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kaciebello · 1 year ago

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Love accusations

Masterlist George Weasley x Gryffindor! reader (fem) Summary: 3 instances where you deny dating George, and the one where you don’t. Much to Fred's dismay. warnings: Mention of sex, swearing, no use of y/n Authors note: one-shot. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) Word count: 3k

A pair of Gryffindor sat on a sofa in a secluded part of the common room. The two had previously worked on their charms homework together, however, one had seemingly finished and moved on to a book, while the other one took avoiding it as his main mission in life. However, any attempt to get a reaction from the girl goes unnoticed by her. Disappointed he returned to doing his homework. They both fail to notice his twin approaching with their friend.

“You two ARE having sex!” Fred yells making some heads in the common room turn in their direction with curiosity. George jumps a bit in shock and looks at his brother. Eyes widening.

“Really? George, why didn't you tell me? I would have put my book down.” Says the girl lazily not even attempting to put her book down. She was not even bothered enough to pick up her gaze from it or bothered by her friend's antics.

“ We are not!” George argues back as Fred and Lee sit down opposite the couple. That however goes flat to their ears. Because if there is something Fred loves more than testing his brothers, it's teasing his twin brother.

“Fred, the only people having sex here, are the characters in my book.” She says, turning to another page. George leans over and tries to peek whether that is true or not. The girl shuts the book with a loud bang and places it gently on the table. Now finally giving all the attention to the overly loud Gryffindor duo. Lee's hand reaches for the book but she just swats it away.

“What do you want.” She asks.

“I want, you two to admit you're dating.” He says pointing a finger between her and George.

“Not gonna happen Fred.”

“Why not?”

“ Because we are not dating, easy as that.”

“Bullshit!” Fred yells and slams his fist onto the coffee table. She leans back into the sofa and just shakes her head dissapointly. Kicking her feet up on the coffee table and crosses her hands over her chest.

“You have no valid argument, Fred. I will not debate this with you if you have no evidence.” She says looking into Fred's eyes, knowing damn well it will fire the boy up. He narrows his eyes at her and nods as if telling her he will play her little game. Quickly he turns to Lee and they start whispering sometimes glancing at the pair. The two of them made it look like they just thought of a groundbreaking strategy in quidditch.

“ You know what you're doing, right?” George leans back and looks at the girl. Giving up on the homework at this point. She just smirks and nods. Lee and Fred turn back and simultaneously clear their throats.

“We have proof.” He says seriously and pokes Lee in his side with his elbow. The girl just raises her eyebrow before motioning them to continue. Lee sits up straight.

“ I have seen you two almost kiss in the corridor before.” He says very proud of himself. Fred started franticly nod and a smile spread across his face. Gorges's eyes widen a little at this information. The girl, however, remained unphased.

“ You can't prove that it was us. I could have been anyone.” She argues back, looking at her nails, seemingly bored. Fred's smile flatters a bit before he jumps up.

“I CAN RECOGNISE MY FACE ANYWHERE!” He yells and points at the girl. She just lifts her gaze and him.

“You didn't see us tho. Lee did. Hence, could have been anyone.” Fred's and George's faces snap to Lee who gulps very loudly. Looking nervous between the two brothers and the girl. Lee felt like in the front line of a war.

“ We walked together to the library after tho.” He says.

“ You walked together to the library after!” Fred repeats seeing this as his victory. Placing his hands on his hips and making a superhero pose. The girl just sighs and takes her legs off of the coffee table.

“ Are you jealous about me almost kissing George? Fine. I can almost kiss Lee if you want. Even you if you desire so much.” Whine leaves Geroge as Fred and Lee watch the girl in confusion.

“What.”

“You heard me, Weasley.” She says before getting up from her comfortable spot. Both Lee and Fred move a few inches back. She just chuckles and goes to pack her things. George sees this and goes to do the same.

