#george reader insert

[awriterinthenight]

a moment of silence for all the fics that were masterpieces but you'll never find them again

[live-laugh-lenney]

temptation | george clarkey

summary; george misses his girlfriend, yn, so the sidemen bring her in during his time on 'inside'... but her visit comes at a cost.

word count; 4.2k

** warnings; slight mention of sex but just some sickening fluff. **

'inside' really re-ignited my love for george, not that i didn't love him enough already, so thank you for that, sidemen. in a real funk for him so this is a little something to bring both my feels and the beauty of george on 'inside' together! let me know what you think. enjoy! x

“Whatever you do, just resist whatever they throw at you.”

“I mean, I don’t really think I should be taking spending advice from the one guy spending the most of our prize money in here,” George taunted playfully, a guilty look spreading across PK’s face that soon broke apart with a cheeky grin before his hands came up in a surrender, acting like the innocent man he was portraying to the cameras yet those around him could just about see right through him, “but that was the plan, my man.”

George shot a playful finger gun in PK’s direction with a wink following suit before he disappeared around the corner of the fake living room, all put together in a studio for the sake of the show, and away from the chatter and the laughter coming from the other housemates. Their conversations becoming distant, almost inaudible mumbles, as he rounded the corner to the Temptation Room and awaited the fate of his next decision. His thoughts raced through his mind because he wasn’t sure what his plan was. 

He’d seen the temptation that Whitney had faced, knowing it was one she definitely couldn’t resist,  and he’d seen the temptation Jason had accepted, just a day prior to his own moment in the temptation room, that had been something he was passionate about happening. 

George really didn’t want to follow suit.

He wanted to resist. 

He was going to resist…

… or that’s what he told himself.

He told himself to be strong and to remember that whatever they were going to put before him, he could probably have once he’d left the show. He told himself to ignore what the Sidemen were about to put before him because he knew they were doing it for the content of the show. Yet he had a gut-feeling it was going to be something difficult for him not to be tempted by, and they knew what his weaknesses were, telling himself to think about how the prize pot would be worth splitting if he chose to resist, if he ever had the chance of becoming a finalist.

“Welcome to the Temptation Room, George,” Vik’s voice echoed around the empty room, catching George’s attention as his eyes dodge where the cameras were placed, looking anywhere but the lenses that were filming his every move because he knew he was going to be sussed out, “if you take a look to your left, there’s another door. Resting on top of the doorframe, above your head, is a card which has your temptation in. If you could reach for it and read it out loud.”

“Yes, Vikstar.”

And he did as he was told.

“In the room before you-” George started reading but he caught a glimpse at what was next to come on the card and his words, as well as his breath, caught in his throat, “shut up, you’re joking me?”

“If you could finish what’s written on the card,” Vik warned him gently but there was a hint of a smile in the words that came through the speaker, “please, George.”

“In the room before you is your girlfriend, YN. For thirty thousand pounds of the prize money, you can spend half an hour with her. Do you accept your temptation, George?” He read from the card and he could feel his heart pumping sporadically in his chest, his hands trembling and his legs turning into jelly as he stood before the door, knowing just who was on the other side. “This is a new low, Sidemen.”

“We know you miss her, George. We’ve heard you speak of her a lot whilst you’ve been in here so it wouldn’t be so bad if you accepted it,” Vik said with a hint of mischievous and cheekiness in his tone and George groaned exasperatedly, rolling his head back and letting go of the card, completely dismissing it as it floated to the floor and landed by his feet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes out of frustration, “she’s made it very clear to us how much she misses you, too.”

“But the final is only a couple of days away and I swore I wouldn’t take this temptation so we could keep the money. The guys back in the house, they thought I was the strongest member who wouldn’t get tempted,” he said, almost as a reminder to himself as he spoke aloud his thoughts, “but, God, I do miss her though. A whole lot. We spend almost every single day together so it’s strange for her not to be in bed when I wake up in the mornings or walking around telling me stupid jokes in the silence. Instead, we have KSI’s hollering to get us out of bed.”

There’s no response to him - part of him wanted Vik to give him some guidance but he knew that was a long shot - and he frowned.

He wanted nothing more than to accept.

When he woke up in the morning, he thought of her routine. Not that he knew the time but he checked off a list that he thought she’d have done by then; made the bed, ate her breakfast, got herself showered and dressed for the day, watched what she missed on television before she started her work day. He thought about what she might have had for lunch, what she might have been planning for dinner, who she was out and about with as she passed the time and filled the void of him not being there.

He missed her small daily updates as she informed him what she was up to. Silly pictures to accompany her tasks, updating him on how she’d bumped into Arthur unexpectedly for lunch or went out for an impromptu pint with Chris because she’d seen him out and about, expressing how she couldn’t wait to come home and have him all to herself because that feeling was always matched and he was never ashamed to tell her how he wanted to a night in with her.  

When he went to bed at night, all he could think about was YN. Wondering what she was up to, whether she was asleep or scrolling through TikTok because she couldn’t drift off, knowing she would be frustrated at herself because she liked to be up early so she could plan out her day. He wondered whether she was thinking about him like he was thinking about her, wondering if he was okay like he was wondering if she was okay, wondering if she missed his cuddles and how she wanted nothing more than to be curled up by his side which was a feeling he missed a lot.

His routine had changed, not that he had much of a routine to follow, and having a YN-shaped hole in his life for that week was tough for him to deal with.

“Your radio silence makes this so much easier for me,” George grumbled sarcastically, sitting himself down on the floor and resting his back against the wall beside the door, “I don’t want to spend money because I haven’t spent a lot of money but because I haven’t spent much money in here, it almost feels like it’d be acceptable for me to go ahead and agree.”

He sighed with slight aggravation because the decision that he needed to make had the cogs in his mind working overtime.

“I’m surrounded by strangers here and as nice as they are and as great a conversation they hold, and it’s been nice getting to know them but no-one beats YN and that’s why I’m so stuck. I want some normalcy and the feeling of home, just to feel like I’m in my safe space,” George argued with himself, the back of his head colliding with the wall behind him, “I know she’s in there and I know she would say we only have two days left before we see each other and that it would be a waste this far into the week.”

“What’s your answer, George?”

“I need a moment,” he admitted and, for the first time, he looks into the camera lens and it’s evident he’s torn up over both sides of the decision that he needed to make. His eyebrows are pinched together on his browline, his cheeks are a rosy-pink colour from how heated he was making himself feel over his thoughts, his eyes full of desire to see her yet his mind was telling him a whole something different, “I think-”

He cuts himself off and there’s a smile that twitches his lips.“I think you might want to turn off the cameras because I’ve really missed her and I might not be able to hold back,” he said with cheekiness in every word that rolled off his tongue, “I want to see YN. I need to see her.”

“I accept the temptation, Sidemen,” he said with slight trepidation to the sentence; he was really about to see the one person he’d been craving to see for the last few days and he felt… nervous. Of course he felt nervous. Because he didn’t know how the rest of the house would react to him spending 30k on seeing someone he had a possibility of seeing as soon as the next elimination rolled around but, at the same time and almost blurring the lines between the two, there were excited nerves that were fluttering around his insides because it was his girlfriend he was about to see. “Let me see her, please.”

The lock of the door clicked beside him and it caught his attention from where he was still situated on the floor, a creak soon following as it opened, and he saw her trainers before he saw the rest of her. The Adidas Campus trainers that were coloured an off-white cream and a deep-green, that he always took the mickey out of because the laces were so chunky and made her feet look tiny compared to his own, were matched with baggy jeans and a white t-shirt fitted to her frame that was paired with one of his zip-up hoodies that seemed to swallow her up… yet she still looked comfortable and cosy. And seeing her face was all it took for him to feel all of his emotions flooding through him.

“Are you going to get up and hug me or what?” She wondered and he scoffed out a gentle laugh, his eyes glossing over and he refused to let his tears spill because he didn’t want to be deemed an emotional wreck all over Twitter when the show came out on Netflix, “come on, you silly billy.”

She held her hands out and he took them, without hesitation, pulling himself to his feet and wasting no time in wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to his body, her head slotting nicely underneath his chin, her arms linking around his waist as she gave him a squeeze that the both of them seemed to need in that moment. The first ounce of true happiness he’d felt in five days, the desired touch of the one person he wanted around, breathing in the scent of her perfume. His stresses from the previous few days, and the knowledge of him being on a television show that kept him away for a week, seemed to disappear and, in that moment, it was just the two of them.

In their own little bubble.

And they stood like that for a good few minutes.

Neither one of them wanted to break the silence that surrounded them as they stood together, arms wrapped around each other as they swayed from side to side in the baron room, their rhythmic breathing being the only thing that seemed to fill it. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered into her ear, a tickling sensation coursing down her neck from where his facial hair brushed over her skin. In the five days he’d been unable to groom himself, it had gotten a lot longer than she was used to (not that she was complaining - if someone asked her how she felt, a complaint would be the furthest thing from what she would say, if she was being honest), sending goosebumps down her arms and a shiver down her spine, “so much.”

“I’ve definitely missed you more,” she giggled sweetly and she reluctantly pulled away from him, loosening her arms around his middle and bringing her hands to cup his cheeks in her palms, “the boys have been driving me crazy, you know? They let me stay for the week whilst you’re not there and I have no idea how you put up with them.”

“You learn to drown them out,” he said and tilted his head to the side and into the gentle touch caressing one of his cheeks, “but I’m glad you’ve had some company this week. Even if they are annoying, they mean well.”

“I think they miss you a lot, too,” she informed him, “Chris has been coming to me for advice like he would go to you for. But I don’t know if I can give good advice as someone that isn’t a bloke.”

“Anything can be better than what I tell him,” George snickered and she rolled her eyes, “seriously. You think I tell him what he should do? He goes and does the opposite of what we say, anyway.”

He wrapped his hands around her wrists, pulling them from his face and along with him as he went back to the place he was sitting when she entered the room, the both of them sliding down the wall as they sat beside each other. He bent his knees up, resting his elbows on them and stretching his forearms out, whilst YN stretched out her legs and placed her hands in her lap.

“How are you finding this whole thing?”

“Not as hard as I thought I would,” George said and YN nodded softly as he spoke, a warm smile on her lips as she listened to him tell her everything he wanted to get off his chest, “but I think I’m just struggling to feel a part of something here. Everyone has someone they can go to, like a small group, when things get a bit difficult or when something happens so I just feel like I’m stuck in the middle. I’m friends with everyone here now which I think is helping me but,” he shook his head in denial, “I don’t know how the hell I’m still here. These guys have so much more going for them than me. They’re louder than me, have more of a personality, are definitely going to be shown a lot more than me so I have no idea what the hell I’m still here for.”

“You deserve your place here,” she clarified, “you must be doing something right if you’re two days away from the final day.”

“There are moments during the elimination rounds where I wish it wouldn’t play into my favour but I can’t seem to fail on purpose. I’m so thankful to be here and grateful that the Sidemen asked me to be here but, at the same time, I want to come home. I want to be back where I feel comfortable, in my own bed and my own flat, with my idiot friends and lovely you,” he looked at her and slotted his fingers through hers, holding her hand tightly, “I want to be back with you. I hate not walking into a room and not seeing you sitting on the sofa or waking up next to you in bed and watching you sleep or hearing you sing in the shower or see you making me some breakfast in the mornings, even if it is just some scrambled eggs on toast.”

“It’s not long and we’ll be back doing those small things you love,” she reminded him and her thumb rubbed across his knuckles in a soothing manner, “I can’t wait to watch you on Netflix either. I can’t wait to tell people all over the place that my boyfriend is a Netflix star.”

“A Netflix star may be a bit of a stretch,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “you’ve not told anyone, have you?”

She shook her head.

“I know you and how bad you are at keeping secrets,” he teased and nudged an elbow into her side, and she rolled her eyes in response to him, “reckon I could smuggle you back in there? I don’t think they’ll notice if I sneak you in under my jumper and hide you in my bed.”

“Oh, I reckon they would,” she laughed and he groaned at her answer, rolling his head back and letting it collide softly with the wall, “I was really hoping you wouldn’t accept your temptation, you know?”

“Why?”

“Because it means saying goodbye to you again,” she said, turning on the spot and she sat herself upright so she was facing him, her vision looking down at her lap as her fingers played with the digits on his hands to distract her mind from thinking about the half an hour that was passing too quickly, “I hated it the first time so this one sucks even more.”

It was a night she couldn’t forget, still fresh on her mind, and she could feel the heartache so vividly. As if every time she thought about it, she was reliving that morning.

The morning started off early but slow. They woke up hours before they needed to so they could squeeze in a cuddle in bed, which soon turned into the slowest sex they could make that allowed them to drink in every single emotion in every single moment, holding each other close as if they would disappear if they let go. They showered together, they got ready together, all whilst shedding a few unwarranted tears as they prepared themselves to spend a week without any form of contact. They stretched out breakfast-time which consisted of quick goodbye sex on the counter as they waited for their food to cook and, by the time mid-morning had come by, they’d already squeezed in enough time together to feel satisfied in how they parted ways. His suitcase packed for the week and stood upright at the front door beside his shoes as well as the jacket he was going to wear for his entrance, the two of them holding each other as they whispered their goodbyes to each other.

A morning she was going to need them to relive once he was home so the memory had a positive connection. 

“I needed to see you though. As much as I hate saying goodbye, too, I just needed a little boost before the end.”

“I would have done the same though,” she admitted, shrugging nonchalantly and looking up at him, “you have such a strong hold on me, George Clarke.”

“As do you, YN YLN,” he repeated in the same manner, “I couldn’t not say yes knowing you were on the other side of the door. So close to me. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity of holding you and having you next to me pass me by. Some of these guys have accepted theirs and they’ve spent so much more than me through the week. I feel it was an okay choice to make.”

“Spoilers,” she warned him, pointing an accusing finger at him before covering her ears in protest to hearing anything else that she was going to watch in the show when it aired, “don’t tell me anything else, mister.”

Before they knew it, as if no time had passed at all, it was soon time for them to say their goodbyes. 

George could feel it in the pit of his stomach, heavy and twisting up into knots that made him feel sick, knowing that it was soon approaching the half an hour mark and he hated how quickly it seemed to go. And YN could feel her emotions building up, with an ache in her throat that made it hard to swallow and a feeling of dread coursing through her that made her feel tense and sad, trying not to look at him in fear that she would crumble on camera.

The door that she had entered opened again and they took that as their cue to stand back to their feet.

“What’s stopping me from walking out with you?” 

“You’d be an idiot to do that,” she laughed softly, shaking her head at his bizarre proposition, “you’ve got this far so you need to see this through till the end, you donut.”

His fingers connected with hers, keeping a tight grip on her as if she would walk out that door and never be seen by him again, and his thumbs stroked across the back of her hands. She could feel the shaking of his limbs from the disdain of having to see her walk out and disappear behind the door, and it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

“I love you,” she smiled sweetly, contradicting the tears that had threatened her eyes and had slowly started to dribble down her cheek, “forty-eight hours and you’ll be back with me.”

“It could be less,” he reminded her, bringing his hands up to wipe away the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, “I could see you tomorrow.”

“Be optimistic, mister. You’re going to that final,” she says, leaning up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek and she allowed her lips to linger a little longer against the soft curve of his cheek, “I would give you a great big smacker on the lips but Netflix might have to change the rating of the show because I don’t think I can control myself.”

He smirked at her and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

“Yeah, we best not do anything too risqué. We’ll save that for the privacy of the bedroom,” he whispered with an almost growling tone, “I love you.”

“George, YN. I’m afraid your time together is up.”

“Yes, thank you, Vikstar. You don’t need to remind us,” George grumbled to the camera and, as saddened as she was, she giggled at his attitude to the voice that echoed around the room, “I guess this is it.”

“Sadly,” she pouted and neither one of them could take their eyes off each other, “someone’s going to have to pry me away from you, I think. I can’t bring myself to step away.”

“Go on,” he mumbled dejectedly, his eyebrows pinching together, “forty-eight hours to go.”

“I’ll see you on the other side,” she grins, pulling her hands away from his at an agonisingly slow speed, “good luck. I love you.”

“I love you more,” he watches as she steps towards the door. 

Deep down, she didn’t want to turn around to look at him and, truthfully, George didn’t think he could handle it if she took one last look at him; he was okay with watching the back of her as she disappeared around the door and, as it slowly closed behind her, he felt his heart plummet to the floor.

As he stepped foot back into the small bubble of Inside, he felt sad yet he seemed to find a new found excitement to finish the show. That one half an hour with her being a pick-me-up, giving him a new lease of happiness, and he was determined to finish. The quicker the time went, the sooner he’d be back with her. The laughter and distant chatter seemed to get closer as he rounded the corner and ascended up the three stairs back into the main area, poking his head around the corner and looking into the room, a timid smile on his lips.

“You didn’t get locked in the room then,” Jason teased as George fell to the sofa and slouched down into the cushions with a grumpy expression on his face, “what was it? What happened?”

“Uhm,” he coughed into his fist to clear his throat, as well as to drag out the moment for dramatic anticipation for those around him and for those who would be watching when it was released to the world, “so, they uh- they tempted me with YN.”

“Oh, no way! Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” George nodded, “I couldn’t resist saying no so I took it. I had to see her. I needed to see her.”

“I think I’d have done the same if it was my partner,” Milli-Jo said, sitting beside George and resting her hand on his shoulder and rubbing it soothingly, “I don’t think anyone is going to be crazy mad at you for giving in. It happened last season, it was bound to happen this season. We should have seen it coming, truthfully.”

“I think I just needed to feel a sense of home. My normal life,” he admitted, guilt soaring through his veins at how the entirety of the room was watching him as he explained his reasoning, “she gets me through a lot, always has done since I’ve known her, so there was no way I was passing the opportunity. I thought about it but,” he shrugged, “I don’t think I’d have been happy walking out of that room if I turned it down.”

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

The Gossip Chronicles

Word Count: 835

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Y/n, both lovers of gossip, eagerly dissect the drama after the drivers dinner

________________________________________________________

The low hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Y/n lounged on the plush hotel bed, scrolling through her phone. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her eager expression as she refreshed Twitter for the umpteenth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of what went down at the drivers’ dinner. She loved drama, and being with Lando Norris only fueled her insatiable thirst for F1 gossip.

She glanced at the clock. 10:45 PM. He’d been gone long enough.

When the door finally clicked open, Y/n practically leapt off the bed. Lando walked in, pulling the hood of his light blue hoodie down as he set his keycard on the dresser. The hoodie was slightly wrinkled, and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, giving him that effortlessly casual vibe that Y/n loved.

“Finally!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and chucking it lightly at him. “What took you so long? You know I’ve been dying to hear everything.”

Lando laughed, dodging the pillow with ease. “Nice to see you too, love.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me,” she said, crossing her arms and pouting. “Spill. Now.”

Lando tugged off his sneakers and flopped onto the bed beside her, the faint scent of cologne lingering as he did. “Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his hoodie. “Where do I even start?”

“Max and George,” Y/n said immediately, her eyes lighting up. “I saw the clips from the press conference earlier, and you can’t tell me there wasn’t tension. What happened? Did they fight? Was it awkward?”

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly under his hood. “Oh, it was so awkward. Max barely looked at George the entire dinner. He was polite enough to everyone else, but you could tell he was still pissed about the whole sprint race thing.”

“I knew it!” Y/n practically squealed, sitting up straighter. “Did George say anything to him?”

“Well,” Lando said, stretching his legs out, “George tried to be civil—like, he even made this joke about the weather or something—but Max just gave him that look. You know the one.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “The ‘I’m about to crush you on the track’ look?”

“Exactly,” Lando confirmed, smirking. “It was so uncomfortable that even Carlos had to jump in and crack a joke to break the tension.”

“Of course Carlos did,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes fondly. “What about Lewis? Was he Switzerland as usual?”

Lando snorted. “Pretty much. He was sitting between Charles and George, though, so he didn’t really get involved. But I swear, Valtteri was eating it all up. You know how he loves watching chaos unfold without actually being in it?”

“That man is the definition of petty,” Y/n said, laughing. “What about Charles? Was he just… being pretty and clueless as usual?”

Lando burst out laughing. “Pretty much. He was just sitting there, sipping his wine, probably wondering how he got stuck in the middle of all this drama. Carlos kept nudging him like, ‘Just stay quiet.’”

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me more. Who else was doing what? Did Pierre and Yuki cause a scene? Did Oscar say anything?”

Lando laughed, pulling his hood back up for dramatic effect. “Yuki almost spilled his drink trying to get Pierre to stop flirting with the waitress. And Oscar… well, Oscar just looked like he was mentally filing for a restraining order from all of us.”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Poor Oscar. He didn’t sign up for this chaos.”

“No, but he’s learning quickly,” Lando said, chuckling.

“So,” Y/n said, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “what’s your personal take on the Max and George drama? Whose side are you on?”

Lando gave her a playful side-eye, tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You trying to get me in trouble, love?”

“Always,” she said with a grin.

“Well,” Lando said, drawing out the word dramatically, “Max is definitely holding onto a grudge, but George isn’t exactly innocent either. I think they just need to have a proper shouting match and get it over with.”

Y/n nodded sagely. “Agreed. Maybe I should lock them in a room together during the next race weekend.”

“Or we could just sit back and enjoy the show,” Lando said, smirking. “You know there’s bound to be more fireworks soon.”

“True,” Y/n said, settling back against the pillows. “I swear, F1 is better than any reality TV show.”

Lando wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “And you’re my favorite co-star.”

Y/n smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re just saying that because I let you gossip as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” Lando admitted, laughing. “But hey, it’s our thing.”

