#George Weasley fanfic

[minlcna]

mcgonagall's ball lessons | george. f. weasley

george weasley x muggle!fem!reader

note: i know it's been a while since i posted..tbh i lost my momentum in writing and posting and lost my inspo as well. i can't say that i love this but it's been in the drafts long enough. im thinking of starting to tkae requests but im not sure if yall want that lmk in the comments! otherwise enjoy this

synopsis: you dance with george once and all the of the sudden rumors zoom around faster than a snitch

george w

warnings: one swear word, punching pansy and draco, mentions of having kids/contraceptives (?)

word count: 2.7k

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The Yule Ball was its utmost effort for arriving, and today was the day Professor McGonagall, in all her glory, was to teach all eligible Gryfidors how to dance. 

"The Yule ball has been a tradition of..." she started, raiding her voice, warning Flich of his tampering with the gramophone. 

"...the Triwizard tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, our guests and we gather in the great hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity."

"As representation of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally because the Yule is, first and foremost, a dance. 

Chatter and grumbling broke out instantly. You exchanged knowing glances with Alicia next to you. This could go either two ways: really bad or just bad enough. 

"Silence," she called with strictness. 

"The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the Wizard World for nearly 10 centuries. I will not have you in the course of a 

behaving like a babbling bumbling band of baboons," she continued. 

You saw George lean over to Fred, and you saw the lips mimicking the shapes of McGonagall, treating her words like tongue twisters. You pursued your lips to hold in your smile. 

"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl is a secret sworn Slumbers longing to burst off and take flight, and inside every boy is a lordly lion prepared to prance," she trailed off as she noticed George and Fred mumbling. 

"Mr. Weasley, it was so kind of you to volunteer. Now, from the ladies, who will it be?" she questioned as her eyes trailed face to face down the row. 

You pretended to reach into your nonexistent pocket, trying to appear busy and unsuitable choice. 

"Miss L/N, please make your way to the center." she smiled. 

You inwardly grimaced, which also showed outwardly, as evidenced by your friends' giggles and teasing eyes. You slowly stood up and made your way to the center before George. 

You weren't sure whether it had been the pressure of everyone watching and quite possibly waiting to make fun of any little thing or the fact that George Weasley looked exceptionally pretty up close. Like really pretty, really close. 

"Now, Mr. Weasley, grab L/N's waist with your right hand. No—that's your left hand—your right hand, yes." She directed patiently as the two of you awkwardly followed the directions. 

Your right hand had met with his left, and you had to slightly get on your tip toes for your left arm to grasp his shoulder comfortably. Giggles and whispers erupted as soon as your heels lifted on the ground. Your face flushed red in embarrassment. You knew your friends and the entire house of Godric wouldn't let you forget this. You were not short by any means; the Weasley twin was just too tall. 

As if the giggles and uncomfortable position of standing on your toes weren't enough to infuriate you, George smirked at your attempts to match his height and pace. You had been caught off guard when the music suddenly started playing, and rather than swaying, you had been being pulled and jerked from your position. 

Unfortunately, Godric's heavy pride coursed through you, and your determination flooded to prove yourself to the already full-on snickers and cackles, the loudest recognizably being Alicia's.

"Relax a bit, will ya, love? My hands fall off," he whispered discreetly in your ears, and your face flushed darker than George's hair. 

Thankfully, Professor Mcgonallal ceased your embarrassment by stopping you halfway and pairing everyone to learn. Each second felt excruciating, as it was the very first time you held hands with a guy—a handsome guy. 

You swore you heard Professor Mcgognall join in the giggles when you walked beside your friends, noting her eyes follow George with Fred right behind. You wondered if she knew. 

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

By the time the period had ended, the entire castle had heard how the Gryffindor dance lessons proceeded. Probably record time, probably faster than anyone could ever say Merlin's saggy left bollock. 

You were already tired of Alicia and Angelina trying to match you with George despite your neverending denials of being passionately in love with him until death from just dancing with him. Now, the entire school had joined in on it. You could only grumble and protest under your breath as you became the castle's favorite gossip pastime.

Of course, the Slytherins took a rumor and ran with it. They had found a new way to taunt the Weasleys and a new toy to torment them. Any other nemesis of the twins also took part. 

One instance was when you had been rushing off to grab breakfast leftovers when you heard, "Running to meet Weasley, eh? Should've gotten up earlier to snog him in time for breakfast!"

Your first strategy was to ignore and flip people off. That hadn't been enough because the sneers got worse. You avoided any signs of ginger hear throughout the castle. The scarce accounts of you locking eyes with Geroge, and he had just given a curt nod with his permanent smirk. 

You couldn't help but scoff. Fred had helped defend you once or twice, but that was it. It's all his fault, and all he does is laugh.

You couldn't help but direct your anger towards George. You knew it was heavily misplaced, but you couldn't do anything. No amount of insults, swearing, or mummy/daddy abuses ceased the talks. If only they made it worse. 

You wanted to confront the redhead, but the words refused to form in your mind. Just the thought of speaking to him made your tongue feel heavy, and your cheeks flush with heat. Your fingers itched to intertwine with his warm ones, and your whole body yearned to be close to him. But as soon as those urges surfaced, you shook your head vigorously, side to side, until the world spun around you. Being dizzy was easier to endure than the whirlwind of those forbidden thoughts.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

You were standing in the courtyard during one of the breaks, waiting for lunch, when a sharp pain exploded at the side of your forehead. A heavy glass vial had struck you, clattering to the ground after impact.

"Hey, L/N," a taunting voice drawled. "Might wanna grab some contraceptive potions before you sleep with Weasley, or you'll end up breeding more than gnomes."

You bent to pick up the vial, your fingers curling around the cool glass as your brows furrowed in confusion. Then the realization hit, and your expression hardened into a sharp glare. The vial contained an actual contraception potion from an apothecary. Spinning on your heel, you locked eyes with the culprit: a blonde smirking devilishly, flanked by his entourage, their snickers biting at your ears.

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you," you said through gritted teeth, voice low and deadly. "Unless you want that ugly goblin shit you call a nose smashed into your skull." Your grip on the vial tightened, your knuckles blanching.

Goyle erupted in a guttural laugh but quickly silenced himself when Malfoy shot him a glare. Around you, the crowd stirred—murmurs of excitement spreading like wildfire. More students trickled into the courtyard, drawn by the rising tension, their curiosity adding weight to the charged atmosphere.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered, his lips curling in mockery. "What are you going to do? Call your filthy blood traitor lapdog to defend you?"

Pansy Parkinson's shrill giggle cut through the air. "Draco's just trying to help, you stupid Mudblood. But it looks like you'll happily pop out another Quidditch team full of losers."

The words hit like a slap to the face, and before you realized it, the vial slipped from your fingers, and your fists were flying.

The first punch landed solidly against Malfoy's jaw, snapping his head to the side. The collective gasp of the crowd barely registered in your ears as rage overtook you, a red-hot wave that blurred the edges of your vision. He stumbled back, but you weren't finished. You swung again, this time catching, hitting Pansy's nose, and then again, letting every ounce of frustration and fury you'd bottled up over the past few weeks pour into each strike.

The courtyard erupted into chaos. Malfoy's lackeys tried to pull you off, but you shoved them away. His smug smirk was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed expression of fear and pain as he weakly raised an arm to shield himself.

The crowd surged, students yelling and cheering, their voices blending into a cacophony. You didn't care. All you could see was green—your vision clouded with pure, unrelenting anger. You kept swinging, your fists aching, but it didn'tmatter. The satisfaction of each hit was the only thing grounding you.

Finally, strong hands grabbed your arms, hauling you backward. You kicked and struggled, breath coming in ragged gasps as the adrenaline coursing through you demanded you keep fighting.

"As much as I'd love for you to beat him to a pulp, love, I don't want to see you expelled." the captor of your arms whispered. Your body froze instantly, and you tried to catch a glimpse of the speaker. You noticed red hair peeking through the corners of your eyes. 

"What in Godric's name is going on here?" the demanding voice asked, her sharp gaze cutting through the chaos. The crowd instantly silenced, students shrinking back under her scrutiny. Even Malfoy's��friends, who had been so vocal moments ago, averted their eyes.

You froze, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, but McGonagall's presence was like a cold bucket of water poured over you. Slowly, your fists unclenched, and you realized your knuckles were bruised and raw, faint smears of blood marking your fingers.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a hard line. "Enough. Everyone—back to your business! This is not a spectator sport!" She turned her gaze back to you and Malfoy, her expression unrelenting. "The rest of you, to the Headmaster's office. Now."

Malfoy groaned as he struggled to his feet, favoring his side. "She attacked me!" he protested, his voice nasally and strained, no doubt from the blow you'd landed on his nose.

"And I have no doubt there's more to the story," McGonagall snapped, her tone brooking no argument. "But we'll deal with that where it's appropriate. Move along, Mr. Malfoy."

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

The altercation between Malfoy and his gang and you had been carefully investigated and justly judged. Professor McGonagall, despite her strict nature, was surprisingly in your favor. George had also vouched for you, following you into the rotating staircase despite your attempts to elbow him off. He called the harassment ruthless bullying. 

Parents were summoned, but despite them coming so, your highly modest and conservative mother refused to let the Parkinsons and Malfoys get a word out. To her, a lady's womanly issues were not to be discussed in the open nor ridiculed. 

With two strong defenders, your mother and your professor, you got away with just detention and could still participate in the ball.

୨୧‿‿‿ 𝜗𝜚 ‿‿‿୨୧

It was the first snow of the year, and you were trapped in the Hogwarts kitchen. You had detention every Saturday morning, wehre your task was to scrub cauldrons. You needed to buy the last bits of accessories for the ball but had asked Alicia to pick them up since you were busy scrubbing. 

Your fingers were numb from the rigor. As you brought the sponge towards you before pushing it forward, it shifted away from your hand. A frown accompanied by a tilted brow; you expected it to fall into the pot. Yet it continued to scrub and shell the cauldron—just like magic. 

