Latest Posts by drinkurwordslikewine - Page 4

When I should be talking to guys my age but I keep thinking about men the same age as my dad.

I hate when I get excited to search a ‘character x reader’ and only find a dead fandom with a sprinkle of crumbs. LIKE HELLO? GET TO WORK.

always a dance with you.

I may be gay af for Vanessa but hear me out-

Can we please stop with all this quick terribly written smut and go back with actual plot?? Like OMFG there’s nothing to read anymore is this the downfall of fan fiction???

behind the scenes of women in horror

content: childhood friends angst, hurt/comfort but like 90% hurt, romantically ambiguous relationship, matt holt centric

wc: ~1.8k

"I told myself, sometimes," Matt says, slowly, "that if I ever made my way back to you, I hoped that you'd have found someone else.”

The mattress creaks beneath you. His words hang still in the air — dappled by the thin starlight, tentative, solitary things, not quite themselves when out in the open. The Castle of Lions is unforgiving in its cold. Your skin prickles. Hands ache to grasp at the ghost of someone you’ve never really known before. 

“Do you still believe that?” You ask.

Matt’s eyes shift in a way that makes your heart jump, and you think that maybe it is the wrong thing to say. You amend, voice nearly inaudible through the inexplicable tightness of your throat: “Did you ever believe that?”

The silence eats you whole. It is dark inside the maw, your bodies resting gingerly on its tongue, so precarious that when you breathe it ricochets off of cavernous walls. Eventually: 

“No.”

There’s a resignation in his truth. Bereft and lonely and weightless. “No, I don’t.” His smile catches on the corner of your peripheries, aching. “Guess that makes me a horrible person, huh?”

“Of course not,” you answer automatically, although your head is still swimming. Your voice meekens into something raw. “I felt that way about you, too. You were my best friend.” 

He was, wasn’t he? You're struck with a sudden, vivid memory: winter, nine years ago. A soft shelter of mismatched blankets teetering overhead, cascading down like the walls of a heaven you thought you’d find forever in. Plush cushions. Giddy smiles. That feeling of invulnerability. You and him, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the warm air, flashlights pinned on planets, moons, stars, circumstellar discs, fragments of a world you swore you'd one day seize in your bare hands. You got your wish in the end, but if this is the cost–

“You were mine, too.” Matt says, just as your heart threatens to cave in. Then he shakes his head. Lets out a soft puff of air. “God, what am I saying? You’re still mine.” His elbow presses into your side. “Who else would’ve stuck with Pidge all the way through the Garrison?” 

You huff. “Hey. Put some respect on her name.” He chortles and your head slips against his shoulder. “Besides– she wasn’t the only reason I stayed. I kind of wanted a career, you know.” The levity of the moment cuts through the haunting, if only for a moment; a sudden burst of courage sparks in your veins. Lower, just a fraction: “And I wanted you back.” 

It shouldn’t be so hard to say. This is the Matt you loved – the one who used to hold your hand whenever the dark would close in on you, who taught you all the constellations as you saw them reflected in his eyes. Who was everything you could never find in all your textbooks and prizes and sleepless nights. You’d cried over him, curled up in a half-empty bed with an emptier heart, begging for an answer that only came once you’d finally been able to wrench your gaze away. Too late. Always too late. This never should’ve been something time could seize, but it is.

If you’d never left, would we have been fine? Questions, questions. All unasked. Am I still the me who could love you the way you deserved? 

Matt lingers at the boundary where your vision dissolves into the black, and you are dimly aware of the warmth of his palm enveloping yours, the quiet pulse of his blood. You think you could map out his veins in black ink blindfolded. You could model him from clay and electricity, angles and planes and geometric forms coalescing into the flickering image of your heart. You could drag your fingertips across the ravine seared hypertrophic into his cheek, chart each new valley and bound crossing the landscape of his skin, and would it be enough?

My best friend. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

You can lift a weight off your shoulders, but sometimes that does nothing more than remind you of how empty you are without it. Matt is here, and he’s alive, and he holds you with a tenderness that cleaves you open raw. What do you do now that he isn’t just a wish? Now that he isn’t the spectre you carried around like it was breathing before you drowned? You’d wanted him without thinking about having him, because the last time you got what you wanted you ended up fighting a war. 

