#george weasley persuasion

[elenatries2write]

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑮𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆 𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒙 𝑺𝒍𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1)

George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Fluff/angst

request: yes/no

summary: After not having seen your ex-boyfriend in eight years, you reunite. It’s clear your feelings for him haven’t change, but have his?

tw: none really; uh, fluff/angst? Talk about past relationships

note: Reader uses she/her pronouns; based on Persuasion by Jane Austen; (Y/N/N) = nickname

The heart is a fragile aspect of one's life. You say or do the wrong thing and it can break — shattered to nothing but dust, waiting for either the person who broke it in the first place to heal it or for someone new to come and pick up the pieces. I have yet to reach either of these outcomes. 

Being born a pureblood Slytherin, I was never in control of my own life. My clothing, my interests, my future — the only element of my life I ever felt like I had free rein was with the man I chose to love: George Weasley. 

To me, George was my everything. He was my best friend, my shoulder to cry on, the first person to support me in any of my passions. I loved him, and I knew he loved me. The happiest moment of my life was probably the day he asked me to the Yule Ball — if not the day he first kissed me. He was the only person who ever truly saw and understood me for who I was and not for who I was forced to be.

“And then he said he ‘found someone else’. Can you believe that?” the women sitting across from me exasperated.

Mae Lark. For the first eleven years of my life, she was my governess. After I left for Hogwarts, my father let her go, but she remained consistent in my life. Rather than my governess, she became my close friend. She became a second mother to me; and in some ways, she became more of a mother to me than my own mother. She was the person I turned to whenever I needed advice or comfort. The only advice she gave me that I regretted ever listening to was involving the love of my life. 

I knew George’s family was considered traitorous to the other purebloods, and I also knew his family did not come from grand riches like my family. But that never mattered to me. I loved him for who he was, and I knew he was brilliant enough to accomplish exceptional things if he put his mind to it. Perhaps if Mae had not persuaded me to make such a decision, he would still be mine. 

“(Y/N). (Y/N)!” Her calls brought me back from my thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, embarrassment residing on my face. I must have zoned out again. “What were you saying?”

“I was just letting you know I met a bright young man the other day. He owns an estate not too far from here,” she informs, suggestively. However, encouraging me to broaden my interests only brings up the past, and it was unmistakably evident on my face. “Oh, please, dear. Don’t tell me you still think of him like that. It’s been seven years.”

“Eight, actually.”

After graduation, George and his twin brother, Fred, opened their joke shop in Diagon Alley. As far as I know, not much has changed there. Sure, the war caused some setbacks, but their store still stands bright and active. I have yet to actually walk inside, though I have thought about doing so many times.

“Why do you still hold on? Since you left him, he has made no advance to claim you back.”

“Because,” I begin. “I broke his heart.”

“You will find someone who’s meant for you and loves you enough to fight for you. Your friend called earlier,” Mae promptly diverges from the difficult subject — a wise decision, if you ask me. “That Parkinson girl, what was her name?” “Pansy?”

“Ah, yes, Pansy Parkinson. She was asking for you, saying to let you know she’ll be in Diagon Alley if you wanted to join her. I think you should go. It might do you good.”

Shopping with Pansy felt routine at this point. I’d follow her into a jewelry store, and she’d tag along when I drift into a bookstore; I’d listen, and she’d talk about anything and everything. 

Currently, I was browsing the shelf of muggle fairytales while Pansy continues to gossip about some rumor about Draco and Astoria’s marriage. As I turn the corner, I suddenly bump into someone. It took me by surprise, causing me to stumble back and lose my balance. The stranger lightly grasps my forearm, but it was enough to help me not fall to the ground.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! I… (Y/N)?” His voice was uncomfortably familiar. 

I look up to see the same red locks I was so used to. He hasn’t changed a bit — he was just as tall as the last time I saw him; though his hazel eyes now held subtle confusion, I can tell they still radiate that boyish humor he was so well-known for. Merlin, he’s still insanely attractive. The only prominent difference I could see was the laugh marks that circled his eyes. 

“George,” I greeted curtly. I avoided eye contact as best as I could.

“…Long time no see. Uh- y-you look well.”

“You, too. You look the same. Well, not the same- I- I mean, you still look handsome.”

“You- uh… you, too. Well- pretty. You look pretty.”

The air grows thick; an uncomfortable silence overcomes us. It was nearly unbearable. I avoid his meek stare as best as I can, opting to focus on the meaningless patterns of the wooden floor.

Thankfully, the awkward stillness was interrupted.

“(Y/N), are you listening?” Pansy reappears from behind the shelf and stands by my side.

“What was that?” I inquire, not having listened to her gossip in the last ten minutes.

“Oh, George!” she squeals gleefully. Despite her and most of the Slytherins’ past squabble with most Gryffindors and non-pureblood supremacists, there was an unspoken reconcile after the war. “It’s been forever! What have you been up to?”

“Oh, well, I-”

“I was just telling (Y/N) about the guy who works at the new shop down the alley. Uh… Ayers…?” She abruptly interrupts, struggling to remember the details. “Benjamin Ayer! He seems really nice and charming. He’s pretty handsome, too. It’s not every day you meet a pureblood as sweet as him. Anyway, what are you doing here?” Oh, Pansy — just as excitable as she always has been. 

“Uh, I was just-“ He reaches for a random book to his right. “Just getting this book, and then I saw (Y/N). It was nice seeing you both… really, it was,” he finishes, eyes lingering on my stiff figure just a little longer before continuing. “Fred, Lee, and Angelina are back at the shop. I’m sure they’d love to see you again.”

“Oh, well I’m spending the day with Pansy, and-“

“Don’t worry, (Y/N/N)! I don’t mind! It’d be great for you to catch up with them. Besides, I was planning on meeting Daphne later today anyways,” my ebony-haired friend cuts me off. 

“I guess I can come then,” I say, my tight-lipped smile hopefully masking the feeling of dread I now have. And with that, he leads me out of the store — not without purchasing the book he grabbed, of course. 

As I watched him ambling by my side, I can’t help but replay the painfully embarrassing reunion in my head. He and I used to be so in sync; others would hardly ever see us apart back at Hogwarts. Now, we are complete and utter strangers — worse than strangers, actually. We are exes.

As I enter the tall joke shop — the shop having an encapsulating aura of joy and warmth, I must add — I am immediately met with the welcoming sight of Fed Weasley smiling from ear to ear the moment he caught a glimpse of me. 

“(Y/N) (Y/L)!” he hollers from behind the cashier before running to tackle me in a colossal hug.

“What’s all the ruckus?” a familiar voice calls from the back. 

Once the two characters — Angelina and Lee — come to the front and see me, they both exclaim, “(Y/N)!” and run to join the bear hug. 

“…hi,” I manage to make out, the tight group hug seemingly halting my breathing.

“Merlin, let the poor girl breathe,” George chuckles from behind us.

“Right, sorry,” Fred apologizes as the three of them release their hold.

“It’s alright.”

“Merlin’s beard, we haven’t seen you in ases,” Lee exaggerates. 

“How’s it been?” Angelina politely inquired, contrasting Lee and Fred’s boisterous manners.

“It’s been… fine.” Salazar, as if my uncomfortable greeting with George wasn’t enough discomfort for one day.

We spent the majority of the afternoon catching up and reminiscing about our times together at Hogwarts. After a little while, the boys got back to work — seeing as there was still a shop to run with a sea of customers — and left me and Angelina to hang out in the back. Much to my dismay, the topic of conversation took a turn when she started talking about him — the man who’s heart I’m sure I had completely ruptured eight years ago.

“So, I suppose it’s been nice to see George again?”

I hesitate to answer. In all honesty, it has been. To see those eyes again, that smile after all these years — it’s refreshing, really. But there is also this rising guilt every time I look at him. 

“I suppose so,” I utter. 

“I mean,” she continues, “the way he looks at you — even now — it’s like nothing’s changed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he still has feelings for you.”

I nearly chuckle at that. “Please, Angie, that’s ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, (Y/N)! I saw how he was with you today. That isn’t the look of someone who is just catching up with an old friend. What if I set you two up on a date?”

“What? Angeli-“

She cuts me off and continues spewing out hypothetical plans for a date that will never happen. There is absolutely no way he would ever agree to this. Truthfully, it is wishful thinking on her part. Knowing Angie, I know her heart is the right place, making sure that two of her friends are happy; but a date with George? That’s chasing a fantasy. 

“He’s single and I’m assuming you are, too. Sure it’s been years, but as they say, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’ I mean, just think of it-“

This time she is interrupted by the boys returning from the front of the shop. 

“So we were just thinking…” George begins.

“That’s never a good sign with you three,” I tease, almost as if we were sixteen again. It felt so… familiar — for lack of better words — to joke like this. 

“Hey, hear us out,” Fred defends, both arms raised in surrender. 

Lee cuts in, noticeably far too excited to wait any longer. “We were all going to spend a week on holiday at the lake by Angelina’s house and thought that — if you are free, of course — wanted to join us.”

This appears to light a spark in Angelina’s eyes as she widens her already-consistent smile. “That’s a great idea! (Y/N), what do you think?”

“…Oh. This is very sudden.” I understand how close we were before and how seemingly effortless it was for all of us to reconcile after so long, but it’s been years. How did we go from catching up about our jobs and family life to going away on holiday together in just two hours?

“I mean,” George began, his voice unusually quiet for him. “If you can’t, that’s totally fine.”

“Oh, please, (Y/N)!” my enthusiastic friend persists. “You must come! Surely, you can make it!”

“I-i think I might be free,” I give in, hesitantly. As much as I dread the thought of spending so much time with the very man who’s heart I broke — who has clearly yet to forgive me, seeing how distant he has been since our reunion — something about revisiting the past — at least, the better memories of the past — just pulled me in. 

After getting settled into the lake house, the five of us head to the lake to relax. I avoid George as much as I could. There was still a lingering awkward atmosphere between the two of us that neither of us are willing to indulge in. 

I watch from the sidelines as Angelina and George laugh together near the lake’s bank. Despite her previous efforts in attempting to bring back the past and insinuating that we get back together, I would have to be naïve to not notice the way she looks at him — and maybe even the way he looks back at her. I know he is not mine to cherish as I used to, but the reality of it all still stings. 

Back in our shared room — the night sky glistening outside the window and nothing more than a flickering candle providing any bit of light in the room — Angelina and I continue to catch up about our years spent apart in hushed tones. It is evident in her voice that she feels differently than she’s claimed whenever we bring up George or a similar topic. 

I say this with all the love in my heart that I hold for both my childhood best friend and for the love of my life: I hope they have a happy life together, no matter how much it hurts me. 

It was now well into the night. Angelina has been dormant for, at least, an hour now; yet my body lies on my bed, my eyes fixated at the ceiling, while my mind runs a marathon. I know I am not going to get any sleep any time soon, so I quietly make my way out of the room — cautiously, to not wake anyone — and head for the lake. I take a seat just at the shore of the lake, pulling my knees to my chest because of the cold. 

“I didn’t realize you were you out here.”

The low voice startles me. I turn to see George standing right behind me. How long has he been there?

“Sorry,” he begins. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

I turn my gaze back to the lake before answering, “Me neither.”

“…May I?” he timidly gestures to the spot next to me.

“Oh, yes.” 

He takes a seat at my consent before speaking again. “Look, love.”

It’s been a while since I’ve heard that coming from him. I detest how it still makes my stomach churn any time it’s him calling me “love”. 

He continues, “I know things haven’t exactly been… normal between us.”

“What gave you that idea?” The sarcasm ran thick like tar.

“(Y/N), come on. It doesn’t have to be like this. That was all in the past.”

“What are you saying, George?” Frustration lightly laces my voice. “We should just forget about it like it never happened?”

“That’s not- (Y/N)… what I’m saying is that we should make amends. Maybe this is the closure we both need.”

My eyes meet his; the same glistening brown eyes that seem to be holding the planets staring back at mine. 

“I’d like that,” I bashfully respond, my mouth reacting against my will. 

“Great!” he beams, enthusiastically. “This is really great. I’m so glad to still have you in my life after how long it’s been. Even though we’re not… you know… together, you still mean the world to me.”

He pulls me into a tight hug — not the type of hug that would make you melt but the type that two close friends would share.

Before now, I could not possibly fathom that we could be anything worse than exes; however, being proven wrong by the universe appears to be a common occurrence in my life. Now we are no longer exes; we are friends.

[lushaletta]

I have a question??? Could you do Fred Weasley x older sister Potter reader who's he's friends with and like headcanons of their relationship please and thank you

in good hands / fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

content: mild swearing, older sister potter!reader

summary: being harry potter’s older sister is difficult. you hate watching your little brother get hurt both physically and emotionally, but fred happens to be a great protector.

a/n: MY FRED WEASLEY DEBUT!! george is my fav but fred is so arghghghgh hot. anywayyyy tysm for this request and i’m sorry i didn’t follow it to a t!! i was originally gonna do headcanons as requested but i kinda got in the zone… i do kinda like this pairing though so i may end up doing hcs eventually anyway! also my bad for this taking FOREVER i’ve been madly busy… love u folks

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰�� *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Harry comes running into your room, soaked with both rain water and agitation. His broom is immediately tossed to the side and you can’t help but be concerned— you have a feeling you know what this is going to be about, and it’s not the first time.

“Harry?”

“So sick of it! I only try to help, you know? To make things better and no one ever gives a fuck! No gratitude or even kindness, after everything I’ve done.” Your face softens as he inches towards you, even being careful not to get your bed wet with his clothing.

“They’re still mad at you for losing the game? Are you serious?” You’re completely furious. Harry’s had the world on his shoulders since forever and his entire life is a tragedy. He can’t even play a school sport without being reamed for something that’s hardly his fault.

Peeling his jersey off, he crawls into your side and waits for your affection; the only thing he can count on when the world isn’t on his side.

“I tried to fix things, you know? Told Fletcher I was sorry but they’re still pissed, calling me a freak and saying all this crap about Voldemort.” You shush him and cradle his face in your arms. Your heart is breaking because how could anyone treat your baby brother like this, how could anyone see him as something less than precious?

His eyes shimmer but not with the sparkle of joy. They’re teary. “Fuck ‘em all. They’ll come around, Harry. They do eventually.”

It’s not fair what they do to him. He’ll mess something up and half the time it’s out of his control, and suddenly he’s public enemy number one. You’re usually there to help, and so are his friends like Hermione and Ron, but it can’t always be like this.

He’s okay after a while. You amp up the jokes and ruffle his hair and he’s okay. He has dinner with his group and you with yours. It’s a nice evening and all you can do is hope he’s forgetting everything wrong with the world. It seems like he is, because he’s tossing peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth while Ron is laughing hysterically and Hermione is resting her hand on a judgemental expression.

“Oi, Weasley!” you say, and Fred whips his head towards you. “I’ve got something to ask. A favour.”

He perks up. You were asking him for a favour. He’s been waiting for his in since forever, but he wouldn’t let you know that. “Yeah?” he replies, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

A quick breath escapes your lips as you lean on him, lashes fluttering and a little grin settled on your face. He can look at you trying to be all persuasive without blushing. He’s stronger than this.

“How about.. you and George look after Harry? I’ve been worried about him, with the whole dementor thing. And after what happened last game, I can’t just sit from the stands and watch him get injured again knowing I didn’t do anything about it. Everyone’s pissed at him.”

Fred softens. His mind races, trying to come up with the cons of the request. He comes up empty. This was an excuse to talk to you more and, well, he already quite liked Harry, so that was no issue. And with your convincing doe eyes, how could he refuse?

He’s taking too long to respond and he knows it, but he can’t stop staring at your pretty face. You clear your throat, prodding for an answer. “Huh? Oh, yeah. The lad’s gonna be in good hands, m’lady,” he winks.

The roll of your eyes makes him smile. “Better make sure of it, Weasley.”

And to shut you up, he shoves a grape between your lips and you smack him across the arm.

