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Rough sketch of Wilson getting tickled by Cuddy !! Need House MD tickle content like desperateeelyy

Papa Terzo teases a trans Sibling of Sin for his voice crack :))

A/N: first Ghost fanfic i’m posting on here and it’s a little rushed, but I still hope you enjoy :3 Also, the Brother in this oneshot is my Sibling of Sin OC Ambra, but this is written in 2nd person, so it can easily be a reader insert.

~~~

The Clergy chambers were by far the biggest and fanciest in the Ministry. They also happened to be the messiest. It seemed the higher ranked the officials were, the less they cared about keeping things neat and tidy. Especially Papa Terzo…

The youngest of the three most noble Emeritus brothers was the laziest, most self-centered bastard you’d ever assisted. But it was hard to hate him - he was sweet most of the time and could be serious when needed. Except that was almost never needed.

You made your way to his chambers at exactly 5 P.M. once he’d called you in. He mentioned something about urgency and organising his desk and you were already dreading whatever that meant.

When you arrived, Papa Terzo greeted you with a warm, over-exaggerated hug, like he often would.

“Brother!” He cheered, giving you some theatric jazz hands.

“Papa…” while you couldn’t even be bothered to match his enthusiasm.

“Finally you’ve come to rescue me from this avalanche of papers!” He clapped, motioning towards his very much cluttered desk. “Sit- sit- Papa needs help before he starts answering old fan mail.”

You gave him a withering look and slumped into the chair across from him. “Papa.. you said this was urgent.”

Terzo made a dramatic show of fanning himself with an old valentine’s card. “Si, it is! My desk is a disaster! And i can’t find my favorite pen! Organize it. Alphabetize it. Exorcise it. I don’t care.”

You rolled your eyes but began anyway, muttering uner your breath as you arranged letters, papers, and an alarming number of lipstick-marked napkins. “You know, Papa Copia organizes his own desk.”

“Yes, yes, your beloved little touring Papa..” Terzo waved a hand dismissively, “i’m sure he does all sorts of boring things on time.”

Before you could retaliate he stood abruptly. “Bathroom,” he announced, “do not touch my incense drawer.”

With that he disappeared and you were left to tend to the absurdly unkept desk.

You’d made it halfway through stacking away expired Clergy documents before you heard Terzo’s bathroom door creak open.

You looked up—

—and promptly choked.

The Emeritus strolled out in nothing but black slacks, towel thrown over one shoulder, his upper body on full display. Damp raven hair clung to his jaw and you could smell the cologne from across the desk.

“Papa!” You yelped, standing quickly and pointing to his large dresser. “Put on a shirt!”

Terzo blinked. And only gave you a knowing smirk in return.

“I’m serious, Papa!”

You stood now with your hands on your hips, giving him the angriest glare you could muster while also hiding how obviously flustered you were.

“What?! Have you never seen un corpo sexy?” He wiggled his brows at you, bursting into broken giggles.

“Papa! I swear—“ you crossed your arms this time. “I came here to help you! Do your dirty work! The least you could do is show me some respect and cover up. OtherWIse—“

Your eyes widened as you registered the horrendous voice crack that had just come out of your mouth.

It had been around.. 5 months of you being on T now. And you were squeaking all over the place. It had been pretty tame these past couple of weeks though… or so you thought.

Terzo blinked again, caught utterly off guard. Followed by the most wicked, shit-faced grin you’d ever seen from him. “Awww, che carino!! Your voice—“

Your ears went red. “Shut up.”

“Ohhh noooo, fratellino, I could bottle that sound!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, egging you on further. “So fierce, and then- squeaaaak!”

“Stop.”

“Sssqueaaaak-“

“Papa!”

Terzo cackled, finally flopping into the lounge chair nearby. “Satano mio, you’re precious! Testosterone is doing wonders. Voice like a rusted accordion, bravissimo!”

“I will leave.”

“No, no, stay!” He said, mock-pleading. “I’ll be good.”

You eyed him suspiciously.

“Alright. I’m sorry. You don’t have to organise my shit anymore, I will ask Sister Luna tomorrow,” he gave you an apologetic little pout.

But you were still not convinced.

“Come,” Terzo patted his lap, “cuddle your disastro Papa.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“You’re insufferable!”

You threw a stray shirt, hitting him square in the face. He laughed, but put it on nonetheless.

“And you are blushing, piccolo. Come, you need it. Don’t lie.”

You hesitated, grumbling under your breath about how annoying he is, while still making your way over. You perched gingerly onto his lap and Terzo’s arms came around you instantly, warm and annoyingly comfortable.

