#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

emeritusemeritus · 2 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.

197 notes · View notes

withleeknow · 1 year ago

Text

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

678 notes · View notes

fallingforyouforeverr · 8 months ago

Note

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

241 notes · View notes

screamingoverfiction · 2 years ago

Note

HI!!! I loved ur fred fic so may I request a possessive handsy fred weasley x reader??? Tysm!!

OFC! I love this! Possessive, Handsy & Jealous Fred Weasley x f!-reader. 18+ smut ahead. No house mentioned.

Word Count: 2.23k

Fred Weasley loved PDA, whether it be holding hands, hugging, or even making out between classes. He wanted it all. He needed people to know Y/n was his and only his.

The various markings he'd leave on her neck were usually enough to scare away anyone trying to make a move. Unless she wanted them to.

Y/n was mad at Fred. He and George decided it was a grand idea to go off and prank Filch. Typically this didn't bother her. Fred was a prankster, it was one of the things that attracted her to him, but they'd gotten caught and sent to a heavily watched detention, so Y/n had to spend their anniversary night alone.

So here she was the next night, across the room from him on a Friday night, laughing at a joke Marcus Flint had told.

She bit her lip, tilting her head sideways and smiling at the Slytherin boy, knowing exactly how to push each of Fred's buttons.

Fred's grip tightened around his red solo cup, his eyes going impossibly wide, jaw clenched so tightly the muscles twitched.

His blood boiled, eyes only seeing red at the sight of his girlfriend talking it up with Marcus Flint. Her hand was on his arm after he'd say something funny.

He harshly set his cup down, striding through crowds of students to get to her.

Y/n heard footsteps approaching her, and she smirked, turning her head just in time for Fred to reach her. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him and away from Marcus.

"Hello, Flint," Fred said through gritted teeth, his fingers pressing into her hips, making Y/n softly smirk, backing herself into him.

"Weasley," Flint said back, his expression hardening, eyes flickering to Y/n, who smirked at him, mouthing 'thank you.'

Flint simply pursed his lips into a downturned smile, hands up defensively as he backed away.

Fred grabbed her wrist, pulling her through the party without another word. He dragged her up the stairs, ignoring her questioning.

Only when he pried open his dorm door and walked in, pinning her against the door, did he finally speak.

"You dirty fucking minx," He said lowly, hands on her hips, pressing her firmly into the door.

Y/n's lips twitched into a smirk. She lifted her chin, her eyes flickering over his hardened features.

"Well, I needed someone to talk to since you were so busy last night and this morning," She bit back, locking her jaw, rolling her tongue along her cheek.

Fred inhaled sharply, swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"You're mine, Y/n," He spoke sternly, one of his hands reaching up and gripping her jaw, the other snaking up her shirt, tracing over the skin.

"Really? So you decided to go off and get detention on our anniversary?" She said in a sickeningly sweet tone, hissing softly when he tightened his grip on her jaw.

Fred let out a dry laugh and shook his head, lowering his face, so they were at eye level, his pupils blown, dark with rage and lust.

"If you keep running your mouth like that, I'll make it scream," He said darkly. His knee went between her legs, forcefully spreading them apart. He pressed his thigh against her clothed cunt, making her breath hitch at the sensation.

"You think you can run around flirting with other men? I hope you know what you've just signed up for," He spoke, his hand going from her jaw to her throat, locking around it.

Y/n inhaled, her hand locking around his wrist, her eyes dancing with desire. She leaned forward, crashing their lips together in a heated, passionate kiss.

They kissed like they needed the other's lips to breathe, like if they didn't, the room would collapse atop them. Teeth clashed, lips bruised, tongues fought. It was pure, unfiltered want and anger.

Fred pressed his leg further into her, earning a soft whimper from her lips. He smirked, kissing down her jaw, making sure to leave marks.

"Freddie, people will see those," She breathed, gasping softly when he bit down on her neck.

"Let them see. At least then they'll know not to touch what's mine," He said against her skin, lifting his hand up her shirt to run his fingers over her clothed breasts.

He quickly snakes both hands around her back and under her thighs, hoisting her effortlessly into his arms.

He carried her to his bed, setting her down and hovering over her body, connecting their lips again.

Y/n fingers brushed along his neck and down his body, carefully undoing his shirt and assisting him in pulling it off.

Fred grabbed the top of her shirt with both hands, breaking open the fabric and sending buttons scattering.

"Fred, what the fuck?!" She said in anger and surprise. Fred simply rolled his eyes, pulling the rest of her shirt away from her skin and kissing her again.

"I'll buy you another," He says against her lips, making her huff annoyedly.

Fred unhooks her bra skillfully, throwing it off to be forgotten. He runs his hands over her body, groaning against her lips.

"This is mine to touch, only mine," He growls, kissing her harshly, hands massaging her breasts, kneading the sensitive skin.

Y/n gasped, knocking her head back as his lips trailed hickeys down her neck and to her boobs, whimpering lightly as he took one in his mouth.

"That's it, baby, make those noises for me," He said lowly, pinching her nipple and making her hiss from the slight pain.

Fred smirked, lowering himself and hooking his fingers in the waistband of her skirt, fingers brushing over her soft skin.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing her moans as Fred gradually pulled her skirt down her legs.

He hovered over her panties, his warm breath fanning the soaked and sensitive area. He traced his thumb over the fabric, pressing it against her clothed clit.

"So wet, and I haven't fucking touched you. Is this all from me, angel?"

Y/n tightened her jaw, fingers clenching the bedsheets as he carefully and knowingly teased her.

"No, Flint is-" She started to say, but Fred's teeth sunk into the skin of her inner thigh, making her groan in pain and pleasure.

"Don't lie to me, Y/n. Who made you this wet?" He asked again, eyes staring daggers into hers, fingers tightly gripping her thighs.

"Y-You did, Freddie," She whispered desperately. Her core was burning and aching for him. She needed him to touch her.

"That's what I thought," He sneered, hooking his fingers in her underwear and yanking them down her legs, exposing her soaked pussy on full display.

Fred almost drooled at the sight. Her perfect, pretty cunt splayed out just for him. It was only for him.

He lifted his thumb to her clit, slowly drawing circles on the bundle of throbbing nerves.

"Please, Freddie," She groaned, eyes squeezing shut from the taunting. She couldn't take much more.

Fred smirked, sliding his middle finger into her entrance, curling it upward to hit her g-spot.

Y/n whimpered quietly when he added a second finger. Her head was thrown back against her pillow, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He lowered his mouth, replacing his thumb with his tongue. Enjoying her now heightened moans.

His fingers worked inside her while his tongue worked on her clit. Y/n's legs wrapped around his neck, trying to squeeze shut, but Fred just pried them back apart.

She could feel the knot in her core coiling, the pleasure that coursed through her veins made her eyes roll into her skull.