From then on, Fred and George made sure no one got in Harry’s way. Someone messed with him, they messed with them. The twins were 190 and a half centimetres of beater strength and poking the bear was on no one’s to-do list, so Harry was pretty much set. Well, not entirely.

All Harry really wants to do is sit down and catch up on the pile of homework he’s missed for Chosen One duties, but some people take that as being haughty.

“Potter. You and your godforesaken hero complex. You think you’re untouchable? What’ll happen if I sock you in the face, huh? You think magic will—“

“Fuck around and find out.”

Finnick Lewis turns around. He immediately backtracks. “Hey, listen, man, I don’t want any trouble.” Fred didn’t miss the nasty glare that Lewis sent Harry on his way out. He’d take care of that one later.

The boy doesn’t really know what’s just happened or why, but he’ll take whatever he can get and he’ll be grateful for it. He mumbles out a thank you before scrambling to his room.

You’d seen Fred’s effort in protecting your brother. He’d done a damn good job at it too, because Harry hadn’t complained much about students in weeks. You’re glad you at least took that load off his shoulders.

“Tell you what, Weasley,” you say nonchalantly, unwrapping a chocolate.

He hums. It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon and he’s trying to finish up an essay. Lupin likes him just fine, but he’s definitely a tough grader.

“If you can make sure Harry’s perfectly uninjured after the next game, I’ll give you a kiss.”

Who cares about Lupin? Fred looks up at you instantly, suddenly feeling the velvet of the chair on his skin. “I’ll totally bite. How many seconds?”

You snort. “The kiss?” He nods. “3 seconds. 5 if I’m feeling generous.”

The essay is forgotten just like that.

The man moved the moon and sun to ensure Harry’s safety on his watch. Lewis and Fletcher had their tails between their legs after a few careful threats and actions to back them up, and Harry felt good. Safe. That’s all that mattered.

Monday arrives and the Quidditch stands are a sea of red and green with Gryffindor particularly antsy as Harry zooms around the pitch, Golden Snitch right within his view but not quite arms reach.

“Potter’s got his eye on the prize! I’ve got mine on too, Johnson looks impeccable in robes, I’ll tell you that much— Sorry, Professor.”

Fred’s holding his own, watching out for any foul play from the Slytherin Seeker whilst batting Bludgers. George is at his side, throwing them out and scoring right into Flint’s stomach.

“Wonderful play from Weasley! Not quite sure which one, but great nonetheless,” Lee says through the megaphone.

Fred’s just about to hit a Bludger into the opposing Keeper’s side, but he spots Harry in the corner of his eye being tailed by Higgs and there’s a nasty Slytherin Bludger coming right for him and he’s flying there immediately.

Harry’s so pumped with adrenaline and focus on the Snitch, he doesn’t even notice the ball coming straight to his nose. Godric knows that would leave a mark. Fred comes up and bats it away, nearly falling off his broom.

You’re watching from the stands in admiration and excitement and Fred can’t help but find you in the crowd. He sends you a wink from the pitch and a girl beside you seems to think it’s for her. You let it happen. You know who it belonged to.

Gryffindor emerges victorious, winning by two points and Harry’s crowd surfing, a big smile on his face as students chant his name. He doesn’t know how long the fame will last, but he doesn’t really care.

“You did good, Weasley,” you admit as Fred comes up beside you.

“Think I deserve my kiss now?”

In typical you fashion, you roll your eyes and pull him towards your face.

He thinks the kiss will be haste, but you melt into his lips and he does the very same. His arms snake around your waist and bring you impossibly closer and you relish in it. It’s embarrassing how much you’re grinning, but you can feel his smile too.

Catching your breath, “That was like 30 seconds. Now you gotta help Harry with his homework.”

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Forest desires

George Weasley x reader

Requested by: @georgeweasleywife4566

Request gist: “George and the reader have sex in the forest”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I decided to slow things down and make it a soft sex one (it wasn't really specified so I thought I’d give my little pervert brain a rest). I’ve been in a world of self-pity lately (my dad got to meet the guy who played Percy Weasley, and didn’t invite me to the comic con). I'm also sorry that it's taking me so long to write, I’ve been sucked into RE4 (my hand is glued to the controller)

T/W: unprotected sex, forest sex, mentions of exhibitionism, Goblet of Fire George (it's not a trigger but I didn't want it to get lost in the A/N), teasing, fingering, reader is a little unsure about the situation but George comforts her, George licking your juices (it sounds so unsexy like that), George being a gentle boy,

George could talk you into anything.

From sneaking around the castle late at night to getting frisky under the Quidditch stands, he’d twist your arm. Metaphorically, of course.

But this was a new fantasy he had.

“What if you and I snuck into the Forbidden Forest tonight?”

Knowing George, this wasn’t just a moonlight jaunt. He had something naughty planned. But knowing you, you’d agree to go.

____________________________________________

The sneaky trek down to the forest wasn't new to you or George. He had snuck out many times and sometimes brought you along on a late night pranking mission with Fred.

Before you knew it, he was pulling you by the hand deeper into the dark woods. He pulled you to a small clearing where the tree’s parted, letting the moonlight in. How could the Forbidden Forest be so romantic with all of the centaurs, unicorns, and spiders running around? The thought made you pull George's hand, a little reluctant to get busy in a place that man feared and machinery disappeared (said machinery being the Weasley’s flying Ford Anglia).

George chuckled at your reluctance. He always found it fun to talk you into different situations, like pulling pranks on staff members or messing with the Slytherins that walked to class alone. But when it came to intimate situations, he was the king of persuasion.

“It’s okay, love. You know I’ll always protect you from any scary monsters that hide in the shadows. You’re my girl, remember?”

All it took was the ‘My Girl’ line, and he could convince you to do anything.

He sat on the grass and patted the spot next to him. When you had sat down, he moved a little closer. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, knowing just how to make you relax. One of his hands cupped your cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb, while his other hand moved to your thigh, toying with the fabric of your pyjama shorts.

Your hands found their way to his hair, threading through his ginger locks. You loved that he grew his hair out over the past couple of years but you’d never admit it to his face, not wanting to make his ego any bigger.

George slowly guided you to lay down before laying himself on top of you. His lips reconnected with yours and his tongue slowly swiped across your bottom lip. His hands reached for your shorts, pushing them down to your knees and leaving your underwear. His thumb found your clit through the material to rub light circles over it while his kisses silenced your soft moans and whimpers.

When you bucked your hips to try and gain more friction, he lifted his thumb to deprive you of the friction you were chasing. When he broke the kiss, you whined.

“Georgie, stop teasing. I need you”

“I thought you were worried about being seen, love. Does my dirty girl like the thought of being watched while getting her pretty pussy played with?”

He pulled your underwear to the side and rubbed his thumb around your hole, not giving you what you desperately needed.

“Maybe if you tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you”

His husky voice and sinful words were going to be the death of you one of these days.

“I want you, Georgie. I want you inside of me. Please?”

Or maybe it was your innocent whimpers and doe eyes that would be the death of him instead. His smirk grew, it always did when he got you to reveal that dirty side that you kept hidden beneath that goody two shoes exterior. He pushed his finger inside, curling it to rub against your sensitive G-spot. He could find it quicker than finding a target for his pranks.

His other hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. He pushed another finger in, scissoring them to stretch you out. He could tell that you were trying to hold back your moans, that little voice in your head still telling you that some creature was hiding in the fog. His lips grazed against your cheek.

“It's just us out here. Those pretty noises of yours are for my ears only”

When your walls started to squeeze his fingers, he knew you were close. His thumb rubbed small circles over your clit once again and that's all it took for your orgasm to catch up. This time, you didn't hold your moans back, letting George hear just how good he made you feel.

He pulled his fingers away from your pussy before bringing them to his mouth and licking off your juices from them. He loved the way you tasted.

You moved your hands to his pyjama bottoms this time, surprising him. You pulled them down just enough to pull his cock out. Moving his tip to your entrance, you coated it in your juices before looking up at him with those pleading ‘fuck me’ eyes.

He moved his hips forward, pushing in slowly. He bottomed out, letting you take a moment to adjust to him. He stroked your jaw with gentle fingers.

“Keep those eyes on me, love”

His eyes bore into yours as he slowly pulled his hips back. He kept his thrusts slow and gentle, always treating you as if you were made of glass. You reminded him often that you wouldn't break if he was rough, but he insisted that you were precious.

He slowly slid his cock in and out of your pussy. His gentle grunts and your moans mixed with the soft sounds of the forest at night. Your voice came out in small whimpers.

“Please George, need more”

“You don’t need more baby, I wanna make it last”

His movements remained slow, taking his time to drive you crazy. His hand moved down to your hip, holding you and stopping you from squirming and escaping his torturously slow pace. When he went slow like this, you could feel everything. Every vein, every curve, every twitch. Although you hated how slow his pace was, you loved how full it left you feeling.

“I know you’re close, baby. Cum all over my cock and I’ll fill you up. I know you like to be nice and full”

He knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. You had been so focused on how full you were starting to feel that you hadn't noticed your orgasm creeping up on you. You came on his cock, squeezing it so snuggly and coating it with your juices. He followed soon after, spilling his seed deep inside of your pussy. His thrusts stopped, content with keeping his cum inside of you for now.

He laid himself on top of you, being mindful not to crush you.

“You know love, tomorrow is a Saturday. We could stay out here for another round”

George could always talk you into anything.

[im-a-wonderling]

Sloth Brains and Spine of Lionfish ~ George Weasley

This is a continuation of my ongoing George Weasley fanfic, so make sure you read the other parts first (here's part 1). I need to figure out what the overall fic name should be, so if anyone has ideas, let me know XD

Warnings: none

Word count: 5.2k

“And we’ve inquired about renting a place in Diagon Alley.” George easily skipped the vanishing step, turning around to offer his hand. I ignored it, jumping the step on my own and nearly losing hold of my books for my trouble. Unbothered, George gestured grandly with the untaken hand. “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, we’ve called it.”

We reached the bottom of the staircase, making our way down the nearly empty corridor. I liked to walk to my classes before the castle walkways were clogged up with bodies and sounds, and most of the other students were still at lunch. Funny, George never seemed to mind the crowds before, yet now he walked with me in the empty hallways between every class.

George hopped up on the bench against the wall, walking along the wood with his arms stretched out for balance. “We should have a response before we all go home for Christmas, and possibly have the place rented before school lets out.”

I dodged the ghost of Erling the Great that had just appeared through the wall, hoping he didn’t see me. I did not want to get trapped into one of his onerous and endless stories again. “So you’ll be selling all those prototypes the two of you’ve been testing on the first years?”

“Yup." George hopped down to walk beside me again. "Plus a few more we’ve got up our sleeves. We’re testing another one tonight, and if it’s finally ready, it’ll be one of our staples in the shop.” The light in George’s eyes as he spoke about his dream was unlike his normal errant sparkle. The shine wasn’t born of mischief, it was born of passion, and it seemed to lift George’s very heels as he bounced excitedly forward. 

“Well, I’m certain it’ll be brilliant.” Distracted, I hadn’t even thought about the words before they came flying out of my mouth. I pressed my fingertips to my lips, unsure if I were more horrified or embarrassed. 

George’s bouncing paused, and he turned the full weight of his vexingly self-possessed smirk on me. “Is that so?”

Embarrassed. Definitely embarrassed. 

My cheeks blazing, I scowled at him. “Don’t crow, it’s unbecoming.”

The redhead absentmindedly knocked the railing at the top of the next flight of stairs, causing the stairs to ripple a bit and then resolidify. “I’m just revelling in the compliment.”

“It’s hardly a compliment, more a statement of fact.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” I forged past him down the stairs, ignoring the slight tremble I felt underneath my feet. The staircase—objectively the most sensitive staircase in the castle—was just pouting over George’s knock. “The two of you are persuasive, which is objectively a good skill to have for retail, not to mention the shrewdness required for the strategy of business and the creativity and intelligence to make new products. I’d wager you’ve already made a fair bit of coin here at Hogwarts, so with a centralised location that can be open full-time, you’ll make a fortune, and likely–” I closed my mouth, pressing my lips together.

Too much. I’d said too much. 

The faint, impossibly warm chuckle from behind me made me shiver. “Well, when I have a fortune, I can perhaps afford to buy you a Christmas present.”

I stopped, rooted to the step. George passed me, continuing down a few more steps before seeming to notice I wasn’t beside him and turning to face me with a puzzled expression. "What?"

“Don’t buy me anything.” From my position three stairs higher than him, I had a tactical advantage were this to become a situation where my wand was necessary. Any offensive attack I unleashed would be that much harder to defend against. 

But George stuck his hands in his pockets, seemingly unconcerned. “With trying to go into business and all, I couldn’t rustle up enough Galleons if my life depended on it.”

“Don’t spend anything on me,” I repeated, easily masking my sudden nausea as distaste. Gifts were pointless at best, painful at worst.

The incessantly inquisitive and contrary Gryffindor tilted his head, his eyes giving me a strangely sharp assessment that made me wonder if I wasn’t masking as well as I thought. “Why not?”

I forced myself to woodenly descend the steps and then turn the corner towards the Potions classroom. “There’s nothing I need.” 

“But surely there’s something nice you want?”

“There’s nothing I want either.”

“Now you’re just joshing. Everyone wants something.”

“What do you want?” I shot back.

“I told you.” George opened the door to the Potions classroom. “To buy you a Christmas gift.” 

I didn’t walk through the doorway. “Well, I want you to not buy me a Christmas gift.”

“Nah, that doesn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Your wanting can’t just cancel someone else’s wanting. That’s like asking for it to drizzle when you don’t even like drizzles and only because I like the sunshine.” His tone was perplexingly even and carefree, despite the venom of my words. And he still held the door open. 

I gripped my books tight to my chest. “Christmas gifts are like sunshine?”

“No, you are like sunshine,” George replied, the corner of his mouth curling in an infuriatingly charming smirk. He had no right to look like that when being sarcastic. “With all your suspicion and compliments and enthusiastic statements of fact, why, you just make me feel warm all over.”

“Then go step out in the snow,” I said crossly, finally walking under his arm into the classroom. 

A cauldron bubbled merrily up by Professor Snape’s desk, just in front of the blank chalkboard. Reaching my potions station off to the left, I dropped my books down, the resulting thud much too loud but ultimately satisfying. I waited for the dungeon door to close, signalling that George had left and allowing the pit in my stomach to dissolve. But when it did close, I couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. 

“Anyone sit here?” 

I looked up in time to see George gently set a copy of Advanced Potion-Making on the station next to me. 

“What are you doing?” 

He flipped through the pages, his eyes trailing down the text. “Sitting in class with you.”

A fledgling of panic rustled its wings in my stomach. “You’re not in this class.” George hadn’t achieved the Outstanding required on his O.W.L.s to continue Potions at the N.E.W.T. level. 

“Well, I see no harm in sitting in. Hogwarts rewards those who seek knowledge, you know.”

There was harm. There was much harm indeed. “George, class is going to start soon.”

George calmly met my gaze. “Lucky for us, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“Are you insane?” I hissed. “They’ll eat you alive.”

“Better me than you.” His light tone couldn’t disguise the weight of his words. 

I paused, studying his freckled face. “Is that what this is about? You’re trying to rescue me again?”

“Prevent the need for rescuing, actually.” George pulled out his seat, sitting down and pulling out his potion-making kit, which clearly hadn’t been used in a while. “And be careful, or I’ll think you don’t want me to sit next to you.”

“I don’t.” Especially not when our peers were about to walk in, including Warrington. Not to mention Snape. George's misguided attempts would only succeed in making us both targets.

Unconcerned, George pulled a quill, an ink pot, and parchment out of his bag. “I promise I’ll be a model pupil.”

How did he do it? How did he brush it all off like the words meant nothing? Like consequences didn't exist? He just sat there, easily relaxing against the back of his chair like he had the ultimate conviction that it would hold him up as long as he needed. 

