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agreeeeeeeeeee · 3 months ago

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Best Friends Brother pt. 2 | C.W. ⋆✮⋆˙

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Months have passed since you met (ie shagged and definitely didn't fall in love with) Charlie Weasley. And when Molly invites you to the Burrow for Christmas, your best friends Fred and George assure you that Charlie will not be in attendance. Spoiler alert: They are wrong.

CW: MDNI 18+, lots of christmas fluff and smut, Charlie being a shameless flirt, pining, brat tamer and primal!charlie if you squint, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f receiving), this is so tooth-rotting I cannot

AN: Charlie might be my favorite weasley to write for. and the implications of brat taming and primal play have my mind reeeeeeling

part one | masterlist

“So what are you doing for Christmas, deary?” Mrs. Weasley asked, stirring a sugar lump into her tea. You were squeezed beside Fred into a booth at tea shop in Diagon Alley, having run into your best friends and their mother while Christmas shopping. Molly insisted you join them for a rejuvenating cuppa, and you weren't one to refuse an earl grey.

“Oh, nothing really. Probably watch some corny films and get take away,” you replied, nibbling on the edge of a croissant.

“What?!” She gasped, so loud the neighboring tables turned to see what the fuss what about.

Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.

“Unacceptable!” She cried, dropping her spoon with a clatter. “Why on earth didn't you tell me she was spending Christmas alone?!” She whacked George on the arm and kicked Fred in the shin under the table.

“We didn't know!” They whined in unison, rubbing their injuries.

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, it really isn't a big deal—”

“Not a big deal! Dear, it's Christmas!” She reached across the table and took your hands, squeezing hard and holding your eye. “You will spend it with us at the Burrow, alright?”

Your heart stopped, your tongue going thick. “Oh, I-uh—”

“Charlie will be in Romania,” Fred hissed to you from the corner of his mouth. “Just say yes, or she’ll skin us.”

Charlie. Best friends brother, dragon wrangler, and the best lay you'd ever had in your life. It had been three months since your tryst in the storage room, and the hours of effortless conversation that came after, and you'd thought of him every day since.

You'd exchanged a few letters over the months, pleasantries and some light flirting on Charlie's part. He'd even sent you a few shed scales from your favorite dragon species, the Welsh Green, but beyond that, nothing had transpired.

He lived on Romania, after all. And his work was his life. You just had a bit of fun together, a few hours of fantasy, nothing more. But no matter how many times you repeated that like mantra, you still found yourself unable to move on.

“I hope you know, love, I will not accept 'no' as an answer,” Molly said, pining you with a stern glare.

“Well, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’m very grateful for the invitation, and I'd love to spend the holidays with your family,” you said, offering as genuine a smile you could muster despite your trepidation, and Molly beamed at you, already running through her plans for you all.

Fred slung an arm around your shoulders, jostling you with his excitement. “Yes! You're gonna love it.”

You were grateful, and you were eager to have a real Christmas with a family you adored, but it still felt…odd. You'd be spending the holidays with Charlie's family, but not Charlie.

You weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed but…either way you were spending Christmas at the Weasley’s.

The Burrow and it's residents welcomed you with open arms. The sprawling home was decorated floor to rafter in homemade garland and candles, with decorated trees in every room, branches heavy with ornaments and paper chains.

Harry, Hermione, and Fleur were also staying over the holidays, and Ginny was beside herself with excitement that you were joining as well, pulling you in for a crushing hug that squeezed the last of bits of anxiety from your heart. Percy and Bill helped with your things, and the twins were quick to get a drink in your hand while everyone chatted excitedly over one another.

It was warm and merry, and you couldn't believe you almost missed this because of a stupid, little crush.

After about an hour of conversation, you noticed Ginny start to fidget under Harry’s arm, glancing at the location clock by the stairs every few minutes. The hand with Charlie's name remained firmly at ‘work’, while the rest piled into ‘home’.

You exhaled, fighting the nerves reknitting themselves in your stomach.

“Oi, twitchy,” Fred bumped your shoulder, drawing your attention back to the conversation. “What's on your mind—”

The floo station suddenly flared to life, verdant green light blasting through the room as the flames roared. Everyone yelped and scurried back, well, besides Ginny, and when the flames died the next instant, you realized why.

Charlie Weasley stood at the center of the fireplace, a bag over his shoulder and a smug smile on his face.

Your stomach turned inside out.

Merlin, how had he gotten even more handsome? His hair was a slightly longer, his beard thicker to ward off the biting, Romanian cold. He wore a heavy coat and cargo pants, leather boots still packed with melting snow.

“Charles!” Molly shrieked, throwing herself at her second oldest son and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Charlie!” Everyone cried, rushing to greet him while you tiptoed the opposite way, meaning to escape into the hall so you could collect yourself.

“Ah, ah,” George said, catching your wrist, grinning. “You don't want to do that,” he teased.

“And why not?” You huffed.

“Better to play it cool,” he winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

He was right, though. You would only survive this if you played it cool. Pretended everything was normal, that you hadn't been pining for this man for weeks on end, that the thought of spending Christmas with Charlie didn't make your heart flutter with excitement.

“But the clock!” Arthur laughed, finally wrangling Molly away so he could hug his son.

“Asked Ginevra to enchant it,” Charlie said, hugging his father with one arm and bundling his little sister into his opposite side, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Seems she did well.”

“It is not to be tampered with!” Molly crowed, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Alright, alright. I'll fix it,” Charlie chuckled, withdrawing his wand from his belt and muttering a reversal spell. The clock hand whirred around the face, confused, before it finally settled on ‘home’ with everyone else.

Charlie made his way around the room, hugging everyone and chatting until finally, he reached George, who you were attempting to hide behind.

Charlie pulled him into a bear hug, clapping him on the back. “She knows I can see her, right?” He murmured to George, just loud enough to be sure you also heard him.

Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.

George scoffed. “Stop checkin’ out my girlfriend, mate.”

Charlie grinned, shoving George to the side, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Dream on, Georgie,” he chuckled, eyes shining with amusement. He finally turned to you, his expression softening. “Happy Christmas, y/n,” he said, approaching slowly, the heavy plod of his boots matching the jump of your heart.

“Happy Christmas, Charlie,” you replied, playing coy and reaching up to brush some snow from his wide shoulder. “How's my Welsh Green?” you asked.

Charlie smirked, his eyes sweeping over your face, down your neck, before flicking back to your eyes. “She nearly took my head off this morning when I tried to give her breakfast.”

“My kind of girl.” You felt your skin prickle under his attention, but you held your composure.

“Mine too,” he purred, lowering his voice. Heat curled low in your stomach, remembering the way his voice pitched and deepened while you—good god, you were losing your mind.

“Time for supper!” Molly called over the dull roar of conversation, and you slipped away from Charlie to follow the twins into the dining room, desperate for a breath that wasn’t sweetened by his cologne.

Dinner went by in a blur of food and activity, Charlie sat by Arthur at the head while you were sequestered to the other side with the twins. After eating, Charlie slipped away to shower, and you joined everyone else back in the living room for board games and music.

You were wrapped up in a game of Scrabble with Hermoine and Ginny when Charlie re-emerged, his hair damp and slicked back, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a black t-shirt. Your mouth dried, your pussy fluttering at the mental image of him in the shower moments before.

His eyes found you across the room, his tongue darting out to wet his lips while they swept over you, taking in the House crewneck and pj shorts you’d changed into. You turned back the game to hide your face, swallowing the lump in your throat.

A moment passed, then Charlie turned to join Bill, Percy, and Arthur in the study, casting you another glance over his shoulder before disappearing.

A few more hours rolled by, and one by one, everyone went to bed besides the older men in the study. Molly set you up on the couch, apologizing profusely for the lack of space, but you waved her off, happy to curl up by the fire and read the book Percy lent you.

You settled in with a blanket over your lap, a book in one hand, cup of tea in the other. Soon though, exhaustion began to tug at you, and your eyes started to flutter closed, the warmth of the room and the chaos of the day taking its toll as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Distantly, you felt someone take the book from your hand, the empty tea cup from your lap, and you swam back to wakefulness, lifting your head.

“Just me, love,” a voice said, soft and male, and you immediately recognized it as Charlie’s.

You blinked open your eyes, finding him sticking a playing card in your book to hold your page. “Oh, what are you doin’?” you mumbled, rubbing a knuckle in your eye.

“Are you sleeping down here?” he asked, crouching in front of you, brow lightly creased. He smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, and you had to remind your sleep-addled mind that you could not just melt into his arms like softened candle wax.

You nodded. “Guest beds are full. But it’s okay, m’comfy.” You snuggled back down on to the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

“I don’t think so. C’mon, you can take my bed.”

You shook your head, grumbling an unintelligible protest into the pillow as sleep crept back in on you.

Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sodding couch,” Charlie grumbled, curling you into his chest. You gave half a thought to try and free yourself, to put up some sort of fight, but his heartbeat was right against your ear, reverberating in the barrel of his chest, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to move away.

He carried you up a few flights of stairs and down a hallway, nudging open a bedroom door with his foot, careful to walk you through without bumping against anything. He set you down on his bed and tucked you under the thick duvet. The smell of him wrapped around you, clean and warm and Charlie, and you moaned in contentment, too tired to stop yourself.

Every one of your cells had missed him.

He pressed a light-as-air kiss to your temple before pulling away. You reached out to catch his hand, surprising him.

“Where are you gonna sleep?” You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“I’ll find somewhere,” he murmured, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “Used to sleeping in strange places.”

You must have pulled some kind of face, your filter nonexistent in your sleepy state, because he leaned back down to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Better stop with that pout, sweetheart. You’ve got me strung out on the gallows,” he warned, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“M’not doing anything,” you teased back, peeking open your eyes to look at him.

“I’m trying to behave this time,” he chuckled, crossing his heart. “You deserve to be properly courted.”

A yawn stole the snarky quip from your tongue. “If you insist,” you sigh, eyes fluttering closed again.

“I do. Now, get some sleep,” he whispered, but you were already gone.

The following morning, you trudged down the stairs at an egregious hour, the incessant, jovial chatter of the Weasley's impossible to sleep through.

You found them all in the kitchen, steam from the kettle floating through the air, chased by the scent of cinnamon and syrup.

“There she is! The dead walks the earth! Now go bloody change!” Arthur shouted, shoving a rumpled but bright-eyed looking Charlie out from the crowd around the kitchen island.

“Huh?” You looked between the twins and Arthur, but Charlie slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you into his side.

“I've been summoned to the Ministry for an update on a particularly nasty Horntail,” he said, then leaned in a little closer. “And Happy Christmas Eve, darling,” he whispered.

“Happy Christmas Eve—sorry, what does that have to do with me?” You asked, your brain catching up to the situation.

“The sap refused to risk waking you up to change into his suit,” George supplied. "So they're running late."

“Why would you—”

“Ignore them, you can sleep as long as you like,” he murmured to you.

“Charlie!” You hissed. “You should have woken me up!”

“Over my dead body, love.”

“Charles! Now!” Molly shouted, rattling the rafters.

“Fine, fine.” He reluctantly pulled away from you and bound up the stairs.

“Good morning,” Fred said, beaming at your scowl.

“Morning people, are we?” You asked, accepting a cup of coffee from George.

“No,” Ron argued, his head pillowed by his arms on the table.

Fifteen minutes later, the clop of heavy boots coming down the stairs drew everyone's attention away from their breakfast.

Charlie came around the bend, dressed in a simple, espresso colored suit with a black wool coat, a leather bag slung over his shoulder. His hair was pushed back, brushed and tidy, and silver jewelry shined from his pierced ears and ringed hands.

You nearly choked on your eggs, and Fred clapped a hand on your back.

Everyone wolf whistled and jeered, not used to seeing their rakish brother dressed to the nines. Charlie waved them off with a soft smile, leaning over you to grab a cinnamon roll. His freshly applied cologne wafted over you, spicy and warm, and all other thoughts vacated your head.

Arthur grabbed him by the arm. “Yes, yes. You're very handsome, you are my son after all. Let's go.”

“Wish us luck!” Charlie called, allowing an impatient Arthur to drag him towards the floo station. In a burst of green, they were gone.

