#Fred Weasley x muggle!reader
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Hi!! If it’s okay, can I please request a (Fred lives au) Fred Weasley x Muggle!fem!reader where it takes place after the Wizarding War, and Fred is wandering around Muggle London, needing a break from the repairs him and George are making on their shop (that had been badly damaged during the war), wanting fresh air to clear his head. He hears a woman scream, very clearly in danger, and he goes to help her, ending up saving Y/n in a dark alley, him using his powers to do so. Leaving Y/n shook (and still scared about the situation). He makes the bad guys (who are also muggles) forget about him using magic, and while he wishes he didn’t have to make Y/n forget as well, as she’s currently clinging to him in shock after he saved her, he still makes her forget. They run into each other again the next day, Y/n not remembering anything from the night before, and they have a lot of chemistry and start dating, and all is going well until Y/n finds out about the night he made her forget, about magic and wizards, and Y/n is upset that he lied to her about it all? Especially upset that they had met before and upset that he made her forget at all, and Fred tries to explain why he had to make her forget. George ends up playing “Parent Trap” to get the both of them in the same room to reconcile? With a happy ending?
Hi my love, full disclosure: I didn’t go full parent trap as I have something in the works a little similar so I hope this is okay for you! 🖤
Warnings: Brief mentions of assault and attempted SA but only one scene. I’ve added asterisks before and after so you can skip past it if you want to avoid. Lying, violence, deception, George meddles, Fred is a bit of a simp. Fred calls us sweetheart. POV change after the time skip. muggle!Reader. Bit of heartbreak, a bit of breakup and makeup. One sexual reference at the end.
Word count: 3.7k
Little bit of liberty taken with this one as I’ve written that spouses of wizards and witches can visit Diagon alley (similar to parents of muggle born kids) as lost as they are accompanied by magic users.
Stupefied
London was always rather bleak this time of year, no matter where you went. It seemed there were roadworks and building works happening in nearly every neighbourhood, workers mingling with the tourists that found to get their photographs in between the newly erected cones, temporary walkways and fences.
It seemed that it wasn't only the wizarding world that had suffered, though Fred doubted this actually had anything to do with Voldemort. Arthur had a theory that the juggle prime minister had funded an effort to 'clear up' London whilst Diagon Alley underwent extensive repairs as to not alert the muggles to the work, noise and sudden influx of workmen disappearing through the entrances to the Alley. Looking at the work sites all around him, Fred was inclined to believe his initially mad conspiracy.
Diagon Alley had been near decimated in the war with deatheaters looting, emptying and burning down stores for no apparent reason. Half of the shopping district had been abandoned, left to rot, the owners fleeing or captured and the other half was essentially destroyed. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had thankfully not fared too badly; it still needed extensive and expensive repairs to the exterior but the inside had been virtually untouched. Fred was eternally thankful of the jinxed he'd put on the premises along with the anti-alohamora charm he'd crafted which had seemed to keep away the deatheaters.
Even though it hadn't fared too badly, he was still exhausted from the repairs. He and George disagreed about what repairs should happen, the priorities and so on, neither if them agreeing if they should improve things or repair them back to the original. Use the full money on repairs or scrimp on the exterior issues and boost for a full restock once they were open. It was a constant battle of wits and opinions, a never ending cycle of unresolved issues and Fred had found that he just had to step out for some fresh air, to clear his head. Discussions around replacing the large figurehead of him and his twin's likeness had been the last straw, pushing him over the edge to the point where he just needed to escape for a bit.
It had fallen dark as he wandered around muggle London, the night time beginning. Due to the building sites and road works littered around, there was virtually no light. Whole clusters of street lamps out of commission with hardly any replacements, leaving this area of London in near darkness. Just as he grumbled to himself about the figurehead, unable to forge it from his mind, a loud, panic filled noise rang out and grabbed his attention. It was a woman screaming, the kind of scream that only happened when you were truly terrified and calling for help.
He knew the sound exactly, having heard it multiple times in the battle. He forced those thoughts out of his head and tried to follow the route that would lead him to where he'd heard the noise, realising he was the only one around to help.
When he ran past a little jitty between two shops, a butchers and a mechanic shop, he froze and retreated upon himself, looking down the dark alley to see a sight that turned his stomach. Three men, all approaching a woman that clearly did not want their company.
*
One was holding her by the throat, pinning her up against the brick wall whilst one's hand began wandering up her leg, pressing something to her throat with the other hand, something that looked silver and sharp, though Fred couldn't exactly see from his place in the shadows of the alley. The third man was just stood there, evidently the lookout, though he was doing a terrible job, choosing instead to watch the woman who was rightfully beside herself in fear.
He couldn't take three men on at once, not if they had muggle weapons. Fred was far from small but he'd never had to truly work with combative skills or fighting as his wand did most the duelling.
It took leas than twenty seconds before he reacted, fuelled by the woman's desperate whimpers as their hands began to wander, all whist threatening her with the blade.
"Stupify!" Fred said clearly but quietly, aiming directly for the third man, the lookout as he hung back in the shadows. The man flew back and hit his head on one of the big bins outback, rendering him unconscious. The man not holding you hostage with the blade turned in shock at what had just happened to his friend, his twisted and demented face turning towards Fred's direction trying to see if anyone was there. When they didn't see anything, both the men looked at each other and gave a disgusting chuckle at their friends expense before turning back to the woman who was still struggling against them.
Fred honestly didn't know if this would work, but he aimed so carefully at the weapon holding arm and cast a quiet 'expelliarmus,' to hopefully disarm the pathetic excuse of a man. It worked, the knife clattering to the floor some distance away as the blokes argued between one another, that they were messing it all up.
"Stupify," he cast once again on the second man who was trying to search for his knife on the ground as he verbally threatened the woman to stay where she was. The man immediately flies back much like his friend, hitting his head on the same dumpster and falling into a slump beside the first one.
The last remaining man looked on in fear, realising he was next. His hand slipped from the woman's neck as he looked upon the slumped bodies of his friends and realised quickly that he was without a weapon.
*
Fred took great pleasure in the full body bind he cast upon the man, rendering his completely still and useless on the floor, as if an invisible net had been cast around him, rendering him useless.
Fred stepped out of the shadows then, not yet replacing his wand as he stepped over to the bound man. He didn't know what had come over him but as he looked at the poor woman who was crying and shaking, he felt rage like never before.
His eyes were filled with pure rage, hateful anger filling his body as the man on the floor noticed him, fear filling his eyes at whatever he had done to him.
Fred pushed aside his anger as he turned to you, throwing his jacket over you and offered some calming words which he hoped would help you even slightly. Suddenly, you threw yourself at him and he accepted you into his arms without any thought, trying to calm your frayed nerves as you clung onto his body.
He aimed his wand at the two men who were mostly unconscious, though the first was beginning to come around with a groggy groan. He knew he didn't have time to get you away before he needed to do this and began obliviating the two slumped men.
He then turned to the third who looked utterly terrified at what Fred had done, unable to talk, move or get away from the mad man with a stick of wood.
"I hope this hurts," Fred says dangerously low as he points his wand directly at the man's head, ensuring the tip of the wood was ever so slightly sticking into the flesh of the man's forehead before he obliviates him.
As soon as it's done, he pockets hits wand and turns to face the woman, wrapping her in his arms as her silent cries lessen. She's so cold, so scared, it makes his heart ache. He was only wearing a work uniform from a local pub, evidently walking back home from her shift and it makes him feel even worse when he realises you were just going about your day, completely oblivious and undeserving.
"It'll be okay, you're safe now I promise," he says soothingly, not wanting to touch her outright after what had so nearly happened but still wanting to give her comfort.
"What, what did you do?" She asks with a sniffle, clearly a little afraid of what had happened.
"Better I don't explain," he says, cursing himself for having no other way of protecting you. "Where do you live? I need to know you get home safely."
When she doesn't reply, he realises his mistake.
"Sorry, it's okay not to tell me, I just want you to be safe. Do you have somewhere to go?"
He feels her nod against his shoulder and exhales the breath he hardly realised he'd been holding. He knows what he has to do but as he looks down at her frightened and rather pretty form clinging so desperately to him, he realises how much he doesn't want to. He wants her to forget what happened with the men, knows she needs to forget what she'd seen him do but the idea that she'd forget all about him made him feel disproportionally sad.
He holds his breath as he slowly pulls out his wand and holds it up towards her back, feeling guilty and wrong about what he's doing as he battles his raging inner monologue.
"Obliviate," he says gently, watching as the blue tendrils of the spell erupt and consume her. He has to be quick, pulling his jacket away from her shoulders and stepping away, walking quickly out of the alley. He doesn't want to leave her, his brain fighting every step that he takes but he can't stay, without an excuse as to why he was there.
He considers watching her as she walks home, checking that she made it back okay but he knows that would look worse. He couldn't have her be scared of him.
When he gets back to the shop, almost completely consumed by worry, he ignores George's rant completely, agreeing to whatever his twin wanted. He hardly sleeps that night, worried for her. He knows it's wrong but she was so pretty, so scared, it's like she'd imprinted onto his brain. Maybe he needed to be obliviated to forget her.
The next morning, he's up bright and early having abandoned any chance of sleeping. He remembers the logo on her work uniform and wants to check that she was alright, hoping that she might be there by now. He knows he can't mention that night, or ever meeting before but he can at least try to calm his mind if he saw her alive and well.
He never even made it into the pub, bumping into you on the way there. He smiled widely when he saw no lasting damage, no trauma and that you hadn't gotten frostbite or pneumonia from your extended time in the alley. In the daylight he realised you were absolutely beautiful and he took full advantage of your 'accidental run in', asking you out on the spot.
You thought it was strange that he didn't have a phone, or any real concept of technology but it all became clear six months into your relationship when he revealed his big secret, that he could use magic.
The conversation was approached with caution, having gathered tips from his siblings and his dad on how to proceed. You'd actually taken it surprisingly well, though if course you were shocked and disbelieving at first. It helped that you'd gotten really close with George and that he'd also assured you that they weren't pulling a prank on you. It all took a while to sink in with Fred slowly opening up more and more about his world. There were things you loved about it, and things that you found odd but that was the nature of growing up so differently. You'd met his family and been in complete amazement at their weird and wonderful home and they had been unbelievably warm and welcoming, making you feel like family already. You'd seen the incredible shop he and his brother had opened and had been amazed by everything in there. You'd moved in together, certain that you were endgame for each other. You saw how everybody in the wizarding world loved them, their inventions and it warmed your heart to know that you'd chosen a good guy.
It all came crashing down when you began talking about how you met, one night in your flat over a bottle of wine on your one year anniversary. Naturally, you assumed that it had been a coincidental run in that morning near your work, a fated moment where you met your soulmate. From that moment you just couldn't stop talking, couldn't be apart. Your relationship moved quickly but it felt right in every way, never giving you reason to puse or think twice. You were certain you'd never seen him before; you'd definitely have remembered his fire red hair, wide shoulders, gorgeous towering height and that beautifully mischievous smile. Fred however, had accidentally let it slip that it hadn't been your first encounter really, his eyes widening in panic when your eyes snapped up to his in utter confusion, realising he had said too much.
You managed to extract the truth from him eventually, the whole truth. He'd saved you, but then wiped your memory. You felt dirty, betrayed.
Knowing that those men had had their hands all over you, of what they wanted to do, it made your stomach roil dangerously until you were throwing up your celebratory anniversary meal. You couldn't look Fred in the eye, the strong sense of betrayal making you want to run away from him, feeling like you couldn't trust him at all. Everything was built on a lie, your entire relationship, the home and the life you'd built together, talks of the future.
You left that night to go back to your parents, scrubbing yourself raw in the shower at just how dirty you felt, how wrong you felt in your own skin. It had been nearly a month and you hadn't seen him once. You'd ignored his letters, thankful that he didn't have a phone because you'd be ignoring that too. You'd taken time off work so he couldn't find you there and had openly avoided any place in London that he might think to look for you- especially avoiding anywhere close to Diagon Alley. He'd come in and changed your life completely, given you hope for a wild and adventure filled future and then spoilt it all.
And the worst part is that you couldn't explain to anyone why. You didn't know a single other magical soul who wasn't directly or indirectly related to Fred and you couldn't exactly explain to your muggle friends and family the exact reason that you'd left him. The questioning from your parents was exhausting, wanting to know what happened between you and that 'sweet boy', your parents already considering him their son in law. But you couldn't say anything and so you remained vague, taking their questioning and opinions on the chin, taking the hit for him.
He saved you that night, you reminded yourself. It wasn't as if he was the one that had done you any harm, he'd actually saved you from getting hurt. Logically you knew that he had to wipe your memory, it was in their statue of secrecy, an unspoken code of conduct for the wizarding world. But still, the lingering feeling of betrayal never went away. Your relationship had been a lie, he had been a lie.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when you received a letter by owl that you'd nearly immediately thrown in the bin until you watched the owl fly away, noticing that it was a different colour to the one Fred usually used. You looked at the letter and noticed that it wasn't his writing but rather a smaller, more cursive font that wasn't as heavily scribbled as his was.
George.
You immediately felt guilty, realising that not only had you left Fred that night but you'd also left George in the dust, abandoning him as well. He wrote to say how much he missed you, that he was sorry and that he didn't know. He asked you to meet him at the leaky cauldron on Friday, if you still wanted to be friends, regardless of his brother.
You began to write back only to realise that you'd sent the owl away, that you'd have no chance of getting the message to him. Your only option was to meet him there Friday.
To say you were nervous was an understatement, trying to blend into the background as you walked through the opening of the cauldron, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the witches and wizards bustling about inside.
"Y/n!" You heard from the side, a little booth that wrapped around a brick pillar off to the side and you smiled when you saw George waving at you. You walked towards him, feeling a little calmer as he pulled you into a brief hug, asking how you were.
"Oh merlin, I left my wallet in my room," he says with a frown, looking at the staircase.
"Room?"
"Yeah, had to do some repairs to the flat so I've been staying here, bastard twin took the room at mums." You try not to react at the mention of his twin but your eye inadvertently flinches, forcing you to look away.
"It's okay I can get them," you began to say only to be cut off by George as he gives you a knowing smirk.
"Oh yeah, got a load of galleons in that bag?"
"Right, wizard money," you say with a frown, not having even considered that. "I might have some left over in here."
"It's okay, why don't we nip up to my room, it's only up there, be back in two minutes. If I leave you alone they might ask you to leave."
The smile on your face that had been there since reuniting with George disappeared the second you stepped into the room and saw a slightly broader version of George sat on the bed. At first you hoped it was just a mirror but when he turned to glare at his brother, you knew it was Fred instantly.
"Really George?" You said in frustration, turning to see him looking at you with a guilty and almost sad expression.
"I'm sorry, I just wanted you two to talk. I can't take his moping anymore," he says, gesturing towards Fred who still gives a thunderous look towards his brother.
"I told you not to get involved!" Fred says loudly towards his twin, the anger evident in his eyes.
"I missed her too," George argues but it's weak under the venomous glare of his twin. "Fine," he relents, feeling the double glare coming from both your and Fred.
"Just let me," he says slowly before quickly opening the door and closing it behind you. You hear the key turning in the lock and bolt to the door, trying to open it. You look to Fred who appears by your side, banging on the door and trying to pry the handle open but it was unless.
"He's jinxed it," he says in annoyance, turning to look for his wand that was on the table but is longe there. "Git's stolen my wand!"
"There aren't any repairs on the flat are there?" You ask, realising he'd fooled you completely.
"I haven't been back since we," he says, all anger dropping from his tense figure as he looks at you briefly before diverting his eyes.
"I meant at the shop, George's flat," you say, feeling a little awkwardly.
You look up at him in confusion when you hear him snort out a laugh. "That was what he told you?"
"How was I meant to know?" You asked sharply, not liking the laugh he'd given you because you fell for his trick.
"No I didn't mean, never mind." he says quickly, defensively before he breaks off his speech mid sentence, sighing and taking a seat on the bed.
It's painfully awkward as you take a seat at the little desk in the corner, Fred sitting on the bed. The room is small, completely taken up by the wooden four poster bed and it leaves little room for you to avoid each other.
"I," Fred says after a while, breaking the tense silence. "I'm so sorry."
Your eyes slowly trail up to him to see him looking at you with wide and emotion filled eyes. "I should have told you, I should have done more so that you knew but I really thought I was doing the right thing."
"You did."
You watch as his eyes bulge at your words, as soon as they sink it. His wide eyes suddenly merge to a look of confusion as he ponders your reply.
"You did do the right thing, at least for the wizarding community. A muggle saw what happened, you had to fix that," you say quietly with a little shrug, looking away from him. "I understand why; I just hate that you hid it from me for so long."
"I know," he replies, "there was just never a right time. I couldn't tell you until you knew about me but by then I was already so in love with you that I couldn't risk losing you so I kept quiet."
You can feel his gaze on you but you don't look at him, worried that if you looked at him now your heart would break all over again. You never expected love to be so complicated, never knew that with great love came great heartbreak.
“I miss you sweetheart.”
Those four simple words broke your resolve completely, shattering whatever resentment you were holding on to completely.
You finally look at him, really look and you can see that he looks tormented, like he’s not been sleeping right. You miss him too; you want your old life back, where you were happy together.