“Plus it couldn't be me kissing George, as I fancy someone else.” She says after picking her book from the table and placing it in her bag.

“You do?” Say all 3 boys at the same time. She just rolls her eyes at their antics and turns to leave. George hurriedly followed her.

“ Where are you going?” Fred asks as both of them get up and move toward the exit. She just flashes him a smile.

“ To almost kiss your brother in the corridor.”

—

The four of them were on their way to Hogsmeade. The snow as fallen in a thick layer and all there was to do was some shopping. The twins wanted to buy some trinkets from Zonks, while Lee and the girl had only butter beer on their minds. Walking swiftly to get from the cold and hoping their younger siblings don't catch up on them and they would be forced to take them with. Fred and Lee led the group, while the other two were falling behind. Fred and Lee could be heard from miles away. George opted for a much quieter conversation with his partner.

“ When are we going to tell him?” asks George the girl next to him. “Don't get me wrong, it's hilarious, but I miss holding your hand.” He continues and his hand brushes over hers. Although he dubs she could feel it over her gloves. To be fair, George finds it as much fun as she does. He just sometimes misses her despite being right next to her.

“You can hold my hand whenever you want to, but, It's too much fun, it's like he's obsessed.” A smile spreads across her lips as she stops her movements and looks at the boy. He also stops and looks at the girl. Her hand extends to him as a gentle offering. He takes it as fast as he can. Walking closer to her, he places his other hand on her cheek. Smile adored both of them, as George leaned in, Smack.

Crumbs of snowball have fallen on her face, a giggle escaped her. George wipes his head around to see his brother and friend both with loaded-up snowballs. Before he can react, two more hit him. Effectively stunning him.

“OI! Hurry up you lovebirds!” yells Lee before he and Fred run in the direction of Three Broomsticks. George just curses and runs behind them. Leaving the girl to leisurely walk and meet them there.

When she got here, all of them had already shed their outdoor layers and had butterbeers sitting in front of them. One was in a space next to George waiting for her. She took her scarf and coat off. Something perked up Fred's attention.

“Is this your way of telling us?” He says pointing between her and George.

“Telling you what?” She asks, sitting down. Not even being able to take a sip of her drink before Fred spits other nonces.

“That you two are together.” Lee is however faster and suppresses his friend in the explanation. The girl just rolls her eyes before taking a sip. A foam mustache forms on her upper lip that she quickly wipes with the sleeve of her sweater. Momentarily stopping to progress something.

“ Guys, we have been over this.” Defends George this time. Fred just narrowed his eyes at him before pointing at the girl, who was still frozen.

“Explain this then!” He says and grabs the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing. “ This is your sweater!!” Sudden touch wakes the girl up and she retracts her hand.

“Again Fred, you can't prove that.” He looks at her in disbelief, lost for words from the sheer audacity of this girl. Groan leaves George and Lee is just laughing at his friends' antics.

“Oh? So the giant G on the front doesn't mean anything?” Recovers Fred rather quickly. George chokes on his butter beer and Lee goes to pat him on the back. The girl looks down and stretches the sweater. There is indeed a giant G on it. No dubbed Mrs. Weasly work as always. She wondered if she did it to help herself to keep track of whose laundry she was doing.

“It's just a G, could mean anything.” leaves her.

“G for George.”

“ Or G for Ginny, ya know? Your sister.” She says, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Why would you have my sister's sweater?” he asks accusingly. She just shrugs and takes another sip from her drink.

“ Why would I have George's one? I don't like him like that.” When she says it like that it makes sense for her to have Ginnys' sweater more than Georges.

“So you do like him!” Lee jumps on the accusation train. Another groan leaves George and he finishes his drink.

“Just how I like you, and Fred, and Padma, and Harry, And-”

“ Okay, okay, I get it.” Freds gives up and takes a sip. A smirk spreads on his face. “ So tell us, who do you fancy?”