“Are all mornings this chaotic?” You asked no one in particular.

“Yes,” they all replied in a unison, and you grinned.

You could get used to a little chaos.

The day passed in a whirlwind of preparation, with you spending most of it with Molly in the kitchen or decorating with the twins.

Once that was finished, you'd gotten ready in Charlie's room, dressing in a white sweater dress and black stockings, your hair loose and makeup light.

You couldn't help but wonder what Charlie would think of it as you evaluated yourself in the mirror. You felt his absence like an ache in your side, and found your gaze wandering back to the floo station all day.

About an hour before dinner, green flames finally erupted in the fireplace. Everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed over, eager to hear about how it went at the Ministry.

You'd gathered from the twins that the fate of the Horntail hung in the balance after it destroyed a flock of sheep in Western Scotland. Charlie, along with several other Dragonologists, had been fighting for it’s life for months.

The flames extinguished, revealing Arthur and Charlie. Arthur was beaming, an arm around his son, while Charlie looked exhausted.

“Oh, thank goodness. Just in time!” Molly cried, throwing her arms around her husband.

“How'd it go?” Everyone asked at once, following Charlie as he stalked into the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut against the racket.

“Our son was incredible, Molly. You should have seen him. Every question, he beat away like a bludger. It was masterful,” Arthur gushed, still grinning.

You watched Charlie warily. He certainly wasn't acting like it had gone well.

Bill, seeming as concerned as you, poured a glass of whiskey and passed it to his younger brother. Charlie swallowed the amber drink in one go, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“So, is the Horntail safe?” Ginny asked, sitting tentatively beside her brother on the couch.

“For now,” Charlie muttered, finally picking his head up and opening his eyes. “They want to reevaluate in six months.”

“But that's good, isn't it?” Harry asked.

Charlie nodded. “I suppose.”

You could feel the hurt and anger radiating off of him despite his efforts at composure. The resolution clearly wasn't good enough for him, and you understood why.

You resisted the urge to sit by him, to fuss over him like his family was doing. It seemed to only drive him deeper into himself. He didn't need to hear that it was a good thing, a victory, because it wasn't. It shouldn't be a debate in the first place.

Christmas Eve dinner passed with the expected chaos, and Charlie seemed to cheer a bit after a good meal, a few laughs, and another whiskey. But you could still detect a heaviness around his shoulders. You felt it as keenly as if it was your own burden.

After dinner, everyone moved back into the living room, but you followed Charlie into the now abandoned kitchen, the wreckage of the meal evident on every surface.

You leaned against the entry way, watching as he fiddled with random things, looking for a way to distract himself. “Hey,” you murmured, drawing his attention from the mugs he was straightening.

He gave you a tired smile. “Hi, love. How was your day?” He asked, moving towards you. He'd ditched his blazer and dress shirt before dinner, leaving him in his dark trousers and a white t-shirt, his muscles straining against the fabric.

“It was good. Made some cookies, strung some lights. We missed you, though.”

He braced a hand on the wall beside your head, leaning closer. “We?” He asked, raising a brow.

Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.

You shrugged, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Me, mostly.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, freckles crinkling around his eyes. “I missed you too. Would have much rather been here to help out. I make a mean gingerbread.”

“I bet you do," you replied sincerely, watching the way his shoulders start to ease down. “I’m sorry about the Horntail,” you said, a little quieter. “But I'm glad you bought it a little more time.”

Charlie sighed, picking at a flake of paint on the wall. “I am too. Just wish I didn't have to do it at all. He doesn't deserve to be executed just for feeding himself.”

“I know. But I'm glad he has you to speak for him.”

Charlie searched your face, his eyes melting with blatant affection. Your heart tripped over itself, drumming hard under your skin.

He glanced up and you followed his gaze, finding a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above your heads. You hadn't noticed it before, but you supposed that was the beauty of mistletoe: it was always where you least expected it.

His eyes flicked back down to you, molten chocolate, and your thoughts turned to static. He reached up to cup your face, far more timid than you've come to expect from him, and tilted your head up towards his.

“Can't believe I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet,” he said, his other hand sliding around your waist to draw you closer. “A Christmas wish come true.”

You smiled, feeling like marshmallow over an open flame. “A Christmas wish?” You prodded, batting your lashes at him as heat spilled through you.

“Too cheesy?” He asked, bumping his nose against yours, your faces so close you could almost feel his smirk.

“The perfect amount,” you murmured, your lips grazing his.

Charlie closed the final millimeter, pressing your bodies together in a slow, sipping kiss. Every neuron in your body lit up, reaching towards him as you curled your fingers into his shirt, deepening the kiss. His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth and you parted for him, letting him delve further and taste you.

He loosed a low groan, his grip tightening as he backed you against the wall. He licked into your mouth, stoking the fire simmering under your skin.

“Hey, y/n—merlin, in the middle of the kitchen? Really?”

You and Charlie sprang apart, finding Fred with a hand clapped over his eyes, a cheeky grin on his face.

“So sorry for interrupting. Though, lucky it was me and not mum,” he teased, dropping his hand. But his smile quickly fell too when Charlie advanced on him, swinging an arm out in an attempt to grab him. Fred ducked to the left and bolted back into the living room, leaving Charlie laughing and shaking his head.

“Well, that's fantastic,” you huffed, pressing a hand to your sternum to quell your pounding heart.

“I can't say they'll be all that surprised.” Charlie cupped your face again, drawing you up for a quick peck. “I haven't shut up about you since we met.”

You're soul lifted out of your body. “You—r-really?”

He smiled, pulling you in for a hug, his big arms wrapped around your head and shoulders. “Really, love. You've got me wrapped around your little finger,” he said, his voice muffled by your hair.

“I thought I was going mad, I…I couldn't stop thinking about you,” you admitted, exhaling in relief. You hugged him around the waist, sliding your hands under his shirt just to feel his skin against yours.

You felt him stiffen at your admission, before the tension dissolved from his muscles completely. “Maybe we're both a little mad, then,” he chuckled.

“We should get back to the party before they start to miss us,” you said after a few moments of quiet, though all you wanted to do was drag him up to his room and show him just how mad you were for him. But you were a guest, and you needed a moment to get your thoughts in order.

It seemed Charlie had made up his mind about what he wanted, but you hadn't even begun to let yourself consider something real with Charlie Weasley. It seemed like too lofty a hope, an impossibility.

Your heart screamed ‘yes’ but your mind demanded a rationalization, a plan. Whatever you felt for him was intense, but you would hate to rush into something and ruin what you knew could be amazing.

Well, rush into something any more than your already had.

You realized he was studying you like your thoughts were written across your skin. “Baby, look at me,” he said, turning your face back up to his. “I know we started off on an…unorthodox foot. But that wasn't just a hook up and you and I both know it.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “There’s something more between us.”

“I feel it too,” you admitted. “But I've never…” you trailed off, unable to articulate the tumbling thoughts in your mind.

“Me neither, to be honest. I feel like I've been struck by lightning,” he said, breathless, a slight nervous tremble in his voice.

You nodded, reassured that he was feeling the same, vaguely crazed way you were.

“Trust yourself, y/n,” he said, releasing you from the hug and offering you his hand. “Overthinking is the thief of joy.”

“Get out of my brain,” you huffed in mock annoyance, smiling as you twined your fingers with his.

The rest of the evening passed in a rose colored blur, with cookies and games and storytelling. Charlie never strayed far from your side, though you kept any physical affection to a minimum. But based on the knowing looks from Arthur and Molly, and the teasing smirks and jabs from his siblings, they were definitely on to you two.

After the clock struck midnight, Molly demanded everyone go off to bed so Father Christmas would have no interruptions. You were all plenty old enough to know there was no such thing, but it still made you feel a giddy thrill of excitement. That glimmer of Christmas magic you never grow out of.

Charlie offered you his hand at the base of the stairs, a mischievous sort of smile on his face, and you accepted with a raised eyebrow. He led you up the stairs and opened the door to his room with a flourish.

You nearly toppled over when you walked in. It was completely transformed from this morning. Gone were the normal decorations and his dark duvet, replaced instead with a winter forest wonderland.

His bedspread was a deep forest green, with white throw pillows and silver trim, and a stuffed reindeer waited patiently for you on the pillow, floppy and velveteen. In the corner stood a flocked tree, decorated with pine cones and strung cranberries, and little animal ornaments carved from wood. The fire roared merrily in the fireplace, the mantle above it strewn with wild garland and rosemary. Two stockings hung above the flame, each of your names embroidered on them in silver and gold.

You whirled around to look at Charlie, who was smiling down at you, a slight flush to his freckled cheeks.

“When the hell did you have time to do this?” You asked, breathless and overwhelmed. No one has ever done something so special for you before.

“While you were wrapped up in Wizards Chess with Ron.” He snaked his arms around you, dropping a kiss to your furrowed brow.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion clogged your throat. “T-this is the m-most amazing thing—”

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, shushing you with a peck to your lips. “Spoiling you on Christmas feels like the least I can do to show you how much you mean to me. How badly I want this.”

“This?” You ask, sliding your hands up his broad chest. You expected to feel butterflies, but instead a warm blanket of peace settled over you, an understanding that this is exactly how it was meant to go. That here, with him, in the earliest hours of Christmas morning, was exactly where you belonged.

“Us,” he murmured, glancing at the stockings over the mantle, then back down to you, his dark eyes practically glowing with affection. “If that's what you want too.”

“Even with me here in London?” You asked, fiddling with his collar to hide the shaking in your fingers.

“We'll figure it out. You can come visit me as often as you like. And I can come back here a few times a month.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, moving down your neck like he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. “I have a cabin.” Kiss. “In the forest.” Kiss. “With a big fireplace.” Kiss. “And a soaking tub.” Kiss. “And I can cook.” Kiss. “And have a giant bed—”

“Charlie!” You giggled, tugging on his hair so he lifted his head and you could kiss him properly, melting under the eagerness of his mouth, the joy in his kiss.

He scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He crossed the room without breaking the kiss, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with you straddling him. The heat of your bodies pressed together was enough to have your pussy tingling, your breath labored.

“I wanna go where you go,” you breathed, breaking the kiss to appease your burning lungs. “I want to be with you.”

He responded with another fervid kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, and you let yourself get swept away in the riptide that was Charlie Weasley. Wild, impulsive, but so sincere, so lion-hearted and good. You weren't sure you'd ever get enough of him.

He seemed just as desperate for you, tugging his shirt over his head and letting your hands finally wander the full expanse of his body without barriers. You pushed him back onto the bed so you could really take him in, his big hands resting heavily on your thighs. He was broad and sturdy, his chest and arms corded with hard earned muscle, the tanned skin littered with freckles and silvery scars.

You nearly started drooling.

In a fluid motion, you tugged your sweater dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your Christmas underwear set and black stockings. The set was black mesh, decorated with mistletoe and holly berries. You had bought in Hogsmeade on the off chance Charlie made an appearance, and it was worth the steep price to see his soul ascend as he took you in.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he didn't even finish the sentence, instead pulling you down onto his chest for another scalding kiss, his calloused hands wandering up your thighs and over your hips, smoothing over the curve of your rib cage and around the plane of your back. His tongue slid into your mouth, twining with yours. You could taste the whiskey he'd been drinking, tinged with cigar smoke and gingerbread, and you moaned at the decadence of him.

One of his hands slid around to cup the nape of your neck, the other bracketing across your lower back to press your hips flush to his. You ground down onto him, unable to ignore the thrumming between your legs any longer. You both groaned at the new friction, his hips lifting to press more firmly against you.

“Just so you know,” he gruffed as you kissed down his neck, licking a long stripe over his Adam’s apple, feeling his stubble under your tongue. “I put a silencing charm on the room.”

“Very presumptuous of you,” you teased, sucking at his pulse just hard enough to leave a faint bruise, but nothing too obvious.

His hips rolled against yours, coaxing a breathy moan from your lips. “Part of my training includes being prepared for any situation,” he countered, his voice strained with desire as you rocked against him.

“Uh-huh. And what else were you trained to do?” You asked, freezing in place to watch him squirm.

A wicked smirk crossed his face and suddenly you were moving, flipped beneath his body faster than you could blink. “How to tame brats,” he growled against your ear, and a shiver rolled down your spine.