“See?” He smirked. “Isn’t this better than yelling at me?”

You huffed. “Only slightly.”

“Hmm..” Terzo purred, tilted his head and nosed your curls slightly. “You did so well today. Organising one fourth of my table for me. Such a hard worker with so much to say about his Papa.”

You pinched his side.

EDIT

Adding a character ref sheet for Ambra. Also a disclaimer: he’s a trans male and his relationship with Frater/Papa is purely platonic :3

A/N: this is my first fanfiction that i’ve written for the HP fandom so please bare with me if my characterisations are off :’)) I came up with this oneshot idea cause I thought something like it would make JKR super mad lmao Hope you enjoy!

~~

You weren’t exactly sure how they found out. Or when. But they did.

“Oi, wana be a bloke so bad? Even Professor Umbrige would be better at that than you!”

At first, you told yourself their words didn’t matter. You were above all that, too mature to let a few insults get under your skin. But the problem was that it didn’t stop at words.

Shoving. Tripping. Wandless hexes aimed just low enough to be overlooked by professors. You’d nearly hit the stone floor more times than you could count, forced to catch yourself before sustaining a serious injury on the hard, rough grounds of Hogwarts. Your shins were littered with bruises from well-placed kicks and your bag had been knocked from your hands so many times, that you barely reacted anymore. You gave up on even thinking about trying out for Quidditch. And then there was the near-drowning incident: your head gripped by the collar, yanked toward the toilet bowl, only for the Weasley twins to enter at just the right moment. You didn’t know if they’d suspected anything or taken action behind your back, but you were thankful that no one tried anything quite that extreme again.

You’d never intended on anyone outside of your closest friends to know. And they had been nothing but supportive. But you weren’t sure Hogwarts had any policies for transgender students’ protection and you weren’t eager to find out the hard way. You’d already experienced disappointment when you’d told your family. Or at least, tried to. You were used to being misunderstood, dismissed, pushed aside. So you kept your head down, let people call you by the name they knew, and only allowed yourself to truly be you in the company of those you trusted.

When the Slytherins— somehow— found out, they only proved your suspicions, that Hogwarts wasn’t the best place for you to be yourself, even if it did feel better than being home.

It was as though you wore a target on your back every time you stepped into the Great Hall. Your stomach curled at the thought of walking through the common areas alone, skin prickled under unseen stares, you’d flinch at sudden noises. You stopped going to the library when you realized they lingered there too. You even skipped meals, avoiding as many social gatherings as you could. This gained the concern of Professor McGonagall, who brushed away with the usual “home-sickness” excuse. But the worst part was how it affected your academic progress.

You had always been a good student, one of the best in Gryffindor. But now, you simply couldn’t balance the weight of your complicated situation and your coursework. You overslept, missed assignments, handed in work late, mostly rushed and incomplete. Tests weren’t an exciting, adrenaline filled challenge anymore, they were merely something to brush off at the end of the day. Your marks began slipping too and eventually, someone took notice. Someone, whose class— despite being a Gryffindor— you excelled in.

And that was how you’d found yourself in this predicament - standing in the nearly empty potions classroom, shoulders tense, head held low, waiting as the last of your year hurried out under Professor Snape’s sharp gaze.

The door shut with as much force as the professor had turned to you, his black robes billowing as he moved, hair flicking sharply against his face. His dark eyes raked over you, a cold and unreadable expression as he began, his tone calm, unwavering, though it seemed like he would snap any moment.

“I must congratulate you,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Your last report barely received a passing mark.”

He held up the graded parchment between his fingers, distaste evident in every move.

“I—”

You opened your mouth in attempt to explain, to reason, to apologize, but the words tangled on your tongue. You usually got along fine with Snape, or at least as well as any Gryffindor could. You followed instructions, put in the work, and— while he wasn’t exactly kind— he acknowledged your efforts. He didn’t loathe you.

But today, his towering, threatening presence terrified you. Perhaps the vulnerability of your current situation was also a factor, playing into the feeling of being exposed, causing your legs to tremble and eyes wander about the empty classroom. You felt small.

“You have failed every test since the start of this month,” he continued, voice drawn out and deliberate, “your lab work has been nothing short of disappointing.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your head bowed.

The Professor moved around his desk with measured steps, setting your graded paper down before clasping his hands together. He turned back to you, expression just as intense as when he’d told you to stay after class.

“Normally, I could not care less if a student chooses to squander their potential,” he said calmly. “Believe me, you are not special.”

His lips curled slightly as he examined you.

