train of thoughts

takes place at the burrow I’m thinking in their seventh year or after year after? reader is staying over for a reason I haven’t thought of

content warning: slightly suggestive I think? swearing, written with f!reader in mind and female anatomy is alluded to but not explicitly mentioned

—

George tries to think of something else to say, something to keep you talking, keep you here.

(He tries not to think of the droplet of water that has already disappeared beneath the hem of your towel — the bloody towel that you’re wrapped in — not that he was watching. He tries not to think of the scent of your shampoo or body wash that envelops him as you’re standing this close and gives him the urge to wrap you in his arms instead, to press his nose into your hair. He definitely tries not to think about the steady anger in your voice, your crossed arms, or the way your glare makes him feel; a flame dancing in your eyes that sets him right ablaze. Fuck.)

copy-pasting the text into tumblr turned them into regular dashes and i forgot to correct them before posting so i did it just now and lol i had no idea haha

like I’m aware i use them quite a lot but usually i try to keep it to a minimum of one every few paragraphs lmao

———

Carefully, as though not to frighten a wild animal, you take a step closer. Something shifts minutely in the shadows. “Won’t you let me see your face?”

For a moment, you think there won't be a response — that, perhaps, he isn't here at all and you merely imagined his figure retreating into the spaces between the trees — but then you catch yourself, remember what you're here for. "Did I… perhaps offend you in some way?" Your eyes are only just getting used to the night, and you think you spy a shape in the darkness — darker than the rest — just a few paces ahead, but then a breath of wind moves the branches and when the air stills again, the shape is gone.

Which is why it startles you even more so to suddenly hear a voice from your left. "You should not wander alone this late at night." It's deep and gravelly and dark as it travels over your entire body in waves, making the hair on your skin stand up.

You turn to face the direction of the voice, of where he must be, and say what first jumps into your mind — speak out your hope. "But I am not alone, though, am I?"

Just like the first time, he doesn't respond immediately. Instead, there's a bit more rustling from where you think he is, and then it's gone-

-and reappears somewhere to your right. You strain your eyes and ears, and you think that, maybe — just maybe — he might be a little closer than before.