He shifted down your body, kissing and licking along the swell of your breasts before unlatching your bra and tossing in across the room. He took both your tits in his hands, nuzzling the soft flesh before laving his tongue across both nipples, making you lift off the bed with a gasp of pleasure.

“It's not fair that you get to walk around with these all the time. Too fucking perfect,” he said, his voice muffled by your skin.

You almost said that they were his. That the only thing that wasn't fair was how quickly he'd stolen your heart. But you bit your tongue, moaning under his ministrations instead.

He sucked a pearled nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it before grazing his teeth against it, his fingers pinching and rolling the other until your eyes crossed, desire pooling between your legs.

“Can take my time with you now,” he hummed, pulling back to pepper kisses across your chest. “Take care of my girl properly.”

My girl. Your head spun, your heart swelling with elation. You never thought this would happen for you, the perpetually single girl who never found someone you genuinely connected with. But Charlie was like a comet tearing through your life, turning every one of your assumptions about love upside down.

He drew you back from your thoughts with a bite under your left breast. “Come back to me, baby. No more overthinking.”

“It’s good thoughts this time,” you said, running your fingers through his ginger hair and scratching along his scalp as he soothed the mark with his tongue.

He looked up at you, a pleased smirk on his face. “Thinking about that soaking tub, huh?”

You pulled his hair, giggling at his antics while he moved further down your body. “Among other things—shit, Charlie,” you whined when his tongue dragged over the soaked gusset of your panties, scalding hot and firm.

He pulled them to the side, gliding his tongue through your slick folds and wrapping his lips around your clit, lashing it with the tip of his tongue. Pleasure coursed through you, your eyes rolling back in your skull as you cried out.

He hummed against you, moving back down to lap at your entrance with long, messy strokes. He was practically grinding his face against you, savoring you like you were the finest meal he'd ever had. He was so enraptured in pleasuring you that he was moaning right along with you, making your clit vibrate and walls flutter.

“Saints, I missed you,” he said, giving your clit and open mouthed kiss before sucking the sensitive bud between his teeth.

You couldn't even begin to formulate words, completely lost in his feasting, your body fizzing with delight and pleasure. It felt like you were high, your muscles languid, bones rubbery.

“Not thinking anymore, are we?” He teased, nipping at the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You whimpered and shook your head, raising your hips to chase after his mouth.

“Good girl.” he purred, rewarding you by latching back onto your clit, his middle finger easing inside your greedy channel.

You cried out, clenching around his finger as he pushed you closer to the edge, your listless haze making way for bright, desperate pleasure. You bucked your hips against his mouth, his tongue flattening against your clit as his inserted a second finger, stretching you. The sounds were damn near sinful, lewd and sloppy as he worked your pussy into submission, molding you like a sculptor with wet clay.

“Fuck, Charlie. M’gonna come,” you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in that perfect spot.

He curled his fingers inside of you and your vision whited out, your orgasm ripping through you, body and soul. You screamed, spine arching off the bed as wave after wave of burning ecstasy rolled through you, his tongue and fingers not letting up for a second as you convulsed.

“That's it, honey. Just like that, let it all go,” he cooed, kitten-licking your clit as you started to come down, his fingers continuing to gently massage your spasming walls. “Try to relax, love. I know it's a lot, but just relax f’me. You're doing so well.”

You sank back into the mattress, breathing labored as he soothed your quivering pussy with gentle touches. “Charlie,” you moaned, your body finally settling and cycling from overstimulation to rebuilding pleasure. “Feels s’good.”

He nuzzled your clit, kissing over your slit, the top of your mound, your inner thighs. “I live to serve,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. “And if I have to live my life in service to this perfect little cunt, so be it.” As if to punctuate his point, he laved his tongue through you again and you keened, nearly jumping away at the intensity.

You shook you head, tugging him up by the hair. “Need you to fuck me, Charlie. Please?”

He grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he caught your lips once more, the taste of you mixing with him in a way that pleased some possessive part of your brain. You deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth for more.

He pressed his body against yours, the weight of him warm and comforting as you savored one another. You trailed your hands over his back, feeling some of the ridges and scars stretched across the ropes of muscle. He guided one of your legs up over his hip, angling your bodies together like a puzzle piece.

You basked in the simmering kiss for a moment longer before need began to claw at your insides, your hips pressing up against his once more.

“Charlie, please,” you sighed into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back. “Don't make me beg.”

“But you sound so sweet, all breathy and desperate,” he cooed, pecking your lips a final time before moving off the bed. He slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside with your other clothes, then removed his trousers and boxers, that gorgeous, rosy cock slapping up against his stomach.

He climbed back onto the bed and spread your thighs, kneading the flesh at your hip while he ran the rigid head of his cock through your drooling pussy.

“My sweet girl wants to get fucked, hm?” he said, his voice rough as he used his cock to massage your puffy clit. “Let me hear you ask one more time, honey. Sounds so pretty.”

“Please fuck me, baby. Please,” you whimpered, fisting the sheets on either side of you.

He notched his cock at your entrance, hissing through his teeth as your pussy opened effortlessly for him. “That's it, lovey. Fuck, your little pussy is so tight f’me,” he groaned as your walls clenched around him, coaxing him deeper. You could tell he was fighting the urge to bottom out in one thrust, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taught and trembling, chest heaving and jaw a little slack.

You reached for him, the feeling so intense you needed an anchor. He leaned forward, knowing what you craved, and let you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck.

He rubbed soothing circles on your thigh, his other hand sliding around your back to hold you against him. “Too much, baby?” He asked, pausing his slow penetration.

“Too good,” you whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He nodded, loosing a breath as you clenched around him. “Feel like your squeezing my heart,” he groaned, and you could feel it racing just beneath his skin, frantic as yours.

“Keep going, Charlie. Please,” you begged, tilting your pelvis so he sank a little deeper.

He eased you back onto the bed, still holding you close. “Good girl, takin’ me so well. Just relax, honey. Just feel me,” he soothed as he pushed the rest of the way in, his cockhead nudging your cervix and stretching your walls just enough. Not sensing any discomfort from you, he started rolling his hips back and forth in fluid strokes, kissing your skin wherever he could reach.

Pleasure spread through your body like ink through water, coloring every sensation, every thought. You loosened your grip on him, opening yourself up to his unhurried affection as he fucked you slowly, letting you adjust to the onslaught of sensation.

“You're so pretty like this, so fucking perfect.” He mouthed at your throat, your head tilting back with a cry as he increased his pace, ecstasy dancing along your skin. “All mine to love on, yeah? You all mine, baby?”

You bobbed your head, already cockdrunk and blissed out, your body submitting completely to him. “Yes, fuck, yes. All yours,” you whimpered, that knot in your lower stomach starting to tighten.

“Fuck yes, my good girl.” He leaned down and caught your lips in a searing kiss, a growl rumbling through his chest as he fucked you harder, driving his cock in and out of your sopping cunt with powerful strokes. “And I'm yours, baby. All fucking yours.” He murmured against your mouth and you grinned, feeling your heart give a discordant thump of elation.

He leaned back to fuck you deeper, one hand tangling with both of yours and pining your arms over your head, the other sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit. You stretched out for him, arching your breasts up to his hungry gaze as he railed you, merciless and claiming.

“Saints, you look so fucking sexy. Gonna come for me, love? Mark this cock as yours?”

You let out a scream as a second orgasm was wrenched from your body, the tension unraveling all at once in a torrent of bliss. You clamped hard around him, feeling his cock swell, then buck as his own release crashed over him, your name coming out like roar.

You clung to one another, his hips still rolling into yours as your walls milked him dry, wringing every drop of pleasure from one another until you crashed back to earth as one.

After catching your breath for a moment, he lifted off of you, hands skimming over your face, your body. “Merlin, I’m sorry, baby. I really didn't mean to be that rough, are you okay? Did I hurt—”

You silenced him with a kiss, pulling his body back down onto yours. “Was perfect,” you mumbled against his lips and he smiled.

“You were perfect,” he corrected, pecking kisses all over your cheeks and forehead. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You giggled, squirming as his hands tickled along your sensitive skin.

“Can I take you for a real date tomorrow? I don't know if anything will be open, but I refuse to go another day without—”

“Charlie,” you shushed, cupping his bearded cheek. “You can take me to the kitchen and call it a first date. I don't care about some made-up fucking rules. I just want to be with you.”

He grinned, giving you a quick, toothy kiss. “Then how about I clean you up, make some mulled wine with this expensive shit I brought back from Romania, and we cuddle by the fire? Call that our first date, and next year we can celebrate our one year anniversary on Christmas.”

You pushed against his chest, laughing at his dramatics, but secretly hoping that would be the case. “It better be a hell of mulled wine then,” you teased.

“Oh, it will be. Romanians don't fuck around when it comes to their booze. Now, open those gorgeous legs for me.”

“Charles Septimus Weasley! Get up!” Ginny shouted through the door, banging her fist on the wood. “You cannot sleep in on Christmas!”

“Septimus?” You groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Charlie had his head buried in your neck, heavy limbs thrown over your body. He was warm as a furnace, and the still crackling fire didn't help matters.

“Sod off!” he barked back, nuzzling closer and tightening his hold around you. You glanced at the clock, and after your prolonged first date, you'd only gotten a few scant hours of sleep.

“Fine! Then I'll throw whatever's in this fancy little box in the fire!”

Charlie was up in a flash, tugging on pants and wrenching open the door, but Ginny was already gone.

He sighed, grabbed something from the hall, then swung the door shut. He looked ready to dive back into bed, but you were already up, pulling on a pair of his boxers.

He froze in place, a feral sort of glint in his eye, forgetting entirely about the package in his hands. When you went to grab it, he lifted it high above his head, well out of your reach.

“Charlie!” You pouted, trying in vain to pull his arm down. He still hadn't taken his eyes off of your body. “You really want me to make a bad impression on your parents for our first Christmas?” You snapped, fighting the smile rising on your face.

“Just do a little spin for me,” he said, twirling a finger around.

“Charlie!”

“Fine, fine. Here,” he chuckled, handing you a pair of pajamas with your name embroidered on them. They were red and green, with white stripes and gold thread, the material thick and warm.

You loved them already.

The two of you quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, finding everyone else already piled into the living room, also dressed in matching pj's.

“Ah, the lovebirds finally make their appearance!” Bill teased from the big arm chair, Fleur cuddled into his side.

Charlie flipped him off, ignoring the squawk of disapproval form his mother.

“Come, come!” Molly grabbed you and plunked you down on the last free space on the couch, and George passed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

George leaned in and muttered, “It's no mulled wine, but—”

Charlie whacked the back of his head. “Quiet, you,” he warned.

“Charles, if I have to speak to you again!” Molly shouted.

“Alright, alright! Let's get this show on the road,” Arthur said, shooing his son away so they could distribute the clumsily wrapped boxes under the tree.

Charlie plopped onto the floor between your knees, his hands coming up to absently massage your right foot. Your whole body tingled at the contact, your heart still tight with joy.

Could this really be your life?

Arthur passed out gifts, and you ended up with a pile of three at your feet. A flat, rectangular box, a heavy, square box, and one small enough to fit in your hand, wrapped in green and gold ribbon.

They went around one by one, opening gifts. Charlie received a new pair of steel-toed boots, enchanted to prevent the Romanian cold from creeping in, and an expensive looking bottle of gin, courtesy of his big brother.

After him, it was finally your turn. Your heart thudded from the attention, and you started unwrapping the larger present with trembling fingers. You tore off the paper and opened the white box underneath it, finding a knitted sweater with your initial on the front. Your throat pinched shut, tears burning behind your eyes as you traced your fingers over it.

“You're part of the family now, love,” Molly said, smiling warmly at you as you wiped away a tear with the back of your hand.

“Thank you,” you sniffled, laughing at yourself, and Charlie gave your ankle a reassuring squeeze, pressing a kiss to your knee.

The next present was from Fred and George, a stack of books you'd been eyeballing the last time the three of you went to Flourish and Blotts, and you pulled them in for a group hug.

Finally, it came down to the last present. The tension pulled taut as a bowstring when Charlie turned towards you, propped up on one knee, presenting the small box.