"That's it, baby," Fred hummed, curling his fingers upward and basking in her moans, his erection tenting in his pants.

Y/n felt her orgasm wash over her in waves, her back arching into the bed as Fred lapped up her release, still circling her overstimulated clit.

After he was satisfied with her whimpers, he raised himself back to hover over her, wrapping his hand around her throat and kissing her harshly.

Y/n groaned into the kiss, running her hands down his sides. Fred hissed in pain when her fingers brushed over his side, flinching back.

She immediately pulled back, craning her neck down to look at his side, eyes going wide in alarm

There was a semi-healed burn on his side that ran from the bottom of his ribs to about his v-line.

"Fred, holy shit, are you okay?" She said quickly, her expression laced with concern and worry.

"Don't worry about it," Fred mumbled, kissing her again, his hands hastily undoing his belt and unbuttoning his trousers.

"Fred-"

"I'm alright," He assured, kissing her jaw and brushing his fingers along her skin, earning soft whimpers from her lips.

Fred pulled his boxers down his legs, letting his erection tease to her entrance, the tip just barely sliding.

"Please, Fred," She begged, nails digging into his shoulders and back as he dragged out the moment.

Suddenly he pushes himself in with one sharp, quick thrust, making Y/n cry out.

The low groan that escapes Fred's lips is pure euphoria. The guttural sound was almost enough to make her cum on the spot.

"Oh fuck, that's it, love," He breathes into her neck, his hands on her hips as he starts thrusting.

The sounds of skin slapping, breathless moans, and beds creaking echoed throughout the room. If anyone was in the dorm next door, they would surely hear.

"Freddie," She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms hooking around his neck.

"That's right, angel, say my name, my name," He groaned lowly, hitting her g-spot with each thrust, the cries of pleasure from her lips enticing him more.

Y/n knocked her head back, tears pricked her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks.

The knot in her stomach was coiling tightly, her eyes rolled into her skull, and she arched herself further into him.

"Freddie, I'm close," She whimpered softly, lacing her fingers in his hair and gripping it tightly.

"Fuck, cum for me, angel," He breathed, fingers digging into her hips.

Those words were all it took to send her plummeting over the edge, her cries of pleasure echoing throughout the dorm.

Fred came seconds later, pulling out and letting his cum coat her stomach. His soft labored breathing and whimpers made her head spin.

"Maybe I should flirt with Flint more often," Y/n said through rapid breaths, making Fred lift his head and narrow his eyes at her.

"Just joking, love," Y/n spoke, grazing her fingers through his hair, brushing the stray strands back.

Fred shook his head with a slight smirk, lightly kissing her forehead before standing, pulling on his boxers, and heading into the bathroom for a towel.

"I'm sorry for flirting with Marcus. It was wrong. He knew it was to rile you up if that makes it better," Y/n said after she cleaned herself with the towel Fred brought her.

"It's alright. I ruined our anniversary," Fred said quietly, keeping his guilt-ridden eyes away from hers as he walked toward his dresser and grabbed out a pair of sweats and a red t-shirt.

He tossed her the shirt and pulled the sweats on, running a hand through his hair as he paced around the room.

After she clothed herself in her underwear and his shirt, Y/n stood up and walked over to Fred, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Hey, look at me," She whispered, removing one hand and raising it to his cheek, tilting his head toward her.

"I love you, and that's not going to change. I just wish you would've said something. You told me you were going to fix something up with George, and it would take twenty minutes, and then you get caught pranking Filch and turn up with a giant burn on your side. But I wouldn't be mad if you'd communicated with me. Why did you do it, Freddie?" She asked, taking his face in her hands.

Fred closed his eyes, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers. He sighed, swallowing thickly before backing out of her embrace and walking to his bed.

Y/n furrowed her brows and started to follow him, but he cut her off when he started speaking.

"We weren't pranking Filch," He started, making her freeze.

"George and I had been planning it for months. I wanted to surprise you, hence the lying. It was supposed to be fireworks, but Filch somehow found us, and a firework went haywire, slamming into him and exploding, causing all three of us to come out with a few burns. I'm sorry, I wanted to explain, but you were avoiding me after we got out of detention,"

The immense wave of guilt that crashed into Y/n felt like a tidal wave. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her chest caved, and she felt tears prick her eyes.

"Fred, I'm so sorry," She said quietly, walking forward and wrapping her arms around him.

"I love you. I only love you, Fred," She said, pulling back to cradle his face in her hands.

Fred smiled, leaning down and kissing her passionately, his chest feeling warm.

She was his and only his.

Sorry this took so long. I've got a massive case of writer's block. If it isn't very good I apologize.

#fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #established relationship #smut #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley story #fred weasley fic #weasley twins

2K notes · View notes

lovings4turn · 11 months ago

Text

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

258 notes · View notes

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

696 notes · View notes

lovebotmo · 11 months 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

263 notes · View notes

live-laugh-lenney · 8 months ago

Note

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

119 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 1 year 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,”

#george wealsey x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley #hp george #george wealsey imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #weasley twins

275 notes · View notes

maxybabyy · 1 year ago

Text

It’s almost half past eight when the door opens and breaks Max’s focus.

Usually, people don’t come into this room. It’s too noisy, too hot when it isn’t completely freezing outside.

Lewis comes by occasionally, uses the nanodrop for his DNA samples. But his project is on the tail-end, and he’s too deep in the writing phase to even be on the lab cleaning rota. Max knows he was meant to stay, that Toto wanted to build a part of the group around him and his expertise. But funding runs out quickly; what was hot five years ago, may as well be old news today.

But it’s Daniel who pokes his head in, smile wide as he spots Max in the corner.

“There you are, Maxy.” He says, pushes the chair closer to Max before sitting down. “Alex said you’d left, but your stuff was still in the office, so.”

He doesn’t have a lab coat on, but always he doesn’t wear it. Max doesn’t know still if it’s an Australian thing, or because he is a pharmacist maybe, but also Oscar does it.

“But I have my gloves on today, Maxy.” Daniel said yesterday when Max had commented on it, trying not to stare at the lovely white tee shirt Daniel had been wearing. He wiggled his fingers as a tease, the bright pink gloves Seb had brought as a joke. He would have to at least be a large to escape the bright blue nitrile hell Max and the other mediums were saddled with. “Don’t get used to it though, just Oscar’s apparently shit at aliquoting piss I’ve learnt.”

“So what are we doing tonight, Max?” Daniel asks now. He is sitting on the chair the wrong way; elbows on the back of it with his chin in his hand. He couldn’t sit like that, Max thinks, at least not for very long. Not like Daniel can, like he does in their shared meetings when Christian and Zak remember they have a grant together.

“The university said the power would be out for a while tomorrow, so I of course have to shut down the MS,” Max says, huffs when he has to turn back to the computer.