(Scared. That’s what you are. That’s what you’ve always been. Scared of loving things — scared of losing things — how different are they, really?)

Matt’s palm closes over your own. 

“You know what I’d think of, whenever everything up here just got too…” A vague gesture. You track the movement greedily. “Too much?” He swivels towards you, eyes soft and devastating as twin nebulae. “I’d think of you. Of— of us. And Pidge, and Mom, of course— all of you, back on Earth. I promised myself that I wouldn’t give up until I said everything I needed to say to you. It kept me going.”

He exhales. “It was like breathing to me.” 

He's warm beside you, older, sharper features painted a mute silver by the rays trickling in through the window. It winds over him, wraps him up in a way that makes him look so fragile you worry that all it would take to whisk him away again is a single tug of the rope. 

“Well,” you offer him a sliver of a failing smile, “We’re here, now.”

We. Self-forgetting. An easy facade. Matt might be considering it.

“Yeah.” He mumbles, finally. “You are.”

It could be cruel, the way you look at him. It’s selfish to want when you yourself have nothing to give – and yet something tells you that to tear your gaze away would be to undo the seams of your very existence. What happens next? He could say a million things, each of which you are more undeserving of than the last. Maybe you could learn to pull him back into you again, natural as anything else that has ever existed. As if it’s the only thing that was ever really meant to happen between the two of you – no forsaken missions and no alien warships and no fabled weapons at the edge of the universe which landed you here to begin with. Just us, the dream murmurs. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Maybe it would be. Maybe it would wreck you. Maybe you’d deserve it. 

Still, you look, and Matt’s hand falls from your own.

(It’s a pity that no amount of searching will ever yield the truth before you. You don’t know how many times Matt sat, surrounded by the Coalition’s chaos and the deafening silence of the stars, thinking to himself that maybe it all would’ve made sense if you were there. You picked things apart like no one he’d ever met before – plucked at the threads of fate until they sounded a tune you were satisfied with, unrelenting in your pursuit of something of your own. You with your quiet eyes and brittle edges you’d sometimes snap against the outside just to see if they would crumble. He would’ve given you every good thing in the world, if only he’d had the chance.

You’re sitting beside him now, sadder than maybe anything else he’s ever seen, and he thinks: his chance is here. But somehow, the good things are all out of reach.

So nothing comes. Ordinarily, the words would beat against the trapdoor of his throat, raining fists down on soft tissue in unceasing droves. I love you. You are the one part of me I never lost. I love you. You are everything to me; there’s nothing I’ve ever known more. I love you I love you I love you. He’d crafted all those beautiful words so clearly before. There’s nothing to show for it, now, but he remembers the thoughts and how they’d swarmed him in the unending night.

Matt wishes you could see into him.) 

Tentatively, your hand strays. It’s a cautious act – Matt is glassy-eyed in a way you’ve never seen; all you know is to handle it with care. Your pinky curls around his own before the warmth of him greets you, and when his fingers bloom over your palm you close your eyes and try not to think of the deeds they are nestled in. A doctor’s hands, Colleen once jested after you’d accidentally split the tip of your finger on a kitchen knife. Got to be careful with them. Would she still say it if she knew the things you’d done with a bayard lodged in your grip? If she knew how you’d let her only son drift like an hourglass run between your fingers? 

“You’re always slipping away from me.” You whisper, voice fed through a mirthless smile. 

Matt humours you again, and relief washes through you as the sheen over his gaze starts to thaw before your own. “I disappeared into space one time.” 

He knows that’s not what you meant. It’s a strange, liminal place that the two of you find yourselves stranded within — not quite friends, not quite lovers, but soulmates, definitely, maybe. The thought shatters you just a little. 

“Hey – look at me.” Calloused hands retreat from your own to fall on your shoulders. Your gaze flickers up, unsteady waves crashing against warm, fractured brown pools – the same, you think. Always the same. You know that ability to hold. “We’re gonna be okay. It’s still us, isn’t it?” The muted little glimmer of hope in his eyes is the heartrending kind. “It’s still us.” 