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

GEORGE WEASLEY knows you’re with his brother, but you confuse him with all your mixed signals. Always holding his hand when you walk next to him down the halls, playing with his hair when you lay his head down on your thigh in the courtyard, inviting yourself to sit in his lap whenever you please. At first he thought you were mistaking him for your boyfriend, but it’s gone on long enough to where he knows that you can tell them apart. He sees it in your eyes how you recognize him, call him by name, and still lead him on. You wear his clothes when you’re cold and give them back smelling like your perfume; you excitedly run up to him for a friendly hug yet press your tits up against his chest while he’s forced to stoop and wrap his arms around your waist; you’ve compared your hand size to his and didn’t say anything when he broke out in a sweat, biting his lip nervously as he thinks about other contexts in which he’s bigger than you. Fred’s no help in this situation, he just thinks he’s got a fit girlfriend who he likes showing off. “Amazing, isn’t she?” he’ll tell George, and George wonders if he should be agreeing. His brother isn’t inviting him to try you out for a spin, is he? It’s hard to tell when he’s got that look in his eyes. George doesn’t know, but in the past, Fred’s gotten a lot of mileage out of the special privileges twins share.

[doujindungeon]

summary: Your housewarming party with practically half the season’s lineup gets downright scorching. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/12 (twelve) f1 drivers [daniel r, lando n, pierre g, lance s, carlos s, alex a, george r, esteban o, charles l, max v, fernando a, lewis h content warnings: gangbang, blowjobs, double penetration (vaginal and anal), use of aphrodisiacs if you really squint word count: 3.0k

Between the Monte Carlo summer air or this particular glass of Enchanté wine, you weren’t sure what had your body sweltering with heat.

As you had fully planned for today to host your special housewarming party, you didn’t anticipate feeling this flushed and hot of all times, of all days.

Especially when you had welcomed a majority of F1’s current drivers over to your far from humble abode–a luxurious penthouse right along the coast of Monte Carlo.

The occasion was simple but the reason was grand: in light of your ascent to team principal for Honda’s formal entry as a contender next season, you had finally taken the plunge to acquire a new home, basking in the abundant opulence that Monaco had to offer as you became neighbors with a majority of the paddock.

While you had full intention of inviting as many people out throughout your planned week of celebrations–whether engineers and other staff from your team, other key executives and leaders from the likes of Honda and the GPDA, and more–you were particularly selective on your guests for today’s housewarming party: excluding the rookies and then some, about most of the drivers for this year’s season were in attendance, including the very man who cheerfully poured and served your glass of Enchanté:

Your first seat, Daniel Ricciardo himself.

With Honda’s highly anticipated entry and with all eyes on you for being the only current female team principal, you knew you needed to make some bold and effective plays. While you were looking to utilize the promising potential within Leone Sasselli–a young, bright-eyed Swiss newcomer who excelled with top marks at Honda’s driving academy–, bringing back one of the most desired veteran drivers in the sport was among your top priority.

Though there was certainly value in the headlines that his comeback would create, you saw this ravening hunger to take to the wheel once again in his eyes when you initially met with him to discuss his desire to join the team.

And with subsequent negotiations going along smoothly without issue, you simply never caught on to the fact that the look of burning, longing desire in his gaze wasn’t reserved to only making his comeback.

From admiring the way your legs crossed as you sat across from him for his initial recruitment, how gorgeous you looked regardless of whether it was a formal press conference or an afterparty at the club, to just loving how your lips said his name while making him feel so wanted and needed back in the sport, Daniel longed and thirsted for you like nothing else.

Perhaps it was fitting that your current predicament started after drinking from the glass of wine that he handed you.

Dinner had long since been served and enjoyed, refreshments–courtesy of Daniel–free for anyone to take while basking in the elegant decor and luxurious amenities of your penthouse suite.

Aside from some help here and there by your first seat, you were playing solo as host for tonight, your body adorned in a breezy strapless summer gown as you mingled among your handsome guests. Eagerly listening in on Lewis’s and Carlos’s recent brush with Hollywood at the likes of The Met Gala and Cannes Film Festival, comparing the conversations between the chatty chaos of Alex, George and Lando to the tranquil talks of Max and Charles, taking in the tales of starring in a Netflix movie with Esteban and filming for commercials for Givenchy with Pierre, to beckoning over Lance and Fernando out forth from whichever wall they had rooted themselves against.

As for Daniel, he was making sure there was a drink in hand for everyone.

Alcohol flowed–for Lewis, a bottle of Almave was specifically prepared by your first seat–and lips loosened just before, in your case, balance tumbled.

Plus, with a brand new pair of heels that you had yet to break in, it was inevitable that you would fall forward after a drunken misstep.

Thankfully Daniel was ready to catch you, sparing you from an embarrassing plummet down to the sleek marble floor of your living room.

You parted your lips, smiling at him with inebriated reverie as you prepared to praise him as your savior.

Yet as his eyes sniped down to your chest while his hand ghosted along your hip through your dress as he steadied you up, the words he then exclaimed were nothing short of villainous.

“Boss, don’t tell me you’re already getting pay cuts in your first year that you can’t even afford a pair of bra and panties!”

You sobered up quick.

Almost shattering the glass in your hand.

And by the way that the room suddenly fell silent upon Daniel’s words, you were sure that everyone could hear the slight pressure you imposed on your cup.

Aghast, your eyes popped wide open while the heat on your cheeks deepened intensified from its drunken origins to sheer embarrassment as you squealed, “Daniel, what are you–?!”

Laughing jovially, he only proceeded to turn you around so you were facing the other drivers in the room, keeping one arm firmly around your waist while the other hand suspiciously rested upon the top of your dress.

“I’m just helping you break the ice, boss. Talking to every single guy here while I see you fidgeting with your dress, hoping for somebody to notice that you’re commando.” Letting out a sigh, he remarked, “I can’t stand seeing you pussyfoot around all night when I know what you really want.” 

As a grin that stretched from ear to ear cracked on his lips, he leaned forward to leave an affectionate kiss on your cheek while he retrieved your wine glass to set it aside upon a nearby shelf. “And that’s having every single man in this room absolutely devastate your pus–”

You instantly shrieked out loud with a squirm. “Daniel!”

“I get it, I get it,” he repeated with a click of his tongue. “Can’t be a groundbreaking female icon and a greedy needy slut at the same time.” Shaking his head with disdain, he continued, “Time Magazine wouldn’t wanna cover that.”

Daniel turned his head towards one side of the room, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Lewis, back me up here, man.”

Your attention immediately followed the direction of his gaze in hopes of salvation from this situation.

Instead, Lewis merely raised his glass of Almave towards you as he sheepishly smiled. “Gonna have to unfortunately agree with him, lovely.”

The co-sign from Sir Hamilton himself in front of his fellow drivers had you feeling even more exposed and flustered than before.

If he was in agreement, then who else–

Both of Daniel’s arms proceeded to fully embrace you, shifting you from side to side as he cheerfully proclaimed, “So yeah, it’s okay that you wanna smash the glass ceiling and get smashed by almost over half the grid at the same time, it’s okay! No judgement here!” He gazed out across the living room, smiling at every man in attendance as he pointed at each and every one of them, “Ain’t that right fellas? I know you’ve been eyeing her all night–can’t hide that shit from me!”

“Daniel Joseph Ricciardo, I swear–” The hiss you let out was interrupted by a snicker from Alex.

“Full name, huh? So those rumors of you two being especially close are true then.”

You shook your head vehemently amidst some of the shared laughter among the other drivers that soon followed. “That’s not–”

Stubbled chin resting on your bare shoulder, Daniel was all smiles as he affirmed, “Damn right. And it’s for this reason that I wanna do something nice for the lady who signs my check. So without further ado…”

Panic spiked through your nerves once as you felt his fingers ghost along the top of your dress, a squeak escaping you instantly as you could tell that the rest of the men in your living room were looking on with keen interest and growing desire.

Another kiss to your cheek before one was planted at the base of your neck. His voice lowering to a sultry coo, Daniel remarked, “Don’t be shy, boss. I knew the moment that I heard that all the youngins didn’t get an invite tonight that you were looking to have your fill of a more mature palate.”

A laugh escaping him, he continued, “I don’t see that darling lad Leone around but I sure as hell see Fernando.”

An amused snort escaped the aforementioned driver. “Ehh you’ll be seeing what I’ll do to your boss sooner than later.”

“Jesus Fernando,” was Lance’s immediate reaction amidst his laughter.

First Lewis, now Fernando.

With the exemplary example that the two oldest drivers in the room were setting, your stomach twisted but your heart fluttered as to what influence this would impose.

“All this talk about pussytoeing or whatever but no action, Daniel,” came about Max’s huffed sigh. “Are we going to keep discussing or are we going to actually get to do something, you horny bastard?”

There was your answer. 

And with more yearning stares trained your way, your knees were buckling as your thighs pressed together while you failed to resist against the growing ache between your legs.

“God I forgot how impatient you can be, Maxwell,” Daniel tsked with faux-admonishment before his attention redirected itself back towards you, his other hand proceeding to paw at your breasts as he hummed, “So how do you wanna go about this, boss? One by one, luck of the draw, some gentlemanly lovemaking or star in your own hardcore gangbang porno?”

The first action.

Not rough, but far from delicate. With Daniel’s hand groping you with such firm precision, you only shivered and fell further back against him as you savored his touch with a mewl, the answer of “anything” stuck in the back of your throat.

Daniel was laughing out loud with amusement while some of the other guys jeered with delight, even while the sensation of your nipples hardening through your dress beneath his palm was already making him eager to fuck you right then and there. “This is like the one time I’ve ever seen you so indecisive. No worries–I’ll go first then.”

Turning his attention back to everyone else, he declared with a smirk, “You fellas can join whenever.” As he shifted his gaze towards a familiar pair of green eyes however, he taunted, “You’re last though, Lando.”

“Oh fuck off, Daniel,” Lando snorted with a roll of his eyes, downing the last of his drink before slapping his glass down on your coffee table as he rose up in defiance. “I’m gonna devastate that pretty boss of yours until she’s preparing a contract for me.”

And so it began.

Just barely an hour before, you were having quaint conversations with your guests, graciously basking in their praise and wishes of goodwill to you and your team for the next season, to your career as you sought to help continue the momentum in bringing more women to the forefront of the sport.

Now you were quickly left debauched while subjected to their whims.

At first, it started off manageable, your lips left to be possessed by either Daniel’s or Lando’s while their hands joined in ripping off your dress before their fingers sought to explore and expose your body in full to the voyeuring eyes of the other drivers, whether toying with your nipples or delving into your cunt.

It only took the way you sighed and whined out both of their names while you melted beneath their touch that the rest of your guests either took initiative to make their way over to you or patiently enjoyed more wine until you were eventually passed along to their side of the room, all while clothes were soon discarded and dropped to the floor.

Earlier, when you were anticipating the arrival of the drivers, your decision to forgo any undergarments left you feeling giddy and on edge, your mind flashing to fantasies of being used as their personal toy just before you snorted and waved off the thought even as you doubled down on your decision to skip out on any bra or panties for the evening.

You genuinely couldn’t have imagined that your party would transpire like this.

Positioned on your knees, your eyes obscured by Daniel’s hands as he had you guess which man was currently fucking your mouth or having your hands stroke them off.

Every correct guess guaranteed that you would be fucked well to orgasm. Every error made was a guaranteed photo taken on someone else’s phone–a memento of such an esteemed female trailblazer at her naughtiest.

You were set to fail.

Already overwhelmed by being at the center of such an outrageous fantasy turned reality, with over 10 candidates to guess from, as you were made to adjust your jaw to accommodate the girth of whichever cock was stuffing your mouth while you had one leaky tip smear your cheek with precum as another stained your hand, there was no way you would be able to guess properly.

In this case, it was Pierre, Lance, and Lando who claimed victory, prideful satisfaction evident on their faces with the shuttering flash of their phone cameras as they beheld the sight of your pretty face painted with their cum as you gulped down their respective orgasms.

The next instance drew inspiration from your housewarming party itself, with both Daniel and Lewis hosting a special taste test: a pour of Enchanté and Almave right upon your breasts for anyone to come and compare.

Ever in the spirit of teamwork, it was Alex and Carlos who rose up to the challenge, their lips latching onto your nipples for earnest suckles, mouths and tongues hungry to kiss and lick away any trace of wine from your breasts until they were clean.

Afterwards, your physical endurance was put to the test as you found yourself hanging onto the likes of Esteban and George as you were passed between the two, both taking turns lifting you up into their arms as they hammered their cocks into your cunt, enjoying the way your legs hugged their waists.

Of course, while there was harmony and cooperation, you couldn’t have a gathering of these drivers without competition flaring.

After all, being made to latch onto Charles’s shoulders with a squeal as he plunged his cock into your cunt from beneath you while Max was stuffing your ass full with his dick had you truly feeling the brunt of their rivalry.

And given that this whole situation spiraled further given the respective co-sign from two of the oldest men in attendance, you were left in a pleasured heap on your floor while you were mounted by either Fernando or Lewis, both plowing away until the amount of times your core and ass were leaking messily with their cum surpassed that of anyone else who had a turn with you thus far. 

You couldn’t be happier.

From having once waved off the idea of getting to indulge in such lasciviousness as mere foolishness, you were used to having so much attention on you for your ability to lead.

Now, after the sheer debauchery you were treated to all night long, it was utterly satisfying to have all eyes on you for your ability to please a man.

At this moment, it was Daniel.

Seated on his lap as you obediently bounced away on his cock, your legs parted wide while he groped your breast from behind as he worked his fingers over your clit, you were happy to show gratitude for the initiative he displayed on your behalf.

While his lips kissed and bit at your neck, he rasped out, “Come on, boss. I gotta show why you signed me in the first place, right?”

The sudden snap of his hips and the careful press of his fingertips upon your clit was all it took for you to orgasm messily with a sharp cry at that instant, the gush of your release flooding forth much to the amusement of your party guests, all with phones out at the ready for photos and videos.

As you fell back against his chest in dazed bliss, your body was at conflict between wanting to bask in the afterglow and craving for even more pleasure.

A decision would have to wait however, given the sudden ring at your front door that had you startled while your guests looked at one another in confusion.

Even Daniel didn’t seem to anticipate sudden presence. “Yo Lando, did you invite Oscar or something?”

“The hell, I’m not his keeper–”

An index finger popped up. 

“Ahh I can answer that,” George suddenly chimed with a laugh. His twinkling blue eyes gazing at yours, he then winked while reaching for his dress shirt to hand towards you. “Though I believe it’s best if you go, beautiful.”

Though confused as ever, you did as told as you stood up from Daniel’s lap to slip on George’s shirt, doing your best to cover yourself up while you stepped over towards the entrance to your home.

Upon opening the front door, you were immediately face-to-face with a simple yet outrageously expensive yet simple pale blue button-up shirt.

Your eyes proceeded to trail up.

And up.

All towards the shadow that loomed above.

Your jaw went slack as your eyes widened with shock.

“To–”

A thick, calloused finger hushed your lips as an accented baritone voice greeted,

“I was planning on visiting another day but I got a text from George that this was a party not to be missed.”

Of all times to suddenly have team principal solidarity with–

You were met with light laughter as your disheveled state was inspected. “I can definitely see he is right.”

Big hands rested on your shoulders before you were turned around with ease, guiding you on ahead to rejoin the others once more while a pair of lips fell by your ear in a husky murmur.

“Please allow me to join the others in welcoming you to the circuit further, schatzi.”

————————-

this was supposed to be about lonely mrs wolff housewife saucy shenanigans but ALAS 😭

also to gently address the australian elephant in the paddock i got nothing against oscar but my rpf cutoff is up to the birth year of 1999 🙇‍♀️

thank you for reading!!! i may be opening requests in sometime esp since it’s summer so it’s time to 💦

[agreeewrites]

Charlie doing that 'a boy who's jacked and kind' trend but gets distracted having y/n on his shoulder and ends up flipping her over and eating her out while the camera still rolls.

tysm for the request love!! hope you enjoy 🫶

pair with: Charlie Weasley, James Potter, George Weasley, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, or whoever you want! (MDNI 18+)

a boy who's jacked and kind...

...can't find his ass to save my life.

You took a few steps back from your carefully arranged phone, ensuring your image in the frame was centered and the space around you didn't look too cluttered. You adjusted your sundress a little, dismissing the fleeting thought that maybe it was too short.

“Babe!” You called, and your boyfriend, always eager and with the recall of well-trained golden retriever, popped his head into the room.

“You called, love? Wait--are you recording?” He immediately clocked the angled phone, a smirk sharpening his sweet smile.

“Would you maybe want to try a trend with me?” You asked, batting your lashes. “You know that Sabrina Carpenter album I've been listening too?”

“With the coffee song?” He crossed the room, still hovering just outside of the cameras scope, clearly suspicious. “I'm working laaaaate, ‘cuz I'm a sinner—or something?”

“Singer,” you corrected, giggling. As if you haven't overheard him singing that very song on repeat in the shower. “There's a Tiktok trend going around for another one of her songs."

“And what exactly does this trend involve?” He asked, eyes skirting down your body, the stretch of your bare legs with open appreciation.

“It's this one lyric, ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’, and one partner lifts the other onto their shoulder, like—hey!”

He swooped in mid-sentence, scooping you around the middle and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Broad shoulder digging into your guts, driving the air from your lungs. Not that there was much air to lose—his strength always left you a little breathless.

“Like this?” He asked, bouncing you a little.

You couldn't see his expression, but you could hear the smug ass smile on his face.

“No! No,” you huffed. “I'm supposed to sit on your shoulder.”

“Really? I kind of like this.” His hand crept up the back of your bare leg, kneading the softness of your thighs before swatting your ass. “We can just do this, I'll let you keep recording—”

“Hey! Put me down and focus.” You squirmed until he set you down, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

“Alright, alright. So I lift you up onto my shoulder so your sitting right here?” He patted the bulge of his trap. “For what reason, exactly?”

“To show the whole world how jacked and kind you are,” you replied, pecking his cheek, stroking his ego just enough to push him over the edge.

“Well, I do like that…let's do it.”

You squealed with excitement, kissing him again before rushing to start the recording.

🎶 A boy who’s jacked and kind…can't find his ass to save my life.

Three tries later, he finally got you up onto his shoulder at the exact right moment, making it look borderline effortless, the cheeky grin on his face lighting up the frame while he flexed his drool-worthy bicep.

Hm, maybe you shouldn't post this. He was so hot, this was turning into a bonafide thirst-trap—

“Yay! That was perfect, now you can—woah! What are you—”

He grabbed your thigh and lifted it over his head, shifting you so you were facing him, your thighs and pelvis practically smothering him, and you squeaked in surprise.

“Shh, honey,” he soothed, hucking you up another inch to nuzzle against your blooming heat, barely covered by the thin mesh of your panties. “You know I won't drop you.”

“But the camera—”

Something rumbled in his chest, a pleased sort of purr that had your toes curling against his back. “You wanted to put on a show, pretty girl.” He backed you against the wall, your head damn near brushing the ceiling, and laved his tongue over you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, fisting his hair and resisting the cloying urge to squirm. You glanced at the camera, unsure of what you were hoping for, and saw that you were still very much in the shot, the red circle still glowing as it recorded everything. The realization sent a fresh curl of desire slithering down your spine, leaking out between your legs and into his seeking mouth.

“Good girl, stay just like that,” he murmured against you, a flick of his tongue sending your mind reeling. The heady thrum of your heart found harmony with his movements, symphonic, pleasure cresting higher and higher with every press, every pull.

The sound of your own cries echoed around your head, amplified by the proximity of the ceiling, and a distant part of you wondered if you'd sound pretty in the video.

His grip was bruising on your thighs, but he didn't shake, didn't tremble, solid as a statue beneath you. Resolute in his pursuit of your pleasure.

Jacked and kind, indeed.

He gasped when you yanked particularly hard on his hair, but instead of pulling back, he buried himself deeper, tipping into a ravenous frenzy.

“Fuck, I'm gonna—fuck, fuck!” Your pleasure ballooned, then burst, bliss scattering like glitter under your skin, sparkling and ephemeral and everywhere.

Relentless, and undoubtedly self-indulgent, he continued to lap at you, groaning in the back of his throat when you shuddered and twitched. No longer having the strength to hold yourself still.

Carefully, he lowered you back to the ground, dress bunching between your bodies, and kissed his way up until he finally caught your lips. Sticky and sweetened with your honey, you sighed against his mouth, clutching those heroic shoulders to keep yourself upright.

