a new reality tv show called So you think you can write Doctor Who
twelve episodes, twelve contestants - a mix of annoying middle aged sci fi authors, fan fic authors and random people off the street
a variety of against the clock writing tasks, big finish scripts, ability to interact with actors without shouting at them and challenges where you have no budget or doctor for an episode
judged by solely by christopher eccleston
this is how you find the new doctor who showrunner
forever thinking about that girl at my uni orientation who, after being told to pour out her water bottle before entering an event, looked at me and said "they tell us to stay hydrated and then make us pour out our water, this is like totally kafkaesque" and then poured out what was very obviously an entire water bottle full of whiskey. hope she's doing well.
I haven't seen this circulating here on Tumblr, so I decided to make my own post.
last saturday, in Porto, there was a pride parade going down the street and this old man was standing there, by his front door, waving the portuguese flag. most people on the parade probably thought the same: old person waving the national flag? he's probably protesting against the parade, he's a nationalist of some sort.
then the old man called for that person to come near him. the whole parade stopped. everyone just.. stopped moving. they didn't know what to expect, and most expected the worst. and that person decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and approached the old man. and then... they traded flags, he hugged the person and then he waved the pride flag happily. everyone cheered him.
such a wholesome moment. 🥹❤️🌈
(edited to add the link to the video, in case the twitter post gets deleted or smth)
You introduce yourself to your roommates the first day. There are supposed to be four, but you only ever meet three of them. The other roommate is in their room. They are always in their room.
You wash your dishes. You put the last clean dish away. When you look at the sink you see that all your dishes are dirty. They grow from the sink.
The toilet paper is gone. You could have sworn you had bought some yesterday. You use a paper towel instead.
There is screaming in the middle of the night. Nobody goes outside to check what it was. The last person who did never returned. You return to reading your textbook.
There is a pile of stuff under your bed that you don’t remember ever buying. When it is time to move out you throw most of it away. You swear that you won’t buy anything you don’t need next year. It is a lie.
Textbooks that you never used sit in your closet. Some of them are for classes you don’t remember taking. You try to sell them to other students. They give you a confused look and tell you that no class has ever used those books. You put the textbooks back in your closet and forget that they ever existed.
The roommate who you never see plays music at 4 A.M. You knock on their door and ask them to turn the volume down. There is growling coming from inside the room. You never ask them to turn the volume down again.
One of your roommates is making out with a different person every time you come home. You ask them about it one day. They tell you that they’ve only been dating one person the entire time. The next day your roommate is making out with someone you have never seen before and never will see again.
Another roommate is always asleep when you see them. After the first day you never talk to them again. They never wake up.
Take the path less traveled? No thank you that thing is covered in Rosa multiflora and I’ve taken enough thorns to the box to last a lifetime. I’ll meet you at the trailhead with a water bottle and a box of poison ivy wipes thanks
“Regarding setting, the court held that both works taking place in Alaska high schools was not protectable because Alaska is a public place and setting a teen novel in a high school is a common genre convention.”
(Warnings: muggle born reader, hufflepuff reader, mild slow burn, pre and post war, grief, mild depression themes, fluff, smut at the end, some swearing, drinking, mainly set around and after you and George's 7th year)
Divider from @saradika
A/N: Fuck J K Rowling 🏳️⚧️
It had started so subtly that you barely knew it had even started at all. Just the turning of a page and a pointed finger. And everything had snow balled from there.
You weren't the brightest witch by any means. Muggle born and thrown into a whole new world full of things you hadn't even had the chance to dream of yet. But you were enthusiastic. Eager to learn and to grow. To absorb everything you could and get, maybe not brilliant, but good at it.
But by third year you had to start accepting that maybe you weren't even good. Maybe you couldn't even reach average. Because, as you kept looking down at the potions parchment spread out across your desk, you couldn't find where you were going wrong. All you could find were blots of ink, stained and spreading with salty tears you hadn't even realised had started falling silently from your cheeks.
Then a hand reached out, books and parchment spread across your table tucked into the end desk between the tall shelves filling the dusty library. It flicked two pages back and trailed a long finger under a line of text before disappearing.
By the time you looked up, all you managed to catch was a soft smile being tucked back over his shoulder and away from you. Two sets of ginger hair gliding away as his twin spoke quitely yet adamantly into his ear about something hiding in the restricted section.
You looked back down at your book, reading the line of text and fixing your paper as you wiped the wetness from your eyes with the back of your hand.
You had never been given such a high mark in your life.
That night, graded paper tucked into your robe pocket and pastries from the kitchen in shaking hands, you approached him during dinner. Mumbling out a thank you and clumsily handing over the bundle of sweets before bolting away with heated cheeks.
You could hear the table snickering. His friend's slapping him on the back and poking fun before tearing into the pastries themselves. Powered sugar on their cheeks and cream on their noses.
You let yourself glance over your shoulder once. Just the once. And caught him with that same soft smile on his face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From that point on, it didn't matter where you studied. If you were struggling, he was there.
At the black lake as you chewed your quill to ruin under a tree, a soft hand picking up an adabonded textbook and handing it over. Opened to the exact page you needed.
In an empty hallway between classes, looking down at another fail mark with wobbling lips, a quill appearing and fixing one or two words that helped you pass your makeup test. A handkerchief mysteriously appearing in your pocket.
Tucked away in a dark corner of the three broomsticks finishing up your homework with a half drunken butter beer in front of you. A slip of parchment slid across stained wood with the text books page numbers written on it, the exact sections you had left to complete.
It was like he had some kind of sixth sense when it came to you. Like he was always watching, always aware of where you were at any and all moments. Apperating into thin air before dropping some assistance and disappearing as soon as he arrived.
It wasn't until your fith year that you even got to actually talk to him. Not just hearing his voice as one of the loudest in the crowd or following some explosion that him and his brother were always quickly running away from.
Being moved up from the beginners to the intermediate charms class. With his help, of course. Paired up for practical practice of a transfiguration charm on a water goblet, making it jump across the table and fill itself with water from a bucket.
He had that same soft smile. Charming the goblet easily. Filled and emptied as he nudged your side for you to take your turn. Wand wobbling and the goblet leaping rather than jumping. Clattering to the ground as you tired again. And again. And again. Until your chest felt tight and your throat felt raw.