“But you are one of my most competent students. Your work was nearly perfect. So?” His voice dropped lower. “Are you simply too full of yourself now to put in the effort?”

Your eyes snapped up, startled.

“I- no- Professor- certainly not.” You stammered, heart thudding. “I assure you, I love your class and potions is my favo—“

“I assure you I do not care.”

You clamped your mouth shut, head ducking back into the shielding comfort of your shoulders.

“I would like a proper explanation as to why you have decided to stop trying.”

You swallowed, fumbling for something— anything— to say.

“I- erm— I’ve had trouble— sleeping and… keeping up with my schedule has been hard—Well- that would be explained by the sleeping— it’s really- and the workload now— I mean- it’s…”

Your spluttering excuses made no impression on the stone faced Professor as he only raised a curious eyebrow.

“Are you under the impression that lack of sleep is an acceptable excuse?” His tone remained smooth, but the warning was there, careful, curling around the edges of his words. “If you think I will tolerate such carelessness, rest assured, I am prepared to do more than simply fail you.”

He observed you closely, having noticed the sudden discomfort and the obvious lies spilling from your mouth. Still, he couldn’t let himself believe that his best student was succumbing to laziness.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

Your stomach twisted. This was certainly not how you had expected to spend your Tuesday afternoon. Then again, you likely would have spent it hiding in your dorm.

“I—” You swallowed. “I’ve been bullied, sir.” The words felt thick in your throat, but you forced them out before you could stop yourself. “By the Slytherins.”

Snape did not react at first. His expression remained eerily still.

“I- I know it’s not an excuse- but I—“

“Who?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Who has been bullying you?”

The look on his face hadn’t changed much and his tone remained cold, but he spoke demandingly and there was a different kind of intensity behind his words now.

He met your silence with an expectant stare and you had no choice but to answer. You begrudgingly listed off names - at first, narrowing it down to a small group of the worst ones, but at Snape’s pointed insistence, you ended up naming all of them. Even the ones who had only watched.

“What have they said?”

“Is it really that important..?” You questioned, not wanting to out yourself, but immediately quieted down upon meeting the professor’s eyes. He was seething. Wether at the knowledge of his House causing trouble or because you once again tried avoiding his requests. You had the distinct feeling that pushing back was not an option. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening.

You exhaled shakily.

“I’m… transgender, sir.” The words came out in barely a whisper, your eyes locked on the floor. “And I- I told my friends— only Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. I don’t know how the Slytherins found out— I swear, I never meant for it to spread like this…”

“Go on.”

Your chest tightened. You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to keep talking.

Snape didn’t speak. He didn’t react. He simply waited.

“It- it started with a few comments— about my masculinity— or lack thereof, in their understanding. It- it’s only gotten worse, sir…” you gathered yourself with a sharp inhale, barely registering the trembling in your voice. “They started shoving me, pulling my hair, yanking my bag, tripping me. I- I’ve been avoiding them as much as possible at meals, the library, i’d even noticed them starting to linger in Gryffindor common rooms…”

You swallowed. “I tried talking to Professor Trelawney about it and she’d promised to ‘give them a talking to’, but I don’t think she ever did.. It’s— been keeping me on edge. I- I can’t focus on my studies when all I can think about is what they’re planning next. A recent game of theirs is shouting ‘Jax’— the name which I’ve asked my friends to adress me with— just to get a reaction, just to entertain themselves.”

Your fists tightened at your sides “That’s… that’s why I’ve been so behind. I- I promise, Professor, it’s not only your class in which I’m falling behind…”

Snape remained silent for a beat while you refused to look anywhere but at the ground. You failed to notice the way his eyes had narrowed, the way his jaw was clenched so tightly now, it was almost painful. You had no true way of knowing how he felt about your identity, about this very personal issue you had just laid bare in front of him like it was nothing, like this couldn’t have costed you your entire reputation and safety - at Hogwarts and in his class.

“And you believe that informing an incompetent professor, instead of coming to someone with actual authority, would solve this problem?” He spoke, his tone measured, edged with something sharp. This time you actually looked up at him - still towering, still threatening, but there was something else in his expression, something unreadable, yet undeniably— soft?

“I assure you,” he continued, his composure never faltering, voice steady, unwavering, “bullying is not tolerated in the Slytherin House, or anywhere in this school. Healthy rivalry is one thing, but bigotry and agression are entirely different. Rest assured, they will be dealt with and I will be taking points— 150 at the least— from Slytherin. Hogwarts is no place for such behaviour. Your persecutors will face the consequences, no doubt.”