He glanced over at the camera, then smirked down at you. “You know, we could make a lot of money if we posted that somewhere other than TikTok—”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[rjunhuang]

how the harry potter boys would react to you hooking up with someone else.

featuring: harry potter, ron weasley, draco malfoy, fred weasley, george weasley. part two.

warnings: lowercase intended. gender neutral reader. informal writing?? they're a bit toxic.

note: can you believe i wrote this in 2023? it was an unfinished draft featuring more characters. i might make a part two w them included. also i do NOT like draco lol so i'm a little biased when i write him. honestly send in some requests on what other prompts you'd like to see w them

divider by enchanthings | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

harry!  he'd highkey be so salty about it. at first, he's just completely off put and hurt by the thought of you going out with someone else. HE THOUGHT Y'ALL HAD SOMETHING GOING ON </3

his literal initial reaction would be, "oh.. montague, huh.. hm uh.." before walking away from the conversation all together.

if you're a dumbass, you'd assumed he's just incredibly awkward when it came to hearing about other people's relationships, but supportive nonetheless. oh, you're wrong though. he walked off because he had no idea whether to be angry at himself for not pulling any sooner or at you for choosing someone slimey as graham montague to swap spit with or maybe just montague himself.

the longer this fling lasted, the more comfortable harry would be about expressing his distaste on the whole relationship. he'd given you lectures about how you shouldn't like those type of slytherins. you'd probably lost track on how many times he had indirectly called montague ugly. 

he would visibly show attitude whenever montague interrupted a conversation between you two. eye rolled and scowled like crazy, but he doesn't want to step the line as he's just seen as a friend by you —

"hey, mate, can't you see i'm trying to have a chat with her?"

he'd have dreams about hexing the shit out of graham though. maybe he'd slyly done it in the middle of class when no one's looking too.

if you accuse harry of doing so, he'd simply just shrug, "don't look at me." but would add a silent, "he had it coming though." 

it's like a silent warfare between him and montague soon enough. both of them would be throwing attitude around when you're lowkey oblivious to it all. harry won, obviously, and this would be the breaking point - montague had enough of dealing with harry so he'd just ended things with you. of course, harry's going to comfort you if you do get sad about it —

"i just don't know why he'd do this out of nowhere." you sulk under the hold of harry, both sitting on an empty hallway's staircase. harry has his arm wrapped around you, rubbing your shoulder. "yeah, wonder why.."

he'd had a massive ego boost knowing he was the reason graham montague won't go near you anymore. literally would have to hide his smirk the entire time when comforting you. but he wouldn't be harry potter if he wasn't ending it with a snarky comment. he's not sure whether you'd slap or kiss him for it, but he surely wouldn't mind it being both.

once you and harry finally ended up together, the thought of montague wouldn't even cross his mind. he wouldn't care less about some random troll-looking fool. probably didn't even notice the dirty looks from montague because his eyes are on you. you had his undivided attention.

ron!  he'd thought it's some sick, twisted joke. you'd told him the news that you're hooking up with cormac and just watched ron's face morph from being mortified to plain old disgusted. regarding situations like these, i think ron is a bit emotionally immature so he definitely wouldn't react well.

it had been saturday morning and almost everyone fifth year and above were recovering from a wild friday night common room party. that was the first night you hooked up with mclaggen and this morning, on the way to the great hall, he had pulled you aside to suggest making it a common occurrence — "some fun, no need for any strings attached." were his words. you had brought this up in the table during breakfast when hermione pointed out your flushed expression. the news leaves everyone shocked, but most especially ron. hermione had opened her mouth to begin reasoning with you, "i don't thin—" "THAT'S DISGUSTING!" ron wouldn't even beat around the bush, cutting off hermione. his mouth would be full with scrambled eggs and toast since he had stopped bothering to chew the moment you mentioned the word 'hooked up'. you'd mutter back a petty, "bold coming from the git with his mouth full." obviously hurt by his words.

it only worsened from that point onwards. the beautiful friendship you had with ron would crumble in a matter of time. it's constant fights with you two, ron's almost waiting for a reason to scowl or scoff whenever you're around. good luck even mentioning cormac in front of him, he'd just burst. the jealousy was so undeniably obvious yet you'd be so caught up in the anger of all of it to even realise. had it been someone less athletic than cormac, ron would've jumped him the moment he found out. 

he'd be a petty little bitch but all the dramatics are to hide his insecurity. of course you'd chosen the conventionally attractive hunk over him. he'd be pretty rough on himself because of it; it's pure heartbreak for him. he'd never admit it but he's cried once or twice after storming off from a fight with you. 

the end of your friendship with him would be in a final argument. merlin knows how it started, you never do. but almost a month into your fling with mclaggen, you've grown tired of ron's immaturity. so this time, you ask him.

"why are you even so pressed about this?!" you'd shout to ron. to which he'd counter with, "because he's a dim-witted fool who's only going to hurt you!" the frustration was unbearable as you lick your dry lips, raking a hand through your messy locks. ron is standing opposite to you, chest heaving from the intensity of the situation, yet he shamelessly takes a glance at your lips. "then if you're such an expert at this, tell me who i deserve to be wit—" ron must have a knack for interrupting others because he pulls you into a kiss, frowning as he does so. it's his final desperation for you to just hear him out. and you do, you kiss back and you're hit with the original passion you've always felt for him that these fights had blinded from you.

it's the end of your friendship and the beginning of a romance.

draco!  draco's love language is definitely cliche bullying. without a doubt, he doesn't know how to show affection to anyone at all so you two would definitely be enemies of some sort. i think he'd lowkey be oblivious to the fact that he's straight up mean to you but you've literally had enough of it. you'd had a crush on him since your first year together probably and eventually you caught his eye as well — except for all the wrong reasons. he grew a knack for constantly belittling you in some kind of way even remotely possible to him. though, in his eyes, he always saw it as flirting and you being into all of it. you accepted the attention for what it was and grew to expect his taunts during classes. shamelessly, you did enjoy the fights the two of you shared. however, 'banter' could only last for so long and you eventually grew insecure of the words spat from malfoy. your friends encouraged you to move on and you finally decided to take their word. you supposed you had a type for slytherins, seeing how harper soon enough came into your life. he was a good distraction from malfoy to the point that even the (apparently natural) platinum blond took notice of your distancing. you stopped countering draco's remarks with snarky quips nor did you even bother to spare a glance at him anymore. draco hated the feeling he failed to recognise as heartbreak. he was so caught up in this feeling that he ordered crabbe and goyle to snoop around and find out what changed about your life. it didn't take much investigating to discover the budding romance between you and harper. draco was far more distraught than he thought he'd ever been about the news - but what malfoy's goons failed to communicate was that you and harper were barely anything serious. 

despite that, draco was consumed by emotion. his immediate reaction after his minions left his dorm room was to owl his father with a letter demanding to expel harper from hogwarts. lucius' response, though, was an eerily formal letter telling his pissbaby of a son to never waste his time with such nonsense again. in other words, his father had completely shrugged him off. thus, draco hopped onto the plan b — which was to gang up on harper with his goons. draco liked to claim no one is on his level enough to be his friend, however, he had grown to like harper before this situation arose. they both shared interests in quidditch and shaming others of their blood status. 

soon enough, he had been on harper's case, constantly mocking the other slytherin boy whenever draco found the chance. it was no secret draco had a superiority complex over the fact that harper was the reserve seeker on the slytherin quidditch team whilst draco himself was the main seeker — so this became draco's number one target towards harper.

"your girl couldn't get the real thing so she opted for the knock off instead, yeah?" draco would sneer, adrenaline pumping from the audience that had surrounded him as he insults harper. he tosses a few kicks at the fallen over boy before crabbe and goyle take over with more aggressive ones. he'd snicker at the sight of the dishevelled harper, adding one more comment before walking away, "don't worry, she'll be running back to me soon enough."

fred!  if you think fred weasley's demeanor would even remotely falter at the news of you hooking up with someone else, you are wrong. even the fact that the special guy was viktor fricking krum wouldn't be able to stop the ginger from continuing to shamelessly flirt with you. fred's mindset was the literal definition of 'never back down, never give up'. he was not going to let you go simply because krum was snogging you on the sides. 

it's lunchtime on a wednesday where majority of hogwarts is present in the great hall, along with the selected students of beauxbatons and durmstrang. you were seated next hermione granger at her designated house table, discussing the slight change in the structures of the upcoming exams. so deep in your conversation with the girl, you had somehow failed to notice the presence of the infamous weasley twins with lee jordan right by their side — obviously. fred is the one to interact with you the most whilst the other two gryffindor boys do their own thing. the older twin's hand is pressed down on the table, leaning his whole body weight against it as he hovers over you. you notice a peculiar shadow cast beside you and turn your right, immediately being greeted with a wickedly grinning weasley. you can't help but notice the veins and slight muscle peeking through his rolled up sleeve from his dominant arm being supported by his weight.  hermione, having read the room, turns around, joining a conversation with neville longbottom and ron weasley. "hey, love." fred spoke up, almost purposively being loud enough for others around to take a quick glance. you tense up at the publicly proclaimed nickname, and though you have heard it leave his mouth several times before, this time there is a bulgarian national quidditch player who might just overhear. it doesn't take more than a second for you to spot viktor, who's looking right to your direction, obviously having heard and seen fred. the muscle in krum's tense jaw twitches as he sharply watches the two of you, while on the other hand, fred's gaze on you hasn't budged. in fact, he lifts his left arm up, fixing the position of your head to face him with the grasp on your jaw. "eyes up here, angel." he instructs before going on a tangent about how professor sprout had seperated him and george during class.

to say viktor krum wasn't pleased with fred's public display of affection towards you would be an understatement. apparently in durmstrang, they do things a little differently — such as rounding up your friends and beating up whoever crosses them, rather than the usual duels at hogwarts. so the sight of a bloodied fred entering your dorm had you leaping to your feet to question and aid him. despite the cuts around his face, fred's cocky smile never left his face. clearly he didn't get krum's message, seeing how he took every opportunity to hold your waist as you wiped the cuts clean off his face. krum truly wasn't getting to him. merlin, he seriously enjoyed pissing the guy off.

or so you thought until you caught onto fred's sudden interest in constantly pranking krum and the durmstrang boys. at first you assumed this could be revenge for ganging up on fred, but then you watched the weasley during one of his quidditch practises. beaters already had such an aggressive role — yet in your handful of years knowing fred, you'd never seen him play this aggressive. it was honestly impressive really, how he managed to keep a cool demeanor until he, well, couldn't.

george!  george never could understand what had gotten into you to start hooking up with adrian fucking pucey. seriously, all george could think about was how closely pucey resembled to the troll his younger brother and friends fought during their second year. despite his thoughts, he never uttered a single word out loud. he was far from supportive of the relationship but he did his best to stay respectful — maybe you were in an 'i can fix him' phase. though george had no idea how anyone could remove the definite troll genes from the slytherin. 

so sure, george kept his mouth shut and a respective distance from the whole relationship ... wrong. oh, come on, there's always a twist with the weasley twins. see, whilst publicly he was an angel .. behind closed doors and alone with you was a whole other wizard. the guy knew if he were to harass pucey with his pranks and stand against him, you would only push the ginger away. he didn't even want to risk such a thing. yet, he still wanted to be close enough to remind you of how much he cared. solitary moments with you begun gentle — he didn't want to cross any line, but still needed to have some sort of idea of where exactly that line was. it wasn't out of the ordinary for just the two of you to hang out — you were best friends after all. however, the more days spent with you, the more flirtatious george grew to be around you.

what starts with light touches on your elbow, soon grows into the two of you laying on the common room couch together, your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you as he talks sweet nothings with you. it was the same old george before you met pucey — how can you ever walk away from this? almost having read the room, george's gaze flickers onto your lips, the talk from him slowly dying out despite the fact that he hadn't even completed his sentence yet. your brain grows fuzzy at the sight of george slowly leaning in, your own gaze fixated on his lips. it was unfortunate that adrian had to step into your common room during that tender moment, clearly in search of you. knowing him, he was in need of some snogging right now. the darkening look in his eyes as he spots the two of you clearly highlights his distaste towards the whole scene. he had practically marched over to the couch, grabbing george by the collar as he slams him onto the nearest wall. you have to admit, the height difference of the five foot nine pucey compared to george's six foot three makes the whole interaction look a lot more silly. "fuck you doin' with my girl, weasley?" snarls adrian, his irish accent thick with rage. yet george seems less than phased, his arms raised as a smirk grows onto his face. "if she was your girl, mate, she would have pulled away." george calmly adds, glancing at you behind pucey with the most flirtatious eyes known to wizard kind. you can't help but feel stunned at the look, almost melting. "want to be the judge of this, darling?"

[gnarly-words]

things we don't say

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

description: after being together for three years, you'd think you and george would know everything about each other.

warning: established relationship, mentions of sex, pregnancy, vomiting, swearing

word count: 5.5k

april, 1995

you knew the twins were up to something after weeks of whispering in between meals and classes. they hadn't even done any of their usual pranks for an entire week, scaring most professors with what the weasley twins could be plotting.

the great hall was in chaos as you walked past, fireworks spiraling each which way. professor umbridge was being chased down the main aisle by a giant dragon shaped firework, the fifth years that were taking their owls doubling over in laughter. two bodies flew above the chaos, a streak of fireworks following behind their broomsticks. they lead the crowds out into the courtyard, shooting one final explosion of fireworks above them.

you stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, your heart in your throat as you watched the twins cheer on the roaring students. fred and george were sailing off, having staged the most glorious departure hogwarts had ever seen. and he didn't even tell you. you'd spent that very morning discussing your next hogsmeade trip over breakfast, having begged fred to let you and george finally have some alone time.

he caught your eye as they did one final swoop over the crowd, giving you a cheeky wink and smirk. you couldn't give him the same energy back, the shock of their departure still present on your face. you wished you hadn't waited so long to go to madam pomfrey, or to work up the courage to tell someone your fears. maybe the twins wouldn't have left so soon and would be there for you to lean on.

your vision grew blurry as tears welled up in your eyes. you walked away before anyone could see, wiping your face and walking straight back to the common room. your bed was still in the state of disarray that you'd left it earlier that morning when you'd ran to the bathroom to vomit. your half written letter to your parents was abandoned on your dresser, where it would remain for another week.

you barely left your bed for the rest of the day, katie only trying once to get you to come down for dinner before she gave up at the quiet sobs she could hear through your curtains. your other dorm mates weren't brave enough to try and bother you, remembering your outburst when they'd tried to wake you up early to sneak out and watch the sunrise during the winter break.

you slipped the small vial from your pocket, glaring as it glowed at you mockingly. pomfrey's words as she handed you the vial repeated over and over in you head; "pink means positive, blue means negative."

you always hated pink.

the days seemed to drag after the twins' departure, umbridge's reign of terror just getting worse. more rules were put into place, the inquisitor squad gaining more power. the new status seemed to go straight to malfoy and co's heads. you couldn't count how many times you'd found them harassing some poor first years and getting them into detention with umbridge.

you felt powerless against them, not having the usual protection of the twins that gave you the confidence to confront the slytherin. malfoy knew this and took full advantage of your new vulnerability whenever you tried to help the younger students. your hands were marred with countless scars, words overlapping one another, unintelligible.

madam pomfrey grew more and more worried each time you'd visit to get a balm to heal the wounds. she was still the only person in the whole school to know of your secret, only keeping her promise of not telling mcgonagall as you'd agreed to visit her weekly for check ups. katie, alicia and angelina had started to grow suspicious after the third weekly check up, cornering you in the common room after you'd come back one day.

"are you sick?" angelina bluntly asked.

"n-no?" you almost asked back, still shocked by having been lifted off your feet and carried to the quiet corner by the three girls.

"then what the fuck is up?" katie crossed her arms, the youngest seeming to have the biggest reaction to your visits.

"it's nothing. just drop it." you looked down at your feet, knowing full well if you looked at the trio you'd break down and tell them everything.

"is it umbridge? i know you've been getting detention but not every week." alicia lent against the wall beside you, her tall stature making you curl in on yourself.

"we're worried, y/n." angelina's worried eyes made you crack, tears welling up in your eyes.

"oh god." katie was the first to pull you in for an embrace.

"look what you did." angelina shoved the brunette chaser.

"me? you were the one going all mama bear on her." alicia shoved the girl back, the two squabbling like siblings as they covered your shaking form still in katie's arms.

"uhh, katie? why are you trying to suffocate y/n?" ron's voice broke through the girl's attempts at comforting you, the three jumping back to reveal your sobbing form to your brother-in-law. "bloody hell. what did you do?"

he pulled you in for a tight embrace, his familiar scent bringing you a small bit of comfort that you'd missed since george had left. that familiar weasley scent of their mother's baking that seemed to cling to all of their clothes, like molly had magicked them so they would always have a part of home with them.

"i'm okay, ron." you sniffled, pulling away reluctantly from the boy. "i'm just emotional cause of my period."

"oh, okay. right." ron's cheeks blushed furiously, his ears almost going the same colour as his hair. "do you need anything?"

the boy looked over his shoulder, his eyes searching for harry or hermione so he could escape the awkward situation he'd put himself in. you chuckled at his attempts, pushing him towards where the other halves of his trio had walked into the common room.

"i'm fine, ron. go relax before hermione starts badgering you to study." you waved the ginger boy off, smiling as the curly haired girl did exactly as you said she would and dragged him over to an empty table to study.

you sighed as you turned back to your trio of friends, their worried eyes still staring through you. grabbing angelina's wrist, you began dragging her up towards your dorms. you prayed that the other two got the message and would follow you up, their footsteps falling heavy against the steps as they ran to catch up.

you fell heavily onto your bed with a sigh, pulling the still glowing vial out of your dresser and setting it down on your bed. the trio of girl stared down at it in confusion, reminding you that all three had dropped potions after nearly failing their owl exams.

"are we supposed to know why that's glowing?" alicia whispered not so quietly to katie, who shrugged whilst racking her brain for what the potion could be.

"is it a love potion?" angelina picked up the vial, twirling it between her fingers before shaking it. "i thought they were clear."

"it's not a love potion." you took the vial from her hands, setting it down in your lap.

"then what is it?" alicia asked softly, sitting down at the edge of your bed.

you started down at the pink glow, finger trembling as you fiddled with the remnants of the small label you'd ripped off. you couldn't look up at them. what would they think of you when they found out?

"madam pomfrey gave it to me. said it was easier than casting a charm, less magic exposure.” you shrugged, hoping you wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

“exposure to what? you're in a bloody school for witchcraft ad wizardry.” katie asked, blinking slowly and sharing an equally confused look with alicia.

"to the uh... to the baby." you mumbled, refusing to look them in the eye.

angelina's mouth dropped open slightly, her eyes bulging out of her head as she turned to look at the other two. their faces held looks of equal shock and disbelief, each looking to the others to be the first to speak.

"you don't have to say anything. i just needed to tell someone before it went too far." you sighed, falling back into your pillows.

the three girls continued to share confused looks, each trying to get the other to be the first to speak. angelina glared at the younger duo that had seemed to decide that she was picking the short straw.

"are you uhm... are you gonna keep it?" angelina winced as she spoke, not meaning for her words to come out so harshly.

"i have no fucking clue." you groaned, rolling over to plant your face in your pillow. "he doesn't even know."

"what?" the trio asked in unison, angelina ripping the pillow off of your face.

"how have you not told him? you tell each other everything. it's annoying." katie gagged jokingly as she thought of you and george's relationship.

"i only found out the day before he left." you mumbled, rolling onto your side to face your friends. "he didn't exactly give me much time to tell him."

"he's gonna freak when you tell him." alicia chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed in between the other two girls.

"if i tell him." you shrug, already plotting how you were going to hide this from everyone at hogwarts.

"how exactly would you do that, exactly? aren't you staying with him over the summer." angelina stared down at you, a concerned look on her face.

"shit." you sighed, dropping back into your pillows, wishing they would swallow you up and let you escape the situation you'd found yourself in.

july, 1995

the crowds of king's cross came into view as they train pulled into the station. you sighed as you spotted the crowd of ginger that had formed near your parents. it seemed you wouldn't be making a quick escape without at least saying hi to the weasley bunch. you followed katie off of the train, waving her off as she rushed to greet her own parents.

you grimaced as the twins waved enthusiastically as they spotted you approaching, fred pushing his brother forward to hug you first. the tall boy scooped you up into his arms, twirling you both around as he peppered light kisses into the crook of your neck. his kisses trailed up to your face, pressing one final firm kiss to your lips.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, finally setting your feet back onto the ground, trying and failing to pull away from him arms.

"oi. i haven't seen you in three months, you're not escaping me that easily, love." he pouted down at you, keeping his arms wrapped around your shoulders as he walked you over to your families.

"and who's fault is that?" you glared jokingly at him, giggling as his spare hand tickled your waist.

"y/n/n!" fred shoved his brother away from you, pulling you into an equally bone crushing hug.

"hi, freddie!" you gasped, pushing the boy away as his arms tightened around you.

"oi! let the girl breath!" george pushed his twin's arms away and bringing you back into his arms.

"you both let the girl breath." mrs weasley rolled her eyes, pushing her sons away from you to pull you into a warm hug. "y/n, dear. how are you?"

"i'm good, mrs weasley." you sighed, enjoying as much molly hug time as you could get.

"three years you've been dating my son. it's molly to you." she raised her eyebrow at you, smiling as she pushed you over to your parents.

you smiled as you parents pulled you into a group hug, your mother whispering in your ear, "did you still want to come back with us?"

you nodded against her shoulder, pulling away with a worried expression. she gave you a questioning look, knowing you'd been looking forward to your stay at the burrow since george had suggested it during the winter break.

"we forgot to say, y/n's coming with us to france for the summer. sorry we didn't tell you sooner, molly. i hope you didn't have too much planned for her stay." your mother pulled you into her side, sensing you needed her comfort in that moment.

"oh, that's alright. is everything okay, y/n, dear?" molly's gaze was piercing, her knowing

"y-yeah. i just wanted to spend some time with dad’s family. i haven't seen them in a while." you smiled awkwardly, trying your hardest to ignore the twins' confused looks.

your father spoke to the side with arthur, their conversation too quiet for you to hear but you heard the words "order" and "meetings" and knew better than to ask. your trio waved the weasleys off as you all reached the entrance of the platform, george stepping forward to wish you farewell. you fell behind your parents' steps walking to meet the boy.

"why didn't you tell me you weren't coming with us?" george pulled you into his arms, his confusion not seeming to out way his love and care for you.

"why didn't you tell me you were leaving early to open your shop?" you huffed, burying your face into his chest.

"touche." he chuckled, pulling away to look at your face. "are you okay?"

"what? of course i am, georgie." you smiled, confused where the boy was going with his question.

"ron mentioned something about you crying a lot right after we left." he caressed the side of your face gently, a worried look in his eyes.

"little tattle." you scoffed, knowing the youngest weasley boy was just trying to bed helpful but still resenting his kindness. "i'm fine, georgie. we're fine. i just missed you."

"you missed me?" a wide grin spread across the boy's face, a teasing look in his eyes. "you missed me like a sad little puppy, admit it.”

"george." you groaned, burying your head into his chest again to escape his teasing.

you couldn't stop smiling as you looked up at him. your smile faltered as you remembered the reason you wouldn't be spending the summer together. you knew you should tell him, it wasn't something that could be written in a letter. but looking up at his face, you couldn't break the happiness that was radiating off of him.

"i'll write you as often as i can." you smiled, kissing his cheek lightly.

"you'd better. remember, i'm not the one that failed their apparation exam." george teased, grinning as you rolled your eyes.

"whatever. i'll come visit you at the shop when i go to get my supplies." you smiled, leaning up onto your toes to press your lips together.

"y/n! hurry up! the portkey is almost open!" your father shouted for you, making the two of you jump apart.

you smiled awkwardly at your boyfriend, giving him one final hug before running to catch up with your parents. the pair were stood next to an umbrella, your mother already opening her arm to pull you into her side

"shit, my bags." you hissed, starting to rush to get your bag from the platform attendants.

"your father already had them sent ahead with kippey." your mother rolled her eyes, still not used to her husband's pureblooded tendencies that he'd been brought up with.