The classroom door opened, and I immediately but subtly slid into my seat, hoping against hope that somehow our peers wouldn’t notice us. 

But hoping George Weasley was unnoticeable was as useful as asking a kappa not to eat you. Warrington’s wicked eyes settled on George before sliding to me. I ducked my head. Maybe Warrington’s similarity to hippogriffs didn’t end with his looks and the sign of reverence would make him less dangerous. 

But even as Warrington finally sat down, directly in front of Snape’s desk, I could still feel stares.

My peers didn’t often remember I existed, as I intended. I didn’t answer questions in class, I stayed out of trouble, I took care not to offend anyone who mattered and not overly involve myself in anything. It protected me, and it protected Clem. And yet as everyone, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, stared at me with shock and disapproval, I knew they remembered me now. And that remembrance was going to bite me where it hurt. 

I shrunk down in my seat, holding my elbows tightly. George leaned over to me. “Relax,” he said softly. “No one is going to curse you in the middle of class.”

“It’s not the middle of class I’m worried about,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. 

His lips pursed, but before he could reply, the dungeon door banged open, and Professor Snape strode to the front, his cloak billowing behind him like shadows of prejudice and loathing. I could see the moment the potions master noticed George. His beady eyes narrowed, sending my trepidation through the roof. It was hard to know which house was more despised by the other in the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, but Professor Snape did not have the same amount of integrity within the rivalry as Professor McGonagall. 

“A new student today,” Professor Snape mused, the slow delivery of every word promising trouble. I sat so stiffly, my shoulder muscles were beginning to hurt, but George stayed calm and seemingly unaffected. “Is there a reason for this…change?”

“Yes, sir, I just really wanted to hear today’s lecture,” George said politely. 

“How studious of you.” Professor Snape crossed his arms, warning of the incoming confrontation. “I suppose, Mr. Weasley,” he said in his characteristically flat tone, “that you’re also studious enough to tell me what sloth brains are used for.”

George didn’t move from his laid-back yet attentive position. “Sir, that would be dragon dung fertiliser.”

The curl of Professor Snape’s mouth made me tense. “Of course. I would expect someone of your,” he paused as he rested a hand next to George’s worn textbook, “inclinations to misguidedly name dung as being the correct answer.”

A few snickers rang through the classroom, the Slytherins ready for the millionth round of Gryffindor mistreatment. “Daft Weasley,” said Warrington’s unmistakable voice, loud enough to echo through the whole classroom yet remarkably and predictably soft enough that Professor Snape didn’t seem to hear.

But I knew he had, judging by the hateful glitter in his eyes. The professor leaned in closer to George, who still hadn’t moved from his position. “Ten points from–”

“He’s not daft.”

I barely realised the words had come out of my mouth until everyone in the classroom turned to look at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George straighten in his chair.

“Excuse me?” Professor Snape finally asked. If the potions master could manage a sincere expression, he’d be aghast. As it was, he looked at me with the same chronically detached countenance he always wore.

Underneath the table, a hand brushed my leg, but I ignored it.

“Sloth brain mucus is used in the creation of dragon dung fertiliser, which Professor Sprout names as the superior fertiliser for magical plants. If you wanted him to answer what sloth brains are used for in this class, you should’ve specified, at which point he would’ve clearly said the Draught of Living Death.” I stared resolutely back at Professor Snape as the classroom fell silent aside from the bubbling of the example potion beside Professor Snape’s desk. “Sir,” I added belatedly. 

The only sign of the professor’s surprise and uncertainty was the rapid blinks. “He would’ve clearly said it?” Professor Snape asked finally. “Then I suppose Mr. Weasley would also be able to tell me what colour sloth brains turns the Draught of Living Death, hmmm?” 

“Cyan.” George’s posture, straight as an arrow, revealed the strain he was now apparently—and tardily—feeling. “It turns the potion from pink to cyan.”

See? I thought victoriously as I watched Professor Snape’s jaw move in a suspiciously gnashing way. I was right. He’s not daft. 

“Detention,” the professor finally said. 

“Yes, sir,” George responded, lowering his eyes.

“Not you, Weasley.” The dark eyes turned on me. “You, Miss Y/L/N.” George’s hand balled into a fist. “For speaking out of turn.”

I met the head of my house’s eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir.” 

As Professor Snape continued the lesson, I noticed with slight triumph that he’d completely forgotten to take ten points from Gryffindor or give George detention for showing up. 

But the triumph shrank as the class continued and George’s posture remained stiff. 

-

After brewing a nearly perfect Antidote to Veritaserum and being assigned a 42-inch essay on exactly how the antidote combatted compulsory truth-telling, class ended. Instead of waiting for Warrington and the others to leave, I shoved everything into my bag and was the first one to the door. But nowhere could I go at no possible speed to avoid the fiery anger burning behind me. 

“What were you thinking?” George hissed as I walked towards my common room. 

“Snape doesn’t get to treat you that way,” I replied with equal fervour, wondering at how completely my compliance had disappeared. “And neither does Warrington, the prat.”

A hand closed around my elbow, turning me around. “Beg Snape’s forgiveness,” George demanded. “Maybe you can beg off spending the night in the dungeons.”

“I won’t,” I snapped, wrenching my arm out of his admittedly gentle grip. “Because they were wrong; you’re not stupid. It was a stupid question. He just wanted to mock you–”

“I’ve been mocked nearly every day of my life!” The response was so impassioned that George’s cheeks were going red. “I can handle it.”

“Well, I can’t!” I said sharply. “It’s not fair.”

“Oh, like you serving detention on behalf of your brother?”

I glanced around quickly, noticing the few seventh years loitering in the corridor. Were they gathering more evidence about the sudden and unorthodox alliance between George and I? Would any of them report back to Warrington? Or Snape? Or Merlin forbid, Umbridge? 

Seizing George’s wrist, I dragged him off into an alcove, pulling so roughly that he nearly bonked his head into the sloped decorative wood carving of the tiny space. “How is what I did any different than what you’ve done for me?” The snarling tone of my words made me think of my lioness Patronus. Perhaps a lioness was more apt than I’d originally thought. 

George, however, looked nothing like his mischievous and light-hearted magpie. “Because you disrespected a professor!”

"So did you! If you hadn't sat in the class, the whole thing could've been avoided!"

"Snape already hates me! But he's your head of house, and now you've insulted him!"

I glared at him. “And if McGonagall treated me like that, would you just sit there and not say anything?” He wouldn’t, we both knew it.

George scoffed deep in his throat. “That doesn’t matter, she would never do something like that.”

“Come off it, George!” I impatiently readjusted my heavy books, resisting the urge to toss them at him. “You would stand up for me!” He had stood up for me, many times over.

George pressed his lips together so tightly, they started to whiten, stubbornly refusing to say what we both knew was true. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

I scowled. “You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.”

“Someone has to, since you clearly weren’t born with basic self-preservation!”

Livid, I tossed my head and stormed out of the alcove towards my common room where the foolhardy twin couldn’t follow me.

“What happened to not lifting a finger to help or hurt anyone?” George called after me, so loudly that the other noises in the hallway hushed.

I lifted a finger over my shoulder in an obscene gesture as my only reply.

-

My footsteps echoed through the dungeons as I neared the potions classroom. Somewhere above my head was the Great Hall, lit up with enchanted candles and everlasting torches. In the dungeons, however, the torches were so sparse, it was easy to grow convinced that there was something lying in wait in every shadow.

“I received a new Spine of Lionfish shipment this morning,” Snape was saying, gesturing towards my potions station where a stack of boxes lay before returning to the parchment he was writing on. “You will crush them all into powder without using magic. When you are finished, and only then, are you allowed to leave.”

Spine of Lionfish. Capable of causing pain and paralysis. I licked my lips. “Sir, am I allowed to wear my gloves?”

The potions master paused in his writing, making my heart sink as I tried to guess how great a punishment Professor Snape meant to inflict on me. “Yes,” he said finally.

Worried my relief would make him change his mind, I concealed it before nodding and sitting down at the desk, pulling out my dragonskin gloves and getting started.

It would’ve been meditative to pulverise the white and red spines if I wasn’t constantly aware of how long it would take to grind three boxes of spines when my mortar could only hold five spines at a time. I glanced over at the desk to see Professor Snape hunched over, his nose inches from the parchment he wrote on, as if he was struggling to see it. 

I popped open a vial, holding my breath so that I wouldn’t accidentally inhale any of the powder as I poured it inside the vial and labelled it. 

Each vial could hold the powder of about fifty spines, and I’d filled four vials when Professor Snape suddenly rose from his desk. He pulled at his cloak, untangling it from his legs as best as he could while holding a letter. Whatever the letter was, it was either important or elicited some sentiment to make him clench it so tightly. Without saying a word, Professor Snape left.

I poured the powder into the half-full vial before dropping new spines inside the mortar. It might take me all night to finish my detention, but finish it I would. Once punished, my defiance would hopefully fade in memory.

Detention would ease Snape’s ire, but my classmates would likely look to retaliate in their own ways. I took a deep breath. As long as they stayed away from Clem, I would accept whatever punishment they doled out. 

A soft rasp sounded behind me, making me freeze. And in that stillness, the unmistakable sound of a footstep sounded from behind me.

Would they interfere with the completion of my detention? Would Warrington, Parkinson, and Goyle really try to subject me to further wrath from our head of house?

Keeping the rest of my body still, I slyly slipped my hand off my pestle and into my pocket, gripping my wand. After a moment’s pause, I whirled around, thrusting my wand out. “Immobulus!” The blue spell shot from my wand tip.

“Protego.” My attacker’s wand arced, my blue projectile dissolving upon contact with the invisible shield.

Lifting my wand, another spell was about to leap from my lips when I finally recognized the face in the shadows. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

George pocketed his wand before flinging himself down on the nearest seat as if it were a fainting couch. “I came to help my knight in shining armour. After defending my honour, I could hardly leave my dainty yet plucky princess to toil away in the dungeons.”

I clenched my wand, my heart beating at a pace I would fiercely deny if it were brought up. “I thought you said I was a knight.” 

“Maybe you’re both.”

“Maybe I’m neither.” I glanced at him. “You’re a lot more dainty than me anyhow.” And a lot more chivalrous, though he didn’t need to know that. 

George sighed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Can’t help it if I have easily bruisable skin, can I?” How strange. He seemed to have completely recovered from our fight earlier.

“Seriously, Weasley, what are you doing here?”

“Ooh, she brings out the last name.” George grinned. “That’s how I know I’ve got your stylish knickers in a twist.” I raised an eyebrow, and his smile fell. “Not that I’m making assumptions about your…knicker…preferences.” His cheeks were red again, but instead of accompanying the flush with a glare like earlier, he averted his eyes over towards the window where darkness was quickly falling.

“I’ll repeat my question,” I said, sparing him from acknowledging his obvious embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”

I definitely imagined the relief on his face as he dropped into the chair beside me. “Serving your detention with you.”

I returned to my mortar and pestle, grinding the spines with more aggression than before. “I know you have better things to do, perhaps some testing to do on first-years?”

“Fred can test the Canary Creams without me.”

“He’ll rename your business ‘Fred’s Wizard Wheezes’.”

George gave a short laugh, crossing his legs. “Naw, FWW doesn’t have the same ring as WWW.” 

“If Snape finds out you helped me with the work, he’ll get angry.” I didn’t want the professor getting any angrier at either of us.

“Then I won’t touch anything. I’ll just help you pass the time.” 

“By regaling me with more business plans?” My words were coming out all wrong, sharp and heated. George was being thoughtful, and yet I couldn’t seem to check my prickliness. 

“If you like. I also have some fabulous stories to tell about pranks or family or even the sausage rolls I ate for breakfast.”

My pestle scraped a little too hard against the mortar. “Maybe your knight prefers silence.” I glared down at the lovely pink powder. Without the proper knowledge, someone might mistake the powder for something innocuous, like fairy dust or rose sugar. But the seductive material could cause serious damage.

“I think I know my knight better than that.” His voice had no right to be that gentle. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He wasn’t being flattering, he was right on, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Maybe you don’t know her at all,” I said lightly, pouring the powder into the vial before dropping the next five spines into the mortar. 

A hand found my waist, and I stopped grinding the chalky spines. My eyes fluttered shut at the sparks flying beneath my skin. I turned around, resting my gloved hands on his shoulder to push him away, but my muscles wouldn't do it.

I felt as though the warmth in George’s brown eyes was somehow pouring into me, chasing away the chill of the dungeon and shadows. 

“Trust me,” I warned, “you don’t want to get close.”

“That’s just like you,” George said softly, his eyes fixed on some point beneath my nose, “just like you to tell me what I do and don’t want.” 

“George, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He licked his lips. “Uncommonly so.”

Fear flooded my body, tangling with the warmth to make a strange buzzing sensation. “Is this your plan?” I asked shakily. “The Gryffindor gets close to the Slytherin and then makes fun of her to all his friends because she fell for it?” I pressed my hand over the wand in my robes, prepared to pull it out again. “I won’t fall for it.”

George's hand brushed against mine. I wanted to pretend that he was trying to keep me from drawing it, but the gesture was too tender, too comforting to believe it. He stepped closer. “Maybe the Gryffindor is the one falling for it.”

“Sounds more accurate.” My voice was embarrassingly high-pitched and breathy. I cleared my throat. “Gryffindors are more gullible than Slytherins.”

“Can this gullible Gryffindor ask a question?”

He was too close. I needed to step away, to put some space in between us, but one step away was my potion station with venomous powdered Spine of Lionfish. “No,” I managed to say. “No questions.”

George lifted a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. “Can I kiss you?”

My hands shook. If I needed to draw my wand, I wasn’t sure I would be able to hold it. “I said no questions.” Especially no questions that I didn’t know how to answer. 

His face came closer to mine until all I could see was the expanse of fair skin beneath freckles. “I’d rather drink the Draught of Living Death than be like Warrington…and yet I’m trying not to read into the fact that you seemed more ready to kiss his boot than kiss me.”

I couldn’t respond or think when he was this close. When his lips were so close that I could feel his breath on my face. He couldn’t even do me the favour of having halitosis or even just onions and garlic for lunch?

“That’s…it’s…I mean,” I stammered. Why was it impossible to form anything coherent? I would’ve been happy with a snarky comment or a quick denial. 

George tilted his head back slightly, looking me in the eye. “Say no. Say no, and I’ll sit back down and tell you about the recipe for Canary Creams.”

The refusal was prepared on my tongue, ready to launch and return both of us to the refuge of platonic banter with sporadic sincerity. Things were already too dangerous for the two of us, and the true threats of the castle and beyond hadn’t even started yet. It was better for both of us if I said no. I needed to say no. 

But I couldn’t do it. 

I never before had trouble doing what would keep myself and my brother safe, but being with George Weasley flew in the very face of safety, and I couldn't bring myself to back away.

His nose brushed against mine, and I marvelled at how smooth his skin was. I’d half-expected to feel bumps on the skin from his freckles. “Say no,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if the words referred to saying no or to kissing him, but George seemed to know.

Arms encircled my waist, secure and unavoidable. Lips pressed against mine, warm and soft and utterly, completely George. He was everywhere, even where he wasn’t touching me because all my body could do was sigh and all my mind could conjure were red locks and brown eyes.

He pulled back. “Do you–”

I rose to my tiptoes, kissing him before he could finish. George, apparently, didn’t mind, giving up on his words immediately to kiss me back. His fingers brushed back my hair, a gesture so comforting that I melted into him.

I pulled my gloves off, desperate to feel his face with my hands. The dragon scales let out a loud noise as they hit the stone floor, but I didn’t care, finally able to caress his face.

Without breaking the kiss, George stepped forward, moving me back on my tiptoes. I didn’t know where he was taking me, and I didn’t care enough to stop what we were doing and look. 

George took another step forward when there was a clunking sound. 

