked on the emerald cloth, “Stare much,” you tried to joke but it came out as an awkward laugh, “You gonna sit or what gingey?” The words felt clumsy and as you looked at him you tensed, waiting for the rejection.

George shook his head, almost shaking himself out of it, “Its Mr gingey to you doll,” he said, quickly covering him up as he sat in what would become his regular snake. “A snake huh,” he said with a slight chuckle as he began to pull out his notebook.

“Problem Gryffindor?” You said, forcing the sneer in your tone encase a lion struck.

George turned to face you, eyebrow raised and a challenging look on his adorable face, “Only on game day doll,” somehow you managed to fall into normal conversation, even managing to study a little. “This is explaining why you’re so bossy,” George said under his breath as he noted down the table you said was important.

“I wouldn’t have to boss you if you knew what you were doing, love,” you said, smirking at the last word as you waited for George to finish the table. “I think we make a good pair,” you mused, but when George met your eye, you couldn’t help looking away, “For a Gryffindor I suppose”

“Agreed, Slytherin,” he said in a teasing whisper, leaning across the desk, “So is it true all Slytherins are evil?” He asked and you reeled back, ready to verbally assault him with all the venom you could conjure but George stopped you when he pulled a box out his bag, pressing a small pouch in your hand, “I went back Sunday for them cause I figured you’d know how to put them to good use,” you looked down at the Hiccoughs sweets he’d placed in your hand.

“Wont Fred be jealous?” You said as you took the sweets and opened the pack, “He’s your partner in crime and all,”

George laughed for a moment before smiling, “Don’t worry im sure he’ll understand,”

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