“I know how this looks,” he murmured, glancing down at himself. “But I promise I'm not that insane.”

You giggled nervously, taking the present from his hand and trying to ignore that his entire family was watching you. You tried to focus on Charlie, the rise and fall of his shoulders, the lock of copper hair hanging over his brow, and blocked the others out.

Carefully, you undid the ribbon and tore off the paper, revealing a black, dragon-leather box. Charlie gave you an encouraging nod, noticing the way you hesitated, and you cracked open the lid.

Inside was a golden necklace with a Welsh Green dragon scale pendant sitting on a velvet cushion. It was the most stunning shade of emerald you'd ever seen, reflecting beautifully in the candlelight, shifting blue, then pearlescent, and back to green. It was breathtaking, and you fought back the tears gathering on your lower lashes so you could continue to gaze at it.

“Charlie, this is—” emotion stole your words, and all you could do was throw your arms around him and bury your face into his shoulder.

“I hope you love it, darling. Had it made just for you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Here, let me put it on you.”

You nodded, sitting up and trying to wipe your tears before his family could see what a mess you were, but when you looked around, you saw half of them crying too.

Molly blew you a kiss, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and you nearly lost it again.

Charlie gently took the box from your hands and walked around behind the couch. His cool fingers grazed the sides of your throat and the weight of the pendant settled against your clavicle. A moment later, your heard the clasp click, and felt the warm brush of his lips on the back on your neck.

You fondled the pendant with your fingers, the metal already warming against your heated skin, the scale heavy and smooth. Charlie came back around to the front, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he hummed, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

Thank you so much for reading!! (and if you have anything you'd like to read for Charlie, my asks are open!)

#harry potter fanfiction #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x y/n #charlie weasley fanfiction #the weasleys #charlie weasley smut #harry potter smut #harry potter fandom #weasley twins #smut no plot #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins fanfiction

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callmesel · 2 months ago

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Olivia and her wife

#percy weasley #oliver wood #perciver #fem percy weasley #fem oliver wood #Persephone weasley #olivia wood #i get you olivia #i would be looking at my wife the same way #lmao #this is like that mlp mean with the gorgeous wife and the ugly groom but make it gay #i just struggle drawing anything else that it's not percy tbh #idk if this is a blessing or a curse #fanart #doodle

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weasleysbliss · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 | 𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

pairing: ron weasley x fem!reader

summary: while spending the summer at the burrow, you and ron are forced to share a space. between playful bickering and quiet moments, you realize love might be closer than you thought.

word count: 2k

➽────────────────❥

At last, exams were over, school was done, and you couldn’t wait to start your summer break. But this summer wouldn’t be like the others.

Your parents were traveling abroad, leaving you home alone. However, they didn’t trust you to spend two months on your own, so they insisted you stay at one of your friends’ houses for the time being.

Ginny was kind enough to consider the idea and propose it to her mom. Thankfully, Molly Weasley was more than happy to take you in. She already had seven children of her own, so having her only daughter's friend stay for two months was no trouble.

A few hours before you moved in, your nerves started to settle. You were still processing the fact that you’d be spending two months with a group of people you barely knew—excluding the parents. Though you went to school together and were in the same house, you’d never really had the chance to befriend them—except for Ginny.

She helped you pack your belongings, and together, you both walked to the Burrow. On the way there, Ginny went over a few house rules, explained their usual routines, and warned you about Fred and George. The twins were known for their mischievous pranks, always causing trouble. Nonetheless, you felt ready for the next few months.

When you arrived at the doorstep, Ginny unlocked the front door with her wand, and you were greeted by Molly and Arthur. "Oh, Y/N dear, how wonderful to have you here!" Molly exclaimed, pulling you into a warm bear hug—a gesture you hadn’t received in a long time.

"Good to see you, Y/N!" Arthur greeted, extending his hand for a handshake, which you accepted. "Thank you so much for allowing me to stay, I really appreciate it." You said, while giving them a heartfelt smile. "Oh no worries dear, you're welcome here any time. We've heard so many great things about you from Ginny!" Molly cheered. You and Ginny locked eyes, sharing a sincere look of happiness.

As Arthur carried your bags to your new room, you saw four familiar faces coming down the stairs. "Y/N, I’m sure you already know who they are, but let me re-introduce you so you feel welcomed," Molly said, pointing to each boy in turn. "This is Percy, Fred, George, and Ron." "Bill and Charlie both moved out," she added, "which is why they aren’t here now."

All four boys offered you soft smiles, welcoming you for the summer. "Alright, boys, go on. Ron, stay," she ordered. Ron swallowed, assuming he’d done something wrong. Was he really going to get scolded in front of the new girl right now? But before he could worry too much, his mother’s next words cleared up the situation. "Ron, if you don’t mind, would you please help Y/N settle in? I left her belongings in your room; you’ll both share the space."

Ron’s eyes widened at the statement, and for a moment, yours did too. You had assumed you'd have your own room, and the idea of sharing one with someone you hadn’t spoken to yet left you feeling uneasy. It can't be that bad, you thought. You and Ron exchanged weak smiles when your names were mentioned.

At this point, Ginny went upstairs, and Molly and Arthur went to work in the garden, leaving you and Ron alone. An awkward silence hung in the air until he finally spoke. "Well... shall we start getting you settled?" he asked.

"Yep!" you replied, relieved that your journey here had officially begun.

Before leading you to your shared room, Ron briefly pointed out the main rooms in the house—such as the kitchen, bathroom, and other essential spaces. Finally, it was time to see the room, which you figured you’d be spending most of your time in anyway. As you both walked in, you took in the details.

The room was fairly small, with most of it scattered with spell books, Chudley Cannons posters, Quidditch gear, chess sets, and various family hand-me-downs. In the corner stood a bunk bed—the spot where the two of you would sleep. The room had a strong aura of warmth and coziness, a stark contrast to your own room, which had a sleek, modern vibe.

To your surprise, you actually liked his room. Despite the mess, it felt like home—though not your own home. This was a new home, one you would adapt to over time. "I know it's not much, but—" Ron started, but you cut him off. "No, I love it. This place is awesome. I reckon I’m going to like it here." You glanced around again, taking in every detail and piece of decoration. "Well, I’m glad you like it. I usually spend most of my time here anyway," Ron said. "Oh yeah? I would too, I might as well," you replied, making eye contact with him. "Y’know, you seem like you’d be a pretty decent roomie." His words made you blush slightly, but you quickly hid it. You were already beginning to appreciate his company.

A month had already gone by, and everything was going splendidly. You were familiar with the house now, knowing where every room was, and you had gotten along with everyone—especially your new roommate.

Every so often, Molly would ask you to help with the gardening, and Ron would join you. He’d also lend a hand with making dinner and setting the table. Though you and Ron didn’t talk much during school, moments like these made you wonder how your friendship might have turned out if you'd befriended him sooner.

Despite the good times, you and Ron still bickered quite often—but always in a playful way.

"Y/N! Did you take my shirt again?" Ron yelled from his bedroom. You could hear him clearly from the kitchen.

"No!" you shouted back, glancing down at the shirt you were wearing. It was, in fact, Ron’s. His shirts had a particular scent, one that charmed you. The smell was like warm vanilla, with a hint of ground cinnamon. It smelled so good, it was hard to resist.

It felt strange wearing your now-best friend and roommate’s shirt, but you couldn’t help being drawn to his scent.

"Then where the bloody hell is it?!" Ron continued yelling, now coming down the stairs and spotting you in his shirt.

For a moment, he didn’t even register that you were wearing it. Instead, it was your figure that caught his attention. The way your shorts and shirt accentuated your shape made him feel as though he were gazing at a divine being. Your hair, your face, your body—everything about you captivated him. Who knew you could look so good in his shirt?

"Merlin…" he thought, before snapping back to reality. "I knew you were lying! That’s my shirt!" he shrieked, charging towards you and playfully tackling you onto the couch. You couldn’t escape his embrace—his strong arms held you firmly in place, giving him full control over you.

You laughed as he whined, "Y/N, I’m not letting you go until you give me my shirt back." It was amusing to see him so desperate over a simple piece of clothing.

"Oh, piss off, Ron! And I noticed the way you looked at me when you first saw it. You bet it’s not coming off," you said, emphasizing the word bet.

"You’re not going anywhere then," he replied, still holding you close. You felt the back of your head hit his chest before responding, "That means you aren’t either."

You both chuckled and sat in silence for a few moments, processing the tension. Eventually, you both dozed off on the couch, still in the same position.

While you and Ron were sleeping, Fred and George noticed and exchanged a 'we’re never gonna let him forget about this' kind of grin. But this time, they decided to spare Ron the embarrassment and let him continue sleeping with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

And just like that, summer was nearly over. In a week, you'd be back at Hogwarts—away from your new home and the one you'd nearly forgotten. The Burrow had given you a new sense of what 'home' truly felt like, and you loved it dearly.

The last thing you wanted was to be away from the Burrow, knowing it would leave you feeling empty. This summer made you realize just how lucky every one of Molly’s children was to have such loving parents, and despite the house not being fancy or immaculate, it truly felt like home. Everything about it was comforting.

Your mind was in a scramble, the thought of leaving clouding your thoughts. To blow off some stress, you decided to visit a spot you’d discovered during your first few weeks at the Burrow—a nearby pond. It was especially beautiful at night, with the stars in the sky and the moon reflecting its light on the water.

You sat down on the grass and let out a deep sigh until you heard footsteps behind you. Turning your head, you saw your red-headed roommate. "Not interrupting anything, am I?" he asked. "Not at all," you replied. Although you had hoped for a peaceful moment, you didn’t mind his presence.

The sound of crickets and night owls, along with the view of the moonlit pond, was breathtaking. You both sat in silence, taking in the beauty. It was rare for you and Ron to have a quiet moment like this; you were usually either bickering or laughing your heads off. But something about this moment felt magical. Unlike anything you had ever experienced with anyone.

You glanced over at Ron, trying not to make it obvious. You hadn’t realized how beautiful his features were—his perfectly upturned nose, soft orange locks of hair, and the way the moonlight reflected in his crystal blue eyes. He was just as breathtaking as the view you had been looking at moments ago.

Your eyes darted back to the pond, but made their way back to Ron as he said your name. "Y/N, it was really nice having you here at the Burrow this summer. I never really wanted a roommate, but you turned out to be the best one ever. Honestly, you made this whole experience so much better." Ron shyly spoke.

"You were a very good roommate too. I’m really gonna miss this. This place felt even better than my actual home; it’s so much more lively here. A-and frankly, I don’t know what it’ll be like without it," you said, your breath shaking. Hearing the tremor in your voice, Ron threw his arm around your shoulder and moved closer to you. You missed being this close to him. You missed his touch.

"You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," he said. Your eyes widened—such a bold statement. Did he really enjoy your company that much? You glanced at him, still processing what he’d just said.

You didn’t know where to look. You couldn’t focus only on his eyes, not when you suddenly craved every part of his face—especially his lips.

You could see he was doing the same; his eyes shifted to your lips. Oh gosh, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You couldn’t go another second without tasting him.

As if he read your mind, Ron inched closer, closing the gap between you, until your lips finally met.

Your lips moved in sync, tasting each other’s mouths. This was what you’d been craving, and you finally had it.

His arm slid off your shoulder and landed on the grass, supporting his upper body. His other hand found its way behind your head, gently tugging at your hair, earning a small whine from you.

Still not breaking the kiss, you straddled onto his lap, one hand tangled in his hair while the other rested on his cheek. It’s safe to say you’d earned yourself a boyfriend for the upcoming year at Hogwarts.

This had been your best summer ever—summer at the Burrow.

#ron weasley #ron weasly x reader #ron weasly imagine #ron wealsey x y/n #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley fluff #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter one shot #harry potter imagine #gryffindor #gryffindor boys #harry potter fluff

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vanillesuiker · 3 months ago

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A mind blowing job (Percy Weasley/fem reader)

Tags: smut, blowjobs, lingerie, overworked Percy Weasley and just general deviousness >:)

A/N: hehe freaky. This was written for my oc, but I edited for an x reader experience. So it might not be the most neutral, but I tried!