"she wanted to be useful as she's gonna be stuck at home for a month." your father scoffed at your mother, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "right, you ready, y/n?"

you nodded, placing your hand on the umbrella and waiting for the familiar twisting feeling. the world warped around you, your head feeling like it was being turned inside out. you landed softly in your back garden, stumbling as thew world stopped spinning.

your stomach churned as you tried to steady yourself, the feeling of your breakfast coming back up sending you running to the small stream at the bottom of the garden. you barely made it to the water before you were hunching over and heaving up the contents of your stomach. your head pounded as you curled up into a small ball beside the stream, your vision turning black as your parents raced to reach your slumped form.

the blinding lights was the first thing you saw as you peeled your eyes open. your parents were outside in the hallway, worriedly talking to a doctor outside. their eyes lit up as they saw your eyes groggily looking round the room, racing to open the door and reach your side. 

“mum?” you croaked, reaching for her hand as she landed at your side. 

“hi, sweetheart.” she smiled, tears in her eyes. 

“are we at st mungo’s?” you looked around, not recognising the room you were in. 

“we’re at the muggle hospital near ours.” your father smiled from your other side. “mrs anderson saw you collapse and called an ambulance.”

you nodded, remembering the elderly lady from next door often looking out for you whenever you’d run too close to the road or the stream. your parents shared a worried look over you, a silent conversation happening above you. 

“kiddo, the doctors ran some tests.” your father started, stopping as he didn’t know how to ask you the question they both wished to be answered. 

“did you know?” your mother beat him to punch, her eyes drifting from her lap to your stomach. 

“i’m sorry, mum. i’m so sorry.” tears formed in your eyes, a sob building in your throat as you felt the disappointed speech coming. 

“we’re not mad, sweetheart. we’re just worried.” you mother cradled your face gently, wiping the tears that had run down your face. 

“how long have you known?” your father sat on the edge of the bed, cradling your hand between both of his own larger ones. 

“since george left.” you mumbled, gripping their hands tightly.

“jesus, kiddo.” your father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “does he know?”

“n-no. i didn’t know how to tell him and by the time i’d worked up the courage, he and fred were flying off.” you hiccuped as you spoke, all of the emotions you’d been bottling up bubbling to the surface at once. 

“okay, it’s okay. calm down, sweetheart. the doctor said you should avoid too much stress.” your mother pulled you into a hug, allowing you to sob into her shoulder. 

the doctor walked into the room as you were still in your mother’s arms, your sobbing quietening into silent tears sliding down your face. 

“hi, y/n. i’m dr. lee.” the doctor sat down in the free chair by your bed, a chart in hand. “we ran a few tests whilst you were unconscious. i’m sure your parents have told you the biggest surprise but we need to discuss a plan with you going forward.”

you nodded your head, pulling away from your mother to face the doctor directly. you could see the pity behind her eyes, a small reassuring smile breaking through the obvious emotions she was truly feeling. 

“we did an ultrasound and it looks like your about twenty one weeks along. it would put you at a due of around december twentieth.” dr lee read from the chart, her eyes briefly looking up at you. “everything looks good with baby and they are perfectly healthy for their age.”

you sighed slightly in relief, knowing full well that you had not been eating enough to sustain both yourself and the baby at hogwarts. katie had begun sneaking food out of the kitchens for you but you hadn’t wanted to burden her at almost three in the morning when you were craving pumpkin pasties. 

“your parents said you were on your way back from boarding school when you collapsed. is there anything that could’ve triggered it?” you shared a look with your parents, worried how to respond without revealing anything wizard related to the muggle doctor. 

“we live down a lot of country roads. y/n’s always had a bit of a weak stomach from motion sickness.” your mother smiled, only half lying as you did often have to keep your head out of the window if your father decided to drive home. 

“and have you been eating and drinking enough? we had to give you two iv bags.” dr. lee flipped through her chart once more. 

“we’ve had some end of year exams. i guess i might’ve skipped a few meals by accident to study.” you grimaced remembering that it was far more than a few, specifically breakfast almost every morning. 

“you’ll need to make sure your keeping your fluid and food intake up when you go back in september. you’ll find you’re going to be needing more fuel the further into your pregnancy you get.” dr. lee wrote something on a slip of paper, passing the slip to your father. “i’ve wrote you a prescription for all of the vitamins you need to start taking. we can schedule a follow up appointment when you leave at the front desk.”

dr. lee smiled at your family, standing and leaving the room with a small wave to you. your parents exchanged a look once more, your father sighing as he lost the mental battle they were having. 

“we want you to stay with us and finish your final year from home.” he sighed, already seeing the rage brewing behind your eyes. 

“why? madam pomfrey said she could set everything up so that i can finish the year.” you looked between your parents confused, realisation dawning on you as you remembered your father’s conversation with mr. weasley. “this isn’t just about the baby. this is about the death eaters isn’t it?”

"we'll talk more when we get home." your father sighed again, standing to get the discharge papers from the front desk. "i'll meet you out by the car."

you remained in silence, your eyes following as he left the room. your mother remained sat twiddling her thumbs, her eyes not meeting your own.

"is dad mad at me?" your lip wobbled once more, the tears already flowing before you could stop them, internally cursing the new surplus of hormones coursing through your body.

"i think it's just a lot right now, sweetheart. the ministry has been asking him to help out more and he might have to come out of retirement fully." your mother placed a reassuring hand on your own.

"i didn't realise it was getting that bad." you lent back against the pillows. "i knew something had happened at the ministry a few weeks ago with harry but i didn't know how bad it was."

"you don't need to worry about any of that right now, y/n/n. we need to focus on you and this baby, okay?" she smiled at you reassuringly, leaning down to grab a set of clothes for you from her handbag.

“okay, mum.” you nodded, accepting the clothes with a grateful smile.

august, 1995

the world seems to be laughing unforgivably at you, the summer heat heavy and unbearable. it was a record high for your hometown, with everyone either locked inside with their fans on or cooling at the local swimming pool. you were enjoying the former, lounging on your bed as two fans blasted you simultaneously with lukewarm air. you’d already gone through three separate glasses of iced drinks your mother had brought you, the ice melting within minutes of you sipping the drinks. 

you pressed a light hand against your stomach, feeling the slight bump that hadn’t been there at the start of the summer break. dr. lee had assured you that the smaller than usual bump was normal in first pregnancies, especially due to your young age. you’d grown worried after not feeling the baby kick even though you were over four months pregnant. 

you had barely left your house since you’d come back from the hospital except for appointments or to go for late night walks with your dog, rufus. the trip to france had been cut short, your father’s side of the family shunning you once they found out. they are painfully uptight and traditional, whispering loudly behind closed doors whilst you’d packed to leave their toxic household. 

you father had almost hexed his own sister after she’d suggested abandoning you, your mother being the only thing standing between him and a long stay at azkaban. your parents didn’t say a word once you’d returned home, locking themselves away in their room for a full day before they finally emerged. 

so, instead of walking the streets of the town your father grew up in and helping your grandfather out at the family vineyard, you had spent the abnormally warm summer holed up in your bedroom. the only thing that had kept you going was the constant stream of letters from george and your friends. you’d lost track of how many times you’d heard his owl, errol, smack into your bedroom window, the sound becoming almost second nature as it occurred nearly daily. 

still, after tons of letter send back and forth between you, you never found a way to work in a way of telling george. you would pick up your quill to start writing the words but they always fell flat. they never seemed right, never seemed to feel like the right way to say what needed to be said.

george's letters grew irregular in frequency once the shop had opened, but were still filled with the same warmth that his presence would give. he wrote about the troubles they were having getting their shipments approved and the buzz that diagon alley seemed to have as students going for their school supplies would always make a stop into the shop.

you felt your heart swell with pride at how successful the twins' dreams were going, remembering when their mother would throw out their inventions and tell them to focus on studying instead. you had always offered to help the twins start up their business, wanting to put some of your enormous inheritance to use. but they always refused, wanting to get the money and open their joke shop by themselves.

ding dong.

you waited with baited breath for one of your parents to move to answer the door, rufus already racing down the stairs to bark at the stranger. you cursed yourself for forgetting both of your parents were out getting your school supplies, grunting as you rose from your bed. you threw on a large top of george's you 'borrowed' before leaving your room, your parents' warnings of not letting anyone else outside the family know your secret ringing in your head.

you patted rufus on the head as you passed his happy form, opening the door with a gasp. george's broad smile beamed at you from the other side of the doorway, his arms already opening wide for you to race into. you launched yourself into his waiting arms and sighed at the familiar comfort.

"hi, georgie." you giggled, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.

"hi, y/n/n." he smiled back down at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

"wait." you jerked your head back, confusion clear in his eyes. "how'd you know i'd be home?"

"i saw your parents in diagon alley, assumed you'd be home alone." george wiggled his eyebrows at you, laughing as you tried to push away from him in protest.

"hush you." you rolled your eyes, finally pushing away to drag him into the house. "now, come inside before you let all the cold air out."

you continued to drag him through your house until you reached your bedroom. you both flopped onto your bed, george instinctively pulling you into his chest. your breath hitched as his hand brushed the side of your waist, praying he wouldn't notice the new roundness of your stomach.

"how was france? you didn't say much in your letters." george rubbed his thumb against the small bit of skin exposed above your hip.

"it was alright. dad's family weren't as loving as i remember." you tried to sound nonchalant, hoping he wouldn't probe further. "guess the rose coloured glasses finally slipped."

"what's that supposed to mean?" george looked down at you, trying to see around your halo of hair to get to your eyes.

"mum always warned me of their ways. the traditional pureblooded way they want things to be." you shrugged.

"did something happen?" george was never one to jump too quickly to conclusions, but your lack of an explanation worried him.

you froze slightly in his arms, head still resting on his chest. your face was thankfully turned away from his own, grateful that he couldn't see the worry crossing your own features. the warmth that radiated off of him was usually comforting, but in that moment, it just felt suffocating.

"i told you." you murmured, keeping your face out of his probing eye line. “just some family drama. it’s not worth getting into.”

he didn’t speak at first, just simmering in his thought. you could feel the tension building in the way he held you; still gentle, but less relaxed.

“y/n. you’ve barely left the house all summer." he said quietly. “you stopped mentioning france almost immediately. and when i saw your mum and dad earlier, they looked like someone had died. you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not,” you said a little too quickly, internally wincing at your tone. “george, i’m fine. i just- i needed a quiet summer. that’s all.”

“you expect me to believe that?” george pulled back to look at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

Your jaw clenched. “Believe whatever you want.” your jaw clenched, your heightened emotions getting the better of you.

he stood suddenly, pacing once before turning to face you, running a hand through his hair.

“bloody hell, y/n " the worry etched into his features broke your heart, your hands itching to reach out and hold his. "you think i haven’t noticed how different your letters have been? shorter, less you? you’re barely even looking at me.”

you stayed seated, arms folded protectively over your stomach. you knew he was right,but admitting that you were wrong wasn't an option your mind was giving you right now.

“i didn’t ask you to come here." you said, the words sharper than you meant.

he flinched like you’d struck him. for a moment, he looked like he might step back. your eyes were already watering at the pain you'd caused him. but instead of moving away, he just exhaled, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“yeah. i can see that.” he shook his head slowly, looking down at the floor between you. “but i came anyway. because i love you and i-”

he stopped, jaw working as he swallowed whatever he’d almost said. he turned away for a second, like he needed to gather himself. he turned and faced you again, his eyes were softer now, worried but softer.

“hey.” he said, voice quiet but steady as he knelt before you. “look at me.”

you didn’t.

you couldn’t.

your gaze stayed locked on the worn quilt bunched around your legs.

“hey, love.” he gently reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow. “you don’t have to tell me everything right now. i’m not leaving, no matter what.”

your throat closed up, the tears you’d been fighting finally spilling over. a sob ripped from your chest, his arms immediately wrapping you up. he pulled you close to his chest and cradled your head in his hands.

“you don’t understand,” you whispered against his chest after your sobs had finally subsided.

“then help me understand.” his thumb traced small circles over the back of your head. “i’m not going anywhere, love. not until you tell me you want me to go.”

“it’s not- it’s not that i don’t trust you." you shook your head helplessly, fresh sobs catching in your chest. "i just… i don’t know how to say it.”

“then don’t say anything yet.” his hand slid to cup your cheek, warm and reassuring. “we’ll just sit here. i’ll stay with you. and when you’re ready, you can tell me.”

you finally looked up. hurt was still swirling in his eyes. but they held the same love that had always been there. it made your heart ache to stare into the blue depths of his eyes, knowing what you would tell him would ruin the life he was creating for himself and his brother.

“i don’t deserve you." you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“that’s bollocks,” he said, a flicker of a smile breaking through. “you’re stuck with me, y/n/n. no matter what.”

and when he pulled you into his arms again, you didn’t fight it.you pressed your face to his shoulder, crying harder than you had in weeks. and he just held you, like he always had, like he always would.

[bunny-jpeg]

the sinful sentences catalogue

prompts taken from @/creativepromptsforwriting - welcome, welcome! this is a little celebratory lead up towards valentines' day 2025! i figured i wanted to get a head start on my favourite holiday!

fics are queued up and ready to be posted, they will be posted from jan 30th right until feb 14th in the order presented on the list! each of them has their own specific tags found on their individual posts. each post will be tagged with 'sinful sentences', but it would be best to just like/reblog this post to keep an eye when things go up! thank you so much for all the support and i hope you enjoy! - happy valentines' day!

one: "oh, is that how you like it?" - george russell two: "you are such a tease!" - daniel ricciardo three: "no touching right now. that comes later." - lance stroll four: "think you can handle that?" - toto wolff five: "you're so very tempting..." - lando norris six: "how do you like that?" - franco colapinto seven: "i don't think you've had enough already." - max verstappen eight: "Someone should punish you for that." - fernando alonso nine: "You can be a bit rougher if you want." - charles leclerc ten: "I want you to be louder, my love." - carlos sainz jr eleven: "Please, mark me." - oscar piastri twelve: "Tell me exactly what you want." - mark webber thirteen: "I want to make you mine." - jenson button fourteen: "Yes, please keep doing that." - lewis hamilton fifteen: "The night's definitely not over yet." - pierre gasly sixteen: "I believe I could make you do it." - kimi räikkönen

a/n: your reminder to read the tags on the post before reading! and that all fics are adult in themes!

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Gardener

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: Your father is filthy rich, but you're just his filthy daughter.

Warnings: 18+, public sex, degradation, manipulation

Word count: 1.0k

A/N: I sit here whole afternoon, trying to squeeze my brain to write at least something. This was all i could muster today after i went through those "gardening" pictures with George. Hehe. :)

---

“Dad, who's that man outside? Don’t tell me you hired a gardener.” you snorted at the sight of the tall, fine looking man, who was mowing the lawn.

Your dad was known to be one of the richest in the region with you being his spoiled child from the first marriage. You didn't visit him regularly, so everything new around his big ass mansion was new to you.

“He's been working for me for nearly a half a year now. Very hard working man with great manners.” your dad sipped his wine, even though it was early in the morning. You were intrigued by this young man. The way his hands wrapped around the handle of the lawn mower, it would be nice wrapped around your- 

“Care to join me for breakfast outside on the terrace?” the voice of your father disturbed your impure thoughts. With clearing your throat you followed him outside. 

Sitting outside, you tried to focus on the conversation you had with your father, but you failed miserably, eying that sinful gardener, who now caught you staring at him. He smirked. He fucking smirked at you and you blushed like a teenager. Averting your gaze to the side, you maybe weren’t that bold as you thought. 

---

House was alive with the sea of guests for the party your dad held at night. You weren’t into those things, everybody always asking you how is college, how's your slutty mother, and how your father is the most adorable being in the world and you should visit more. 

Hiding around the corner, sipping on the champagne that you didn’t even like, you watched the venue. Suddenly you felt a strong hand wrapped around your waist, with another on your mouth, muffling your gasp. “Be quiet, dove. Don’t draw attention.” His breath was hot on your neck, making you shiver and you knew immediately who this stranger was.

With a nod of yours, he let go of your mouth, you turning a little to look at him, the champagne glass ending somewhere in the shrub of roses. “George…” 

“Shhh… keep it down.” he whispered with a cocky smirk, enjoying the surprise in your eyes.

“You didn’t tell me that you’re working for my father.” you furrowed your brows, while he chuckled darkly. 

“You never mentioned that you're the daughter of this rich prick who happened to pay for the murder of my sister.” George quirked his brow, watching how you’ll react.

“What?!” 

“You heard me. He had his way with her and he just got rid of her. But don’t worry…” he brushed his finger over your cheek, making you blush, leaning closer to your lips. “We’re gonna have so much fun together. I’m planning to ruin you. His precious only child.” 

You couldn’t even react and he turned you to face the venue, watching all the people having fun, your eyes landed on your father, who was laughing with some of his friends in the distance. 

“Look at your father, while I stuff your filthy cunt with my cock.” George bit into the delicate skin of your bare shoulder, you holding back a whimper, as he tugged at your panties, sliding his length all in you.

“G-George…!” tears pricked into your eyes, some would think that you’re a damsel in distress, a random man abusing you in the shadows, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed being used. It was scandalous but you were far from being a saint.

He started to move slowly, in and out, your slick folds making his grin wide on his face. You two met a year ago when you were at this party of your friend in England. Spending a passionate night together, you thought you won’t see him ever again. Oh, how wrong of you.

Cheeks flushed, mouth drooling all over your arm, you tried to muffle your moans. The wooden pillar in front of you giving you enough support to withstand his brutal pace of his thrusts. With his hand wrapped in your hair, he pulled you closer to him. “Look at you. All worked up in the public. The perfect daughter railed in front of her father’s friends. Tsk. What a perfect slut for me.” 

“Nghh…” was all that your mouth could let out. As much as you hated it, you were close to reaching your climax and he knew that. He let go of your hair, pushing your body against the pillar, making you look into the direction where your dad stood. 

“Look at him and cum for me. I know you like to be dirty.” he whispered, burying himself even deeper into you, hitting that spot that made you fall over the edge. Your desperate attempts of being quiet failed, your filthy cunt clenching around George, making him see stars, filling you with his seed at the same time you started to whine loudly. 

Attention was suddenly on you, George managed to pull out just in time with a dark chuckle, holding your trembling body in his arms, acting like your saviour. 

Your father was at your side immediately, caressing your red cheeks stained with your tears. “Baby, what’s wrong? Oh my!” 

George had his arms around your body, you cannot even speak coherently. 

“She was vomiting around the corner, maybe too much champagne.” He was nonchalant and kind, the complete opposite of what he was a minute ago.

“I told you many times to not be too much around my guests.” your dad got his arms around you, making you stand on your feet, which was hard because you felt how wobbly they were. 

“Dad, I-” you tried to protest but he just shushed you. 

“Don’t talk, sweetheart. You’re a mess.” he turned to look at George with a nod. “And thank you, George. I appreciate you taking care of her.” 

George smirked a little, bowing softly. “My pleasure, sir.” 

Your eyes wide in shock while you heard the exchange, orgasmic haze still numbing your brain.

Your father led you back into the house, and George just chuckled to himself, watching his cum dripping down your legs as you walked. 

This was just a start and he’s gonna enjoy every bit of it.

---

Please don't use my writings without my permision! Pictures found on Pinterest.

-

Tags: @chilling-seavey

[maria021015]

Hogwart’s Resident Goth Girl

Fred Weasley x FemGothGryffindorReader

Hogwart’s resident goth girl y/n was unfriendly at best and completely unapproachable at worst. In fact, in all his six years at the school, Fred Weasley had never heard her speak once. When George dares him to ask her to the Yule Ball, all of that is about to change.

———————————————————————

The transfiguration classroom looked entirely different today. The tables and chairs had been moved and a large space had been cleared in the centre of the room. Professor McGonagall had moved heaven and timetables to arrange a house meeting for all of Gryffindor.

The girls stood stiffly on one side of the room, arms linked or eyes rolling, while the boys formed an equally nervous, significantly more chaotic huddle across from them. It was like a schoolyard duel in slow motion - neither side eager to advance.

Minerva McGonagall, in her usual black robes, surveyed the crowd with the tight-lipped patience of someone who had survived many such evenings.

"In preparation for the upcoming Yule Ball," McGonagall spoke loudly as she stood in the centre of the room. "It rests with me to ensure that all of you understand the proper meaning of the occasion, as the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance."

Excited murmurs erupted (from the girls) intermingling with exasperated groans (from the boys).

"Silence." McGonagall said sharply. "The house of Godrick Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you in the course of a single evening besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

"Try saying that five times fast," Fred whispered to George, and both of the Weasley twins attempted this under their breath with varying degrees of success.

"Now to dance is to let the body breathe." She stated. "Inside every girl a secret swan slumbers longing to burst forth and take flight. And, inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance."

The twins snickered even harder as their younger brother was beckoned up to demonstrate a waltz with the house leader. "Mr Weasly, will you join me?"

Ron stood up slowly, and sort of shuffled towards McGonagall, who grabbed his wrist when he was near enough and dragged him into the centre of the room with her.

"Now," she said. "Place your right hand on my waist."

Ron suddenly looked nothing short of mortified. "Where?"

McGonagall once again grabbed his wrist, forcing him to place his right hand on her waist. George promptly stuck his fingers in his mouth, letting out a shrill whistle, and Ron glared over at them as he attempted to make a rude gesture with his hand, but McGonagall's grip was suddenly vice-like and she forced Ron's hand back onto her waist, all in a matter of seconds.

"One two three, one two three, one two three..." McGonagall counted the steps aloud as she guided Ron in the most awkward looking waltz that any of them had ever seen, and it was downright hilarious.

Glancing over his shoulder at Fred and George, who were enjoying a laugh at their brother's expense as they mimicked him, Harry beckoned them closer.

"Oi!" He said quietly, as they leaned in. "Never gonna let him forget this, are you?"

Fred and George grinned evilly. "Never." They said in unison.

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you. I betcha five galleons we’re going to have to do this next.” Seamus Finnegan spoke up with a rather nauseous expression on his face.