“No more lies,” you say, fixing him with a soft but meaningful glance, laying out your terms.
“No more lies,” he agrees, a hopeful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you slowly stand and make your way over to him, the past forgiven and forgotten.
When George enters the room an hour later, checking on the progress and to see that you were both still alive, he sees a lot more than he bargained for… and certainly more of Fred’s arse than he ever wanted to see.
#emeritusemeritus#emeritusemerituswrites#harry potter#fred weasley#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley masterlist#Fred Weasley x muggle!reader#muggle!reader#muggle reader#requests
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Muggle readers first time on a broom and holding tightly onto Freddie and Ms. Weasley is yelling at him not to go to fast and he’s like where’s the fun in that 🫢
They literally live in my head now
"fred weasley you be careful now!" you hear mrs weasley shout to you both. fred smirks and you have a feeling riding a broom for the first time isn't going to be particularly careful or slow and you're absolutely shitting it, terrified that you're going to fall off. you're seriously having doubts about showing interest in riding a broom.
"get behind me and hold on tight love," fred grins at you. he can't wait for your reaction. you get behind him and hold onto him while chanting into your head about how he was on the quidditch team so that means he's good, he won't let you fall.
"you'll go slow right?"
you see a glint in his eye, "i mean i could but where's the fun in that?" as soon as he says that you're off, you grip onto him tighter and a scream comes out of your mouth. you're closing your eyes and your hair in blowing uncontrollably in the wind. fred laughs, "open your eyes love." you wonder how he knew you had your eyes closed, you think it's some kind of magic but really it's just because he knows you so well and can tell by the way you're pressing your face against him and clutching onto him.
you decide to open your eyes like fred said and you think it's absolutely beautiful seeing everything down below up in the sky as you're zooming past them. laughing you loosen your hold on fred and laugh, getting comfortable with the new experience and enjoying it.
"jesus christ hold on!" fred stops midair, after feeling your arms becoming looser.
you giggle, "sorry freddie, it's just amazing up here."
"i'm glad you think so but bloody hell hold on to me. gave me a fucking heart attack."
"what, you wouldn't catch me?" you tease him.
i feel like i haven't written fred x muggle!reader in so long(i have a few in my inbox, i'll get round to them!<3) i hope you like this! they live in my brain rent free, they're so cute!
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley fluff#fred weasley#hp x reader#hp x reader fluff#harry potter fluff#fred weasley x reader fluff#fred weasley x muggle reader#hp x muggle reader#fred weasley fic#♡ mine / writing#♡ lana's letters#♡ fred#harry potter x reader#don’t let the muggles get queue down#hp fluff#harry potter x reader fluff#muggle reader#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n
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Fred Weasley x male! Reader - Fred Weasley is sure his family thinks his boyfriend is a lunatic
A/n: the reader lives in the usa, normally I wouldn't try and mention where the reader lives (I don't live in the us) but it felt better with this fic. Also we live for badass muggle readers, there will be many more to come!
Warnings: Swearing, fighting (physically), the reader having some mental health problems but it isn't touched upon further then you can read, I think that's it? You have been warned!
Summary: Being introduced to Fred's family as his muggle american boyfriend already makes you sound like some exotic animal to them. It probably won't help that you have another secret just waiting to come out...
The three P's:
[Pov: 2nd person] [Pronouns used: you/your, he/him] [Pairings: (romantic!) fred x reader, (platonic!) fred/reader x the order/weasley family, (mentioned romantic!) Hermione x ron, (mentioned parental! harry x sirius]
I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!
You stared up at the ceiling of the Grimwald place with your hands laid on to the sides without a care in the world, opposing the anxious feeling bubbling in your throat.
You closed your eyes as you heard the familiar whispers of the other members of the Weasley family and the "order" replaying in your mind; "A boyfriend, a muggle boyfriend? And an American!" You must have been something to gauk at.
They looked at you as if you were some strange enigma not a newly graduate from your public highschool that wasn't fancy, and no, did not have moving staircases.
Who the fuck would want staircases that moved and that someone could potentially fall down? It seemed like a major safety hazard to you. Though all of Hogwarts seemed like a violation of the welfare of children from all the bits that Fred had told you about, although you're sure your city was much worse.
Where you lived there was crime left and right, and so much of the police were corrupt that it was dangerous to walk at night without someone beside you in case you got jumped.
Damn it, you were not supposed to think about crime right now, because it would just make you more anxious and jumpy and it always sent your spider senses aloof. Yet all you could think about was your city, without it's hero - Spiderman, to protect it. You just prayed while you were away the villains decided to take a break too.
The door to your room opened and your body immediately stood up, triggering it's flight or fight response with your muscles tensing up and you mentally preparing yourself for a fight.
Only to see Fred Weasley, your boyfriend enter the room.
Holy hell, you really were going insane.
Letting out a sigh of relief you let yourself fall against Fred and let your head rest on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you.
"Tired?"
"Hm."
"Was it my father asking relentless questions, or them thinking you were a friend, and me having to come out of the closet?"
You lift your head and smile lazily at his cheeky grin on his face as he teased you.
"Wouldn't you say wardrobe?"
Fred rolled his eyes. "You Americans always butchering our way of speaking, it's wardrobe, and no. Saying "coming out of the wardrobe" sounds absolutely ridiculous."
You laugh at him and close your eyes, you let your worries about being in England and leaving your city unprotected slowly ebb away with Fred's presence. He always had that affect on you, calming you, letting your mind settle down from the endless ways that people could be dying and how you could be failing to save them.
Not that he knew of course.
When Fred was trying out a new product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he had accidentally gotten teleported to your house in America. Well it was your aunt's house at the time but that was besides the point.
It scared the ever living shit out of you, and you nearly thought he was a super villain with immense powers. No, it was just some stupid boy who had been mistakenly apparated to your residency and who couldn't get back because he didn't have his wand on him when he did.
"Freddie- or whatever your name is, I have a feeling you're not in England anymore."
After introducing you to magic, he was stayed at your place for three months, because you had no way to buy him a plane ticket to London, as you were barely scraping by as is. And someone would have to show him the terrors of an airport and how to navigate (that person being you) meaning you would need two tickets.
Eventually he found a witch who would apparate him back, although he was hesitant. He didn't want to leave you.
Reasoning with him that his family probably thought he was dead (also considering he did tell you there was a war with some dark wizard named Morty?) So he did, not before he confessed to you and decided he would come see you every weekend.
Then every weekend, became every other day and every other day became every day after work.
He was with you through everything and had told you things about himself his twin didn't even know, insecurities not meant for the cruel world. He was there for you when aunt may died, and when your best friend did too.
Yet you couldn't tell him your secret, that you were Spiderman. That you went out every night and saved people from getting hurt - or worse. Maybe more simply put that you were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you superpowers (heighten senses, the ability to climb walls, webs, heightened intelligence, healing factor, spidey senses, super strength, super speed, super reflexes, superhuman durability, and immunity to wizard spells) and when your uncle died made you want to become a capped crusader without a cape that saved people?
Alright, perhaps that is a bit harder to explain.
Still you felt guilty that you hadn't told him, the two of you had been together for two years, he deserved to know.
"You alright there love?" Fred asked you as he ran a hand through your hair. "I seemed to have lost you there for a minute."
An American, muggle, boyfriend; man his family must have stared at you like a freak in a cage and you didn't notice.
"Fred I have to-"
You cut yourself off as your spidey sense started "tingling" more like blaring in your brain.
Quickly you pushed Fred to the left side of the room as a women in some weird sliver mask and black gown (that must not have been good for running after people in,) appeared out of some black smoke.
Emo much?
A spell whosed out of her wand as it hit the wall behind you two and you blankly wondered (not minding the danger) if she was in a cult.
It definitely wasn't one of yours that's for sure, usually they had better costumes.
"They've gotten passed our defenses!" A yell was heard from outside your secluded room and you couldn't be bothered to identify who it was before Fred casted some spell that made the women fall down straight like a board.
You could admire the irony in that.
Fred looked at you with confusion in his eyes. "How did you- It doesn't matter, you stay in here, okay? It's not safe out there."
Oh it was deatheaters, the people they were at war with. So you were right, it was a cult, to be fair it wasn't just any cult, it was the cult.
Fred quickly casts a spell under his breath over towards the lady now stiffed on the ground and closed to door on your face. As he locked it without even touching it.
You cursed, stupid magic, stupid people, stupid boyfriend, you had to get to them and help. You knew you could help because you were sure Wizards that hated anyone who wasn't "pure" and hated muggles didn't carry guns, making them incredibly useless. In addition to that wouldn't they not learn basic self defense because that would be below them or something?
So it would be mostly a saving-people-from-dying mission, you hated those.
"Because someone always ends up dying." A voice in the back of your mind speaks, way too happily when talking about death.
You slam the side of your body against the door as it flew off the hinges and you ran out to help the others. Whoops, hopefully you wouldn't have to pay for that.
You had the advantage of sneaking in, so you climbed up the walls so that you were sticking to the roof. It was strange climbing again in regular clothes, you usually did it in your spidey suit. It reminded you of when you were just starting out and freaking out about your powers, it nearly made you chuckle
Spotting Fred's twin - George (yes you could tell them apart it wasn't that hard) in a tough spot with two deatheaters cornering him you decided it was your time to jump into action before someone got hurt.
"Hey asshole!" You yelled at his perpetrators from the ceiling. "It's over, I have the high ground!"
Then you dropped from the ceiling on one of their faces.
The masked deatheater that you jumped on crumbled to the ground and hit their head on the floor and didn't make another noise. You didn't have time to check their pulse and make sure you didn't accidentally kill them as the other one sent a spell flying your way.
You giggled at their stunned expression when the spell did absolutely nothing to you.
"Ya, that isn't going to work buddy." You spoke confidentially before leaping towards them and punching them in the face.
"But may the force me with you!" You yelled as you threw your arm back to readying it for another punch.
You hit them just with the right amount of force, and just in the right place that they would get knocked out. You didn't want to do some brain damage or anything. You're sure there were some Wizard police or something that could take care of them, and they most likely would want to extract information from them too considering they were in war right now.
Okay two down, ten more to go? This is the best break ever!
Molly, Fred's mum was firing spell after spell at people, and didn't seem to need any help, and Sirius Black (escaped wrongly convicted?) was also just doing fine as he fought along side his godson. Harry Potter, the kid who the leader of the deatheater cult really wanted to kill because he couldn't kill a fucking baby. Although, he always waited at the end of the year to either try and kill him or apprehend him.
Well, at least Morty cared about the kid's education right?
You scanned your eyes around the room and they fell on Fred's youngest sister who was fighting along side Ron, and Hermione (who should really fuck already) and looked to be losing.
To be fair, three kids versus five adults? Didn't exactly seem fair to you.
You judo kicked one of them, before throat punching another, then knocking one on the jaw (you really hoped it wasn't broken,) while dodging some strikes coming your way.
"Here's Johnny!" You screamed.
Next you webbed the fourth cult member's arms and legs together, and finally you got the last one in a choke-hold cutting off their air supply before they fell to the ground on conscious.
You fought the remaining one off before having your short victory of them all being alive but unable to move or open their eyes.
"Bloody hell, I know, you're that superhero from America - Spiderman!" Ron exclaims.
Winking at him you let your spidey sense guide you to the next danger.
"I'm Batman." You grudge in your best Bruce Wayne impression possible before throwing your head back with laughter.
"Yes, it's Spiderman." You clarify, at their perplexed expressions and their wonderment of your sanity.
Suddenly your brain flared and you shot a web at Fred quicker than the speed of light and pulled him towards you with it as a spell that was bright green that sounded like "abracadabra" narrowly missed him.
You felt like you knew the spell, you feel like Fred had told you about it specifically- Oh. It was the killing curse.
That Bastard tried to murder your boyfriend.
Rage filled your veins that you hadn't felt since your uncle died, an old friend that come to greet you with a dagger in it's hands that had your name on it.
This was had to end now.
You took down the rest of the deatheaters swiftly even if the idiots had figured out you were immune to magic they were no match for you.
Then, some white light, smokey stuff came from out of nowhere and people stepped out of it. You almost go to attack them only to see that they didn't don the stupid all black gowns, nor the sliver cult masks with designs only children would call creepy.
Was this the rest of the order?
"The the fuck happened here." Some guy spoke with an mechanical eye, but not really mechanical eye? It just looked everywhere at any point? You were so confused honestly.
You're pretty sure the most emotion you've been feeling this entire time has been confusion.
"Sorry, did I step on your moment?" You question them with a toothy grin while your boyfriend marveled at you with a bright red blush covering his ears and cheeks.
"Merlin, that was so hot."
You throw your head back in laughter as George elbows Fred who continues to ogle at you.
"So you're not mad?" You ask him as your eyes flash with fear.
"Mad? Why would I be mad?" He chuckles and comes forward to wrap an arm around your waist.
"Well I kinda didn't tell you and you told me about your wizard thingy..." You trail off, as your hands fidget with each other.
"As much as this is sweet-" The man with mechanical the eye starts up with a grumble.
"No, no, I want to see how this will play out." A women with pink hair smirks.
"Were you going to tell me eventually?" Fred continues.
"Yes, why wouldn't I?"
"Exactly, you just had to tell me in your own time."
You gaped at the man in front of you, you couldn't believe that this wizard is yours.
"I love you so much!" You threw your arms around Fred's neck.
"Mate!" Ron piped up. "Fred's boyfriend just annihilated a bunch of deatheaters like they were flies! How is hugging him now?!"
Fred just ignores his brother as he places a kiss on your brow.
"I love you too, you crazy spider."
Bonus 1:
"I think my family is terrified of you now." Fred whispers in your ear as you glance over Ron who's shaking slightly as he leans over to Hermione and mutters something to her along the lines of; "He took down twelve deatheaters! Of course I'm scared!"
"That's what Ron's telling Hermione right now."
Fred stares at you, an astonished look appearing over his freckles.
"You can hear them, from here!"
"It's called super hearing babe."
"I know you, already explained your powers to me! But you willingly listened in on them!"
You bashfully turned your head. "I was just curious!"
"Who are you, and what have you done with Y/n!"
"You caught me! I'm Bond, James Bond."
Bonus 2:
"You know Morty and his deatheaters should really learn self defense." You state with your arms crossed around your chest. "I'm seriously concerned about their physical well beings!"
Fred looked over at you as his face split into a grin and his belly filled with uncontrollable laughter.
"Did you just call Voldemort, Morty!"
"That isn't his name?"
Words 2511
-thedelusionreaderbitch
Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux
#harry potter#avengers#spiderman#spiderman reader#I have the high ground#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x male! reader#delusion writes#harry potter x reader#hp#fuck jkr#trans rights#are human rights#fandom people not canon#star wars#reference#muggle reader#the weasleys#weasley#fred weasley#harry potter imagine#harry potter fanfiction#the order of phoniex#the order#reader thinks voldermort's name is morty#I laughed so hard while writing it#dc#I'm batman#batman#badass reader
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Hello! Could you please write about weasley twins (separately if it's possible) x muggle! reader who had to take exams on her birthday, but she received poor results because of the rating scale (there is no retake). Recently I took my final exams and it so happened that I took one of them on my birthday. The grading scale for this subject this year is very cruel: one mistake is equal to minus six points. I scored 68 out of 100 (~85%). This is a passing score for the university to which I am applying, but the most offensive thing is that my friends from the neighboring (central) region received 89 or more points (some of them did not prepare at all, when I found out about this, I cried hours). I hope my request is not too much. Please don't bother yourself writing it if you don't like it. Have a good day🌺
fred weasley x muggle!reader && george weasley x muggle!reader : where the twins, separately, comfort you.
hey anon! tysm for requesting to my blog 🌷 ; about what happened, i'm so sorry :( i hope that you're aware that that grade doesn't define how capable / smart you are— sometimes we're very lucky or terribly unlucky with exams; cut yourself some slack, okay? and make sure that you celebrate your birthday! 🗯️
FRED WEASLEY:
⋆ vaguely remembering that you had the misfortune of having such a fun day like your birthday to happen on the same day as a stressing exam, fred weasley dedicated most of his thoughts to you: what he could do to guarantee that this birthday, this year, this day that celebrates your birth, is the most fun for you.
⋆ with picked out wildflowers nearby the burrow, fred had his mother, molly weasley, baking a cake to your taste; convincing ginny to be a dear and helping him decorate, since truthfully, fred doesn't trust george to help him, much less himself to ruin the cake he's giving you. the twins, however, participated by joining efforts, creating a special magic candle for you— a harmless joke product, he swears! it's meant to produce little fireworks, nothing more!
⋆ fred weasley had everything ready: he awaited you to come home, sat on your bedroom with a few decorations, the cake, wildflowers at hand and a prepared treasure hunt (one that is meant to take only half a hour, really, a little thing to give you a fun challenge to find the gift he made for you).
⋆ his wide grin, spreading on fred's lips as soon as he heard your bedroom's door opening— too excited and proud of his surprise too soon, fades almost comically at the sight of you: sad, frowning, crying. and all of this on your birthday, which feels like a crime!
'hey hey hey,' fred starts, almost panicking a little bit; surely, it's not something he's done, right?