“Hmmm, well, truth to be told, he's a Gryffindor, tall, and very cheeky and his name is- WELL would you look at that! I will get us another round.” She says and gets up from her spot. Knowing better than to take Fred's bait, she walked away to the bar. She can hear Fred turning to Lee and George.

“I'm telling you it's George, You can't fight me on this one!” Georges's giggles are heard throughout the tavern. “ Motherfucker, you ain't telling us shit!”

—

A scream is heard throughout the burrow, together with fast steps going down the stairs.

Harry, Hermione, and Lee turn to the sound startled. The 3 Weasleys, however, not even looking up from their card game. Fred places one card down making Ginny frown and carefully study her own. Ron just curses under his breath.

The girl appeared first with the other twin on her toes. She stops in front of the group, eyes gleaming with victory. George stops once he notices the other people, opting to just stand behind her.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, Placing her own card down without even looking. Ron curses again and tries to peak at Harry's cards. He just presses them to his chest, preventing him.

“Yeah, why?” The girl asks, clearly out of breath from running from the much faster boy behind her.

“ The scream?” Harry says, not really sure he wants to join the conversation. She just waves her arms at them.

“Oh no, don't worry. It's something George did.” The boy behind her straightens at his name. Looking at his sister who seemed to be winning the game with almost no effort.

“ Oh Merlin, he finally did it. He showed her the birthday suit.” Fred says.

“and it was SMALL.” Followed Lee, Fred's head snapped to his friend, he took full offense to that. Hemione's face twists in disgust. A small ‘ew’ can be heard from Ginny before she places another card on the table. Ron makes a fake gaging sound and George had nothing better than ‘dude’. The girl laughs at this.

“Oh Lee, I love you so much,” she says and goes to hug him. George whines and stops her by grabbing her upper arm.

“I can confirm that is not true mate.” Says Fred with full confidence. George just shakes his head. Hermione decided to force her cards on Harry, who was not very happy about it, and got up.

“I'm going to make some tea, you want some?” She says to the girl, she just nods and follower her to the kitchen.

“ Count me in!” Says Ginny as she places her last card on the table, successfully winning the game. Her brothers and friends just groan. Ron looks like he might cry at this point.

The girls moved to the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was looking out the window, watching her older sons and husband work in the yard. She notices them walking into the kitchen and smiles at them. Ginny mentions something about tea and the girls sit down. After some time and bickering over what does and does not belong in tea, steaming cups were sat before them. Hermione breaks the silence.

“So, when are you gonna announce it?” Confused look from the girl, Mrs. Weasly just glances at them, seemingly paying them no mind. While she may be facing the window, her years are very much facing the three girls sitting at her dining table. Because be assured if something is going on with her children, under her roof, she is bound to know. The girls didn't even have time to answer before Ginny jumped in.

“Wait, are not just pretending to not know in front of Fred?” She asked, confused as well. Hermione stops putting sugar in her tea and fully turns to the girl. She grabs her hands into hers and looks her in the eyes.

“Are you?” The girl grows nervous. Curse Ginny and her watching people skills.

“I have no idea what you're on about Hermione.” she says with a full chest, then leans in and whispers.” Let's not talk about it in front of his mum!”

“Stop whispering, we all know something is going on between you and George. I know my brothers, and I know when they have that lovesick look.” Ginny blows on her tea before taking a sip. Somehow she manages to give both of them a pointed look.

“I know what you look like with that look too, don't start Ginny.” says the horrified girl, still not comfortable that Mrs. Weasly is there. Ginny goes red and just looks away. Speaking of the older woman, she turns to them.

“ Who has a lovesick look?” She asks with a smile that feels a little bit too threatening to all of them, although others may see it as the sweetest one.

“You when you look at dad. What is he doing anyway.” Ginny says hoping to change the subject. The older woman just huffs, turns around, and looks out the window again. Ginny leans forward to the other two before she whispers.