Matt holds you like his pleas perfuse your very being. People seem to do that a lot, these days. 

“Yeah.” You force the word past and taste salt in your mouth. “Of course it is.”

I don’t know how not to grieve you.

He has to know it. In the low light, you can see yourself swimming in his eyes, and you can only begin to conceive what stares back at him from your own. A returning prayer. Please see me, it goes. You have been searching for the right words for so very long, and your limbs are growing heavy. Please find a way to love me that I will understand. 

(Is there even such a thing?)

Steady arms engulf you. 

“We’ll be alright.” Matt murmurs into your skin, and you think that it is more for himself than it is for you. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I’m never letting you go. Not again.

You can only hope. 

end

notes: thank you so much for pulling through to the end! i will be honest, i don’t know how i feel about this one but my love for that boy transcends my lack of ability. matt holt you will always be famous

huge, intimidating men who relax their posture and soften their voice whenever they speak to you 😔

whenever he sends any type of late night message he deems 'too mushy', katsuki turns his phone off immediately after hitting send, slams it face down onto whatever surface he can find and goes to sleep because he's too embarrassed to see your response.

Yes, I want to be his neighbor. Of course I want to be the stripper at the club he owns. I want to be his fated omega. I want to be his co-worker. I want to be his doctor, his arranged wife, his enemy, his childhood friend, his kid’s babysitter, his girlfriend, his wife, his ex-wife, his barista, his soulmate, his strange cryptid, his favorite blood bag, his divorce attorney, his pr relationship, his boss, his secretary, his sugar baby, his... I think you get the point.

In all universes, physical forms, and realities, I want that man.

thinking about how shouto is so gentle and patient all of the time that it sometimes comes as a shock to you how truly powerful he is. like he'll draw his arm tight around you as you try to leave bed, sleepy and warm and clinging. and though he's just trying to cuddle into your back, it dawns on you that even when he's half-asleep and you are actually trying with all your might, you can't get his arm to budge even a fraction of an inch...

thinking about being Shouto’s girlfriend and slowly teaching him how to play video games in the UA dorms together during some downtime. Choosing something cute like Stardew Valley where you can play co-op. And asking him “hey, can we get married?” And for him to freeze for a second and then go “…I think we could. There are some technicalities to work out with my father and we may need to wait until our third year to get our license but we could definitely start our engagement and…” and he goes on and on about how he’d be happy to marry you but surprised you brought it up this soon, not that he minds because he loves you and is serious about you. Except he doesn’t realize you were talking about getting married in the game. Shouto took your words in their most literal sense, as he often does. So when you finally do correct him (after quite some time because he’s insistent on making sure he knows what kind of wedding decorations you’d like) he goes quiet, the tips of his ears turning completely red. But before he can begin to despair you give him a little kiss. Telling him that for now, you’d like to get married in the game, and focus on your relatively new relationship with him outside of it. But that, if he still feels the same way in a few years, you wouldn’t mind getting married in real life, too.

ik this is a very used trope for todoroki but i love it so much, so im gonna say it one more time.

shoto todoroki uses his quirk when he hugs you. it’s obvious the he’s kinda oblivious to relationships and that’s just because he’s never been in one before you, but he’s trying his best and that’s what matters the most. when he finds out from a conversation with a few of the girls in class 1-a that warm hugs are comforting, he wonders if you agree.

so he tests it.

todoroki knows you’re a hugger, you basically hug him every time you see him. so the next time you hug him, he’s gonna use his ice quirk and slightly make himself colder to see how fast you move away. then he’s gonna test it with his fire side, and heat himself up.

once he finds out you prefer a warmer hug, he uses it every time as an excuse to show off to you without you really realizing it and also an excuse to hug you more.

Can you do what the bnha boys would do if they were jealous?🤭 (text or headcanon, whatever works for you) (Shoto, Katsuki, Midoryia, and Shinso are my favs btw!) I love your writing idk why it’s just too good

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ʙᴏʏ!

includes: katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, izuku midoriya, and hitoshi shinso

fem!reader

a/n: headcanons & smau, first time writing izuku tell me how it is, send an ask if you want other characters 🤗

ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ

⟁ probably the most jealous (maybe tied with shinso)

⟁ as we know, not above threatening (and more)

⟁ will likely be kind of grumpy till you get him alone and then he's a clingy bitch (with love)

ꜱʜᴏᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ

❆ won't say anything, but his hand's on your waist and if a look could kill, the guy talking to you would be dead.