'what got you so upset, sunshine? why are you crying?' he asks, hands hovering over your form, unsure whether to hug, caress your arms, or squeeze your shoulders gently.
fred weasley expected to make you smile and laugh today, not to see you cry with such a sad expression!
⋆ soon, you explain to fred what's wrong, after he guided you to sit with him on your bed; that's when his hands find yours, thumbs caressing the back of your hands soothingly.
⋆ you see, fred weasley is a simple man— even at hogwarts, as long as he was able to pass an exam or test, then everything's fine. it didn't matter that percy weasley was the role model of a student, or that his mother sang praises to him. fred only didn't want to receive a howler for failing another subject.
⋆ so, really, as much as he sympathizes, fred weasley fails to understand what's the problem. the big deal.
f : but isn't 85% a good grade?
🗯️ : well, yeah, but still— i've only scored 68 out of 100...
f : so?! that's more than half of it! like, bloody three-quarters! darling, i'd only be able to score that much if i copied from someone. you're a bloody genius dating a bloke!
⋆ to cheer you up, fred doesn't mind to make some jokes at his own expense; fred had always been confident about it, anyways: what he lacks of academic achievements, he overcompensates for being a good clown, fun company and bloody creative. being careless and dumber at studying is, well, a bless of a flaw to compensate his good traits.
⋆ that's how he makes you laugh. fred suddenly gasps, hands on your cheeks: 'oh no, darling! i think that my stupidity is contagious— i got inside your brain and failed those questions for you. bloody hell, now i have to take you on a few dates to make up for it...'
⋆ you realize that he's joking, taking only a few seconds to notice his plan; fred knows that you know that he's doing these theatrics to put a smile on your face. and you see, years of experience as the classes' clown (self-proclaiming himself to be the funniest weasley) paid off to make you laugh with ease.
⋆ that's his plan, mostly: making you laugh at the same time that he reassures you how smart you are. telling you with a mock seriousness how he has to take a few classes, or do this and that, to make sure that he can keep up with his capable, hard-working, incredible girlfriend whose tears become little laughs.
⋆ and if you mention how it feels so, so unfair that some friends of yours got a better score, without preparing as hard as you did— fred weasley calls it bullshit immediately. hermione granger is a bloody genius; fred knows that much, since the girl had been a close friend of his younger brother, and now his sister-in-law. even hermione granger herself wouldn't be able to score so high without studying, and oh boy, was she a good student. so, you see! nobody would be able to get such a grade out of luck! they must have cheated, for sure!
⋆ as soon as fred gets you to stop crying, he comes to comfort you with physical affection; the words of reassurance and playful remarks seemed to have worked their deal, so now, fred can wipe away those tears from your damp cheeks, fingers brushing them away adamantly. then, he kisses each cheek with such a gentle kiss, that seemed to be a magical seal to the faucet in your eyes— no more tears! no more sorrows today! not on his watch!
⋆ for the rest of the day, fred makes sure that nothing else can distress you. he's taking you to dinner, to some fun wizarding restaurant that serves your favorite food. fred is taking you out of your house— no closed places!
⋆ sneakily, fred will take you on a stroll to diagon alley, showing you each corner: this place where he bought his wand; his favorite shop; the spot where ron fell in front of everyone; fred's preferred shop for joke stuff or sweets— and finally, where fred and george would like to open his shop.
⋆ for a muggle, diagon alley might be a little overwhelming; there's so many things to see, too much information to process, which becomes a constant distraction that doesn't leave space for distressing thoughts. exams, university, your friends? that fades into thin air, since fred keeps up conversation with you. after all, he doesn't want you to dwell on thoughts over your friends, or an unlucky exam score.
⋆ in conclusion: fred would priorize cheering you up and maintaining you in a good mood for the rest of your birthday, doing his best to make you laugh and distract your thoughts from what went wrong on that day. besides, he'd only let you return home, as soon as he's 100% sure that he swished all of your sadness away!
GEORGE WEASLEY:
⋆ beforehand, george had planned two things for your birthday: one, somehow managing to bake a cake for you with the help of his mother, molly weasley, or request the blissful advice of his girl friends from hogwarts, such as alicia and angelina, to teach his chaotic self how to bake a cake for you— the draft of a cute smiley cake (simple enough for him to decorate; george weasley can only be so talented in a few things, okay?!); and two, be there as soon as you leave your exam, to give you the biggest birthday kiss any muggle has ever seen.
⋆ opposite to his twin, george would keep in mind that today is a stressful day for you; he'd been there at your bedroom sometimes, keeping you company as you studied on your desk, while he layed on your bed, reading through some books of yours or even working on his joke-product drafts while you were busy. that being said, well, george was terribly considerate towards this supposed muggle exam that seemed so important for you.
⋆ so, arriving earlier to the muggle side of your town, george took almost twenty minutes to properly make his way there— god, george wonders why floo flames aren't a thing for muggles! cheap and simple! — to then wait patiently for you in front of the gates. cake at hand, a bit smaller than a proper birthday cake to not weight too much on his hands, george keeps looking around for you, amongst other people of your age that gradually leave the building.
⋆ as if you stand out in the crowd like a shining star amongst darkness, george smiles immediately at the sight of you; a smile that fades in less than a second, noticing how you look too gloomy for his taste.
cake in one hand, george walks to you; his height being easy to identify amongst other students, easily making his way through them. soon, george is walking by your side; the cake secure in one hand, the other sliding his arm over your shoulders.
'what got my pretty girl all lonesome and sad on her birthday, hm?' he asks, caressing your shoulder, even though george had a major idea of what went wrong.
⋆ george wouldn't take offense if you don't notice the cake he made for you; if it wasn't on his hand, george wouldn't pay it any mind either, too worried over your melancholic expression. he guides you to a nearby bench, gaze shifting between you and some people passing by, that seemed curious about a cake and a sad girl crying there.
⋆ guides your head to rest on his shoulder, being gentle as he takes turns between caressing your shoulder, and bringing his hand to clumsily wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks. george listens silently, and if it makes you feel better, he tries to both listen to your worries and storytelling over what went wrong today, and feed you another piece of cake. hoping that the sweet taste subsides the emotional pain weighting your heart.
⋆ he concludes that whatever plans he had arranged could take a delay. your comfort is the most important thing for george, so even if it takes the whole afternoon, he'll stick by your side, making his way back to your house with you; knowing that the privacy and comfort of your home would help.
⋆ wearing more comfortable clothes, george lays with you on top of him, finding comfort on the weight of your body resting on his chest. his fingers are long, yet so careful and gentle, while he brushes your hair away from your damp face, should you cry more to him over the exam.
⋆ george believes in fairness, but believes even more that there's nothing that screams justice more than guaranteeing the happiness of a pretty girl. his impulsive thought was getting fred to, somehow, sneak in your school or whatever the hell he needed to do, and change your grade to something that benefits you. believe me, he would! george was only fourteen when he and fred stole their parents' car to get a younger harry potter from a barred window!
⋆ so really, george wpuld spend the rest of the day cuddling you, he'd massage your back too; george knows himself that sometimes, when we're feeling at our lowest, we need some silence for the pain to gradually dissipate. so george gives you this silence; paired with loving kisses on your forehead.
g : you're really smart, did you know that? you did your best— i know it sucks to not have things going the way you wanted, but that doesn't take away how responsible and hardworking you were; that has more value than a stupid grade that got you so sad, pretty girl.
🗯️ : yeah, but—
g : but you're so smart and hardworking, and i couldn't be more proud of you. even my mother keeps telling me how lovely you are, don't let a stupid exam convince you otherwise.
⋆ would also sympathize with you, more than fred, if not totally showing empathy towards your situation; george felt like a shadow of fred sometimes, and if that wasn't enough, george was surrounded by two successful older brothers, to whom their parents sing praises about, among a beloved younger sister; as much as george genuinely tried to get a good score back at hogwarts, well— he felt like he was doomed to be a bit of a failure in his mother's eyes.
⋆ and even though this is a topic that george weasley hates with a passion, having its surface only shown to his identical twin, he finds himself sharing these bottled up insecure thoughts with you. for the first time, george lets go of these feelings on something else other than forcefully throwing bludgers to each corner of the quidditch pitch.
⋆ it helps; surprisingly or not, those minutes you've spent cuddling, having a heart to heart to each other over academic pressure, hidden insecurities, even anxious thoughts about yourselves have deepened the bond between the two of you. there's something intimate about having george massaging your scalp, while you lay on his chest and he listens, with all of his attention, to how you heartbreakingly explain your tears.
⋆ now that the topic has died down to a more lighthearted conversation, exchanging little smiles and affectionate small caresses, george suggests a movie session— immediately suggesting either your favorite movies, or some romcom, even comedy, that you were interested on watching for the first time or showing it to him. truthfully, george always had some curiosity over how muggles perceive romantic situations.
⋆ stays for the night. no way in hell will george leave your side, letting you fall asleep on his arms; hands and fingers working to soothe your body into sleep, with scalp and back massages, muttering reassuring words to you. george would also make sure that you had good laughs today, even if it meant sharing some embarrassing stories of his and fred's, like the time they've drank a potion to get older, only to have overgrown white beard like dumbledore's.
⋆ if you didn't really enjoy your birthday, george would change your initial plans for the following day; he slept there anyways, he might as well help you with breakfast, take a shower with you and make sure that you celebrate being a year older— even if twenty-four hours later.
⋆ and if you're wondering about his gift, well: george swallowed his shyness and buried it deep in his stomach, handing you a handwritten letter (one that took him a few days to write), along with a crocheted sweater, matching the one his mother made for him and fred. to george, you're part of the weasley family— you ought to have a matching sweater with him!
⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🍁 ’
౨ৎ darling, you're glowing— if you're ♡ ͡
lonely, come be lonely with me . . .
🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.
— i'm so sorry for taking so long to write your request! i hope it suited your taste and that, somehow, managed to comfort you a little bit. ♡
the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷
#weasley twins#fred weasley#george weasley#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley imagines#headcanons#dating headcanons#weasley twins x muggle reader#george weasley x you#george weasley x reader#fred and george#harry potter#harry potter drabbles#fluff#hurt and comfort#weasley twins x you#weasley twins fluff#fred weasley x muggle reader#george weasley x muggle reader
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What Should I Say? (Fred Weasley x OC)
A/N: Hi! I'm so sorry for the long wait, I was so nervous to carry this on, as this is the first story I've ever actually put out. Hope you enjoy the next part though!
Summary: In the bustling streets of Muggle London, Fred Weasley, known for his mischievous charm and quick wit, stumbles into an unexpected encounter that will turn his world upside down. At an ordinary acting class, he finds himself face to face with the enigmatic Delphine Howard, a woman who seems to have stepped right out of his dreams. However, he soon comes to a heart-wrenching realization: the love he's found in Delphine is a love he can never truly have. Or can he?
Warnings: Use of alcohol, swearing, but eventual smut, angst, stress etc.
Chapters 1 & 2
Word Count: 1540
Chapter 3: Delphine’s POV
I really disliked taking the tube after 8 pm, especially on a warm Friday night, and particularly on the Central line. It always reeked of alcohol or sweat, or both, since this line barely had air conditioning and it was still 23 degrees outside.
I put on my headphones and immersed myself in my favourite album, "If I Can’t Have Love I Want Power" by Halsey, as I embarked on my 15-stop journey from acting class to home.
My phone buzzed, and I saw a message from Russel: "Five Guys tonight?? x" Russel is my boyfriend, although it's complicated. The last thing I wanted was to entertain him tonight. Fridays were always the worst in the office, with endless weekly updates and making sure everything was sorted for the weekend, so I didn’t have to work over the weekend.
"I'm too tired tonight! x," I replied. Instantly, he sent me a sad face emoji. I should be used to this by now, the way he makes me feel bad because I won’t put out for him. He can be a dick, but I always end up going back to him because it's easier than trying again with someone new.
"Next Stop: Bethnal Green Station," I barely heard the announcement over my headphones, but then I realised I was one stop away. I grabbed my bag and made my way to the exit - not before accidentally hitting someone with my bag.
"Shoot, I’m so so-," I looked up and realized I had hit Fred Weasley, the tall and lanky redhead from Wednesday’s acting class.
"Delphine! Delphi!" He quickly corrected himself, knowing I’d prefer to be called Delphi. "Hey! How are you?" he asked.
"I’m good! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you. Are you OK?" My cheeks were going red; I could feel it. I was embarrassed!
“It’s all good, hah!” He reassured me with a little smile. "Are you heading home?" I realized then that I was pulling into my stop and panicked - I didn’t want this chat to end, and I didn’t know why.
"Yes! Oh god, this is my stop! It was lovely to see you." I offered him an apologetic smile before saying a quick goodbye and hopping on the train. I quickly turned around, and we waved at each other.
“I’ll text you!” He shouted out before the doors closed between us. Something about that comment made me excited.
-
Why was my heart racing? It’s just this tall guy from my acting class, this tall, ginger guy, this tall, handsome, cute- I stopped myself from thinking like that. He’s my student, I’m his teacher and that’s that.
As I came round the corner to my flat, I saw Russel standing outside and instantly dreaded coming home. Russel was around 5’8, with shoulder length brown hair. He wasn’t unattractive, far from it. He reminded me a little of Jake Gyllenhaal.
I let out a deep sigh as he came over to hug me, “Did you not see my text? I’m tired. Go home please.” He went in to kiss me and I instantly moved my face away.
“Oh come on, Delphine. I brought dinner.” He grinned and held up a Five Guys takeaway bag, “Your favourite!”
I shook my head, “It’s /your/ favourite.” I headed up the two flights of stairs that lead to my flat with Russel following suit. “I’m really not in the mood tonight. Let's just plan something Sunday, please?” I pleaded but he was in the door the second after I unlocked it.
“I’m here now, gorgeous. Come on, don’t be rude to your guest!” He shouted out, he was already heading to the kitchen to find drinks, probably something alcoholic.
I let out an internal scream before kicking my Converse off at the door and locking it. I wish I was still on the tube with Fred.
Chapter 4: Fred’s POV
As the train pulled away, I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was it wrong that I was thinking about her like this?
“Fuck it.” I muttered to myself before pulling my phone out and the business card she gave me. I saved her number and sent her a quick text, ‘It’s Fred, from acting class. Hope you got home safe.’
The train finally reached my stop, and I stepped out into the busy station. I was heading to a party that George invited me to, he practically forced me to come. When I arrived, it was already packed, with music blaring from speakers, and people dancing, laughing and chatting in every corner.
“There you are, Freddie!” George was already ushering me over to a group of friends before I had a chance to breathe, “Come and meet my friends.”
I constantly checked my phone and I could see George giving me weird looks, no way was I going to tell him why, but I must have been three drinks down when Delphi texted me back;
‘Hey Fred, thanks! I got home safe :)’ I was grinning ear to ear, but instantly stopped myself when George came over.
“Who you texting?” He asked, one eye raised. He was onto me.
“Huh? Nothing.” I was bright red, George wasn’t going to let this go, so I popped my phone into my back pocket and went back to the party.
-
By the time I decided to call it a night, it was well past 2 am and I had quite a bit to drink. I called George and me an Uber since neither of us was in a position to get any form of public transport.
When we finally reached my flat, it was already 3 am. I fumbled with my keys, eventually managing to unlock the door and stumble inside. I collapsed onto my bed, my head spinning and my thoughts instantly on Delphi.
Without even thinking, I grabbed my phone and texted her back, ‘Hey Delphi. Just got back from a party. Hope you had a good night. See you in class. :)’.
“Shit!” I shouted, almost throwing my phone across the room. “Why did I do that?!” I took a deep sigh before popping my phone down. There was nothing I could do about it now.
Chapter 5: Delphine’s POV
Russel was already rummaging through my kitchen cabinets. "Where do you keep the wine glasses?" he called out.
"Top shelf, left side," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I followed him into the kitchen, feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me.
He found the glasses and poured two generous servings of white wine. "Here you go," he said, handing me one.
I took the glass but didn't drink. "Russel, I really am tired. I just want to relax tonight."
He took a sip of his wine and leaned against the counter, looking at me with a mix of frustration and something else I couldn't quite place. "You always say that, Delphine. When are we going to spend some real time together?"
I sighed, setting the glass down. "It's been a long week. Can we just plan something for Sunday? I promise I'll make it up to you."
Russel's eyes narrowed. "You always say that too. I'm starting to think you don't want to spend time with me at all." …I wonder why.
“I don’t want an argument tonight, Russel.” I said sternly, “Please, go home.”
“God, Delphine. Fine!” He practically threw his glass into the sink, “I’ll just get it somewhere else…” I wasn’t surprised to hear him mutter that under his breath - this is what he did.
“Yeah, you do that.” I said as I was practically shoving him out the door and slamming the door in his face. I know what you’re thinking, why is she even with this dude? I ask myself this daily, weekly, hourly. It’s like a form of self-punishment, I just keep crawling back.
“Now that he was gone, I can get on with my evening,” I said to myself as I unpacked my work bag and plugged my laptop in to charge. I rummaged around the bag for my phone and saw I had a text message from Fred.