Also, some Freaky art drawn by the lovely @bastaardsuiker !! It's not very... risque. So hopefully tumblr won't kill me idk how this works.

This is my first time posting fic on Tumblr (HI!), so if there's something I could do differently in terms of formatting and stuff, please tell me!

Alright now get freaky!

｡ ₊°༺ ☾✶༻°₊ ｡

“I'm almost done, I promise.”

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. Laying in Percy's bed all day while he sat at his desk working on reports for the ministry wasn't exactly what she had planned for today. He was supposed to have a day off, and it was just perfect timing, she just picked up a custom order from a little shop in Diagon Alley. She had planned to change into it quickly when he was clearing his desk up, but at this point it was hard to tell if he would ever get to that.

Instead of showing him what she bought (and hopefully enjoying how much he liked it), she had spent the day helping Molly clean the chicken coop, sitting at a garden table gossiping with Bill and Charlie, and listening in fascination with Arthur to Harry talking about mundane muggle things. And all this time, Percy was just writing away in his room.

The sound of his quill scratching against the parchment was like nails on chalkboard, his quiet muttering while he wrote becoming increasingly frustrating. She felt like a ghost, he seemed to barely notice she was there. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. A devious little idea.

She'd just have to make him remember she was here.

Without trying to be quiet (he wouldn't look anyway, clearly a report on who the responsibility of owl dropping falls to when owls deliver post was more important), she got off the bed, grabbing the brown paper package. Inside was a bundle of dark purple lace, with black ribbons and trims.

Semi hidden behind a tall, crooked wardrobe, she changed out of her jeans (a new addition that her friends had insisted she looked good in) and Percy's jumper, slipping on the purple dress. It was short, cinching right under her breasts and flowing out from there, and almost completely see through.

She sneaks up behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. He barely reacts, his quill pausing for only a split second before he continues writing. She leans over, head resting on his shoulder as her hands trail down across his chest. Now he freezes, ink dripping from the quill.

“Almost done?” She whispers, kissing right under his jaw.

“... Almost, I promise.”

She groans, moving her hands back to massage his shoulders. He sighs in response, dropping his quill.

“I've promised that a lot today, haven't I?” Percy mumbles, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back. He looked tired, exhausted even, and suddenly she wasn't angry at him.

Well, maybe a little bit angry at him. But mostly at the ministry, for overworking him so much.

The bags under his eyes were noticeable, his shoulders were so tense, his hair was messy and he somehow still looked so good. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, earning a soft smile from him.

“It was supposed to be your day off today, remember?” Her hands drop from his shoulders again, shamelessly feeling his chest through his dress shirt. “I had plans, Percy.”

He opened his eyes at that, his look of confusion quickly turning into disappointment at himself when he caught just a glimpse of the purple fabric.

“Is that new?”

“Yes, I told you I got something new.” She walks around the chair, and he instinctively pushes it back, making space for her.

“Looks good.” He wanted to hit himself for being so plain about it, but his brain was just fried. She sat down in his lap, straddling him with her hands interlocked behind his neck as she pressed kisses along his jawline.

“You should take a break.” She whispered in his ear, popping one of the buttons of his shirt open. It breaks him, and he finally kisses her.

It's so desperate, from the way he kisses her to the way his hands cling onto her. The entire time he was working, he was so focused on that stupid report that he didn't even realise how tired he was, let alone how badly he needed this. But as soon as her hands made contact with his shoulders, he suddenly couldn't think of anything else.

She opens another button, and then another, kissing down from his jaw to his neck, leaving a trail of red marks down to his chest. Manicured nails rake across his back and he just can't stand it anymore.

With the strength that only desperate Percy has, he picked her up, accidentally knocking against the desk. Something falls over, but he doesn't care, too focused on getting them both to his bed, her giggles muffled by his kiss.

On the bed, she quickly climbs back on top of him, unbuttoning the last buttons of his shirt. Sitting up on her knees, her eyes trail across his body, seemingly not satisfied with the buttons she hadn't undone yet. Before he realised what she was doing, the button of his trousers was popped open, completing her collection.

“Wait…” He whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to do anything, I was kind of a dick today.”

“My love is unconditional, Percy.” She said proudly, tugging at his pants. “And I want to do this, now lift your hips before I Evanesco these.”

Who was he to refuse that?

All he could do was lay there, watching as she kissed up his thigh, and he almost vanished his boxers himself with how long she was taking. She finally pulled them down, and he was quick to lift his hips again.

For a moment, she just stared at him, hands gripping his thighs. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look away, slightly embarrassed at how easily he got excited by her, but the look on her face was one he'd think about for months from now.

She wraps one hand around him, slowly stroking him while the other hand slid underneath his tank top. His eyes screw shut, giving her the perfect opportunity to take him into her mouth.

He jolts up, hands digging into the mattress as she slowly bobbed her head up and down. His breathing is ragged and his face is completely flushed, the hickeys she sucked into his neck already starting to colour purple. A whimper escapes his lips when she swirls her tongue right around his tip.

She looks at him, a sparkle in her eyes that he knew too well at this point, and slaps a hand over his mouth as she speeds up. A warm hand pushes his hips firmly against the mattress, the other wrapped around him tightly.

“Fuck…” Percy hisses, tilting his head back. “...I don't think I'll… I won't last much longer…”

She only seems to take his warning as a sign to do more, hollowing her cheeks out as she sucks harder. He's already a moaning, sweaty mess, propped up on one elbow as every curse word he ever held in fell from his lips.

His hips struggle against her hand and his teeth dig into his lip as he tries to stop himself from alerting the entire house of his orgasm. He half expects her to pull away, but she just takes as much of him in as possible, continuing to suck him off until he collapsed onto the bed, weakly tugging at her hair to get her mouth off him.

“Please don't stop, I'm so- fuck, I love you, just don't stop, just-”

With what little strength he has left, he glances at her. Her hair is messed up, one of the straps of her dress hangs off her shoulder, and her lips are red and puffy, something white dripping down from her bottom lip.

“Merlin, I think you've killed me.” Percy mumbles, summoning a cup of water from his desk to her with a lazy wave of his wand.

He lays on his bed motionless, too overstimulated to notice the people outside of his room until the door swings open.

“Guys, mum says we're gonna have dinner outsi- Oh my God that's disgusting!” George makes a grossed out face, turning away from half naked Percy and the literal cum dripping from her mouth.

“I'm so telling mum!” Fred stands in the doorway for just a second longer before slamming the door shut and running down the stairs.

“I wish you could've actually killed me.” Percy groans.

She swishes some water around in her mouth, making a grossed out face when she swallows.

“Yuck, you need to drink less coffee.” She sticks her tongue out, setting the cup down. “And your mum is absolutely going to kill us when the fucking chastity squad reports us.”

Percy chuckles a little, too fucked out to really process the consequences. She lays down next to him, nuzzling her face into his neck. It's a peaceful moment, almost picture perfect if it wasn't for the messed up bed and Percy’s pants on the floor. The cracked open window lets in the calm sounds of the countryside, like the wind rustling the grass and the yells of his brothers who just heard what the twins walked into.

“They were doing WHAT?”

#percy weasley #Percy weasley x reader #art #harry potter #percy weasley fanart #theyre so freaky oh my god #vanillesuiker

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elisedonut · 2 years ago

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AAAAAAAA I need a Forbidden Love pairing for mtf!Percy specifically

i have a lot for Cis!Percy because it's honestly one of my favorite tropes but i haven't really thought much for Mtf!Percy ships other then like Penny, Marcus and Oliver.

#percy weasley #brainstorming for my second roll the dice fest entry #because apparently i vibe really well with the way its set up #though i have gotten lucky with my first two having the color section also being an item which it seems in both cases I will cling onto #even if my writing is still well uh well #you know i try #i try very hard #“this is me trying” right i still got to figure that out too dkfj #but songs are apparently alot more difficult to write for #my two like go to forbidden love ships for Percy (Remus and Draco) just don't work with a fem!Percy to me #because i just can't see either of them liking women like at all #“what if you just use a character other then Percy?” no :c #oh no i fell into the trap of putting most of my thoughts in the tags instead of the main post again

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kisses-for-you · 3 months ago

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explosion - f. weasley

fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: during the battle of hogwarts, you get injured and fred rushes to help. w/c: 1.8k

The battle raged like a storm around you, shaking the ancient stones of the castle to their core. Spells streaked through the air in every color imaginable, illuminating the darkened halls as you, Fred, George, and Percy fought side by side to hold one of the castle's passageways.

Fred stood close to you, his fiery hair glinting in the flickering light of the spells which were whizzing through the air in every direction. He was sweating and breathing hard, but his bravery hadn't faltered.

"Fancy a bit of adventure, love?" he teased, sending a Death Eater crashing into the far wall with a well-placed spell.

"Adventure? More like absolute chaos," you retorted, firing another spell that shattered a chunk of the ceiling, blocking another Death Eater's path. "You Weasleys have the strangest idea of a good time!"

"That's why you love me," Fred shot back, deflecting a Killing Curse with a quick shield charm.

Before you could reply, George chimed in. "Oi, save the flirting for later! Some of us are trying to survive over here!"

Percy, ever the voice of reason - or annoyance, depending on the moment - scowled as he launched another Expelliarmus. "Focus, all of you! We need to hold this position at all costs!"

The Death Eaters were relentless, forcing you all to retreat step by step. But you held your ground, firing spell after spell alongside the brothers. It felt like you were making progress - until the explosion.

The blast came out of nowhere, deafening and blinding. One moment you were standing shoulder to shoulder with Fred; the next, you were hurled backward by the force of the explosion. You hit the ground hard and the world went dark for a moment.

"Y/N!" Fred's voice pierced the haze, raw and panicked. He stumbled through the rubble, the light from his wand flickering wildly as he searched for you.

His heart stopped when he found you crumpled on the floor, your body motionless. Blood stained the front of your robes, and your wand lay just out of reach. For a moment, the chaos around him ceased to exist.

"Y/N!" he dropped to his knees beside you, shaking your shoulder gently. "No. No, no, no." His hands hovered over you, too afraid to touch you in case you were truly gone.

Tears blurred his vision as he cupped your face in his trembling hands. "Come on, love. Don't do this to me. Please, wake up." His voice cracked, and a sob tore from his throat.

George's voice called out from somewhere behind him. "Fred! What are you-" He froze when he saw you. "Bloody hell. Is she..?"

"She's not!" Fred barked, his voice filled with equal parts fury and despair. "She's not." He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're stronger than this. You don't get to leave me. You hear me?"

Just as Fred was about to lose all hope, you stirred. When you came to, your ears were ringing, and dust filled the air. Your vision spun as the taste of copper filled your mouth. A weak groan escaped your lips, and your eyes fluttered open. "Fred...?" Your voice was barely audible, but it was enough.

Fred let out a choked laugh, tears streaming down his face as he cradled you close, careful of the wound that appeared to be on your side. "You're alive. Merlin, you're alive." He pressed a desperate kiss to your forehead, his hands moving to check your wound.

"Don't... cry," you whispered, managing a faint smile despite the pain.

"Too late for that, love," Fred replied, his voice still shaking. "I thought I'd lost you. You scared me half to death, you know that?"

You were about to respond but another volley of spells exploded nearby, forcing Fred to shield your body with his own. "George! Percy!" he yelled over his shoulder. "I need cover!"

George was already there but Percy wasn't so he fought his way toward you, spells flying in all directions. George crouched beside Fred, his expression grim as he took in your condition.

"We need to get her out of here," George said firmly. "She's losing too much blood."

"I know that!" Fred snapped, his voice raw. "But if we leave this passageway undefended-"

"We'll handle it," Percy interrupted, his tone unusually gentle. "Fred, get her to safety. That's an order."

Fred hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. He slipped an arm under your shoulders and another under your knees, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

"You're not leaving me, are you?" you murmured, clinging weakly to his shirt.

"Never," he said fiercely.

As Fred carried you through the crumbling halls, his anger simmered just beneath the surface. Every injured student or fallen friend he passed seemed to deepen the fire in his eyes.

"You're going to be okay," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You're going to be fine. I'm not letting them take you from me."

When you reached the Great Hall, now transformed into a makeshift hospital, Madam Pomfrey rushed to meet you. Fred laid you gently on one of the hastily arranged cots as Madam Pomfrey immediately began assessing your injuries. Her expression was grave but determined.