The latch of the door, I realised in horror. Instantly, George’s warmth disappeared, and I whirled around, frantically grinding at the spines while sweeping my gloves underneath the potion station with my toe.

Heart hammering, I heard the door open. The torches in the hallway casting momentary shadows before the door closed again.

Act natural, I thought frantically. Act like you've just been here the whole time, serving detention. But my inability to take a full breath undermined the nonchalance I was attempting. My lips burned, as if by kissing George, I’d kissed pure flames. 

“Miss Y/L/N.” Somehow, Snape’s voice was more chilling than before. 

Slowly, I swivelled to face the potions master. He didn’t look any more suspicious than he normally did, but he was never the type to emote.

There was a flash of movement over his shoulder, and I looked to see George with his back pressed to the wall of the dungeon, perfectly in between two torches where the shadows could partially conceal him. Quickly, I looked back to Snape, noting for the first time in my life with relief that the professor’s beady eyes were trained on me. 

“You are free to go.” 

I blinked, trying to ignore George creeping over to the dungeon door. “Sir, I haven’t finished–”

Professor Snape waved his wand, enchanting the mortar and pestle sets against the wall to soar over to the boxes and start grinding spines of their own accord. “You’ve been here for long enough.”

George reached the door, lifting the latch silently and sliding through a tiny crack in the door.

I nearly crumpled with relief, turning my attention back to Snape. “Sir, are you sure–”

“I’ve already taken points off Gryffindor.”

I frowned before quickly making my face blank. George lost points, regardless of my outburst. My actions today in class accomplished nothing. 

“As for you, I won’t take any house points.” 

Predictable. 

“But I’ve written to your parents.”

I froze.

My parents—who represented just a blip in the long history the Y/L/N family of pureblooded Slytherins and yet championed the legacy with every movement—would soon know. As I looked into Snape’s glittering eyes, I knew he’d told them everything and knew the magnitude of punishment I’d be receiving. His grin widened as I remained still as a statue. Not only did he know, he relished it. “You’re dismissed.”

Snape lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, taking his time as he folded his long, bony fingers. 

So thoroughly unable to move, I wondered if some of the dangerous pink powder had somehow made it into my body.

“Did you hear me?” The displeasure in Snape’s voice sounded like the cracking of a whip, and like a frightened mare, I stirred into action. 

“Yes, sir, goodnight, sir.” I swiftly knelt to grab my gloves and put them on before dumping the spines in my mortar into the box again. 

It wasn’t until I was pulling the dungeon door open that I remembered George, my fear only increasing. 

But instead of George awaiting me, it was the cantankerous caretaker, Mr. Filch. “Out of bed, are we?” he snarled, looking quite pleased. 

“I w-was finishing detention!” I burst out. “I’m on my way to bed, I swear!”

“You’d better hurry then.” Chapped lips curved upwards to show yellow teeth.

I fled from the teeth, from the spines, and from the consequences of the kiss. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, horror nipping at my heels. 

“Advantage,” I said quickly, and the door to the Slytherin Common Room opened. I ducked inside and ran as fast as I could towards my dormitory, not stopping until I flung myself down on my bed, burying my face in my pillow. 

Merlin, what had I done?

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Series tag list:

@onelemonoat @goldfishinpainttubes

[rip-us-xoxo]

Unintentionally- George Weasley x Reader (REPOST)

Posted NOVEMBER 13, 2020

Reposted APRIL 16, 2023

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings- SMUT, degradation (it’s literally one line), dirty talk, swearing (if there are any more warnings please tell me and I’ll add them)

Enjoy!!!!

_______________________________

The joke shop has been really busy lately and you could tell. Your fiancé, George, would come home every night looking exhausted and worn out. So, you offered to help. He said that they were fine, of course, but after some persuasion, he finally gave in. 

The day started as normal. You woke up, made breakfast, and ate with George. Except for today, you were going to be leaving the house together. You decided to wear a tight tan skirt with a white blouse and white heels paired with nude lipstick. 

“This is so exciting,” you beamed as you both walked into the shop. “You’ve been here before, why is it exciting?” George asked. 

“We’ll be working together! And I’ll be able to finally help and allow you to maybe relax a little,” you said and hugged his arm. 

George just chuckled at your excitement and kissed your forehead. 

“Do you know that I love that lipstick on you?” George whispered in your ear, “No I did not, but I’m glad that you like it,” you giggled. 

Soon after that, Fred had walked down from the apartment that he now lived alone in and you guys opened. The morning was a little slow, but when it got to lunchtime it got SUPER busy. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered to yourself as you looked around. There were people everywhere. Almost so many people that you had to squeeze past someone anywhere you went. Your thoughts were soon interrupted by George though, “Hey, love, would you mind putting these down there?” he asked and handed you a box of “Weather in a bottle” and pointed to a shelf. 

You nodded your head and smiled before bending down to restock the shelf. “Darn these heels,” you groaned and tried to regain your balance. Your outfit was not working in your favor right now. You stood up after a minute of struggling to stay on your feet and restocking the shelf and turned around. 

You adjusted your skirt before looking up to find a flustered looking George. “Georgie, are you alright?” you asked and rubbed his arm. He snapped back to reality and nodded his head ‘yes’ before quickly walking away. 

“That’s weird,” you thought before going to see if a family needed some help. “Is there anything I can help you with?” you asked the family. “Oh, um, yes. My son is looking for ‘Weather in a bottle’,” the lady said. 

“Oh, well you guys are lucky! I just restocked those!” you told the family and walked back over to where you were before. You bent down once more and grabbed the lady one, “Here you go,” you told her and handed her the bottle. “Thank you so much,” she thanked you and handed it to her son. 

You nodded your head and turned around. Once again, George was looking at you, flustered. “Seriously Georgie, are you alright-?” you looked down to see a tent forming in his pants. 

You slightly giggled to yourself and walked up to him. Maybe your outfit was working in your favor today. 

“Are you alright Georgie?” you whispered in his ear, seductively. His breath hitched and he looked down at you. “That skirt is a little tight, don’t you think?” he asked while adjusting his collar.

“What? This thing?” you asked and looked down at your butt, “I don’t think so. But do you know what? You look kinda toasty, is it too hot in here?”. 

Your hands went under his tie up to one of the buttons on his dress shirt and started to unbutton it. “Y/n, stop,” he warned and grabbed your wrists, holding them tight and pulling you toward him. 

“What? I’m not doing anything,” you said innocently. When he looked down at you to give you another warning, he got a full glimpse down your shirt. He immediately looked back up and looked around, trying to compose himself before he pounced on you. 

“You might wanna go behind the counter though, so you can hide that,” you told him and pointed down to his bulge. 

He looked down and quickly grabbed your hand to bring you to his office. “Can’t you see that I’m working?” he spat as he closed the door. 

“I am too, it’s not my fault you get so hot and bothered when I help you restock shelves,” you told him sassily and crossed your arms, unintentionally making your boobs push up. 

“I told you to stop, I’m not telling you again,” he growled and walked up to you. He was now towering over you. 

“I’m not doing anything though!” you defended. 

“You know you are, and you’re doing it on purpose. So just stop,” he told you, his jaw clenched. 

“And what if I don’t? You gonna punish me?” you teased and ran circles on his chest with your index finger. “I might just have to,” he growled. Your eyes widened, you were not expecting that. You were just joking, but now you were turned on. 

“Oh yeah? You’re not going to do that, we both know you’re too soft,” you teased and walked closer to him, biting your lip. You were playing with fire now. 

“That’s it,” he growled and grabbed his wand, “Alohomora’’. With that, the door locked and he pushed you against the wall. 

“H-Here?” you squeaked out. “Yep, which means you gotta stay quiet,” he said and started kissing your neck. You moaned. “Quiet,” he warned and kissed your neck harder. There were going to be marks for sure. 

“G-George!” you gasped as he squeezed one of your breasts from outside of your blouse. He was quick to unbutton your blouse after that and soon you were just in your skirt and your bra. 

You went to unbutton his suit jacket, but he grabbed both of your wrists and pushed them to your sides. “No touching,” he whispered harshly. You whined at his words, realizing how hard that was going to be. You loved to run your hands across his chest and pull at his hair. 

He unzipped your skirt and pulled it down your legs. You were now only in heels and your undergarments. “Jump,” he ordered, to which you obliged and jumped up. He grabbed under your thighs and kissed you hard. You moaned into the kiss as he ground his bulge up against your clothed pussy. 

“G-George please,” you pleaded. “What do you want, Y/n?” he asked, he was teasing you, of course, he knew exactly what you wanted. 

“You- oh my god- your dick- bloody hell,” you moaned as he started trailing kisses down your stomach to your heat. How he was holding you up still was unknown. 

“Well, as much as I would love my dick in you, I am supposed to be punishing you. Soo, how about, no?” he teased, which made you whine once more. 

He ripped your panties off of you, making you gasp, as your glistening pussy was exposed. You shivered when you felt his breath on it. He then stuck his tongue in you, almost instantly earning an unholy sound from you. “Delicious,” he praised and kept going. 

You went to go grab his hair but then you remembered that he said no touching. You debated for a few seconds on whether you would risk breaking his rules and getting punished even further, or whether you would just listen and get an amazing reward. 

You went with option two and grabbed onto something else instead. You grabbed both of your boobs while his tongue conveniently plunged further in you at the same time, making you squeeze your boobs and let out a loud moan. 

“There are children out there, you know?” George laughed and looked up at you. His eyes widened when he saw that you were playing with your boobs the whole time. He growled as he felt his pants get even tighter if that’s even possible. 

He picked you up, legs wrapped around him, and carried you over to the desk. He threw everything off of the surface before slamming you down onto it. 

“You think you can just play with your boobs while I punish you?” he spat and laid you down flat on the cold desk. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked out. 

“Sorry won’t cut it. Now we have two options, I could stop right now and leave you horny all day, or I could fuck you so hard that when we get back out there, you won’t be able to walk,”. “Option two!” you quickly said. 

“Of course you would choose that option, which I’m kinda glad you did because my dick is so hard right now and the thought of me slamming into you seems much more fun than being hard all day,” George said. 

You were growing impatient, “Just fuck me already!” you growled. “Option 1 is still there, Y/n, don’t make me angrier than I already am,” he growled and grabbed your bare thigh tightly. 

“Sorry, let me be nicer. Shut up and please fuck me,” you said, regaining some confidence. “That’s not any better,” he said harshly and yanked you up by your neck, stretching you open to him. 

“Sorry,” you squeaked, your confidence leaving immediately, “Beg for it,” he whispered in your ear, nibbling your earlobe. “Please fuck me until I can’t walk anymore! Please! I can’t take it, please!” you begged and shook the thigh that he was holding. 

He grinned and quickly took off his suit jacket, along with his shirt and tie. He then quickly got out of his pants and boxers. Soon, he was naked, and you were only in your bra. 

“You might need this,” he said and put his tie in your mouth. Before you could even process what he had said, he slammed into you making you scream. His pace was fast and relentless. Your brain went fuzzy and you couldn’t control the sounds that were coming out of you. “I love the sounds you make, Y/n,” George grunted in your ear, “they’re so pretty,”.

 He could see you struggling to keep your hands back from touching him. He chuckled to himself and said, “You can touch me now,”. Right as he said that, your hands immediately went to his hair. You started lightly tugging at the ginger ends, making him grunt. 

“You know what I love about you? The fact that you look so damn sexy all the time without even meaning to,” George whispered huskily in your ear and pulled out, before slamming back into you. “Oh!” you moaned. “You just bend over to do your job and I get hard,” he started kissing your neck, “you wear my favorite color lipstick without even knowing. You’re just so irresistible and I’m so glad I get to call you mine,”. 

After 5 minutes of relentless fucking, you could feel the knot in your stomach forming. You clenched around his dick, which made him moan quietly. “I know you’re close, but hold it,” George spat and started rubbing your clit. He was making it really hard for you not to cum right then and there. 

Soon enough you could feel him twitching inside you, “Alright, 1, 2, 3,” he grunted. With that, you both released and were panting very heavily. 

You spit the tie out of your mouth and looked into George’s eyes, “Wow,” you both breathed out. He pulled out of you making you wince. 

George pulled you close to him, making sure that you didn’t fall over, “I think I should let you help at the shop more,”. 

“If it meant every day ended like this, I would be all for it,” you giggled and kissed him. George then picked up your guy’s clothes and helped you get dressed before he got himself dressed. You both made yourselves presentable before you hopped off of the desk. 

“Can you walk?” George asked as he saw you wobbling toward the door. “Barely,” you laughed and leaned against a shelf. He laughed as well and helped you up. 

You two walked out of the office to see everyone still shopping like normal. You both breathed a sigh of relief before you saw Fred run toward you two. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you two everywhere,” Fred said. You both just looked at each other and then back at him.

“Okay, well I gotta grab something out of the office, I’ll be right back,” he said and before you two could protest, he walked inside. Fred immediately walked back out though and coughed, “Bloody hell, what did you two do in there?!” he exclaimed. You and George just laughed. 

“You two are disgusting,” Fred spat and rushed away. You and George both looked at each other once more and laughed before kissing. 

“You still look so sexy even though I just fucked your brains out,” George whispered in your ear. “We gotta work, George, maybe we can do this again later,” you told him and caressed his hand gently. 

“Fine,” George groaned and kissed you once more before you both got back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

xoxo

[desideriumwriter]

Late Night Escape

just a simple fred weasley blurb thats been sitting around for awhile, reader gets called "Ms" once but other than that no pronouns used, 0.7k

It���s been another restless night. The stress of your O.W.L.s being only days away has kept your mind racing.

So now, instead of being in bed, you sat on the ledge of one of the windows in the third floor corridor. 

You needed a change of setting, and this was surprisingly more peaceful rather than the common room, where you could hear the snores of knocked out teenage boys from their dorms.

“What are you doing roaming the castle this late, Ms.Y/L/N?” A voice came from behind you, it sounded like a poor imitation of Professor Snapes.

You whipped your head around, only to be met with a tall, ginger haired boy slowly walking towards you, both hands behind his back, eyes narrowed and his soft lips pursed together. Giving you his best impression of the school's potions master.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Mr.Weasley.” You quirked.

“Business reasons. It’s classified, only known to me and George.” He made a motion of zipping his lips together, locking them, and then throwing away the invisible key. It earned an amused scoff and eye roll from you.

“Sounds serious.” You quipped. “I wonder if it has anything to do with your tricks, I've overheard the two of you planning to pull some new ones soon.” 

“I may or may not need to make a stop at Zonko's. There’s a possibility I could be running low on Stink Pellets.” He shrugged and looked to the side as he sat on the ledge next to you, only to look back at you with an intrigued look.

“You never answered my question. What’re you doing out of your dorm?” 

“I can’t sleep.” Your voice is quiet and you avoid his eyes, there’s a sudden sad demeanor to your tone.

Fred’s face softens in response, he can see your face clearer now, your features being lit by the moonlight pouring through the window.

“Well, would you like to come with me?” He tilted his head down, trying to look into your eyes.

“What?” Your eyes shot up to his.

“Would you like to come along with me to Zonkos?” He tapped his fingers along the stone edge you were both sitting on. 

“We could stop by Honeydukes first, maybe swipe a few cauldron cakes...” He sang, adding persuasion to his offer. He knew those were your favorite.

You didn’t respond. Only sighed, trying to figure out if you were willing enough to take the risk of sneaking out of the castle, especially this late.

"Come on! Breaking the rules for one night is no sin, right?" A mischievous smile lit up on his face.

“That’s easy for you to say, you break them everyday.” You nudged him with your foot.

“And you’re not already breaking a rule right now?” He cocked a brow at you. You sighed in defeat, he was right.

You weren’t supposed to wander around the grounds at this time, you shouldn’t even be up at this time. You should be in bed. Or at least be in your common room. However, this was better than lying awake or pacing around in the common room.