The second the thought crossed your mind, your head swung in all directions. Your eyes met the fellow leaning on the door frame with crossed arms and wand out—the ever so familiar missions glint in eyes and smug smirk. 

"Hello, m'lady," he said as he went right before you. You tilted your head slightly to the side with a questioning look. 

"What?" he asked incredulously. 

"Why are you helping me? This is detention, you know," you replied, trying to gauge his purpose in visiting. 

"Yes, this is. As a man, I must, however, take responsibility for my lady's actions. You are, in fact, here because of me; is that not correct?" he replied more boisterously. 

Your cheeks burned, a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

“First of all, I’m not ‘your lady,’ and second, no one asked you to play knight in shining armor. I can scrub cauldrons perfectly fine on my own.”

George's grin widened, unfazed by your tone. “Oh, I can see that, love. You’re scrubbing so well, you’ve almost got that cauldron to sparkle like new.” He gestured to the pot that was now gleaming under the enchanted sponge’s tireless efforts. 

“But wouldn’t you rather spend your Saturday doing something less…” He paused, twirling his wand lazily, “…soul-crushing?”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “And why would you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Call it a guilty conscience. Or maybe I just missed your company. You’ve been avoiding me ever since our little dance lesson, haven’t you?”

Your jaw tightened, the memory of that mortifying class flashing in your mind. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” you said stiffly.

“Oh no?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

“So it’s purely coincidence that every time I walk into a room, you suddenly remember an urgent errand in the opposite direction?”

You scowled, willing your heart to stop fluttering like a caged snidget. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy being the subject of every stupid joke in the castle, thanks to you.”

George’s expression softened, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, you know,” he said quietly. 

“I mean, I like a good laugh as much as the next bloke, but not at your expense.”

Your resolve faltered slightly, but you kept your arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly stop it, though, did you? All those rumors, all those stupid comments…”

“I didn’t stop it because I thought you could handle yourself,” George admitted, his gaze locking with yours. “You’reclever, tough, and brilliant. But maybe I underestimated how far people would take it.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and the warmth spreading through your chest was both comforting and infuriating. 

“Well,” you said finally, your tone softer than you intended, “maybe next time, don’t underestimate how annoying people can be.”

George chuckled, his usual mischief returning. “Duly noted. So, what do you say? Truce?” He extended his hand, his lopsided grin making your stomach flip.

You hesitated, eyeing his outstretched hand suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, his grin widening. “Just a chance to make it up to you. Starting with getting you out of this dungeon and into the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m still in detention, Weasley.”

“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave of his wand. “I’m a master of mischief, remember? If anyone asks, I’ll say I kidnapped you.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he quipped, holding his hand out again.

This time, you took it—his hand warm and steady in yours. It was the second time you’d ever held a boy’s hand, and somehow, it felt like the first time it truly mattered.

Professor McGonagall watched from a shadowed corner of the kitchen, arms crossed, her lips twitching upward in an uncharacteristic smile.

"Ridiculously charming, indeed," she muttered softly to herself, adjusting her spectacles. "I always knew those two would find their way to each other."

With a final glance at the pair sneaking out of the dungeon, hand in hand, she turned briskly on her heel. Her work was done—for now. After all, guiding her Gryffindors, even in matters of the heart, was just another part of the job.

[nottsangel]

George Weasley is litteraly the biggest boobs man, he just love to peek into your shirt to see them, touch them, suck on them litteraly a baby

(Please can u do a mini-fic with it?)

ugh yeah george is so fucking obsessed with your boobs that he’ll try to get peek whenever he can, subtly tugging at the top of your shirt and sneakily stealing a glance as you eye him disapprovingly with a raised eyebrow. and when you’re talking to him while wearing a low-cut top, his eyes are mesmerisingly glued to your chest, your perfect tits slightly spilling from your tiny shirt, making your words go in one ear and out the other.

and even in public, in the crowded common room, he has no shame whatsoever. “george, stop it!” you command with a firm, stern tone, swiftly swatting his hand away that wanders under your shirt towards your bra-covered tits. you feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassments as you quickly glance around to see if anyone saw his inappropriate behaviour. “well, that’s just mean…” he whines, fake-pouting at you before his gaze is already drawn to your tits once again as you roll your eyes at him. “…keeping them all to yourself like that.” he playfully huffs, his eyes still fixed on your chest, staring intently with his head slightly tilted, drool almost spilling from his slightly parted lips.

and during sex, all his attention is on your tits and hardened nipples— either his strong, firm hands are massaging them and his fingers toying with your nipples or his mouth is wrapped around them, sucking on them them eagerly. he also loves to cover them completely in hickeys, fully claiming them as his, before fucking you at a fast pace, hungrily watching your tits bounce in synchronisation with his relentless thrusts. “bloody hell.” george groans, completely entranced by the mesmerising sight beneath him, as he licks his lips with a hungry and lustful twinkle in his eyes. “so… perfect…”

ੈ♡˳

[desideriumwriter]

MORE DITZY READER WITH GEORGE I BEG OF YOU!!! 😫😫😫😫 I feel like she’d be the type to just give him a kiss on the cheek as a way of saying thanks, and George would just stand there stunned as she left. 🤭 - 🪩

i think my new obsession is writing george w/ ditzy!reader, the cutest pair ever <3 ty for the idea!!

wc: 0.7k

Whoever knotted your shoelaces to the metal rod part of the lamp on the wall did a damn good job at it. 

You held the chair that George was standing on steady as possible, your hands wrapped around the wooden back of the chair as George tried to pick out the part of your laces. 

Of course the one time he doesn’t bring his wand with him is when he needs it. You didn’t have yours either, your explanation being you left it hidden under your pillow, George didn’t bother to ask why.

George had already gotten one shoe off, handing it nicely to you despite how annoyed he was at how long it took just to get one untied.

“I can go get my wand if you need me to. I was worried I was going to lose it during dinner, there’s a hole in my pocket.” You explained, George looked down at you to see you sticking a finger through the rip in the fabric of your robes.

“No, no. It’s fine, I almost…damn…almost got this one.” He brushed your words off. 

After a few more moments of George practically picking at the shoelaces with his fingernails, the knot unraveled and he nearly let out a dramatic sigh of relief.

“You think it was nargles again?” George asked, carefully stepping down from the chair, he had one hand holding your shoe and the other reaching out for yours, suggesting for you to get up off the floor.

He wasn’t sure if he believed in Nargles or not. Knowing that most people believed they were either extinct, or had never existed at all. 

But when he was with you, they did exist. So did the butterflies in his stomach when he saw you.

“Most likely. They took my tie last week.” You took his hand so politely, he noticed how soft your hands were compared to his calloused ones. You did a little hop when you got up, it got a smile out of George.

Taking your other shoe from him, you sat down on the chair to slip your shoes on.

“Could you tie the other one for me? It’ll take less time.” You looked up and asked George as you slipped on your second shoe.

“I’ll tie both.” He nodded, already crouching down on one knee. Even though the whole point was tying two shoes at once would be faster, you didn’t protest, only nodding and smiling at his offer.

George’s head of thick, ginger hair was right was the only thing you could focus on as he looked down, tying your shoes with shift hands.

You impulsively stuck out a hand, running your hand through his hair, twirling a thick strand around your finger. George looked up, a bit confused.

“You have very orange hair.” You stated.

“Thank you?” 

“You take very good care of it, it’s very smooth, silky. Not many boys' hair look like yours.” 

“Well, I’m not sure if there’s a large amount of long haired ginger boys in our school.” George chuckled, his focus going back to tying your laces. You let out a hum as you unraveled your hand from his hair and let him finish.

George straightened the bow on each shoe before standing up, lending a hand out to you again even though you could stand up on your own. You took his hand anyways.

“There you go! I could fix that hole in your pocket too.” He suggested and you shook your head.

“It’s fine, I know how to do it myself. I’m quite good at patching up things.” You said proudly, “Thanks for getting my shoes.”

George meant to respond, but before he could you stood up on your toes to connect your lips to his cheek. Giving him a soft yet sweet kiss to his soon to be blushing face.

“You’re so kind, Georgie. I’ll make sure to wear my cork necklace, keeps the Nargles away.” You smiled, turning as you began to skip down the hallway.

George only stood there still in shock caused by the unexpected peck, jaw ajar as he raised his hand to his warm cheek, feeling it as a grin took over his lips.

[vilentia]

Physical Touch

George Weasley x reader

Summary: George Weasley discovers his love language of physical touch in his relationship, leading to a deeper understanding and connection.

Just wrote something short to get the idea out of my system.

****

In their sixth year at Hogwarts, George Weasley and you had stumbled into a relationship as unexpectedly as one might stumble upon a hidden room in the castle. It was fresh, exhilarating, and filled with the kind of magic that didn't require a wand.

In the bustling corridors and beneath the ancient trees of the Hogwarts grounds, George had a way of speaking without words. His fingers would absentmindedly play with a strand of your hair during study sessions, his hand would find yours under the table in the Great Hall, and during quiet moments in the common room, his thumb would draw invisible patterns on your skin. These small gestures were his language of affection, his way of saying you mattered in a world that was often too loud and chaotic.

One crisp autumn day, as you both lounged by the Black Lake, watching the giant squid's tentacles occasionally break the surface, Fred Weasley, George's inseparable twin, ambled over with a mischievous grin. "Merlin’s beard, George! Do you need a magical adhesive to keep your hands off her for a second?"

George's smile faltered, and a shadow of doubt crossed his face. You laughed it off, assuming it was just Fred being Fred, but something shifted in George after that.

He became hesitant, his touches fewer and more restrained. The corridors seemed colder, the classes longer, and the common room a bit less welcoming. You felt the change but couldn't understand it. Why had George, always so warm and playful, suddenly turned into a distant echo of himself?

One chilly evening, in a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by ancient tomes and the soft glow of candles, you decided to breach the silence. "George, what's wrong? You've been acting so differently."

He looked up from his book, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn't seen before. "I... Fred made a comment the other day. About me always touching you. I started thinking, maybe it's too much. Maybe I'm making you uncomfortable."