"Severe blood loss and internal injuries," she muttered, her wand glowing as she waved it over your body. "Mr. Weasley, please, step back. I need space to work."

Fred hovered nearby, his fists clenched and jaw tight. "She's going to be alright, isn't she?" His voice cracked despite his attempt to sound strong.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look up, her focus solely on you. "I'll do everything I can. Now let me concentrate."

Fred turned away, pacing like a caged lion. George caught up moments later, blood smeared on his cheek and a cut above his eyebrow.

"How is she?" George asked quietly, placing a hand on Fred's shoulder.

Fred didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you. "She has to make it," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't lose her, George. Not her."

George squeezed his shoulder. "She's a fighter. She'll pull through. You've just got to keep believing in her."

Fred paced the Great Hall as the sounds of the battle outside seeped through the walls - distant explosions, cries, and the eerie silence that followed each fallen fighter. He couldn't focus on anything but you.

Madam Pomfrey worked tirelessly, and George stayed by Fred's side, watching his brother struggle to keep his emotions in check. "You need to stay strong," George said, his voice firm but kind. "For her. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

Fred stopped pacing, turning to his twin. "She took the hit meant for me, George." His voice broke. "I should be the one lying there. Not her."

"Don't do this to yourself," George said sharply. "She'd throttle you for even thinking that. And you know it."

Fred was about to respond when your faint voice cut through the air. "Fred...?"

He froze. Then he was by your side in an instant, dropping to his knees next to you. Your eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain but alive. Relief washed over him, so intense it left him momentarily speechless.

"Don't look so grim," you rasped, managing a faint smile. "You look awful."

Fred laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. He brushed a hand through your hair, careful not to touch the blood-stained bandages. "You scared the life out of me, love. Don't ever do that again."

"Not exactly my choice," you murmured, grimacing as you shifted slightly. "What's the situation? The passageway?"

"Forget the passageway," Fred said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You're what matters right now. Percy is holding it down."

"You left him?" you whispered, your brow furrowing. "Fred, you can't-"

"I can, and I did," Fred interrupted, gripping your hand tightly. "He ordered me to get you to safety. And I'd make the same choice a thousand times over."

You squeezed Fred's hand weakly, your fingers barely wrapping around his. "Stubborn as ever," you murmured, your voice laced with pain but also a faint teasing tone. "Guess that's why I love you."

Fred's face softened, his usual mischievous grin flickering to life despite the situation. "Good thing, too, because you're stuck with me."

George, standing nearby, crossed his arms and smirked. "Oh, don't worry, Y/N. He's been planning a whole dramatic scene for when you woke up. You know how he is - loves a good audience."

Fred shot George a glare, though it lacked any real venom. "Not the time, George."

Madam Pomfrey, who had been working with relentless focus, finally stepped back, wiping her hands on her robes. "She'll live," she said briskly. "But she'll need rest. No running about casting spells for a while, understood?"

Fred exhaled a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at him. "Thank me by keeping her still. And don't let her charm her way out of recovery. I know how she is." She glanced at you knowingly before bustling off to tend to the next patient.

Fred turned back to you, his hand still clutching yours. "Hear that, love? You're under strict orders to lie still and let me take care of you for once."

You gave him a weak smile, your eyelids drooping. "Just for a bit. Then back to saving more lives."

Fred leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You've already saved mine," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

George cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Alright, lovebirds, don't go getting all sappy. There's still a war on, in case you've forgotten."

Fred shot him a tired but grateful look. "Go on, then. I'll catch up once she's settled."

"Don't take too long," George said, his tone unusually serious. "We need every wand out there."

As George disappeared back into the fray, Fred sat beside you, his fingers brushing over yours in a soothing rhythm. "You're my priority now," he said firmly. "They'll manage out there. But I'm not leaving your side until you're safe."

"Fred," you whispered, your voice stronger now, though still strained. "I'll be okay. You need to fight. The castle needs you. They need you."

Fred shook his head, his expression unyielding. "They'll have to manage without me for a while. Because I'm not taking my eyes off you until I know you're out of danger."

"Alright," you murmured, your fingers curling around his. "But promise me... you'll stay safe, too."

Fred leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I promise. Now get some rest, love. We'll get through this. Together."

H.P. masterlist

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter fic #imagine #fred weasley angst #harry potter characters #harry potter and the deathly hallows

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iamthesilentwriter · 20 days ago

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In Shadows We Meet

Draco Malfoy x Weasley!Fem!Reader

Summary: You know you’re not meant to, but you do. You and Draco have been secretly dating since the summer. What happens when your secret relationship is almost exposed? Or, the one where Ginny finds out.

Warnings: slight angst, some kissing

Authors Note: Hello! Sorry, I've ghosted you all. I have started/been writing a Marauders Era High School Foster Care AU, centered around Regulus and Sirius Black, over on AO3, under 'iamthesilentwriter'. It has literally become my newest hyperfixation and I've been really enjoying writing it. That doesn't mean I've completely stopped writing over here on tumblr, it's just posts will occur (hopefully) once every month, maybe more if I have multiple ideas. Thank you all for all your patience, and please enjoy my first Draco x reader oneshot!!

Word Count: 6,878

Navigation | Masterlist

Being Ginny’s twin is like living in the world’s worst nightmare.

Your mother only wanted one daughter, so when she found out she was having twins, she wasn’t particularly thrilled. And if she had to have two, why couldn’t they at least be the same?

You and Ginny are complete opposites. She is funny, outgoing, charismatic, while you are the polar opposite. You’re quiet, anxious, and observant. She thrives in the spotlight, while you prefer the shadows. Where Ginny rushes into adventure with reckless excitement, you hesitate, overthink, and hold yourself back. It has always been that way.

So, it was a surprise—even to yourself—when you started developing feelings for a certain boy your family despises.

Draco Malfoy.

He gets you in all the ways your family cannot. He understands things about you that even you don’t understand. The way silence isn’t always loneliness, how words aren’t always necessary, how there is strength in restraint.

You weren’t sure when it started—maybe it was the stolen glances across the Great Hall or the times you found yourself unconsciously searching for him in a crowd. But if you had to pinpoint the moment you truly met, it would be in Potions.

He’s fairly good at Potions, you are absolutely not. You were barely scraping by and the end of last year, and Professor Snape—never one to waste his time on hopeless cases—paired you with Draco for tutoring.

A Malfoy and a Weasley. The irony of it wasn’t lost on you.

"You’re quiet today."

Ginny’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she flops down beside you in the Gryffindor common room, her gaze sharp and searching.

"I’m always quiet," you mutter, staring into the flickering fire.

Ginny snorts. "Yeah, but this is different. You’re brooding. You only do that when something’s on your mind." She nudges your arm. "Spill."

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the hem of your sleeve. Ginny knows you too well. But telling her? That’s a dangerous game.

Because if she ever found out the truth—about Draco, about everything—you’re not sure she’d ever forgive you.

You’re not sure if anyone in your family would ever forgive you.

Sure, your eldest brothers—Bill, Charlie, and maybe even Percy—might forgive you. Considering the fact that they’ve always been more accepting, more willing to see beyond the surface. But Ron? The twins? Even your mum and dad?

You can almost picture their faces, a mix of disbelief and betrayal. Loving a Malfoy, of all people. It would be like tearing apart the very fabric of what it means to be a Weasley.

Ginny nudges you again, harder this time. “Hey, don’t go drifting off on me. What’s going on?”

You force a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “It’s nothing, Ginny.”

Her eyes narrow, and you know she doesn’t believe you for a second. “It’s not nothing. You’ve been weird for weeks now. Even Mum noticed.”

Your heart sinks. Of course your mum noticed. Molly Weasley has a sixth sense for when something is off with her children. It’s only a matter of time before she corners you, demanding answers you can’t give.

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” you finally say, the words tasting half-true. “Schoolwork, you know?”

Ginny raises an eyebrow, her skepticism palpable. “You’ve never worried about schoolwork before. Even when you were failing Potions, you didn’t look this stressed.”

You wince at the mention of Potions, the memory of Draco’s steady gaze and patient explanations flooding your mind. How his fingers brushed yours when passing a vial, how his rare, soft smiles were like secrets shared only with you.

“Come on,” Ginny presses, her tone softer now, almost pleading. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m your sister.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of expectation and trust. She’s your sister—your other half, your constant. But this? This is something you’re not sure you can ever share with her.

“I know, Gin,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “But some things are just… hard to explain.”

Ginny watches you for a moment, her expression a mix of frustration and concern. Finally, she sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But just—don’t shut me out, okay?”

You nod, the guilt pressing down on your chest. “I won’t.”

But as you glance back into the fire, the flickering flames seem to mock you with their restless dance. Because deep down, you know that as long as Draco Malfoy remains your secret, there will always be a part of you that Ginny—and the rest of your family—will never truly know.

It’s not like you want to keep your relationship with Draco a secret. It’s the fact that you have to. If his father ever found out about the two of you, he most likely would be disowned… or worse.

Draco started sending you cryptic letters the second summer started. It was your way of communication. Every letter was written in a carefully crafted code, disguised as harmless, impersonal conversation.

To anyone else, they would seem like the ramblings of two bored students discussing Potions and Quidditch. But hidden between the words were secret messages, phrases only the two of you understood.

You remember the moment you realized what he was really saying.

The first letter had been vague, almost like a test. “The potion ingredients you mentioned… I think they have more meaning than you realize.” You had been confused at first, rereading the words over and over until something clicked. He wasn’t talking about Potions at all.

And then the flowers started arriving.

At first, you thought they were a mistake, but no one in your family ever mentioned them. They would appear outside your window at The Burrow, tied with silver ribbon. A single stem at a time—deliberate, chosen with care.

You had to buy a book on flowers just to understand what they meant.

A blue cornflower—hope and anticipation. A white camellia—you’re adorable. A red tulip—declaration of love.

That was the one that made your heart stop.

That was the one that changed everything.

You kept every single one, hidden away in an old box under your bed. Pressed between pages of books, tucked into letters you never sent back. Proof that, for the first time, someone saw you. Not just as Ginny’s twin. Not just as another Weasley. But as you.

The fire crackles beside you, but your mind is elsewhere. With him.

“I’m going for a walk,” you say suddenly, standing from the couch.

Ginny frowns, tilting her head. “Now?”

You nod, grabbing your cloak. “Yeah. I just need some air.”

She watches you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something unspoken, but eventually sighs. “Alright. Don’t stay out too late.”

You murmur a quiet “I won’t” before slipping out of the common room, your heartbeat steady but quickening.

The castle is quiet at this hour, most students tucked away in their dormitories. You keep your footsteps light, making your way through familiar corridors, down winding staircases, until you reach the spot.

A small, tucked-away alcove near the entrance to the dungeons. A place no one ever pays attention to.

And he’s already there.

Draco leans against the stone wall, arms crossed, his pale hair illuminated by the dim torchlight. The moment he sees you, his expression softens.

“You’re late,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite in his tone.

You step closer, barely suppressing a smile. “I had to be careful.”

He studies you for a moment before reaching into his pocket, pulling out something small. When he extends his hand, your breath catches.

A flower.

A pink carnation.

I’ll never forget you.

You take it carefully, fingers brushing against his. Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence filled with everything unsaid.

And then, softly, he says, “I missed you.”

Your fingers tighten around the delicate stem of the flower, your heart beating a little too fast. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve met Draco here more times than you can count, exchanged letters all summer, deciphered secret messages meant only for you. And yet, every time, the sight of him makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying.

His stormy grey eyes hold yours, searching, like he’s trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. Then, before you can process what’s happening, he leans in—just slightly, just enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the scent of expensive cologne and parchment and something unmistakably Draco.

And then, softly, he presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s brief—chaste, even—but it leaves your skin burning.

You’re sure he can hear your heartbeat. It’s embarrassingly loud in your ears.

You swallow hard, staring down at the pink carnation still nestled between your fingers. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally say it.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Draco exhales, like he’s been holding his breath, and when you dare to glance up at him, there’s something unbearably tender in his expression. Like you’re something precious. Like you matter.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The castle is silent around you, the dim torchlight flickering against the cold stone walls. The world beyond these walls doesn’t exist. Not your family, not his, not the expectations, not the war that lingers in hushed whispers in the halls.