The email had come Wednesday night, barely any information except for the notice of a power outage within eighty hours. Max had used the reply-all function to tell them to go suck an egg, turned off his phone and gone for a run.

Checo should of course be the one to do this, senior to Max in every way but one. But last time Sergio had been in charge of shutting down the systems, Max had come in the next day unable to complete calibration, and they had to replace two different parts.

It’s a new instrument too, and always he can be – the mass spectrometer can be a bit fussy when you have to shut it down. But Max has been working with mass spec since undergrad, was the second author on GP’s Nature Communications paper. Had come to Christian’s lab for this very instrument, so he of course knows it best.

“Always they say we are a part of a core facility, and still, they do this,” Max says. He’s already discussed it with GP and Jonathan how it isn’t okay, with the facility manager who hasn’t touched probably a mass spectrometer in his life.

Daniel also hasn’t worked with MS by himself before, but he would of course understand, would know it isn’t okay to do this.

“Was the Friday bar alright?” Max asks. He had gone too for a bit, shared the last dregs of gin with Charles, pouring the tonic directly into the bottle to get the most of it. “George said he made a quiz, but to me it sounded very boring. There was a part, I think, where you had to spell out chemicals’ names.”

Daniel laughs, and it sounds so loud in their tiny room for two. Daniel has of course always had a very lovely laugh, but it sounds even better like this. The two of them only. Max likes it like that the best.

“Yeah ah, George kinda went to town on the goon sack instead,” he says. “I reckon Alex had to carry him home.”

“George drank the wine?” Max asks. “No! But that is so old, it’s been in the fridge since Liam graduated.”

“He went for the sangria too, it wasn’t even good fresh.”

“Always George should not be in charge of this, of drinking and parties,” Max says, remembers the nightmare his grad party had been. “You are of course very good at it, how to make it a good night.”

“You think so?” Daniel says, soft, hesitant. Max looks up from the instrument with a frown, touches Daniel’s hand where it’s been hovering in the air, like he didn’t know if he could touch him. Always he can. Max should tell him this, maybe.

“Yes, Daniel.”

“Then, would you go somewhere with me tonight?” He asks, closes his hand around Max’s. It’s different to work like this, one-handed and typing slow. But Max doesn’t want to pull away, keeps his hand in the warmth of Daniel’s.

“I think I am too tired for the club, Daniel.” Max says softly. He has gone before, after the Friday bar. But he cannot do it tonight, his body is too tired. He doesn’t think he would survive if he did, considers already if he should take the bus home and leave his bike behind.

But to his surprise, Daniel laughs, squeezes their hands together. “Nah, I was thinking we could maybe go get some food? You said you’ve been craving like, tacos, and I’ve found a place down by one of the bridges that I thought we could try. If you wanna, of course.”

Daniel has only been in the city for five months, but already he has made friends in high places, in the low ones too.

“I would love to, but always I don’t know how -“

“Hey, we’ll just leave whenever you’re done, no rush, Maxy.” Daniel says.

Max nods, “Then it of course sounds very lovely. It will not be that much longer, I think.”

“I’ll be here,” Daniel says softly.

He pulls his hand from Max’s, the loss of touch, of warmth is sudden, but Max knew it would happen. But Daniel doesn’t leave.

He doesn’t go back to the office to work on the paper Max knows has to be sent back with major revisions, doesn’t go over the postdoc application Zak isn’t supposed to know about. He pulls out his phone instead, plays one of those indie rock albums that Max has come to like.

It’s very nice, Max thinks, his own earphones still dead in his ears.

The MS does finally shut down, leaves the room almost quiet except for the music.

They’re in the basement to get their bikes, Daniel will go in front because he knows where they’re going. He wears a helmet now too, one of those fancy Hövding airbags that will inflate if he crashes.

“So I won’t mess up my hair, baby,” he had said, the collar loose around his neck when he came into the office to show it off. Max doesn’t care, thinks he looked cute in Max’s borrowed helmet, but this is good also.

“Hey Maxy,” Daniel says now, one leg swung over the bike. “Would it be cool with you if this was a date instead?”

Max almost stumbles over the pedals, but he doesn’t, corrects himself so he’s upright and staring at Daniel, who watches him back almost shyly.

“It would of course be very lovely, I think, if this was a date,” he says, faint.

Daniel's lips stretch into a wide grin, and Max cannot help but return it.

“Cool, let’s do that then.”

#maxiel #max/daniel #maxiel fic #my fic #my writing #fic

129 notes · View notes

the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 2 years ago

Note

I absolutely love the hype Bill’s getting and I’m here to contribute ꨄ︎ My request of today is; Remember the celeb crush thing I requested a while ago for Tom? Well my love for Bill is taking over and I’d love to see how you’d adapt it for him! To make it more interesting, I thought maybe the reader is already a fan and confidently goes out to talk to them even though the language barrier is present. Couple days later she goes and surprises them at a concert and makes this a little tradition til she and Bill realize they’ve developed feelings for each other but of course, work and distance is a huge obstacle

(Hello, lovely! Sorry this took so long and I didn't know if u wanted a oneshot but I was pretty lazy so here ya go! Enjoy!)

Bill Kaulitz x Celeb-Crush Reader

He actually was pretty calm when he first noticed you

He had been one of your fans for a bit, seeing you in tabloids and online and had even gone to one of your concerts when him and the band weren't really well known

You were actually an example of his dream of being young but making it big

And as he grew up in fame, you never really left his mind because you also grew with your fandom and fame

Your style may not have been the same, your music either, but Bill still loved watching you on stage and on videos

He was almost starstruck when he actually saw you in the flesh when they were performing

YOU were at THEIR concert?!

By choice?!

He almost freaked out on stage but surprisingly hid it well

He just smiled, flashed a wink at you and somehow kept making eye contact

And you didn't look away and you fed into it from the crowd!

He tried so hard not to faint

When it was all over and he went backstage he was ranting to Tom, Gustav and Georg the whole time

"She looked at me! She looked at me- huh?! Who?! (Name)!"

Bill almost knocked Georg out right then and there

They then clicked in their mind he was actually talking about the one star he could rave about for-literally-ever

Bill was still a mega-fan, and the boys were dragged into it or ranted too

But what really almost killed Bill was after the concert and they were meeting with fans and signing stuff

He had just finished up taking a photo and signing a T-shirt and looked up to see you!