“No way,” Harry muttered, shaking his head, “I’d rather face a three-headed dog than do this in front of everyone.”

“Oh, come on,” Fred said, sweeping a grand, sarcastic bow. “If you boys are so scared of a little dancing, how’re you going to keep your dates happy at the actual ball.”

Harry snorted. “You say that like finding a date will be easy.”

Fred grinned. “I’m Fred Weasley, mate. I’ll be fighting them off in droves. In fact—” he turned to George, eyebrows raising mischievously “—maybe I’ll make it interesting. Try going stag. See if I survive.”

“Oh, no,” George said, lips curling with danger. “You want interesting? Try this.”

He jerked his chin toward the far wall.

And there she was.

Leaning against the stone like she couldn’t be bothered to give the room her full disdain, gum snapping, one heavy-booted foot crossed over the other. Her hair was scraped back into an unforgiving twist, jet black strands gleaming beneath pins shaped like bones and crescent moons. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and lined with bold strokes that nearly reached her temples, like war paint from a darker age.

Black lipstick, maroon nails, and enough jewelry to make a small thief weep. Her rings were detailed with snakes, stars, blades. Everything about her screamed do not approach. She was intimidation incarnate.

Fred’s mouth opened. Closed again.

“Her?” he finally said.

George’s grin was diabolical. “If you’re so confident, why not go for the most unapproachable girl in school?”

Fred narrowed his eyes at her, curiosity blooming. “She looks like she’d hex me for breathing too loud.”

“Exactly.”

Fred watched her. She wasn’t participating. Hadn’t even uncrossed her arms. Just leaned there, blowing bubbles and judging everyone in a ten-meter radius. But now that he was really looking, he noticed the subtle things: the slope of her cheekbones, the precise arch of her brow, the gleam of some quiet fire in her eyes. Striking, strange, and impossible to ignore.

He’d heard many things about her. That she was the daughter of a pureblood family who cut her off when she wasn’t sorted into Slytherin. That she was planted in Gryffindor as a spy. That the reason she never spoke was because she was part siren. That she’d once hexed a hufflepuff girl for speaking to her. Of course, most of them likely weren’t true. But where there was smoke there was usually fire.

He straightened. “You’re on.”

“Pair up!” McGonagall called.

The room descended into a flurry of movement and nerves, boys and girls awkwardly tripping over each other in an attempt to pair off. Some laughed. Some looked like they were being marched to their doom.

Fred, however, walked with singular purpose.

She noticed him before he reached her. One brow raised, arms still crossed.

“D’you fancy a dance?” he asked, voice easy, theatrical. “Because I’ve got the oddest feeling I’ve been waltzing through your mind all day.”

She blinked. Slowly.

He stood before her now, hand outstretched. “Come on. Give us a whirl.”

Another snap of gum. Her stare could’ve frozen lava.

And then, without a word, she uncrossed her arms and slid her fingers into his. She didn’t reply, but she moved with crisp elegance into position. One hand in his, the other on his shoulder, cool rings biting through the fabric of his robes.

McGonagall barked out instructions and set the pace with a wave of her wand. The music began. A lilting, sweeping waltz that sent the room into motion.

Fred started forward. She moved with him, effortlessly matching his steps.

“Blimey,” he muttered, “you’re… actually good at this.”

No reply.

He grinned, unfazed. “So what’s your secret? Possessed by the ghost of a Victorian ballerina?”

Her expression remained a picture of indifference.

“Alright, alright,” Fred continued, undeterred. “Silent type. That’s fair. Adds to the whole dark enchantress vibe.”

She arched a single brow.

“Right, I’ll just keep talking then. I’m Fred, by the way. Not that you don’t already know that. I’m sure everyone does. Legend in my own right and all.”

Then she stepped - deliberately - on his foot. Her heavy black boot crunched over his toes in a loud thud.

Fred stifled a wince. “Ow. Okay. Deserved.”

Another step. Another toe crushed.

“You know, there are easier way of sending a message. Like using words, perhaps?”

She didn’t stop dancing. She didn’t speak. But she did keep stepping on him.

By the end of the lesson, Fred was limping.

McGonagall clapped her hands. “Excellent progress. That’s enough for today. You may go.”

As the music cut out and the students dispersed, Fred hobbled back to where George, Ron, and Harry waited.

“She didn’t say a word,” Fred muttered, wincing as he rotated his foot. “But I think she might’ve broken my fourth and fifth toes.”

George was doubled over laughing. “You’re hopeless!”

“She danced with me,” Fred said. “Didn’t curse me. Only minor physical assault. I’d call that a success.”

Harry shook his head, grinning. “So…what now?”

Fred glanced back over his shoulder. She was already gone.

“I’m going to make her talk,” he said, with a grin full of challenge. “Eventually.”

———————————————————————

Fred had tried to spot y/n around the grounds all weekend to no avail. The next time he saw her was on a clear and painfully cold Wednesday morning. The kind of weather that made you regret your very existence when your socks weren’t thick enough. Fred, however, had woken with a spring in his step and a still slightly bruised foot. And an unrelenting, absurdly powerful curiosity.

She hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t smiled. But she had danced with him, and that was more than anyone else could say. That had to mean something, right?

She was in the courtyard before breakfast, perched on a stone bench like a gothic gargoyle who’d just devoured a few first years. She was alone, as always. A heavy wool coat draped over her uniform, long dark sleeves spilling past her fingers. Her ears were plugged with some enchanted Muggle contraption he’d seen her wear before, with a sleek black cord disappearing into her pocket.

The metal of her jewelry caught the weak sunlight. Her fingers drummed idly against her knee, keeping rhythm with something no one else could hear.

Fred stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled toward her. “Afternoon, dark queen of my twisted heart,” he greeted, flashing a grin.

No reaction. She didn’t even look up at him, leading him to take a seat on the bench beside her.

He gestured to her ears. “What have you got there? Does it play music?”

Still nothing, but at least her dark-lined eyes flickered to lock onto his own for a few seconds before returning to the book she was reading.

“You know, I could be pouring my soul out here. Confessing my deepest secrets. Serenading you. And you wouldn’t even know.”

Still nothing.

“I’ve decided,” he announced. “I’m going to make you laugh before the end of the week.”

No answer. No eye contact.

Fred glanced over at her. Her gaze remained locked on the page, but the way her head tilted slightly to the side, he could tell she was at least listening.

“Challenge accepted?” he offered. “I mean, technically you haven’t accepted anything, but let’s be honest - you’re intrigued. At least a tiny bit.”

Silence.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Look, I get it. You’re a mystery. A walking enigma. The human embodiment of ‘I hate everyone.’ But I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. I’m relentlessly annoying.”

She shifted slightly. His gaze dropped. Her foot tapped. Still in rhythm with the music in her head.

“Alright, I see how it is,” Fred continued dramatically. “You want me to earn it. Earn what, you may ask? A smile. A word. The occasional blink. Anything would be nice, really.”

Nothing. Still stone-faced.

“Well, maybe not anything. My toes are still recovering from last week.”

A flicker. The barest tilt of her lips before she popped another bubble with her gum.

Fred grinned. “Was that a smile? That counts. I’m counting it.”

She exhaled through her nose. Was that…was she holding back a laugh?

It was hard to tell. Her expression was steel, but Fred was starting to learn the language of her silences. There were degrees of blank. And this one…this one had a glint.

“I’ll take that as a win for today,” he said as he stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Persistence is my greatest flaw. That and my tragic addiction to chocolate frogs.”

Still no words. But as he turned to leave, he caught the faintest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she leaned back against the bench like he was already old news. Fred walked away beaming.

George found him halfway to the Great Hall. “She hex you?” he asked casually.

“Nope.”

“She insult you?”

“Nope.”

“Trip you?”

“Nope.”

George narrowed his eyes. “Mate, you’re smiling. What happened?”

“She smiled.”

George paused. “You mean she showed teeth? Was it a snarl?”

Fred clapped a hand over his heart dramatically. “No. It was a smile, and it was beautiful.”

George barked a laugh. “You’re losing it.”

Fred didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to remember the exact way her lip had curled, and wondering how someone who never smiled could make him want to work so hard for it.

———————————————————————

Fred spotted her before she spotted him. Usually, she gave off the kind of presence that hit you like an ice bath - you felt her before you saw her. But this time, she was tucked into a corner of the hallway behind a crumbling archway, half-hidden by a particularly broody statue of a knight impaling something unfortunate. She wasn’t wearing her that music device in her ears.

Could this be another opportunity for him? He took a step closer, then another, analysing her like a particularly tricky niffler.

There was no music. No usual cloud of chewing gum bubbles. Just her, bent over a sketchpad, a fountain pen clutched in her ring-heavy fingers, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The black lace at her collar fluttered faintly in the breeze.

Fred whistled low under his breath. “Well, well. What do we have here? The reclusive raven emerges from her nest.”

She didn’t look up. But her hand stopped moving - just slightly - in surprise.

Fred took a few more steps forward until he stood just a few feet from her. Close enough to see the thick, inky lines she’d been drawing: curling vines, crescent moons, something that looked suspiciously like a skull impaled on a sword.

“Romantic,” he said, crouching beside the bench. “Is that a self-portrait, or just how you feel about Tuesdays?”

Still no words. But she did glance at him this time. Just briefly. A sideways flicker of her eyes beneath dark lashes. Fred would have missed it if he weren’t watching her so closely.

He sat on the low stone wall across from her, elbows on his knees. “You know, we’ve shared classes for six years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard your voice. I’m starting to think you’re a figment of my imagination. Or under some ancient vow of silence.”

She capped her pen and leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing just a touch.

Fred grinned. “Ah. I see. We’ve entered the ‘silent judgment’ portion of the conversation.”

Still nothing. But the corner of her mouth twitched again. Once. Like a muscle spasm she couldn’t suppress.

He took that as a good sign.

“I told my mum about you, you know. Asked her what to do when a beautiful girl gives you the cold shoulder. She said ‘run, because that means she’s probably smarter than you.’”

A breath escaped her. It might have been a scoff. Or a laugh. It was hard to tell.

Fred leaned closer. “Was that a sound? Did I hear something? An actual response?”

And then - finally, like a crack forming in ice - she spoke. Just one word. Flat. Bored. Completely unimpressed. “Barely.”

Fred went still.

Then his whole face lit up like a Christmas tree. “She speaks! Bloody hell, I was starting to think it’d be easier to break into the Department of Mysteries than to get anything out of you.”

She rolled her eyes and uncapped her pen again.

Fred tilted his head, pretending to be offended. “So I’m back to being ignored now? Was it something I said? Was it all of the things I said?”

No answer.

“Or are you just trying to preserve your reputation as Hogwarts’ official goddess of gloom and doom?”

A small huff. Her pen stilled again, but she didn’t look at him this time.

Fred smirked. “I’m not trying to win you over, by the way.”

That got him a look. A full, head-tilted glance that screamed liar.

He held up both hands. “No, no. Really. I’ve accepted that you are far too dark and mysterious for mere mortals like me. I just enjoy poking the basilisk.”

Another flicker of a smile. She ducked her head this time, hiding it behind a shadow.

Fred felt his heart stutter a little. Damn. She really was beautiful. Not in the way Angelina or Katie was. Not like the girls who giggled in the common room or wore perfume and lip gloss and glittering earrings. She was striking. Electric. With cheekbones that could cut glass and eyes that looked like they’d seen too much to be fooled by anything.

And for some mad reason, Fred was drawn to her like a moth to a flame that definitely would incinerate him.

He stood again, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Well, I’ve officially achieved a word. And a look. And a not-quite-laugh. My self-worth has skyrocketed.”

Still no answer. But she didn’t go back to drawing, either.

Instead, as he turned to leave, she flipped to the next page in her sketchbook and began sketching again.

Fred peeked over his shoulder just once. The lines were different now. More curved. Looser. There were sparks in the margins. Little flames, maybe. He couldn’t tell.

But he walked back to Gryffindor tower with a smirk and a strange lightness in his step.

“Let me guess,” George said as Fred slumped onto the couch beside him, “she cursed you into silence?”

“She spoke,” Fred replied, sounding like he’d seen a unicorn tap-dance.

Ron snorted. “Sure she did.”

“No, really. She said something. I heard it. Witnessed it. It was glorious.”

“What’d she say?” Harry asked, half-amused.

Fred leaned back, eyes closed, arms behind his head. “She said: ‘barely.’”

“That’s it?” George said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s it,” Fred said proudly. “And it was the most amazing word I’ve ever heard.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’re losing your mind.”

Fred just smiled. Because somewhere behind that deadpan stare and thick eyeliner had been a spark. And Fred intended to culture it into a flame.

———————————————————————

Hogsmeade weekends at Hogwarts were usually chaotic affairs. Students crowded into Zonko’s, gorging themselves at the Three Broomsticks, and of course, descending on Honeydukes like chocolate-starved banshees.

Fred Weasley normally loved it.

Today, though, he wasn’t thinking about sugar quills or fizzing whizbees. His eyes were scanning the crowd outside Honeydukes with something far more pressing in mind.

Her.

He didn’t actually know her full name. He just knew the way people whispered about it in the corridors, like saying it aloud might summon a hex. The Slytherins called her “that witch,” the Ravenclaws referred to her as “Dark Matter,” and the Hufflepuffs didn’t refer to her at all.

Fred thought of her as The Girl Who Might Step on Your Soul - but lately, she’d also become The Girl With the Smile He’d Die to See Again.

And there she was.

Leaning against the shopfront beneath the peppermint-striped awning, arms crossed, blowing another pink bubble of gum that snapped like a wand strike. Her lips were dark plum today - nearly black - and her nails matched, glittering with tiny crescent moons.

Fred adjusted his scarf, smoothed his hair, and made his move.

He approached with a sideways lean, trying to look casual. “You know, most people go into Honeydukes to get sweets. You guarding it from the forces of evil?”

She tilted her head lazily toward him, bubblegum still popping. Her eyes dragged over his face, unimpressed.

Fred gestured dramatically to the door. “I promise not to steal anything. Unless you count your heart.”

A single eyebrow arched.

He grinned. “Yeah, no, that was awful. I’ll be quiet now.”

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the shop. He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or a dismissal, until she paused in the doorway and looked back.

Not at him. But not not at him either. Fred took the hint and followed.

It was warm and humming with noise. Chocolate frogs hopped in their glass cases, and the air smelled like spun sugar and peppermint bark. Fred almost lost her in the busy crowd, until he caught sight of her just up ahead, paused in front of the Acid Pops.

He wandered up beside her, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Let me guess, you’re the type who eats the really dangerous sweets on purpose.”

She turned her head slightly. “Obviously.”

Fred smiled. Another word. “That explains a lot.”

She raised a hand to select one of the glowing red lollipops that fizzed with little sparks at the tip. He noticed the way her rings caught the light - each one a little silver dagger, a serpent, a set of star maps. When she held the lollipop up to inspect it, her sleeve slid back just enough to reveal a constellation tattoo on her wrist.

Fred tilted his head. “Already got ink?”

She gave him a slow, deliberate look. “If you mean pen ink, sure.”

He held his heart. “Ah, of course. You do like your doodles, don’t you? You excel at it too.”

That twitch again. The smallest hint of a smile.

“And you excel at being annoying,” she murmured, moving past him toward the chocolate section.

Fred trailed after her like a duckling with zero shame. “And yet, you keep talking to me.”

“I’m just responding to your constant barrage of commentary. That’s hardly a conversation.”

He held up a finger. “True. But I’ll take not being hexed yet as a victory.”

She turned down an aisle and paused at a bin of peppermint toads. Fred caught up to her side.

“So what’s your poison? Chocolate skulls? Licorice bats? Something dramatic and dark, I assume.”

She picked up a small box of sugar-dusted serpent tongues and wiggled it in front of him. “These.”

Fred blinked. “You’re joking.”

She wasn’t.

“Alright, well…I’ve never tried those. Any good?”

She smirked. Smirked. Not just a twitch, an actual visible curl of the lips. “Only if you like sour.”

Fred wrinkled his nose. “Can’t say it’s my favourite.”

He darted toward the counter with a flourish. “One box of serpent-tongues please - and throw in a pack of those chocolate frogs. My treat.”

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly cautious. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”

“I want to buy you something,” Fred said, lifting the box from her hands gently. “It’s not a bribe. Just a gift.”

“You know, I bet you don’t even know my name.”

He paused. Fair point. Fred leaned against the counter with a crooked smile. “Alright, then. Give me your name and I’ll buy you two boxes.”

She eyed him like she was debating whether it was worth it. Then she said it. Not what he expected, but it fit her.

Fred repeated it back to her with a broad grin. “…A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

She said nothing. But she did let him pay.

The sun was beginning to sink low, casting the cobbled streets in molten amber. Snow dusted the rooftops. Her boots crunched as they walked slowly away from the shop together, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

Fred offered her one of the chocolate frogs. She declined.

“You don’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t like sharing.”

Fred snorted. “Alright, fair. I can respect a woman who guards her sweets like treasure.”

They walked in silence for a bit.

She was fiddling with the box in her hands, her rings tapping softly against the cardboard. Fred glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he said eventually, “I never expected you to be a good dancer.”

She raised a brow.

He held up his hands quickly. “No offense! I just mean, you seem like the type who would stab anyone who tried to touch you.”

“I might still,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth curved again.

Fred tilted his head, teasing. “You didn’t hate dancing with me, though. Admit it.”

She looked at him for a moment. Really looked. Then she said, “Your feet deserved what they got.”

Fred laughed. “And yet, I keep crawling back.”

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t walk away either.

The sun caught her hair and lit it up like a black flame. Her lipstick was still perfect. She smelled like cinnamon and something sharper.

Fred suddenly felt warm despite the chill in the air. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re intriguing, you know.”

She gave him a sideways look. “Is that a line?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It’s a fact.”

She slowed her pace, just slightly.

Fred hesitated before speaking again. “Does it bother you that people…always avoid you? Or do you like it that way?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, “Most people don’t know what to do with me. So they make things up.”

Fred’s voice softened. “So all that stuff everyone says about you - that you’re a pureblood, a blood traitor, that your family wanted you in Slytherin - is all just stories?”

Another pause. “I’m afraid the truth really isn’t that interesting at all.” She admitted. “My mother’s a muggle, dad’s a wizard. My parents couldn’t care less that I’m in Gryffindor. And no, I didn’t hex that Hufflepuff for talking to me. She tried to curse my favourite necklace.”

“So you did hex her, then,” Fred snickered and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s all you take from that?”

“Yes well you were right, the rest of it is quite boring,” he jested and she snorted.

But before Fred could say anything, she added - so quietly it almost got lost in the wind. “You’re…not as irritating as I thought you’d be.”

Fred’s jaw dropped in mock horror. “High praise! Merlin’s beard, I feel like I’ve been knighted!”

She rolled her eyes again. But there was something lighter in it now.

They’d reached the end of the main path where the trees started to curl around the snow-dusted edge of the village. The castle loomed in the distance, dark against the gold and pink sky.

Fred turned to her. “Well…this has been the best almost-conversation of my life.”

She snorted. And then she smiled. A real one. It lit up her whole face. Made her eyes softer. More human.

Fred felt his stomach flip.

“See?” he said, his voice going low. “Told you. You’re kind of nice when you’re not trying to murder me with your eyebrows.”

She looked amused. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m sure I’ll earn a curse tomorrow.”

She didn’t deny it. But when he offered his arm for the walk back, she didn’t hesitate, either.

Fred was still smiling when he got back to the common room.

He didn’t even notice that George was waving a hand in front of his face until he snapped. “Oi. Earth to Freddie. You just spend your day snogging a Dementor, or what?”

“Almost, but not quite!” Fred leaned back, dreamy-eyed. “She’s…brilliant. Terrifying. Mysterious. Probably planning my untimely demise. But she smiled at me.”

George made a choking noise. “She smiled?! Bloody hell, did the world end while I was out?”

Fred grinned. “She smiled. And she let me buy her sweets. And we walked together. And she talked.”

“You mean she growled,” Ron muttered.

“She spoke, Ron. Multiple sentences. She has a sense of humour, even.”

George leaned in. “You think she’ll say yes to the Yule Ball, then?”

Fred’s grin faltered. “…Right.” The ball. He still hadn’t asked.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening. Most students were still down at dinner, or tucked away in corners finishing last-minute essays for Snape’s surprise assignments. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering amber shadows across the floor.

Fred was stretched out on the couch, one leg slung over the armrest, lazily flipping through a Quidditch magazine. His mind wasn’t on the plays or broom models. It was on her.

He hadn’t seen her since Hogsmeade. Not properly, anyway. There’d been a glance across the Great Hall. A shadow in the corridor. The memory of her smile had been haunting him ever since - real, soft, devastating.

Fred closed the magazine, letting it flop to the floor. He tilted his head back against the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

“You’re not brooding, are you?” came a low voice from behind him. “That’s George’s thing. You’re supposed to be the funny one.”

Fred sat bolt upright, nearly falling off the sofa. He twisted around, and there she was.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase, arms crossed, her signature smirk curled lazily into her dark lipstick. Her black jumper was oversized, slouched off one shoulder, and the sword pin on her chest caught the firelight like a living thing.

She didn’t usually spend time in the common room. When she wasn’t out and about the castle, she was hidden up in her room. And she’d not only spoken, but she’d said something to him first. She’d willingly initiated a conversation with him.

Fred blinked. “I…how…what—?”

She rolled her eyes and sauntered down the last few steps, heavy boots tapping against the stone. “Relax, Weasley. Don’t swallow your tongue. However will you talk my ears off then?”

Fred scrambled upright, trying to remember how sitting up straight worked. “Hang on, you’re actually socialising? I thought your Saturday nights were full of sacrificial rituals and howling the moon.”

“You’re thinking of werewolves, Weasley. Besides, I got bored of chanting at my voodoo dolls.”

Fred gaped. “Do you actually have voodoo dolls? Do you have one of me?”

“Don’t be daft, Frederick.” She looked around the almost empty common room lazily.

“You came downstairs to talk to me willingly?” He arched a brow, still surprised.