Then suddenly, he was behind you. Hand sliding down your robe covered arm until it was engulfing your much smaller one. Long fingers adjusting your grip. Wand sitting much more naturally in your hand. Like it was an extension of your arm and not just some stick you had to believe could do wonderful things.
"Just relax. The wand can feel it if you're not confident. Don't let your nerves win"
His breath brushed across the shell of your ear. Sending a shiver up your spine as you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded stiffly. Trying to take in a deep breath and let it out slowly only for the whole process to come off more shaky than relaxing. Flicking your wand and mumbling your Latin as the goblet jumped across the table and dunked itself. Returning to sit a bit clumsily as your face broke out in a wide smile. Turning to face him with gratitudes dying on your lips.
Because he was close.
Too close.
Noses almost brushing together. Breath intermingling. Licking your lips and watching his eyes dart down to them. Fixated on the pink tip of your tongue as it tucked itself back away. The world freezing for a moment too long. Chatter and spilled water muffled by the blood pounding through your ears. His hand still holding yours.
Then you were both doused in freezing cold water. Fred laughing as Lee punched his shoulder, their bucket hovering upturned above you both.
George grumbled something as Professor Flitwick climbed off his footstool with dangling boots and made his way over in small steps to yell at the duo. His wand flicking behind him as his brother was picked up by the foot and hung mid-air. Shaking the sweets, quills, and balls of crumpled parchment from his pockets before letting him drop with a thump and shout.
"That's it, detention for you both! You too Mr Jordan"
Lee and Fred protested. Well, mostly Lee, as Fred picked up his things, glaring at his brother who was grinning, wide and self satisfied. Hair dripping into his eyes and robs clinging to his skin.
"Worth it"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By seventh year, you still had not exchanged more than a few words. But that didn't mean that you didn't spend a lot of time together.
Sitting next to eachother in the library and studying. The end of his quill pointing to diagrams and sentences when your brow furrowed for a moment too long, getting you back on track before continuing with his own work.
Laying on the grass and waving his wand softly through the air while you read, overlooking the black lake or forbidden forest. Pulling sweets from his pockets and sharing them. Gathering the wrappers as he left and slipping a daisy chain he had been conjuring upon your head.
Placing hot chocolates or butter beers on your table at the three broomsticks. A chocolate frog or every flavoured beans box accompanying them. Honeydukes bag hanging from his fingertips. Sometimes he'd hold out his hand for a few treats, throwing them back and wincing or smiling depending on the flavour he got, before Lee or Fred's voice would call him back with promises of Zonkos or Spintwitches trips.
It wasn't until Dumbeldore's army began to form that you got up close and personal once more. Him slipping you the meeting location written on self incinerating parchment between classes. Playing off the close contact as an accidental bump as Umbridge glared at the two of you, wand raised and ready to shoot some spell your way as punishment.
He had saved you seat at the Hogshead. Patting it as you walked in holding your bag strap tight, yellow scarf wrapped up to your nose and matching gloves barely helping your fingers keep their feeling.
He had slipped off his own gloves as Harry talked. Taking your hands in his and rubbing the heat back into them. Never glancing your way, still focused on Harry and Hermione. Ron acting as their guard dog, shutting down stupid questions and letting his friends say their piece.
You didn't talk when the meeting was over. Lagging behind Lee and Fred as you all walked back to the castle in silence. George taking one of your hands and shoving it into the pocket of his coat as you sniffled against the snow.
You didn't have your next proper conversation until Harry's classes began. Being paired up for disarming charms. Horribly embarrassed as the rest of your seventh year peers helped the younger ones while you still couldn't disarm the dummy no matter how hard you tried. The reality of it all setting in. The war begining. Cedric dead, dressed in your house colours. And you, completely and utterly unable to defend yourself or others against the horrors to come.
"You're tense again. The wand knows, remember?"
He was pressed against your back again. Hand stilling your shaking one. Pulling your fingers into the correct positioning and pointing it back at the dummy.
It felt like your heart was beating out your chest. Hammering on your ribs so hard you were scared they might break. His torso firm against your back. Boiling hot heat radiating through your jumper. His sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. That same soft smile painted across his face.
"S-sorry. I can't help it"
Your voice was small. Shaking in the air as he softly flicked your wrist through the motions. Getting you used to the feeling of the spell.
You cleared your throat and tried again. Voice louder this time. Steadier.
"I've been a muggle longer than I've been a witch. It still feels...unreal. Like I'm dreaming it all"
He hummed. A rumble low in your ear. Shaking your spine and catching your breath in its vibrations.
"Try it like this..."
He flicked your hand. And you muttered the spell. The dummy's wand flying across the room in a spark of blue.
You made a small noise of surprise. A mix of shock and victory. Turning to face him. Looking over your shoulder with a wide grin on your face and hair falling into your face. His eyes darting down to your lips again. Licking his own this time. Corner of his mouth fixed in a cheeky smirk. Pupils engulfing speckled brown.
Then Harry slapped his back and jolted his attention away from the gloss on your lips and the white of your teeth.
"Good job, guys. We're wrapping up in five for dinner if you want to help pack up?"
George took a step away, dropping your hand and reverting back to his cool composure. Heels clacking together and hand raised in a mock salute accompanied by a teasing wink.
"Anything for you, professor"
Harry rolled his eyes and poked his side as he left. Joining Neville who was struggling to push the dummy's back into the closest they had come from.
The moment broken and the chatter of the room returning, you helped pick up the discarded prop wands and roll dummy's over for storage. Giggling as George conjured a mop and made it clean the spell dust from the floor. Lee running for the door and slipping in one of its puddles. Ass hitting the floor with a thump and Fred almost slipping with him as he gripped his belly and laughed his heart out.
The room was empting. The floors clean and the closet shut. Harry lagging behind to stare at Cho Chang just that little bit longer. Ron getting ready to make a comment before Hermionie's sharp elbow stopped him in his tracks.
George was walking you to the door. Feet as slow as yours. Like you didn't want to separate just yet. His body heat still reaching your fingers, your perfume swirling through his brain.
You stopped just before the door. Plucking up all your courage and turning to face him. Praying your voice didn't crack, that your hands didn't shake.
"Would you like to see the kitchens? It's a Wednesday. They make treacle tarts on Wednesday's"
He smiled. Bright and wide. Eyes sparkling and scanning your face. Trying to catch your darting eyes as he leaned down, just enough to be face to face.
"I'd like-"
"You coming or what? We've got that thing...remember?"