He took a moment and was just staring, mouth open and looking to Tom to see if he was hallucinationing

Tom laughed at his brother as Georg and Gustav watched as Bill almost dug his grave

You had to snap him out of it as you asked for a autograph

You almost out him in cardiac arrest because he rushed to find a marker

He snatched Tom's marker in the moment but he didn't give a shit

He was so giddy you asked him for his signature and was so happy

He tried to strike up a conversation but failed

Not to worry, you were absolutely glad to talk to him

Bill was so happy, and he and you had much in common and actually flirted surprisingly

Once he got over his shock, of course

You guys actually clicked

Turns out, you were a fan too, which shocked Bill

There was a language barrier, but Bill spoke a bit of English so he could at least speak to you

You knew a bit of German due to playing there either solo or in a band and you guys figured out a way to understand each other

As time went on, even after you guys parted ways, you somehow kept in touch

You would go to their concerts and he would be glad to go to yours

You guys were spotted by photographers leaving hotels, walking in the city on "dates" as they called it and many more

Fans went crazy and so did paparazzi, chasing you guys down almost all the time

You and Bill didn't mind, even enjoying it in photos and you guys got a few photoshoots together

You guys were a pretty popular celebrity ship but would never admit it, even with the looks and smiles you two would give over time

Bill always thought he was in a fever dream

Because no way his celebrity crush would actually like and be a fan of his, much less spend time with him

You and Bill developed a tradition of traveling to see each other

You mainly did yours in surprise, but sometimes it was difficult

You were on tour and so was he, so spending time and being together for a bit scarce

You did your best hut Tom and you spent less and less time together and it was actually quite sad

Until you surprise him by showing up backstage, which he was shocked and ecstatic to see you

It was a tradition, either of you would sneak off and find one another no matter where

But it got a bit complicated as fans doubled down on this ship and your friends always compared your "relationship" and labeled it more than a friendship

Maybe there were feelings, maybe there wasn't

But the red dust and smile on Bills face would choose the latter option

#tokio hotel georg #gustav tokio hotel #tokio hotel imagine #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz #bill kualitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill

291 notes · View notes

givemea-dam-break · 2 years ago

Text

a/n: part two for this request - "may i request a fem reader x anthony lockwood where reader is a super talented fittes agent who constantly trades barbs with lockwood but he soon realises she fancies him so he ends up teasing her during missions by doing small stuff like pulling her close and calling her babe when no one is around - since quite a few of you wanted one! if you want to find it on my masterlist, it's called Love, simply because I'm terrible at naming my fanfics lmao. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of death/suicide (very vague), language female reader taglist: @cassiopeiia24 @nessa-stark @galactidiot @randomfanficreader @tom-foolery-time

part 1

Loneliness. Terrible, suffocating loneliness. It's thick and cloying and it's getting harder to breathe. God, your throat is closing up and your lungs hurt, weighed down by this strong sense of isolation and abandonment. How are you meant to function when it's so powerful, so heartbreaking? It's overtaking your heart, filling your lungs, intoxicating your blood.

With a feeling like whiplash, you're torn from your vision, and your hand is tugged away from the tree branch and placed on someone's chest. You can feel someone's heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and your own slows. Breathing is a little easier now.

"You're okay, love. I'm here."

The voice shakes you out of your daze, and your eyes snap open, only to be met with the face of Anthony Lockwood.

The setting sun is working wonders on him. Gold and orange rays of light fight for dominance on those high cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His dark eyes swirl with hues of copper and caramel. His lips, turned down slightly with worry, hide the possibility of a bright smile as you look at him.

"Don't -"

"Call you that," he finishes. "Yes, I know. You realise that the more you tell me not to, the more I will."

You scowl at him, but you don't move. A month ago, you would've pulled out of his grip and away from him within a second but, now, you can't bring yourself to.

He knows this all too well, and he revels in it. More often now does he find some excuse to have you touch him. Oh, (name), pass me some salt bombs, won't you? Followed by a not-so-subtle brush of fingers. Do I have lavender in my hair? Get it out, please, the scent becomes too strong sometimes. And there's usually no way for you to get out of shaking it out of his hair because he often puts your hand there himself. Let me walk you home. Then he'll drape an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close or safe as he calls it.

Maybe you've bolstered this attitude of his because more often than not, you don't object. Yes, you'll call him an idiot or a twat or something more insulting, but you've come to welcome these touches, however fleeting they may or may not be.

So, now, with your fingers splayed over his white shirt, it's almost as if you can't bring yourself to move. It doesn't seem like Lockwood is particularly fussed about moving, either.

"What did you see?" he asks, eyeing you carefully. "Something seemed different."

Despite your team's displeasure about paired up so frequently with Lockwood and Co for certain cases by DEPRAC, you haven't been too bothered by it. You and Lockwood have begun working like a team, figuring out each other's tells and habits while still throwing insults and remarks back and forwards. He's become used to watching you use Touch to figure out where sources are, learning how your body reacts in accordance to different things.

You don't want to tell him that this particular vision fed into your own feelings, so instead you say, "It was just stronger than usual. We're close. Very close."

At last, his hand releases yours, and he places his hands on his hips, staring up at the towering tree before you. Members from both of your teams linger around the whole park, scouting out for any clues as to where the source is, seemingly with no luck. The reason for that is likely the pairings. Lucy and Kat and Ned, George and Bobby and Kipps. None of them are getting on particularly well.

"You think it's the branch itself?"

"I'm not sure." You flash your torchlight on the thick branch. "This guy, well, you know... His body was found here after days of just..."

"Hanging there."

"Thank you for that input. But yes. It would make sense. The rope had to be cut off because it was tied so tight. And the emotions were extremely strong, so it would be my best bet."

"Well, whatever you say, love."

You purse your lips. "You're insufferable."

"You love that about me."

Fighting down the urge to strangle him, you pull your silver net out of your belt. "I say we place the net over the branch, see if the ghost still appears. If it does, well, we're fucked, to put it simply. I'll be completely clueless. But, if it doesn't, then we can secure it in place overnight and get someone to remove the branch in the morning."

"Aye, aye, captain."

"Shut up."

Lockwood grins at you then, so bright and dazzling that for a moment you're frozen.

Maybe it affects you the way it does because it's something you've lacked for years. You can't remember the last time someone smiled at you with such joy before Lockwood, as if you've done something to deserve it.

Gently, he takes the silver net from your hands and swings out over the branch before stepping back and looking at it like he's just finished some incredible piece of art. You roll your eyes, glancing back at your teams again.

"I think Barnes pairs us up on purpose," you say. "He knows we don't all get on."

"We get on tremendously," Lockwood remarks. "We went from you insulting my clothes and face, and me making fun of your moods, to being the best of friends."

Frowning, you say, "I wouldn't say 'the best of friends'. I tolerate you, Lockwood. And your face and fashion haven't improved over this last month, I hope you know. I mean, come on, grey tie and pink socks? It's like you're taking inspiration from some raw salmon. Do I have to buy you some socks for your Christmas?"

He nudges your shoulder with his. "You hear yourself? You're on about getting me a Christmas present!"

His fingers brush yours then, and you almost jump from the contact. His hand is warm against the back of yours, and your fingers twitch slightly with the urge to entwine with his, even if part of you is telling you not to do it.