For the first time in weeks you felt the tension rolling off your shoulders. It was finally out. And though you had braced yourself for indifference or dismissal, you didn’t doubt his words for a moment. If anyone could deal with intolerable behaviour and carry out the wrath of a strict professor, it was Snape. Being Head of Slytherin House, you were more than sure your bullies would finally face the appropriate consequences.

“Thank you, Professor.” You gave him an appreciative nod, feeling like no words could express your grattitude as you finally managed to meet his eye, his cold facade never once faltering - he was not gentle, but he carried himself with reasonable authority. “I- I swear, I hadn’t meant to miss all those assignements— truly— I wasn’t aware of how badly this all affected me and—“

“If this is something that has been weighing on you,” the professor spoke again, completely ignoring your profuse rambling, “I may speak to Professor McGonagall about ensuring you are adressed correctly in class.”

Your mouth fell slightly agape at his words. For a moment, all you could do was stare. You never expected Snape to be the supportive kind.

“I- I would really appreciate that, sir…” you beamed at him, earning a perfectly in-character eye roll. Though it didn’t lessen the impact of what he’d just said.

“But- I am afraid this would only lead to more bullying. I don’t want to risk it.”

His gaze sharpened. “Do I have to repeat myself? Hogwarts does not tolerate bullying.” He spoke firmly, but his message was clear: this wasn’t a suggestion, it was a fact. “If you require recognition, you will have it. I will see to it personally.”

The professor’s tone remained the same as it had for the entirety of your talk, but something had shifted. He understood you, heard you. He hadn’t dismissed you at your most vulnerable, hadn’t reduced you to an inconvenience. Instead he’d reached out, in his own unwavering, deadpan way, he offered help. All you did was explain yourself, hoping to feign some forgiveness, but instead you got the support you’d always longed for. And there was nothing you could say, nothing, no words, which could convey how grateful and how relieved you felt. For the first time in weeks, it was as though you weren’t fighting alone.

You only nodded, a nod covering thankfulness and confirming that you were ready to start the transition towards acceptance. This was no longer just about your grades, this was something bigger, someone actually standing beside you.

You’d turned toward the door to leave, Snape already moving back behind his desk, hands resting firmly against its surface.

Just as you reached for the handle, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Jax.” He called. “I will… grant you an extension on your missed assignments.“

For the first time, someone other than your friends had used your name. Your real name.

And it felt so— correct.

Exam season was finally and officially over. You’d been running on energy drinks and adrenaline for these past few weeks and as Friday rolled around, with the last of your academic activities completed, you could feel the stress roll off your shoulders like a boulder. It had been a trial by fire to say the least and you were glad it was over. Unfortunately, as you finished tidying your room and putting away all of your books, you were faced with a new problem: you had no idea what to do with yourself now. You’d been so immersed in your studies, spent countless sleepless nights reading and revising, taking notes and learning. So. Much. Learning. Every minute was accounted for, every hour consumed by anxiety or the sharp need to focus. Now it was gone. Just like that. Over in the blink of an eye. You felt empty and uncomfortably still as you sat down on the bed, a deep sigh escaping your lips as you rubbed your face. It felt wrong to not have something to pour your energy into or drive you forward. With the sudden lack of pressure, everything felt... off. Most would probably take this abrupt stop in academic work and use it as an opportunity to rest, maybe finally get a full 10 hours of sleep, but you were far from restless. This, of course, had to do with the fact that you’d become accustomed to running on only two hours of sleep at most, and those usually took place during the day.

You glanced at the clock - 12 am. Usually the hour you’d have started your night-time study sessions by. You only sighed, deciding on the only logical thing to do - find Aziraphale and Crowley and hope they’d have some idea how to keep you occupied— or perhaps even miracle you to sleep, though you weren’t sure which would have ben better by that point.

To your surprise, you found them both awake downstairs in the lounge area of the bookshop. Though angels and demons didn’t need to sleep, nor did they particularly want to, but it was not uncommon for you to find them napping by a human schedule. Aziraphale sat on the sofa, a book in his hands, his round glasses resting on his nose as he lost himself in the pages. A (probably cold) cup of cocoa sat beside him on the table, along with a candle, emitting just enough light for him to read while keeping the dim, peaceful atmosphere of the bookshop at this hour. Meanwhile, Crowley lounged in the angel’s armchair, sprawled out, his long legs dangling over the armrest. He was the first to notice you, a small smirk gracing his face as he lifted an eyebrow inspecting you.

“What’s up?” he asked, emphasizing the p in a playful manner. This made Aziraphale look up too, offering you a warm smile.

“Nothin’. I can’t sleep” you muttered, fidgeting with the hem of your pajama pants. 