It was Fred interrupting the moment this time. His second proper irruption since charms class. Gripping his brothers arm and pulling him towards the door. Giving him a pointed look as George opened his mouth to protest. Jaw clicking shut and a sigh pushed out through his nose. Eyes closing to re-center him as he turned towards you with an apologetic look.
"Sorry. Another time, maybe?"
All you could do was nod. Lump in your throat, feet shuffling a step backwards. Hands tucked behind you and head hanging low.
"Yeah, another...another time"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So you're just not going to tell her?"
Fred was packing fireworks in the abandoned classroom they had fashioned into their own warlocks lab. Black smeared on his cheeks and sleeves rolled up. Tie and jumper discarded as he added in pigments and crunched herbs into the mix to really make it pop. George across from him, sealing the filled cylinders and mumbling formation charms before stacking them into worn messenger bags.
"I am...just not yet"
Fred hummed. Then sneezed. Powder tickling his nose and dying his fingers orange as the half filled cyclinder slipped from his hands.
"You'll break her heart before you've even got it-"
"And how am I meant to get it when you're pulling me out of kitchen dates?"
George's voice was harsh. Annoyed. Stuffing the fireworks a bit too aggressively into the bag. Fantasies of kissing you in the storage cupboards and tasting treacle on your tongue filling his mind. Your gloss transferred to his lips. His hand sneaking under your jumper and shirt until he could feel warm skin sinking under his fingertips. Your thighs shaking, swallowing all the small noises you would make as he bit at your lips and pulled you closer. House elves grumbling about needing the sugar bags he was pressing you into.
He pulled the powder towards him. Switching jobs to keep his hands busy and his mind empty. Filling cylinders messily as Fred hung his head and pulled out his wand, sealing charms spurting from the tip.
"Well, if you had just grown a pair and talked to her back in third year-"
George picked his wand back up with powder covered fingers. Holding it threateningly in his brothers face. Silencing charm dying in the wind before it even reached his lips.
"You owe me a box of treacle tarts"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Umbridge's new rule separating boys and girls was put in place, your quiet hangouts slowly faded away. Smiling at each other in class. Catching his eyes when you passed each other in the hallways. You almost managed to start a conversation with him a few times during meals in the great hall. But you were quickly separated by the busy body Inquisitorial Squad members.
That's why you squeaked in such an embarrassingly surprised manner when one night, while walking back to your dorm just a few minutes shy of curfew, someone grabbed you. Smelling of sweets and ink. Pulling you behind a tapestry and hushing you as the tapping footsteps of the prefects wandered past.
The tapestry hid a stairwell that lead up to an empty classroom. Windows blown out and the night sky sparkling in its empty arches. George's face lighting up at he conjured a glow globe. Smiling, but not softly, almost...nervously.
He sat down, and you sat down next to him. Watching his fingers play with his wand. The clearing of his throat filling the silence.
"Me and Fred....were not going to take our NEWTs"
You blinked. Hands sitting limply in your lap.
"But you're so smart-"
"It's not that"
He shook his head. Swallowing harshly and running his hands through shaggy hair. Strands clean and silky and in desperate need of a trim. Shimmering like starlight.
"We have this dream-well, I guess it's a plan now that Harry's helped us out with the money"
He dug through the pockets of his robe, pulling out a sketch book. Bent and messy and filled with formula's and product diagrams that you didn't have a hope in hell of understanding. Hand writing messy and half drawn drafts of their Skiving Snackbox flyers stuck between the pages.
You flicked through. Fascinated and amazed. The way he could bend magic to his will as if it was just second nature. As if the magic that ran through your veins and his was not the same. His a part of his blood, born with it and fused to his very being while yours remained...foreign. As if it had been injected into you while you were distracted by your birthday cake.
You handed the book back. He tucked it away. Disappearing between the folds of his robes once more.
"We're dropping out. Just before testing"
He stood up, taking your hand and helping you to your feet. Fishing through his pockets once more as your face fell, realising the last few months you had with him had suddenly disappeared. Your future still so uncertain and the possibility of never seeing him again slapping you in the face like cold water.
He handed you a small business card. Enchanted to spark at your touch and the rough drawing of a man lifting a hat with a rabbit underneath it moving with each turn of the card. An address on the back and 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' written above it in a curling orange font.
"I hope you'll come visit us. There's not many things I'll miss about this place but...you're definitely one of them"
You nodded. Heart swelling at that last small admission.
He walked you back to your dorm. Weaving you through hallways you didn't even know existed, avoiding the Inquisitorial Squad's wrath as you bid him a good night and disappeared behind the barrels.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That day was full of light and noise. Sparks landing and disappearing in the air. Flying above you on his broom and laughing the whole time. Forwards through the air and a dragon chasing Umbridge out of the great hall with all the fith years laughing behind her. Everyone slowly gathering in the court yard as a whole new display was set off. Noise and light drawing the school out of the shadows.
A giant 'W' filling the air as they ducked and flew over the crowd. Catching your eye before disappearing into the sky. Everyone cheering around you. The smell of powder and soot filling the air.
His smile had faulted, just slightly. Just for the brief moment he was looking at you. A sadness filling his eyes and the corners of his mouth dropping as you shared an almost silent goodbye.
His business card tucked into your breast pocket.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You only just graduated. Your NEWTs passed but scores still low. Limiting you possible magical world jobs and leaving you with minimal muggle life skills to find work that way. Sat in your parents' house and twiddling your thumbs as they tried to help. Tried to understand why you were so lost.
But every job was too hard. Even working with your family seemed almost impossible. You didn't remember how to use a phone. Computers were so new, and you had had pretty much no time to get to know how to use one. You kept counting Galleons and Sickles instead of pounds and pence. And for the first time in your life, you felt naked without your wand.
So you sulked and picked up odd jobs here and there. Considering packing it in, forgetting you ever even had magic and just trying to re-intregrate into society. Become a boring muggle once again with a job and a car and bills.
But as you were packing away your uniform, you found it.
The little sparking business card.
And you felt yourself smile, properly smile, for the first time since he darted away on his broom.
So here you were, floo powder residue on your hands and standing in front of the shining new shop amongst the back to school shoppers with arms full of textbooks and cauldrons and sticking out like a sore thumb in your muggle clothes that you forgot to mask under robes just that bit better before returning to the wizarding world. His name on the sign. Fred's face lifting the hat up and down. And full, absolutely full to the brim, with people.