When he said he’d text, he meant it - a man that actually delivered. -
I very rarely check my phone when I wake up, I’m usually rushing to the bathroom or prioritising a coffee first thing. I also don’t set alarms most of the time, I always wake up around 6.30 am, and this morning wasn’t any different.
I was mid coffee-making when I heard my phone ringing. I didn’t make it back in time to get the call but it was from Russel, no surprise there. He probably hadn’t even gone home yet. I also saw a text message from Fred and chuckled to myself - a drunk text!
‘Hey Fred, hope the hangover isn’t too bad, see you Wednesday!’ I was debating inviting him to Monday’s class, it was a smaller class, with more experienced actors which wouldn’t be a bad thing, but he’d probably be even more out of his comfort zone.
I put my phone back and got on with my morning - there was no way he’d text back until this afternoon.
#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#weasley twins#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x oc#fred weasley smut#boyfriend!fred weasley#harry potter#hp fanfic#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fandom#muggle world#muggle au#fanfiction#original character#fanfic writing#fanfic#female writers#writers on tumblr#original writing#hp fandom#hp fanfiction#hp fanfcition
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what's wrong, my little firework? [f.w. x reader]
Summary: Woebegone, uncommunicative Y/N. Painfully oblivious Fred. What could possibly go wrong?
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: rushed ending.
Over the last few painfully long hours, Y/N had grown morose.
With a piece of ink-stained parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, she thoughtlessly scribbled quick squiggly lines, supposedly cursive. She paid no mind to the hair-raising sound of the tip of her quill scratching away at her parchment, but instead mindlessly thought about him.
Fred Weasley, the boy who was out on the quidditch pitch sweating away and batting bludgers seamlessly.
The boy whose heart supposedly belonged to her, and she the same.
While he was out there flaunting his beautiful quidditch skills, she was stuck in the library with at least a week’s worth of predictions she had to submit to Professor Trelawney. Forget about how she’d die to a pack of peckish pixies three moons from then, she’d die right there right then if she had to sit a moment longer without Fred.
“Earth to Lovesick Y/N, earth to Lovesick Y/N?” Hermione waved an ink-smudged hand in front of Y/N’s face, redirecting her attention back to Earth, and not in the clouds.
Y/N blinked and snapped back to reality, “Huh– yes, ‘Mione?”
"Merlin, your head was in the clouds!" Hermione's eyebrows knitted together, but she couldn't seem to stifle the tug at her lips, or the glint of mirth in her eyes, "If you had a mirror right now, you'd see- oh. Wait."
Hermione whipped out her wand, and, with a swish and flick, transfigured her quill into a tiny rustic pocket mirror. She glanced at her dubiously but was impressed nonetheless. Top in transfiguration as always, that's my girl!
Then, she glanced into the mirror.
Merlin and Morgana, she was as red as Fred's quidditch robes!
"See? All you ever think about is him!" Hermione chuckled, shaking her head light-heartedly like how a mother would.
"No, I was thinking about..." Y/N trailed off as her eyes darted around the library to come up with a quick lie.
Her eyes then landed on a copy of one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. His beaming face stared back at her. She swore she saw him wink.
"...Professor Lockhart?" She knew how much Hermione swooned over the Professor, successfully changing the topic.
She couldn't shake it off, though. He flew around on his broom in Y/N's mind every minute and every second of the day.
Did he feel the same, though?
The nagging feeling tugged away at her heartstrings, now that she had come to think of it. Did Weasley ever initiate contact? On their first kiss; it was Y/N who had pulled him in by the collar of his striped pyjamas. It was Y/N, to both of their surprises, who had grabbed him by the chin (with a little tip-toeing, of course) and leaned in.
Did Weasley, Fred Weasley, ever care enough to... try?
Y/N's thoughts shouted at her, screamed at her, drowning out the sound of Hermione boasting passionately about Gilderoy.
With a pained smile, a curt nod, and a tight grip on the mirror, she bid herself to make it through the study session with this tight feeling in her chest.
- -
Dinner rolled around, and students strode into the Great Hall with ravenous stomachs from scribbling on parchment, snoozing through lessons, and snoring in the common rooms.
Y/N made it to her house's table, but her eyes were elsewhere but the delectable array of food that lay in front of her. From the front of the Great Hall to the very end, she searched for the head of fiery-red hair.
Oh! There he- never mind. It was Ronald. Stuffing his face. As usual.
Demoralised, she heaved a sigh of resignation and began to swish her wand, floating a serving of pudding onto her plate. Her appetite hadn't been picking up, but still didn't allow herself to neglect her well-being.
Before she could even take a spoonful, a pair of large firm hands hand snaked their way around her waist, catching her off-guard.
"Fuck- What the fuck, Fred!" she swore elegantly.
Fred chuckled delightfully and lifted her chin so that she was looking at him smiling goofily, "There's my little firework!"
And, without warning, he picked her up effortlessly (humming in the process too), swished his wand to take her plate of pudding with them, and danced out of the Great Hall, paying no mind to the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at the spectacle.
A boy carrying a girl (who was quite being vocal about protesting) bridal style out of the Great Hall, with a plate of pudding trailing behind.
- -
He took her to the Great Lake, where the Giant Squid seemed to be basking in the golden rays of the sun that was setting. It seemed as though it had managed to make a pair of sunglasses for itself with a piece of kelp.
Never mind that, she was gingerly placed on a checkered picnic mat.
"Fred? What's this?" Y/N asked, wide-eyed.
"Why, a picnic of course! Merlin, do you need glasses like Harry, too?" Fred snickered mirthfully.
She scanned the containers full of food. Some had sandwiches with the crust removed, some were filled to the brim with glistening golden fried rice, and that.
A tall glass of trifle, with two boastful glasses of butterbeer to accompany it.
This was what they ate on their first-ever date. Trifle and some butterbeer to wash it down.
For some odd reason, her eyes started to prickle with tears.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, and met his expectant eyes, "You remembered?"
It was their first anniversary.
His mouth opened agape as shock painted his face, "Of course, I did, love! The time, place, what we ate, everything!"
He then noticed the pained look on her face. Quickly, he scooted over and wrapped an arm around her. Y/N leaned into his warm chest, seemingly lost in thought as she kept quiet. Their heartbeats synced.
"What's wrong, my little firework?"
It was strange, seeing him like that. By day, he wreaked havoc 'round the school alongside George. He was a ball of fire that no one, not even George, could tame.
Then, she came along, and he seemed to fizzle down. Only she had seen this side of him, the Fred that he had kept locked away for someone. And that someone was her, his little firework.
"It's just that," you licked your lips that seemed to dry out in the evening breeze, "all this time I..."
She choked on her words that seemingly refused to come out. They lived in different worlds; she was a bookworm, and he was an athlete. She couldn't communicate how she felt, and he had no filter when he was upset. They were polar opposites, yet he still stayed. He still looks lovingly into her eyes. He dedicates every bludger he had ever whacked to her.
However, it seemed that vulnerability was not her forte after all. He intuitively picked up on it. Gingerly, he raked a calloused hand through her hair, massaging her scalp.
Fred leaned into her ear and whispered, "You?"
Emblazoned by his touch (that she had dearly missed), she swallowed her pride and composed herself. Here goes nothing.
Y/N turned to face him. She looked up into his eyes with her red-rimmed ones that glistened neath the golden sun.
"All this time, I thought I meant little to you- Merlin, hearing myself say this already sounds ridiculous and I know what-"
A pair of lips shut her up before she could ramble for hours and hours and turn the food cold.
"You mean the world to me, firework."
--
a/n: surprise !!(???) rushed ending i know but i've been reading good shit on ao3 and just suddenly felt the sudden urge to write again and then i saw this request and i just had to and i know i received this a while back but i just had no will in me to write this and Oh My God it just feels great to be back on here (i will still be MIA) but i just had to, yknow?
#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley/yn#fred weasley fluff#fluff#insecure y/n#well#harry potter#harry potter oneshot#fred weasley oneshot#muggle y/n#communication
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The Harry Potter series follows the journey of a young wizard named Harry Potter as he discovers his magical heritage, attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and faces numerous challenges. Throughout the series, Harry learns about the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, who murdered his parents and seeks to gain power. Alongside his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry unravels mysteries, battles dark forces, and ultimately confronts Voldemort in a climactic battle between good and evil. The series explores themes of friendship, love, courage, and the triumph of good over evil.
#harry potter#george weasley#arthur weasley#fred weasly x reader#ginny x mike#ginny weasley#lucy weasley#muggleborn#muggle things#draco x muggle!reader#muggle world
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The Way You Miss Me
Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader
I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.
Use my body against me - and all of our history.
I hate the way you miss me.
Summary:
Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.
And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.
So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?
Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.
Word Count: 18,500
Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link
Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).
For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.
A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.
...
Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated.
It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world.
These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you.
You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple.
Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures.
You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together.
But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone.
Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.)
You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks.
So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all.
And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited.
You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again.
By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it.
You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk.
From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way.
Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley.
You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’.
You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go.
This left you with only one glaring problem.
You had a crippling fear of heights.
It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it.
The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely.
When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were.
Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved.
But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.
Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again.
When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear.
You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was.
But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds.
You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension.
“You alright?” Fred asked you simply.
“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it.
You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up.
So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet.
This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts.
Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy.
And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.
“Y/N,”
He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling.
“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,”
Of course. Just as you had predicted.
“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-”
You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly:
“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-”
“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.”
Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever.
“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?”
You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body.
Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side.
“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.”
Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward.
“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.”
“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him.
You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.
And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.)
Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed.
This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said:
“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.”
This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore.
Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you.
But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up.
He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes.
The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you.
It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together.
So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping.
You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face.
“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him.
Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you.
What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up?
What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious?
“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second.
“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-”
“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true.
He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you.
“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply.
Your insides became heavy.
You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned.
It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it.
It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it.
So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread?
“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next.
You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face.
“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly.
“Why not?” You argued gently.
You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George.
He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him.
Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind?
“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed.
He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way.
“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words.
You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say.
“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?”
Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him.
“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-”
“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again.
‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’
“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.”
He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left.
But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him.
“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears.
You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry.
You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye.
For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate.
So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started.
“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.”
With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug.
You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now.
You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley.
You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again.
It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis.
The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys.
You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart.
But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak.
It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.
According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort.
You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now.
“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him.
“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone.
You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you.
Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing.
“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?”
“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?”
His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you.
You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold.
“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-”
“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?”
Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play.
“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you.
“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.”
It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry.
Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of.
The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup.
Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him.
Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight.
But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger.
Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off.
It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair.
It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking:
“Good?”
To which you replied:
“m fine.”
The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off.
When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes.
Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life.
“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!”
“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-”
“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-”
“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead.
Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one.
They were targeting Fred.
That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred.
“Y/N-?”
“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!”
You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what.
You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud.
You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect.
You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did.
You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life.
Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death.
He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes.
It was only you.
He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.
He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse.
He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight.
You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you.
As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you.
“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!”
“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.”
Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet.
His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer.
He had to pull you up.
“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-”
He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely.
Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you.
Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care.
The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground.
Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state.
Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs.
You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.”
Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred.
But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air.
You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear.
“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.”
Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him.
“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise.
He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt.
You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat.
Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head.
“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly.
Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch.
It was a horror show.
The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch.
“Georgie?”
There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart.
But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified.
“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly.
At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief.
“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked.
“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line.
You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed.
“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively.
Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death.
Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply.
“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?”
Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh.
“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.”
You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane.
“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly.
“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist.
When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here.
“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.”
It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves.
“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off.
“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.”
…
You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process).
Mad-Eye had been killed.
You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed.
You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer.
When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet.
Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside.
Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors.
“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs.
He couldn’t possibly be talking about…?
No.
No, he wasn’t.
You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion.
You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there.
But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him.
The sight you saw made your heart ache.
Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off.
His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night.
“Freddie?”
You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long.
“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness.
It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before.
You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed).
You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world.
He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears.
“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him.
You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could.
“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.”
Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought.
It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now.
“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.”
A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you.
“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.”
“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?”
Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-?
“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…”
He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out.
“I can’t lose you.”
The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear.
You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself.
“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.”
He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself.
His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you.
“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done.
You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before.
“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.”
He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively.
You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling.
“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.”
So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up?
Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you?
A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining.
“I let you go once before.”
He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up.
“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.”
“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew.
“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-”
You couldn’t take it anymore.
You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours.
You had missed him so damn much.
Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out.
When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare.
He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.)
Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival.
He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him.
He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them.
“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once.
All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length.
And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-
He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away.
“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.”
You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate.
Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging.
“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock.
All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.)
You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long.
“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips.
You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger.
“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent.
“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled.
As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried.
During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way.
Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair.
Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something.
You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger.
Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him.
“Fuck, darling, shite-”
You quickly became drunk on the feeling.
Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles.
The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft.
“Goddammit, please, please, oh-”
You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already.
You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely.
You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue.
“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-”
Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell.
It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks.
He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first.
He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling.
Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh.
“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?”
You moaned loudly at this.
You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak.
“I need you, pretty girl.”
He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time).
“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-”
He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet.
“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own.
He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers.
“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone.
“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims.
“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point.
“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver.
You hated that he was right.
You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself.
“Go on, good girl.”
You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well.
“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra.
“Oh darling, if only that were true.”
He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this.
Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long.
“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-”
“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee.
His words caused you to choke on another moan.
You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return.
You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel.
“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes.
Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it.
He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes.
“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with.
“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”
He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights.
“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-”
Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year.
“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-”
“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,”
You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you.
Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer.
Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back.
He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest.
The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you.
“Freddie,”
You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell.
“Good?” He asked, smirking at you.
“Yes, but what about-?”
You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him.
The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it.
He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes.
In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world.
As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.
“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,”
You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too.
But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was:
“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!”
“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-”
Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words.
Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.)
“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-”
“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.”
He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue.
You were close.
Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours.
“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?”
His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way.
“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response.
“Good girl. Come on,”
He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long.
“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-”
His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again.
“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat.
As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt.
“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips.
“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-”
He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt.
“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-”
He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders.
“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him.
It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe.
When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you.
“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.”
“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.”
He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer.
It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted.
When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back.
You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing.
Then, something else came to mind.
“My things are in Ginny’s room…”
You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her.
Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there.
Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely.
He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job.
“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes.
“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time.
“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing.
“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.”
You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate.
“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,”
You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted.
“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,”
Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you.
“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink.
You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness.
You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier.
He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you.
Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed.
When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking.
It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind.
“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream.
“Goodnight, Freddie.”
…
You wondered if all of it had been a dream.
Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day.
It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred.
You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir.
“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again.
Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning.
“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells.
“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck.
Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled.
“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed.
You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness.
“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up.
When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.)
Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves.
“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper.
Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before.
“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?”
You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great.
“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-”
An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good.
“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-”
“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there.
“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught.
You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in.
“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.”
“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored.
You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill.
“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him.
“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?”
“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned.
Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen.
“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.”
You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.
...
A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!
#sundrop writes#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred wealsey fic#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley fanfiction#harry potter fanfiction
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i love this sm
me! | george weasley x reader
song; me! [taylor swift, brendon uri(n)e] pairing; george weasley x fem!muggle!reader genre; accidental marriage, s2l, fluff, comedy word count; 7,8k timeline; post-second wizarding war (fred lives au) warnings; swearing, referenced alcohol consumption, references to hook-ups, references to sex, references to the war summary; after waking up in bed with a red-haired stranger and no memories of the night prior, you run off as quickly as you can. it isn't until months later when you're trying to buy a house that you learn that you can't just leave that forgotten night in the past
thought it would be ironic to have the song with the lyrics "i promise that you'll never find another like me" and "i'm the only one of me" with one of the twins lol
masterlist
"you're the kinda guy the ladies want."
————————————————
Typically, you were more responsible than this. You had always stayed away from drunk hook-up culture, hoping (perhaps too idealistically) to find organic love. Yet, on the night of your cousin's bachelorette party, you got so drunk that you found yourself in bed with a stranger the next morning. And you didn't know what to do.
All you could do for a few moments was look around the hotel room that you had evidently decided was necessary for the hook-up - and although you couldn't remember a single thing after your tenth shot at the club, the fact you were both naked gave away the events of the night prior.
He was red-haired, and quite nicely toned, but he also donned a partially missing ear. You couldn't see his face, so at that particular moment you couldn't judge whether or not drunk you had good taste. You pushed that thought aside - that was the least of your concerns. You needed to get out of there and forget that anything had ever happened, which shouldn't be too difficult thanks to the alcohol-induced memory loss.
So, with that, you slipped out of bed and scavenged for all your clothes around the room, and then quickly departed. You made it all the way down to the lobby without any human interaction, but it was there at the desk that you finally had to communicate.
"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?" the receptionist smiled at you.
You frowned, not understanding why they would address you as such - probably had mistaken you for someone else. But, you were in a hurry, so just grinned and nodded, leaving to never return.
***
Not many people were fortunate enough to buy their first home (alone) at the age of twenty-four without any help from their parents, but you had chosen a rather well-paid career path and had been meticulous with your money savings, so this was a reality for you. After a few months of working with a real estate agent to view houses and find the perfect home for you, you had finally come to a decision.