You reached out, your hand covering his. "George, do you know what love languages are?"

He shook his head, confusion written across his face.

"They're the ways we express and feel love. Yours, I think, is physical touch. It's not too much, George. It's just your way of showing you care. I love it. It makes me feel close to you."

A small, relieved smile broke through George's uncertainty. "Really? I never thought about it like that. I just... feel more 'me' when I'm close to you."

Grinning, you nudged his shoulder playfully. "Well, feel free to be 'you'. Hogwarts can be a big, lonely castle, but your touch makes it feel a lot more like home."

From that moment, George's hesitancy melted away. His touches returned, each one a silent word in a language only the two of you understood. And in the middle of a school full of magic and mysteries, you found comfort and warmth in the simplest magic of all - a touch, a look, a connection that needed no spells to be real.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Double Dutch

The twins walk in on you as you talk about your stupid, fit neighbor. Wonder who that is.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, fred lives stfu, harry potter lore noob, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a continuation to Sweets & Sweeties but both can be read individually for the most part. GUYS IDK MUCH ABOUT HARRY POTTER LORE SO PLEASE KEEP CALLING ME OUT IF YOU NEED TO COS WHAT DO YOU MEAN I THERES AN UNLOCKING SPELL HAHAHAHAHAH | cross posted on ao3

"And they didn't just use Alohomora?"

You giggle as you momentarily lean on your mop to turn to your phone, "that's what I'm saying!"

Your friend snorts from the other side of the line.

"But," you continue mopping, "to be fair, even I didn't think of it in the moment. I was just glad they helped me get back in my shop when it felt like I'd be locked in forever."

Your friend groans, "you can be so dramatic. Why would you be locked forever from your shop?"

"Stop it. I was seriously debating throwing rocks at my window to get in."

"Wow," your friend laughs, just as the bell on your front door rings, "you're just as stupid as your neighbor."

You look over your shoulder mid-mopping, "sorry, shop's not..."

You grip your mop tightly as the tall man raises a hand, "mornin'."

"... open yet."

His smirk is lopsided as he raises a brow, "not even for your stupid neighbor?"

Your stomach drops and blood rushes up your neck.

"Bloody hell," your friend's voice on loud speaker reverberates in your empty bake shop, "did your fit neighbor walk in?"

The said man chuckles and you nearly whack your phone with your mop. You quickly end the call and grit your teeth in embarrassment, unable to turn back to the red haired man that was laughing yet again.

"Fit neighbor, huh?"

You clear your throat as you decide to put a brave face on and feign ignorance. You turn to him with a dramatic hair flip and shrug.

Fred or George Weasely smiles then hums, crossing his arms. Which one he was, you couldn't tell. "Glad to know you find me fit, love."

"I-" you clear your throat, "that wasn't about you."

His brows quirk and his lips part. He scoffs in offence but his smile is still visible, "don't tell me you think I'm stupid and my brother's fit." He walks over, shaking his head, clicking his tongue, "you have terrible taste in men."

You snort to mask the feel of your face burning, then pretend mopping is more exciting you really think it is, "I-" you clear your throat as you clean the tiles in front of your cake display, "don't even know which one you are."

The sheer dramatics of his gasp forces you to look back at him. The Weasley has a fist on his chest, pretending he was stabbed. He grunts in faux pain, "you're telling me I look exactly like Fred?" He rests the back of his hand on his forehead and turns away, "the horrors."

The laugh he pulls out from you is dangerous. It's full and giddy. It's more than amusement, it's full blown endearment that makes your belly roll. You stifle your laughter with your sleeve, feeling warmth linger on your cheeks. Your heart races as he, as George, saunters in front of you, hands smoothly sliding into his pockets. He tilts his head with a sigh, "might have to get even for that terrible remark, my..." he looks around the shop, "sweet neighbor."

You look up at him, pursing your lips to withhold your smile. You shrug, "I doubt a boy named Georgie can do so much damage."

He snorts and shakes his head, "cheeky bugger."

You tense when he leans forward.

"Did you just dare me to do you some damage, sweetheart?"

You open your mouth, but a strangled gasp is all that leaves you because he places his hands atop yours as he takes your mop from you.

"I feel like you don't need anymore damage, considering you did just break a mug."

You stare at him as he haphazardly starts mopping around. Your belly reacts to how he circles around the mop and shoots you a grin. You gulp, "how did you know I broke a mug?"

"Pfft," he scoffs, straightening up, resting his elbow on the top of the mop. Damn, he was tall. "I heard it break. Why do you think I came over here? To check on you!"

Your brows furrow as he puts the mop aside, "how'd you know it was a mug though?"

Georgie shrugs, "well, cause I'm a genius."

You give him a look.

He mirrors your look, then slowly begins to lean forward again, "d'ya want me to prove it?"

Your heart races as you slowly lean back, "w-what? No?"

"Wicked," he grins, straightening up, "you think I'm a genius, do ya?"

"W-What?"

"I just called myself a genius and you agreed," he puts his hands in his pockets and moves towards your cake display. He points, "that looks really good."

You compose yourself by brushing your hair back, "shop's not open yet, genius."

Georgie turns to you with a grin. He breaks into a chuckle, "why not?"

"I'm still cleaning."

He looks around the room and pulls out his wand from his pocket, "I-"

"No!" you raise your hands, "I like cleaning!"

He lowers his wand.

"I don't have anything to do before opening, and cleaning, you know..." you trail off and look away.

"No, I don't actually," he tilts his head in interest, "cleaning what?"

You shrug as you look back at him, "it gives me something to do."

He purses his lips and raises his brows, "wouldn't you rather do something fun?"

You chuckle and shake your head, "that's easy for you to say. You own Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Georgie shakes his head and raises his hands, "that's ex-"

"And you have your twin brother."

"... so?"

"You have someone to have fun with. I bet you never get homesick at all."

"Oh," he lowers his hands, "distraction for the loneliness, is it?"

You purse your lips and shrug, "yeah."

He offers you a soft smile, "I'm not a genius actually," he points his thumb over his shoulder, "your broken mug pieces are on your counter."

You turn to said object and counter, feeling bashful that you forgot about it, "oh, that's-"

"And I didn't come here because I heard you break it," he buzzes his lips then rubs his ear, "I don't think my ears are good enough for that."

You raise your brows, "I mean, I figured. I don't think anyone's ears are good enough for that."

"I did come here because I wanted to spend time with you."

You freeze.

"Want," he corrects, "I want to."

You feel blood rush up your face.

"That is," he motions vaguely and shrugs, "only if you want to take back what you said about me being the stupid one and Fred being the fit one."

"You think I'm fit?"

You both turn to the front door, only realizing now the bell had rung. Your face was burning, "I-"

"This isn't about you!"

Fred walks in, "oh, ho, ho, I do beg to differ."

Overwhelmed by the two Weasley men who begin to bicker in front of you, you step back unable to do anything but watch for a moment. That is until George says:

"No, I told you I think she's cute."

Fred scoffs, "I totally said she was cute first!"

"Keep lying, you liar."

"I literally told you the moment she w—"

"SHOP'S STILL CLOSED!" you blurt, making them turn to you. You gulp as they turn to you, and exaggeratedly clear your throat, "though I appreciate you both," cough, "think I'm cute, I have to prepare things."

"What things?" they ask in unison.

You stutter, "t-things!"

"I can help," they say at once, turning to each other, "Jinx. Double jinx. TRIPLE J-"

"GET OUT!" you point to the door, "respectfully."

The twins visibly deflate. George smacks Fred on the chest, "this is all your fault."

"Mine?" Fred scoffs, "you're the one that-"

You cut their bickering off short by pushing them towards the door. They begin to protest but do not try to overpower you to stay inside. You huff once you manage to kick them out and wave them goodbye.

"I thought we could drop by at any time for a cuppa?!" George calls out.

Fred huffs and cups the sides of his mouth, "liar!"

You chuckle softly under your breath, face warm as ever as you give them a look, "later! Once I open!"

They both huff and turn to each other. Fred says, "that's not any time, now is it."

"No, it isn't," George agrees.

[obsessedwithceleste]

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

[jiroufann]

a/n: hey guys it's been a while [plus the parasites in me have started to voice their opinions], so heres another fanfiction! feel free to drop fanfic requests in my asks! I'll do some when i find the time!!

@marypaol here was the george fanfic i was talking about back in may!

george weasley x reader

About You

I know a place it's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face

"No, No, I can't risk losing you again, I won't let you. Just quit it," you sobbed.

"[y/n], look at me."

You looked up from his chest and into his warm brown eyes. Any other witch or wizard unblinded with love would have stared at the gaping hole where his ear would have been.

But, oh, since when were his eyes ever so beautiful? No amount of ghastly scars would distract you from those eyes. Even though the color brown was common to find, they seemed to fit him in such a distinct way. Now, those same eyes were looking at you with a sense of love and regret.

"I have to. We need to protect Harry."

You felt conflicted, as you were anguished with the thought of Harry getting hurt, but more so at the fact you could lose the love of your life in two minutes.

You looked down at the wooden rickety floor. Soon enough, the familiar tinge in your nose indicated that your eyes would quickly fill up with the tears you fought so hard to contain.

Then a rough hand gently touched your cheek and lifted your face up. The tears lost their battle and slipped down your cheek.

George looked at you with that same slightly crooked smile you grew up with.

He wiped your tears with his thumb. "You know that I love you, right?"

You could only nod. You knew, but you felt as though you could never know enough. After all, what were you supposed to do with those words when they turned into nothing but memories of the past?

Some sentences were unforgettable, but the way he gently touched your face, the way he would chuckle slightly as you fixed his tie for him, would these only become a fleeting dream you once saw?

He only patted the back of your head with his other hand. "And you know that I know that you love me, right?"

You tried to fight the same fight against your tears you lost a minute ago, but you lost it again. The tears fell harder and grew into sobs.

"I'll always love you, you know that? I'll always love you, [y/n]."

You looked up at those familiar brown eyes. The question that was at the tip of your tongue already had an answer, but you decided to say it anyway.