You sucked in a deep breath and stepped inside. The bell above the door jingling and colours suddenly filling your eyes.
It was....wonderful.
All the parts of magic you'd forgotten you loved. Warm and creative and fun. Joyful in a way you hadn't been able to grasp since Cedric's death. Sugar quills and Canary creams filling the shelves. Girls walking past and giggling as they held small vials of Crush Blush. Boys laughing themselves to tears in front of the U-Know-Poo display.
And it just kept going. Deep into the store and up a set of staris. Filled to the brim with amazing products dreamed up between classes and late night meetings. Every inch of the sketch book brought to life in front of your eyes.
Stuck in a sense of awe, wide-eyed and slack jawed when he found you. Bumping your shoulder and smiling brightly as you jumped and turned towards him. The crowd parting around you.
"I was beginning to think you'd never come"
You blinked. His eyes were still that soft brown with hazel flecks. His cheeks still painted in freckels. His smile still filling his face so perfectly.
"You cut your hair"
He chuckled and nodded. Sheepily reaching up to smooth out a side. Bringing you back to reality and remembering his original question.
"Sorry, I mean I've been busy with family and-"
"Do you like it?"
You paused. He tugged on a short strand. Gel pushing the front back into a feathered style.
"What?"
"The hair. Do you like it shorter?"
You blinked again. Lost in the way his eyes kept boring into yours, as if he had forgotten your face and wanted to scan every inch of it anew.
"I liked it best in sixth year. But I like it short too. Just...not too short"
You tried to play it off. A nervous and huffed laugh joining the end of your sentence. Pulling a flirty smile in your direction.
"Don't go bald. Noted"
His hand dropped from his hair, eyes wandering to your lips once more. Coated in gloss and shimmering in the sparks coming from Fred's wand on the second floor.
He cleared his throat, holding out his hand.
"Here, I'll show you around"
And show he did. Every shelf, every draw. All the nooks and crannys. Samples passed your way and freebies tucked into your bag when you weren't looking. Your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. His voice refreshing you, calming all your nerves. Your life's troubles melting away with each step.
He had finished the tour behind the counter, in a small hallway that led to the storage rooms and his and Fred's office. Away from the crowds and the noise. Stood on creaking floorboards and lit by candle light.
"So, what do you think?"
You looked down at the nose biting teacup in your hands that your dad would surely get laugh out of next Christmas when you gave it to your uncle.
"It's...amazing"
He let the silence hang there for a moment. Hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Blazer pushed open and buttons straining ever so slightly across his chest, hidden beneath his tie.
"We could use a sale assistant"
He had ducked his head. A small tilt and hopefully eyes cast your way.
"Really? Me? But I'm not good at-"
"You don't have to be good at magic to work in a magic shop"
He removed a hand from his pocket. Finding your fingers and brushing against them until your hand was freed from the box. Running across your palm and over your fingertips so lightly it almost tickled.
"And anyway, I'll help you"
You looked down at your hands. Then back up to him. That same soft smile from third year and beyond directed your way. Something hidden behind his eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint, but a girly hope of yours identified it as longing.
Your mind raced. You didn't have much better options right now. And you'd be working retail in the muggle world anyway. This way, you could still have some connections to magic, even if you never felt the urge to use it again.
And you would see him every day. With his gelled hair and colourful suits. Hazel flecked eyes and bright smiles.
"Ok, that...that would be great. When do I start?"
His face lit up the hallway brigher than the candle flame.
"As soon as you can"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The job was good. It was fun. Full of life and laughter. George passing you on the checkout as you counted galleons, catching your eye while he continued to yammer away to customers and talk shop to Fred. His wand raised and lifting heavy boxes from your hands and onto the shelves when you automatically started stacking them by hand out of habit. Passing you paper bags filled with sandwiches and pastries when he ducked out to pick up lunch.
You wanted to earn enough to stay close by. Rent a room maybe so you could stop ruining your mother's carpet with floo powder residue.
And you did.
After a few months of hard work and your existing savings, you found a room for rent at The Three Sheets. One bedroom, one bathroom, and a small living space, including a modest kitchenette. It didn't take you long to move in. Your dad spending most of his time puking in the toilet from floo powder sickness while you and mum laid out blankets and throw pillows. Stacked dishes in cupboards and made your bed up with clean sheets.
His business card stuck to the fridge.
His handkerchief drapped over the fireplace.
Your dad slowly feeling better. Perking up just when the heavy lifting was done and all that was left was putting away clothes and soft toys. Opening boxes just to grumble about why you still needed so many teddy bears.
Then there was a knock at the door.
You opened it to find George standing there. Wearing a homemade jumper and jeans. Holding a box of treacle tarts and a bustle of flowers. Smile wide and bright, but slowly dimming down as he spotted your parents shuffling around behind you.
"Hey, you mentioned you were moving today, and I didn't want you to be alone, but..."
Your dad shot him a protective look. Your mother smacked his shoulder, muttering something under her breath about handsome young men.
"It looks like you have company already"
You didn't know what to say. Eyes locked on the flowers wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Oranges and reds that matched his hair so perfectly staring back at you.
You jumped as your mother pressed a hand into the small of your back. Smiling tightly as heat welled up your neck, threatening to fill your cheeks. Shooting you a look that spoke a thousand words.
"We were just leaving, dear. You would be...George, right? My lovely girls boss?"
He shuffled the box and flowers in his arms. Reaching out a hand to shake hers. More polite than you had ever seen him.
"Yes, mam, that's me. I co-own the store with my brother, Fred. You should come see it sometime"
Your dad joined you, standing by your side and pressing a kiss against your temple.
"I'm sure the next time we're asked over for a cup of tea, she can spare some time to show us around"
You had never been so embarrassed by them. And they weren't even doing anything embarrassing. It was just strange to see your two worlds merge for the first time. All those holidays returning home and sharing stories about the boy who was helping you in class while your mum fawned and your dad glared. All those nights staring at the ceiling with your wand in your hand, practising the movements he had taught you. All the magic books tucked under your bed filled with his notes and dogged eared pages that helped you pass your OWLs and NEWTs by the skin of your teeth.
And now he was just standing there. Shaking your parents' hands and making small talk.
You stood there a bit too long doing nothing. Your mother softly pinching your side until you snapped back. Squirming on your feet and opening the door wide. Gesturing inside.