“I'm just saying, let it really be my sweater you borrow next time.” A smirk on her lips when she retries. With the corner of her eye, she sees her brother trying to catch a glimpse of the embarrassed girl.

—

“Source?” Lee asks.

“ Dude, trust me,” Fred answers.

“ You know I am physically unable to do that.” The two boys were hiding behind a bush. Good view of the pair sitting on the bench.

“ I too was advised, not to trust you.” Pipes in Collin, who was dragged into this mess by an accident. The poor boy wanted a picture of that tiny firework Fred had, instead, he dragged him to this when he refused to let him borrow his camera.

“Collin, this is the talk. This is the news! I need you to take a picture of them when they kiss.” Says Fred, a creepy grin on his face. Collin scared a bit just nods his head and gets in position. After a few good minutes of spying, Fred gets impatient and turns to Lee.

“Should we find a better spot? My feet kinda hurt from squatting.” He says but then a shutter goes off. A little photo comes from the camera and Fred grabs it.

“AHA, GOT YOU!” he jumps out waving it in the air and running to the startled couple. Scaring the couple that jumps away from each other a little. Lee and Collin follow behind him.

“What are you on about Fred?” Asks him, George. Still holding the girl that had her legs on his lap.

“ YOU TWO! KISSING! I GOT PROOF!” HE yells and shows them the picture. The girl just grabs it and looks at it. Fred is jumping up and down, hugging Collin and then Lee. Victory celebration. The girl gets up and walks to the poor younger Gryffindor. George is pulled up by Fred and forced to join a jumping hug.

“Hey Collin, can I keep this?” She asks the boy gently. He just nods, seemingly scared of the situation. The girl turns back to the three overgrown babies smile on her face. She can no longer argue about proof, as she was holding one in her hand. She turns to Collin again and tells him he can go. The boy just nods and runs away as fast as he can, very much terrified of his upperclassmen.

George wiggles out of the hug and makes his way to her. Cheers can be heard from his brother and friend. When they meet again, George stops right in front of her. One of his hands finds her waist and the other on her neck. They stay like this for a few seconds seemingly in their word, not noticing the cheers dying down. He leans in, their lips brush, when...

“Not in front of me Forge!” Yells Fred with the girl in his arms, running away with laughter, followed by Lee. George was frozen in his position, the girl missing from his arms. George shakes his head at his brothers' antics. Now that he looks at it, maybe living in denial wasn't the worst thing. Because if there is anything his twin loves more than teasing other people, is teasing him.

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yovrnewromantic · 6 months ago

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THE MEANEST GIRL IN HUFFLEPUFF

a small series inspired by my harry potter oc! and her interactions with her peers! enjoy :) please lmk if you have any requests!!

the masterlist! (written by a hufflepuff in denial so yk its accurate)

Harry Potter... Coming soon...

Draco Malfoy

Cedric Diggory

Hermione Granger

Theodore Nott

Ron Weasley

Mattheo Riddle

Lorenzo Berkshire

Fred Weasley

Blaise Zabini

Pansy Parkinson

Ginny Weasley

George Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Neville Longbottom

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webbluvrsugar · 6 months ago

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texts between Tom Riddle x hufflepuff!reader

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blueberrymash · 5 months ago

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james sirius potter - the star boy

·˚ ༘ just some headcanons on what I think harry potter's eldest son would be like

·˚ ༘ 1.4k words

- he's a big marvel fan and he lovess miles morales (he literally wants to be him), if he had a girlfriend he'd beg her to go as miles and gwen for halloween. literally don't talk to him about any superhero stuff though, he'll talk your ear off he's such a fanboy and gets like a little kid whenever he talks about batman, spiderman or captain america.

- he's extremely popular like almost ridiculously so. he has a huge friend group and everyone except maybe for the slytherins like and respect him. nobody says that they don't like james sirius potter and if anyone within the gryffindor house would even utter one bad word about him, they would definitely be frowned upon

- some say he's like a carbon copy of his father, because they're so similar in so many aspects (they're both sassy boys).