"Do you really have to go?" you mumbled.

He only stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You already know the answer to that, [y/n]. Me and Fred need to defend the castle's secret passages from the Death Eaters. It was asked by Kingsley Shacklebolt himself."

"Then why can't I go with you?"

"You're needed, but not at the battlefield, [y/n]. You know that we could save hundreds with your potion-making abilities. Snape said so himself."

You chuckled and ducked your head into his chest again. "You're marching straight into death and you still have the nerve to talk about my awful professor? Cheeky bloke."

He stroked your hair gently. "I can talk smack about any professor I want, it's not like I'll be graduating. Unlike little miss prefect over here."

Your heart throbbed at the nickname. Would there even be a Hogwarts left behind to hold your graduation?

---

You knew that you weren't supposed to.

But sometimes, to love someone was to disregard the danger. To love was to look back, to love was to run to the very place you ran away from, as long as it meant you could see your love for the last time.

So you ran.

Spells and counter-spells were fired from all different directions, illuminating off of the broken lunch tables you used to sit with George at. Pieces of wooden table legs were strewed across the grass. A piece of wood with your initials and George's initials intertwined within a heart fell near your feet. You blinked at it and your nose felt that familiar tinge.

So you ran.

There were dead bodies that rested next to the fountain with mouths that lay gaping. You wrenched your eyes away after catching a glimpse of one of your roommates getting shot by a flash of familiar green light. Memories of pillow fights and late night murmuring about the guys you and her thought were cute flitted across your senses as your eyes started to well up.

So you ran.

You ran until you saw a couple familiar figures in the near distance.

Then air exploded. Dust filled your vision and you saw a glimpse of red hair.

"George?" you whispered.

You sprinted over to him, ignoring the splinters of wood cutting into your arms and face. You held out your wand and continued to run as you murmured spell after spell.

The air exploded again, this time much more violently. The side of the castle blew apart and you screamed out the very first spell you learned in the walls of Hogwarts, now crumbling, as you fell to the ground.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

For a second, all was silent. The only sound that kept your senses intact was heavy breathing and the shots fired in the distance.

On the ground you struggled to keep your arm up, which was aimed at the several pieces of rubble in the air. Right below the rubble was a blurry sight of fiery-red hair. You could barely make out another figure dragging him out of harm's way. You squinted. That was when you realized. It wasn't George you had saved, it was Fred. Where was George? Was he safe? Was he hurt?

Your mind continued to race with questions, but when you saw the figure moved to safety, your arm gave in. Your vision started to dim as your head fell to the ground.

It was black for a while.

".../n]."

"[y/n]"

You stirred. Your vision started to come back to you, along with a throbbing migrane in the back of your skull.

You turned to the side to reach for your wand, and that was when you felt a slight weight on your right hand.

George stirred in his chair, blinking once, then twice.

Your eyes traveled up from the freckled hand that rested on yours. Those same beautiful warm brown eyes were holding yours in worry. The same eyes you fought so hard to look for.

The same eyes you fought so hard to see alive.

"Oh my gosh, you're awake. You're okay. Oh my goodness." He whispered.

You saw a flash of fiery red hair as he lunged forward to catch you in a warm embrace. Your head took its place in the crook of his neck as his hand stroked your hair. A familiar feeling that you could never get enough of.

"How is Fred doing?" You asked.

His gaze softened and he pulled away from the embrace to brush his fingers across your cheek. He took his free hand to clasp one of your hands, interlocking fingers together in a woven embrace.

"He's doing fine. [y/n], if you hadn't stopped the rubble from falling on him, I don't think—I don't think he would have made it out alive," he said, the last part said so quietly that you could barely hear it.

You gazed at him and moved your hand to gently brush his hair behind his ear.

George gave you the same familiar crooked smile when you moved to give him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"And you? How are you feeling George?"

He smiled. "I've never been better," he murmured. Then he looked up to think for a moment.

"Im absolutely knackered though, yeah."

You giggled. "Me too, c'mere."

He embraced you again, and you felt as though you recovered your missing piece all over again.

"You know that I love you, right?" You murmured under your breath.

"I know."

"And you know that I know that you love me, right?" You whispered softly.

"I know."

"I'll always love you, you know that? I'll always love you, George."

"I'll always love you, [y/n]."

You both fell into a warm peaceful slumber, one without war and rubble.

[shadowbriar]

George Weasley - What Matters

Pairing : George Weasley x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 0.8k Warning : Takes place on the night after the Seven Potters event. Not proofread I'm too tired. Synopsis : Soothing conversation after what seems to be the greatest nightmare the couple had to live through. Notes : Part of Shadowbriar's 2024 Valentines Project. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

"Have you ever imagined a world where we’re not together?”

George frowns, lifting from the bed to lay on his side, his arm supporting his head. He watches her closely, seeing the glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. Supposed the nightmare of him arriving at the Burrow with blood soaking his shirt earlier was still etched in her mind. 

The plan was a success, should one argue. Their objective was met. Harry is now safe and sound, sleeping in Ron’s room like a baby. Though some sacrifices needed to be made, loss to mourn and cry for, at least knowing that what they fought for was achieved would be the softer side of the bed they’ll sleep on tonight.

“No, never.” He says firmly, trying to provide some comfort for her “Why would I ever think that?”

She shrugs, “Reasons.”

Gently, George reaches for her hand and places it to his chest. He hopes that it could ease her wary mind a little. He wanted her to feel his heart beat, to feel his heat, to feel him. He knows that it would take more than sweet words and tender embraces tonight to get them through the night, to get them just a blink of sleep no matter how sore and aching their bodies are, but he has no idea how else he could comfort her when he too was still a little shaken from the event that occurred.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, her voice shaky as she tries her best not to let the tears fall “I should be the one comforting you, but I just—”

“Shh, it’s alright, Darling,” George says as he pulls her close “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” He reassures, patting her head gently “You’ll never lose me.”

“But I almost did, George. I almost lost you.”

“Love,” George pulls away a little, staring deep into her eyes with that boyish smile “It would take much more than Voldy’s gothic underling to keep us apart, trust me.”

She forces a smile, one that didn’t truly reach her eyes. Her stare was still vacant, like she’s trying to comprehend her surroundings and finding firm stepping after the rug beneath her feet was pulled. There has been no greater horror, no bigger fear and terror than the one she felt a couple hours ago.

“I can’t lose you,” She says to him “I just can’t.”

“I know. I can’t lose you, either.” He says gently, caressing her cheek “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“What’s left of you, you mean.”

George raised an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“You lack an ear,” She tries to jest, smiling slightly bigger though her eyes still welled of tears “Can’t decide if it makes you lose a couple points in the appearance department or if it enhances it.”

“The latter, of course. You have one hell of an unkillable boyfriend,” He says proudly, grinning “Reckon muggles write it on their papers? A bloody ear fell from the sky. Imagine the horror!”

Her laughter finally breaks. Though it didn’t last as long as George wished it would, the lingering smile on her lips was enough to tell him that the storm is slowly passing. Gently, he leans in and kisses her. How the night went by was certainly unideal but now that she’s here, laying on his bed, everything feels alright. Like the pain on his ear was reduced into a slight itch and the soreness of his body was caused by nothing but a typical quidditch practice.

The sigh she let go as they parted lifted tons of her burden. The corners of her lips were still curled, satisfied with the solace they could both find in each other though chaos still unravels around them. It was modest and unadorned, but much more than enough to soothe both of their scarred minds.

“I love you,” She says softly “I don’t want to ever imagine a world without you.”

“Then don’t,” George answers “Don’t imagine it, don’t think about it, don’t worry about it because it would never happen. It’s us or nothing, remember? That’s all that matters.”

She chuckles, “That’s a bit extreme now, init? Us or nothing?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have anyone other than you,” He argues, raising an eyebrow “Do you have anyone you’d have other than me?”

“There’s a short list of possible names.” She jokes once again “You’re in my top three at the moment, honestly.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay, top five now from that comment.”

George let out a satisfied laughter, pulling her head close to his chest that she could feel the echo of his chuckle and the steady beating of his heart. Her arms now encircle his waist. There seems to be too much space between them tonight though their bodies were cramped together on such a tiny bed. No close is close enough for the two right now.

“I hope you know I didn’t mean that.” She whispers to his shirt “There could be no one but you.”

“I know,” George says, planting a kiss to the crown of her head “I know, Sweetheart, I know.”

[fangisms]

wish it on your worst enemy

A/N: if you see me butchering british slang 🤨 it never happened 🤫

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your worst nighmare takes a nasty spill during a scrimmage because he was distracted by you. It’s only right you go and check on him. 1.9k words

Warnings: violence by bludger, description of injury, cursing, lovesick losers, enemies to lovers???? ‘enemies’ to lovers but really idiots to lovers

George taking a bludger to the face was not the kind of news you would have liked to wake up to. Something had gone wrong during an emergency weekend scrimmage. He was laughing at something Fred said or shouting at Ron or maybe he was just distracted by his own thoughts and hadn't noticed the pesky bugger barreling towards him with every intent to bludgeon him unconscious. So he took a nasty spill from a considerable height and has been passed out in the hospital wing since six forty-five.

You rush down the hallway in your pajamas, cursing under your breath, face scrunched into a scowl, dead set on your target. Bloody quidditch. A few first years watched you nearly trample a group of girls in the hall. They were traumatized. It was bad.

"He's gone daft! This is absolutely mental—nothing is that distracting!" you shout at Ron who is actively trying to defend himself against you. He stopped you at the door because he heard you storming down the hall a full minute before you arrived.

"Calm down! He’s still alive isn't he?" he says.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it—"

"Oi," Fred shouts, lounging in a rickety chair beside George's cot, "would you wait 'till he's at least cognizant to threaten him?"

"You!" you fume, "why didn't you warn him!" Ron has given up trying to stop you at this point. You push past him, headed straight for Fred.

"I did! I shouted for him three times. The git was proper distracted. Must've been dreaming of something really special." He winks at you, and you think you could ring his neck right about now.