"Come in. I'll just...take these two home. Make yourself comfortable"
He stepped inside. Watching as you ushered your parents to the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of smoke. Giving them a pointed look as you helped them back into the house and kissed them goodbye. Giving them a silent warning not to say anything as your dad reeled up for 'the talk' before you returned to a man waiting in your unsupervised home. Freshly made bed just a few feet away.
When you returned, the flowers had been placed in a vase. The tarts set out on a plate. And he was standing over the box of soft toys leaning against the arm of your sofa. A stuffed orang-utan in his hands.
"He's cute. I didn't know you had a boyfriend"
You walked over, taking it from his hands and paying with the floppy arms. Fur worn and face fading from years of rubbing against its plastic cheeks.
"His arms are good for hugs"
George smiled. Humming as he lifted one fluffy ape arm to drap over your shoulder.
"I'll bet"
You put the toy back away. Closing the box and gesturing to the table, waiting until he was sat before making tea on the stove top. Leaves floating softly in the water as you added milk to your own cup, and sugar to his.
"Sorry, for intruding. If i knew you had company over..."
He took the cup gratefully. Not taking a sip until you were sat across from him.
"I just didn't want you forgetting your levitation charms and injuring yourself"
You nodded, picking up a tart and splitting it. Handing him the other half. Your toothbrush almost groaning aloud from the bathroom as the sickly sweet treat was lifted to your lips.
"And the tarts and flowers are because...?"
He shrugged, taking a bite and washing it down with sugary tea.
"Fuel and...pretty"
You knew he was talking about the flowers. But he didn't look at them when he said it.
He looked at you.
Crumbs on his cheeks and a flush beneath them that you were blaming on the jumper. It looked like proper wool. Nice and soft and warm. Too warm.
He finished his tart and tea. And so did you. Sitting in a comfortable silence like always. Until the sun had set and the room filled with a nightly chill.
"I should go, you look tired-"
"Stay"
He made a move to stand, and you reached out your hand. Covering his with your own. Anchoring him to the table.
"Please. We don't get much time to talk with the shop being so busy"
He sat back down. Slowly. Eyes fixed on where your hand lay over his. You snatched it back. Tucking it into your lap to fiddle with your fingers.
He nodded. Wand pulled from his sock and flicked towards the fireplace. Lighting it and filling the room with warmth. A candle conjured and set alight on the table. His eyes narrowing as the scent of cinnamon filled the room. Muggle candles sure were strange.
He pushed the tarts to the side. Watching the shadows across your face dance in the candle light.
"Did Fred not want to-"
"He's trying to perfect a new product. Been at it for hours. When I left, he was practically asleep at his desk with ink all over his face"
He chuckled. Eyes softening like they always did. Cups empty and air warm. His feet inches away from yours under the table. A hairs breath from brushing against each other.
The silence lingered. And he broke it first. You wanted to talk. He remembered that.
"I like working with you. I was scared, after our little stunt last year, that I might never get to see you again"
You smiled, memories of him looking so carefree in the air and the sparks flashing behind your eyes.
"Same. I didn't expect to lose you so close to the end"
Those same memories being replaced with the months after. You're hand coming up to press into your wrist. Evidenced of Umbridge's rule laying hidden away underneath your hoodie.
"It was lonely. I...didn't really have any friends. Just dorm mates, really. Without you I just..."
Your eyes were stinging. And he just watched. Waited. Brow furrowed. But you cut off that train of thought, shaking your head clear and willing your eyes dry.
"I really appreciate all your help. Without it...I don't think I would have graduated at all"
He reached a hand across the table. Palm facing upwards and fingers curled towards you.
"It's ok. I liked spending time with you. I love my brother. And Lee, of course. But it was nice to just sit sometimes. Without feeling the need to keep a conversation rolling or crack a joke every few minutes"
You lifted your hand own from your lap. Hesitantly placing it into his awaiting one. Fingers curled under your sleeve, tracing scar tissue letters with his index finger as you wrapped your own around his wrist. The wool as soft as you expected it to be.
"I felt so comfortable with you"
He pressed his index and middle finger against your pulse. Feeling how it pumped and jumped. Speeding up at his mear touch. Fingertips caloused from so many years of wand work and experimenting. Gripping his broom during quiddich and burning his fingers on potions gone wrong.
"I still do"
You looked up at him. Sucked into his gaze. The clock ticking and the fire crackling. Your orang-utans face stained with gloss from the nights you would curl up with it in bed and kiss it goodnight. Arms wrapped around your neck and nose burried in its orange fur. Wishing it was ginger hair.
He slipped his hand away. Chair squeaking against the floor as he stood up and snuffed out the candle.
"I'll let you get some rest. Big day tomorrow. Enjoy the tarts"
He headed for the door, hand already wrapped around the knob by the time you were able to get your body moving again.
"George"
His name slipped from your lips, lunging forwards and grabbing his arm just as he opened it. Hallway quiet and dark. You tugged his arm until he was bent low enough for you to reach his cheek. Pressing a kiss against against it. Stubble just starting to grow back and a gloss mark left against pale skin.
Pulling away and taking a step back as he straightened up. Eyes wide and smile almost goofy.
"Thank you"
He tried to compose himself. Ducking his head and heading out the door before the moonlight became bright enough for you to see how red his face had turned.
"Anytime"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You kissed her cheek? I sent you all the way over there with flowers and my best pair of jeans for a kiss on the cheek?"
George had slumped down onto the sofa of their apartment above the shop. Socked feet kicked up on the coffee table and a very much awake Fred pacing in front of him. The smell of whatever he had cooked for dinner wafting through the air. None of it saved for him under the assumption that he would not be home that night. Doing the walk of shame in the morning before the shop opened with you trailing behind him.
"I didn't kiss her cheek. She kissed mine"
That just made Fred pace harder, hands thrown into the air.
"Wow, I knew you weren't exactly a ladies' man, but you're not even the one initiating the kissing-ow!"
George found one of the many books littering the apartment and threw it at him. Nailing his brother in the head as he rubbed at his temple and glared his way. Moving to throw it back only to give George the advantage, dodging it with ease.
"I was just...nervous. Her parents were there and she looked so tired. I didn't want to over stay my welcome-"
"At the rate you're going, there won't be a second welcome"
Fred had stopped pacing. Slumping down onto the sofa next to him. Bare feet kicked onto the coffee table.