With a jolt, you step away. "Let's wait for this ghost. I'll let the others know about the plan."

There's something in his eyes, an unfamiliar spark within their darkness, that sends heat to your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach. But you turn away, adamant that you won't fall for his charm or whatever this is. You won't. Maybe.

"Oh, I've been looking for that!"

You turn as you throw a bag of pasta into your shopping basket, stopping short when you see Lockwood standing on the opposite side of the aisle. He's dressed in his usual shirt-trousers-ridiculously-long-jacket get-up, grinning with a basket hooked over his arm. For a minute, you're confused about what he means, and then you realise which hoodie you're wearing. His grey one.

In your defence, you thought you had picked up your grey Fittes one and had been a little confused by the length of it on you, but now you realise that it is not yours at all but the one he gave you a month ago. The one you keep forgetting to give him.

"Oh, yes. Um, I'll get it back to you soon."

He laughs and says, "You've told me that for weeks now. You might as well keep it now, love."

You glance down at the hoodie, fingers fiddling with the old hem. "I'll get it back to you."

"Whatever you say."

His smile is blinding, and you find yourself smiling, too. It's only a little tug at the corner of your lips, but you can see the happiness in his eyes at the sight of it. It makes something in your chest feel warm and proud and loved.

Loved. The word sends sparks down your spine. When was the last time you felt like that?

"Well, I have to get going," Lockwood says, gesturing to his basket. "George is getting tetchy and we have almost no food left in the house. I'm worried I'll get home and the house will have been destroyed in his rage."

You snort. "Kipps is the same at the Fittes offices. I try and steer clear of him when he's in a mood. He's worse than me."

"Worse than you? Sorry, love, but that's hard to believe."

"Oh, be quiet." You give him a look, and humour glints in his eyes. "I was going to offer to give you warnings of when he's particularly irritated, but I won't, now. You can just suffer."

"You have to admit," he says, "that Kipps is awfully funny when he's mad. He goes red as a tomato."

"He does."

Lockwood's smile softens to something more private, and your heart skips a beat. You want to curse at yourself. It's been a month of spending more cases together, of him walking you home late at night or catching you unawares, and already you feel differently about him. Once, you saw him as nothing more but an arrogant boy whom you couldn't stand, whose very presence had you on edge. Although you enjoyed taking the mick out of him and riling him up, you wanted to keep your interactions to a minimum.

But now?

God, you're not sure what changed. Maybe it's the way he smiles at you like he's proud of you for everything you've done and gone through, and so endlessly happy with you for simply existing. Maybe it's the gentle touches of reassurance and how he has somehow come to know your tells of nervousness or apprehension. Maybe it's how he's come to know you so well, well enough to slip little snacks you like into your kitbag for you to find on later cases when it's just you and your Fittes team.

Even now, you can spot your favourite biscuits in his basket - biscuits you're aware nobody in his house likes.

"I'll see you around," Lockwood says with his enchanting smile.

It brings out a slightly bigger smile from you. "See you, Lockwood."

As he brushes past you, his fingers twitch as if to latch onto yours, and he says, "Call me Anthony from now on, love."

"All right," you murmur. "Anthony."

"I'm going to kill you one day."

Lockwood breathes a laugh, peering around the corner of the street. "Who would provide you such amazing entertainment if not for me?"

You draw your rapier. "Anyone. Quite literally anyone. You know, there's this thing called salt, and Kat puts it in Bobby's coffee when he's not looking sometimes. However, now is really not the time for that. Are those Rawbones still looking for us?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"Well, not really. They've found us."

A horrible wail pierces your ears, one that Lockwood can't hear, and you flinch, glancing past him and to the ghosts that are leering at you. Rawbones, terrible variations of Wraiths, with no skin and bulging eyes. The sound of their teeth grinding sets the hairs on your arms on end., and the glare you send his way is scathing.

"I told you we should've just left!"

"Nonsense." Lockwood's rapier is moving fluidly in front of him, keeping the Visitors at bay. "You're the best agent I know besides myself. We can handle these."

Scowling, you throw a salt bomb at each of the two Rawbones. "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should. We've no way of finding a source!"

"Hey, think about it. If these guys kill us, then at least you won't have had to get your hands dirty killing me. Either way, we can dispatch them easily."

You glower at him and throw another salt bomb, watching the flakes disintegrate parts of the other-light and speckle the ground. "Who would even want to haunt a street with a greasy chippy and stinking public toilets?"

He grins as he looks back at you. "Maybe they were particularly fond of the chippy. Can't beat fish and chips on a Friday night. Are you a mushy peas or gravy kind of girl?"

"At the moment, neither!"

One of the Rawbones takes its chance with his peas-or-gravy distraction and launches towards Lockwood, but it never gets the chance. With all your force, you shove him out of the way, and you both slam into the wall. A harsh chill overtakes you, and you're dimly aware of a tingling pain in your arm, but you ignore it, throwing another salt bomb.

Lockwood takes up holding them back with his rapier, and it's then that you notice your jumper's sleeve steaming, a section of it burned away by ectoplasm. You hadn't been expecting to be out so late and for so long, so you didn't think to bring your thick jacket with you. Regretting your decision, you stare as the skin of your arm starts turning blue.

"Anthony?"

"Mm?" He doesn't look away from the ghosts.

"We - we have an issue."

"Do we? I think we're handling this quite well. My shoulder hurts from slamming into a brick wall, but -"

"Anthony!"

He glances back at you, his eyes immediately drawn to your burned and smoking sleeve, and the blue, swelling skin beneath. He pales momentarily, gritting his teeth, and something overtakes his expression. Anger. But not at you.

"Cover your ears and get back behind that bin over there."

"You can't be serious. It's surrounded by mouldy bananas and -"

"Go!"

The urgency in his voice has you moving before you even realise it. Ducked behind the big bin a few feet away, you peer around it and try to block out the horrible smell. Lockwood is still holding off the pair of Rawbones, but he's holding something in his free hand. It's only when he's running over to you to take cover that it was a magnesium flare.

An explosion shakes the ground, and although you had covered your ears, they still ring loudly. You can't hear what Lockwood is saying, but he drags you away by your good arm and down the street in the opposite direction from the ghosts. They're not gone permanently, but the flare has given you enough time to make your escape.

It's only when you're a few streets away that you both stop to catch your breaths beside an old phone box. You're struggling, feeling as though you're trying to breathe through a single straw, and your skin feels weird. Overly aware of the inner workings beneath it.

"Anthony," you repeat, but your voice isn't as strong.

Your legs are shaking, and you can't feel your arm anymore. You can faintly hear him speaking in the phone box, asking for an ambulance, and then he's in front of you, catching you as you stumble against a shop wall and to your knees. He tears the sleeve off your jumper, preventing any more ectoplasm from getting on your arm. Not that it would make a difference. It's already getting worse.