"I think you mean someone," Ron teases.

Both of them. You'll ring both of their necks.

"What the hell are you two chittering about?" you hiss.

"Oh, nothing at all, your graciousness. We'll leave you two lovebirds"—Fred clears his throat, standing and nodding to his youngest brother—"I mean friends... to it."

You grumble and flip them both off as they leave. You plop down into the chair just in time for Madam Pomfrey to come fluff the pillow propped beneath his left leg. She catches your weary glance over his limp body.

"I wouldn't worry too much, dearie. Nasty spills are what young men are made for. He just needs a little rest. Time to recover," she coos, smiling up at you from the base of the cot. You briefly worry the back of your neck before managing a nod.

"Thank you, madam. I appreciate it."

She grabs a quilt from the stack she had brought to his bedside and flattens it across his torso. You tug the side to even it out, a hitch in your breath when your fingers brush his cold knuckles.

"You know, when I attended Hogwarts, the quidditch boys were all the rage. My boyfriend was a Beater as well—"

"Oh, George—! He's not my..."

"He was wonderful. But of course, he was always getting into spills. It drove me mad to see the boy I loved in so much pain. In the end, I told him he'd have to be more careful or I'd call it quits. He told me he had to focus on his career anyway." She stands silently for a moment. Solemnly.

"That's terrible. I'm so sorry."

"You live and you learn. Boys will be boys, I suppose." Out of her trance, she shrugs and gestures to the clipboard sat on the desk. You hand it to her.

"May I ask... what became of him?"

"He retired from Quidditch very young. Only a few years in and, bam: traumatic brain injury. Some people can't be helped!"

You can't help but snicker at her frankness. She smiles, pats your shoulder, and sighs.

"You just have to love ‘em while you can."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Of course, dear. You let me know when he wakes up." She scuttles away.

You take the silence of the moment to look at him. While you can. You prop your elbows on the edge of the cot and rest your head in your hands.

"Not sure how I feel about all of that information. Not sure how much I trust that advice." You tell him like it’s a secret, nose scrunched like there’s anyone else within earshot.

How fragile he seems laid flat atop this plastic wrapped bed. How rich the watercolor purples and yellows of his bruise. Down his neck, out across his jaw. The subtle swoop of his lashes, the rosy bridge of his nose. Then down to his bird bone fingers, your heart skips at the thought of tracing over the delicate skin.

He twitches, and you startle and sit pin straight. His muscles relax, though yours refuse to. You notice a rip at the hem of his folded quidditch robes and perk up.

Eight minutes later, you’re tugging just the edge of his robe into your lap while the rest is feathered out across the linoleum floor. Your emergency sewing kit is perched on your other thigh as you thread your needle and begin stitching.

George blinks the ache from his eyes, finally awake just to find you with a thin string caught between your teeth, your brow furrowed, and your fingers pinching fabric together. He reaches up and presses the heel of his palm to his forehead.

"Thank Merlin I wore something under my uniform today—"

"George!"

The sewing kit clatters to the floor along with the robe and thread. Hopefully that needle will be easy to find. But you smile for now, and it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen. No wonder he took a bludger’s hit. You’re bloody distracting. Even when you’re not around.

“I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey, she said—"

"Were you... stitching up my quidditch robes?” he says, just a hint of teasing in his hoarse voice.

You look down and gape at the mess.

"There was a tear in—when you fell, the bottom—there was a rip! I had a sewing kit on me, I was just... helping a friend."

He blinks. If he wasn’t completely crushing on you before, it’s safe to say that was the nail in the coffin.

"That's adorable," he warbles.

You look cross and put your hands on your hips and scoff.

“Well, you can’t very well play with a rip in your uniform!"

"No. No, of course not,” he mumbles, “Silly me.”

Usually, you’d mock him. You’d call him names and tease him for getting knocked on his ass by and inanimate object. But that smirk has you incapacitated. He's making this very difficult for you.

"Well!” he chirps, “Don’t let me bother you, I’ll just be lying here."

"But Pomfrey—"

"I'll live. My mind is alive, the neurons are firing. All is well, it can wait,” he says, “Please.”

Goddamn you, George Weasley. You muster up a pathetic sigh and sit back on the stool, getting back to work on his robe.

But he’s back to grinning like a fool, admiring the way your tongue pokes the corner of your mouth when you focus. It’s incredibly endearing.

"You're very beautiful."

Daggers. “Shut up.”

He chuckles. "What? I find you to be very agreeable, poppet."

"Gee, thanks, Weasley,” you huff, “Do you want this stitch fixed or not—"

"Don’t get your dear panties in a twist, I’m only trying to compliment you. Would you just take it while I’m too ill to make fun of you properly?"

But he finds you very agreeable. And now you know that out loud. More than an inkling. More than friends. Oh, he’s awful.

"Quit staring."

"Sincerest apologies."

You roll your eyes and glare at him while the needle punctures the thick fabric.

"Why don’t I just tell Madam Pomfrey—"

"And ruin a moment? Come on, let me get a good look at you, you're the reason I’m in this mess,” George mumbles.

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Your stupid face won't get out of my head."

"Be serious, Weasley—"

"I am! You’ve cursed me, poppet, can't think straight unless I’m thinking of you."

"That's not fair!" you say.

"No, it’s not," he huffs, "I love you."

Shock. From both of you. More than friends, and more than a simple crush, now. But love. Love, for Merlin’s sake! Do you love him?

"You're being idiotic—”

"No. I'm not. I've thought long and hard about it, and I love you, and you can't change my mind—"

"George, quit it,” you say.

"Everyone knows it, poppet, I adore you, and—"

"I love you, too, George, now would you shut up!"

Well, then. Secrets out, no holds barred.

And he’s smiling all smug to himself, even though his left side is a bit swollen. And you’re back to fiddling with the stitched up tear in his robe. You’ve got crazy eyes. He thinks you might murder the stitched up tear in his robe. Or confess your love to it.

You groan.

"Stop smiling like that. You look crazy."

He shrugs. "I am crazy…"

"Do not—"

"… Crazy in love."

"I hate you"

"I know."

You look at him. And he’s looking back at you terribly fondly. As fragile as he seems now, he feels invincible. You fold up his fixed uniform and set it on the desk.

"George,” you sigh, “you have to stop getting hurt."

He nods curtly. "Okay. I’m sorry."

You squint at him, suspicious and expecting just a little pushback.

"... It's... okay, I just worry about you. I don't like seeing you like this." The stool scrapes against the floor, and George reaches for your hand.

"I know you don't, poppet. It won't happen again,” he says.

"Good. And if it does, then—"

"Then I’ll quit the team.”

"What!"

"I’ll do it. I’ll quit for you. I’ve got other things to worry about anyway. More important things than some silly sport where balls fly at your face."

Your eyes sparkle. For him, and it makes him absolutely giddy. He presses his thumb to the back of your hand and cocks a brow.

"Now,” he sighs, “would you come here and give me my hard won kiss?"

"Oh, so you won a kiss.”

"Nobly so. Dutifully and honorably. Nothing less than the best for your highness."

"Fine, whatever, only because you think I’m beautiful.”

You lean over his arm, trying not to nudge any of his tender injuries. While you’re being so careful, he’s straining for your kiss, jutting his neck out and shuffling under the quilt. He grunts at the overexertion, and you sit back before he gets his kiss.

"Nope! I’m getting Pomfrey!"

"One peck! Swear, I won’t move an inch!"

"Madam, he's awake!”

"Wonderful news, darling!" she calls from the other side of the wing, preparing a jug of water and a two glasses.

"You're horrible, and you torture me. You don’t love me at all, witch!" he whines, voice low

"On the contrary, I love you a good deal too much, which is why I’m so horrible."

He grumbles something under his breath.

Then chirps: "Be my girlfriend.”

You fold your hands in your lap. "If I must"

"And let me be your boyfriend,” he pleads.

"Well, what else would you be?"

"Your servant, your house pet. A footstool if you needed it.”

“George Weasley, you’re a fool,” you tease, reaching over to fix a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am. A fool who loves you very much.”

“Sap.”

masterlist

[maiiiwrites]

★ | WARM HUGS AND PJS . JPEG

PAIRING ! george weasley x f!reader

IN WHICH you spend xmas morning with your beloved or in ron’s words accidentally traumatizing him forever

how odd. the common room felt unusually cold despite the warmth flickering from the fireplace. it made you feel alone, a sentiment you've always felt during the holidays. but something about this year felt different.

maybe it's because of the comfort that tightly clung onto you.

"georgie.. baby.." you murmured.

a small hum escaped the giant redhead. despite that, he remained still. with no intention of letting you go. if possible, it seemed that he snuggled even closer to you.

you giggle at his clingy antics. "baby you have to let me go."

"mhmph no," george dismissed.

you knew you have to find a way to make him let you go before the students start rushing down.

"georgie we can't be found like this."

"and why is that love? you ashamed of me?" he frowned.

godric did he look absolutely adorable with his tiny pout. you gently ran your fingers through his bright red locks. noticing how george unconsciously leans into your touch.

"it's not that baby. you know that i love you, but do you really want to be teased this early? on christmas day?"

his brows furrowed as if he's contemplating his options. "i don’t mind if–"

aaaack!

a shriek from behind pulled your attention away from your lover. you couldn't help but laugh at ron’s disgusted face. "seriously?! this early in the morning?!" he groaned, shielding his eyes as if he walked in on an inappropriate scene.

"my apologies ron," you utter.

you eventually see harry and hermione come down the stairs and stand behind ron. hermione asks why ron is standing there looking like an idiot, something which he grumbles about. they were quick to check the tree and go through their presents.

"yn! look mom got you something!" ron cheered.

"and nothing for you george," he taunted, sticking his tongue out at him.

much to george's dismay, you untangle your limbs and walk towards his younger brother. "how sweet of mrs. weasley!" happily receiving the gift. it's been a while since you've received a gift given out of love. you carefully unwrap the gift, anticipating what lies beneath all the wrapping.

you soften spotting a matching set of pajamas. it's the perfect size for you and george. tears well up in your eyes as you gaze at the pjs in your hands. george, who has been watching you with pure adoration, notices how silent you've become.