You had stumbled upon it really, when travelling from London to visit your family, you came across a road that you had sworn hadn't been there before. Curiosity had overcame you, and you had driven down it to find the cutest village named Godric's Hollow, which could also be described as peculiar. A lot of things in the village didn't make sense - like the fact they all seemed bewildered at the sight of your car - but the architecture was gorgeous. When you drove past an adorable rustic cottage with a 'for sale' sign out front, you didn't even have to think twice about viewing it.
It was a strange process, however, as the sign didn't have a number for the real estate agency, but instead read 'owl Cauldron Realtors for more details'. You asked around for information about Cauldron Realtors (a particularly strange name, comparable to the robes many of the older members of the village wore), and they pointed you in the direction of the realtor's.
From then on, the process to view the house and apply for a mortgage had been relatively normal, if not a bit old-fashioned in the lack of technology used. However, you reasoned that it was a small village and that they merely hadn't updated themselves like cities just yet.
***
"Why have you asked me to come here?" you asked as delicately as you could upon entering Cauldron Realtors.
"We have had something come up," Mr Linseed said to you. He was an eccentric old man, constantly adorning a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
"Like what?"
"You told us that you weren't married."
You frowned.
"And I thought it was a bit strange given your muggle situation, but honestly I had simply assumed that you were a squib."
He was using a lot of words that you didn't understand. You had heard the word muggle passed around in the time that you had spent in Godric's Hollow, but had been unable to find out what it meant online or in any dictionary. Everyone used it so commonly you had felt too embarrassed to ask.
"Obviously, this changes the process for you to apply for a mortgage. We need your husband to sign off either that he will partially own the house or have no claim over it."
"I don't understand- I'm not married," you said.
"No?" the man raised a brow at you, "When we searched for legal documentation of your name, we found that it hadn't been Y/N L/N for a few months, but instead Y/N Weasley. I didn't think much of you not having gotten around to changing your bank details yet since it hasn't been long, but going by your maiden name is a little strange. So, I assumed that the marriage was short-lived."
Why did Weasley sound so familiar? You wracked your brain for when you had heard it before.
"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?"
Your eyes widened.
The guy from the hotel.
"What did you say my husband's name was?" you said slowly.
"I didn't, but George Weasley," Mr Linseed replied, "You knew that, though, correct?"
You nodded, "Yeah... just making sure."
The man frowned at you, "He is quite well-known I suppose - the shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is quite famous. Anyhow, here are the new forms that I need you to fill out and then we will be back on track."
You accepted them in a daze, but snapped your eyes up towards him again, "Where can I find Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"
"Diagon Alley, of course," Mr Linseed was clearly confused that you didn't know where your husband worked.
You had never heard of Diagon Alley, and he sensed that.
"You know? Through The Leaky Cauldron? On Charing Cross Road?"
Finally, a name you recognised.
"Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr Linseed, I'll be back soon."
God, what a process to get yourself a house.
***
You were pretty sure that in all your visits to Charing Cross Road, you had never seen that pub squeezed between those buildings before. But, you weren't about to complain, as you were desperate to find George Weasley and sort everything out. You couldn't remember his face, but you remembered his red hair and partially missing ear - that should be enough to identify him.
You hoped, anyway.
Upon entering the gloomy pub, you were met by quite a shocking sight - but one that wasn't entirely indifferent to Godric's Hollow. Except, you would describe the pub as having a more creepy ambiance, in a way. Beady eyes peered in your direction as you walked up to the bar, and you tried to hold your own as a woman with matted grey hair and disturbingly long fingernails smiled at you with missing teeth. You forced a smile back.
"Excuse me," you said to the bartender, who was similar to the woman in energy, "How do I get to Diagon Alley?"
He pointed to the door out the back.
"Just through that door?"
"You'll need your wand too," the woman who had smiled at you said, "To tap the wall."
"Wand?" you squeaked.
"I'll show you," the woman said eerily.
In any normal circumstance, you would have declined the offer, but you had already had so many new experiences you found yourself following her out the back.
"You're not one of us, are you?" she asked with a giggle of glee, pulling out a wooden stick from her pocket.
You didn't reply, watching as she brought it up and tapped some of the bricks on the wall. To your amazement, they then parted, presenting to you the most bustling and magical street that you had ever seen.
"Diagon Alley," she stated, "Although I prefer Knockturn Alley."
You thanked her, and hurried into the street.
***
The pet shops were strange: mostly having owls, cats and toads. The book shops were strange: having cages of moving books in the display windows. The clothes shops were strange: pretty much exclusively selling robes and pointed hats. All in all, Diagon Alley was the most eccentric place you had ever been.
There was a broomstick shop, a wand shop, and a place to buy cauldrons. You were so out of your depth that you decided you should focus on the task at hand.
It wasn't long before you found a bright and buzzing shop named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, looking ten times more exciting than all the shops before it. You were almost overwhelmed with all the young people inside once you entered, and it finally became obvious to you that it was a joke shop. The numerous prank items on display were clearly enchanted in a way too, only furthering your amazement at this street.
You scanned around for a redhead, but it was really difficult to spot anything within the chaos. Eventually, you located a flash of red by the till and hurried over. The queue was unfortunately long, but you waited impatiently nonetheless.
When you finally reached the front, the red-haired man behind it looked at you, and you couldn't help but noticed he had two full ears.
"Are you buying anything, miss?"
"I'm looking for George Weasley," you said quickly.
He rose an eyebrow at you, "What for?"
"It's a long story, I really need to talk to him."
"I'll fetch him," he said, and disappeared out back for a few moments before returning with a man almost identical to him save for that all-too-familiar ear. He didn't look at you like he recognised you - maybe he drank so much he had memory loss too? That would make sense, considering he hadn't tried to find you either.
"Can I help you?" George Weasley asked, gesturing for you to move to the side so that his twin could continue at the till.
"This is gonna sound crazy, but," you took a deep breath, "You're my husband."
"You're right, that does sound crazy," he chuckled.
"You woke up in a hotel room a few months ago, right?"
His eyes widened, "I thought I hooked up with someone," he said, "Wasn't sure, though, because I woke up alone."
"Sorry about that. I don't really do hook-ups, I kinda freaked out and bolted."
"I don't really do hook-ups either," he shrugged, "No hard feelings."
"Anyway, as I said, it turns out we got married that night."
"Wow. I honestly can't remember anything."
"Me neither," you shook your head, "And we can't get an annulment - the cut off is three months. And we were way too efficient with sending off the marriage registration - we did it immediately."
He hummed, "That's quite a predicament. Divorce, then?"
You nodded, "Yes, obviously. But that will take ages, and I'm trying to buy a house for myself right now. I need you to sign off that you have no claim over it."
"That's no problem," thank God he was agreeable, "But what's your name?"
"Y/N L/N," you said, "Well, legally Y/N Weasley."
The man smirked at you, which admittedly made your stomach flip. Drunk you definitely had good taste: this man was gorgeous.
"Where's the house you're buying?" he asked.
"Godric's Hollow."
"Ah, my sister lives there," he hummed, "Nice village."
"Can I ask you a question - since you're my husband and all?" you didn't know why you added the last bit.
"Fire away."
"Why does everyone keep going on about muggles and wizards and witches and magic? I'm so lost, I don't know what's happening."
"Wait- you're a muggle?"
"As everyone apparently keeps saying."
He chuckled, "Oh, wow. My wife's a muggle."
"What does it mean?"
"I'll explain," he gestured towards the door to the back room, "But it'll be a lot to take in."
"I don't care, I just want an explanation."
And so, your husband, George Weasley, explained about the wizarding world that he was a part of. And how, by marrying him, you had automatically been granted permission by the Ministry of Magic to be an exception for all anti-muggle charms. Which was why you discovered the road to Godric's Hollow all of a sudden as a non-magic person, which you learned was what muggle meant.
At the very end of his explanation, you sat back in the armchair he had offered to you, "That explains so much. It's insane- but I'm relieved that it's not me going crazy."
"Must be quite a shock," he hummed, "I can't believe we got married. Are there any photos?"
"I mean, I suppose we could find the chapel we got married at and ask."
"Maybe it will trigger some memories of that night. I got drunkenly married - who knows what else I did?" he sighed.
"I don't know if I want to know."
George shrugged, "Better to find out that way than have a random woman come into your place of work and announce she's your wife."
You grimaced, making him laugh.
"I'm just teasing."
"Can I get your number? So I can contact you when I need to?" you asked.
George stared at you, "Number?"
"How do wizards and witches communicate?" you exasperated.
"By owl."
You blanked.
"You might want to get yourself one if you're moving into a wizarding village."
"How do they know where to go?"
"They just do."
You sighed.
***
"So, I phoned the chapel that we got married at and they confirmed that we signed the marriage registration and sent it off immediately," you said to George, taking a seat opposite him in your flat that you currently resided in, "They also posted this to me." You presented a large envelope to your husband and watched as he carefully opened it - even though it was already unsealed thanks to you.
He pulled out a marriage certificate: lettered in italic gold writing and clearly signed on the bottom two corners. As he pulled that out, another piece of card fluttered to the ground. You chewed your lip as you watched him pick it up.
"Wow," was all he said.
It was the same reaction you had when looking upon the photo of you and George at the alter: lips pressed together with smiles creeping on to your faces.
"We look so happy."
You hummed, "The photo hasn't triggered any memories for me."
You watched curiously as he waved it about. "It's weird that muggle photos don't move," he commented, "But- yeah- I can't remember anything more either."
"Maybe it's been too long," you reasoned, "Perhaps if we'd seen the photo the day after, it would've helped."
"Probably," he shrugged, "I can find a charm or potion that will help us remember - if you want to."
It hadn't occurred to you that magic was now a readily available tool.
"I'm not sure, to be honest," you said after a while, "I just really want to seal the deal on my house."
George nodded, "Of course, I'll sign the papers saying I have no right to it."
"Thank you for making this so easy," you said, giving him a warm grin, "When I found out I was married, I was so worried it was to a complete asshole."
"When I found out I was married, I thought it was simply a cute way a gorgeous woman had of flirting with me."
You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his comment. George was a stunning man: his damaged ear only added a rugged element to him, enhancing his beauty in a way that you didn't know possible.
He noticed your flustered reaction and chuckled a bit, "However, there is one problem with me signing those papers that your real estate agent really should've mentioned."
"What?" you filled with worry: that house was your dream house.
"If you're buying a house in the wizarding world, you're going to need a wizarding bank account."
"He kept going on about galleons," you thought for a moment, "But then he converted to pounds so I didn't think much of it."
George hummed, "Yes, but you're still going to need to pay in galleons."
"How do I get a wizarding bank account?"
"Only wizards, witches, squibs and muggles married to any of the former can access one. Oh, and muggles with magic children, even if they aren't married."
You realised what he was getting at. "So I can get one, but..."
"But it has to be a shared one with me."
You pulled your hands down your face, "But I love that house so much."
"I promise you I'm not trying to trap you."
"No, no- I get it. I just- that means I'd have to stay married to you until my mortgage is paid off. And that takes like thirty years."
"Even then, the bills would still need to be paid in galleons."
"Oh, fuck," you muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
George watched you in silence.
"I'm sorry. I'll divorce you and forget about the house," you said eventually, "It's not fair for me to force you to stay in a marriage for the rest of your life - I mean, I can't force you."
"I didn't say anything about that."
You frowned. In your mind, there was no other option.
"I'm willing to do it."
"George, it's just a house, you really don't need to-"
"I will," he reiterated, "You realise that if you divorce me, you won't be able to access the magic world anymore?"
It had become something you were so excited to explore that you were disheartened by that fact.
"It would be cruel for me to take it away from you, I think."
"But-"
"So, I will set you up on my bank account, sign off on the house, and stay married to you."
Your mouth was opened wide as you stared at him, and in a flash you had leaped across the coffee table in order to pull him into a hug.
"You're so amazing," you mumbled, hugging him tighter as he returned the embrace, "Thank you so much."
"Hey, anything for my wife," he chuckled.
Your heart stopped.
***
"I've had to change my name on my driver's license and passport and bank account and everything else," you sighed, "Such a hassle for a fucking house."
George, who was walking with you throughout the empty house that you had just officially bought, chuckled, as he seemed to enjoy doing, "You must really love this place."
You shrugged, "The house, I would probably get over. An entire magical world that I would lose access to? Not so much."
He hummed, gazing around the place. You had decided that he at least deserved to see the property that he had given up so much for you to own.
"I can't wait to begin decorating," you sighed, "I have big plans for the downstairs rooms and the master bedroom."
"What about the other bedrooms?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest," you pondered, "I'll probably make one of them an office, but the other two, I honestly don't know. It'll be a while before I have any kiddly winks running around."
"How come?"
"I need to find a man to create them with first," you reminded, "And that will be especially complicated since I'm married."
"Not if it's with me."
You were pretty sure his words held a joking undertone, so you laughed.
"Well, I shan't keep you any longer," you said, "I guess we'll keep in touch?"
"Stop by my shop as much as you can," George replied, but you sensed a slight trace of sadness in his voice.
Nonetheless, you smiled, "Of course."
***
Was two days later too soon to take George up on his offer of stopping by? Maybe, but life was too short for you to not do the things that you wanted to do. Plus, you were exhausted from moving furniture and painting (since you were stuck doing it the 'muggle' way), so a getaway from your new home was needed.
After getting someone from the Leaky Cauldron to let you into Diagon Alley, you made your way down to the corner that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sat on. You couldn't help the fond smile that tugged on your lips as you pushed open the door and heard the tinkle of the bell above you. The last time you were there, you had been too nervous about meeting your husband to properly appreciate the joyful buzz of the shop; it was truly a marvel to witness. You wish you had grown up with access to such extraordinary things.
"Hello," a redhead popped up beside you.
You jumped a little, not failing to notice the fact this man, although initially appearing to be George, had two full ears.
"Hello... Fred?" you attempted to recall his name.
He nodded, "I must say, I wasn't expecting my sister-in-law to pop by today."
It hadn't occurred to you that George would have mentioned his marriage to his twin brother, but now it seemed obvious that he would have.
"Is my husband here?" you asked, adding a joking undertone. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but notice how warm saying that made you feel.
"Of course, he's out back."
"Should I...?" you trailed off.
"You don't need to ask permission to go out back," he chuckled, in a strikingly similar way to George, "You're married to one of the owners."
"Yeah, but-" but before you could finish your sentence, your brother-in-law had disappeared. With a sigh, you proceeded on your way to the staff-only space, unable to push aside how special you felt being able to freely enter the area.
It was only when you caught sight of George's back did you realise that you had nothing to say and had simply stopped by.
"Y/N!" he smiled, turning around upon sensing your presence, "What brings you here?"
You shrugged, "You said to stop by often."
His grin stretched wider, "That I did, I'm glad to see you."
You felt shy after hearing him say that, and avoided eye contact.
"How's moving in going?"
"Oh- well. Exhausting, though," you sighed.
"I can't imagine having to do everything without magic," he said, "If you want any help to speed up the process, I'm more than willing."
You shook your head, "You've done enough for me."
"I could never do enough for you," he half-mumbled, but you heard it. You couldn't believe it, but you heard it. "I'm free this weekend," he said at a more regular volume.
"I mean- if you're sure-"
"Of course I'm sure."
"I-" you stopped yourself, "Thank you, George."
"Georgie!" a voice called from the front of the shop, not long before a short plump woman appeared in the doorway. "There you are," she said with hands on her hips.
"Oh, hi, mum," he said, "I wasn't expecting you."
"I was just in town looking to pick up your father a new shirt - I don't know how he wears them out so quickly!" she sighed, "I thought I'd take the chance to invite you over for a roast on Sunday."
You smiled at the evidently kind woman.
"And who is this?" she asked.
"This is Y/N."
"How did you two meet?" this time she had a glint in her eye.
"Uh, funny story, actually," George scratched the back of his head, "We're married."
You were surprised at his honesty with his mother.
The woman's eyes widened, "And you didn't tell me!"
"No one knew, mum- not even us," he quickly added.
She seemed to ignore what the last part of his statement implied, and swooped you into her arms, "Welcome to the family, my dear, we have a lot of time to make up for! You'll be coming on Sunday too, yes?"
She didn't give you a chance to reply.
"I'll have to tell your father immediately - do all your siblings know? I expect Fred does. Probably Ron too." She paused, "I haven't even introduced myself! Molly Weasley - call me Molly, of course."
"Mum-"
"Godric- I have so many people to tell! I'll see you both Sunday at four o'clock, please don't be late."
And with a hug to both of you, Molly Weasley departed just as rapidly as she had arrived.
"I'm sorry about that- my mum can be very full on," George apologised.
"I think she's sweet."
A soft smile graced his face, "Yes, she's a very lovely woman."
You hummed.
"I'll get you out of the dinner."
You frowned, "Why?"
"Well, my family will think you're- well-"
With a shrug, you replied, "I don't mind."
"I have a big family."
"I know."
"Most of them are quite loud people."
"That's okay."
"They'll ask a lot of questions."
"George, I want to meet your family," you realised as soon as you said them what your words could potentially mean.
"It's just- I- I don't want them to scare you away."