"You'll be all right, love," he promises, holding you close to his chest as you shiver. "An ambulance is coming. They'll be here soon."

You don't have the energy to speak, but you manage a small nod.

"They'll give you an adrenaline shot, and you'll be fine. You can get right back to insulting me."

His shirt is warm beneath your hand as you grip it weakly. It's a strange sensation feeling your organs slowly stop working. Already, your pulse sounds weaker in your ears.

"Hey, stay with me."

Your eyes find his and, for a moment, everything's all right. They're warm and soft and so, so comforting, and he's giving you that private smile he's taken to sharing with you. His cheeks are rosy, and salt is dusted in his hair like snow. Your lips tug in a meagre attempt at a smile.

"You're an asshat," you manage. "We should've gone the way I said."

He breathes a laugh. "Yeah, we should've."

His hand brushes hair from your eyes, lingering on your cheek for a moment, and you lean into the touch, relishing in the feeling of his pulse against your skin. If you don't think too hard, you can pretend it's yours and that your organs aren't on shutdown.

"Hey, look," Lockwood says gently. "See the lights, love? Ambulance is here to help you. You'll get that adrenaline and you'll be fine."

And you know you will be. His voice is so genuine that you know he's not just saying it to ease your mind. You've seen agents and civilians with ghost-touch, seen their skin turn blue and swell and their lives slowly drain away when the ambulances took too long to reach them. But you'll be okay. As long as Lockwood stays with you.

Giving Anthony Lockwood your address was the best idea you've ever had.

He knows where you hide your spare key outside of your flat, so he lets himself in as you lounge on your sofa, watching the news on your old TV. For now, you're out of action, your arm still taking time to recover from ghost-touch, though you're all right in most other senses.

Your arm aches still and has taken to staying a faint shade of blue, and sometimes you have the unshakeable fear that you've not been cured of the ghost-touch, but you always come out of it fine.

The one benefit of being on sick leave is that Lockwood stops by every single day without fail with a coffee from your favourite café, along with a fresh packet of your favourite biscuits and a newspaper. You're not big on reading the newspapers, but you figure he brings them simply because his face is appearing in them more and more, and he wants to show off.

"Oh, you're an angel," you murmur as you take the coffee from his hands, taking a long sip of it and sighing contentedly.

He beams at you, scattering the biscuits onto a plate. He does that so you can gradually eat them over the day without having to struggle to pick them out of the packet, but you're sure he knows that you scoff them all the minute he leaves. As soon as you're back out of your flat and working, you're going to have to get back to your morning runs. Maybe the runs can be you running to the shop to buy more...

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he says, bringing the plate over and setting it on your coffee table. "I'll pretend you've said it because you adore me so and not because I've turned into your slave."

You smile sweetly over the lid of your cup. "You don't have to get me stuff. I've told you this. It's your fault for being a stubborn ass."

He laughs, sitting at the end of the sofa, just beside where your feet are curled up. "And there's the name-calling. Glad to know you're getting better, love. Besides, if I can make life a little easier for you, I may as well. Now you owe me."

"So it's not out of the kindness of your heart, then?" You roll your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. "And I thought we were friends."

Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Just friends?"

For a second, something in your chest constricts and you can't look at him. "I mean, if you really want to say best friends, you can go for it, but I'm not really in the business of -"

"Just shut up and admit you like me already, love. It's agonising watching this play out."

You freeze, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. Lockwood looks at you with a smug expression, eyes glittering with something - mischief, glee. Swallowing the lump in your throat and closing your mouth, you look away from those dark eyes of his.

Growing up how you did, it's always been hard for you to discern your feelings beyond irritation and anger. The more time you spent with Lockwood, the more things you felt and the more confusing everything became. Finally, you had a friend, someone you could laugh with and explore a part of you that you've never been permitted to. You've found out that you like things you never thought you would, like walking home in the dark, pulled close to someone's side. Shopping with the hopes of seeing the people you know and care for. Reading. Feeling someone's arms around you. Being smiled at in a way that makes you feel warm and mushy inside.

Lockwood has been the one to start the change, to awaken these feelings inside of you. Before him, you were lonely. Horribly so, and your anger was a way for you to mask that. But ever since your time spent together, one particular feeling has always stood out, and you've never been able to understand it.

Love.

You're not really sure what love is, but you know you feel it when he's around. When he grins at you in that special way of his, or when he plays with your fingers on long walks home, trying to figure out what each line and crease means as if he's a palm reader. When he keeps you close to his side and steps in front of you, shielding you from ghosts even though you're more than capable of taking care of yourself.

Love might be the feeling of happiness in your chest when you look at him. It might be the flutter you get in your tummy when his name is spoken, or his skin touches yours.

"I..." You struggle with the words.

But he understands. You know with the way the corners of his lips twitch and his nose crinkles that he understands. You've never been good at communicating verbally, something he's begun to learn.

"I've known for a while," he says. "I'm irresistible, after all."

The humour helps ease the whirlwind in your mind. "You're insufferable."

He leans over, his fingers brushing yours before latching on. You've had this exact conversation before. "You love me for it."

You do. You really do.

So you don't move away when his face nears yours, watching as he slowly comes closer, closer, closer. His eyes are so bright, speckled with so many shades of bronze and copper and gold, and so happy.

No, you do move. You lean forward, and all of a sudden your lips are on his and his hands are pulling your face impossibly closer and you're clutching onto him with your good hand. And you're spiralling, down and down into this feeling people call love, falling onto it like a soft bed you've never had the privilege to sleep in before. There's an ever-so-faint taste of bitter tea on his lips, which are so soft it shouldn't be real.

But it is. It's so, so real, and you're kissing him. He's kissing you. The world melts away. You feel like you're exploding in bursts of colour and flowers and stars until you're nothing more than the air that surrounds you.

And when he pulls away, you smile wider than you ever have before.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

379 notes · View notes

throwawayasoiafaccount · 4 months ago

Note

Rhaegar did not love Lyanna, rather it was a seduction to have his prophecy, just as he did not love Elia, that is obvious, it is implied between the lines that he wanted a third child, what they justify to say that he loved her are trivial things.

The story of Bael the bard, for example, is used as an example, but it doesn't say that Bael loved the winter rose, it only says that she loved him.