"love?" he calls out.

slowly, you stood up and made your way towards george. burying your face at the crook of his neck, feeling safe enough to let out quiet sobs. george instinctively wraps his arms around you. he holds you close, muttering 'i love you's and assurance.

after a few minutes of simply basking in his embrace, you pull back to admire his features. you bring your hand up to brush along his freckled dusted cheeks. leaning in for a quick kiss that left him chasing after your lips.

"let's change into these, stay in, and cuddle all day. how's that sound?" you offer.

a lopsided grin made its way onto his face. he pulls you up and catches you off guard when he carries you bridal style. you were both a giggling fit as you made your way up to his dorm.

one thing was for certain, this year was definitely the best holidays you've had so far.

bonus:

harry speaks up once you've left, "it's like they're in their own little world."

"it's disgusting really," ron gagged.

hermione was quick to hit him. "they're adorable! you just won’t know a thing about romance. i bet you can’t even woo a girl."

ron frowns and quickly defends himself, saying how he did manage to go on a date once! which hermione ignores, her attention on the wonderful quill mrs. weasley gifted her.

© maiiiwrites — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[lidiasloca]

Hii how are you? I like your blog<33 Can I make a request about George Weasley? The reader is a Slytherin. There is a romantic attraction between George and the reader; they may even become lovers. One day, while the two are talking, George asks her why the Sorting Hat thought about her for so long in the past. The other house the Sorting Hat had in mind for her was Gryffindor. She has always kept it a secret because of her family, but finally decides to tell George about it.~

george's slytherin girl

george weasley x you

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“Just tell me,” George urged for the fifth time that afternoon. It didn’t help that he was hugging you around the waist as you lay on the sofa, his sweet caresses further coercing you.

“No,” you laughed, feeling helpless against his curiosity. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Ugh,” he groaned in feigned frustration. “That just makes me want to know even more.” He squeezed your waist, making you giggle. “Tell me why the Sorting Hat took so long with you.”

You pressed your lips together, pondering whether to finally give in and confess. It had all happened such a long time ago—yet George still remembered that ridiculous Sorting Hat perched on your head. Maybe you could tell him after all.

“Alright,” you mumbled, feeling defeated.

He let out a childish giggle of pure joy, clapping his hands together like an overexcited child—although he was far from it.

“Well, do you remember we had already seen each other before the Sorting?” You waited for him to nod. “And do you recall how I went red immediately? How I tried to hide from you?”

“I didn’t think you were trying to hide from me. Was I that hideous?” he asked, grinning like a fool.

You pointedly ignored him. “Well, I was very timid back then. Very.” You took a breath. “And I kind of liked you—very much.”

His grin morphed into a cocky smirk. “Did you, now?”

“Oh, shut up.” He pretended to zip his lips. “And then it was the ceremony. You got sorted into Gryffindor, and when the Sorting Hat was on my head, I prayed it wouldn’t put me in the same house as you. I knew I’d live with the constant fear and hope of finding you around every corner. So, I begged. The Sorting Hat’s first guess was to put me in Gryffindor, but after hearing my prayer, it kindly placed me in Slytherin.”

You feared you had rushed through the story when you saw the surprised look on George’s face.

“Say something,” you said, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice.

“Sweetheart…” he breathed.

“What?” you asked, nerves bubbling up inside you.

Then he burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed at your serious face. At last, catching his breath, he said, “You are so adorable, Y/N. You got into Slytherin because you had a crush on me—shouldn’t that be in Hogwarts history books?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“No, really. It’s actually a pity we aren’t in the same house.”

“No, it’s not. I couldn’t have borne more than a few minutes in your presence.”

“Liar,” he replied lovingly, still sporting that smirk.

“Besides,” you continued, “I love Slytherin.”

“Alright, that’s true. But still, if you were in Gryffindor, we wouldn’t have to fight anyone who finds us in the common room,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“And that’s exactly why I know I’m perfectly suited for Slytherin. I love a good quarrel.” He chuckled at the sight of your mischievous smirk. 

“My Slytherin girl.”

-Characters by J K Rowling

a/n: maybe not the sort of mistery fic you asked for, anon. hope you enjoyed it nonethelss. i really liked the idea 💞

[eternalbuckley]

Giggles. — george weasley

SUMMARY: You ask your longterm boyfriend if you could compare your handsizes which leads to you giggling the entire time. — check out the request

word count: 562

genre: fluff | gn!reader, queer!reader, bipoc!reader and plus-size!reader friendly

warnings: use of pet name (darling), english is not my first language, not proofread — if I forgot something, please let me know!

disclaimer: please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work or post this anywhere without my consent. i don’t give you my permission to use my writing for any ai related things, don’t do it. do not translate my work and post it anywhere — i give you no permission to do that. i only post my stories here, so if you find my work anywhere else please let me know! reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated and welcomed!

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ celebration main post | navigation | masterlists | taglist

“Well, I was thinking we could go to Hogsmeade this weekend,” suggested George as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders while you were sitting next to each other outside on a blanket, “Perhaps get some butterbeer together?”

You nodded your head with a smile on your lips, “Yeah I’d like that.”

As you changed your position and faced him with a playful grin, you noticed a curious look on his face. He raised one of his eyebrows and slightly tilted his head. He was curious about what you had on your mind and it was like you could read his mind as you started talking again.

“I was thinking about if we could do something,” you paused and waited for his reaction. As he straightened his back and put more weight on his right arm to listen to you, you continued, “I’ve recently talked with Luna about something she recently observed.”

“What was it about, darling?” He asked and put his left arm on his raised knee.

“We’ve been together for so long now but never really compared our…” You looked down for a moment and then back to him. “We never really compared our hand sizes. Luna watched other couples do it and I think it’s really adorable. I was wondering if we could do it.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice or describe even more because he already held his left hand to you with a smile on his lips. He loved how your face slightly lit up as he didn’t say much and just held out his hand. You scooted closer to him and gently took his hand. The inner side of his hand was faced to you as you pressed yours against his. His skin was mostly warmer than yours, which you loved most of the time because it would make it better whenever you cuddled. Unless it was high temperatures, it was always too unbearable to cuddle with him without feeling too hot.

“Why are your hands always so warm,” you pout, “It’s not fair.”

He chuckled and looked at your hands, his was slightly bigger than yours. George slightly moved his fingers, so they were completely pressed against yours. A giggle left your lips as he playfully tapped your fingers. He used this opportunity to intertwine your fingers and pull you closer to him. You gasped as both of you lost your balance at his sudden action and he fell backwards on the blanket and you laid on the half of his body. You both ended up giggling which turned into laughter with your faces being close.

“I love you,” he whispered softly and slightly sat up. His whisper sent down a shiver of your spine. You leaned forward and kissed him lovingly and slowly. “I love you more,” you grinned as you pulled away from him.

He shook his head and lifted his pointy finger and closed his eyes as he spoke, “Nuh-uh. I recently found a truthful study that was made by someone named George Weasley which says that I love you more. You can’t change the science, my love. You must accept the truth.”

You laughed and were amused by his reaction. You adored his playful and loving side, one that would always cheer you up even in your sad moments. He always found a way to make you feel better.

[nottsangel]

EIGHT. mirror sex — george weasley

warnings — smut 18+. vaginal sex. mirror sex. praise.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“look at yourself, darling.” george whispers into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your bare skin as he pounds into you from behind, his thrusts deep and calculated. you obey, your eyes locking onto your reflection in the spotty full length mirror in front of you, your make up still sitting prettily on your flushed face despite the steamy, messy sex you’ve been having for hours.

george, your sweet boyfriend, simply couldn’t control himself seeing you like this— all dolled up, your make up and hair perfectly done, and wearing the shortest, skimpiest dress you own, leaving very little to the imagination.

however, the night wasn’t supposed to go this way. you were supposed to head to a party—key word, supposed—because you didn’t even make it out the door before george’s hands had started roaming all over your body, begging you to let him feel you, just a little bit. and well… that ‘little bit’ turned into so much more.

“bloody hell, so beautiful. i can’t believe you’re mine.” george groans in slight disbelief, his soft hands trailing over your body towards your exposed tits, gently massaging them as his cock moves in and out of you so perfectly.

“mhm, all yours, george.” you softly murmur back, the angle of him behind you—his sweaty chest pressed against your back—allows him to go incredibly deep, causing your toes to curl at the intense sensation. you gaze into the mirror through hazy, half-lidded eyes, your knees hurting on the hard wooden floor, but your mind too blurred to even care… until you’re abruptly reminded of something.

“w—wait, george, the party!” you then manage to utter in between his thrusts as flashes of the presumably lively party fill your mind— images of your friends having the time of their lives distracting you. your gaze remain fixed on the mirror in front of you, your back resting on his chest, when a small chuckle escapes him, amused by how oblivious you are to the fact that hours have already passed, the long-forgotten party likely nearing its end.

“shhh, forget that bloody party. tonight is all about you, sweetheart. that’s all i care about right now… or are you trying to get rid of me already?”

“god, no george! does it look like it?”

“hmm.” his eyes trace your reflection, lingering on your fucked-out face in the mirror, before drifting down to your body that’s trembling from pleasure. “doesn’t look like it to me, no.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[desideriumwriter]

could you do a like a gryfinndor luna lovegood type of reader with george?? like really ditzy or even reader being lunas older sister but she’s and being all silly weird girl like her?? <33

suchhhh a cutecutecute idea, ugh i love it. george and a "weird" ditzy girl is so perfect. ty for the request! apologizes for any mistakes, it's late and im too tired to proofread but too eager to wait and pf in the morning

wc: 1153

navi | g.w. masterlist

Occasionally George liked to practice on the Quidditch field by himself. Usually Sundays since everyone else was too tired to go out.

The field was especially empty today due to the rain; it was pouring down hard but George decided to take this as an opportunity to get used to games in the rain. He was still a bit mad over losing to Hufflepuff when Harry fainted in the rain last year.