❆ if the guy ain't stopping he will walk up with his "defying authority" tone and rip into him

❆ honestly very patient most of the time with the whole situation (he’s sassier in the smau)

ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ

ϟ doesn’t really care about the guy talking to you, he trusts you completely, until he realizes you look uncomfortable

ϟ pulls up his hero pants and gets the guy away from you

ϟ sososo understanding

ʜɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ꜱʜɪɴꜱᴏ

〄 HIS HANDS ARE ALL OVERRR YOU

〄 very very threatening presence, guard dog asf

〄 prob the most intimidating

shouto’s the type to feel too far away from you when you’re not at arms length. so whenever he has homework to do he does it on his tatami floor while holding your hand. he’s unbothered too, arm not cramping or moving while he writes perfectly well (or he tries) with his other hand. when you think about your position you can’t help but laugh from your spot laying on the floor. shouto never gets what you find funny.

When your favorite writer hasn't updated since 2020

katsuki LOVES seeing you spend his money. you tell him you're having a bad day? he's sending you some money and telling you to buy something nice for yourself. you guys are going out on a date? he reminds you not to bring your wallet—he's got it. and you've reminded him time and time again that he doesn't have to do any of that, that you feel bad spending his money!!! but he doesn't care.

he reminds you every time that he wants to spend his money on you, no matter how big or small. he knows full well that you can pay for the things he buys you. he knows how hard you work for your money, how dedicated you are to your job.

but if he's there, why should you have to worry about anything at all?

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

shouto is absolutely, 100% the type to have what you deem to be the ugliest picture of you and cherish it. he'd have it as his home screen and everything and deem it worthy of being hung up in a gallery. you tell him to change it when you see it immediately and he looks so utterly shocked and confused. he quickly denies it when you say it doesn't look very flattering. seriously too, face hardening a bit when he shakes his head and some strands fall close to his eyes.

"no, i like it." and just for safe measures he looks at his screen again and nods to himself afterwards "you look beautiful. you always do."

yeah, you're not so sure about that, but you unfortunately don't have much of a choice. your boyfriend is a sweetheart but god could he be stubborn..

idk if you take requests but i feel like tsukishima is the type to return your love letters graded

omg i can totally see this 😭😭

----

to see your love letter that you had given to tsukishima yesterday being returned in your shoe locker definitely broke your heart. however, your sorrow quickly dissipates when something catches your attention.

"did he actually just grade it??"

a "6/10" is written in red ink at the top right corner of the envelope. you scoff in offense, taking a second glance at it. "the audacity..."

you take out the letter from the envelope to skim through it. you spot other writings in red ink too, underlining some of your words and commenting on them. there are criticisms like, "too sappy", "your handwriting is illegible", and the one that pissed you off the most: "unnecessarily longwinded, cut to the point". damn him, you spent so much time trying to craft the perfect letter, to think you even fell for that bastard.

for your sanity's sake, it is a relief you finally got to the end. at the bottom, it writes:

"you should have confessed to me in person, dumbass, then we would have settled on a date earlier."

then in smaller letters, "i guess i like you, too."

your heart stops. your grip on the paper loosens. you blink, staring at those last few words.

a grin slowly grows on your face.

"that fucking bitch."

----

a/n: sorry i just spammed words and this came out. uh, happy valentine's day??? when i received this request, i laughed so hard. to clarify on whether i do requests, i think the more appropriate term would be "suggestions". i write based on how i'm feeling and inspiration, so i may or may not write your ideas. take it as a gamble :P i appreciate all of your messages though!!

edit: damn this piece had so many mistakes wts

maybe if he’d come back earlier everything would have been fine.

it wasn’t even in the middle of the night, like you’d read in the stories, or how you’d see in the films, where the long-lost lover finds their way back to the one they’d left behind and shows up on their doorstep at two in the morning, rousing them from their sleep.

no, it was a regular saturday afternoon, two p.m. instead of two a.m, and he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and the only thing that had visibly changed about him was the fact that his hair had gotten longer–and there also was a scar on his cheek. and one at the base of his neck. and another one cutting through his hairline. you wondered how many more old wounds his clothes hid.