“Fine. But how could we possibly get there?” 

“We just take the secret passage.” 

“There’s a secret passage?” 

“Absolutely there is!” He sat up straight. “And I know all seven of them.” He said proudly. “Got them all mapped out up here.” He brought a finger up to point at his head.

You took a minute to think. 

“What if we get caught?”

“When have I ever gotten caught?” Fred scoffed, you cheekily smiled at him, knowing you couldn’t even count on your hands the amount of times you’ve seen him and his brother get dragged off by Flich. 

“Don't answer that.” He shot up from his spot, standing tall and excited.

“Well, are you going or not? Better make a decision soon.” Fred held out his hand, waiting for you to place yours in his as he looked around, making sure there was no sight of Flich roaming near.

“Fine, I guess I’ll come along.” Your voice trailed off as you slowly got off the ledge.

“Hurry up then!” He laughed, “We can’t get caught!” Fred shouted, yet his voice was still at the level of a whisper. 

He tried to sound stern, but the excitement in his voice overtook everything else.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” You chuckled and shook your head, happily grabbing onto his hand, letting him drag you along as you both sped towards the one-eyed witch statue. You shushed each other, trying to keep your feet and giggles quiet. You were right. This was much better than lying awake.

tell me what you thought!

[carewyncromwell]

Okay, I blame @maleliddell for making me think about this, but...this Lunar New Year marks the year of the Dragon, right? And the thought occurred to me that Charlie would be so disappointed if it turned out he was not born in the year of the Dragon, so I looked it up. And when I did, I found out something that just cracks me up.

Charlie was born in 1972...year of the Rat. As in Percy's-pet-Scabbers Rat.

So yeah, definitely sad Charlie, knowing he wasn't born in year of the Dragon. But to rub some salt into the wound, you want to know which Weasley was born in the year of the Dragon?

PERCY.

Yes. The least outdoorsy, hot-tempered, and wild of all of the Weasleys was born in 1976, a year associated with Charlie's favorite magical creature. Sorry, I just find that absolutely hysterical. 😂

(The other Weasleys' Chinese zodiac signs under the cut, just for kicks!)

Arthur ~ 1950 ~ Year of the Tiger

confident, brave, magnetic, idealistic, thrill-seeking, arrogant, selfish; symbolizes bravery

Molly ~ 1949 ~ Year of the Ox

diligent, gentle, hardworking, reliable, patient, materialistic, stubborn; symbolizes diligence

Bill ~ 1970 ~ Year of the Dog

helpful, honest, trustworthy, unselfish, pessimistic, anxious, timid; symbolizes protection

Charlie ~ 1972 ~ Year of the Rat

ambitious, charming, talkative, resourceful, private, frugal, critical; symbolizes wisdom

Percy ~ 1976 ~ Year of the Dragon

outspoken, energetic, generous, intelligent, perfectionistic, egocentric, impatient; symbolizes authority and good fortune

Fred and George ~ 1978 ~ Year of the Horse

amusing, enthusiastic, independent, persuasive, irresponsible, moody, opportunistic; symbolizes indomitable spirit

Ron ~ 1980 ~ Year of the Monkey

entertaining, intelligent, optimistic, sociable, fickle, secretive, unpredictable; symbolizes cunning

Ginny ~ 1981 ~ Year of the Rooster

adventurous, charitable, funny, loyal, argumentative, boastful, self-involved; symbolizes punctuality and fidelity

[shysneeze]

persuasion (part two)

George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader 

Description: on their weekly afternoon tea, a letter arrives that forces reader to reveal a recent event to her mother and further revisit the past. 

Warning: angst, the most angst i’ve ever written. mentions of alcohol. again, quite au in the sense the lucius is in jail 

author’s note : I don’t know how i feel about this, it feels confusing but i’m not sure how else to write it. Any feedback is still greatly appreciated. I was overwhelmed by the response for part one so I can only hope this part doesn’t dissappoint.

Tag List: @andineversawyoucoming @theweirdsideofstuff @the-grey-lady13 @peanutem @paigeyisme @wolfiepirate @sir-lili 

series masterlist

.~.~.

The manor’s empty halls and high ceilings make the small click from (Y/N)’s shoes echo loudly as she walks towards the parlour. The only other noise is sound of the curtains cracking like whips in the wind She shuts each wide-open window with a disapproving click of her tongue as she passes.

“It’s below freezing outside.” She sighs loudly. “Can I ask again why the windows must always be open?”  

Her question announces her arrival as she enters the parlour. From her spot on one of the sofa’s, (Y/N)’s mother is already rolling her eyes at her daughter and sipping at her tea, as if this is a usual occurrence, which of course, it is.

“Hello to you too, Dear.” Narcissa hums into her teacup. “And I want some fresh air is all.”

“Hello, Mother.” (Y/N) corrects herself, leaning down to kiss her mother’s cheeks and taking a seat across from her. “However, you do have a very large garden for fresh air.”

Narcissa Malfoy could easily challenge (Y/N)’s status as the Malfoy family recluse. Despite being released from house arrest almost a year ago, (Y/N) can count the amount of times her mother has left the dreary manor on one hand. 

“You said it yourself, Dear.” Narcissa reminds. “It’s below freezing outside.”

“I wish you’d get out of here more.” (Y/N) sighs. “I’d hate to be stuck in this house all the time.”

“I can take care of myself, (Y/N).” Narcissa states. “In fact, I recall several years where I took care of you and your brother too.”

(Y/N)’s mouth opens to tell her there is no need for the sass when the creak of the door announces the second arrival of the day. It’s no surprise to either of the woman to find it’s Draco stood in the doorway, the only missing member of this week’s Sunday afternoon tea.

“She’s not on about the windows already, is she?”

He smirks at her as he makes his way further into the room and (Y/N) can only roll her eyes and try to ignore the smug smile that climbs their mother’s cheeks at his question. He mimics her arrival in kissing their mother’s cheek then joins (Y/N), a smugness around him that has her wanting to dig her heel into his toes. He never ceases to bring out the immaturity in her.

“I give it ten minutes until you’re cold.” She mumbles childishly.

“I’ll still have lasted longer than you have without complaining.” He replies with another signature smirk.

“Every week…” Narcissa sighs. “You argue like children.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with us if we started being nice to each other.”

Narcissa’s head tilts as she gives her daughter a pointed look, a warning glance, one perfected from years of family dinners where (Y/N) verged too close to crossing the line of suitable conversation to have around her father. (Y/N) bites her lip to hide her smirk at her mother’s expression and focusses herself on making her brother and herself a cup of tea while Narcissa quizzes Draco on his week.

“So how is the ministry?”

(Y/N) tunes out, she can’t imagine the ministry to have ever been particularly riveting and she knows that when it is her turn to summarise her week, Draco isn’t likely to be interested in her shop keeping tales. Instead, she stares down at her lap and twirls her fingers nervously while she considers the pros and cons of telling her mother about her night out with Fleur from two weeks pervious.

The pros are alluring in the sense that at least her mother will know all the background information she needs to understand how horrible it had been; however, the cons heavily outweigh that. The Weasley’s, or more particularly, George Weasley, has been a taboo subject under the roof of Malfoy Manor since the secret romance had been discovered all those years back.

Lucius Malfoy had caught his daughter sneaking out of Weasley Wizard Wheezes in the early hours of the morning in the same clothes she’d left the Manor in the night before. He put the pieces together quick enough.

“Where were you?” Lucius demanded when she returned.

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) shrugged. “I told you I was at a friend’s.”

“Who?”

“Alexandra’s.” She stated confidently under his scrutinizing eyes.

She jumped when his cane cracked against the floorboards though, and her father’s expression turned furious. She subconsciously backed against a wall as he moved closer, hooked end of his pompous looking cane rested intimidatingly against the wall right by her ear.

“Don’t lie to me.”

She can still remember the raspy edge to his voice that gave her chills. Full scale war had then promptly broken out after and it had seen the end of a relationship she’d been willing to run away from home for barely two hours before.

“What about you, (Y/N)?” Her mother asks suddenly, dragging her the scenes of her past. “How has your week been- and the week before since you cancelled on us last Sunday?”  

“Oh, it was okay.” She explains. “I’m sorry about last weekend, I think it was something I ate.”

“That’s code for hungover.” Draco coughs, causing (Y/N) to dig her elbow into his chest. “Ouch!”

“I wasn’t hungover!” She exclaims unconvincingly.

In a way, she’s glad Draco has made up this wonderful, embarrassing excuse that she won’t be asked any further questions on. It’s even better than her   ‘something-I-ate’ excuse and she only wishes it was her own idea. She’s much more willing to listen to a long-winded speech on drinking responsibly than whatever her Mother would come up with for meeting up with George Weasley again.

“You’re an adult, Dear.” Narcissa assures. “It’s you that has to deal with the consequences of drinking, not me.”

“Thanks.” She mumbles.

“Although I hope you aren’t just drinking alone in your apartment.” Her mother adds sadly, destroying (Y/N)’s hope of the subject being left unquestioned. “You’re worth more than that, Dear.”

“I wasn’t.” (Y/N) assures with a kind smile. “I promise.”

One of her mother’s carefully plucked brows twitches curiously but (Y/N) has already turned her attention back to sipping at her tea and avoiding eye contact. The older woman across from her lets out an almost inaudible, disappointed sigh that has a twang of guilt hurtling straight to (Y/N)’s chest. She almost opens her mouth to expand when she’s interrupted by a flapping sound from the window.

The beautiful brown owl glides into the parlour with an elegance that, even if (Y/N) didn’t already know it as Fleur’s, identifies it as her best friend’s. It lands gracefully on the edge of the coffee table and gently bows to drop the letter on  before her. (Y/N) begins to check her pockets for a treat for the dutiful bird.

The bird takes the treat gently and willingly accepts (Y/N)’s arm as a lift back towards the window to make its flight from the room easier. Once it’s flown away again, she turns back to face her family, both mother and brother perched on the edge of their seats to peer nosily at the letter.

“Subtle.” (Y/N) comments as she takes her seat again, snatching the letter up.

“I’m just curious as to who it’s from.” Narcissa assures. “It was a beautiful bird.”

“It’s Fleur’s.” She admits somewhat nervously.

It’s not that her family is unaware of her friendship with the French woman, but more so to do with who she’s married to. Her surname, although never mentioned aloud to her mother, always causes something between curiosity and concern to flash across the older woman’s face. This time, the look is fleeting and Narcissa tries to look uninterested, a ploy to make (Y/N) feel less uncomfortable opening it now, in her presence.

(Y/N) opens it with a sigh, already seeing through her mother’s act. She skims the contents quickly in a bid to hide them from her brother’s eyes from beside her. She can see him frowning out the corner of her eye though, already just as confused as she is.

“The Burrow?” He wonders aloud.

(Y/N) gulps avoiding her mother’s curious eyes. Less than two years ago, when (Y/N) first befriended Fleur, she’d assured her genuinely concerned mother that she wasn’t in touch with the Weasley’s again and that she wouldn’t get herself hurt. Following Draco’s revelation, their mother is exceedingly confused.

“Fleur has invited me to a family quidditch match.” (Y/N) explains quietly. “At the Burrow.”

“With the Weasley’s?” Draco asks in slight astonishment.

“It seems that way.” (Y/N) confirms. “The others- Harry and Hermione, are likely to be there too.”

“Are you going to go?” Draco asks, not attempting to hide his amazement. “You don’t play Quidditch.”

“I can probably just spectate.” She shrugs, sheepish under their gaze. “I should go.”

“I never realised you were speaking to the Weasley’s again.” Her mother admits, a strange calm to her voice.

“Again?” Draco frowns.

(Y/N) ignores him and tries to come up with a response to this question that will approach the subject delicately. She folds the parchment carefully and tucks it into her pocket with a hand that’s suddenly shaky.

“Fleur and I went to the Leaky last week and bumped into the twins.” She explains eventually, voice low and secretive in a way that confuses Draco even more. “There were no other seats.”

Narcissa takes a moment to take this in and process it, only managing to come up with an ‘oh’ in response. She feels like she’s been flung back in time, her heart acing again with concern for her daughter’s fragile heart. Two years isn’t long enough to get over that sort of heart ache.

“That must have been hard, Dear.”

(Y/N) flinches as the softness of her mother’s voice, the concern laced through every word. She’s not sure why she’s so surprised, her mother has always been the more lenient on the subject, even back when it first came to light. She was the eye of the storm in the manor that evening, a gentle middle ground in what is the worst fight (Y/N) and Lucius have ever had.

“You can’t leave, Dear.” Narcissa sighed from the doorway of her daughter’s room as she flung clothes into her trunk aggressively. “Not now.”

“Yes, I can.” (Y/N) grunted, although her arms shook as she shoved another jumper in her trunk. “He can’t tell me who I get to be in a relationship with.”

“(Y/N), we’re about to go to war.”

“I know that!” She snapped with a voice cracked with raw emotion. “I don’t want to be on this side!”

“I know…” Her mother sighed as she stepped into the room and took a seat on the bed.  “But If you care for him, you have to know that he’ll be safer without you by his side.”

(Y/N) stilled as she considered this, it sunk in slowly, then all to quickly. She dropped onto her mattress beside her mother and began to sob.  Narcissa’s heart broke as she pulled her daughter’s head onto her lap and stroked at her hair soothingly.

“You’re right.” She bubbled. “Why do you have to be right?”

“It was.” (Y/N) admits quietly in the present. “It was horrible.”

“Then why subject yourself to it any further?”

“Fleur is my best- my only friend and I can’t keep letting her down.” (Y/N) explains. “ She’s going to get annoyed at my excuses eventually and I can’t lose her as a friend, Mother.”

She’s already convinced herself. She promised Fleur she would try more and if quidditch at the Burrow is what that means, then (Y/N) is going to be there and she’s going to deal with the tension whether she likes it or not.

“(Y/N)- “

“I’m going.” (Y/N) states strongly, conversation over. “Anyway, Draco, how’s that cold?”

“Oh, I see.” Draco quips bitterly. “I’m allowed to be part of the conversation now that you want to change the subject.”

“Not if you’re going to be stubborn.” (Y/N) huffs. “Mother, how is your reading list coming along?”

Narcissa chooses to take the bait, anything to diffuse the tension that has settled, thick and suffocating. She gives her daughter a knowing look, one that makes (Y/N) squirm and avert her own eyes, then begins to summarise one of her recent reads. It takes a minute for the flow of conversation to return but eventually it does and (Y/N) can only hope the entire thing is forgotten about, no matter how delusional her optimism.

.~.~.

The sun is beginning to set when (Y/N) sets out on her way to leave. As has become their weekly tradition, the three of them stand on the doorstep of the manor and exchange last minute pleasantries. Draco is first to leave, his farewell curt and slightly sour from being denied the knowledge of his sister’s Weasley-related secret.

(Y/N), however, lingers a little longer on the doorstep as her mother gives her a long look that has (Y/N) sighing, shoulders slumping in surrender as she walks into her mother’s open arms. There is something tragically familiar to how she rubs (Y/N)’s back, a memory she’s tried to supress from that evening two years ago.

“Just be careful, Dear.” Narcissa says softly in her daughter’s ear. “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I won’t.” She assures. “I’ve got thick skin.”

Pulling apart, Narcissa runs her hand lovingly down (Y/N)’s cheek and smiles with a small nod of agreement. She knows this, if their surname has done anything for her children, it is give them tough skin. Yet, her concern doesn’t ease just like that, a parent’s never would.

“I know, Dear.” She smiles.

“Can you try and get out more though? I worry about you alone in this house without… without Father.”

“You must really be worried to mention him.” Narcissa frowns, resting her hand soothingly on (Y/N)’s arm. 

 “I just reckon even his company would be better than none for you.”

She knows that as much as her father and her have their differences, the two years without him have been tough on her mother, that much is clear to (Y/N). She herself hasn’t spoken to Lucius Malfoy since the first Christmas he spent in prison. Visiting hour lasted ten minutes before they’d gotten into a screaming match and (Y/N) had left and vowed never to come back.