- OH he's absolutely a fuck boy. there's not a single doubt in my mind that he is. he's not against having a girlfriend but she'd definitely have to be super popular as well and stand out from the masses. he'd never date someone shy or introverted, since he's like "if the word 'extroverted' was a person" if you know what I mean. he just wants somebody to match his freak and do crazy irresponsible shit with. he's also the type of person who loves to go out & socialize so he'd need to date somebody who's also like that. he also needs to release the pent up energy inside him so staying in all of the time just isn't an option for him. but he would have introverted friends.

- he likes to make out with hot girls at parties and forget their name in the morning. he likes to drink and sometimes smoke as well. he's the life of the party, always animating everyone to dance and drink and play games, always doing smalltalk with everyone and remembering little details about them but forgetting the big things (like their name lmao). he's a beer pong champion and in general really good at all the party games. he's just like a party animal

- he always knows the right things to say at the right time and people adore him for it. he genuinely cares about everyone in his year, even the slytherin outcasts. if he sees someone crying or hurt he doesn't care who you are or which house you're in, he's cheering you up

- he likes to be the center of attention. whenever his dad is followed by paparazzi or journalists, he makes a show out of talking to them, posing for the cameras until he's pulled away by ginny. she's honestly so done with him by now because he's such a sucker for attention lmaoo. but then he ends up in like famous wizard magazines (even the daily prophet) and he just has the biggest, most smug grin on his face when he sees his picture, it definitely encourages him to keep giving the paparazzi what they want

- he's also a family guy even if he doesn't get along with albus that well. he loves his little sister lily though and his mom and his dad. christmas with his family is his favorite thing because he loves their little traditions. he always puts great care in what he gets eveyone as a present and he loves it when lily's face lights up when he gets her that exact thing she wanted. he also loves his grandmother (slayy grandma molly) and he always proudly wears the sweaters that she knits him! the whole weasley-potter-delacour and whatnot family always has a big get-together ont the 25th or 26th of december and that's where james whips out his guitar and performs the christmas songs he's been working on perfecting all season.

- he lovesss quidditch and dancing and he'd actually be the type to start kpop dancing or something and he'd be AMAZING like actually breathtaking. he's the only thing you can look at while he performs on stage, he's just the golden boy. he'd go to training like everyday when he's at home and while he's at school he'd practice on his own! he really looks up to celestia warbeck and wants to be the male version of her when he's older! definitely he's really dedicated and I can imagine him being in like a boy group when he's older or going on to be a solo performer

- he can also sing and play the guitar, bro writes his own songs! his voice is the one of an angel and whenever he sings at a gryffindor bonfire or party, the whole room is drawn to him, falls for him. he dreams of being an entertainer or professional quidditch player later in his life and he's honestly made for it as well. the scouts who watch him play or dance always eat whatever he does up. he's literally destined to be a superstar, plus he also has great advantages from being a nepo baby.

- he's not that good at school though, except maybe for flying class and some random subject like divination (let's be honest, only because he flirts with professor trelawney), he'll just get some ravenclaw girl to tutor him though

- he's the type to take feminist literature to a café and pretend he's reading it lmaoo. it's not like he's not a feminist or doesn't support women's rights (he loves women), the boy just doesn't read books, like at all. he just wants to pick up women with the feminist literature and he'll pretend like he's read the book.

- honestly he'd even listen to lana del ray or taylor swift and he's not embarrased or scared he'll be seen as gay or soft. he knows he's straight (maybe even a little heteroflexible) and cis and he doesn't feel threatened in his masculinity when a gay boy comes and flirts with him, he sees it as an honour and politely declines, I mean, he even has gay friends and gay cousins and bro let's be honest, even though he isn't out yet, his brother's definitely a bit fruity for his best friend scorpius. he's not scared of rumours about his identity or sexuality, people can misinterpret him, he literally doesn't care.

