Imagine Titus being mesmerised by your blood soaked hands… (Read Responsibly!)
A/N Girl you are crazy… wait i wrote you so I might be the one who’s crazy🖤
The room is lit by candlelight. Cult members surrounded you, chanting softly beneath their robes. Hoods up, their faces barely visible, hands hidden in wide sleeves. A goat chained to the floor, wide eyed and bleating in distress. Slowly and confidently, you stepped forward. Neither scared nor hesitant. With a swift movement, you slid the ceremonial blade across its throat. As the bleating suddenly fell silent. Blood gushed over your hands and a small smirk tugged at your lips at the familiar warmth coating your skin. Crimson droplets splattered across your face as the carcass dropped into the pit. The ritual should have held Titus's attention. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on you. On the blood dripping from your hands onto the stone floor. On the crimson streaks slowly tracing down your face. He had witnessed countless offerings throughout his life. None of them had ever held his attention quite like this.
His eyes were dark. Dangerous. Unable to look away from you. The candlelight danced across the blood staining your hands, but Titus barely noticed the flames anymore. His attention had narrowed to a single point. You. Nobody else seemed to notice the way Titus’s expression had changed, it was almost like it was a moment made for just the two of you. Though the offering was meant for the cult, somehow it felt as though the entire ceremony had become personal. The room felt silent despite the chanting. Because the moment your eyes found his across the ritual circle, everything else ceased to matter. Everybody else saw devotion. Titus saw courage, your composure, your fearlessness, your willingness to stand in the center of something dark and not look away. The sight planted dangerous thoughts in his mind. Thoughts he was smart enough not to voice and disciplined enough not to act upon. For now.
it was summer holiday at the burrow, each day growing warmer than the last. The last few days had been almost unbearable, even the enchanted windows were unable to keep a breeze going. but tonight was a cool night. It had rained all day and the heat had finally broken. Everyone had gone to bed early, reveling in the ability to finally sleep comfortably. Somewhere in a distant corner of the house, you could hear Arthur gently snoring and Hermione’s cat mewling softly.
you were tucked in the corner of the couch, curled up with a thin knit blanket and a book, weathered by all the times you’ve read it, pages yellowed from the oils of your skin and the markings of pencil in the margins. It wasn’t uncommon for you to struggle with sleeping, you found it much easier to stay up and tire yourself out with the comforting sounds of the Burrow.
George was similar. Not that he couldn’t sleep, but that he didn’t want to. between him and Fred, he was always the last one asleep. Especially if anyone else was still awake; he was considerate like that, not wanting anyone to feel alone or scared at night. You heard him before you saw him, tip-toeing down the stairs, making sure to step left at the last one so it didn’t creak. He slowly padded into the Tea room where you were perched.
you glanced up as you heard him come in, offering a soft smile. He carried his blanket and a book he’d found at hogsmeade right before school let out: “Card tricks: muggle magic vol. 7” you let out a soft laugh at remembering the excitement on his face when he discovered it.
“what?” George said, throwing you a smug look as he sat down at the other end of the couch, resting his calves over your feet that were just barely peeking out from under your blanket. He was warm. He was always warm. you shook your head and sighed, turning back to look at your book. “I just can’t believe you bought that. Don’t you have enough tricks up your sleeve already?”
he scoffed in false offense. “I don’t know what you heard but bigger is better.” You giggled and shook your head in response, diving back into the book you knew so well. It was quiet, comfortable silence between the two of you for a while. The candle flickered from the cool breeze a couple of times, and the sounds of the house were starting to take an effect, lulling you softly.
George had given up on reading long ago. Instead, he sufficed to watch you. How your fingers follow the words and your chest rises and falls so slowly that sometimes he thinks you’ve stopped breathing. you are the single most beautiful creature he has ever seen. And he has no idea how to deal with it.
you’ve been the twins right hand since fourth year, when you walked in on them setting fire to the trash cans in Snape’s classroom. But instead of tattling to McGonagall, you insisted they add Puff powder to each fire- “make them more colorful,” you said so simply. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You did that often. Give unsolicited advice, yes, but it was never without reason. He appreciated it.
you stirred a little bit, and he quickly looked back to the page he was on, trying to make it look like he had never stopped reading. It was your turn to observe him.
he had the most impressive features you had ever seen. His red hair was one of the most familiar, of course, but you had a particular fascination with his nose. It curved sharply at the bridge, more than Fred’s. His face was slender and long, soft and sprinkled with freckles. You had always thought he was a beautiful man. And now, in the soft warm candlelight, you felt absolutely confident that the warmth in your chest was more than “best friendship.” Not that there was much you could do about it. you could never confess, not when you were so deep into the routine of friendship. And especially not now. Not when if it went badly, you would still be sleeping one room down from him for another two weeks.
you sighed. That was enough thinking for one night. You closed your book, and as you started folding the blanket that had been covering you, George started to do the same. “Going to bed?” He asked quietly. You nodded in response, and as if your body needed to prove it, a yawn escaped you. George laughed. You love his laugh. It’s so warm and familiar.
he nodded and moved in sync with you, stepping behind you to put a throw pillow back in the cabinet. You two moved in rhythm putting away mugs from the day and blowing out candles around the room. It was just as you finally grabbed your book and he grabbed his that you bumped into each other. His strong chest collided with your cheek and his large hands came up to grab your waist. Stopping you from stumbling.
you let out a hushed breath, hearing only his breathing match yours in the silence. “you alright?” He whispered. “Yeah. Thanks Georgie I’m alright.” You softly said back. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t feel anything except his hands on your waist. Burning your skin, it felt like. All you wanted was to grab him and kiss him; all you wanted was him. but you simply squeezed his bicep where your hand was resting, and then patted it. “Goodnight.” You said in a hushed voice.
then you turned, and padded up the stairs gently, heart pounding in your eardrums. George felt like he might be sick. You were right there. So close to him. Holding his arm like he imagined you would so many times before. He stood there in the dark, trying to gather his entire heart back up into his body before he followed up the stairs.
once he finally made it to his bed, he suddenly was the one with the problem sleeping. It was like your handprint was burned onto his bicep. He kept imagining your lips pressed against his. God, they looked so soft and beautiful in the candlelight; mouthing certain words he knew you loved to say out loud. groaning, he rubbed a hand over his face and rolled over, facing the wall he knew you were sleeping on the other side of.
this will go away in the morning.
neither of you slept that night. At least not very well. Tossing and turning in beds that seemed much too warm for a house that was finally cool.