“You’re sweet to worry, but I’m okay, Dear.” Narcissa promises. “I get to see you ever weekend.”

“Well, you can visit me sometime.” (Y/N) decides. “Come see me at the shop.”

“That sounds like a plan, Dear.” Narcissa nods. “Now, off you go before you freeze out here.”

“See you next week.” (Y/N) grins. “I’ll try not to be ‘hungover’ next time.”

“I’d hope not!” Narcissa teases.

(Y/N) pulls her in for another hug, suddenly overwhelmed by a love for her mother, her unjudging and ever reassuring mother. She holds on for longer, unwilling to let go this week, unwilling to return to the reality of her life, of the rumours in bars and dirty looks from strangers. She wants to feel safe in her mother’s arms again for as long as she can.

“I love you.” She whispers.

“I love you too, Dear.”

(Y/N) finally gathers the strength to pull apart and make her way down the long path to the apparation point with a final wave to the woman on the doorstep. Once back in her apartment, the urge to cry finds her, helpless and vulnerable. Ever since the unexpected and uninvited reunion with George Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron, she’s beginning to feel like she’s living in the past, and it’s all-consumingly painful.

[saintlike78]

Reunion at Shell Cottage [R.W.]

A/n: This came to me and I wrote it all at once because it took over my brain.

Pairings: Ron Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 2k

Summary: After many months apart after Ron goes on a search for horcruxes with Harry and Hermione, they finally reunite - at Shell Cottage.

Warnings: fluff, only slight almost nonexistent angst, mention of depression and loss of appetite, crying, kissing. As always lmk if I missed anything.

“Go…- Ron, it’s okay… just go.”

It was the last thing you’d said before disconnecting your hands, watching with teary eyes as Ron hesitantly started running, his hand still outstretched and his eyes filled with tears of his own. He mouthed an ‘I love you’, and within a blink, he was gone. Your heart broke, the tears that had pooled in your eyes finally leaked down your cheeks. You let George pull you with him guiding you to safety, away from the burning and the screaming as death eaters tore up the place, looking for the chosen one. You wished you could’ve gone with him or that he could’ve stayed, but none of it was suitable - he was supposed to go with Harry, and you weren’t.

So, you waited. Keeping the radio on at any given time of day, just to be sure and for peace of mind; at this point, it was white noise, you weren’t really paying attention, just enough to be able to catch his name, if it should ever be said. You prayed to whoever wanted to listen, to keep him safe and bring him back to you.

Days bled into weeks and weeks into months; still, you heard nothing. It was a relief, yet it scared you, being in the unknown, but you did what you could. You helped Molly and the rest of the Weasley clan; you kept busy.

Eventually, you went with Bill and Fleur to Shell cottage; after much persuasion. They said it would be good with some fresh air, but you knew that everyone was worried about you. Being cooped up with a radio 24/7 was apparently “not good for your mental health”, according to Remus Lupin - the annoyingly brilliant werewolf who’d been keeping an eye on you for months.

As always, he was right. The air from the sea did soothe your brain; even if it was only a tiny amount, it still helped. It felt different from the air everywhere else, here it didn’t feel as stuffy and grey; the promise of war laid around, like a thick blanket, but here it was washed away by the sea, leaving behind a calm amidst the storm.

You’d lost count of how many months it had been, but if someone told you it had been ten years, you would’ve believed them because it certainly felt that way. Bill and Fleur were lovely company, but they were not him.

His soft touches kept you company on long nights, the nights that were the most painful. His voice soothed you, even the one you pretended to hear. You only slept properly when you could force yourself to dream of him, but even then, it never felt genuine.

Throughout the months, you’d grown more grey, bags laying heavy under your eyes and your appetite gone from long sleepless nights.

.

You trudged gloomily down the stairs toward the kitchen, ready for another day of nothing. You turned on the radio along with the kettle, listening as the grainy voice came through the speaker, announcing the names of the witches and wizards who’d been unfortunate enough to suffer the wrath of the Dark Lord.

The voice fell into the background, the steaming mug warming your hands as you stared out the window, looking at the waves as they lapped at each other. It was easy to pretend, just for a moment, that your heart didn’t ache every second of every day, but you tried - just for a second.

You shook your head, perking up, when the voice turned to multiple, no longer coming from the radio but outside the cottage. You felt around the table for your wand, calling out in a whisper-shout for Bill and Fleur as the voices drew closer.

Bill came down the stairs, his wand held in front of him defensively, nodding toward the door as a signal to keep quiet and keep yourself guarded for whatever laid just behind it. Just as Bill came to stand in front of you, the door opened. Bill’s figure shielded you from being able to see the intruders, purposely putting himself in danger to save you.

You watched his shoulders relax and his armed hand drop to his side, no longer in defence mode.

Bill greeted the people who’d entered, quickly walking over to hug the person he knew.

Your breath hitched, and your heart hammered in your chest as your eyes landed on a familiar head of fiery red hair, hugging his older brother. Your line of vision blurred, tears gathering in your eyes as they did that day, many months ago.

Ron was too busy being happy about his reunion with his brother; he hadn’t even noticed another person present in the room until he heard a small sob.

“Ron,” you breathed out with a sob, tears cascading down your cheeks.

He detached from Bill, not even giving it a thought. Bill just smiled and shook his head, introducing himself to Luna and leading her into the kitchen.

“Princess,” he smiled - a relieved smile - the most genuine smile he’d had in all of your months apart.

You couldn’t waste another second; your legs carried you to him on their own accord. Jumping into his open arms, wrapping your arms and legs around him, hugging him so tightly you were afraid you’d break him. He hugged you back just as tight, letting your tears wet his flannel shirt and your sobs be muffled by his neck. You took shaky breaths, inhaling his scent - the one you’d craved for months and could never replicate. But now you didn’t have to anymore, he was here, and you knew you’d never be able to let go again.

Your fingers dug into him, afraid that if you didn’t keep him close, he’d vanish, and you’d realise it was your mind playing cruel tricks on you.

“Shh, baby, I’m here… right here,” he kissed the side of your head, rubbing his large hand up and down your back, letting your sobs turn into soft sniffles against him.

“Missed you- missed you so much… I love you,” you blabbered.

Your arms were around his middle as soon as he set you down, not ready to let go of him just yet.

“Missed you too, baby, every day,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head, “I love you so so much.”

There you stood, wrapped up in each other’s embrace for what felt like hours. Whispering how much you loved one another, squeezing him and hoping he would be one with you forever.

“Is this my shirt?” he asked, breaking the small bubble of peace, an amused smirk on his face.

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest, “it might be.”

“You know… I’ve been looking for it for months,” he said, giving your hips a playful squeeze.

“- I was so sure I packed it because I know it’s your favourite… and here you were, this whole time, wearing it and leaving me in complete agony,” he joked dramatically.

Ronald Weasley - always a flair for the dramatic.

“Sorry… it just called out to me, and I had to grab it.”

He laughed, the sweet sound bleeding into your ears and filling your entire body with warmth - heaven, that’s what it was.

“Grabbed it from my clean laundry pile, that is, you little minx.”

You giggled again, keeping your face hidden. The smile on both of your faces so big you’d think you had already won the war.

You looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest with a soft smile. You enjoyed admiring his features, noting the dark circles that matched yours; his smile was the same, though you could tell it wasn’t something he’d done much of these long months, but perhaps that would change now. His face was skinnier than before, you assumed yours was as well, but he didn’t feel bony, which was a good sign. His hair had grown longer, but not too long, probably thanks to Hermione - you’d have to thank her for that later.

“How did I survive so long without you?” he whispered before leaning down to connect your lips.

The kiss was greedy and passionate, your mouths moving in sync as the muscle memory kicked in. Ron held you and pressed you up against him, feeling his chest move with every breath against yours, and you were sure he could feel the hammering of your heart. Your hands balled up into fists around his flannel, holding it tight on his shoulders, creasing the fabric. His tongue slipped into your mouth, drinking up all the breathy noises you produced. His hands travelled all around you, feeling you and memorising everything, committing it all to memory, so he’d have it forever - the gift of being able to see and feel you everywhere.

The sound of someone clearing their throat forced you to pull apart, but not without a small whine, leaving Ron with a proud smirk on his face. Turning your head, you saw a very awkward looking Harry, with his arms crossed.

“Are you just about done?” he asked jokingly, but it was enough to let you know that you’d been standing in Ron’s embrace for maybe a bit too long.

You removed yourself from Ron’s arms, walking to Harry to hug him, “are you doing alright, Harry?”

He chuckled slightly and hugged you back, “oh, you know, as alright as you can be with a dark wizard who’s trying to kill ya’”.

.

You greeted the others in the kitchen, apologising for how long you’d spent with Ron, but they all shook their heads and smiled fondly.

“It’s alright, YN, don’t apologise for wanting to spend time with him… I don’t understand why, but to each their own,” Hermione said with a cheeky look causing you to laugh. You smiled gratefully at her, looking at Ron, who stood beside you, a gentle arm around your back, holding your waist.

“I would like to let you know, I’m delightful company, Moine,” Ron argued, with a frown.

“And here I thought we could finally have some peace from all his sad frowny faces,” Harry snickered.

Ron’s frown deepened but he pulled you closer to him, holding your waist a little tighter. You rested your head on his bicep, waiting for a little bickering argument to ensue - just like old times.

.

“How long will we stay here?” you asked, looking at Ron shut the door to the bedroom you had been using, now the bedroom you’d be sharing.

“We spoke with the goblin; he’ll help lead us into Gringotts tomorrow…- you can come on the mission with us if you want to, but if not, I’ll come back and get you before we continue moving,” Ron moved to stand with you, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

You nodded, humming your understanding but still needing time to make up your mind.

“Just think about it till tomorrow… for now, let’s just sleep because I have craved a good cuddle from my best girl.”

You smiled, giving him a small hug before getting ready for bed. Ron handed you a fresh t-shirt, which you gladly accepted, inhaling his scent that now engulfed you.

You gave him back the t-shirt you had stolen, happy to see him stuffing it in his bag to regain the Ron Weasley smell.

He stripped down to his boxers, climbing into the creaky bed, getting comfortable before lifting the covers for you.

“Come here, peach.”

That was all you needed for you to jump into bed as well, snuggling close to his chest as he pulled you to him.

You breathed out what felt like a sigh of relief and exhaustion, your whole body relaxing against him. You lifted your leg over his, slotting it between them, shutting your eyes.

“Missed you, so much”, you slurred slightly, your body’s exhaustion finally catching up to you.

“Missed you too, my pretty baby,” Ron whispered, hugging you to him, “but never again, never gonna have to miss me again because I’m never leaving your side.”

“Never?” you kissed his collarbone, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your hair splayed out around you.

“Never, baby… love you too much to leave you again.”

He gently kissed the top of your head, feeling your breathing even out, and a small whisper of ‘I love you’ tickled his neck.

A/n: to be notified of future work, follow my library account @saintlike78slibrary and turn on notifications 🤍

[sodamnradd]

It’s the most beautiful she’s ever looked.

Even though her doting mother-to-be took her dress shopping, she feels emotionally disconnected from the gown. Can’t imagine browsing photo albums years from now and reminiscing about how lovely she looked, how happy.

The door swings open and Ginny enters, shooing everyone out. An entourage of champagne-sippers and yes-women, oohing at Hermione’s tamed curls, aahing at the scratchy veil draped down her spine.

Her brow furrows.

“You have a visitor.” Ginny steps aside, letting the tall blond inside, dressed black-tie appropriate because it’s what he wears daily not because he was invited. 

“What are you doing?” She refuses to look at him.

Ginny takes her hands. “Ron’s my brother, but you’re my best friend.”

“Gin-”

“Harry loves you. George will come around. Dad has always cared for you and always will. And Mum… let me worry about her.”

She shakes her head to protest.

Ginny stops her. “You deserve happiness.”

Before Hermione can stammer out a dozen excuses, Ginny leaves, nodding at Malfoy on her way out.

He’s watching her with mixed emotions, awe and disbelief, a jealous clench to his jaw. “Say you love him more and I’ll leave you alone forever.”

She notes the way he says more, because he’s not naïve enough to think she doesn’t love her groom at all. That she wouldn’t sacrifice herself to ensure his happiness.

“Hermione, look at me.”

She shouldn’t. Otherwise, she’d glimpse those eyes, see the way they soften on her, feel terror because nobody will look at her like that again.

Self-control means turning away and telling him she doesn’t love him anymore.

“Leave, Draco. You weren’t invited.”

“No.” The tone of his voice shifts, stubborn enough to remind her exactly why they shouldn’t work.  

He has a temper.

A piss-poor reputation.

Bribes and blackmails his way through life.

He knows her better than anyone and loves her best.

Listens to her.

Has left her alone for months because she begged him to when Ron needed her.

“Things were never meant to escalate to this.” There’s a glassy sheen in his eyes. “I never should have let you go.”

“I asked you to.”

“Here’s the thing, Granger, sometimes you’re wrong. And maybe I deserve this. Losing you is the deepest pain I’ve ever known, and I’ll live with it if that’s what you want. But you deserve me.”

Her corset is too tight. Skirts too heavy.

“You’ll spend your entire life taking care of him when I’d take care of you.”

“He needs me.” Her voice is a broken whisper, straight from the heart.

“Why do you think Weasley let me in? Who do you think changed me so thoroughly she chose me over her own brother? Three years ago, I wouldn’t be caught dead here.”

Malfoy is nothing if not persuasive. She knows this.

But it doesn’t mean he’s not telling the truth.

“When they discover I left Ron at the altar to run away with you, I won’t be me anymore. My reputation will be destroyed.”

His mouth quirks. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It’s not funny!”

His smile fades. “If you’re making this decision because of public perception, maybe you aren’t you anymore.”

He turns to leave, expression crestfallen, shoulders weighed down by disappointment.

Panic guts her open, watching him leave her behind.

“Wait.”

Malfoy pauses. Turns. Reaches out his hand. Eyes brimming with promise. Body full of strength. She’ll need every ounce of it.

When the wedding entourage returns, they find an empty room and a discarded veil.

Amid panicked chaos, Ginny pours herself a glass of champagne.

(600 words, loosely inspired by this scene from Gossip Girl.)

[refiwrites]

Pumpkin Fun

Pairing: Weasley Twins x GN! Reader (platonic? idk have it your way)

Summary: You once again find yourself helping the infamous Weasley twins in their pranks.

Warning/s: none

Word count: 1.0k

A/N: happy halloween!! 🎃 what better way to spend halloween than spending time with the weasley twins right?!

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

“I’m telling you this is a brilliant plan, (Y/N).” Says Fred.

“If not, the best plan we have yet.” George quickly follows with the click of his tongue.

I face-palmed myself mentally. These two really get my robes in a twist, but in a good way, because I loved them much to my dismay.

“Tell me, how exactly is carving pumpkins and giving life to them so they can scare students and staff alike late at night at Hogwarts the best plan you have?”

Fred hums, cart in hand as George began gathering up pumpkins by Hagrid’s place.

“Because out of all things you’ll expect to be scared of at Halloween, why not an enchanted pumpkin who’d take the chance to scare you every opportunity it gets, right?” Fred smirks.

“Oi Freddie mind giving a hand over here?” George protested, leading Fred to huff and help his twin brother nonetheless. I was still baffled at this plan of theirs, well, also because why did I even agree to helping out in the first place? Merlin’s beard.

“And how did you even get permission from Hagrid to take these?” I asked as I decided to help out in placing some of the freshly plucked pumpkins in the cart.

“Oh no, we didn’t.” Fred says casually to which I immediately dropped one with wide eyes.

“Shame, that was a nice looking pumpkin that one.” Fred adds to my reaction.