Keep reading

I have such bad Matt Holt brainrot! It’s literally been 4 years and I still wake up thinking about him! HEELP!!

I can’t stop thinking about Fred Weasley being grabby with you all the time. Like especially after a quidditch match or practice, his ego would expect you to shower him with praise and maybe even satisfy him. 🤭

George Weasley, I feel he would be a bit more quiet about it but he would be happy like a puppy if you were throw compliments here and there.

By the way, I’m so happy you read my little blurb of George and Fred Weasley back there.

- 🍸 Anon (If that’s alright)

it’s like you can read my mind !!! the weasley twins have been on my mind constantly these past few days and i really wanted to talk about it with someone so yay !! also yes, that emoji is all yours baby, just need to know your pronouns !

and spot on babe !!!!!! fred is so touchy with you after a quidditch match/practice. he would constantly ask you if you think he did good because he loves hearing it from you while hands wander all over your body. “yeah? you think i did good back there, darling? so… does that mean im getting a reward?” he teases with the biggest smile ever on his face as he winks at you.

george on the other hand would indeed be more quiet about it. you watching him during a match or practice only motivates him to do his best ‘cause he loves it when you praise him. he’d excitedly run over to you like a puppy first thing when he’s done. his pupils change into little hearts the minute praise leaves your mouth, and he smothers your face with kisses. “well, it is all thanks to,” kiss. kiss. “you.”

all daydreams ੈ♡˳

fuck it ik u cant rlly spot george weasley fans in the wild but i love this man and i have free will so i posted this 🩵

lover, you should've come over, 'cause it's not too late. | g. weasley

burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him. george weasley never wanted to be in love. but that day—that one special day from his first year that he'll forever hold dear - is when he caught a glimpse of your bewitching eyes and those stray ethereal curls he dreamt so much of touching. to hold you was to go to heaven—or so he said.

lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in. each passing moment with you was eternal—those moments when he touched you, when he felt like he wasn't a half of a whole; like he was his own person, only associated with you.

sometimes a man gets carried away when he feels like he should be having his fun, much too blind to see the damage he's done. there was this fight between the two of you, right before the great war. you knew there would be consequences in participating in it, whilst he was ever the griffindor—always fearless and courageous. he could remember your sad words of goodbye that night; when you held him so tightly whispering words of sugariness althought you made it very clear that you were on different sides. be brave, griffindor. be strong as the walls you've built around your heart.

his body turns, and yearns for a sleep that won't ever come. he could never live that way again. his old, carefree ways spent with his dear departed brother, fred—all gone. and the worse of all, you weren't there. you'll never be there again. all the sadness and destruction that happened in his life was all because he chose to stray away from you; from the everlasting sweetness you had provided his life. all gone, all gone.

sometimes a man must awake to find that, really he has no one. as he spent a whole year alone, with weasley's wizarding wheezes closed and his time spent all on trying to move on—he couldn't. he sees and hears and reads your name everywhere, may it be on the daily prophet where he reads that your family has moved on, or in his mother's mouth when she casually mentions that you have visited the burrow when he wasn't around. he hears your voice at his sister's pre-recorded messages from you, which contained all the sweet, kind words he wanted to hear. you were everywhere.

oh, love, well, he's waited for you. those months he spent with angelina—his brother's past girlfriend were only temporary soltitude; whilst his mind's peace when he was around you lasted forevermore. he couldn't help but compare your smile with her's, and how his words for angelina never seemed genuine. he felt like angelina, too, was looking for something she could never get back. and like two kindred souls, they decided being lonely together was better than mourning fred alone. it was too fast to be healthy for the both of them, and they knew that very well. so when things took a turn and they fighted, fighted, and fighted—he remembered you and how you fought, fought, and fought. all his fault.

sweet lover, you should've come over. him and angelina eventually separated, and his feet found itself on your door. he knocked, three times—your lucky number. and as soon as you opened the door, he begged, begged and begged.