“I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“And you spoke first.”

“Unfortunately.”

He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “I may cry. This might be the best night of my life.”

She crossed the room slowly, deliberately, until she stood on the opposite side of the fireplace. She didn’t sit. She just studied him, gaze sweeping from his rumpled jumper to the soft heat still lingering in his expression.

Fred couldn’t stop smiling. “I didn’t think this day would ever come.”

Even though he was clearly joking, a small part of him meant it.

“Yes, well,” she said, tone dry. “You stalked me through Honeydukes. Thought I’d return the favour.”

“And?” he asked, breath catching. “Do you regret it yet?”

She tilted her head. “Still deciding.”

Fred cleared his throat and nodded, trying to play it cool, despite the fact that her just being here was rearranging his internal organs.

“You…want to sit?”

She eyed the empty seat beside him like it might bite. Then, with a sigh, she dropped down next to him, curling one leg beneath her and leaning back. Her hair brushed his shoulder. He tried not to combust.

“I’m not staying long,” she said casually.

“Of course not,” Fred replied, still beaming. “Wouldn’t want to risk actually enjoying yourself and cracking a smile in front of the inferiors.”

She smirked at the fire. “Exactly. Might ruin my reputation.”

He angled toward her. “If your reputation is what you’re worried about, I can help with that.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. I’ll spread a rumor that you hexed me after I gave you sweets.”

“People already think that.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Silence fell for a moment. Not awkward. Just…charged. The fire cracked and popped. Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Her fingers toyed idly with the edge of one of the cushions, rings glinting. Fred watched the motion, transfixed.

And then she spoke again.

“I told my dorm mate I was coming down here,” she said softly. “She asked if I was finally going to curse you.”

Fred grinned. “And are you?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Not tonight.”

A beat.

Fred leaned in slightly. “Why not?”

She turned to look at him directly this time, and something in her expression softened - barely - but it was enough. “Because…” she said slowly, “you make me laugh.”

Fred blinked. His heart stopped. Not in a loud way. Not with gasps or snorts. But in that quiet, unwilling way that meant he’d wormed under her skin.

Fred whispered, “I’m shocked you would admit that.”

She shrugged. “You’ll forget by morning.”

“Not a chance.”

Another pause. Then she did something truly unfair. She nudged his knee with hers. Gently. Just once. A casual brush that said: I know what I’m doing. And I’m choosing to do it.

Fred felt his entire bloodstream short-circuit.

She stood abruptly. “I’ve seen enough. You lot really do live like feral boars down here.”

Fred rose too, still dazed. “Are you leaving?”

She didn’t answer. Just crossed to the portrait hole with that same graceful menace, boots echoing on the stone floor. Then, right as she reached it, she turned and said, with the faintest smile, “Nice jumper, Weasley. Shame it’s on you.”

Fred’s jaw dropped. She disappeared through the portrait before he could reply. He stood there for a full thirty seconds. Then sat back down slowly, blinking at the fire.

George came in moments later with Ginny and stopped short. “Mate. Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Fred whispered, “Seeing a ghost would have been stranger.”

George narrowed his eyes. “What? Is this about y/n?”

“Mhmm,” Fred nodded solemnly. “And she likes my jumper.”

George stared at him, then started clapping slowly. “You know, you might actually pull this off.”

“Pull what off?” Ginny questioned and George instantly changed the subject. But Fred’s mind was still stuck on her comment and the way her leg had brushed his.

———————————————————————

The library wasn’t where Fred Weasley usually found himself on a Tuesday evening - unless he was helping George smuggle in firecrackers under the cover of dusty tomes. But tonight wasn’t about pranks.

Well…not entirely.

Y/n was already seated at one of the back tables, half-shadowed between the tall, towering shelves. Her nose was buried in Magical Maladies & Curses: Volume III. She didn’t glance up when Fred arrived. She didn’t need to. His presence was like static in the air. Loud, buzzing, annoyingly familiar.

Fred slid into the chair across from her with a grin that said ‘I’m here to cause trouble’.

“You’re late,” she muttered, not looking up from the book in front of her.

Fred propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I was picking our contraband.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled paper bag and dropped it onto the table between them. Out spilled several chocolate frogs and a handful of fizzing whizbees.

Her dark brows raised the tiniest bit. “No exploding bonbons?”

“Madam Pince would actually hex me out of existence.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He chuckled, unwrapping a chocolate frog and taking a bite. “So, what tragic, cursed thing are you pretending to study today?”

“Dark objects and their residual energy,” she replied, flipping a page. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

Fred squinted. “What’s a residual energy? Like…leftover bad vibes?”

She finally looked up at him. “Exactly that. It’s magic that clings to things. Emotions too strong to fade. Rage. Grief. Obsession.”

He nodded slowly, clearly not listening. “You just described me when I finish a Honeydukes bar.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Mmhm,” Fred hummed, stretching his legs beneath the table. “But you keep showing up.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she rolled up the silver wrapper from her chocolate frog and flicked it expertly with a thwack against his forehead.

Fred blinked. “You didn’t.”

She smirked in response.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Within seconds, Fred had rolled up his own wrapper into a tiny missile and launched it across the table. It hit her collarbone and bounced harmlessly onto her book. She stared down at it, unimpressed. “I expected better aim.”

Fred gasped. “Insulting my chocolate artillery?”

She flicked another one. “That wasn’t an insult. I can do worse.”

“Oh, you wish.”

The next five minutes devolved into a silent but intense chocolate-wrapper war. Both ducking, flicking, and dodging around ancient texts and precariously stacked books. Fred nearly knocked over a chair trying to dodge one of hers, and she had to stifle a laugh behind her hand when he tripped over his own foot and almost took down an entire shelf of Intermediate Incantations.

“Truce,” he whispered, holding up both hands, breathless with quiet laughter.

She narrowed her eyes, a wrapper ready between her fingers. “Swear it,” she mouthed.

“I swear on George’s lucky left eyebrow.”

“…Fair enough.”

She let the wrapper drop.

Fred leaned back in his chair, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her shake out her hands like a victorious duelist.

“Merlin,” he said quietly, voice lower now. “You have a killer aim.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had practice.”

“With wrappers?”

“With knives.”

Fred blinked. “…really?”

“No, you buffoon. But I am partial to snowballs.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him now that the war was over. His hair was messier than usual, a few strands curling where he’d run his hands through it. His tie was crooked. His lips stained faintly with chocolate. And his smile…that was the dangerous part.

He caught her looking.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly.

Fred stilled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got options,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “You’re loud. Popular. The kind of Gryffindor girls blush about behind their textbooks. And you’re not just hanging out with me because you got bored of George’s company. So why me?”

Fred tilted his head, voice softer. “You don’t blush.”

“Not on the outside.”

He blinked at that, caught off guard. His grin turned almost shy. Almost.

“Why you?” he repeated, chewing the thought for a moment. “Because you’re not easy. You don’t fake a laugh, or pretend to like something you don’t. Because you’re real, and a challenge. And I like a challenge. Plus, you’ve never even hexed me once.”

She chuckled softly. “No, but I considered it.”

“Which I respect, honestly.” He reached forward and tapped her book gently, just once. “You’re the most interesting thing in this entire castle. Maybe the most terrifying. Definitely the most beautiful.”

She blinked. “Don’t flirt with me, Weasley.”

“Oh?” he said, voice low. “Why not?”

“Because I might flirt back.”

And that was definitely a blush now, ghosting up his neck into the tips of his ears.

Before he could respond, the unmistakable sound of Madam Pince’s footsteps echoed like doom.

Fred whispered, “Act natural.”

“You’re glowing red.”

“I am calm,” Fred insisted, trying to stuff wrappers back into his bag.

Madam Pince rounded the corner and paused, nostrils flaring at the sight of them.

“I knew it,” she hissed, eyes narrowing. “You two. This is a library, not a picnic!”

She pointed a thin, bony finger. “Out. Now.”

Fred grabbed the bag and her hand without thinking, and together they bolted.

The wrappers scattered in their wake, fluttering behind them like silver leaves. They laughed as they ran, her boots pounding the floor beside his as they darted between bookshelves, rounded corners, and burst through the heavy double doors of the library, and only then did they stop.

He looked down. So did she, her eyes catching on their joined hands.

Fred immediately released hers like it burned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

She stared at him, then slowly lifted her palm and studied it. Like she was memorising the shape of his. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” she asked softly.

Fred’s ears went pink. “Nope.”

“And you’re red again.”

“Am not.”

She smiled, soft, not smug. Then walked a few paces down the corridor and stopped, twisting slightly to look back at him.

“Well?” she called. “You coming or are you just going to melt into a puddle out here?”

Fred scrambled after her, heart still doing somersaults.

“You like me,” he teased as he caught up.

“Please. I tolerate you.”

“You held my hand, you absolute menace.”

She bumped her shoulder into his as they walked. And she didn’t let go the second time he reached for her fingers.

———————————————————————

It was early morning in the Gryffindor common room. The kind of soft, golden hour where the fire cast warm halos on the stone walls and laughter bubbled lazily from card games in corners and Quidditch debates from overstuffed chairs.

Fred Weasley wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

He was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, legs stretched out, one arm draped across the back of the couch behind her. Not touching. Just near.

She was cross-legged beside him, head tilted back slightly as she tried to balance a jelly slug on your nose.

“Don’t move. Don’t laugh,” Fred warned, holding up both hands like a wizard defusing a bomb. “You’re so close—”

The jelly slug slipped off her nose and plopped onto the floor. She stared at it. Then snorted. Fred’s laughter followed like lightning behind thunder.

“Oh, tragic,” he teased, reaching to retrieve it. “The noble art of slug balancing. Lost forever.”

“I blame you,” she muttered, poking his ankle with her boot. “Your voice distracted me.”

“Oh, I distracted you, did I?” He grinned.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Impossible. I’m charming, not cocky.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smirk gave her away.

They’d been like this for the past week - circling closer, teasing, smiling without warning. It wasn’t the same icy standoff from that first dance lesson. Something had changed. Melted. Or cracked.

She’d leaned her head back against the couch now, eyes half-lidded, hair fanned across her shoulders in lazy waves. She looked - Fred didn’t even want to think it - breathtakingly beautiful.

And not in that brooding, mysterious, sharp way she usually carried herself. Just…peaceful. Real. She laughed like she didn’t care who heard. She made jokes under her breath that only he caught. She didn’t flinch when he looked at her too long, didn’t scowl when his shoulder brushed hers by accident. She was just…her.

And Fred liked being around her more than he’d liked anything in a long while.

She reached over and took a second jelly slug without asking. Fred watched, eyebrows raised. “Do you even like those?” he asked.

“No.”

He laughed again. God, it was so easy. Too easy. Like gravity. Or breathing.

She glanced over and caught him looking “What?” She asked, suspicious.

Fred blinked. “Nothing. Just, how the hell do you make those boots look comfortable?”

“Trade secret.”

“Tell me and I’ll trade you three whole chocolate frogs.”

“I want five.”

“Highway robbery.”

They both grinned. It was effortless. It was dangerous.

Fred didn’t even notice George until his twin flopped down on the couch behind them, a casual thud of limbs and mischief.

“Well, well,” George drawled. “What do we have here?”

Fred didn’t even glance over. “Don’t start.”

“Shit,” y/n muttered. “I’ve got Arithmancy in ten minutes.” She started gathering her things - books, wand, bag slung over one shoulder.

Fred scrambled to his feet beside her. “I’ll walk you—” he started. But she shook your head.

“You’ve got Divination next. Go pretend you can see the future or whatever it is you do up there.”

He hesitated. She reached over and tapped the tip of her index finger to the center of his chest. “Keep me a seat at dinner,” she said. “And maybe save me something edible.”

Fred laughed softly. “What, no love for haggis pie?”

She cringed. “If I see any mystery meats on my plate I’ll curse you where you stand.” And with that, she turned and disappeared through the portrait hole, a blur of black boots and maroon scarf. Fred stood staring after her.

George leaned forward, head tilted. “Looks like someone’s been busy. I didn’t realize you’d be so dedicated to your strategy, Freddie.”

That made Fred finally turn. “What are you on about?”

George gave him a look. Fred blinked, and then he remembered. The bet. The dare. The stupid bloody challenge they’d cooked up. The entire reason he’d walked up to her in the first place.

Get the scariest girl in school to go to the Yule Ball with him.

He felt like someone had poured cold pumpkin juice down his spine.

George, oblivious to the twist in Fred’s gut, grinned and asked, “So? Did you ask her yet?”

Fred’s mouth opened, then promptly closed. He forced a laugh, casual and airy. “Yeah, course I have. Just, figured I’d make it official later.”

George narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t even asked her, have you?”

Fred elbowed him, hard. George winced but didn’t say more. He leaned back again, letting Fred spiral in silence. Which he was. Stressing about that stupid bet, or dare, or whatever it was. One thing was for sure, he certainly didn’t want her to ever find out. Because suddenly this wasn’t about a joke anymore. It wasn’t about a win or a dare or getting the last laugh. It was about her.

The way her eyes darkened when she was thinking. The way she spoke so little but said so much with just a look. The way her smile made something real twist behind his ribs.

He’d been playing a game at the beginning. But he wasn’t playing anymore.

George stood up beside him. “Mate.”

Fred didn’t move.

“Fred.”

Still nothing.

George waved a hand in front of his face. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve caught actual feelings.”

Fred swallowed hard. “She’s…she’s something else, Georgie.”

“No, she’s terrifying. That was the whole point.”

Fred shook his head. “No. She’s…funny. And sharp. And weird, but the good kind. And she makes me laugh, and she listens. She listens, George. Like, properly.”

George’s smirk faded. Fred sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

George clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then maybe…don’t.”

Fred groaned. “You’re the worst advice-giver.”

“And yet you keep talking to me.” George winked.

Fred looked over. “You think I should tell her?”

“About the bet?” George grimaced. “Absolutely not. You’ll be dead before the words can even leave your mouth.”

Fred winced.

“You’ve got time to figure it out. Just don’t wait too long. Girls like that? They don’t wait around forever.”

Fred nodded, but his heart was already somewhere else, following the sound of her boots down the stone corridor.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall was half-empty during lunch, the buzz of upcoming exams only rivaled by the undercurrent of Yule Ball chatter. Dates had been secured, dresses ordered, nerves fraying in little flutters across the four tables.

Fred was sitting with George and Lee, halfway through a pumpkin pasty and trying to concentrate on the latest idea for a portable swamp prototype.

It wasn’t working. Because she wasn’t there yet.

She always turned up around now - late, of course - sweeping through the Hall like the bloody queen of nightfall, smirking when Fred moved over on the bench without being asked, tossing her bag down with just enough flair to look like she hadn’t been searching for him in the crowd. And he’d pretend not to watch her the whole time. Pretend like he wasn’t waiting.

And today, the moment the doors creaked open, Fred’s head lifted. There she was. Boots. Black sleeves. A faint smudge of ink on her cheek. And she was smiling.

Fred’s stomach twisted. She was walking quickly - excited, flushed. She looked…happy. His heart sank before he even knew why.

She didn’t sit down right away. She planted her hands on the table in front of him and leaned in, eyes glittering with some secret she couldn’t wait to share.

Fred blinked. “Alright?”

“Guess what came this morning?” She asked, practically vibrating.

Fred blinked again. “Er, your new set of throwing knives?”

Y/n scoffed. “Close. My dress.”

Fred’s mind blanked.

“My—” she mimicked swishing about a flowing skirt. “Dress, Weasley. For the Yule Ball? You know, the one that’s in like two weeks?”

Fred stared and swallowed thickly at the mention of the event. George kicked him under the table.

She plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, hands flopping into her lap. “It’s perfect. Blood red, beading all over, slit to the knee…I mean, barely, I’m not trying to get detention.”

Fred was still staring, tongue feeling leaden as she pulled a folded bit of parchment from her pocket and slid it toward him. “I sketched it after Charms. Don’t judge the drawing. I was using a chewed-up quill and I think I spilled ink on the bottom.”

Fred looked down. The drawing was shockingly good. A rough outline, yes, but clear enough - corset-style details, a swoop of long matching gloves, dark elegance without being overdone.

“I look like I could dethrone a royal,” she said fondly. “It’s even more gorgeous on.”

Fred couldn’t breathe. She was excited. She’d dressed up for this in her mind already. She wasn’t planning on going ironically. She wasn’t going to sneer in a corner and sip pumpkin fizz alone. She was looking forward to it.

“—I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she was still talking, oblivious to the fact that Fred had stopped chewing completely, “I almost just went in my uniform robes and called it a ‘statement,’ but honestly? It’s kind of nice. Doing the whole ball thing. I haven’t…really done anything like that before.”

Fred’s fingers tightened around his fork.

“And I’ll need help with my hair,” she added, elbowing him lightly. “Which I would ask you for, but something tells me you’d turn it into a biochemical hazard.”

Fred forced a weak chuckle. George glanced at him sideways, sensing the shift in the air.

Y/n picked up a piece of toast and continued casually, “I bet Ron’s date is going to faint when she sees the state of his robes. I overheard Ginny threatening to set them on fire if he doesn’t get them cleaned.”

Fred managed a noise that sounded vaguely like agreement.

You looked over then, finally noticing the odd tension in his jaw. “What’s wrong with you?”

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You look like someone told you the Chudley Cannons were folding.”

He laughed automatically, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. How was he supposed to react - what was he supposed to say - when the very topic he’d been avoiding with her was suddenly all she wanted to talk about.

She squinted at him assessingly. “Is it the dress? Was it too much? I knew the slit was pushing it, didn’t I—”

“No!” he said, louder than he meant to. “No, it’s…It’s great. You’ll look…brilliant.”

She paused. Something flickered across her face. Not quite suspicion. Something softer. Confusion? Like she was weighing whether or not to say something. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled. Something that used to be so rare but now came so readily.

“Well. You better look sharp, then. Don’t think I’m gonna carry the aesthetic on my own.”

Fred nodded slowly, a million thoughts running through his head and yet none that he could verbalise. She was heavily implying she expected they would go together. Yet she had no idea. No idea that this whole thing had started as a dare. She just assumed that he would be asking her. Because why wouldn’t he?

They’d been spending time together. They’d laughed together. They’d shared secrets over chocolate frogs and made fun of Trelawney’s predictions together. He walked her to class and stayed up too late in the common room waiting for her to finish assignments. Of course she’d thought it was settled. Of course she’d thought it was real. Because to her, it was. And now Fred wanted to crawl under the bloody table and vanish.

She stood suddenly, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “I’ve got to meet Luna about that stupid constellation chart. If I’m not back for dinner, tell everyone I’ve been abducted by a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

Fred smirked faintly. “Should I avenge you, or…?”

You pointed at him. “Write an epic poem in my honor.”

“I’ll get Lee to compose the music.”

“I expect a choir.”

Fred stood too, automatically. “Need me to walk you?”

“Nah. I don’t want you slowing me down.”

“Rude.”

“But true.” And then she was gone again, off in a blur of black fabric and sarcasm, leaving Fred in the wake of her storm.

He sat back down slowly. George didn’t say anything for a long beat. Then, “You’re screwed.”

Fred buried his face in his hands. “So screwed.”

George took a bite of his sandwich. “You know, I usually enjoy watching you suffer. But this? This is tragic.”

Fred groaned. “She’s excited, mate. Actually excited.”

“I know.” George leaned in. “You’re gonna have to tell her.”

Fred shook his head. “I can’t. Not now. Not when she thinks it was all real.”

“So what, you wait until after the ball? Hope she doesn’t find out from someone else first?”

Fred went quiet.

George studied his brother. “You like her.”

Fred didn’t answer.

“You really like her.”

The older twin sighed. “Yeah.”

“You want it to be real?” George sat back. “Then stop being an idiot and make it real.”

Fred lifted his head slowly.

“Ask her. Properly,” George said, voice gentler than Fred was used to. “Not because of a dare. Not because you’re trying to win anything. Just…because you want to.”

Fred exhaled hard, like he’d been holding something in for weeks. “I’m scared she’ll hate me,” he admitted quietly. “If she ever finds out.”

“She might. But if you don’t tell her,” George said, “you’ll hate yourself more.”

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room crackled with its usual warmth and chaos. A low hum of laughter, games, and the glow of firelight bouncing off ancient stone. It was nearing curfew, but the students showed no signs of winding down. Someone had bewitched a pile of sweets to explode like miniature fireworks every time a Chocolate Frog was unwrapped. Across the room, a small group had started dancing on the rug to a barely-audible Wireless spell.

Fred Weasley stood on the armrest of a lumpy old armchair, balancing with casual ease, wearing that dangerously mischievous expression. The one that usually preceded detention.

George slouched nearby, smug as ever, while Lee Jordan prepared to document the chaos with a borrowed magical camera.

And her?

Y/n was tucked in the window seat, knees drawn up, an open book on her lap that her eyes were focused on. Her lips were pulled into a half-smile, like whatever she’d been reading had completely enraptured her.

Fred felt his stomach twist. Because this was it. This was the moment. Now he was in too deep. He couldn’t back out without hurting her, and he couldn’t go forward without hating himself.

But he was already standing there. Already smiling. Already speaking.

“Oi!” he called, arms wide, “Bit of attention, if you please. I have an important announcement to make!” Laughter rippled across the room as Fred clapped twice. “Alright, alright, pipe down! This’ll only take a moment of your pitiful lives!”

Laughter echoed. Someone threw a chocolate wrapper at his head.

Fred caught it and bowed. “Cheers. Now, as you may have noticed, the Yule Ball is fast approaching—”

“You’re not proposing, are you?” called Seamus.

“Not yet,” Fred shot back with a grin. “But it has come to my attention that the clock is ticking and one can only be charmingly mysterious for so long before people start calling you tragically single.”

The room laughed again. Crowd work was a particular talent of his. Fred’s eyes skimmed the crowd, trying not to land on her. But they did. And she was now watching him. Her fingers had stilled on the page. Her eyes, framed in charcoal liner like twin thunderheads, met his. Fred felt it like a jolt straight to the ribs.