“What?! But-“

“Nah, we actually did get permission to do this, Hagrid appreciates the action if it contributed to the school.” George was quick to calm your worries with a hand on your shoulder before continuing.

“Y’know Georgie we could also play as pumpkins, maybe give a little visit to our dear brother Ron at night?” Fred suggests.

“I reckon he’d piss himself even before we presented ourselves.”

“Hey, be nice to your brother, he’s not done anything wrong!” I responded, brushing my hands to rid of the dirt. Fred and George looked at each other then back at me.

“Sounds like someone’s taken an interest with our dear brother.” Fred said amused.

“No, I do not.” I simply dismissed the topic and George was kind enough to let it end.

“Think that’s enough.” George says pertaining to the overflowing cart of pumpkins ranging from small to absolutely huge ones.

“Can we even carve all of these tonight?” I asked, feeling my hands tire already before anything even started yet.

“Who said anything about carving? We have magic (Y/N).” Spoke Fred. I shake my head “I mean I’d help if you guys carve one out traditionally by yourselves like how we do it in the muggle world,” tapping a pumpkin I looked back up at them “Besides, you get to choose your pumpkin and have your own personalized look to it!”

“Actually, yeah that idea doesn’t seem bad.” George agreed with the raise of his eyebrows.

I smiled. “Now let’s get to the kitchens!”

“I take it back, I do not understand a single thing that just came out of your mouth.” Fred looked confused as ever and George looked like he was processing the information very well until he agreed with his brother.

The three of us were lucky enough to have the kitchens to ourselves with Fred and George’s excellent persuasion of the house elves, telling them it’s for the spirit of Halloween.

“Again guys, it’s really not that hard! All you have to do is take the top out with the stem,” I demonstrated. “Pull it out.” I continued, pulling the carved top with a satisfying ‘shlump’

“Then you take the spoon,” hugging the pumpkin close to my body, I placed the spoon inside then began scraping its insides. “Scrape out everything, literally everything.”

“Sounds like what you’re doing is outright murder.” George inspects my actions.

“And a bit messy as well but it looks great.” Fred said, also watching.

“Better take a good look then boys, cause this is what you’ll be doing in a minute.” I reminded.

After explaining to them how to do the outline of their pumpkin faces and how to successfully cut it, they began. Meanwhile I was now outlining my pumpkin’s features before preparing to cut it out.

“So you just take all these out?” Fred asked as he grabbed a handful of its insides.

“Yes but I’d expected you use a spoon.. But that works well too.” I grimaced at Fred’s hand.

“Oh don’t be so proper, what’s progress without a bit of fun?” Fred replies, slowly raising his pumpkin insides covered hand with a mischievous look.

George already had a sense of what his twin planned on doing and immediately equipped himself with his own batch of pumpkin pulps.

“OH FREDRICK AND GEORGE WEASLEY I SWEAR TO GODRIC GRYFFINDOR I-“

And suddenly mess of pumpkin guts were thrown here and there, making a full mess in the kitchens. The two seemed to be enjoying completely throwing at each other while I decided to take some revenge by flicking my wand and successfully obtaining the other untouched pumpkins’ insides.

I quickly stood, covered in pumpkin pulp from head to toe. The twins were too busy laughing at each other to notice what I had planned.

“Oh hell you look shitty.” George laughs at his brother.

“We’re both literally orange now.” His brother stated.

I coughed, which sent them both looking at me.

“Oh you look even worse, actually.” Fred said eyeing me up and down while George did the same.

I lifted up my wand and a smirk tugged on the edge of my lip. The two took a second to process and their expression was replaced by terror.

“We’re sorry-“ They both said in unison yet before they finished they were already fully covered in fresh pumpkin insides. I bursted out of laughter and they looked disappointed.

“Should’ve finished what you started.” I shrugged.

After cleaning up and using our magic on the rest of the pumpkins it was already nightfall. We’ve decided to put our own personalised pumpkins in our dorms, minus the spells of course. After successfully placing different pumpkins in different areas we took a rest on the bench with a loud thud.

“D’you think it worked?” I asked.

Not a few moments pass from your question a scream was heard from down the halls. It sounded alike to Mr. Filch’s scream.

“Absolutely.” The twins replied in unison with a smirk.

[lushaletta]

my masterlist

george weasley

congratulations

during a gryffindor celebration party, you find yourself sitting on a sofa, with george weasley and a bit of alcohol in your system.

library date

a library date with george weasley was going great.. but perhaps take falling asleep off the cards for next time.

cinnamon bark and warmth

waking up beside george weasley was far from what you imagined when you fell asleep in the common room, but here you are. arms on his torso, fingers entangled in his messy hair. oh, dear.

a mound of homework

having no energy to do schoolwork was never a problem you thought you’d have, but george makes it easier.

wish you were sober

after accidentally walking into george’s dorm room after a good party, you confess something you wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the firewhisky.

differences from then and now

you and george were friends, but apparently friends don’t do what you do.

do you wanna dance, baby?

you think george is toying with you. he swears he isn’t.

fred weasley

in good hands

being harry potter’s older sister is difficult. you hate watching your little brother get hurt both physically and emotionally, but fred happens to be a great protector.

hermione granger

butterbeer

a friendly outing to the three broomsticks with hermione granger seemed like a good idea, but the waitress giving you both a single straw makes things complicated.

oliver wood

his perfect match

everybody thought that oliver wood was just a maniacal team captain who cared about nothing but quidditch. would they be wrong to assume such a thing? he would’ve said no six months ago. but now? he’s not so sure.

remus lupin

that cursed, darned b-word

remus seems to have changed a lot over the summer, and so have your feelings for him.

soft smiles

you can make remus smile when he’s feeling down.

paparazzi

kissing remus backstage before his show.

james potter

a room invasion

waiting for james to finish quidditch practice while you were in one of his own jerseys was starting to be a common occurence.

happy birthday

his royal highness has a soft spot for an unlikely girl.

baby, just say yes

he’s romeo, you’re a scarlet letter.

hide with me

poorly written drabble in which you have awful anxiety and a lovely james.

theodore nott

the objective and the persuasive

a tale of forbidden romance through the eyes of a lovesick theodore nott.

tom riddle

the lamb and her wolf: a series

have you fallen into the dark lord’s trap, or has he fallen into yours?

one. two. three.

[love-and-other-potions]

L.o.v.e.r.s.

Fred x Reader

George looks at you with doubt clearly evident on his face.

"Why do you think it was Freddie? It could be me for all you know."

You look at him in disbelief.

"I know it was Fred. I complained about this asshole yesterday to him and today he is pranked. You expect me to believe that it's a coincidence?"

You raise an eyebrow at him and he sighs.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right. He did it. He plays pranks for the people he loves. You should have seen some of the gruesome pranks he's done on my behalf... Good times."

You choke on your own spit.

"W-what?"

He pauses.

"Oh wait."

He covers his mouth with his hand.

"He l-loves me?"

"Oh. Sometimes I shouldn't say words."

"But how?"

He looks up the ceiling.

"Why doesn't the earth swallow you whole when you want it to?"

"I've gotta find him."

"No! Bad idea!"

You roll your eyes.

"I've been in love with him for forever. It's a good search."

He puts his hand over his chest and sighs.

"Good. Search on then!"

You smile and head out the door. You search most of Hogwarts before finding him in the library. When you see him, your eyes light up before you take a slight pause. He's standing between the bookcases with Angelina. You can see them from a side view. He's listening intently to whatever she's saying. She stops speaking and nods. She grins before leaning up and kissing him lightly on the lips. Your stomach drops to your toes and you can feel your heart crumble.

Oh.

From that day forth, you become a bitter shell of the person you once were. You're sarcastic and cynical, especially around Fred and his new lover. Once George had learned of the situation, he was concerned for you. He still is. He has expressed his concern for you thousands of times but it falls on deaf ears. You try to convince yourself that you're better off without Fred and that you're glad that he doesn't know the whole situation. It's too bad that self-persuasion isn't your strongest personality trait.

You're walking into the Great Hall when George suddenly drags you into an empty classroom.

"Can we postpone the kinky classroom sex? I'm hungry."

He raises an eyebrow and you sigh.

"Alright, alright. Food can wait. What position do you want me?"

He still looks at you with a deadpanned expression.

"You see, where I come from, you laugh when people make jokes. Especially when they're not funny."

He sighs.

"Y/N, I'm really worried about you. You've become a completely different person. I know you love Fred and it hurts, but you have to-"

"Have to what, George? Move on?"

You laugh bitterly.

"Don't you think that I've tried? Seeing him laugh and smile with her kills a new part of me every day. He's so happy. You know, when you told me that he loves me, I was ecstatic. Finally, the boy that I've loved since First Year likes me! I thought the world was finally going to let me be happy. Then I walked into the library to find them kissing. Either he never really loved me or the world is cruel."

"He does love you, Y/N! We've had so many conversations about you. I have no doubt in my mind that he loves you."

"But is it enough?"

"Y/N, please don't do this to yourself."

You take a shuddering breath.

"Nevermind George. I am over Fred. When I walk out that door, I'll never think of him in that way again. I am over Fred Weasley."

Neither you nor George had heard the door open behind you.

"W-what? A voice chokes out.

You turn to see a shock-stricken Fred.

"Freddie!" George crows.

Fred's eyes remain on you.

"You're over me?"

You put your hand over your eyes and turn.

"When were you- uh- under me?"

"You know, I heard that the House Elves put new soaps in the bathrooms. I'm going to go see if this rumor is true," George declares before rushing out.

"Y/N?"

You sigh.

"Yes Fred?"

"What do you mean you're over me?"

You turn back to him.

"I mean what I said. I'm over you. I'm done acting like a lost puppy while you're happily in a relationship. I'm in love with you and it kills me to see you with her. I've decided to be over you."

"Wait, you're in love with me?"

You point a finger at him angrily.

"You were in love with me first!"

He blinks at you in surprise.

"Yeah, George accidentally told me!"

He looks at you with his eyebrows knitted together.

"So what's the problem?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? The problem is that I went to find you to tell you that for some stupid reason that only Merlin knows I'm in love with you and I find you locking lips with Ang-hoe-lina!"

His confused expression turns into laughter.

"What's so damn funny?" you demand.

"Marcus Flint had been making inappropriate advances at Angie. What you saw in the library was a show for Flint to leave her alone. Flint may not respect women, but he respects man code."

You bite your lip.

"So you're not with Angelina?"

He smiles.

"No, I'm not with 'Ang-hoe-lina' as you so kindly called her."

You looked down at the ground.

"I thought you moved onto Angie because you got tired of me," you admit.

He reaches over and pulls your chin up. Your E/C eyes lock with his warm coffee ones.

"Love, I'm always tired, but never of you."

You smile softly at him.

"Really?"

He leans his forehead against yours.

"Really."

"If Angie got a fake kiss, can I have a real one?" you ask hopefully.

He chuckles.

"Of course, sweetheart."

He leans down and gently presses his lips against yours. The door clicks open behind you once again.

"Oh! You know, I heard the Fourth Floor has different scents of soap. I'm going to see if this rumor mill is correct."

The door clicks shut again.

This one shot may or may not be heavily based off of Ross and Rachel from FRIENDS. Sorry not sorry.

[butterbeerblurbs]

you’re my star (player) (f.w.)

💌: usually, fred’s on receiving end of getting chastised for getting hurt. be it from quidditch or pranks. today, the roles have reversed.  📝: word count: 3,475 words / fred weasley x chaser!reader [gryffindor!house] / 🌸fluffyyyflufffluff 💬: where :”) do :”) we :”) get :”) a :”) fred :”) weasley :”)

quidditch wasn’t something you saw yourself playing–at least not officially. it seemed complicated yet simple when you broke it down into layers but as a whole, you didn’t think you’d be able to comprehend it when you’re in the pitch during a real game. still, it piqued your interest–especially when you were dating one of the infamous beaters of gryffindor and was part of the friend group of... dunno, the whole quidditch team for your house. 

to add another variable to that equation, you weren’t necessarily horrible in flying. rather... gifted as some of your friends remarked since the day all of you attended the first flying class together. so it was only a matter of time before you were introduced as one of gryffindor’s chaser after some (a bit of) persuasion. what a fitting match with fred weasley as a beater.

“if i die, tell mum i love her, and tell dad it’s all your fault,” you huff, just as fred kisses your cheek with a grin, “augh, no need for that. the most you’ll end up with is a broken leg,” your favorite ginger head ruffles your hair, then lovingly strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. the other ginger haired boy comments: “or a broken arm, maybe a concussion?”

“oh sod off. stop scaring her,” katie grumbles, smacking george by the arm and angelina offers you a small smile as she’s on standby with her broom, “i’ll catch you if anything happens,”

you sigh dreamily, reaching out to hold her hand which she accepts willingly, just as enthusiastic with her gaze, “i always knew we were meant to be,”

fred groans, breaking your hands away from each other, “alright johnson, hands off m’girl,”

the group erupts in a round of laughter; the atmosphere bright and bubbling with excitement. none of them are too worried because they know you’re an above decent flyer. you had a good control on your broom but quidditch wasn’t something you had explored. so when you finally gave into fred’s request (more like the whole group) to at least try–because the boy believes you’re far more capable of doing things you doubt yourself in–here’s almost the whole quidditch team witnessing you attempt in playing. just by yourself, though, you refused to have anyone involved yet in case you gave them a black eye.

“i feel like you’re gonna just be like harry,” fred comments quietly, the same time as you hop on your broom, hands steadying yourself on it as you hover above the ground. you squint your eyes at him, “what’d you mean, freddie?”

“nothin’,” he shrugs, yet, you can tell there’s something he’s not quite telling you when he’s looking at you like that. regardless, oliver’s voice captures your attention the second he releases the quaffle. no head’s up for you to prepare yourself, no countdown. it seems like it’s the whole point when you’d need to be quick on your toes when it came to playing this magical sport. your instincts kick into gear at the adrenaline and pressure that triggers your entire body. you hadn’t known where this came from but it felt like being in the pitch, on a broom and alone with just the people you trusted felt like you could take the world over by a storm.

your heightened senses makes it feel like everything was moving in slow motion as you surge up into the air, a hand anchoring yourself on your broom and your arm extends forward to get ahold of the quaffle. at the corner of your eye, you spot something black heading your way, making you retreat your extended arm, guiding your broom down and dodging the bludger before you get knocked off. you hear soft cheers from below you, and it made you feel on top of the world having this experience, knowing your friends were watching you proudly.

it fuelled your determination to at least score once; be it the first and last, you didn’t care. all you wanted now was to score for gryffindor–unofficially. your eyes remain focus on the red leather, your heart racing at the thought of being able to grab onto it. with one quick and smooth move, your arm leaning a bit too far for comfort but you’re able to breathe again once you safely tuck the quaffle to your chest securely.

with a deep inhale and a good angle of the hoop, you string across the sky, towards where your eyes set upon. one sharp fling from you and the quaffle beelines straight into the hoop, instantly dawning on you how amazing it feels. when you hear your friends cheering, you’re practically walking on the clouds, screaming at the top of your lungs and celebrating before you lower yourself down to the ground, still on cloud nine.

“i did it! i didn’t kill anyone!” you’re giddily hopping off the broom, into fred’s arms as he spins you around. “you were brilliant! a natural, you are!” fred’s compliment enter your ears like a sweet tune–his praises always felt genuine, and the way he celebrated you felt like he was celebrating his own achievements. you can barely take note of what your friends were saying when fred spins you around excitedly, still not letting down on telling you how amazing you were despite just scoring one goal–but it was your first.

"well, we’re in luck guys. i guess we’re gonna get a new chaser,” george comments, sticking his hand out to lee who grumbles, “pay up, mate,” 

said boy fishes out five sickles and shoves it into george’s hand.