- unbothered king!! you either love him or you hate him but he literally doesn't care, he can be so nonchalant and can definitely break a girl's heart cause he literally DOES NOT CARE TUT and he's definitely gotten himself into a lot of situationships (like I said, he's a fuckboy) but he will only ever get with a girl he is in love with, he doesn't just bring any girl home to his momma, she'd have to be special

- apropos, he is such a mama's boy! not like those boys who's momma is in love with them and hates every girlfriend their son brings home, no, that's obviously not ginny, but he just honestly loves his mom! he likes to go shopping with her and lily or go get their nails done with them (yes, he also loves those pretty nails with designs, not the long acrylic ones obviously but the short ones. he practically advanced from just painting his nails black to getting designs on them)

- the best way to be in james' life is honestly to either be one of his cousins or friends. his friends are literally like family to him and he's so loyal to them. also he's such a fun friend and always comes up with the best ideas, it's never boring with him. he's also open to doing so many different things, depending on what his freinds are like. if you're introverted and like staying in, he'll literally just do that with you and yes, he'll even watch gossip girl and do face masks, he doesn't mind, he just likes spending time with his friends. he'll enjoy whatever he does as long as its with a friend. and if you're one of his cousins he'll literally treat you like a sibling / best friend because all of his cousins are his best friends

- he's sooo generous and caring. you haven't eaten all day and feel like you're about to die from starvation? have his entire sandwich and let him bring you a plate of food from the house elves kitchen to your room. you feel like throwing up? bbg he'll hold your hair while you're puking and give you back rubs. you don't have anything to do in the summer holidays? come with him on the potter family holiday to spain! he literally just wants his loved ones to be happy and he'll do anything for their happiness

y'all want more?

#james sirius potter •⪩⪨•#hp next gen x reader #harry potter next gen x reader #james sirius potter x fem!reader #harry potter #harry potter next generation #james sirius potter x reader #james sirius potter #james sirius potter headcanons #albus severus potter #lily luna potter #james sirius potter x platonic!reader #ginny weasley #molly weasley #grandma molly weasley

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easterbonnet · 1 year ago

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A Little Help Please - R.W

◤━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◥

Hi Mum,

I was wondering if you could send me a recipe, you know, because your cooking is so good and stuff, like the one for that chicken pie you do or the stew or something? That uh girl that Fred and George told you about over the holidays, well she wants me to cook for her, thinks it will be 'cute'. I don't know. Anyway I already tried going to the kitchens here and asking the house elves but they were having none of it, all I asked was for them to cook a meal and pretend I made it. So that's why I'm asking you, I've got no clue about any of this stuff, please can you help me Mum?

Oh, and how are you? And how's Dad? I'm doing fine here, and Ginny's fine too (I know you'll ask), oh and Harry. Also I'd really appreciate it if you kept this letter to yourself, don't even show Dad, and hide it, or burn it, that works too, I don't want anyone, especially Fred and George getting their hands on it. Thanks.

Love you,

Ron

◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

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yelenaslyubov · 1 year ago

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well hello friends!!!

long time, no see. i hope you all survived the 2023 year fairly well. if not, i hope that 2024 brings in all the good energy you could ever want!

my time here has not been consecutive whatsoever for over the past year, and i do apologize for that. i have had a lot of life changes throughout that time and i have been trying to prioritize my studies more than anything. with that, i have one more semester left of university!! while my main focus will be school, i do want to try and return to my roots and get back into writing which is what i love. i’m currently working on a piece and brainstorming elements of this, and i hope to complete it by this week…. but we shall see!