Just this. Just him.

Draco reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours, hesitant but certain.

“You know,” he murmurs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, “one day, I’d like to do that properly.”

Your breath hitches, heat rushing to your face as you look away. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. Just fondness. Just the quiet kind of happiness you’re not sure you’ve ever had before.

You don’t say it, but you think it. I hope I’ll always be here.

It’s not some act of defiance you are trying to display. And, yes, you are aware of the fact that Draco has been nothing but horrible towards your family.

But he’s changed.

He’s stepped back. He’s stopped saying nasty things, he’s stopped bullying others, he’s stopped being… that person.

And, maybe, you had something to do with it. You don’t think Draco would ever admit it, though—however true it is.

You lean against the cold stone wall of your usual meeting spot, a quiet alcove near the entrance to the dungeons, just out of sight. It’s late, and the castle is hushed with the weight of the sleeping students inside it. You’ve just finished your prefect rounds, and exhaustion lingers in your limbs, but the anticipation of seeing him keeps you awake.

You think back to the first time you truly met him—not in passing in the halls, not in the context of family rivalry, but really met him.

Fourth year. Potions tutoring.

He had been annoyed at first, at Snape for forcing him to help a Weasley, at you for being so hopeless with brewing. You remember the sharp remarks, the condescending sighs. But you also remember the moment something shifted—that first time you understood something because of the way he explained it, the way his expression changed when he realized you weren’t as dull as he thought.

And now, here you are.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. You barely have time to react before Draco steps into the alcove, his familiar scent washing over you—cologne, parchment, something distinctly him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hand finds your waist, drawing you close, and before you can say a word, his lips are on yours.

It’s still new, this thing between you—the kisses, the way he touches you with something close to reverence—but it’s welcome.

Your breath stutters, but you melt into him easily, your arms winding around his neck. You tangle your fingers in his hair, soft and fair between your fingers, and he hums—a sound of quiet contentment that makes your heart swell.

When you finally pull back, your face warm, you barely manage a shy, “Hi.”

Draco doesn’t let go. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing slow circles against your waist. “Hello,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, like he doesn’t want to disturb the fragile moment between you.

You stay there, pressed against him, basking in the rare peace of just being. No expectations, no secrets to keep, no families to disappoint—just the two of you.

Then, after a long silence, he speaks.

“I think my mother knows.”

You freeze. Your entire body tenses in his hold, but Draco doesn’t let go.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands still resting against his shoulders. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you ask, “Not about us?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “But… I think she knows I’ve been seeing someone.”

You swallow, trying to push past the lump forming in your throat. Of course she knows. Narcissa Malfoy is no fool. If anyone would notice the changes in Draco—the way he sneaks away, the way he seems lighter somehow—it would be her.

“How?” you whisper.

Draco sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She asked me the other day if there was ‘a girl’ I was spending time with. She was… careful with her words, but she knows me too well.” He pauses, his gaze searching yours. “I didn’t confirm anything, obviously, but she knows.”

You nod slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“What do you think she’ll do?”

Draco is quiet for a moment, his grip on you tightening slightly. Then, with surprising certainty, he says, “Nothing.”

Your brows furrow. “Nothing?”

“She’s not like my father,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “She’s never cared about blood status the way he does. She wouldn’t approve, not openly, but… she wouldn’t stop me either.”

You exhale, a slow, measured breath. It’s not reassurance, not entirely, but it’s enough.

Draco watches you carefully, then leans in again, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I won’t let anyone take this from me,” he whispers against your skin.

And for now, that promise is enough.

But that promise doesn’t last long.

You’ve been agitated. Studying for the O.W.L.s is no joke.

Draco has been understanding in every way that matters.

He doesn’t complain when you’re too exhausted to sneak away as often as you used to. He doesn’t sulk when your letters become shorter, your handwriting rushed. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead when you do meet, tells you to take care of yourself, and reminds you—without words—that he’s still here.

But you haven’t been as careful.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re tired, distracted, too busy to think about every step you take. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. You’ve let your guard slip, just a little.

You’re just finishing up your meeting with Draco now, his hands warm on your waist as he lingers, reluctant to let go. He presses one last kiss to your lips, slow and lingering, before murmuring, “Go. Before someone catches us.”

You nod, exhaling softly, before slipping away from him.

The castle is quiet as you make your way back, the corridors dimly lit with flickering torches. You let yourself relax, just slightly, as you turn a corner—

And walk straight into someone.

You stumble back, heart leaping to your throat, and when you look up, panic surges through your veins like ice.

Ginny.

She crosses her arms, her brows furrowed. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over.”

Your mind races. Does she know?

You force yourself to stay calm, to school your features into something neutral. “Oh. Sorry, I was just—”

Ginny’s eyes narrow, scanning you, and you realize with horror that your lips are probably still a little swollen, your hair a bit mussed.

Think. Say something.

“You were just what?” she presses.

You swallow hard. “I—uh—prefect rounds. I lost track of time.”

Ginny doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”

Your stomach churns. You’ve been slipping up, you know you have. And now, with your sister standing in front of you, suspicion written all over her face, you’re not sure if you can lie your way out of this one.

“Uh-huh. Yep,” you say, nodding a little too quickly.

Ginny raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t have to say anything—the look on her face is enough.

“Sure you were,” she says, and then, with a tilt of her head, she adds, “but you’ve still got an hour.”

Your stomach drops. She caught me in my lie.

“Uhhh,” you stammer, scrambling for something—anything—to say. But your mind is completely blank.

Ginny watches you, her expression unreadable. Then, just as your panic reaches its peak, she does something unexpected.

She loops her arm through yours and starts walking, dragging you along toward the Gryffindor common room.

You blink, caught off guard, but let her lead you without resistance. The silence between you is thick, almost suffocating. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s from the near-disaster you just avoided or the fear that Ginny isn’t done questioning you yet.

Then, after a beat, she finally speaks.

“You have a boyfriend?”

You sigh, shoulders sagging. There’s no use denying it.

“…Kind of.”

Ginny hums. “How long?”

You hesitate. Then, quietly, you admit, “Since summer.”

She nods, as if that makes sense, then glances at you again. “Is it… Michael Corner?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Ginny nods again, almost thoughtfully. “Huh. He’s been acting weird lately too.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you keep your mouth shut, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

No such luck.

“What year is he in?”

You hesitate for half a second before answering. “…Sixth.”

Ginny hums. “Is he in Gryffindor?”

You shake your head.

She exhales, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “Are you gonna tell me who he is?”

You swallow. “I’m… not ready for anyone to know.”

Ginny studies you for a long moment, then nods, squeezing your arm gently. “I understand.”

You reach the Fat Lady’s portrait, and Ginny mutters the password. As the portrait swings open and you step inside, you can’t shake the unease curling in your stomach.

I’ve got to be more careful.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You didn’t mean to get upset with Draco.

But you did.

It had been a stupid argument, one that shouldn’t have escalated the way it did. You can still hear the sharp edge in your own voice, the way Draco’s expression had hardened, his frustration evident as he raked a hand through his hair.

“Why are you acting like this?” he had asked, voice laced with exasperation.

You had crossed your arms, your own irritation bubbling over. “I don’t know, Draco. Maybe because I’m exhausted? Because I have a thousand things to do and I can’t afford to get caught sneaking off every night?”

His jaw had clenched. “I never asked you to.”

And that—that—had been what set you off.

“Right. Of course you didn’t. But it’s still me risking everything, isn’t it?” you had snapped.

Draco’s expression had flickered—hurt flashing across his features so quickly you almost doubted it was ever there. But then his face had gone cold, distant.

“I didn’t realize I was such a burden.”

You had opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he had already taken a step back.

“I’ll give you space,” he had said, voice quieter now. “Since I’m clearly just making things harder for you.”

And then he had left.

That was nearly two weeks ago.

You haven’t spoken since.

It’s now the Christmas holidays, and you haven’t received a single letter from him. Not even the smallest, coded note. You’ve debated whether or not to send him something, but every time you pick up a quill, doubt creeps in.

What if he doesn’t want to hear from you?

So, you don’t write. And you’re miserable.

You’re snappish with everyone, your temper shorter than usual, your patience wearing thin over the smallest things. It’s only a matter of time before someone calls you out on it.

That someone, unsurprisingly, is Ginny.

She storms into your room one evening, arms crossed, her expression set.

“Alright, enough,” she says, planting herself in front of you. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You glare at her from where you sit on your bed, arms wrapped around your knees. “Nothing.”

Ginny scoffs. “Oh, please. You’ve been in a mood since we got home. Snapping at everyone, storming around like you’re about to hex the next person who breathes wrong—”

“I have not—”

“Yes, you have,” she interrupts, eyes flashing. “And I’m sick of it. You’re not telling me something, and I want to know what.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but the lump in your throat is too thick. Instead, to your absolute horror, your vision starts to blur.

Ginny’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of your tears, but she doesn’t back down. If anything, she crosses her arms tighter, her stance firm.

“Oh,” she says, her voice quieter now. But there’s still frustration beneath it, an unwillingness to let this go. “So there is something wrong.”

You shake your head quickly, blinking hard, trying to push back the sting in your eyes. “It’s— it’s nothing, Ginny.”

She scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You flinch, and Ginny exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair.

“You know, I’ve been patient with you,” she says, voice clipped, pacing at the foot of your bed. “We all have. We all thought, maybe, you just needed some space. But you’ve been awful to everyone lately. You barely talk to me, you snap at Mum every time she asks you something, you completely shut down whenever someone even tries to—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snap, but it comes out shakier than you intended.

Ginny whirls around, her brown eyes narrowing. “No, you’re not. And I don’t get why you won’t just tell me what’s going on! I’m your twin, remember? The person who’s supposed to know when something’s wrong? But you won’t even let me in.”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest, and the weight of everything crashes over you all at once.

You suck in a sharp breath, but it’s like you can’t breathe. Your hands grip at your knees, your entire body going rigid as the pressure in your chest tightens, and suddenly—

The tears spill over.

You don’t mean to. You don’t want to. But once it starts, you can’t stop.

Ginny freezes. “Oh.”

Your shoulders shake, and you press the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the sobs back down.

Ginny hesitates for half a second before sitting down beside you, her voice softer now. “Hey…”

You shake your head, still unable to speak.

The bed shifts slightly as Ginny shifts closer. “Look, I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to make you cry, I just—” She sighs. “Talk to me. Please.”

“It’s stupid.”

Ginny sits on the bed beside you. “It’s clearly not.”

You exhale shakily, willing yourself to get a grip. But your voice is small when you finally admit, “I messed things up.”

Ginny stays quiet, waiting for you to continue.

You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve, carefully keeping details vague. “I got into an argument with… someone. And now, I think I’ve lost him.”

There’s a pause. Then, something shifts in Ginny’s expression. It’s like something clicks.

“…You’re in love with him.”

You freeze.

The words send a jolt through you, your breath catching in your throat.

Love.

You hadn’t— You weren’t—

Except… you are, aren’t you?

Your heart pounds, your entire body going still. You think of Draco—his sharp wit, his rare smiles, the way he looks at you like you’re something worth holding onto. You think of his hands at your waist, the warmth of his touch, the quiet, careful way he had let you set the pace.

You think of how much it hurts to be apart from him.

“…Oh,” you whisper.

Ginny’s expression softens. “Yeah,” she says. “Oh.”

You swallow past the sudden lump in your throat.

Ginny nudges your shoulder gently. “You should write to him.”

You hesitate.

“Apologize,” she says. “Talk to him.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah… yeah, I think I will.”

Ginny smiles, standing up and stretching. “Good.” Then, with a teasing glint in her eyes, she adds, “And whoever this boy is, if he starts treating you badly, let me know, and I’ll handle it.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of you. “I’m sure you will.”

Ginny smirks. “Damn right.”

And then, with one last knowing look, she leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You take a deep breath, then pull out parchment and ink.

You hesitate only for a moment before pressing the quill to the page.

My Knight,

I’m sorry.

I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I was stressed, and I took it out on you, and that wasn’t fair.