“y/l/n,” oliver breaks your celebratory moment with fred, remembering that right... all of your friends are still here... fred is already giving you a knowing smirk, and you roll your eyes at fred before turning back to oliver, “fancy being the new chaser for gryffindor?” 

the two of you soon gained a reputation of being the romance out on the field as you strive to score goals for your shared house, while fred kept on the lookout for you at all times. it seems like your mind always replay back this moment whenever you felt anxious for a game–or at times, doubted your abilities despite countless of achievements of bringing pride to your house. it soothes your nerves, bringing a smile to your face, especially when it’s minutes away from–“ready, love?” fred extends his arm for you to take, 

“always,” you grin, looping your arm around your favorite ginger as you make your way out.

as the game kicks off, you’re feeling the adrenaline flush through your veins with the goal of retrieving a quaffle and hoping to score points for your house. the whizzes and whirls of people flying around, intermix with with several things going on at once makes your head dizzy at first but then you zoom into the quaffle within reach. you dive down towards the side of the walls, effectively dodging one or two slytherins in your way and come around the other end to snatch the quaffle, hearing soft cheers from your house as you do so. it makes your heart swell, knowing you’re on the right track as you set your eyes on one of the goalposts. 

before you’re able to make an aim, you hear a loud smack directing a bludger away from you and as you catch those eyes smiling at you with a nod, it’s impossible not to smile. “thanks, freddie!” your voice somehow reaches fred who only nods with a huge grin, elated to know he’s kept you at bay from harm’s way. lee’s voice echoes out of your ears as you keep your eye on the quaffle, extending your arm out and muttering a soft yes! when you’ve got it in your arm. 

“y/l/n’s got the quaffle, aiming straight for the goal and–oh no! a bludger is heading towards her way but–ooh! a smooth block of the bludger from one of the weasley’s–most probably fred–a great counter to bole’s attempt at knocking y/l/n off her broom! great job to gryffindor! take that, you sly slytherins”–professor mcgonagall’s voice can be heard peering over–”lee! keep neutral!”

he chuckles sheepishly, “sorry professor,”

as lee’s voice dissolves, it’s the same time you notice someone pulling up next to you and it’s–“harry! what’re you doin’?!” you huff, dodging a bludger along with harry doing the same, matching your pace, “get the snitch!”

“‘m trying!” harry yells, using his eyes to point ahead, “it’s near you!” and at the corner of your eye you notice the glimmer of gold that potter has been eyeing and it made sense. the way he had been trying to tail behind you, was all because the snitch had been in front of you all this while. as if it was taunting you. it feels like time is about to run out, along with slytherin closing in when you swear you see silver locks dashing by. 

“i think malfoy’s seen it too!” harry huffs, dipping down and over as the two of you continue flying about. your senses are quick to take over, noticing a slytherin beater nearby along with a bludger coming, “they’re gonna aim for me so hide behind me! i’ll lead it away and you head for it!”

“on three!”–a heartbeat–“three!” the two of you yell in unison, for some odd reason of being high on adrenaline the two of you are on the same wavelength of mentality. you keep tailing along harry until the last second, swinging up with your broom and just as you try to dodge the bludger swinging your way–which you would have–you felt your body colliding with another’s, causing you to lose balance of the quaffle and your broom; the sounds of cheering along with a signal that the match was over. 

just as you feel your body harshly meeting the surface of the ground, you manage to hear a couple of sentences overlapping each other before your senses slowly die out.

“slytherin, foul!”–“that’s it! potter’s got the snitch! gryffindor wins!”–“y/n!” fred yells, his broom tossed aside as he cradles you in his arms as your eyes flutter shut, blackness soon overtakes you.

//

a sharp pang to your head is what jolts you awake; slowly. you take in the sounds in darkness, eyelids still glued shut as your body comes to wake. the throbbing against the side of your head grows bigger and bigger, urging you to open your eyes and take in your surroundings. the noises that welcomes your awakening silences, low murmurs growing quiet and sucked breaths as you finally open your eyes. it’s a little bright, yet there’s an indication the sun was setting altogether–the orange glow painting the room seems heavenly, until the pain makes you–“merlin, did i get thrown off the train on the way to hogwarts?” your words come out quicker than you can process them, already feeling the soreness intensifying in your head.

you soon hear laughter, which you process are your friends when you manage so much as to sit up a little, slightly embarrassed at the amount of eyes on you. yet, not exactly when you feel nervousness biting your bones when you meet eyes with a familiar shade of green eyes who greet you with the same amount of excitement, “potter! did we–”

the lad steps forward and nods proudly, “of course we did! gryffindor was announced the winner merely seconds after you–”another familiar voice shakes you to your bones when–”after you flew off your broom and landed on the ground, almost bashing the side of your head open,”

your excited grin is washed away, the smile of glee and pride fading and harry only bites down on his lip to shut himself up. you shake your head at harry with a look that soothes his worries, a silent don’t worry about it. there’s something in your throat–nervousness–as you try to clear it and slowly test the waters by turning to your other side and sure enough, fred looks like all life has been drained out from his face. it’s not everyday that his friends are seeing this but he does have his moments where he’s more worried about you than himself. the small thought of losing you always scared him, and now all of your friends are seeing the effect it has on him when he hasn’t smiled from the moment you landed on the ground, now in bed–despite the fact gryffindor had won the game.

fred’s frown remains imprinted on his face, brows slightly furrowed and you exhale deeply, a hand slowly reaching out to him and he doesn’t move even when your hand clasps onto his (because really, even if he’s worried or mad, he’s still really close to you, a hand already on the bed. what was he expecting? you to not hold onto it?). your eyes scan the room, glancing around to your friends by the end of your bed, beckoning for one of them to try to diffuse the tension and of course, angelina–”thank heavens you’re alright, y/l/n,” she tries to sound like she’s unfazed with the heavy tension in the room, being the first to speak up from the bunch.

with a nudge from angelina to oliver’s rib, the captian takes his jab at trying to help, “y-yeah, was beginning to think we lost ya there,”

“oi, can’t get rid of her that easily mate,” george whips, winking at you behind his twin, “she’s our best chaser yet!”

when katie and angelina squint their eyes at him, the boy chuckles, “alright, one of the three best chasers we’ve got. satisfied there, ladies?”

“w-we should leave you to rest, y/n,” harry speaks softly, and you turn to look at him with a small smile, “always the kind sport, potter,”

“after what you just did for me, our team, it’s the least we could do,” he rubs the back of his neck, nervous under fred’s gaze and words when he–”bloody hell be...”

you squeeze fred’s hand with a soft hiss, obviously meant for him when clearly it’s none of harry’s fault. if anything... you? eh, but you did it for the sake of the game, and it wasn’t... life threatening... per se... plus, it was a foul from slytherin’s end, anyway. the group starts to shift towards the exit discretely and with a small nod from you when you give them one last look, they’re ditching immediately. they know better than to step between a couple’s quarrel (or disagreements, take it as you will) but bottom line is, they’re leaving the two of you alone for privacy.

when you’re alone with fred, that’s when his facade drops. his face is slowly being filled with color but all with worry still laced over thickly. how his lips still droop to the side, eye bags lining his eyes with anxiety and it makes you bite down on your lip, feeling somewhat guilty. not that you regretted it but you did feel a soft pang to your heart seeing him like this or the possible turmoil of emotions he was feeling. (you had your fair share with the insane whirlwind of his pranks and occasional dangers he puts himself in, so fair game, really) 

you give his hand a small shake when he still doesn’t move or speak, a pout lining your lips, “still not gonna talk to me?”

he continues to keep silent as he stares at you, clearly thinking of how to approach this when it’s... not exactly the first time you’ve ended up in this situation. still, none of them had been life threatening but fred always feels like his heart drops to his gut and stops beating every time he sees you here in the hospital wing. the minutes gathered into an hour or two that you remained unconscious always pushes him to the corner to think of the worst–the unimaginable; his worst nightmares coming to life. 

when he snaps his eyes shut and exhale deeply (and rather loudly), you’re giddy at the way he moves from his chair to make you lean back into the bed. back propped up with a pillow and he adjusts your blanket as he sits beside you, joining your side. you make grabby hands at him and he huffs, trying to push your hands trying to get ahold of him.

“what? you think you’re off the hook? after what you did?”

you only pout, soon turning into a frown as you flick his red quidditch robe, “it’s not even my fault! how was i to know a slytherin would be right next to me?” you sigh, “if anything they probably had that planned, dirty little minxes...”

the more he looks at you, slight redness to your forehead but eyes brighter than ever, he can’t resist himself. fred brings himself closer towards you, almost looming over your body and your arms immediately snake around his torso, lowering him down with a giggle to hug him. although he has his arms around you, dipping his face to your neck, he still huffs, “any idea how dangerous that was? even if it wasn’t for that one person, you could’ve gotten knocked off just to help harry,”

"...do you really want me to answer that?” you cheekily respond, earning a groan from him as he pushes back to glare at you. “can’t be serious for a split second, huh?”

you lightly boop your noses together with a chuckle, “you out of all people shouldn’t be saying that, freddie,”

he only cocks his brow at you, tongue kissing his teeth that it makes a sharp noise of disapproval. you sheepishly grin and offer a peace offering: a small kiss to his lips that eases his frown the second your lips meet. when you pull away, you see his smile returns, though small, it was enough for you. “i know, i really do,” you admit, “but it was right there! and harry was so close to it!”

when fred keeps quiet, you continue, "plus, ‘m pretty sure i could’ve avoided the bludger but someone knocked into me. i remembered they called it a foul before i–”fred doesn’t miss a beat to remind you–”before you fell off your broom and almost had a concussion,”

“as my boyfriend, shouldn’t you be figuring out who it was and be mad at that person instead?”

he scoffs a laugh, “who said i didn’t already? that bloke’s got a huge thing coming with what me and george have planned,”

“so direct all your anger to that person and pamper me, please?” you bat your lashes at him, well-aware it’s one of his weaknesses. more so with your arms around him and when you try to go for an all-kill with tilting your head, the small movement makes you wince at the pain that jabs you. he decides it’s enough of tormenting for you and gives in almost too quickly.

“you’re so lucky you’re adorable,” he grumbles, already situating himself back into your embrace as he buries his face in your neck. you sigh in bliss, loving the warmth and scent that is fred weasley, resting your cheek against the side of his head. the pair of you stay like that for a while, in each other’s arms of tranquil and comfort–until you feel a small grumble in your tummy.

“would it be a stretch to ask you to get me some pastries?” your fingers twirl with his ginger locks, feel his arms tighten.

“don’t push it, y/n,” he pinches your waist, breath tickling your skin.

“...so is that a no?”

he draws himself back to squint his eyes at you... that soon eases away to a smile when he sees how your eyes form mini-like crescents that straightens any ill feelings in his heart. “i expect a reward for this,” he moves to stand, kissing the back of your hand as he starts to make his way out of the hospital wing, planning to head to the kitchen.

“freddie!” you half-whisper, half-yell. he stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder with both brows raised and pursued lips, “if you manage to get the raspberry-filled scones, you get as many kisses as you want.”

you see it only takes a couple of seconds for fred to digest your words before he runs at the speed of light. hoping he’s able to pester a house-elf for just that and more.

who was fred kidding? he could never stay mad at you for long... not with that kind of proposition. 

((”by the way,” fred muses, stroking your head fondly as he plants a kiss there, “you played well, love,”

“i mean, i did have one of the best beaters by my side,” you grin up to him, reaching to kiss his jaw and he shakes his head with a chuckle, “always the charmer, you are,” he doesn’t waste any time to catch your lips for a kiss, tasting the sweet, tart raspberry taste blended with the taste of you.))

[ickle-ronniekins]

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

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[sage-queen]

Hogwarts script

name ~

↝

meaning of name ~

↝

nicknames ~

↝

born ~

↝

birthplace ~

↝

race ~

↝

sexuality ~

↝

languages ~

↝

voice/accent ~

↝

age ~

↝

zodiac ~

↝

ׂׂૢ

blood type ~

↝

house ~

↝

patronus ~

↝

wand ~

↝

facial details ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

facial structure ~

↝  jawline ~

↝

side profile ~

↝

resting face ~

↝

skin ~

↝

lips ~

↝

nose ~

↝

eye detail ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

eyebrows ~

↝

eye colour ~

↝

eyelashes ~

↝

vision ~

↝

hair detail ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

length/style~

↝

hair colour ~

↝

superhuman hair qualities 

↝

body hair ~

↝

body detail ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

body smell ~

↝

body type ~

↝

- height

- weight ;

posture ~

↝

nails ~

↝

———————-

sexuality ~

↝

introvert or extravert ~

↝

insecurities ~

↝

first impressions ~

↝

after first impressions ~

↝

politeness ~

↝

biggest fears~

1. ↝

2. ↝

3. ↝

-', statistics ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

physical health ~ �� /10

mental health ~ ↝ /10

responsibility ~ ↝ /10

confidence ~ ↝ /10

intelligence ~ ↝ /10

patience ~ ↝ /10

trustable ~ ↝ /10

stamina ~ ↝ /10

reflexes ~ ↝ /10

strength ~ ↝ /10

speed ~ ↝ /10

humour ~ ↝ /10

persuasiveness ~ ↝ /10

surprising things? ~

1. ↝

2. ↝

3. ↝

——————

oral hygiene and smile ꒱ ↷

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

smile ~

↝

teeth ~

↝

breath ~

↝

-' information ;

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

Mom (if you have one)

Name:

(Blood type)

born ↝

died ↝

house ↝

sibling(s) ↝

appearance ↝  (insert picture)

information ↝

personality ↝

Dad (if you have one)

Name:

(blood type)

born ↝

house ↝

sibling(s) ↝

appearance ↝   (insert picture)

Siblings (if you have any)

(blood type)

(copy and past if you have more than one)

born ↝

house ↝

pronouns ↝

sexuality ↝

sibling(s) ↝

appearance ↝ (insert picture)

information ↝

personality ↝

pets ~

(If you have any)

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

Name:

(copy and past if you have more than one)

born ↝

gender ↝

appearance ↝

information ↝

personality ↝

-,' family backstories! -

(If you want)

you ~

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

father ~

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

mother ~

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

Siblings (if you have them) ~

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

- sexualities ꒱

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

(please add more if you like)

↝ hermione granger is:

↝  Ron Weasley is:

↝ harry potter is :

↝ dominic black is :

↝ liam black is :

↝ seamus finnigan is:

↝ dean thomas is:

↝ pansy parkinson :

↝ tristan valdez is :

↝ mellie valdez is :

↝ luna lovegood is:

↝ draco malfoy is :

-', outfits and aesthetic;

(Add pictures)

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

-,' yule ball dress -

(Add pictures)

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

↝ i am always surrounded by positive energy when shifting realities

↝ i cannot die in my desired reality

↝ i can leave my desired reality whenever i want to

↝ i cannot accidentally leave my desired reality

↝ when i'm not in my desired reality, time stops

↝ i usually get amazing grades without trying

↝ i have a pretty good memory

↝ i won't forget to pack anything for hogwarts that i will end up needing in the future

↝ i'm great at riding my broom

↝ i can sing very well, i can hit high and low notes easily and anywhere in between

↝ 5 minutes in my current reality is 1 month in my desired reality

↝ i will remember everything from my desired reality when i come back to my current reality

↝ i wont forget my safeword in my desired reality

↝ i will remember everything from my desired reality, when i come back to my current reality

↝ i have a very high pain tolerance in my dr, i can only feel pain to a minimum

↝ i will not experience any long lasting trauma in my desired reality

Things we do together:

-,' luna lovegood ~

things we do together ~

-,' neville longbottom ~

things we do together ~

-,' ron weasley ~

things we do together ~

-,' fred and george weasley ~

things we do together ~

-,' harry potter ~

things we do together ~

-,' hermione granger ~

things we do together ~

-,' cedric diggory ~

things we do together ~

Here is the link to the google doc https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zt1w2i4-vFv-xIFgMNZHS0rkOSOMO3qvQulecVRrITc/edit?usp=sharing 

Please tell me if you want any stories