George watched as the bludger's attention turned from him to what looked like another student walking around the field. He was confused as to why you were walking around in the pouring rain. 

His eyes widened in terror as he watched the ball go hurling towards you, panicking and flying down towards it.

He casted a stunning spell to keep the bludger from moving any more as he flew down.

He got up off his broom immediately once he got his feet on the grass, leaving it behind as he ran over to you, who was still looking at the bludger.

“I hope you didn’t do that because you thought I was an opponent.” Your eyes looked from the ball to George, seeming completely unbothered.

“No! No! I didn’t mean to do that at all! It was an accident! I swear I didn’t even realize you were there.”

“Most people don’t.” There was no sadness in your tone, you were just stating a fact. You were an awfully quiet walker. 

Though, George knew who you were, knew of you. And your “weird girl” reputation.

“Oh, um, well what are you doing in the middle of the pitch anyways?” He cleared his throat.

“Looking for my slippers.” George gave you a small, confused nod. 

“You think your slippers would be in the Quidditch pitch?” He let out an amused chuckle as he slid his goggles off his eyes, letting them sit on his forehead.

“Possibly, I have a problem with sleepwalking.”

“So, you came out here while it’s pouring?” 

“I’d rather not wait, I don’t mind the rain.” He watched as your stare tightened as you looked him up and down, “Your uniform is soaked.”

“So are your robes.” He gestured and you looked down at your school uniform. Your hood was up but no longer doing any help to keep from the rain. You were soaked head to toe, your hair sticking to your face.

You didn’t say anything as you grabbed George’s hand, your hold on his hand was light but you were able to pull him with you to the stand underneath the awnings.

“There, now we’re both clear from the rain.” You gave him such a kind smile, the kind that made him want to melt into the grass. Your hand was still wrapped around his in a loose grip.

Bringing his hand up closer and tracing your finger over his palm, he watched with knit brows as you stared again. 

“You have quite a lot of calluses.” You spoke blankly, turning his hand in yours.

“Thanks.” The way he said it made it sound more like a question rather than a response. 

“I have a moisturizer that could help. I’m surprised you haven’t thought of something like that with you and your brother's products.” You placed his hand nicely down at his side, treating it as if he couldn’t do it by himself. He found it cute.

“You know me?- You know about our shop?” He pointed to his chest, not sure how to figure out how’d you react. Most people were predictable when it came to the twins or their products. But you were terrifyingly hard to read with how nonchalant you were. 

“I once watched a kid eat one of those sweets you sell and his nose started bleeding a minute later in Flitwick's class.” You shrugged. George really wanted to repeat his first question since he’s never seen you before. Maybe once in the common room. But not on occasion.

“Good to know they’re working.” He hummed. Cold wind moved through the air, making the ends of your robe flutter. “I think you should go back to the castle, it’s only gonna get worse from here on. Do you need me to walk you back?” You nodded appreciatively before turning and already going on the move. 

You were walking surprisingly quick to the point George had to jog a small bit to catch up with you.

“You, uh, you never told me your name?” He said as he caught up, his face lit up once he heard you say your last name.

A Lovegood. Makes sense. George thought to himself.

“I’m surprised you haven’t pulled a prank on me yet.” You looked down at his shoes, watching as your feet moved in sync with each other.

“I’m not sure I know you well enough to do that yet. It’d be rude if I did.” He gave you an amused laugh. You gave him a small hum and you both continued to walk, no longer speaking.

Even though George had just met you after watching you nearly get taken out by a bludger and you having a very peculiar personality, the silence was comfortable. He didn’t feel super awkward, you were nice, you had a warming presence to him. You were pretty too.

A small gasp leaving your lips made his eyes immediately shoot in your direction, you stopped for a second before running over to a boulder, your slippers sitting neatly together in front of it.

“I knew they would show up eventually!” You cheered, this is the loudest George has heard you, yet your voice was barely near the height of a shout.

You grinned as you picked them up then grimaced at their dirtiness, George couldn’t help but smile too.

“Hm. They’re quite gross now. I was hoping the rain would wash them off.” You frowned as you saw the mud caked underneath them. “I guess I’ll have to find a spell to fix them myself.” George couldn’t stop staring at you, you were so pretty, yet so strange. He loved it.

As you reached a roofed entrance to one of the corridors you stopped and turned to George.

“Thank you for walking me back, George. I’d like to be your friend.” You said as you rocked back and forth on your feet.

“Oh, I’d like to be your friend too.” He stammered out, there was no lie behind his words.

“Great. Well, I think I should go wash myself off. I feel gross.” You waved as you began to step backwards into the hallway.

“See you, strange girl.” He waved back before you fully turned the opposite direction, immediately feeling bad for calling you that, until he saw the way your grin grew bigger at the name. You nodded and turned away, skipping down the hallway.

George let out a small laugh to himself, he definitely would be seeing you again.

tell me what you thought! <3 feedback is always appreciated!

[vilentia]

Just Friends, Really

George Weasley x Hufflepuff!Reader

Masterlist

The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter. Word had spread like wildfire that the Yule Ball was to be held on Christmas Eve, a highlight of the Triwizard Tournament that had everyone, students and staff alike, caught up in a whirl of excitement. Rumors of dress robes, enchanted decorations, and a magical orchestra filled the air, making it almost impossible to focus on anything else.

George sat at the Gryffindor table during breakfast, buttering his toast with more force than necessary. Fred was leaning across the table, animatedly discussing the potential pranks they could incorporate into the ball. But George wasn’t really listening.

“Are you even paying attention, George?” Fred asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

George blinked. “What?”

“I said,” Fred repeated with exaggerated patience, “who are you asking to the ball?”

“No one,” George replied quickly, shoving a bite of toast into his mouth.

Fred raised an eyebrow. “No one? You’re not planning on sitting in the corner, are you? We have a reputation to uphold.”

George rolled his eyes. “I’ll ask someone eventually. There’s no rush.”

Across the hall, George’s gaze wandered, entirely by accident, of course, to the Hufflepuff table, where Y/N was laughing at something one of her friends had said. He quickly looked away, but not before Fred noticed.

Fred smirked. “Oh, I see.”

“You see what?” George asked defensively.

Fred grinned, leaning closer. “You’re planning to ask Y/N, aren’t you?”

George almost choked on his toast. “What? No! We’re friends. Just friends.”

“Right,” Fred said, dragging out the word. “That’s why you’ve been staring at her like a lovesick hippogriff.”

“I have not,” George snapped, his ears turning red. “Besides, even if I wanted to, she’d never say yes. She probably already has a date.”

Fred laughed. “Oh, Georgie. You’re so hopeless it’s almost endearing.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was dealing with her own round of interrogations. At the Hufflepuff table, Clara was practically bouncing with excitement.

“Y/N! Who are you going with to the ball?” Clara asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“No one,” Y/N said with a shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought about it?” Clara exclaimed. “You have to go with someone! What about George?”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “George? Why would I go with him?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Because you’re practically joined at the hip. Everyone knows you’re close.”

Y/N laughed. “We’re friends, Clara. That’s it. Just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” Clara muttered under her breath, but Y/N ignored her, reaching for her goblet of pumpkin juice.

Still, Clara’s words lingered in her mind throughout the day. Y/N couldn’t help wondering if George was planning to ask anyone and why the thought bothered her so much.

As the days passed, George still hadn’t asked anyone to the ball, and the sight of other boys fumbling their way through awkward invitations was starting to irritate him more than usual.

He wasn’t even sure why he felt this way until it happened. Y/N was coming out of the library when a tall Ravenclaw with a perfectly pressed uniform and an annoyingly charming smile intercepted her.

“Y/N,” the boy said, his voice dripping with confidence, “would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”

George, who had been walking down the corridor nearby, froze. He couldn’t hear Y/N’s reply, but he didn’t need to. Her smile and the way she nodded said it all.

He clenched his fists, a strange, unwelcome heat rising in his chest. It wasn’t like he cared who Y/N went with. She was free to make her own choices. They were just friends, after all.

So why did it feel like someone had just hexed him in the stomach?

That evening, Fred found him sulking in the Gryffindor common room. “You’re a riot, you know that?” Fred said, flopping into the seat beside him. “Angelina said yes, by the way. Naturally.”

“Good for you,” George muttered, staring at the fire.

Fred smirked. “You’re not seriously going to spend the ball sulking, are you? Ask someone, George. Katie Bell’s been going on about wanting to wear her new dress robes. She’d say yes.”

George frowned, considering it. Katie was Angelina’s friend, and they got along well enough. It wasn’t a bad idea. And maybe it would distract him from… other things.

Two days before the ball, George finally worked up the nerve to ask Katie Bell. She agreed with a cheerful smile, and George felt a twinge of relief. At least he wouldn’t be going alone.

On the night of the ball, the Great Hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland, with icicles hanging from the enchanted ceiling and snowflakes drifting lazily through the air. George entered with Fred, Angelina, and Katie, scanning the crowd despite himself.

He spotted Y/N almost immediately. She was standing near the edge of the room with the Ravenclaw git, who was talking animatedly about something while she nodded politely. She looked stunning, but George refused to dwell on that.

Fred leaned over. “Oi, stop staring. You’ll make it obvious.”

“I’m not staring,” George muttered, tugging at the collar of his dress robes.

“You’re hopeless,” Fred said with a grin, patting him on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd with Angelina.

George managed to avoid Y/N for most of the evening, though it was no easy feat. Everywhere he turned, it seemed like she was there, laughing with her friends, spinning on the dance floor, or sitting at a table with that Ravenclaw bloke.

Katie, for her part, was pleasant company, but it became increasingly clear that she was more interested in catching up with Angelina than spending time with George. Eventually, she drifted off, leaving him nursing a butterbeer by himself.

He wasn’t expecting Y/N to find him, but suddenly, there she was, standing in front of him with a hesitant smile.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

George blinked. “What about your date?”

Y/N shrugged, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “He’s busy talking about himself. I don’t think he’ll notice if I’m gone.”