She was smirking faintly. Not wide or exaggerated. Just a small, sardonic curve of her lips. Expectant. Like she already knew he was about to make an idiot of himself, and she was patiently waiting to be amused by it. And Merlin, she looked good like that. Relaxed. Present. Almost…happy.

His grin faltered for the first time. But he was already up there. Already committed. Even if his stomach was taking a dive straight to his bowels.

Fred cleared his throat, speaking louder now.“So. Uh. I figured…now’s as good a time as any to…you know…do this properly.”

His palms were sweating. His heart was hammering. Y/n sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly. Encouraging him.

“Right,” Fred said, voice higher than it should’ve been. “There’s a girl, see. And she’s…bloody brilliant.”

He felt the shift in the room then. The drop in noise. The attentive hush. Dozens of eyes turned toward him. But he only looked at one person.

Her hands moved to close her book, slowly, deliberately. She tucked it under her arm, but didn’t stand. She just watched him, expression unreadable save for the faintest lift of her brow and the ghost of a breath caught in her throat.

Fred swallowed hard. His heart galloped in his chest. The words came out softer now. Less performance, more confession. Fred’s voice cracked on the next line. “So, yeah. I’d really like her to go to the Yule Ball with me. If she’ll have me.”

His throat closed. Y/n was glowing. She was beautiful. There were a million things running through his mind but none that he could vocalise. How would she react if she found out about the dare? How would she feel if she discovered it was all an elaborate plot. That he’d been playing her like a half-baked prank?

His mind screamed tell her, tell her it’s her, just bloody say it—

Fred faltered. Just for a second. But it was enough.

Because as heart screamed her name, in a split moment of panic, his lips said, “Angelina Johnson?”

It was the first face to come into his view when he tore his gaze away from y/n. The first name to pop into his head. His eyes instantly found her again, though. The muscles along y/n’s jaw shifted, just slightly.

“Oi, Angie!” someone shouted.

Heads turned. Angelina looked up from her conversation near the fireplace, blinking in surprise. She arched a brow. “You serious, Weasley?”

Fred forced a grin. “Wouldn’t stand up here if I wasn’t.”

And the common room exploded. Cheers. Applause. Wolf-whistles. Fred’s name being chanted like he’d just scored the winning goal for the Cannons.

Angelina strode forward, confident as she always was, and threw her arms around him in a hug that made the crowd roar louder.

Fred hugged her back stiffly. Over her shoulder, his eyes found hers.

She was still sitting on the window seat. Her hands had clenched into fists on the cushion. Her smile was gone. Gone like it had never existed. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say anything.

But Fred could see it - all of it - in the flicker of her expression. Confusion. Then hurt. Then the wall. That terrible, familiar wall he’d worked so hard to break down.

Her expression had gone perfectly blank - like someone had drawn a curtain across her face. Not angry. Not sad. Just…empty.

Then, she stood slowly. Her movements were calm. Controlled. She brushed off her skirt, lifted her book under one arm, and turned without a word.

Her steps were steady as she climbed the stairs to the girls’ dorms. She never looked back. But Fred felt the wound she left behind anyway.

He barely noticed Angelina still standing beside him, basking in the attention. He didn’t hear the teasing comments or feel George elbow him in the ribs.

He just stood there, still on the chair, staring at the place she’d been. Something curdled in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He’d only wanted to protect her. To keep her from the truth. He hadn’t expected it to carve out his heart like this.

“You complete tosser,” George muttered under his breath, finally pulling him down from the chair.

Fred stumbled, nearly tripping as he hit the floor. He looked around, dazed, as if the world had shifted and he hadn’t been warned. His twin was staring at him, frowning.

“I know,” Fred rubbed his hands over his face. His palms were shaking. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Ask the girl you actually wanted, maybe?” George snapped. “Or at least not ask someone else in front of her.”

Fred opened his mouth. But he had nothing. Because it was too late. The crowd moved on. People were laughing, clapping Angelina on the back, dragging her into conversation.

And somewhere above them, behind the thick stone walls and locked doors of the dormitories, the girl he should’ve asked was probably sitting in the dark, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’d gotten it so wrong.

Fred had never wanted to crawl out of his own skin more. Because everything he’d tried to avoid just happened anyway. And now the girl he really wanted was gone.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall hummed with early morning chatter, the clink of goblets and scrape of plates echoing beneath the enchanted ceiling’s soft winter grey. Snow fell lazily outside, but inside was warmth and light and the usual pre-class chaos.

Fred spotted her instantly.

She was sitting at the Gryffindor table, further down toward the end, flanked on one side by a half-asleep Neville and on the other by an open stretch of empty bench. Her head was bent over a copy of A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, dark lashes casting shadows against her cheek, her black nails tapping thoughtfully against a mug of tea.

She looked tired. Not her usual artful, brooding kind of tired. This was the bone-deep kind. The sort that dragged the corners of her eyes down and dulled the gleam in her ear cuffs.

Fred hesitated only a moment. Then he crossed the floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, his shoes thudding against the stone like distant thunder. He reached the spot beside her and gently rested his palm flat on the table.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low. “Can we talk?”

She didn’t look up. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

So he tried again, softer. “I didn’t mean—”

Before the words could fully form, her hand shot out. The fork hit the table like a bolt of lightning. Right between his splayed fingers. Sticking upright out of the wood. The silver handle trembled slightly from the force of the strike, and Fred froze.

His mouth parted soundlessly as he looked down at the gleaming tines buried in the wood between his index and middle finger. It hadn’t grazed him, but it had been close. Too close.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to hers. She was finally looking at him. Not with a scowl. Not even anger. Just cool, steady calculation, like she was measuring his worth and finding him utterly insignificant. Her expression was almost unreadable, but her meaning was crystal clear.

Fred lifted his hands slowly, fingers raised in surrender. His throat bobbed as he stepped back from the bench.

“Right,” he said weakly. “Understood.”

He turned and walked away, heart sinking like lead. And still, she didn’t look back.

The next day, Fred tried again.

He spotted her near the stairs just after Transfiguration, alone as usual, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder. She was digging through it for something - quill ink, maybe - her hair spilling like silk down her back.

He approached cautiously. “Listen, I just…can we please—”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she gave her wand the smallest flick.

In a flash of motion, Fred’s tie jerked tight around his neck. He choked slightly as the red-and-gold fabric twisted like a noose, until it slithered down his shirt front and landed coiled at his feet with a soft hiss.

It had transformed into a very real, very irritable-looking boa constrictor. Fred stumbled back with a yelp as it reared up slightly, tongue flickering in warning.

Students shrieked. Someone burst into laughter. The snake stared him down.

Fred scrambled to the side and waved his wand to reverse the spell before it could strike, coughing awkwardly as he straightened his robes.

Y/n walked right past him without a word.

He didn’t try again that day.

By the time the day before the Yule Ball arrived, Fred felt like a shadow of himself. Every joke fell flat. Every laugh felt forced.

Even George had started to notice the quiet beneath Fred’s usual bravado. He didn’t mention it aloud, but he’d stopped making quips about Angelina and started giving Fred the kind of long, silent looks that said ‘you better fix this, or I will’.

Fred didn’t know how. Until he saw her again. This time, not alone.

She was sitting on a low stone wall in the courtyard, where the winter sunlight spilled through the archways in cold gold streaks. Ginny sat beside her, swinging her legs and laughing at something, but y/n wasn’t. She was quiet, her eyes focused on the snow-dusted fountain ahead, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe like she was afraid of what they might do.

Fred hesitated again. But he couldn’t keep running. He crossed the courtyard slowly, his footsteps crunching softly in the snow. He stopped just a few paces away, heart thundering.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please, can we talk for a minute?”

She stood without a word. Didn’t even meet his gaze. She just turned and walked away, the edges of her black skirt fluttering around her knees as she disappeared through the archway.

Fred blinked, stunned. “Seriously?” he muttered, spinning toward Ginny. “She won’t even—?”

“You don’t get to be surprised,” Ginny snapped. She stood up, arms crossed, looking exactly like their mum when she was furious “She liked you, Fred. A lot. And she thought - Merlin, I thought - you liked her too.”

“I do!” he protested. “I do like her—”

“Then why did you stand on a chair and pick someone else in front of the whole common room?”

Fred winced. “It wasn’t…it’s complicated. And since when are you two friends?”

“She was crying,” Ginny interrupted coldly. “In the girls’ bathroom. The night you did that. I found her in the stall with her makeup running down her face.”

Fred felt like the floor had opened beneath him. He staggered back a step, shame like acid in his throat.

“She acts tough,” Ginny continued, quieter now. “She is tough. But you made her feel like a joke. And she doesn’t trust people easily. So when she let you in - when she started letting you see her - that meant something. And then you just shattered her.”

Fred’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ginny said flatly. “You still did.”

The wind blew softly through the courtyard. Fred looked down at his hands, then toward the archway where she’d vanished.

“She won’t even look at me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then you’d better do something worth looking at,” Ginny said, turning away. “Fix it, Fred.”

He stood there a long time, long after Ginny had gone, until the sky began to turn the palest shade of evening lavender. He didn’t know what he’d do yet. But he knew this much: he had to fix it somehow. He had to get her back.

———————————————————————

The Great Hall had been transformed into a sparkling palace of winter, draped in frosted garlands and enchanted snowflakes that never melted. A low hum of violins floated through the air, silver strings humming with delicate grace, but Fred didn’t hear any of it.

Not really.

His eyes were locked across the room, where y/n sat alone at a small round table, elbow on the polished surface, chin in her hand. She looked like a painting caught mid-breath - haunting, lovely, and entirely unreachable.

Her dress clung to her frame like droplets of glittering blood, a deep maroon that shimmered darkly with every flicker of candlelight. The hue matched her lips perfectly. Her hair, usually pinned back, now fell in soft waves past her shoulders. She looked softer this way, like some part of the armor had been peeled back, revealing the fragility underneath.

It made Fred feel sick. Sick with guilt. Sick with longing. Sick with the memory of her face lighting up when he’d looked at her, standing on that chair…and then that light burning out the moment he’d said Angelina’s name.

She didn’t look at him now. Not even once.

Every boy that dared approach her was met with a death glare that turned them into statues of retreat. Her fingers played with the swathe of crimson fabric around her throat like a noose. Her expression was carved from marble. Even at such a distance, she took his breath away.

Fred had blown it. Completely.

Across the table, Angelina sighed, resting her chin in her palm. “Are you going to keep brooding all night?” she asked, dryly. “You haven’t said a word since we sat down.”

Fred blinked, startled from his daze. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About her?” she asked, arching a brow. She didn’t sound angry, just tired. Her tone was neutral but knowing.

Before he could answer, George appeared, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin on his lips.

“I’m stealing your date,” he announced cheerfully, offering a hand to Angelina. “You look positively bored to death, Angie. May I tempt you with a dance?”

Angelina rolled her eyes but stood anyway. “Please. Save me.”

As George swept her onto the floor, he leaned toward Fred on the way past, murmuring low:, “You already lost the bet, mate. Don’t lose the girl too.”

Fred sat there a moment longer, jaw clenched. The weight in his chest hadn’t lifted, but it had shifted, sharpened into resolve. He shoved back his chair.

Across the hall, she didn’t see him coming at first. Her eyes were on her goblet, untouched punch still glinting crimson inside. But as soon as his footsteps reached her side, she looked up.

Her gaze hit him like ice water. She didn’t wait. She stood without a word and turned away, walking briskly toward the edge of the ballroom.

“No, wait—” Fred caught her wrist gently, spinning her back to face him. Her expression was unreadable, but her lips had parted, just slightly.

“Just listen,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. Please, just…let me explain.”

She didn’t yank her hand back. Didn’t hex him. Just stared. So he took that as a miracle and forged ahead.

“It started as a dare,” he admitted, voice low, unsteady. “George dared me to get you to go to the ball with me. Said it’d be a challenge. I said it wouldn’t be. I didn’t even think, I just—” He exhaled sharply. “It was stupid. I was stupid.”

Her eyes didn’t soften. Her face was flat, still unreadable.

“But then I got to know you,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “And everything changed. You were brilliant. You are brilliant. And funny, and smart, and you make this face when you’re pretending not to be amused that’s just—” He stopped himself, hand scrubbing over the back of his neck.

“I forgot it was a bet. Honestly. I didn’t want to win it anymore, because it felt wrong. Because it was wrong. I didn’t ask you to the ball because I didn’t want to ask you for the wrong reasons. But I wanted to. I wanted to ask you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Because I like you. I really like you. And I guess I’m wondering if I ruined it all for good, or if you’d be willing to give me another chance?”

Silence. Her expression didn’t waver.

Fred shifted, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Could you, just tell me that much, at least?”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to say anything,” she said flatly.

Fred’s heart froze mid-best. Her voice. Godric’s ghost, her voice. Dry as parchment, low and unimpressed, but still like music to him.

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“What about Angelina?” she asked, arms folding across her chest, though the edge of her lip twitched just barely.

Fred glanced toward the dance floor. George had spun Angelina into a dramatic dip, and she was laughing, genuinely, without restraint.

“She’s having a lot more fun with George than she ever would with me,” he said honestly.

She arched a brow. “You’re an idiot.”

The light faltered as he turned away from her, about to cut his losses and retreat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said sharply.

Fred paused, blinking. Then pivoted slowly. She still wouldn’t look him in the eye, but her shoulders were tense, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides.

“You’re lucky I already knew about the bet,” she said, her voice sharp, like a knife being honed.

Fred’s breath caught. “What?”

She finally looked at him, mouth curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Did you really think I was daft enough to believe you made a beeline to dance with me for any other reason?” she asked. “I knew what was fake, and what was real, Weasley. Which is the only reason I haven’t hexed you where you stand.”

His mouth opened and closed. “So…you were mad because…”

“I was mad,” she interrupted, stepping closer, her stiletto heels clicking softly on the floor, “because I thought you were going to ask me anyway. And then you got up on that table and proved me wrong.” Her eyes flicked to his, pupils dark and gleaming. “For about five seconds.”

Fred blinked, confused. “But—”

“You’re a god-awful actor, Weasley. But I needed to let you stew on it for a good week or so.”

He laughed then, startled and bright, and it broke something in her too because her mouth finally, truly curved into a smile.

Fred stepped closer, heart thundering in his chest. “So,” he said quietly, “will you let me do this right this time?”

He bowed low, dramatically, and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles reverently, eyes never leaving hers. “Will you be my date?” he asked.

She looked him up and down, head tilted. “To the ball?” she clarified.

His grin widened. “To everything.”

For a heartbeat, she didn’t answer. Then her smile returned, sharp and gleaming and achingly beautiful.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight,” she said, and tugged him toward the dance floor. “But you’d better watch your feet, Weasley. I’m still bitter.”

Fred let her pull him into the music, heart soaring. “Noted. I’ll brace for impact.”

Despite her warning, she didn’t step on his toes once.

[live-laugh-lenney]

hi love! I’m obsessed with the way you write🤍 just wanted to make a little request if that’s okay! (Totally optional) I just had in mind how sweet and romantic it would be if George was having a terrible day (for any reason) and he’s down and gloomy about it, but the reader (a friend of his) takes care of him and makes sure he’s okay and long story short they fall in love and end up doing it on his couch while Arthur and Chris are away. I was honestly just craving something soppy, sweet and smuttyyyy 🤍🤍

summary; george has had a bad day and yn tries to cheer him up... with a house to themselves, anything was on the cards.

word count; 4.6k.

** warnings; smut (almost from the beginning), unprotected sex, female-receiving oral, sickening fluff and confessions towards the end, MINORS DNI **

so this was going to be something that was going to be short and quick but... well... it's ended up being quite long and i'm really pleased with how it turned out. it's been a few weeks in the making (ever since the prompt came in) and i hope i've done it some justice because i think the friends-to-lovers trope has to be one of my favourite stories to write... it turned out a little different to what was written as the prompt but i hope i managed to, at least, follow it to some degree. i have so much going on right now, in terms of writing, that i'm all over the place and have no schedule to which i'm following but i'm really in deep with my george feels right now and i'm desperate to get as much stuff out for him as possible to feed into the feelings. let me know what you think! enjoy! x

"what's the long face for?"

"huh?"

she pokes at his cheek with her finger in an attempt to entice a smile from him, one of his teeth-bearing grins that had his eyes crinkle up from amusement, but her hand is met with a gentle shove. pushing her arm away from his face, her fingertip lingering in the air, and yn can't help but roll her eyes at how he must been feeling sorry for himself over something silly that had happened.

"you're being a proper grump today, aren't you?"

"m'not," he folds his arms over his chest and focuses on the telly that was playing an old episode of doctor who, something he would only watch when he needed to forget about a tough day and wanted some comfort in a tv show he had already watched, "i'm not grumpy."

"tell that to your face then."

he rolls his eyes heavily.

truth be told, he was grumpy and he knew that she knew he was so there wasn't any point in trying to hide his feelings. yet he just didn't want to speak about what was causing his upset.

he'd heard through the grapevine that a brand trip was coming up for a large brand that he'd worked with during his early days of content creation, where they were getting the majority together to celebrate a milestone for this said brand, yet his invitation hadn't been seen in the post or through his emails nor through his management.

evident to him that he wasn't one of those included.

and it was silly of him to get upset because he could fly himself out to wherever they'd gone and have, himself, a holiday of a lifetime... he just felt a little left out. and he definitely wasn't going to let his best friend know of that.

"are you missing your boyfriend?"

"what?"

"sorry, i meant to say boyfriends. plural. boyfriends with an s."

"did you come over to annoy me or did you come over to actually keep me company tonight?" george asks and, for the first time in a long time, he looks over at her and she can see the glum look in his eyes, "because if it's the former, i'm not in the mood for that."

"oh," yn frowns heavily, retracting herself from being snuggled into his side and folding her arms over her chest, "okay."

there's a heavy silence that swallows the both of them.

an awkward and tense silence, that made the atmosphere thick and unbearable, with the conversation between the characters on the television being the only thing to fill it. she can feel his eyes burning holes in the side of her head but she refuses to look at him... his tone felt off with her and she didn't want to make it any worse.

"yn..."

her eyes stay focused on the television but she can feel his body move beside her, mirroring how she was previously sat beside him, his body weight shifting the pillow beneath her as he closed the gap between them.

and she tried her hardest to keep her eyes on david tennant as he ran on the screen with some make-believe monster chasing behind him, focusing her attention on anything but the man beside her

"yn, i'm sorry."

"i'm just trying to make you feel better, george. you don't need to bite my head off or push me away and hope i'll leave you alone to wallow in your self pity," she bites back at him and he turns his upper body to face her, arm resting on the back of sofa and he propped his head up with the palm of his hand, "i get you don't want to talk about what it is that has pissed you off. cool. fine with me. but i just wanted to let you know i was here."

george's face softens as he looks at her; whilst she watched the telly, he was watching her. the way the light of the television screen caught in her eyes, the way her cheeks had darkened in colour, the way her eyebrows were pinched together in annoyance at him. he straightens his arm out and his hand cups the back of her head, thumb stroking the strands of her hair in delicate motions, and he can see how she's fighting the urge to lean into his touch.

"don't be mad at me."

silence.

"yn, please. i said i was sorry, please don't be angry with me."

he caught the lingering side-eye that she gave him and a smirk toyed at his lips.

"i'll get on my knees and beg for you not to be mad at me, if i have to," he states and the hollow of her cheek became a dimple as she chewed on the flesh inside her mouth, "oh, i see how it is. you want me to beg, don't you?"

the cushions move beside her and she's jostled around as he stands himself up from the sofa and, suddenly, a wave of cool air replaces the heat from his body that he emitted. the television being hidden behind his body and he adjusted the t-shirt that had ridden up his body and had become untucked from his jeans. and she really can't look away from him when he's kneeling before her.

she tries to keep the annoyed look on her face... except... it was hard when he knelt down in front of her, hands flat on her thighs, with a look in his eyes that held a lot more than apologies.

"please, stop ignoring me. i can't deal with it," he whispers, his eyes are level with hers and his orbs are a darker shade than normal, and she can sense her own mirroring his demeanour, "i need you to look at me, i need you to talk to me, i need you to stop being so annoyed with me because i'm an idiot."

his fingers were dangerously close to a zone that would have her like putty in his hands, melting into the cushions around her, completely at his disposal.

"jesus christ," he grumbles lowly, like he needed a pep-talk with his mind to confess what he needed to say, "i need you, yn."

her throat goes dry, her stomach doing flips, and she tenses her legs so tight that he must have felt a change under his palms as they sat on her thighs. a gulp filling the silent room. she couldn't work out the meaning behind his words, the look in his eyes nor how the room had changed into something hotter and more suffocating.

"what?"

"don't tell me you don't feel the same," he murmurs quietly; and she would have scolded herself and called herself a fool if she shook her head in response to him, "i can see the look in your eyes when you look at me. the way you tense in the palms of my hands. i'm far too comfortable around you now, yn, so whatever is going on here then i'm down for it. whatever it is that happens. i'm game, if you are."

she painted a look of dumbfound on her face as she continues to look at the television screen, pretending not to have a clue on what he was insinuating, because she wanted to hear him say it. loud and clear. because that would be the final pull of the rope to unravel the knot that was forming in her gut.

"what do you think is happening?"

"you tell me," she whispers softly, her attention still purely on david tennant as he pressed the buttons on the console of the tardis on the screen, "you can't be mad at me and push me away then act like you want me, george. that's what dicks do. you're playing around and that is not okay."

"i'll show you what a dick can do," he taunts titillatingly and her eyes widen as his brash statement, "let me show you. you clearly need a refresh on how good a dick can be."

and, for the first time after their mini argument, she looks him dead in the eyes and her breath catches in her throat, his thumbs stroking at the fabric of her gym shorts - that she wore for comfort and lounging around - but a little too close to the heat between her thighs. the way his eyes were burning holes in her face from how intense his stare was upon her, the feeling of his hands on her thighs becoming much heavier and even harder to ignore, and she was crumbling before him with every second that passed.

with each second that passed, the silence between them became almost unbearable and she was getting hot as she sat before him on the sofa, not an inkling of movement coming from her as she felt his hands slowly, almost achingly, glide up her thighs and cup her hips.