"i know—i know that i am not worthy of standing at your door, but my love— let me; let me fall in love with you once more; not one single moment did i stop— so that i can truly prove to you that i am."

THIS WAS SOOO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN WOWW

The Weight of a Shadow | G.W.

George Weasley has spent his life as one half of a whole, his individuality often lost in the glow of his twin’s boundless charm. Beneath the laughter and mischief lies a quiet struggle, a longing to be seen as more than a shadow. But when you enter his world, something shifts, and for the first time, George finds himself seen, not as a twin, but as a whole. In this universe, you chose him.

Click here to read an alternate universe where you chose Fred instead of George.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Fred always seemed to burn just a little brighter. His laugh, bold and wildfire-strong, lingered long after the echo of their pranks had faded. Applause always found him first, the crowd magnetized by his magnetic confidence. Even in quieter moments, it was Fred they gravitated toward—his charm effortless, his presence undeniable.

George would smile through it all, as though the comparisons didn’t sting, but deep within, an ache brewed. A quiet storm he kept to himself.

Maybe it was the way Fred's grin tilted, sharper and more self-assured, or the ease with which his voice commanded attention. Perhaps it was something intangible, something George couldn’t touch even if he tried. Whatever it was, it gnawed at the edges of his heart, a silent weight he carried alone.

And then, there was you.

You arrived one sunlit afternoon, a quiet force with a magic that had nothing to do with spells or wands. Unlike so many others, you didn’t lose yourself in Fred’s blaze. You didn’t mistake George’s laughter for an echo, or his presence for half of a whole. The way your gaze lingered on him felt like sunlight on frozen ground, a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning for. You saw him. Truly saw him.

At first, George doubted it. Surely, you’d mistaken him for Fred, like so many others had. But you disproved him at every turn. You caught the subtleties. The way George’s humor leaned toward sharp wit, while Fred’s was louder and bolder. The precision in George’s hands as he worked on their inventions, where Fred’s energy was a chaotic whirlwind. You noticed the faint scar above George’s brow, a remnant of a long-ago experiment gone wrong. And when you touched it one day, your fingers brushing the mark with such tenderness that it left him breathless.

For the first time, the ache began to fade. Slowly, it dissolved into something lighter, something warmer. When you laughed at his jokes, it felt like the world cracked open to let the light in. When you spoke his name—just his name—it was a melody that played only for him. And when you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling effortlessly with his, it felt as though the universe had quietly clicked into place.

Fred noticed, of course. He always did. He had been George’s mirror for as long as they had existed, and the change in his twin was impossible to miss. George’s laughter came easier now, his smiles unguarded and brighter. And Fred saw the way you looked at George, with a kind of quiet adoration that pierced straight through his own bravado.

But Fred never spoke of it. Not when George’s smiles grew wider, not when the light in his eyes burned brighter than it had in years. For the first time, George seemed to stand taller, as if the weight of comparisons had finally lifted. And Fred, who had always been the center of attention, found that he didn’t mind stepping back.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky in fiery hues, Fred watched from the doorway as George sat beside you, your head resting gently on his shoulder. There was something in his twin’s expression. A peace Fred hadn’t seen before, as if George had finally found his place in the world.

“You make him happy,” Fred said later, when it was just the two of you in the kitchen. His voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual bravado. “And that’s all that matters.”

You turned to him with your brow furrowed, searching his face for some trace of resentment or longing. But all you found was warmth, tinged with something unspoken.

“Fred,” you began, but he waved his hand with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “Really. George deserves this. He deserves you.”

And he meant it. Even if there was a small, quiet part of him that ached for something he couldn’t name, Fred would never let it show. For all his charm and bravado, his heart had always been his most closely guarded secret. And in that heart, George’s happiness mattered more than anything else.Still, as he watched you and George from the shadows, a quiet thought took root in his mind — a thought he would never voice aloud. If your opinion mattered so much to George, it mattered just as much to Fred. Perhaps even more.