George hesitated, but Y/N held out her hand, and he couldn’t say no. He set down his butterbeer and took her hand, leading her onto the dance floor.

They swayed in silence for a while, the soft music filling the space between them. Y/N rested her hands lightly on George’s shoulders, her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

“So,” George said finally, his voice low, “how’s the Ravenclaw?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Boring. Talks about himself too much.”

George smirked. “Sounds like a catch.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “What about Katie?”

“She ditched me for Quidditch gossip,” George admitted. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Y/N looked up at him then, her eyes warm. “Guess that makes us two people ditched by our dates.”

George grinned. “Reckon that makes us the rejects of the night.”

Y/N’s laugh was brighter this time, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in the room. The tension that had hung between them for weeks seemed to melt away, replaced by the easy familiarity they’d always shared.

As the song came to an end, Y/N stepped back, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment. “Thanks for the dance, George.”

“Anytime,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

They walked off the dance floor together, side by side, and George felt a strange sense of contentment. They might only be friends, just friends, but for now, that was enough.

Masterlist

[just-some-random-blogger]

Sweets & Sweeties

You opened a bakeshop called Sweets & Sweeties which was just beside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and one day you accidentally lock yourself outside.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, Murphy's law, fred lives stfu, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: i have this fic called tormented spirit and its fucked me up cos of how sad it is HAHAHAH i need a break and thats coming from someone who LOVES angst. ALSO i was never super into Harry Potter so idk lore™ but I've been watching the phelps twins and their baking show related content and i'm just so endeared by them AHHHHHHHHH. please leave comments/reblogs because this feels a bit mid cos i havent written fluff in 100 years T_T cross posted on ao3 | continuation fic

@pendragora if i have to suffer, you have to suffer

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always busy. Everyday, there were children and children-at-heart going up and down the block, eager to buy themselves trinket or treat to promptly cause mischief.

Because of the shop's success, your own shop also benefitted from it. Sweets & Sweeties was your dream come true. As a child, you loved sweet treats, and you would grow to learn you loved making them just as much.

You hadn't expected to sell out as often as you did, and you knew it was all thanks to the fact the establishment next door brought as many customers as they did, who then became your customers.

You were extremely grateful, and tried time and time again to show it through a simple gesture of a gift. It was rather hard to find the time to do so however, as the neighbor establishment was constantly packed. The first time you saw the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had introduced himself as: "George Weasley," he says, dusting off his hands before reaching one out for you.

You merely stare at him, your smile flattening slightly, only to grow wider as you chuckle. Both of your hands held a tray of cake, and it was quite a weighty cake at that, "I-"

"Right," he brushes his hands on his trousers, "right. Sorry, let me help you with that."

He takes the cake from you and ushers you deeper into the store. You gasp when a small child runs across him, unfortunately bumping into his side. Thankfully, George manages to lift the cake, evading the collision. The girl who bumped into him looks up, eyes wide, hands clutched, looking rather guilty, "s-sorry, Mr. Weasley."

The tall man's brows furrow as he looks down. He whines, "s'not Mr. Weasley, it's George."

The girl stares at him for a moment.

"Say it with me: George."

She clutches her chest and mutters, "Georgie?"

George purses his lips together in a soft smile and nods, "Georgie it is then."

Your hand comes to your mouth as you chuckle and follow after the red haired man. He leads you into the back office and you gasp yet again, this time, because of the photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait of a myriad of other red heads breaking into a wide grin.

"There's two of you!" you point.

George sets the cake down on his desk and crosses his arms once he's besides you, "nah. There's only one person in the family as good looking as me," he turns to the photograph, "that's my twin brother, Fred."

"Oh," you turn to him, taken off guard by how close he was, "is..." you casually take a step back, "he around?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "probably showing the customers how to use the thingamabobs."

You chuckle and nod, "well," you motion vaguely, "I know you're very busy, so I won't take any more of your time."

The man tilts his head, lips curled into an soft grin as he shrugs, "you don't hear me complaining, love."

You aimlessly look off to steel away the giggle that threatened to leave your lips, "right," you clear your throat, "ehhh, do tell me if the cake is to you—"

Before you can even finish your thought, George is back at his desk. He swipes a dollop of frosting and tastes it.

"—r... liking."

He raises his brows as he nods, "it's to my liking."

The both of you just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You're now rather painfully aware of your breathing.

You start when the office door bangs open and a near exact replica of George comes walking in, "you would not believe what just—"

George's eyes are on you as you turn to his twin. You raise your hand, "hi... I'm-" you point to nowhere, "-the baker next door."

He turns to George, then back to you, reaching out his left hand, "Fred Weasley."

You smile and shake his hand, speaking your name in return.

"Hey!" George walks over, reaching out a hand, "I didn't get a handshake!"

You turn to George and his outstretched left hand, about to shake it, but Fred does not release you, and only turns to his twin.

"Fred-"

"I'm not done."

George watches Fred shake your hand, "well that's more than enough."

"Not really," Fred shrugs.

You chuckle softly, making them turn to you. You then offer your other hand to George, crossing your arm over the other, "here."

George looks at it and takes it with his right one. The three of your shake each other's hands for a questionably long time.

When you're finally released, you hold back a laugh and rub your palms on the side of your hips, "right... it was a pleasure to meet you both."

They nod in sync, "the pleasure is ours."

You giggle and raise a hand in regard, "come by my shop sometimes."

They wave back at you as you head for the door.

"I'll make you both a cuppa."

They smile as you exit their office. Once you were gone, the brothers instantly turn to each other.

Fred says, "she's cute."

"Yeah, I saw her first," George counters.

"Pfft, so what?"

"So, everything."

Meeting them was so... notable, that you thought about it the entire day. You found yourself giggling about the handshake for the nth time as you closed up, and right after you heard the door click, you whip your head back in realization that you'd left your bag in the counter, along with your keys.

You shake the doorknob, trying to will the door open, though you knew it was pointless, "no, no, no, NO!"

You step back and stare at the windows of your shop. You ruffle your hair and huff as you debate how bad the idea of breaking the glass with the rock would be.

You stare that your sign that read Sweets & Sweeties, feeling taunted by it so suddenly, and then you remember you forgot another thing. The window on the rooftop was surely open from when you opened it to let out some steam. What's more, it looked like it was about to rain!

"Oh," you groan and wrap your arms around yourself, "thank goodness I left my brolly too."

You crouch in front of your unlit shop, feeling rather helpless.

You hear a bell ring and turn to the shop next door. Out comes George and Fred, much wiser than you, with their brollies and suitcases in hand. They call your name in unison and you sigh as you come to stand.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them says.

You freeze at the pet name, and he seems to catch on. He points upward, "sweetie."

You turn to your sign and feel bashful. You awkwardly chuckle, "right, I-"

"You alright?" another asks.

You look between them, "yeah," and shake your head, "no, ehhh, sorry... I... which is," you point in confusion, "which?"

"George," the one to your right raises a hand.

"Fred," the one to your left raises a hand.

"Right," you lower your head as you shake it, "sorry, I don't-"

"You'll get used to it," they say in unison.

You huff as you look back at them, both of their lips are pursed, "right..." you turn to your shop and point, "I, eh... locked myself out."

They turn to where you did.

"And I left my bag..."

They turn back to you.

"And my keys."

They make a face.

"And my brolly," you turn to you feet for a moment, "and the window in my roof open."

"Oooh," they say at once. George bares his teeth, "bad luck."

"And," Fred adds, looking up, "it looks like it's about to rain."

"I know!" you gasp, placing your hands on both sides of your head.

For a moment, the three of you stand there, soaking in your misfortune. A moment later, George turns to his brother and says, "hang on."

Fred turns to him.

"Don't we have a window in the roof, Fred?"

Fred turns to you, "that we do, George."

George turns to you too, "how are you with heights?"

"Ehhh..." your lips part, "....fine?"

With that, the twins head to the entrance of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, beckoning you over. They reopen the lights, leave their things by the door, and lead you upstairs.

"Now," George (you think) says, "I'd like to think our roof's pretty sturdy, but," he pulls out wand from his coat jacket, "I can always do a good ol' Levioso if anything goes awry."

You are comforted by the thought and nod as you make your way up. When you get to the top, you see a singular tiny window by the side of the roof and you momentarily wonder if this was a good idea.

"D'ya know what," George (you think) says, turning to his brother, "you should go down and watch her as she crosses, so in case anything happens," he points, "you can make sure she doesn't fall."

Fred (you think) shakes his head, "why me?"

"Because it was my idea to cast Levioso, Fred," George (you were right) retorts.

"Then you go down!" Fred whines.

"I'm not going down," he crosses his arms, "I just got here."

"Yeah, so did I—"

"SCISSORS, PAPER, ROCK!"

You watch to the instant match the twins have, finding one rock and scissors at hand. George grins, raising his winning fist. Fred rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns to you before going down.

George smiles and motions with his head, "come on then, I'll help you up."

He drags a box towards the window and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand and step up, then reach for the sides of the window, pulling yourself up to get on the roof. You are glad their window was right in front of yours and that it wasn't a far walk at all.

Fred, who just got outside, catches his breath before cupping the sides of his mouth, "careful!"

You turn to him from below and call back, "trying!"

George watches you closely as you cross to the other side. He probably shouldn't think the wobble of your limbs endearing, but he does. The moment reach your window, he claps, "aye!"

You are quick to jump down, grunting as you do so. You turn around and smile at George who was already smiling back at you. He raises his hands, "you did it, sweetie!"

"I did, wheezing wizard!"

"Well," he tilts his head, "it's Wizard Wheezes but..." he shrugs, "you can just call me Georgie."

You raise your brows.

"I- I mean George."

You chuckle and purse your lips as you shake your head, "too late, Georgie."

"Now, hold on-"

"See you downstairs, Georgie!" you give a toothy grin as you close your window. You bite your lip and giggle to yourself for a moment, "cutie."

Georgie clenches his jaw as he stares the window. He sighs and kicks the box away before closing it, "damn."