"Scare me away?"
He nodded.
You chuckled, "I'd like to see them try."
***
Sunday rolled around quickly, and as promised, George showed up at your house to pick you up at five to four. You figured that his parents must live very nearby if he was picking you up so late, but you hadn't given it much thought. All you had done was focused on yourself, dressing up what you deemed the adequate amount for a family event.
A knock sounded on the door, and you quickly rushed to open it, smiling when you were faced with the red headed man that you could call your husband. He was wearing a knitted jumper and baggy jeans, which was a relief to you since you also sported a knitted jumper, just with a skirt instead.
"Hello," you said, almost shyly.
"Hey," he replied, "You ready to go?"
"Yep, let me just-" you hurried back inside to grab the bouquet of flowers that you had bought for his mother, you weren't familiar with the guidelines for meeting family as you had never been in a relationship long enough to reach that stage, but flowers had felt like the right thing.
"Oh, for me?" he said teasingly.
You shook your head, dramatically holding them away from him, "You would be so lucky."
He chuckled, "Right, let's get going," he held out his arm for you to take, "You're gonna want to hold tight."
You frowned, but took his advice nonetheless, taking a firm grip of his bicep which had a hardness that made your heart flip. But before you could dwell on that thought, you felt like you had been sucked into a vacuum and spat out again in a split second. Your stomach cramped up and you felt nauseous as you fell on to grass in a completely new location.
"Sorry, that often happens the first time," George quickly helped you up along with the flowers, which thankfully were unharmed.
"Did we just- teleport?" you asked, holding your stomach. Thankfully, the nausea was already dissipating.
"We call it apparating but yes, we did."
"Why couldn't I be born a witch?" you whined, following George as he began walking up the path ahead of you.
You could only be amazed when the strangest house that you had ever seen came into view: looking like it should tumble over instantly with the mismatched extensions stacked on top of each other. Not too long ago, you would have been worried about its sketchy looking state, but now you immediately concluded that it was kept steady by magic. Even at the distance you still were from the house, you could hear a lot of noise coming from it.
"I bet you anything Fleur and Hermione insisted on being early," George grumbled, "Making my brothers look like angelic sons."
You smiled to yourself: his relationship with his siblings was making you want to reach out to your sister.
George didn't bother knocking when you reached the door, simply throwing it open and grinning at everyone who was stood around the kitchen. You couldn't help but feel some level of nerves as you were faced with so many strangers.
"George! Y/N!" Molly beamed, pulling you both into a hug, "I'm so glad that you could make it."
You presented the flowers to her, "I got you these."
"Oh, they're gorgeous!"
You watched as she pulled out her wand and arranged them in a vase without even using her hands. You didn't think observing magic would ever get old.
"Thank you, dear," she said, before turning to the others in the room. There was Ron, who you vaguely recognised from the shop, with a curly brown-haired woman on his side. Then there was the most ethereal woman that you had ever seen next to one of the more rugged looking men that you had seen in your time. There was also an older, balding, red headed man, who you suspected to be George's father.
"Y/N, you might remember Ron here," George said, and you nodded, "And this is his fiancée, Hermione. This is my dad, and over there is my oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur."
"Our little shit of a son is running around here somewhere," Bill added.
"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N," George's father shook your hand, "You can call me Arthur."
"I didn't realise you were bringing a guest, George," Hermione said.
"Oh, she's no guest," Molly smiled, "She's family."
The only person who didn't exchange confused glances was Ron.
"I'm his, uh, wife," you said, feeling awkward. You didn't really want to say it, because it felt like you were lying to them even though you weren't.
What followed was an array of congratulations, and Hermione accusing Ron of not telling her when he clearly already knew. And then, upon being asked, you both finally revealed that it was an accidental marriage upon which you were both very drunk. Molly was new to this news as well, but nonetheless, before you could give any more detail on where your 'relationship' with George currently stood, she spoke.
"As irresponsible as that was, I think there's something beautiful in the fact that you're now happily married."
While you weren't unhappily married, you didn't know how to say that you didn't know you were married until a couple months later, and that you weren't in a relationship with George. He said nothing to clarify, either.
That was when a small boy tumbled into the room.
"Ah, zis is Victoire," Fleur said, "Our son."
He was just as red headed as his father.
God, your kids with George would probably end up redheaded.
You internally froze at that thought - why had it seemed so natural to imagine yourself having kids with George?
You were yet again distracted from your mind, as seemed common in the Weasley household, when more people arrived. It was Fred and his fiancée, Angelina, as you soon learned. Shortly followed by Harry Potter, allegedly quite a celebrity, who was dating George's only sister, Ginny.
The only person to arrive alone was Percy, who had a much less chaotic energy than the rest of his siblings.
"You'll meet Charlie at some point," Molly said to you, "But he lives in Romania for his work with dragons."
It was insane to you that George had five brothers and one sister; having six siblings seemed like such a hectic upbringing. That thought almost led you to brush over Molly's mention of dragons - dragons?
Once again, you were introduced as George's wife, solidifying you in their eyes as a sister-in-law. These were your in-laws, you realised.
"Dinner's almost ready," Molly announced over the noise of all the people.
Many people rushed forward to help the woman with the finishing touches and laying the table, and you felt like an ass for not assisting as well, but you would have been of no help. They were all using magic, which was ten times faster than you could complete any task.
"What year did you graduate school? I can't remember you," Ginny said, evidently assuming that her lack of recognition was because you had been in a different year at Hogwarts from her. George had told you how most witches and wizards in a similar age group knew each other because of there only being one magic school in the country.
"I didn't go to Hogwarts," you said.
"Oh, did you study abroad?" she asked, walking over to the table with you.
"No, uh, I'm a- I'm a muggle."
Her eyes widened in realisation, "Oh! I see," she hummed, "That makes sense now that I think about it."
"You're a muggle?" Hermione, who had overheard, said.
You nodded.
"I'm muggle-born," she said, "I was raised muggle."
"I was raised muggle too," Harry added on, "But I'm not muggle-born."
After that point, Arthur Weasley kept posing an array of questions to you, explaining that he was fascinated by muggles, and it was even what had led him to having the job that he did. Wanting to be liked, you answered all his questions as best as you could, and found his childlike curiosity quite endearing.
"Leave the poor girl alone, Arthur," Molly scolded her husband.
"I don't mind," you replied, and, really, you didn't.
The food was absolutely delicious, to the point you almost moaned when you first put it in your mouth. You didn't think you had ever eaten such delectable food before, and you made sure that Molly knew.
Once the first course was finished and dessert was being brought out, Bill and Fleur stood up.
"We have an announcement to make," the latter smiled, looking to her husband.
"Fleur's pregnant," Bill grinned, placing his hand on her abdomen.
"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Molly exclaimed, "How far along?"
"Twelve weeks, two days ago," Fleur said, "In ze clear zone, as zey say."
"We don't know the gender yet," Bill added.
"For your sake I hope it's a girl," Molly sighed, "It took me six tries."
"We will be happy eizer way," Fleur said simply.
You couldn't help but get the sense there was some level of tension between her and Molly, so you leaned over to George as everyone began chatting again, congratulating the expecting couple.
"Do your mum and Fleur get along?" you whispered.
"Well, yes, but they haven't always," he whispered back, "My mum thought she was vain at first, even thinking that she would call off the wedding when Bill got that scar." He was referring to the large mark on his eldest brother's face.
You hummed.
"They've mostly resolved their problems now, but I think there will always be a bit of tension."
After dinner, you wandered around the home, observing all the moving pictures of the family.
"Aw, you were so cute back then," you said to George, looking at a photo of him as a toddler on a mini broomstick.
"Are you saying I'm not anymore?"
You shrugged.
"And how do you know that's me and not Fred?"
"You may be a twin, but there's only one of you, George," you said in passing, not realising how much those words meant to your husband. As much as he loved being an identical twin, there were times where he didn't want to be seen as part of a package deal. Even his mother struggled to tell him and Fred apart before his ear injury, but you- you could recognise him instantly.
Your gaze moved up the wall.
"That's an interesting clock."
It didn't tell the time, but instead had a hand for all of Molly and Arthur's brood, all currently pointing in the direction of 'home' apart from who must be Charlie, which pointed at work.
"Even on Sundays, he works," George sighed, "You know, there was a time where me and Fred had the same hand."
"Really?"
"Yeah, but after he moved in with Angelina, mum had it altered."
Your eyes flicked over the 'mortal peril' section of the clock, and you didn't realise you had read it aloud til he responded.
"Thankfully that hasn't served a purpose since the war."
It was unbelievable to you that such a life-changing war had happened while you remained completely oblivious.
"I suppose we'll have to expand the guest list for our wedding," Angelina approached you, making you turn away from the clock.
"Oh, you don't have to do that," you said.
"No, no. An extra person is hardly anything," she smiled, "You're family, of course you're coming."
Family.
"Well, thank you."
"Of course."
***
As you and George said your goodbyes and departed, you couldn't help but let out an elated sigh, "Your family is so warm."
He smiled, "I'm glad you like them."
"They're like, everything I want my in-laws to be."
"Really?"
"Yeah! Loud, happy, there for each other - with the slightest hint of drama, of course. They're perfect."
"We've been through a lot together."
"Yeah, I expect so."
You both fell into a comfortable silence, one that had you feeling content with your life in the most heart-warming way.
"You ready to apparate again?" George broke the silence when you reached the end of the path.
"As ready as I'll ever be," you grasped his arm tightly, prepping yourself for what was to come.
You didn't fall to the ground this time when you appeared outside your house, but you did still feel nauseous for a few moments.
"I'm really glad you came," George said.
"I'm glad too," you smiled.
And then there was silence - tension-filled silence. The kind of silence that led up to what you had secretly hoped would happen this entire time.
His lips on yours.
You moved your hands up to his hair as the kiss got more heated, flashes of memories dancing through your brain.
You met at the bar your cousin's bachelorette party was at, and began chatting. He was charming, and funny, and you were both really drunk. You went on a walk together - you walked past a chapel.
You had suggested getting married - jokingly, but he had then said.
"Why don't we?"
And so you did, giggling and laughing the entire time, even when you kissed. The kiss held the same magical feeling as it did now, that's what had triggered the memory.
He had kissed all along your jaw and neck as you both filled out the forms, and it wasn't long before you both booked a hotel and by all technical terms, consummated.
"I remember," you parted from him breathlessly, only to kiss him again.
"Me too," he mumbled, pushing you back against your front door.
"Do you want to come in?" you asked.
***
This time, you were the one to wake up alone in bed, but that wasn't the only difference. You remembered every single moment and sensation from the night before - and from your wedding night, for that matter. A smile almost crept on to your face, but it dropped when the panic set in that George had upped and left like you had before. You scrambled out of bed, pulling a shirt and some pants on, and then rushed down the stairs to see if he was anywhere in your house.
And he was.
There your husband was, in the kitchen, cooking a full English breakfast - using magic, of course. You had electric appliances installed when you moved in, since most magic homes didn't generally possess them, but with George there, you supposed they weren't really necessary.
"Hey, love."
Love. That's what he had called you all of last night and your wedding night.
It made heat travel to your ears.
"Hi," you replied shyly.
"Take a seat, I'm almost finished."
You obeyed, deciding to let the wizard take care of you, even though he really had done too much for you ever since you met him - the second time, that was.
Your dining table was a temporary one, as your entire home was still a work in progress: it wasn't easy decorating an entire house by yourself, especially without the assistance of magic. Nevertheless, it did the job. George came over with the food and sat opposite you, gesturing for you to dig in.
"Thank you," you smiled, picking up the cutlery.
"I told you, anything for you."
"You're too perfect," you mumbled, making George chuckle.
"My ear may be injured, but my hearing's fine."
You looked up at him to make eye contact, feeling like he could read you with his gaze, "Your ear makes you even more perfect."
"I'm glad you think so, would be a bit upsetting for me if you didn't."
"I aim to please," you grinned.
***
"You didn't tell me the wedding would be quite so soon," you huffed, straightening out the pastel pink dress you adorned in the mirror.
George shrugged, tightening his tie, "Didn't think about it."
You were, of course, in reference to Angelina and Fred's wedding, merely two weeks after the dinner in which you met the former. Out of all the moving boxes you still had left to unpack, you had been forced to dig for a suitable outfit that fitted the colour scheme.
Aside from work, you and George had been practically glued at the hip in the days since he first stayed at yours - and he had been consistently staying at yours ever since. He had probably spent about three nights total at his own flat in that time span. So much to the point that when he came over the day prior, he had brought his suit for the wedding with him, fully anticipating that he would be spending the night.
You hadn't put a label on what you currently were, other than legally married, as it was.
"We have to be early," he said, "Since I'm the best man."
"I'm aware," you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed to pull your shoes on, "I'm pretty much ready."
"Alright, let's go."
***
The ceremony was a beautiful occasion: held at the Weasley house, The Burrow. The entire garden was decorated beautifully in shades of pink, purple and white, with bouquets of flowers adorning every table and chair. Obviously, a drastic difference from your own wedding.
You were sat in the crowd while George was up near the altar with the maid of honour, but he was not your focus. Angelina was a transcendent bride.
When it came to the meal, you were - to your shock - sat on the primary table where the newly weds were. You supposed that it made sense, since George was obviously going to be sat by his twin brother, and you were his wife. Generally, married couples weren't separated at events. You were certainly relieved, since you hardly knew anybody else.
The only other people on the main table were Molly, Arthur, Angelina's parents, and Angelina's maid of honour and her partner. There was a second table for the rest of the Weasley siblings and their partners, and so on and so forth for more distant relatives and friends.
Once the toasts were made, the meal commenced, and you hadn't realised how hungry you were 'til that moment.
"Slow down, love," your husband commented, "I'd prefer if you didn't choke."
You shrugged, your mouth full. Once you had eventually swallowed, you said, "Much grander event than our wedding."
"We could always renew our vows," he said, and even though he had made many comments about wanting to do anything for you, and had done many intimate things to you in the bedroom (and elsewhere in your house, for that matter), it felt like the first real confirmation that you were in a relationship. Even more, that you weren't just in a marriage out of convenience, but instead because you simply wanted to be.
You parted your mouth to reply, when some children from Angelina's side began causing chaos by running around. "Lord, our kids better behave," you muttered.
George turned to look at you, and it was then that you became aware of what you had said.
"Our kids?" he was grinning.
"Shut up," you mumbled.
"Never - just let me know when you want to start, love," he winked at you.
"A bit too soon, I think."
He shrugged, "We got married within a few hours of knowing each other."
"We were drunk."
"We can get drunk again."
You sighed, "We don't even live together."
"I can move in."
You didn't have anymore rebuttals.
"Are you out of arguments now?" he asked.
You reluctantly nodded.
"Perfect."
***
Instead of apparating directly to your house, you and George decided to take a late night walk around Godric's Hollow. It was such a pretty village, and you had yet to appreciate its beauty in the dark, with all the magical lamps glowing around you. But, you knew that you and George needed to have a conversation, especially after the kids talk from earlier.
"Are we together?" you asked him, even though your interlocked hands should have answered the question.
"We're married, love."
"Yes, but are we together?"
"I'd like to think we are - do you?"
You remained silent for a few moments, before nodding and looking at him in the darkness of the night.
"Then there you have it."
"I just don't get why."
"Why what?"
"Why you've done so much for me when you hardly knew me."
George chuckled, "I admit, I don't know exactly when I made the decision to do anything for you, but when you strutted into my shop, determined as ever, and announced that you were my wife, I just-" he paused, squeezing your hand, "You looked so cute and I knew- in that moment- that I would never meet someone else like you."
You felt like you were melting on the spot.
"It may have seemed selfless that I helped you get the house - but, to be honest, it was the perfect excuse for me to trap you to me- make it easier for me to pursue you, that is."
"I love you, George," you sighed.
"I'm glad, because I've loved you for quite some time now."
"Love at first sight?"
"You would be so lucky."
You let out a childish giggle at that.
"But, yes, I think it was."
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masterlist
written; 18/08/2023 —> 03/09/2023 published;04/09/2023 edited; —/—/——
#fic rec#highly recommend#george weasley x reader#post war wizarding world#platonic!fred weasley#fred weasley x angelina johnson#husband!george#george weasley#george weasley fanfic#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley x y/n#george weasley fic#george weasley x muggle!reader#george weasley fluff#fluff#muggle!reader
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Fred and muggle reader have been living in my head rent free 🥲❤️
same! they're the absolute cutest🥺💕
wrote something for you xoxox
fred was slightly anxious when you first entered weasleys' wizard wheezes, he admits at this moment he may have accidentally thrown you into the deep end when you originally said you wanted him to "show me everything," he probably shouldn't have chosen to bring you into the shop when it was open. luckily it was one of those rare days that it wasn't busy but the costumers there could spot that you were a muggle from a mile away. you stare in wonderment at some of the products on the shelf next to fred before whispering to him, "this is so magical freddie."
fred chuckles at your reaction, "that's because it's magic love."
you pout at him and cross your arms, "hush you." fred smirks and he hears you squeal and practically rush over to the over side of the shop where something has caught your eye. "ooo what's this fred?" you point over to the wonderwitch display.
george watches you and brushes against fred and snickers, momentarily stopping, "shoulda brought her here closing, it might be overwhelming and wizardfolk are still shopping around."
fred looks at you with such love in his eyes that george rolls his eyes and makes a mental comment to tease him later about how smitten fred is with you. maybe earlier he would've agreed with him but not now, "nah, she's too cute, this is funnier."
fred goes over to see what you were specifically looking at and peers behind your shoulder. "do these really work fred?" you ask him looking at all the love potions.