MINORS DNI 18+

GEORGE WEASLEY knows you’re with his brother, but you confuse him with all your mixed signals. Always holding his hand when you walk next to him down the halls, playing with his hair when you lay his head down on your thigh in the courtyard, inviting yourself to sit in his lap whenever you please. At first he thought you were mistaking him for your boyfriend, but it’s gone on long enough to where he knows that you can tell them apart. He sees it in your eyes how you recognize him, call him by name, and still lead him on. You wear his clothes when you’re cold and give them back smelling like your perfume; you excitedly run up to him for a friendly hug yet press your tits up against his chest while he’s forced to stoop and wrap his arms around your waist; you’ve compared your hand size to his and didn’t say anything when he broke out in a sweat, biting his lip nervously as he thinks about other contexts in which he’s bigger than you. Fred’s no help in this situation, he just thinks he’s got a fit girlfriend who he likes showing off. “Amazing, isn’t she?” he’ll tell George, and George wonders if he should be agreeing. His brother isn’t inviting him to try you out for a spin, is he? It’s hard to tell when he’s got that look in his eyes. George doesn’t know, but in the past, Fred’s gotten a lot of mileage out of the special privileges twins share.

I could fix him but I kinda like him a little murderous and psychotic tho

I’m so sad… time for an x reader fan fiction

tom riddle in a pea coat covered in blood. tom riddle standing in the snow covered in blood. tom riddle panting from exertion covered in blood. tom riddle kissing you like he needs you to breathe covered in blood. tom riddle who killed men for you covered in blood.

UMM

i will never recover from someone calling him a tampon applicator

"Sirius don't you dare, we're not at home." your whines go completely ignored by your boyfriend because as soon as you lay down on James' sofa, Sirius is lifting your sleep shirt and burying his head under it.

"What is wrong with him?" Lily asks as she passes you a mug of tea- chamomile with a touch of honey- before going to sit besides James who looks equally puzzled.

"Every time I get out of the shower at night he does this. Says the lotion I use is the cause." You pat your boyfriend's head under your shirt, Sirius turns sideways with a tired grin on his face.

"You act like Jamesie there isn't the biggest baby too." James gawks, hazel eyes narrowing.

"I didn't even say anything, Pads. I think it's sweet."

Remus shakes his head, "Of course you do. It'd be sweeter in private."

Lily, you and Marlene hide a laugh.

Stirring a pot, Lily says, "You could at least let the girl breathe."

"She smells like sleep, cocoa butter and vanilla. What am I meant to do against that?" He sounds too lovesick, and with the grin on his face, James wishes he had his phone nearby.

Remus solves that problem for him almost immediately. Sirius doesn't even protest.

"Siri, don't you think it's a little pathetic to have to hide under your girlfriend's clothes at night to sleep?" Marlene asks and Sirius pops his head out again.

"Pathetic is you trying to imply you haven't snuggled up next to her on your sleepovers." Marlene throws a chocolate covered almond at him while he just looks at her all pleased and content.

Remus rolls his eyes, "You could at least save it for when you get into your room."

You hide a smile, knowing exactly what Sirius is going to say. You and your boyfriend have this conversation every night you join him back on the sofa instead of in bed.

Sirius doesn't dignify Remus with full view of his face- he moves your shirt just enough that his mouth and nose are visible.

"M'gonna be asleep in a bit anyways. In fact you're all just prolonging when I'll be able to sleep by carrying out an inquisition at near midnight."

You chuckle into your mug, taking a sip as Sirius shuffles up your body and settles again.

"You're a saint, Y/n." James compliments as he watches Sirius' hold on your waist tighten before he starts the movie.

Your boyfriend whines the second your hand falls on his back and you roll your eyes, slipping your hand down his shirt and scratching his back for him.

You can feel Sirius taking deep, lungful breaths of you before his heartbeat slows a bit and his breathing evens out- not even ten minutes into the movie he'd suggested.

"He's a big fucking baby." Marlene marvels at the way Sirius sleeps through the movie, hands around you and face hidden away under your shirt. "You wouldn't even guess he was clingier than Potter."

"Hey!" James groans, but he can't protest, his head is in Lily's lap as he twists and coils strands of his hair. Sirius hasn't even shown them the half of it- James keeps that tidbit to himself.