"Just ask her out-"
"I can't"
Fred raised a challenging eyebrow. And George sighed. Deep and low. Hands coming up to rub at his face only to stop. You're gloss still on his cheek.
"We work together-"
"Oh excuses, excuses. I've been hearing one after another since third year. You're going to run out eventually, and then what? You going to run away and join a monastery? Take a vow of abstinence-"
"You want to know the real reason I won't ask her out?"
His voice was thick now. Frustrated and angry. Filling with a yearning that made his chest ache. And Fred just leaned in with a shit eating grin. Arms crossed and eyes full of that special kind of delight he got from pushing his brothers buttons.
"I would absolutely love that, mate"
It was George's turn to pace. Standing up and circling around the coffee table until he practically started retracing with brother's steps.
"What if we die in the war? What if we're on the front line and don't make it to the other side? What am I going to do? Leave her behind to mourn me?"
His hands were in his hair. Tugging and pulling. Pacing quickening.
"I won't put her through that. If we live to see the light at the end of this tunnel, I'll ask then. But not before. Not when she's already at so much risk just being muggle born. She doesn't need a blood traitor boyfriend to add another target to her back"
His hands were waving wildly. Feet going faster and faster. Until a set of hands landed on his shoulders, stilling him. Smirk gone, replaced instead with something darker, deeper. Something they never acknowledged. Not since Cedric's death knocked over the first domino in the chain.
"When the wars over, I'm holding you to that"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were back in your childhood bedroom. Boxes stacked all around you, orang-utan curled against your chest. The small radio you hid under your bed frame turned on and sat against your pillow. Waiting for his voice to come through. The only voice that could stop your heart from beating so fast, your tears from falling thick and burning hot down your cheeks.
Your parents fireplace bricked up and removed from the floo registry. Every charm you could think of surrounding the entrances and your parents still confused by what was actually happening. Who this Lord Voldermort was and why he was so dangerous. Why he would care about them at all.
Orange fur tickled your nose when you heard it. That chipper tone cracking jokes and sharing cryptic news.
He was alive.
Still alive.
You closed your eyes and fell asleep just as Lee came on with the weather report.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The war raged on for so long that you never thought it would end. An essentials bag packed and never more than an arms reach away as you remained on edge, month after month. Listening to the radio, practising your wand movements and re-reading his notes in your textbooks over and over again. His business card and handkerchief never leaving your person.
And then it was over.
The radio fizzing to life one final time to announce his death. Harry Potter winning the battle and ridding the magical world from evil once more.
You cried with so much relief that your legs gave out. Trembling in your dad arms as he held you tight. Your mother rushing to get blankets and a cup of tea. Curled between them in their bed like a child all night. Finally sleeping, deeply and properly, for the first time in years.
You removed the bricks from the fireplace by hand. One by one. Sitting on the sofa day in and day out, waiting from him to pop through. To tell him yourself that everything was ok. He was safe. Fred was safe. Everyone was safe.
But after two weeks, your heart was so heavy it was weighing you down.
Then one day, it happened.
Your wand raised as the fireplace glowed green. Smoke billowing up its chimney and him stumbling out. Falling to the floor on his hands and knees. Hair long and dirty, stubble filling his cheeks and the stink of fire whiskey on his breath.
You rushed to his side. Pulling him close. Limp and heavy in your arms. Squeezing you too tight as he burried his nose into your neck. Inhaling your soap and perfume.
"What took you so long?"
He didn't answer. So you pulled him back just enough look at you. His eyes glazed and tired, bloodshot with bags sitting heavy in his skin. Ink and dirt smeared across his cheeks.
Your hand brushed his hair back. A mess of scar tissue greeting you, making your stomach lurch.
"Your ear-"
"He's dead"
You didn't need to ask who. The crack of his voice as he finally broke down told you everything you needed to know. Shaking like a leaf, his body wracked with guttural sobs as he fell back into your arms. Your parents finally rushing in at the noise. Freezing as they took in the scene before them. You on the floor and a broken man in your arms.
"I can't...I keep breaking mirrors because all I can see is his face looking back at me"
You glanced down at his hands, balled up in your shirt. His knuckles were bleeding. You looked over your shoulder, and your mother nodded. Whispering to your dad as she rushed off the grab the first aid kit. Your dad shuffling to the bathroom to fill the tub.
"I can't do this without him. I don't...I don't want to do this without him"
Your mother returned with the kit. Placing it by your side as you just held him closer. Stroking his hair and rocking him softly. Tears streaming from your eyes.
Between you and your dad, you managed to get him stripped and sat in the bath. Warm soapy water washing away blood and dirt. Sat on the lip as you cupped water in your hands and washed his hair until you could see the vibrant orange once more. Pushing it away from his forehead and letting him lean his head back against your chest. Soaking your shirt through as your fingers dug into the tense muscles of his shoulders. Bleeding knuckles cleaned of dirt and debris, ready to be dressed when he was dry.
"It's like I've lost a part of my soul"
His eyes were closed. Your fingers turning his head, tilting it to the side, thumbs smoothing down his neck. Knots unravelling slowly but surely.
"I don't want to go into the shop and have him looking back at me from every angle. His notes are still on his desk. His tea cup is still half full next to his bed. It's growing mould. But I can't...I can't bring myself to throw it away"
You didn't say anything.
Because you didn't know what to say.
You had never imagined a world without the two of them, together. Practically joined at the hip. It was always Fred and George. A set you could not separate. And yet someone had.
And it was wrong.
So wrong the world had suddenly tipped on its axis. Fundamentally changed for all eternity with a lost half soul wandering its surface.
You called your dad back in. Pulling him from the cloudy water and patting him dry. Dressed in your dads pyjamas and knuckles bandaged. Curled around your orang-utan and damp hair resting on your pillow. Your hand lazily trailing up and down his arm until his eyes started dropping.
"Did you want me to come back with you?"
He nodded. Reaching out to pull you closer. Orang-utan wedged between your bodies.
"Yes, please"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You moved back into your apartment. And so did he. Taking a few day trips here and there to the shop to clean up what the looters had left. Repairing the windows and sweeping up broken products until it was looking bare...but better. Him up in their apartment slowly picking up broken glass and sweeping floors. Tea cup washed and put away.
You tackled the office together. Taking breaks when it all became too much. Heading home to curl up in front of the fire as he cried and cried until he had no more tears to give.
Time moved on. And he got better. Opening a few days a week with you practically running the place. Customers few and far between but all happy to have a place back that reminded them of better time. That made them smile and laugh after all they had seen.