"absolutely, best love potions around, these are," he replies proudly.
"are they like what non-wizards think love potions are? or are magic love potions different? are they unethical like non-magic people think about love potions?" you question.
fred suppresses the laugh that threatens to come out of his mouth as he hears that you've clearly forgotten the term 'muggle' even though he's said it plenty of times. "well i don't know what muggles think love potions are but they're potions that make someone fall in love, it's only for about 24 hours."
"can you really do that?" you look at him in awe.
"i'm a wizard love, and a good one at that," he grins at you. "but don't worry you don't need to give me a love potion i'm already head over heels." he wraps his arms around your waist.
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x reader fluff#fred weasley#hp x reader#hp x reader fluff#harry potter fluff#fred weasley fluff#harry potter x reader#hp fluff#harry potter x reader fluff#weasley fluff#hp x muggle reader#fred weasley x muggle reader#golden era x reader fluff#golden era x reader#fred weasley x you#♡ mine / writing#♡ lana's letters#♡ fred#fred weasley fic#fred weasley x y/n#muggle reader
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Marauders and Lightning Era Masterlist
started - 08.13.2024
last updated - 11.13.2024
Reqs: Open! Can be as specific as you'd like, or as vague as Youd like! i write both xreader and canon x canon. all LGBTQ forms of requests are welcome!
Credit for Dividers
All triggers and small summaries listed in the fanfiction
Matured audience advised
Random fic ideas
Faceclaims
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-Jily x Slytherin!Reader
Part 1 Summary: An interesting situationship with Jily}
-Sirius/James/Remus Band Au
Summary: Reader has a horrible encounter on stage and the boys comfort her
-What's Your Name? {Sneak Peak}
Moonwater Fluff
REMUS LUPIN
-Spoiled Brat (Pt 1?) (Lil Angsty, +18, fluff)
Summary: When your escapism over the summer turns a bit more real, as you fall in love with a half blood your father would never approve of}
-Think like a Lupin (Angsty, lotta angst, happy ending! fluff +18)
Summary: Your parents are planning to marry you off the second after you graduate, but after an unfortunate encounter with a werewolf, plans change.
-Break a Leg Not My Heart (Some angst, mostly light hearted fluff)
Summary: You get hurt during Quidditch practice and Remus doesn't leave your side. Friends to lovers.
-Meeting Royalty (Fluff, Suggestive)
Summary: Meet cute but make it royalty}
Part 2
-Too Late (Angst, no comfort) {Pt.2}
Summary: Remus comes to terms with a love lost to his own insecurities.
-Stray
Summary: Post war Remus finds home for his heart
JAMES POTTER
-Fall in Love in a Night (A lil angst, basically just a fluffy fluffy love story)
Summary: College AU, Muggle AU, James falls in love with the some of the worst parts of you }
-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18
Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.
-Little Lupin (Fluff)
Summary: James has a little crush on little Lupin
SIRIUS BLACK
-Casual (Angsty, fluff at the end) +18
Summary: Sirius falls for his most recent hook up, and she refuses to cave to what she wants}
-Fix it Yourself (All the Angst, lil comfort) +18
Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.
-Like my father {Blurb}
Summary: Reader wants a man to love her like her father loves her mom. She just hasn't met him yet.. maybe.
FRED WEASLEY
-Summer Talks
Summary: Fred lets you know what he's waiting for
HERMIONE GRANGER
-Invisible (Lil Angsty, basically just fluff) Blurb
Summary: Reader is a bit of a punk like Sirius, with Remus's insecurities. She doesn't believe she deserves a girl like Hermione. No real plot just Angst straight into fluff
MATTHEO RIDDLE
-But daddy I love him (Lil Angst, fluff)
Summary: Harry finds out his sister is dating Mattheo Riddle Ft. James, Lily, Remus, Sirius - No war au }
" Dinner Party " (Pt 2)
Summary: The Potters throw a dinner party; Mattheo meets the family} Wc- 4142
BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR
-The boy I knew {Sneak peek}
Summary- When Barty knew love
-The Boy I Knew {Part 1} (Angst, Fluff, +18)
-Traitor (Fluff, Angst) wip
Summary- The four times he should have said love, and the fifth time he lost his chance.
REGULUS BLACK
-Monarch butterfly (Hurt/comfort) wip
Summary- Monarch butterflies only live for up to six weeks. Their life brings an unspoken joy to the people who witness it, a peaceful feeling to the life that last so much longer then their own. They bring smiles to the faces of children, they bring good luck for those who choose it, they bring so much value to lives they will never truly be a part of. Your butterfly was, and always would be, Regulus black.
BLAISE ZABINI
-Before a Stranger
Summary: Friends before a stranger
#mauraders masterlist#regulus black#sirius black#barty crouch junior#james potter#x reader#reader insert#fem reader#barty crouch jr x reader#mauraders#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders x you#x y/n#x you#remus x reader#remus lupin x reader#sirius x reader#sirius black x reader#potter!reader#james fleamont potter#marauders era#hp marauders#marauders#the marauders#james potter x you#james potter x y/n#james potter x reader#dorcas meadowes#marlene mckinnon
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Polaroid Love - F.W
Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.
Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words
Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.
In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.
Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.
You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.
You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.
“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.
You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.
You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.
“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.
“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”
But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.
She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.
“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.
“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.
Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.
Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.
“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.
You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.
“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.
You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.
A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.
You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.
You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.
You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.
“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.
“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”
“It is not!!”
George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.
You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.
“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.
“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.
Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.
“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.
“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.
He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.
“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”
You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”
Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.
“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”
You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.
“Second favorite?”
“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.
“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.
“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”
You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.
“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”
He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.
“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”
And he does.
In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .
You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.
And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.
#I typed Weasley so many times it doesn’t feel like a real word 😭😭#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x you#fred wealsey fic#fred weasley fluff#fred weasley#fred weasley x y/n#harry potter scenarios#harry potter boys#harry potter characters#weasley twins
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What Should I Say? (Fred Weasley x OC)
A/N: Hi there, this is my first piece which I'll be working on and continuing when I can. I'd appreciate ALL and every bit of feedback and hope you enjoy :)
Summary: In the bustling streets of Muggle London, Fred Weasley, known for his mischievous charm and quick wit, stumbles into an unexpected encounter that will turn his world upside down. At an ordinary acting class, he finds himself face to face with the enigmatic Delphine Howard, a woman who seems to have stepped right out of his dreams. However, he soon comes to a heart-wrenching realization: the love he's found in Delphine is a love he can never truly have.
Warnings: None for this chapter, but there will be eventual smut, angst, stress, swearing, use of alcohol & smoking, you name it.
Word Count: 1241 words.
Chapter 1: Delphine’s POV
The room exuded a chilly ambience as I entered, an emotion so palpable it seemed to engulf the darkness completely. Not a word had passed between us, yet the unspoken connection between us carried more weight than any conversation ever could. Who could have predicted that I would discover someone who shared my passion for acting?
He stood tall and lanky, his dark ginger hair cascading over his eyes. His nervousness manifested in subtle fidgets - the way he absentmindedly twirled his fingers while seated. Despite his evident apprehension, I could sense his potential, even if he hadn't yet recognised it in himself.
Breaking the uneasy silence, I decided to take charge, "Who would like to take on the role of Cleopatra?" The room fell into a palpable hush as I scanned for a willing participant. To my surprise, there were no volunteers among my male students. It was a scene from Antony & Cleopatra, and none of them seemed eager to portray the Egyptian queen's part. Suppressing a chuckle, my gaze locked onto my scene partner, the anxious ginger in the corner - 'You.' I beckoned him with a nod and extended my arm, "Come here," I invited, guiding him toward the centre of the room. "You'll be reading Mark Antony's lines."
He took hesitant steps closer, his trepidation evident. It was his first time presenting to such a class. I decided to ease his nerves by giving him his cue, "I am sick and sullen." As my eyes met him, I noticed his grip on the script tighten as though it might crumble in his hands at any moment.
"I am sorry… to, sorry to give breathing to my purpose–" He stammered, his words hanging in the air, and I promptly responded, "Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall! It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature will not sustain it." Just as we were getting into the scene, the building manager knocked to signal that we had only five minutes left before closing, causing a flurry of activity as everyone began packing up.
"Excellent work, everyone! Don't be anxious; this is only our second session, and I look forward to witnessing your progress." I turned to my scene partner, who was already gathering his belongings. "Hi there! Do you mind if I have a moment of your time?" He greeted me with a friendly smile and a nod.
"My apologies, but I'm afraid I can't recall all the names in the class. What should I call you?" I chuckled nervously, which was echoed by a small chuckle from him. "Fred Weasley, but just Fred will do," he added, extending his hand for a handshake, which I gladly accepted.
I warmly welcomed him and praised his immense talent, then suggested, "Why don't you practice this scene for me? We can work on it together next week." He seemed taken aback but ultimately nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, I'd be delighted!" Before he could respond further, I reached into my bag and retrieved a business card.
"Here's my number. If you have any questions or if something about the scene strikes you, don't hesitate to reach out," I said as he accepted the card. He thanked me and made his way out of the room slowly, pausing once or twice to give an awkward wave before disappearing.
Chapter 2: Fred’s POV
"Wake up! I'm trying to talk to you!" George shouted before delivering a playful slap to my head. "Ouch! What's gotten into you, George?" I exclaimed, taken by surprise, as I had been lost in my thoughts.
"What's on your mind?" He probed, responding to my sigh. "Nothing," I replied, "just been a long day." I slouched onto the sofa in our London flat, a stone's throw away from Diagon Alley in the Muggle world. "Hand me those cigarettes." He tossed me the packet, and I flicked open my lighter, igniting one for myself before taking a long drag. "How was your day? I didn't see you after we handled that lunchtime rush." I handed the pack back to him, listening as he lit his own cigarette.
"Well, if you were paying attention…" He shot me an irritated look before continuing, "Two candidates showed up for the interviews, quite an interesting experience." I chuckled at his response but realized that I had drifted off while reminiscing about the evening's acting lesson.
She had mentioned preferring to go by the shortened name Delphi instead of Delphine, which was listed on her website. She claimed it made her appear more professional to potential students. Her choice of name intrigued me; it wasn't one you'd typically encounter in the Muggle world. But beyond that, I found myself captivated by her ability to capture a character's essence in just a few words - a talent that utterly fascinated me.
"Did you manage to hire anyone?" I hastily asked to prove I had been attentive, taking a long puff from my cigarette. "Heavens, no! They had no idea what they were doing - just came for the free candy." I laughed at his reply.
"How about the acting class? Will you give it another shot?" He took a drag from his cigarette and awaited my response. I shifted in my seat before answering, "The teacher thinks I have a knack for this drama stuff, so I suppose I will." George's mouth hung open in disbelief at my response. "Come on, George… I know what you're thinking." My cheeks flushed with embarrassment; George had never taken the idea of the acting class seriously.
"It's pretty clear you have a thing for the teacher, don't you? She's cast a spell on you, and now you can't get her out of your head. I know that feeling, Fred Weasley. So, spill the beans - what's she like?" George inquired, his brows arched, eager to hear more.
I couldn't deny that I had developed a soft spot for her. Her quirkiness and cleverness, coupled with a hint of sassiness, endeared her to me. Moreover, she had an irresistibly petite and cute charm. "George, I—I don't know her that well," I began, pausing as I remembered she was my teacher. "She's really great and good-looking, but I can't ask her out. She's a teacher, my teacher." With that, I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up to leave.
"All talk, no action, Freddie! You've lost your nerve," George teased, a mischievous grin on his face. I spun around to face him as he flashed an evil smile, "Since when did Fred Weasley become a coward? You used to sweep girls off their feet in school, and now you can barely hold a conversation with one. That's not like you."
The realisation that he was right made me feel queasy; somehow, I had lost confidence in myself when it came to pursuing romantic interests. Was it just this one person, or had I lost my touch entirely?
#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#weasley twins#fred weasley imagine#fred weasley fanfiction#fred weasley x oc#fred weasley smut#boyfriend!fred weasley#harry potter#hp fanfic#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fandom#muggle world#muggle au#fanfiction#original character#fanfic writing#fanfic#female writers#writers on tumblr#original writing#hp fandom#hp fanfiction#hp fanfcition
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Daisy Chains and Kept Promises
George Weasley x reader
Based on this request🫶🏽
Summary: George Weasley was never one to break a promise. Especially not one sealed by a daisy chain ring.
word count: 3.2k
©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.
It was the first sunny afternoon in what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been a few days, and the residents of the burrow were eager to escape onto the vibrant, green lawn.
“Fred, George you stay out of trouble now!” Molly shouted from the kitchen as you run out the door with the twins.
“Come on now, it’s our last summer before they ship us off to Hogwarts! We gotta make the most of it!” Fred replies, sprinting out to the shed where the Weasleys stored all their brooms.
“Hurry up Georgie, or I’m taking the good broom!” You tease as you race past the other boy, snatching the best broom from the rack before he has the chance to protest.
“Aw c’mon! Why’s she always get the good one?” Ron complains as he catches up with you all.
“Oh shut it Ronald,” George retorts, not bothering to give his youngest brother a second glance.
The four of you spend the afternoon zooming across the field, a beat up quaffle tossed between you in carefree bliss as the sun shines down on you and Ginny watches from the ground below.
Eventually you all tire and you find yourself lying in the shade of the old oak tree that loomed over the garden. Thankfully the rain had scared off the gnomes that had a habit of sneaking into the garden for a tasty treat.
“Show me how to make those daisy crowns? Like the muggles?” Ginny asks, bringing over fists full of the little white flowers.
“Not now Ginny,” Fred sighs, rolling his eyes at the young girl.
“No, no, we can do it now,” you argue, patting the ground next to you, gesturing for the younger girl to sit beside you.
“Yeah, let her stay,” George agrees, smiling fondly at you.
Fred snorts at his brother, eyes rolling once more.
“You always side with her, you’re supposed to be my twin! How are you two going to survive without each other?” Fred retorts, leaning back against the tree.
“It’ll only be a year, then y/n can join us in the fun,” George replies happily.
“Oh at this point you might as well just marry her,” Fred responds with a huff.
You feel your cheeks begin to grow red and you turn to focus all your attention on the young girl beside you, showing her how to intricately wrap the stems together to form a chain of daisies.
You’d known the twins for as long as you could remember. You’d practically grown up with them. Your father Remus did the best he could raising you on his own, he really did, but it was hard. Especially on full moons. The Weasleys always took you in on those nights, often resulting in you staying for days while Remus recovered.
George had had a soft spot for you since the beginning, always being the slightly softer twin while Fred was more severe and brash. You could remember a particularly bad night when it had been storming, the loud thunder making you shake with fear. George had stayed up with you all night, making sure the storm didn’t get you. You had been seven at the time.
It had started back then you supposed, your little crush. It had confused you at first as you had thought of all the boys as your brothers, but now, at the ripe old age of ten, you could tell that Georgie was different from the other Weasley boys.
“There!” George announces excitedly, shaking you from your thoughts as he brandishes a single daisy up into the air, its stem tied rather roughly in a small circle.
Without warning, he grasps onto your hand, sliding the makeshift ring onto your finger, looking rather pleased with himself.
“There. You’re my wife now,” he says proudly as you stare at the little flower adorning your finger.
“You didn’t do it right! You have to ask her to be your wife. Everyone knows that!” Ginny exclaims, watching the two of you with a dopey little grin on her face.
“Oh. Right. Y/n, will you be my wife?” Georgie asks, batting his eyes dramatically at you and sticking out his bottom lip.
“Yes I will,” you reply with a laugh, admiring the pretty daisy that now sat on your finger.
“You two are so gross,” Fred says, making a face.
“Oh, oh! Do the promises! The ones where you say I do!” Ginny urges excitedly, clapping her hands.
“Alright. Do you promise to always laugh at my jokes, always be there for me when I need you, and always take my side when we argue with Fred?” George asks.
Fred begins to make dramatic gagging sounds.
“I do.” You reply with a giggle as Fred just glares at you. “And do you promise to always make me smile, always protect me, and always make me hot chocolate when I can’t sleep?”
“I do.”
It was dark. The whole house was dark really. All the time. Dimly lit and constantly smelling like mold and rotting wood. And the furniture seemed to be permanently damp, the coldness settling into your bones.
You hated it here at Grimmauld Place. The constant shrieking of decrepit, old portraits, the eerie feeling of constantly being watched. The only positive attribute about living in this wretched place was the fact that Remus had never been happier.
It had taken months to do it, but after Harry had been able to help Sirius escape the dementors, Dumbledore had inconspicuously been able to move Sirius into Grimmauld place where you had been staying ever since.