This quote I saw says the opposite of Rhaegar loving Lyanna someone had a “rhaegar was a romantic hero” shirt. parris agreed then george said there was something romantic to rhaegar. whether a hero or not, depends on the perspective. “today's hero may be tomorrow' villain,” pointing out how time can change reputation.—— asshai interview source of the quote: elio garcia, a writer of twoiaf who was present at the barcelona interview

the opinions about rhaegar are provided by people who were in love with rhaegar joncon cercei or like barristan or jaime who feel guilty and also barristan says that nobody has really met rhaegar but they are based on ned's opinion when ned doesn't speak ill of the dead or badly of people i don't think lyanna told him anything about rhaegar what he did to her if he found her very serious

I think he manipulated her and locked her in his tower without medical help because he didn't do things right because he didn't come to an agreement with his family but he didn't make her his mistress and left her with three guards while he went to fight for his father who killed Brandon and his father and still condemned a child to be a bastard knowing the prejudices of Westeros so it's not a love story

it’s obvious that you have confirmation bias and do not care to engage in a meaningful discussion. it seems that you’d rather play into ridiculous headcanons that border on fanon, but i don’t mind humoring you :)

you claim that it is implied that rhaegar didn’t love lyanna and that he only seduced her for prophecy, and yet the reality is that this is only a headcanon with very little textual basis. the idea comes from one of daenerys HotU visions, which can be interpreted in numerous ways. the idea also sorta comes from a Jon Con chapter when he remembers that the maesters told rhaegar that elia would have no more children. that is all the textual basis that this headcanon has. that is it. there’s no mention of lyanna in any of these scenes. if george wanted to connect the idea that rhaegar only wanted lyanna for a prophecy, he’d find a way to bring it up in a much clearer way. honestly… treating these two scenes like the gospel is dumb as hell, and if i analyzed the text this way i could confirm any crackpot theory i wanted to.

on the other hand, rhaegar and lyanna being a love story has actually already played out in the show (though i hate the show). lyanna and rhaegar also have official artwork where they’re together, and if i need to read between the lines instead of taking POV characters thoughts about rhaegar and lyanna being a love story for foreshadowing, then all i need to do is go to danys chapter as she’s marrying hizdahr as she wishes (putting herself in lyanna’s shoes) that daario would carry her off like rhaegar did with lyanna. that is actual foreshadowing. your headcanon meets the bare minimum requirements of a headcanon, and borders on a fanon take

you also say that bael the bards love story with the winter rose isn’t supposed to be romantic, so i think you actually struggle to read between the lines. please remember that it is ygritte who tells jon snow that bael stole the winter rose. stole. in free folk culture, men stealing women is marriage, and it means the man wants the woman because he chose her. the idea is that a woman must fight back if she doesn’t want to be stolen, and i’d like to remind you that you are the one who said that the winter rose loved bael… so what does that tell you about lyanna’s opinion on rhaegar? also, ygritte actually parallels herself with the winter rose (with some sexual innuendo), which also connects her with lyanna, meaning jon’s playing both bael and rhaegar, and we know for certain that jon did love ygritte. another bael the bard type story that plays out is when jon sends mance to steal arya back. mance calls himself abel and we know that arya was actually jeyne, so i think it’s clear that mance and jeyne are acting as jon and aryas stand ins, which tells me that i should take jon and aryas feelings into account as they are the ones that are actually paralleling the bael (rhaegar) and the winter rose (lyanna). and we know for certain that jon adores arya and that arya wants to go to jon, so i think it’s very well supported that rhaegar and lyanna loved each other. can you tell that i’m reading between the lines? i think i’m doing a great job at it.

you claim that our sources on rhaegar are not reliable, or that bael the bards story isn’t a love story, all while providing a quote (though i do not know where you got it from, and frankly i do not trust you) where george supposedly says that there was something romantic to rhaegar… idk what to tell you at this point. also, the stuff george supposedly says about rhaegar being a hero or not or “todays hero may be tomorrows villain” is literally stated to be about rhaegar’s huge change in reputation. it’s not confirming anything about rhaegar and lyanna. truthfully, it’s only hinting that rhaegar was a romantic. tbh, it seems like geroge considers rhaegar a hero based on the way he worded his thoughts, but that’s just my interpretation of that supposed quote.

your last passage is complete fanon and totally inconsistent with your own logic. if rhaegar supposedly got with her for his prophecy to have a third child, then not having medical help is dumb af. what if the baby died? the reality is that all we know about the tower of joy comes from an unreliable dream ned has. the dream doesn’t depict what actually happened. tbh i don’t even want to cover anything else you’re saying because it’s just not supported by the text.

i don’t think you realize how hypocritical you are.

#there’s more textual support that rhaegar and lyanna married than there is for your headcanons #anon ask #anon you should just block me to better curate ur tumblr experience #i find myself much happier after blocking someone i disagree with #tired so this is messy as hell #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #pro rhaelya #anti elia stans

21 notes · View notes

lovepotionsandlust · 6 months ago

Text

part 15 Smut below (with a small bit of plot)

Authors note: Thank you all for the love of the past few chapters! There may be a bit more time between this chapter and the next as it is going to be a bigger chapter. I love hearing your feedback!

Fred was finishing assisting a customer when George walked into the store to relieve him from his shift. He could not ignore the smug look on his brothers face as he approached the counter. That was when he noticed the deep purple marks peeking up over the collar of his shirt.

“Quick visit before work?” Fred asked, motioning to Georges neck.

George tried biting back a smile, his cheeks flushing pink, “I am not the type to kiss and tell.”

Fred chuckled crossing his arms, “Where is she now?”

“Recovering back at the apartment.” George responded coyly with a shrug.

“Recovering? What did you do to her.”

“Nothing she didn’t enjoy; don’t you worry your pretty little head.” He said turning to busy himself with something on the shelf behind him.

***

Quietly entering the apartment, Fred kicked off his shoes at the door, locking it behind him. He listened for any signs of you being awake as he moved down the hallway towards the bedrooms. He was unsure whose bed you would be curled up in, peeking through his own door first, finding it empty. He crossed the hall to Georges room, finding your sleeping form under the covers. Crossing back into his own room, he took his work suit off, pulling on a more comfortable pair of pants and t-shirt. He knew that he should leave you to rest, but he could not resist the urge to hold you after a long day. He carefully crawled in next to you, doing his best not to wake you. Instinctually you rolled over nuzzling your face into his chest. Fred wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in closer, the stressors of the day instantly melted off him. Your leg slung up over his waist, without opening your eyes, you spoke softly, “Welcome home Freddie.”

“How did you know it was me?”

You shrugged, “Even with my eyes closed, I can always tell you two apart.”

He chuckled, “We may just have to test that theory some time.”

“I like the sound of that.” Your fingers ran up his side gently, causing goosebumps to spread over his skin. “Did you have a good day?”

He let out a heavy sigh, “It was okay, we definitely need to hire some more staff with the way things have been going. We just can’t keep up with the number of customers lately.”

You propped yourself up on your arm, giving him a concerned look, “Did something happen? You seem tense.” You brushed his hair back, watching him closely.

“Nothing in particular, don’t get me wrong I am so grateful that the store is doing so well, I just never expected everything to happen so fast. It has been months, and the lines are still around the block.”

“Well, that’s your fault.”

“Excuse me?”

“If your products hadn’t been so well crafted, and you hadn’t been so nice, maybe people would avoid your store.”