That seemed to pick him back up.
That joy.
Finding him in the office after closing with Fred's notes in his hand. Just staring down at them until you cleared your throat and let him know you were heading home. The invitation for him to join you unspoken. But that night he didn't join you. He stayed in the apartment above the shop that was filled with his brothers' things. And he was ok.
For the first time in almost a year, he was...ok.
He experimented more. Running up to you with a gleam in his eye you hadn't seen for years with a half cocked idea in his hands. Frowning when it would blow up in both your faces and promising to get it next time.
He slept more. Getting to the shop later and later as you left cups of tea and treacle tarts on his doorstep. The bags clearing from his eyes and his skin no longer sickly pale and paper thin.
He cut his hair.
And then reverted back to square one after catching his refection in the window.
As Christmas rolled around, he was getting back on track. The shop decorated and windows left longer between cleans. More and more customers showing up by the day. More products moving and more money being made. Almost breaking even for the first time since before the war. Rent actually paid on time and hot water turned back on. You had to wait almost an hour for him to come down one morning as he stood in the shower long enough to prune his fingertips.
But it was better.
He was better.
And so were you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I know you have Christmas plans, but would you like to do something together? Before you leave?"
He was helping you stack boxes in the store room. The new shipment arriving just minutes before closing. You sliding them in by hand and him joining you, finding it nice to do something with his hands instead of his wand for a bit.
"What did you have in mind?"
He shrugged, wrinkling his nose as he bent down and got more boxes. Back cracking in a way that made you snort softly.
"Dinner at my place? Say...six o'clock?"
That sounded nice, actually. You hadn't really had much time together just being...you. Not boss and employee. Not grieving brother and worried carree. Just you.
Friends.
Or whatever this had become.
You didn't know anymore. Because he had slept in your bed almost every night for a year. He had a toothbrush on your sink and a favourite tea cup in your cupboards. A draw filled with spare underwear, socks, pants, and shirts in his size living in your dresser.
You had started dating without dating.
Or kissing, for that matter.
So many steps skipped in the grief that overpowered you both into just needing each other.
And maybe, just maybe, Christmas dinner was the time to find out what this really was. What if felt like to just be you again.
So you nodded. Smiling as you stacked your last box, catching his hand hidden behind his back, waving his wand as the last box of stock floated into their spots.
"As long as you cook"
He smirked. That glint almost back in full force behind his eyes.
"Bring a bottle of wine and I just might"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He actually made an effort. Doilies on the table, candles lit, and a full course meal ready to serve. Stacking your plate with roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and lashings of gravy. The roast beef already carved and stacked neatly next to your peas and candied carrots. Wine airating as he pulled off his comically frilly apron and sat across from you, clinking glasses and digging in.
Comfortable silence filling the air as your stomach filled to the brim.
"This is actually really good"
You shoved another forkful of potatoes between your lips, washing it down with your last mouthful of wine.
"I can cook, you know"
He refilled your glass. But only half way.
"I know....just not normally without burning something beyond recognition"
He leaned back in his chair, glass in hand and wine swirling like some scollar about to deliver a lecture.
"Cooking is like potions. You just gotta get the recipe right"
You laughed. Free and open. You hadn't heard yourself laugh like that in years. And neither had he. Putting his wine down and pushing his plate away, mostly empty except for half a pudding and two carrots.
"You're beautiful when you laugh. I don't make you do it enough. Jokes are...were Fred's specially"
The air felt thick. Poking at your peas as you suddenly felt like a school girl again. Getting a compliment from your crush in the courtyard.
But you weren't thirteen anymore. And you caught the correction in that sentence. Watching how his hand trembled slightly before dropping to his thigh. Gripping at the fabric of his trousers to still it.
"You know, I promised him something. Before the war. And while I could get him on a technically, I think... I think it would be best to fulfil it anyway. Just in case his ghost is breathing down my neck"
He chuckled awkwardly.
You pushed your plate aside.
"What kind of promise?"
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, and let it out through his mouth. Eyes glacing at his wine glass, trying to decide if he needed more liquid courage before saying what he needed to say.
But he didn't.
He could do this.
Because he promised Fred he would.
"I promised...if we made it out alive, I'd finally ask you out"
You blinked. Mind wiring and heart pounding.
"Finaly?"
He nodded. Deciding he did need that last burst of liquid courage after all, and chugging the rest of his glass in one swallow.
"I've been wanting to since third year. But I was too shy, and then too busy with quiddich and then Cedric...I kept making excuses. Because I was scared. I was scared you'd turn me down, and I'd lose all this. Or maybe I was just scared of being happy. It's all so obvious when I look back on it. So clear"
He looked up at you. Eyes soft and hazel flecked. Like they used to be.
"You wouldn't have said no, would you?"
You were still processing how long he had liked you back. How long you had both been doing this dance without the other knowing that no one was leading. The daisy chains, the study dates. Wand corrections and soft smiles. All of it. For years now.
"Maybe in third year. I almost had a heart attack giving you those pastries"
He huffed out a laugh. Head tilting, soft smile slowly filling his face. A smile you had missed so much.
"I never got to have one. Fred ate for the two of us"
It was said with fondness. Powdered sugar cheeks and cream covered noses flashing into your minds eye. The first time you had ever spoken. And then moving day memories followed it. The brushed hair, the good jeans, shoes shined. The light dimming from his eyes when he realised you weren't alone.
"Is that why you came over with flowers?"
"Fred bullied me. He was sick of all the pining. Said I looked like a love sick puppy, and it was ruining his reputation with the ladies"
He rolled his eyes as you finished your own wine. Empty glasses and almost empty plates not spared a single glance as you locked eyes. Suddenly both too afraid to pull away in case the moment was broken and you went back to...whatever it was you were.
"If my parents weren't there, would you have-"
"No"
The answer was curt. Short and truthful. It made your skin prickle.
"The war was too close. And you were already in so much danger"
You leaned forwards in your chair, hovering just above it.
"The wars over now"
He did the same. Eyes darting down to your lips once more.
"I know"
The air was thick again. And warm. So warm it made your collar itch and your cheeks burn.
"So should I call my parents or-"
His hands cupped your jaw. Pulling you the last few inches towards him as he leaned into the gravy boat. Tie soaked in it as you grabbed the front of his shirt for balance. The table digging into your stomachs. His lips soft against yours. His stubble scraping your chin as you moved together seamlessly. Like this was where you were always meant to be.