"will you let me show you?"

she nods tentatively; what the hell was happening?

the night had started out as a cosy evening in george's flat, since both chris and arthur were away for separate events that seemed to fall at the same time, in front of the television with some takeaway on the coffee table and a bottle of wine being shared between the two of them, as she gave him company whilst he was feeling low. so she wasn't expecting the night to take a complete turn just a couple of hours in.

gulping back the thick lump in her throat as she felt his fingers make their way into the waistband of her shorts, pushing up on the soles of her feet so he had it easy to pull the material from her lower half, a tingle tickling up her spine at the cool air that hit her warm skin as well as the heat that had formed a dampened patch in the crotch of her knickers.

"shouldn't it be the other way around?"

he shakes his head and slots himself between her legs, wrapping his hands around her calves and pulling on them to have her lower on the sofa, his face becoming eye-level with the one crevice of her body that he was craving to dip his tongue into. allowing her legs to hang over his shoulder, her heels colliding with his back as they hung loose behind him, and the position brought a twitch to his already hard cock.

"but you're the one who's had a bad day," she insists, his fingers being ever so delicate as they freed her bundle of nerves from the material of her knickers, "it should be me making you feel the way you're making me feel right now."

"and how am i making you feel?"

"you know exactly what you're doing to me, clarkey," and her breath catches in her throat at the feeling of his warm breath hitting her moistened folds, "i want to make you feel like this."

"how do you know i don't feel the same?" he questions her, her scent being enough to bring flutters to his belly and making him almost burst in his tracksuit joggers but he was determined to wait until the right time to bring out his build-up release, "you drive me crazy."

"i want to make- fuck," there's a harsh shiver that runs up her spine before goosebumps rise on the surface of her skin, her fingers gripping into the sofa cushion beneath her once she felt his tongue lick a stripe between her folds, the hair on his upper lip dragging across her neat and groomed mound but the hair of his beard tickling at her inner thighs as he devours her core, "christ, clarkey."

her words on enticed him further.

the tip of his tongue flick at the bundle of nerves, his soft lips wrap follow in suit, suckling and flicking rhythmically as he held her hips in place. her hands finding their place in his hair, pushing back his fringe as she curled her fingers into the soft strands, gripping tight with each and ever jerk she wanted to give out from her hips. her head rolling back against the cushion behind her, eyes squeezed shut, her knees tensing and her toes curling in her socks as they hung over his shoulders.

he removes a hand from her hip, keeping one firm to her waist, and he brings it down between her legs, pulling away briefly to allow time for a breather but he wasn't about to stop for a moment. his thumb being magnetised to her nerves, rubbing slow figure-of-eights in a gentle yet consistent motion, fingers teasing at her entrance. and she was desperate to feel his fingers deep within her, brushing over the spots that would have her writhing and crying out for pleasure.

"what do you want me to do? tell me," he croaks, his lips damp from a mixture of her pre-release and her juices and he looked delectable and drunk on the taste of her, eyes heavy and hooded, "what do you want?"

"your hands," she begs, looking at him through hooded eyes and the eye contact was enough for her to melt into the sofa. and he wastes no time in sliding two digits into her, his eyes barely leaving hers as he watches her face contort into an absolute state of pure ecstasy, "fucking-"

he smirks at the sight before him and watches as her head rolls back, smug written across his features because he had her like jelly in the palm of his hands, the sounds eliciting from her driving him to continue with the same pace and the same motions because it was clearly making her satisfied.

"clarkey, i-" she whines out loud, the sounds coming from between her thighs sounded sloppy and wet and he could tell she was on the verge of releasing the built-up pleasure that was ready to burst from within, "-i'm gon'a-"

"go on," he coaxes her, quickening the pace of his wrist in hopes it got her to her climax quicker because he was desperate for a release of his own, his hardening length throbbing more intensely behind his joggers, "come on, darling. i know you want to come for me."

and that was all it took, along with the quickened pace of his wrist and the way his fingers curled up and hit the spot within her that made her writhe around, for her to release around his digits. her walls clenching, unclenching, tightening around him with a string of pure profanities rolling off her tongue as her hands grip tighter at his hair.

"george-"

he shushes her softly.

his name sounded broken as it left her lips and in that moment, as she lay in her post-climax state before him, he just wanted to drink her all in. her hair was slightly messed and knotty from the way her head had rolled back constantly through her pleasure, her knuckles were white from the grip she had upon the strands of his hair, and her eyes were glossy and the stare she held upon him was dark and there was a hint of neediness deep within. his fingers were sweet enough to cover her up, delicate as they touched her skin, and he could feel the shaking of her limbs as she worked through the last bit of her orgasm.

"you're so pretty," he whispers, removing his hand from her hip and he brought it up to her cheek, caressing the skin softly as he swipes his thumb beneath her eye to collect the moisture that had dribbled from her eye, "so pretty when you come."

she smiles lopsidedly and he moves away from her, her legs flopping to the floor and her feet land with a thud on the carpet, watching him as he manoeuvred from the floor to the sofa beside her, an evident reaction that wasn't well hidden by the bagginess of the joggers on his lower half.

"your turn?" she asks him with a grin that sat cheekily on her mouth, sitting herself up and twisting her body to look at him, "let me repay the favour."

"i don't think i can wait any longer," he says lowly, almost like a growl that came from low within his chest and he watches her intently as she pulls her hair back and ties it into a messy bun to keep it from getting in the way, freeing up and exposing her neck and the stretch of skin between her collarbones and her ears, somewhere he wanted to hide his face and leave marks behind to let people know she was a taken women... even though, truthfully, she wasn't. her fingers went quick to his joggers and he offers her a helping hand, pulling them free from his waist and kicking them off, leaving only his boxers to keep little to the imagination, "a blowie can wait, darling. i don't think i can stand not being deep inside you for another second."

"but-"

"next time," he promises her and she wants to frown, she wants to pout, and she wants to get upset over how she couldn't repay the favour to him... but when he frees his cock from the tight constraints of his boxer shorts, watching as it twitches at the chill in the air and bobs free, all the upset feelings seemed to disappear. a hungry and needy feeling forming in her gut as she watches him jerk his length a few times before he offered his lap to her, "c'mon. i'm getting cold over here."

she swings a leg over and hovers above his hardening cock, hands resting on his shoulders, his fingers slide the crotch of her knickers across and she slowly lowers herself down.

"clarkey, what are we doing?"

"we're just having some fun," he tells her and she gulps back the lump in her throat that had formed at the anticipation and how it had dawned upon her just what was happening in that moment, "right? you, uh- you do want this?"

she nods erratically, "more than you know. i just- i don't know."

because thinking about george and how he would treat a woman in bed was all she could think about sometimes. laid in bed with her mind running wild as she teased herself. thinking about just how much she wanted to be that lucky lady who got to share the bed with him, the one who was lucky enough to see him in his post-sex haze, the one who was lucky enough to feel the pleasure and satisfaction that he had to offer.

but there was some guilt that sat deep at the back of her mind; they were best friends. she shouldn't have feelings for him. and she hated how those feelings brought out all kinds of emotions when it came to him. jealousy whenever she saw another woman talking to him or touching him in a way she wanted to, upset when he came home with news of a date he had set up with someone off of a dating app but happiness when they didn't pan out so well and he chose to give up for a while, lust when he was looking a little too good for a night out, and desire to be the hopeful one he went home with.

he had a hold on her and she hated not knowing if he felt the same.

she lowers her hips down, his hand guiding the tip of his cock across the entrance between her folds, yet another shiver travelling up her spine. she'd wanted this for so long, so had he, yet neither of them were about to admit to that. and she could feel the burning stretch as she welcomed him in, her release from moments ago adding enough slip for him to glide in without any need of a thrust of his hips. his hands cupping her backside, a palm on each bum cheek, and that was all it took for her to sink down and feel her thighs flush against his own.

"it's all on you. you control the pace," he shudders as he speaks and she nods softly, forearms resting on his shoulders as her hands come to play with the curls of his mullet at the back of his head, "whenever you're ready."

it didn't take her long before she was pushing up on her knees and grinding her hips in circular movements on his cock, his legs tensing and his fingers digging into the flesh of her bum, leaving behind tiny crescent-shaped indents from where his fingernails were gripped to her skin. his head rolling back, eyes closed, revealing the adam's apple that was bobbing in his throat from each thick gulp he took as he tried to contain the moans and groans that were threatening to spill from his mouth.

not that he had any reason to be quiet.

they had the flat to themselves with arthur and chris being away yet the thought of someone being able to walk through the front door and see the sight before them of yn sat so beautifully upon his lap, well... it was enough to keep driving him on. the thrill of being caught was enticing enough.

his moans were guttural with every movement she made and she needed him to be more vocal, wanted to hear how happy he felt, she needed something to spur her on. the way he filled her up, stretched her in the most pleasurable way possible, had her emotions at an all-time high and she didn't want it to end. his hands were on her hips, barely moving as she did most of the work, only acting as support for when her legs got a little too tired.

"you feel so good," he groans through gritted teeth, his eyes soon opening and falling to the soft mounds beneath her t-shirt, trained on the way they bounced with each up and down motion she made on his cock, wanting nothing more than to bury his face between them and call himself 'at home', "god, you're so good."

she grins in response, feeling herself clench tightly around him, eliciting a hiss from his mouth at how he wasn't expecting to feel it. the sounds of their breathing being drowned out by the sloppy sound coming from between them as well as the sound of the bare skin of their thighs slapping together with each ride.

and they weren't sure if it was because the moment was so good and highly anticipated but neither one of them wanted to hold on for much longer. his fingers digging into her bum, yet again, as he tried to hold back on his release... but it was becoming increasingly hard when she teased him by clenching around him.

"if you wan'a-" she gulps back the dryness of her throat and he nods, barely able to make a sound as she drags her hand down his clothed chest and made fists in the material, "i need to-"

"if you go, i go," he entices her, "let go if you need to."

and that was all it took for her to break apart on top of him, her hips and her once-rhythmic motions becoming a little off and he could feel her walls tightening as she rode through her orgasm, her head thrown back and her hair falling loose from the messy bun she'd thrown it into just prior to their sensual activity, hands tightening on her bum to keep her from falling backwards and into the empty takeaway containers on the table. her fists still holding tight to his tee.

and he was soon following suit.

white hot euphoria rippling through his insides as he spurts strong jets of white release into her, tensing his thighs and thrusting his hips upwards to paint the entirety of her insides with his orgasm. reaching spots that had her whining out from being overstimulated, her legs shaking and her eyes watering, his own becoming glossy.

"bloody hell," he croaks, a tired laugh escaping through the heavy panting leaving his chest, "that was-"

"clarkey, i have no idea how you aren't fucking on the regular," yn says as the words come out staggered and drawn out from the heavy pants coming from her chest, "what's holding you back?"

"not a what, it's a who."

"pardon?"

"who's holding me back, that should be the question," he looks at her and hopes she understands just what he was hinting at; post-sex had him softening, almost like it was an outer-body experience because he had no control over the words falling from his mouth, "i think i'm falling in love with someone. it's a who holding me back, not a what."

"oh."

the guilt settled in her stomach and it felt for her to be sat on his lap, his release dribbling from within her as his cock was sandwiched in between their bodies, her arms loosening around his neck and she wanted to lift her head from his chest. but his arms stayed tight around her middle, holding her close, feeling how she'd tensed up at the mere thought of there being someone else.

of course there was someone else.

george was an insanely attractive man with a good sense of humour and a way with words that would drive any woman crazy. if so much of a glance went in their direction, they would turn into a puddle on the floor with how his gaze held so much intensity behind it.

"it's you, you muppet," he confesses into her shoulder, dragging his fingers up and down her spine in a soothing manner, "it's always been you, yn. there's not been a single day that goes by where i haven't thought about being with you in the way we've been together tonight. i don't know what i was thinking when i told myself to wait before i did anything stupidly quick in making you mine."

she pulls away from him, enough to be able to look him in the eyes, his breath now back to it's usual rhythm yet somehow, her's seemed to get quicker. the hold he had upon her was one that was tight, like she would do anything he asked her to. his eyes were hooded, he was sleepy-looking, and she really revelled in the way post-sex looked on him.

"i'm so glad," she breathes out a shaky laugh and her fingers twist softly into his hair, "i don't think i'd be able to look at your after tonight and know there was someone else you were thinking about."

"does this mean-"

"yes," she interrupts him, almost immediately, "it's always been you, clarkey. i've been waiting for you to make a move so i didn't ruin what we had between us. i value you too much to ever lose you to anyone else over something so... juvenile."

"oh, you wanted me to ruin our friendship?" he asks with a smirk on his lips and she frowns at him, eyebrows pinching together, "i'm just glad you feel the same way or else this," he motions between the two of them and it was only then that she realised how close both of them really were... his cock no longer erect but was still glistening from both of their releases and she was still radiating heat that he could feel across his thighs, "this would have been very awkward."

she pushes his chest with a heavy palm and rolls her eyes, only to have him wrap his hand around her wrist, pulling her back to his body and she nestles her head back into the crook of his neck.

"whatever this means, whatever happens next between us, we'll take it slow. we can just enjoy each other without the heaviness of being a couple just to see where we want this to go," he suggests and she nods in agreement, "but this night? it's not going forgotten."

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Dummfucks of the Grid

word count: 760

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: After a disappointing P6 finish at the São Paulo Grand Prix, Lando Norris finds comfort in his girlfriend Y/n's fierce support as she playfully criticizes the other drivers and team principals

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As the door to Lando’s driver’s room closed, the noise of the paddock celebrations faded into the background. Lando sat on the couch, his head in his hands, feeling the weight of finishing P6 after a race that had promised so much more. The disappointment was palpable, especially with Max winning again.

Y/n moved swiftly to sit beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “Hey, Lando, P6 isn’t the end of the world. You gave it your all out there.”

He sighed, his frustration evident. “Yeah, but I wanted to do better. With Max winning again, it feels like I keep falling short.”

“Falling short?” she echoed, shaking her head. “You didn’t just fall short; you navigated a field of absolute clowns out there! Let’s talk about it. You know I’m here for you.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

“Okay, first off, Max. He drives like he’s playing Mario Kart and thinks he can just take everyone out with a blue shell! I mean, does he not understand that sharing the track is part of the job? It’s like he thinks he’s invincible! It’s ridiculous!”

He chuckled, a small smile breaking through. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“And then there’s George Russell, who finished P4 today. Honestly, he acts like he’s the golden child of the grid. ‘Look at me, I’m so talented, watch me throw my weight around!’ It’s like he forgets he has to race, not just pose for the cameras. Every time he gets near you, it’s like he’s trying to play bumper cars!”

“True,” Lando said, laughing harder now. “I can feel the ego swelling every time I see him.”

“And don’t even get me started on Leclerc! He’s out there racing like he’s auditioning for the role of ‘Most Likely to Crash Into a Wall.’ It’s like he has a special talent for making the race more dramatic than it needs to be. How does he always manage to be on the brink of disaster and still finish? Is it a gift or a curse?”

Lando nodded, now thoroughly entertained. “He does have that knack for drama, doesn’t he?”

“Absolutely! And then we have Carlos Sainz. I mean, bless him, but he’s trying so hard to keep up with Leclerc that it’s like watching a puppy chase its tail. Poor guy looks so lost sometimes, you just want to give him a treat and a pat on the head! But he gets a pass because he’s your friend.”

“Right? Carlos is actually a good guy,” Lando said, shaking his head, amused.

“And then there’s the team principals!” Y/n continued, her passion bubbling over. “Christian Horner thinks he runs a royal court every time Max crosses the finish line. ‘Look at my king!’ as if it’s not a team effort. And Toto—he’s not innocent either. He struts around like he’s the head of a fashion show! Honestly, if I had a dime for every time I’ve seen him making dramatic hand gestures in the pits, I could fund a whole new racing team!”

“Okay, that one’s a good point!” Lando laughed, feeling the tension ease with every word.

“Seriously, I would fight every one of them for you if it came down to it. Size doesn’t matter when you’re this passionate!” she declared boldly. “I’d take on Max, George, and anyone else who thinks they can just push you around out there!”

“Y/n, you do realize you’re only 5’6, right?” Lando replied, grinning. “How are you going to take on all of them?”

“I may be small, but I’ve got a big heart and a bigger mouth!” she shot back, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “Just imagine me storming the paddock like, ‘Back off, or I’ll unleash my fury on you!’”

“Please don’t start any fights in the paddock,” he said, his tone light but earnest. “I love your spirit, but I’d rather not deal with the fallout. I need you here, not banned.”

“Why not? It would be entertaining!” she countered, smirking. “I’d tell them all off! ‘Listen up, dummfucks of the grid, stop getting in my boyfriend’s way!’”

Lando laughed, the sound genuine now. “You really are something else. Knowing you’ve got my back means everything.”

“Absolutely! If they try to block you from winning, I won’t hesitate to step in,” she said, snuggling closer.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything too crazy,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face. “I love your fierceness and protective side, but let’s keep you in the paddock, okay?”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Readers reaction to George losing his ear?

A/n: MY BABY

The shriek of splitting air and the crack of curses tore through the night like thunderclaps. Your heart raced as you gripped your broom tightly, the wind whipping against your face. The sky was a chaotic blur of green and red as the Order fought valiantly to protect Harry. Death Eaters swarmed like shadows, their laughter carrying through the night as spells illuminated the air.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, it was hard to see anything in the chaos, in the darkness. You had been flying alongside Hagrid and Harry moments before they were ambushed, but now the formations were scattered.

Your broom twisted sharply as you dodged a jet of green light, your chest tightening at the near miss. You tried to focus on the task at hand, but your mind was elsewhere. George. You needed to find him.

The eerie glow of a Killing Curse illuminated the figure of a Death Eater hurtling toward her. You clenched your wand. “Stupefy!” You shouted, the spell striking true and sending the figure spiraling downward.

“Y/n!”

You whipped your head around at the sound of your name, spotting Fred a few meters away. Relief flooded your chest—until you noticed the grim look on his face.

“Fred! Where’s George?!” she yelled, steering her broom closer.

Fred’s lips moved, but his words were lost in the howling wind. Before you could ask again, you saw it: a limp figure slumped over the handle of their broom, blood streaking their face.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Fred pointed downward, signaling a retreat, and you followed through the barrier. The ground was an unsteady blur as they hurtled toward the Burrow.

When they landed, You stumbled off your broom, her legs shaky. George was being supported by Arthur, his arm draped over his father's shoulder, but something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

“George?” Your voice cracked as you rushed toward them.

Fred gently eased George onto a makeshift cot in the sitting room. Mrs. Weasley was already there, her hands trembling as she tried to clean the blood pouring from the side of George’s head.

“He—he’s lost his ear,” Fred choked out, his usual bravado replaced with raw fear.

The words didn’t register at first. Your gaze was fixed on George, his pale face slick with blood, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a grimace of pain. Your knees buckled, and you fell to the floor beside him.

“George, no—no, no, no,” you murmured, your hands hovering over him as though afraid to touch him.

George’s good eye flickered open, and a weak smile tugged at his lips. “Blimey, Y/n, you’re acting like I’ve lost my head, not my ear.”

“Don’t joke!” You snapped, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You—you nearly—”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands, unable to say the word.

George winced as Mrs. Weasley pressed a cloth to his wound. “Oi, don’t cry, love,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ll be alright. Just a bit… lopsided.”

Fred let out a shaky laugh, though his eyes were rimmed with unshed tears. “Yeah, Georgie, you’ve got to admit it’s a good look. Makes you stand out from the rest of us boring folk.”

“Not now, Fred!” You snapped, your voice trembling as you turned back to George, your hands gripping his uninjured arm. “Why didn’t you dodge it? Why didn’t you—” You didn't mean to snap at Fred, you were just so scared, so scared to lose someone you love so much.

Fred didn't mind of course, he knew how stressed everyone was, how high tensions were.

“I didn’t exactly have time to stop and think, Y/n,” George said, his tone still light, though his breathing was labored. “Death Eaters don’t wait for you to draw up a battle plan.”

Your lips quivered, and you shook your head. “You’re so reckless. You always have been. What if—what if it had been worse? What if—”

Your words were cut off by a gentle squeeze of your hand. George’s bloodied fingers entwined with yours, grounding you in the moment.

“But it wasn’t,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. Despite the pain etched across his face, there was a flicker of warmth in his gaze. “I’m here, Y/n. I’m still here.”

The room fell silent except for Mrs. Weasley’s quiet sniffles and the crackle of the fire. Your fingers tightened around George’s as you struggled to steady your breathing.

“You scared me,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking.

George smiled faintly. “Didn’t mean to. Promise I’ll try not to lose any more body parts.”

Fred snorted. “Yeah, let’s keep it at one ear, alright? You’re no Van Gogh.”

Despite herself, you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. You leant forward, pressing your forehead to George’s. “You’re an idiot,” you muttered.

“Takes one to love one,” he teased, his grin widening.

You huffed, but her your quirked upward. “You’re lucky I love you, George Weasley. Otherwise, I’d knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“Love you too,” George murmured, his voice softening as exhaustion overtook him.

As George drifted into a restless sleep, you stayed by his side, your hand never leaving his. Fred sat nearby, watching over his twin with a quiet intensity, while Mrs. Weasley bustled around, trying to keep herself busy.

For the rest of the night, you didn’t move. You kept your gaze fixed on George, your heart aching with relief and fear.He had survived, but the reality of war had never felt so close.

And you wasn’t sure how many more times your heart could take it but right now, as your hand held his as you vowed to keep himself,nothing will take George from you.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Incorrect Quotes

Fred : *Enters bedroom after taking a shower*

(Y/n) : Unbelievable I just can not believe you Fred Weasley!

Fred : What I haven't done anything?

George : Yet.

(Y/n) : Look at you, strutting around with that slutty little waist!

Fred : You think my waist is slutty?

(Y/n) : Oh I know it is. Go put a shirt on you slut.

Fred : *Struts across the room with a grin stretched across his face.*😏

(Y/n) : Slutty little minx.

(Y/n) : *slaps Fred's butt as he walks by.*😈