“Is that how you see it?”

“Yeah, you are just too good.”

He quickly flipped you on your back, slotting himself between your legs, hovering above you. “Too good huh?”

“You heard what I said Weasley, too damn good.”

He leaned down to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours gently for only a moment. You placed your hand on the side of his face holding him in place, not yet ready to disconnect from him. After a few more moments, he pulled away, brushing your nose with his, placing his forehead on your own.

“I owe you so much.” He whispered to you.

“You don’t owe me anything Freddie, what are you talking about?”

“You were one of our first supporters, you believed in us. I had always felt the pieces of me were floating around, never fully connecting. Then you walked into my life, slowly but surely you pulled all those pieces back together. You keep me focused on what I should be doing, you give me motivation to keep going.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at his words as he spoke. You could feel the sincerity in his words, for once in your life you were left speechless. Pulling him back down you kissed him deeply, holding him close. The kiss you shared was filled with passion, his hands roamed your body as you tangled your hands in his hair, your leg wrapping its way around his waist pulling him in closer.

He pulled away enough to speak in between kisses, “either we have to stop, or we have to get out of my brothers’ bed.”

You giggled, “So you can share the girl, but not the bed?” you pushed your hips up to his grinding your core over his hardening cock. A small whimper left his lips, pinning your hips down to the bed, trying to hold his composure.

“You make a good point.” He pulled your shirt over your head, his lips pressing down your chest. His tongue glided its way to your nipple, pulling it into his mouth, his hand caressing the other. His soft touch made your skin feel as if it was vibrating with need. Moving to the other side, sure to give both nipples an equal amount of attention, his hand snaked between your legs and under the waistband of your shorts. His fingers ghosted over your swollen bud, causing your hips to roll forward to meet his touch.

“Don’t worry love, you know I will take good care of you.” His fingers moved lower, teasing your entrance, making you whine.

“Please Freddie, I can’t handle any teasing right now.”

“Need me that bad, do you?”

You nodded quickly, pleading with him silently. He removed his hand from under your shorts, slowly pulling them down your legs leaving wet kisses along your thighs. His kisses always stopping short of where you needed him most, leaving you more and more frustrated. He sat back on his knees, pulling his throbbing cock from his pants, pumping his hand over it a couple of times. You watched him carefully, growing wetter at the sight of him touching himself. Hovering back over you he lined himself up, pushing into you slowly.

Your eyes rolled back as his fingers met your clit, adding the perfect amount of pressure as he continued to ease his way inside of you. His mouth finding its way back to your nipple as he sucked on it gently. A weak moan left your lips as he thrusted all the way in, not giving you any time to adjust he pulled back slightly only to press his hips forward once again.

“Is this what you had in mind?” He asked.

“More, I need more Freddie.”

“Anything you want my love.” He pushed your legs back giving him a better angle, sitting himself up to enjoy the view. Pulling most of the way out, he spit down onto his cock, pushing it back inside of you with greater ease. He kept his pace slow and deep, pulling breathy moans from you. Reaching down to rub your clit, he swatted your hand away, “let me take care of you.” He replaced your fingers with his, swirling them over your clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through your body.

“Th-that f-feels so good.” Your hands entangled into the sheets, his hips rolling into yours at the same slow pace.

“I love fucking you like this, just taking my time with you.” he said lowly.

You could feel your climax approaching, chasing your high you moved your hips to meet his rhythm. Fred shifted, leaning back over you, his arms resting on either side of your head, your lips meeting roughly. You both continued to rock your hips together, collectively moaning against one another’s lips.

“Let go baby, I can’t hold on much longer.” He pleaded, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You flipped the two of you, bracing yourself with both hands on his chest. You immediately started rolling your hips faster, his hands found your hips guiding you over his length. The tight coil in your abdomen finally snapped, your orgasm washing over you. You could feel yourself clamping down on him, pushing him over the edge. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough you were sure you would have bruises from his grip. You collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing hard, hearts beating rapidly.

***

You were cuddled up with Fred on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you flipped the pages of your book. At first reading over your shoulder, he eventually asked you to read the story out loud to him. Only stopping when you heard George’s key turning in the lock, both of you looking up to greet him. He looked exhausted as he flopped down into the armchair across from you, throwing his head back in a huff. Fred bumped your shoulder with his, motioning over to his brother, silently telling you to go check on him. Standing from the couch, you sat across George’s lap, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrapped around your waist holding you in place.

“Rough shift?” you asked him.

“Yeah, but I got it all done.” He responded, lifting his head to look at Fred. “Did you tell her?”

You looked back and forth between the twins, feeling extremely confused. “Tell me what?”

“No, I wanted to wait for you to get home too.”

“Thanks for waiting for me Fred. I was really hoping you would.”

“Tell. Me. What?” You were growing impatient with their antics.

“She can never just wait, can she?” George joked.

“I don’t know what we are going to do with her.” Fred responded

You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. You knew they would tell you eventually, if you continued to ask they would only continue to withhold information.

“Alright, alright.” They said in unison.

“None of us are going to work for the rest of the week.” George informed you.

“But its only Monday, what are you on about?” You felt even more confused than before.

“Well, we were talking about how we have not been taking the best care of you lately with everything going on at the store.” Fred began.

“So, we decided to break one of your golden rules of not making decisions for you, but we think you will like this one.” George continued.

“We are taking you with us to see Charlie in Romania.” They said together.

“We leave tomorrow after breakfast, he’s letting us stay in one of his cabins for the remainer of the week, we get to see the dragons he has been working with, enjoy the scenery, and most importantly spend some much needed one on one, on one time together. No distractions.” Fred stated.

You sat silently, taking in all the information they just threw at you. The idea of just the three of you, for any period of time, no work to worry about, you couldn’t have been happier. You watched the twins as a shared look of panic overtook them.

“Please don’t be upset with us, we just really wanted to surprise you.” They said together.

“I’m not mad. I just don’t know how to respond, no one has ever done something this nice for me before.”

A noticeable sigh of relief was exchanged between the two, as they smiled at one another.

“I guess I will have to run home in the morning to pack my bags.”

“Yeah, about that…” Fred trailed off, looking between the chair and the wall. You followed his gaze to find your suitcase clearly packed.

“Ginny?” you asked.

“Ginny.” They both responded.

George pressed a kiss to your temple, “Not that I don’t love having you in my lap darling, but I would really prefer to get out of these work clothes.”

You stood from his lap, positioning yourself back next to Fred, as he retreated to the bedrooms.

“Hey guys?” George called from down the hall.

“Yeah?” you both responded.

“Where did my sheets go?”

Both of you laughed, trying to figure out how to tell him why they were in the wash.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasly x reader #george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasly x reader #weasley fanfic #fanfiction #weasley twins #fredweasley smut #george weasley smut #harrypotterau

35 notes · View notes