“Haven’t you been complaining about your lack of sleep for what- a week now?”

“He’s quite right dear” Aziraphale said, setting his book aside and focusing his attention on you “you’ve just finished your exams and should be resting. Aren’t you tired?”

“I should be… but i’m not” you sighed, making your way over to the sofa and plopping down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest “I guess it’s the sudden shift from constant adrenaline to... this. A kind of uncomfortable silence in my head. I’m just not tired, it’s become my routine to stay up every night.”

Aziraphale pat your shoulder with a sympathetic smile, while Crowley tutted, shaking his head.

“Humans. So weak and so confusing”

“And hard-working” the angel added, taking your side in this little argument “would you like some hot cocoa, my dear? It might ease you a bit” 

“Yes please” you chuckled, throwing Crowley a challenging look. He only smiled, his eyes never leaving you, eyeing every little movement. He was fond of you— though he’d never admit it— and he found your hard-working determination utterly adorable. Still, like Aziraphale, he was concerned for you.

“Here you are, my dear” the angel handed you a mug with your name engraved on it, a pair of wings etched on either side. You gratefully took it, savoring the warmth which spread through your body as you took a big sip.

“Now, why don’t we keep you occupied. What do you say to some Shakespere?” 

And so the scene was set: a quiet, dark night, with Aziraphale reading aloud to you both. The atmosphere was warm, a soft, golden glow flickered from the candle as the angel’s voice wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. You leaned into him, feeling the gentle weight of his arm around your front, tracing mindless shapes against your shoulder. The smell of the cocoa, sweet and comforting, filled the air and the sound of the angel reading engulfed the entire bookshop. Crowley hadn’t moved from his previous position, lazy, sprawled out, but he listened along, his resting face causing you to smile a little. That was all it took for your attention to wander. No longer listening to Aziraphale’s drama of choice unfolding, you began fidgeting slightly, throwing curious glances toward the demon. His face reflected what looked like mild boredom.

“Oi. You’re not even listening” he whispered, loud enough for you to hear despite being across the room. 

“I am” you protested, sitting up a little “I bet you’ve never even read this book”

Crowley tilted his head slightly, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips “I witnessed its creation, love,” he said matter-of-factly.

You grinned, tilting your head back too, meet his gaze “I’m just saying— I bet you don’t even what half of these words mean”

The demon huffed a quiet laugh, giving you a challenging look “I could snatch that book right up and read this entire passage for you in perfect English. You’re the one who probably hasn’t even heard of it. So you’d better listen. I’d say you’ve got quite the attention span issue going on” 

“Pfft, you’ll take those words back once my grades come in” you smirked victoriously, leaning back against the angel who was not even paying attention to your debacle, continuing his reading. 

“Listen” Crowley spoke, his smirk growing wider “and if you’re going to ruin the sanctity of literature, at least do it properly” 

You stuck your tongue out at him playfully, earning an exaggerated eyeroll from the demon.

“Now now, let’s behave ourselves” Aziraphale finally intervened, his voice warm but firm, giving you a small smile.

“Sure. I’ll behave” you teased, glancing at Crowley “Can’t risk hurting the demon’s fragile ego”

“Ohhh, we’re playing this game, ar we?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, a little shocked at your boldness. He stood from his seated position, approaching you. 

“Restless and mouthy. Someone is clearly not paying attention” he remarked, delivering a ticklish poke to your side. You squeaked, squirming instinctively. Crowley grinned, clearly enjoying himself, his yellow eyes glinting with mischief.

“Crowley!” You laughed, swatting his hand away. You tried pulling Aziraphale’s arm tighter around yourself to serve as a shield, which amused both the demon and angel. 

The latter chuckled, looking down at you fondly “i’m afraid you’ve rather brought this upon yourself, my dear” he teased, his hand resting across your front shifted slightly, his fingers gently kneading into your stomach - a light, affectionate tickle.

Your giggles burst out fully, squirming between the angel and demon, remarking through your laughter how unfair this was. Crowley’s smirk showed no shame as he watched, delivering the occasional prod to your ribs while Aziraphale’s tickling remained gentle and fond, an amused smile playing on his lips. Eventually, as the two— though Crowley reluctantly— halted the torment, the angel’s hand came back to rest across your shoulders, pulling you close once more. The demon on the other hand didn’t move back to the armchair. He sat himself down onto the sofa, his legs intertwined with yours, daring you to make another comment.

“Now then, shall we try this once more?” Aziraphale asked with a chuckle. He gave your shoulder an afffectionate squeeze and continued reading, picking up where he’d last left off.