It had been strange at first, no doubt. You had only just met the man, but he grew on you quickly. Like a fungus. You loved seeing how comfortable he made Remus who visibly softened whenever the other man was near. And you hadn’t seen Remus smile as wide or as often, well ever. You could tell that the two of them were just meant to be side by side, and honestly, that was enough for you. Especially in dark times like these.
“Lighten up love, we have a surprise for you before dinner,” Remus announces, entering the drawing room where you sat wrapped in a pile of blankets, a book in hand as you tried to ignore the screeching bag lady in entry way portrait.
“Is it another one of those horrendous sweaters that Sirius keeps digging up from somewhere?” You ask, nose scrunching at the thought of another one of the putrid smelling things being presented to you. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you detested the nasty things, so you had been giving them to Kreacher to dispose of rapidly. “I know I keep telling him that they’re lovely, but how many of the things does he think I need?”
Remus just laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve told him to move onto something else, but he’s determined to fill your wardrobe I think. But no. It’s not another sweater. For now at least. No, I do believe you’ll quite enjoy this little surprise.” He tells you before leaving you to your book and your thoughts.
Dinner time couldn't come fast enough as you eagerly eyed the clock every fifteen minutes, only to be disappointed by how little time had gone by.
About thirty minutes before the three of you usually ate dinner, you began hearing a chorus of voices coming from the entry way. And not the familiar voices of the Black family portraits.
"Well where is she then?" a loud voice asks.
Hearing the voice, you immediately perk up, not quite believing you'd heard correctly. This place might be driving you mad.
"Oh bloody hell mate, don't seem too eager now," comes the sarcastic response.
You'd know those voices anywhere. Practically throwing yourself from the couch, you eagerly scramble to the door and down the staircase to be greeted by the whole Weasley family grinning up at you.
"Look Georgie, there's your wife, don't get your knickers in a twist now," Fred scoffs.
You fly into George's arms, sighing contentedly as his arms wrap securely around you.
"Well hello to you too," you hear him laugh as he gives you another squeeze before releasing you.
You hadn't seen him, or the other Weasley's for that matter, in what felt like ages. He and Fred had grown their hair out, and you didn't quite remember them being so tall last you saw them. His smile never changed though.
Bashfully, you greet the rest of the Weasley bunch, even Fred giving you a quick hug, before rubbing the top of your head affectionately and effectively tossling up your hair. You stick your tongue out at the boy in response, batting his hand away.
"I missed you all, so much! I've been going absolutely bonkers being here alone for so long," you tell them.
"Well not to worry love, we'll be here all summer. Hermione too, though she's not coming for another few weeks." George tells you.
Feeling eyes on you as you laugh with the boys, turning to see both Sirius and Remus gazing at you intently, eyes flickering between you and George.
Sirius silently points at you, then George before drawing a line across his neck with his finger before giving you a wink. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks as you turn back to the boys.
"What are you all doing here?" you ask eventually as the adults begin to file into the kitchen.
"Came to be used as house elves of course," Fred replies, earning him a nudge from George.
"Mum said that Sirius volunteered the house to be headquarters for the Order," Ron butts in.
"Yeah, then mum volunteered us to help clean the place up," Ginny adds.
You make a face at that.
"We have a lot of work to do then, this place is disgusting," you tell them, leading them up the stairs to the room you'd been staying in. On your way up the stairs, George's hand never leaves yours, fingers intertwined as you guide him up the dusty staircase.
"Long as there aren't any spiders," Ron replies, eyeing the spiraling stairs with suspicion.
You just look back at the boy with concern, pity overtaking your face as his own face turns pale.
For once Grimmauld place was silent. A rare luxury you'd found, especially since the Weasley's had moved in. Not that you minded, the red headed family made the grim, old place feel alive and vibrant. Something you thought the it needed desperately. But you liked the quiet too.
It had been a strange couple of weeks as everyone, the adults especially, seemed to be on high alert. And who could blame them? Hermione had just moved in, sharing a room with you and Ginny. You could hear their breathing now as you stared up at the dark ceiling above.
After the Weasley's arrival, you had all spent countless hours decluttering Grimmauld place. Sweeping, dusting, banishing the more mouthy portraits to the attic. It was hard work, but you had loved every second of it with George making you laugh until you keeled over, tears streaming down your face. His presence just made everything better. You thought so at least.
In the darkened room, your mind drifts to the conversation you had heard between the adults just hours ago. It definitely wasn't a conversation you had been meant to overhear, but Georgie had given you a pair of extendable ears that he and Fred had developed, and you just couldn't help yourself.
"Oh really Sirius, they've all practically grown up together, George would never do anything to hurt her," Molly had said.
At the mention of George's name, you just had to find out what they were talking about.
"We never said he was going to do anything malicious, we just don't want to see her get hurt," Remus replied with a heavy sigh.
Her?
"They're practically adults, you can't protect her forever. So what if they fancy each other? They're not children!" Molly retorts.
"Oh that's rich coming from you. Just the other day you were going on about young witches and wizards rushing into marriage during the first war. And how many times have you told the twins that they're forbidden from joining the Order hmm? They're adults, Molly, you can't protect them forever," Sirius responds.
"Oh but at least I've done all I can to protect them up to this point. What have you done for y/n? Nothing. Because you've been locked up!" Molly spits. You can hear the fury in her voice.
Your fists ball up in rage at her comments. None of it was Sirius's fault. He didn't do anything wrong. How dare she?
"That's enough!" you hear Remus cut in, a sharpness in his voice that you hadn't heard before. "We weren't coming to attack George, or the way you raised any of the children. We were simply raising our concerns, as any good parents would. Now that we've made our point, if you don't wish to interfere, fine. We won't either."
After that the only thing you had heard was the shuffling of feet as they abandoned the dining room. They had most definitely been talking about you. No doubt about it. You hadn't realized they were concerned about you. They never said anything. And it was only Georgie. The two of you had been married for six years now. In all the ways that mattered to you at least. He would never hurt you. In fact, he'd made it a promise.
Mind racing and unable to sleep, you slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound as you slowly creep to the drawing room that you so often took refuge in. To your surprise however, a dim light was already flickering inside when you approached, and a familiar head of red hair sat facing away from you on the sofa.
"Georgie?" You whisper cautiously, not wanting to spook him.
His head turns in surprise, but his face lights up when he sees you.
"What are you doing this up this late, love?" he asks.
"I could ask you the same."
"Fair enough. Just a lot on my mind I suppose."
"Me too," you reply.
A silence falls between the two of you as you stand, watching mesmerized as the light flickers on and off of the boy's handsome face.
"Want me to make you a hot chocolate?" George asks finally.
A smile grows on your face and you instantly perk up at the mention of your favorite treat. George always knew how to put you to sleep, and he always made the best hot chocolate. Nodding enthusiastically, the two of you make your way down to the kitchen where George begins gathering supplies.
One thing you'd always admired about him was that he never minded doing things the muggle way. While Fred was always quick to magic his way through things, George was content taking his time.
"Help stir the milk so it doesn't burn?" he asks, gesturing to the pot now on the stove.
You silently take the wooden spoon from his hand, fingers brushing ever so slightly, before focusing on the task at hand. George sets out two mugs on the counter before helping you melt in the chocolate.
It all felt terribly domestic. As if there wasn't a sociopathic murderer on the loose. Like it was just the two of you.
It isn't long before George is pouring the dark liquid into the mugs, sprinkling in a few little marshmallows and a cinnamon stick or two and the both of you are retreating back up to the drawing room.
The first sip sends shivers of satisfaction down your spine as you lean into George who wraps his free arm around you. You pull a blanket over you and revel for a moment in the comfort.
"Care to share what's been on your mind?" George asks, breaking the silence.
"Only if you go first," you reply, not quite sure how to explain that he was really the only thing on your mind these days.
George just sighs. "It's nothing you we haven't told you before," He tells you. "Mum is just fighting for her life to keep Freddie and I out of the Order, but Moody agrees with us. We're of age. There's nothing she can do to stop us."
"Will you be safe?"
"Safe as can be. Mum has made sure they don't give us any real missions. Just patrolling Diagon Alley since that's where we set up shop."
You simply nod your head, letting it fall against the boy's chest as you feel his even breathing and let it overtake you. You'd never admit it out loud, but you were grateful for Molly to an extent. The twins had an abysmal lack of self preservation skills, and you didn't know what you would do if you lost Georgie.
"And what's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"
You feel your shoulders shrug as you think carefully of what to say.
"I overheard our parents talking today," you mumble, not exactly sure where you were taking this.
"Oh?"
"Dads are worried about us," you tell him, hiding your face in his chest.
"Worried?"
"I dunno. They said something about your mum talking about how a lot of wizards and witches rushed into marriage during the first war, and there was a lot of talk about you being of age and what not. It got intense. There was a lot of yelling."
You feel George's chest rumble with soft laughter at your words.
"Well that's a silly thing to be worried about considering we've been married for years now at this point," he says.
You're not sure if he's joking or not. Maybe the exhaustion was finally getting to you.
"I'm being serious Georgie. I didn't know they were so worried about me. And Sirius sounded so upset," you reply, sitting up to take another long sip of your hot chocolate.
"So am I." he responds, looking you dead in the eye. The usual mischievous gleam is gone this time and you know he's never been more serious about something. "You know I'm not one to break a promise."
The air grows heavy as you feel yourself freeze for a moment at his words before you sink back into his warm embrace.
"I still have it you know. Your ring. Your mum charmed it for me so it wouldn't wilt. She knew all along," you tell him.
"She tends to have a sixth sense when it comes to these kinds of things."
Another silence falls between the two, but this time, the silence brings comfort as you feel your eyes growing heavy. George tries to stifle a yawn, but it escapes anyway. It was later then you had realized.
"I'm glad it's real for you too," you murmur, leaning further into the boy as your eyes flutter close. Something about being in George's arms provided a sense of security you couldn't find anywhere else.
"It was always real. I'd never break a promise to you, love."
bby's first non-slytherin boy fic🫣
don't ask me if I edited this- the answer is no and I don't want to talk abt it💀
tag list: @sol-lupin-black @breeistired
#harrypotter fanfiction#george weasley#george weasley x reader#george weasley x y/n#george weasley x you#fred weasley#harry potter universe#gryffindor#golden era#george weasley fanfic#george weasley fanfiction#george weasley imagines#gryffindor boys#sirius black#remus lupin#remus x sirius
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A Weekend at the Weasley's
| George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader
summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.
cw: smut (18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut
an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“George, I don’t—”
“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”
You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”
“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”
You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.
“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.
“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”
You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.
“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.
“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”
You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.
When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.
And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?
You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.
An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.
It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.
And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.
“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.
“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.
“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”
“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.
“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.
“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.
“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.
“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.
George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”
You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.
The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.
All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.
Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.
“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.
“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.
“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.
You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.
“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”
“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.
“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”
“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.
“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.
“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.
“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.
“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.
“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.
Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.
George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.
“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.
“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.
Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.
“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”
“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.
“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”
“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.
George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”
“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.
The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.
George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.
Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.
Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.
The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.
You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.
You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.
You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.
“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.
The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.
“George, what are you—”
He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.
Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.
“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.
“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”
You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.
Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.
You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.
But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.
George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.
You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.
He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.
It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…
“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”
Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.
“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.
You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.
“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”
“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.
“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”
Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.
“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.
He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.
“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”
Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.
“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.
He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.
You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.
“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”
“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.
You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.
George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.
“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.
“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.
“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.
Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.
“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.
You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.
“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.
“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.
A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.
“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.
“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.
“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.
“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.
The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.
You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.
“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”
Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.
Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.
Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.
Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.
You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.
And for my final move…
You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.
His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.
Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.
“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.
“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.
His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.
You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.
It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.
His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.
“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.
You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.
You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.
You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.
“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”
His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.
“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”
A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.
“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.
“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.
You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.
“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.
As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.
“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.
“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.
He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.
Could I taste it too?
“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.
You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.
But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.
“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.
“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.
“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.
“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.
“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.
“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.
“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.
“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.
An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.
“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”
You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.
Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.
You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.
Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.
After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.
“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.
You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.
You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.
Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—
“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?
Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.
He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”
“George!”
“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”
You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.
“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.
“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.
Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.
George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”
You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.
A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.
God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.
George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.
“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.
He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.
“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.
“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.
“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.
“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”
“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.
“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”
“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”
Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”
You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.
His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.
You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.
“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.
“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.
He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.
“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.
He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.
“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”
Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”
His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.
“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.
“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”
You nodded, your heart in your throat.
“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’
“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”
“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.
You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.
“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.
You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.
A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.
“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”
The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—
His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.
“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.
“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”
He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”
You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.
He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.
You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.
“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.
“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.
He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.
With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.
“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.
“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.
George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.
“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.
You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.
His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.
“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”
“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”
You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.
“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”
Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.
“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.
The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.
His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.
“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”
You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.
“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.
“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.
The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.
“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.
“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.
“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.
“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.
Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.
“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.
“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”
Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.
Crack!
“Ow!”
"That's for hurting my girl, you git."
Fin. 🐦⬛
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Thank you so much for reading!
If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.
Much love,
Allie
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Golden - Weasley Twins x Reader (Soulmate AU)
Request: Would you do one where a shy Hufflepuff is Fred and George’s soulmate? Maybe they are connected somehow like a song or marks or something and it takes them a while to find her because she’s so reserved but they end up bumping into her and finding out?
It was common knowledge within the wizarding world that the age of twelve was the most common to find your soulmate. You weren't sure why twelve was the magic number, but you were never the type to question to origins of magic. What you were sure of that twelve passed by with no soulmate to speak of, then thirteen, and then fourteen. It was in your fourteenth year of life that you had given up the notion of having a soulmate altogether. Your parents had found each other even before going to Hogwarts and you had now been lapped by your younger sibling who had matched their first year.
Your parents marks glowed golden on their pinkies - a lifelong reminder of the most important pinkie promise they ever made. Your brother's soulmark was a simple streak on his shoulder from where he brushed against his soulmate waiting on the sorting ceremony.
Before you first touched your soulmate, the mark on your skin was just a dark patch. Muggles that fell in love with wizards or witches often just mistook the patch for a birthmark. The marks on your skin, however, could never be mistaken for anything but a soulmark. You had two marks that were completely separate from the other. The first was a line around your waist and the second a handprint from mouth to ear. The line on the waist could always be a hug from behind. It was easy enough to believe. But the hand print? You tried to keep the worst out of your mind.
It had been four years since you had given up on your soulmate. Exams were just around the corner and then you were out. You were quite tempted to just move into the muggle world and never have to deal with the concept of a soulmate again. You'd marry someone who, even though they weren't your soulmate, treated you well. And wouldn't that be enough in the end?
With that thought in your mind, you turned in your final examination to Professor Umbridge, who you were quite sure never even got a soulmark as it seemed impossible that anyone could love her. A huge wave of relief washed over you as you exited the Great Hall and, just for a moment, you allowed your eyes to close and a deep breath to escape your lungs. It was over.
Your moment was short lived as a chorus of "Get down!" rang out behind you, before a set of arms wrapped around you, yanking you to the ground. Your body slammed against the rough ground, but your head was caught before it hit by another set of hands. Still, your heart raced as you tried to catch your breath.
"Shit," one of the voices said - the one with his arms around you. He transitioned from holding onto you to rubbing your back. "We are so so sorry." "We let out fireworks. Thought the coast was clear but obviously we were wrong," the other voice said, hand still supporting your face. "Here, let us help you up," he offered. You had barely made it upright when the boy in front of you began to scowl. "Fuck, Umbridge," he seethed. "I'm sorry but we have to go."
Instead of leaving you, the boy pulled you along. The other tailing closely behind. "What are you doing?" you asked. "Unfortunately, you're an accomplice now and we're about to be caught." "Accomplice? I just met you!" "Yeah? Explain that to Umbridge over a hot cup of tea and a puddle of blood. You should be thanking me!"
It wasn't until you made what felt like four laps around the castle before you quit running. You didn't even know where you were and you had been attending Hogwarts for seven years. All you know was that you were in a tiny broom closet with two boys you just met. "Lumos," one of the boys spoke, and you finally got a good look at their faces. You rolled your eyes. You should have known it was the Weasley twins. You had never really met the two but the entire school knew of the mischief they caused. It had been far too easy for you to steer clear of them up to this point. "Fred," the twin on the left, George, asked quietly. Fred was looking down at his hand, then up to you. In the dim light you could barely notice the golden glow that now shone on his hand. "It's you," he spoke gently. "What do you mean?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed. Hesitantly, Fred reached his hand up to your face, placing it where it had been only moments ago. "You're golden," he smiled.
"My whole life I was wondering how I would get those marks," I laughed. "I always feared the worst, just because of where they are. Did you feel the same way?" He shook his head. "I always just assumed it would be a handshake." You rolled your eyes. "A handshake wouldn't give you this, though." You pulled up the other sleeve of his robes - nothing. No mark whatsoever adorned him. "That doesn't make any sense." When your eyes rose up to meet Fred's, he was looking beside you, at his twin, whose forearm revealed the missing piece of the puzzle. He, too, glowed gold.
***
Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
#george weasley x reader#george weasley#george weasley imagine#fred weasley#fred weasley x reader#weasley twins#weasley twins imagine#weasley twins x reader#hp imagine#hp#harry potter#harry potter imagine#soulmateau
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