He pulled a hand away, grasping for his wand and flicking it to slide the table from out between you, pulling you into his chest. A hand around your waist and the other tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right. Tongue lapping at the seams of your lips until you let him in with a whimper.
Tasting wine and potato's and gravy. Almost wishing he had waited for dessert so he could have licked the treacle from your morals.
But then his hand slid beneath your jumper, and sunk into your warm skin.
And the treacle was forgotten.
"George, slow down"
You pulled back for a breath and he pulled your right back in. Messy and short and trailing down your neck.
"Can't. I can't slow down. Ever since that day Fred blew our kitchen date, this has been stuck in my head. Plaguing my dreams. How soft you'd feel, how good you'd taste. I can't believe it only took a war for me to grow some balls and get here"
You let out a half shriek as he picked you up. Hands under your thighs as your ankels locked around his waist. Gripping at his shoulders as he pulled you back into a fervierish kiss. Walking you the short distance to his bedroom and lowering you onto the bed. Hand cupping your head to make sure you didn't smack it on the headboard.
His teeth were back on your neck. Scraping against sensitive skin as your back arched and eyes fluttered. Desparate to stay open as you threaded your fingers through silky locks.
Not too short.
You moaned, embarrassed by the sound as you threw your head back, letting it loll to the side and spoting them on his bedside table. A little row of sliver.
"Fred gave them to me that night. I almost shat myself when your dad locked eyes with me"
He didn't even look up, the tensing of your body telling him all he needed to know.
"He was very optimistic"
You gasped out. Jumper lifted over your ribs. His lips finding your navel and working up from there. Tugging at his own tie and throwing it away. Undoing his top button without his lips ever leaving your skin.
"I had to channel his spirit to put them out tonight. I don't even think we'll use them. I just...I want to touch you, not fuck you. Not yet"
Your head was spinning. His pillow smelt like his shampoo and his mouth was so warm. His hands kept wandering, pulling at the button of your pants and sneaking under the hem.
He stilled when you remained silent. Looking up at you through his lashes. Thumb soothing the heaving of your chest.
"Is that ok?"
You took a second to catch your breath. Staring up at the ceiling because he looked too good down there with his kiss swollen lips and wandering hands for you to think. To look at your boundaries and see if you felt like you could go further. Let him play you more. Jumping into everything so quickly and yet feeling like it had been this way forever. Like having his hands and lips on your body was second nature.
Like they belonged there.
So you tugged his hair and looked back down at him. Smiling and waiting and as patience as ever.
"Anything you want. I'm at your mercy"
He didn't wait for you to change your mind. Words barely leaving your lips before he was sitting up. Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it free. Trousers shimmed off and socks kicked away. Lifting you to do the same. Working on your pants while you pulled your jumper away. Joining his clothes on the floor.
Both just looking at each other in your underwear before he pounced once more. Fingers fumbling with your bra, pulling it away and cupping a breast in his hand. Massaging it softly as he mouthed at your neck until you gave in and fell back down onto the matress.
His lips finding a hardening nipple as his fingers trailed down your stomach, slipping into your underwear and between your folds to find you soaking wet. Circling your clit with gathered slick. Making you see stars as your nails dug into his shoulders
"Oh godrick-"
"Good?"
You groaned. One of his fingers slowly slipping inside. Cursing under his breath at how tightly you held onto him.
"You know it is, don't get cocky"
He smirked, flicking your nipple with his tongue. Blowing chilled air onto the now spit soaked nub.
"Brat"
He pulled his finger free, back to focusing on your clit just to hear the whimpers he pulled from you.
"Sorry just...never done this before. Feels-feels so intense"
His hand stilled. Breast falling from his mouth.
"You haven't?"
He was pulling away. Everything suddenly holding this new meaning that wasn't there before. A pressure and guilt weighing his shoulders down.
You gripped his wrist and held it fast.
"George, you just took my first kiss. I didn't get around much"
He blinked.
Your first kiss.
He had taken your first kiss with wine in his blood and feverish lust in his brain. Rosemary and thyme filling the air and bellies full of far too many vegetables.
"Fred was very optimistic, indeed"
You nodded. Agreeing as your hips bucked, needing him to keep touching you. To just forget about all the hype and pretend meaning behind firsts, just for a moment. And to remember he was here, he was with you, with your consent and your longing.
And that was all he needed.
He slid his fingers back down. Two now curling inside you, finding a spot you didn't know you had and rubbing against it. Palm flat on your clit and mouth working your breasts.
Your body felt like it was on fire. Bucking and squirming. Unsure if it wanted more or if what it was getting was already too much. Pressure building, skin prickling. Sobbing into his pillow as you fucked down to meet his every thrust.
"I can't-going to....George"
He hushed you. Lips whispering soothing noises into your skin. Moving to sit up and watch you. See you. A kiss pressed against your cheek.
"It's ok. Let go. Want to see you"
And you did. With a sobbing scream and arched back. Riding the wave and clenching around his fingers as he kept thrusting and rubbing, drawing it out until you couldn't take it anymore. Hiccuping into the pillow and batting weakly at his hand.
Withdrawing and dripping wet. Sliping his fingers between his lips. Sighing at the taste and kissing your sternum as you caught your breath.
His soft cock pressing against your thigh.
"Do you...you havent-"
"It's ok"
He pulled the sheets up over you. Body shaking and shivering as the endorphin rush wore off. Leaning over the bed and finding where his wand had rolled to. Summoning a towel and cleaning you with a mix of muggle methods and magic.
Seeing your face twitch with guilt as he remained untouched.
"He hasn't really been on his game since...I'm ok. I'm happy, really happy. I promsie. You fell apart so beautifully. Almost as beautiful as when you laugh"
He brushed your hair back, stuck to the sweat beading on your forehead.
"If I make you laugh during sex...I think I might just break into pieces"
You huffed out a weak noise. Letting him curl you into his side like so many nights before. But now with the air smelling like sex and sweat, your bare skin pressed together. Exhausted and content. Years and years of almosts actualising in just a few short hours.
You reached down, playing with the elastic of his underwear.
"Will you let me try next time? Even if he doesn't want to participate?"
He nodded. Bringing your hand back up, fingers laced together and knuckles kissed one by one.
"Sure. We have our whole lives in front of us, afterall"
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