nightmares

request: from anon: How would George react to his long time wife cheating on him with a muggle from her hometown? (Same thing but can George wake up from a dream at the end because I love him to much to put him through that and his wife comforts him telling him she would never do that to him and that he is the only one she loves sorry for the double messages I hope your having a great day.

word count: 1.5k

A/N: this hurts anon—i remember your first message, thank you for making it that his wife didn’t actually cheat on him i don’t know if i would’ve been able to write it lmao.. also this was cheesy af sorry if it’s kind lame, it’s all fluff guys

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Your throat felt extremely dry. You needed water, but you didn’t open your eyes. You heard a bit of rumbling around next to you, like someone was sifting through a drawer looking for something, but were you dreaming? Surely, you were. Then you felt the cold rush of air sweep through your open window, and you were awake. Alert. Freezing.

“Love?” you asked, and turned over in bed. George was rustling through documents as quietly as he possibly could—when your eyes adjusted to the soft light coming from his bedside table, you noticed a line of sweat at his hairline, and his cheeks were flushed and warm. His eyes seemed to be bloodshot, too. “You alright?”

He dropped documents into his lap and peered at you. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, sweeping a hand through your hair. “Did I wake you? Was it the wind? I just needed some fresh air.” He looked like he’d been crying.

“What’s wrong?” you asked now, completely awake as if you hadn’t even gone to sleep that night, “What is it?”

George swallowed over a lump in his throat and smiled sweetly at you. “My turn to have nightmares.”

Since the war, you’d been struggling with nightmares nearly every evening—waking up from a jolt in a panic sweat, breathing heavily, heart pounding in your chest. It was nothing new, now, even a few weeks later—it was something you expected, truthfully, nearly every evening. But from George? This was different.

“Tell me,”

He laughed and waved you off now. “It’s no worry,” he told you, placing a kiss to your temple, “I’ll shut the window.. go back to sleep.”

But you sat up in bed and flicked on the light next to you. You turned back towards him, arms crossed and waiting.

“‘Twas just a dream, love.”

“Okay,” you said, pulling him into your arms, letting his head rest gently on our shoulder. “If it was just a dream, why on earth are you rummaging through our wedding photos like your life depends on it?”

You glanced down at the documents in his lap, a photograph of the two of you on your wedding day on top of the pile—it nearly transported you right back to the moment. Flowers placed delicately in your hair, your long dress swaying back and forth in the light wind, George looking at you with nothing but admiration and love swimming in his eyes, his red hair shining brightly in the setting sun—

You felt a tug on your heart as you ached to go back to that day. But you ran a hand through his hair and kissed his head, smiling at the thought. When he cleared his throat and wouldn’t speak, you said again, “Remember what we said a few months back?”

George shut his eyes tightly and did his hardest to push any and all memories of the war out of his mind. He was prone to more panic attacks now, something he was not familiar with in the slightest, and it frightened him to his very core. He was terrified that it would drive you away. The war was over, so why was he still panicking? Why was he still worrying? He squeezed your hand tightly, as if he was trying to keep you from slipping away from him forever. “Yes,” he replied begrudgingly. You’d promised one another no secrets, no burdening thoughts kept untouched—full disclosure and honesty. “It’s stupid—just—had this wicked dream you’d left me.”

You waited with baited breath, your heart rate increasing.

And George, wanting to be anything but serious in the moment, said teasingly, “for a Muggle.”

You both began to laugh and he let his head fall into your lap and peered up at you. His eyes were still a bit red, his breathing still heavy, and you knew he’d probably been panicking before you woke. You bit down on your lip and continued to run your hand through his hair.

When your voice escaped your lips, it was almost a whisper, “You know I’d never,”

George nodded his head and shut his eyes again, swallowing down his nervousness every few moments. He sucked in a deep breath and dug his knuckles into his temples, doing his very best to suppress whatever excess panic was rising to the surface. He hated this. He hated the nightmares, the anxiety, and still—the feeling of the unknown.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and said, “I love you, you know.”

And before he could say anything back, you pulled out a photograph of the two of you—probably your favorite from the entire evening—red faced and disheveled looking (clearly a few drinks for the worse, at this point), George holding you in a type of piggy-back stance on the dance floor behind the Burrow, your curls now nearly straight due to the humidity, George’s tie askew and messy, as he twirled you around and you laughed haughtily, Ron and Bill and Fred behind you both, ready to catch you when you’d absolutely fall— “Besides,” you began, running your fingers across the moving photograph, “being married to you is—magical.”

At this, George laughed fully now. He sat up and took a deep breath, placing his hand behind your neck and swiping his thumb across your cheek, “That was a bloody awful joke, darling.”

“Yeah, but it made you laugh.” George grinned softly and pressed his forehead to yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

But George didn’t. He wasn’t very fond on reliving any of his dreams, but he wholeheartedly appreciated your concern. He turned off his bedside light, shook his head and replied softly, “Nah, that’s okay love—just want to lay with you. Reckon we should get some sleep now, shouldn’t we?”

“We should.”

You both sank back into the bed, limbs entangled together and faces nearly touching. But now you were wide awake, peering at him with admiration and yes—a little bit of worry. He smiled at you, not opening his eyes, and said, “I’m so terribly sorry if my handsome face is going to keep you up all night.”

You swatted him with a pillow and he gave a muffled ow, but wrapped his arms around you tightly. “Only sweet dreams from now on, okay, Georgie?”

“Okay,” he replied, sucking in another breath, reaching over to turn off your light and then burying his face in your shoulder, “Love you.”

“Love you most.”

lmao this was so beyond cheesy ugh—reblogs & feedback are much appreciated :)