You are not a burden. Not even close. If anything, you’re the only thing keeping me sane. I’ve missed you, more than I can put into words. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I needed to say this.

Please write back.

Love,

Your Supernova

You stare at the letter for a long moment before folding it carefully.

Then, heart pounding, you seal it and set it aside to send in the morning.

You wake up with the same knot of anxiety in your stomach, the one that’s been twisting ever since you sent Draco the letter yesterday. Your thoughts race, each one a worst-case scenario. What if he doesn’t reply? What if he’s angry with you? What if he never wants to speak to you again? The questions swirl like a storm in your head, and despite the bright December morning outside, the world feels impossibly heavy. You try to push them away, but they cling to you, relentless.

It’s already noon when you hear the soft knock on your door. You’re not expecting anyone, but you know immediately what it is. Your heart leaps in your chest. Ginny’s standing there, holding a letter, and the panic hits you again like a wave.

"Here you go," she says, her tone light, but the knowing look in her eyes makes it clear that she senses your unease. She offers you the letter with a small smile, not hiding the fact that she knows how much this means to you.

Your hand shakes as you reach for the letter. "Ginny," you murmur, voice barely a whisper, "I can’t."

She watches you with a raised eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You’re freaking out over a letter? Relax, sis."

"I—" You try to steady your breath, but your hands are trembling too much to be still. You want to tell her that it’s more than just a letter—that this could change everything. But the words don’t come. "What if—"

She cuts you off, her hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. "Look, if it’ll help, I can read it for you."

Your eyes widen at the idea. "No!" You grab the letter from her hand, clutching it to your chest. "I want to read it myself."

Ginny laughs softly, shaking her head. “Alright, alright. Take your time.” She watches you with a mix of amusement and something more—concern, maybe. Her gaze lingers, but she doesn’t push, letting you have your moment.

With a deep breath, you rip open the envelope. The sound of it seems too loud in the quiet room. Your heart beats in your throat as you pull the letter out. The parchment is thick, the edges slightly curled from the fold. The familiar scent of ink and parchment fills your senses, but it's the feeling in your chest that’s the hardest to bear. The anxiety. The dread. The hope.

You unfold the letter, feeling the smooth paper against your fingertips, and begin to read:

Dear Supernova,

I’m sorry for not replying sooner. I’ve been thinking about everything you said, and I’ve realized that I shouldn’t have been so distant. You didn’t deserve that.

I don’t know where things are headed between us, but I want to see where it goes. I’ll do better, I promise. You’re worth more than the way I acted.

I’ve missed you.

Love,

Your Knight.

Your heart softens as you read his words, the relief flooding in with each line. It’s not as bad as you feared. In fact, it’s better than you’d hoped. The knot in your stomach begins to loosen, and you let out a shaky breath. For a brief moment, everything feels right again. He’s trying.

But then, something else catches your eye. A small, dried flower slips from the letter. You pick it up carefully, fingers brushing the lavender petals. It’s vibrant even in its pressed state, a perfect wild lavender, curled and fragrant, its purple hue still bright. The meaning of lavender strikes you instantly—devotion.

You smile softly at the gesture. It’s personal, thoughtful. Something Draco would do, if he was truly trying.

Your attention shifts again as something else falls from the letter—a piece of jewelry. You gasp softly, and Ginny leans forward as she notices it too.

You pick up the necklace gently, your fingers skimming the cool silver chain. It’s delicate yet sturdy, not too heavy but unmistakably expensive. The pendant is a small, intricate locket, polished to perfection, gleaming in the soft light of your room. You turn it over in your hands, admiring the fine craftsmanship.

It’s engraved with delicate swirls, floral patterns wrapping around the edges. When you open it, you find two tiny spaces, perfect for small photos. Your heart tightens as you wonder—did Draco have this made just for you? Or had he kept it all this time, waiting for the right moment to give it away?

A folded note slips from the locket, and you unfold it with trembling fingers.

Merry Christmas.

It’s Draco’s handwriting, neat and precise, though a little more formal than you’d expect for a casual holiday message. You smile at the simplicity of it, the warmth of the words, and yet, something unsettles you. Was he truly thinking of you when he wrote it, or was he just trying to smooth things over?

Ginny doesn’t give you much time to ponder. She snatches the necklace from your hand and inspects it, eyes wide in awe. “Ooooh, wow. This is gorgeous.” Her fingers glide over the pendant. “And… really expensive.”

You laugh nervously, your voice barely a whisper. “I—he didn’t have to—”

She holds it up to the light, her eyes glittering. "I don’t care what he had to do. This is way beyond what I’d expect from a… guy like him." She glances at you, raising an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the expensive gift.

You smile softly but it’s bittersweet. You’re not used to receiving gifts like this—not from anyone, especially not from someone like Draco. You glance back down at the letter, reading his words again, feeling the weight of them. I’ll do better, I promise. You trace the edges of the necklace absently, your chest tightening again.

Ginny stands there for a moment, watching you quietly. The room falls silent as you let the words sink in. But Ginny isn’t done yet.

She sets the necklace down carefully and gives you a sharp, knowing look. “So, is everything okay between you two?”

You freeze, unsure how to respond. The truth feels complicated, tangled in knots you don’t know how to untangle. “Yes... and no. For now, everything’s fine. But I still need to talk to him. I just need some time to figure it out.”

Ginny nods slowly, studying your face. “Alright. Just don’t let it go too long, okay? You deserve someone who makes you happy.”

You nod in return, grateful for her support. “I know.”

She stands, moving toward the door, then turns with a half-smile on her face. “Well, let me know if you need anything. And…” She glances back at you, a playful glint in her eye. “If he starts treating you badly, I swear I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You chuckle softly. “I’m sure you will.”

Ginny smirks, then exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sit there, the letter in your hands, the necklace resting beside you. You should feel lighter now, but something doesn’t sit right. You can’t place it, but there’s a tension in the air you can’t shake.

You try to dismiss it as nerves. Maybe it’s just the weight of everything that’s happened, or the confusion you still feel. But it lingers, like a shadow in the back of your mind.

Things slowly start to unravel the second you step foot onto Hogwarts grounds.

Christmas break had been a nightmare. All you wanted to do was apologize to Draco properly, not some half-hearted apologies in letters.

And now, as you sit in your secret meeting place, tucked away behind the old tapestry on the seventh floor, you can’t stop fidgeting. The silver locket rests in your palm, cool against your skin, the chain sliding between your fingers as you move it back and forth. It’s become a nervous habit over the last few days—something to ground you as you run through every possible way to say I’m sorry without completely breaking down.

What if he doesn’t forgive you? What if you’ve messed things up beyond repair?

The thought makes your stomach churn. You clench your jaw, trying to steady yourself. You just need to see him, to explain everything, to tell him—

The sound of footsteps approaching makes you freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat, and you barely have time to compose yourself before the curtain of the tapestry shifts and Draco steps through.

The second you see him, you don’t think. You just move.

You surge forward, throwing your arms around him, clutching him tightly like he might slip through your fingers if you don’t hold on. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then his arms come around you, strong and sure, pulling you against him. The familiar scent of him—clean parchment, expensive cologne, and something unmistakably him—fills your senses, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Draco.”

You feel him shift slightly, and before you can say anything else, his hands cup your face, tilting it up toward him. You barely have time to register the soft look in his silver eyes before he’s kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just firm and reassuring, as if he’s telling you it’s okay without needing words. The tension inside you unravels, and you melt into him, hands clutching the fabric of his robes as you kiss him back.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he murmurs. “Not anymore.”

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head slightly. “I do,” you insist. “I should’ve never made you feel like—like you weren’t important. You are. So much.”

Draco exhales slowly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You drive me insane sometimes, you know that?” His voice is soft, teasing, but there’s no real bite to it.

You huff out a weak laugh, sniffling. “Yeah, I know.”

His arms wrap around you again, holding you close, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. For a while, neither of you speak. You just exist in this moment, the weight of the last few weeks fading as you press your face into his shoulder.

He’s here. He’s yours. And this time, you won’t let your fear push him away.

The next couple of days have really taken a toll on you. You’ve barely had time to see Draco due to all the late-night studying you’ve been doing.

Today had been a particularly tough day. And in a desperate need to see Draco, you completely forgot to keep an eye out for anyone who might follow you.

You weren’t thinking straight. How could you? All you needed was to see him, and maybe, because of that need, you let your guard down.

And now, you are suffering the consequences.

You’re pressed against Draco’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around you as you shake in his hold. His hand moves in soothing circles along your back, and you clutch onto his robes like a lifeline, your body wracked with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice warm and steady. “Everything is going to be okay.”

You don’t know how long you stand there, buried in his arms, listening to his heartbeat as he whispers quiet reassurances against your skin.

“It’s alright, love,” he says, voice softer now, full of something you can’t quite name. “I promise, it’s alright.”

Eventually, your tears slow, your breathing evens out, and the weight pressing against your chest lightens just enough for you to finally lift your head. Draco tilts your chin up gently, his silver eyes scanning your face as if making sure you’re truly alright.

And then, he kisses you.

It starts slow—his lips brushing against yours like a question, as if making sure you want this. And Merlin, do you want this.

You kiss him back instantly, pushing yourself closer to him, your fingers threading into his hair. The tension of the past few days melts away as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to your waist, the other resting against the back of your neck. It’s intoxicating—the way he kisses you like you’re something precious, something to be cherished.

You’re so lost in the warmth of him, in the way he holds you, that you don’t hear the footsteps approaching.

You don’t even register the presence behind you until—

Someone coughs.

You and Draco break apart so fast it’s almost comical, your head snapping toward the sound.

And there, standing just a few feet away, is Ginny.

All the blood drains from your face.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at you, her expression unreadable, which somehow makes it worse.

Your heart pounds against your ribs. Ginny isn’t stupid. She’s piecing everything together in real time—the secret meetings, the necklace, your constant evasion when she asked who you were seeing. And now, catching you like this, wrapped up in Draco Malfoy like he’s the air you breathe—

You try to swallow the panic creeping up your throat.

“Ginny—”

But she’s already turning on her heel.

Your heart lurches. No, no, no.

“Ginny, wait!” You break away from Draco and hurry after her.

She stops, but only just, turning around sharply. “What?” she snaps, her voice cutting.

You flinch, but you force yourself to meet her eyes. Draco is right behind you, tense but silent.

“I—I’m sorry,” you start, voice uneven. “I should’ve told you sooner. There was a reason I didn’t—”

Something shifts in Ginny’s face, like a realization hitting her all at once.

“I’m not mad at you,” she says suddenly, though her voice is still tight. “Well, I am, but I’m more mad that you didn’t think you could trust me with this.” She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I get why you didn’t say anything, because, yeah, it’s Malfoy—” her gaze flickers to Draco before settling back on you “—but you’re happy. I’ve never seen you this happy before.”

Your breath catches.

Ginny sighs, her voice softer now. “I see the way you act, like you’re my shadow. And, frankly, you’re treated like one. It’s not fair.” Her eyes search yours. “You deserve to have something that’s just yours. And if that’s him—” she jerks her chin toward Draco, “—then fine. But you should’ve told me.”

You blink at her, unable to speak. She’s not furious about who you’re dating—just that you hadn’t told her. The relief that floods you is almost overwhelming.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Ginny studies you for a moment longer before she finally sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, shaking her head. Then, she turns to Draco, her gaze sharp as a dagger.

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

Draco actually chuckles—until he sees the look on Ginny’s face. He swallows, nodding. “Understood.”

Ginny hums, clearly satisfied. “I’ll see you back in the common room,” she says, glancing at you one last time before walking away.

Silence lingers in the air for a beat. Then, warm hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back into a familiar embrace.

You turn in Draco’s arms, looping your own around his neck.

“Well,” he murmurs, a small smirk playing on his lips. “That wasn’t so bad.”

You huff out a laugh. “I guess not.”

His smirk deepens, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Now we should tell Weasley about us.”

Your stomach drops. You swat his shoulder instantly. “Absolutely not.”

Draco chuckles, leaning in. “Fine, fine,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We’ll save that heart attack for another day.”

#draco malfoy #x reader #draco malfoy x reader #ginny weasley #fluff #angst #oneshot

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