i know so many of you have been along for my tumblr ride and this journey really began with @youreatotalposer . you all got to see the before and middle of our relationship on here which has been so special. we’ve come a long way and this space is where we first met and i’m excited to announce that only a few months ago did we break the distance! kayak moved up here so we were able to start a new little family; myself, her, and our kitty ‘fig!’ we love our little family so much and we’ve had so much fun thus far sharing our life with you all! it’ll only go up from here🤍

with this, i also know the dynamic of tumblr has changed since i’ve been extremely active, as well as new people have created their own creative space. i would love to make more friends on here and become mutuals, so whether you’re new to my space or it’s been a while since we’ve connected feel free to reach out!! also, if anyone has any blog recommendations that i may not follow definitely tag them so i can interact with them! i would love to reconnect with this wonderful space and find joy in my old passions once again. i will of course continue with the previous characters and people i have written for, but i would like to know what people would think about fics written for ‘yellowjackets’ and ‘harry potter’ characters?? if anyone has any thoughts about these new additions let me know! i wanna see if there’s a decent amount of interest in these ideas before i decide to dive right in. if there are characters outside or inside of these fandoms you are interested in, do not hesitate to visit my inbox and reach out to see my thoughts on them!

i’m excited to timidly make my return here and i hope to talk to many new and old faces soon🫶🫶

p.s. figgy wanted to make her tumblr debut and say hello!!🐈‍⬛

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lostmyremembrall · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑥 𝐺𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑦 𝑊𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑦 (𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛) 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟, 𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟, 𝐶𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑚 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟

Chaser 2 Prompt: Carrie Optional Prompts: Ginny Weasley, Red, A Character Descending Into Madness

Recommended Music: Tick Tack, Tick Tack by Ben Frost

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“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, a world without end,” she whispered to herself. At her chest, she clutched a black-beaded rosary, the cross giving off a rattle at her every shaky breath. Her hands, folded tightly, were trembling, her knuckles turning white with sheer force. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was–”

“Sister Ginevra?”

She gasped, returning to reality. The room was dark. Confined. Suffocating. Only puffs of her shallow breathing were audible.

“Are you there, Sister Ginevra?” that calm, velvety dulcet voice spoke again.

Ginevra blinked rapidly several times, her eyes shifting towards the light. A pair of grey eyes watched her from the dark. Through the lattice of oak wood, Ginevra saw the pale, gaunt face of Father Thomas. He was leaning towards her, his sincere eyes studying her. The cool white of the daylight from a nearby window hazily illuminated the side of his face, his slender nose casting a stark shadow on his high cheekbones.

“Yes…” the voice that left her lips was feeble. “Yes, I’m here.”

Regaining her grounding, she crossed her heart and began what was quickly becoming her routine. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

For days she’s waited to have this time with Father Thomas, recounting and weighing what to tell: what she saw, what she heard. What she felt. But, now that she was here, the lines she had practised on her way were lost, all of a sudden. She found herself searching for the right words as her eyes wandered through the dark, as if attempting to find them somewhere in the depths of the shadow.

“So,” it was Father Thomas who broke the silence first. “How is your nightmare?” he asked softly.

Ginevra shook her head. There was no point in sugarcoating it; Father Thomas most likely knew the answer already from the heavy bags underneath her eyes.

“This is a punishment, isn’t it,” she asked in what did not sound like a question at all. Her eyes flickered down to her hands, toying with her rosary. The black beads glinted in the shadow, its stringed eyes casting a reproachful look up at her. “But… I cannot control it,” she choked, crumbling in front of the Father's judgement.

“You must, Ginevra,” Father’s voice was vigorous and charismatic, like the voice of God himself. “Your age–, the time when a girl blossoms into a woman, is the most vulnerable.” Ginevra nodded absentmindedly, thinking back to the many times the older Sisters repeated the same words. Control yourself, they often said, or the devil controls you.

“All these emotions and carnal desires… it’s overwhelming, is it not?”

Ginevra nodded fervently as she clutched her skirt in her fists, watching it wrinkle.

Father Thomas watched her sympathetically. “It is not your fault,” he continued. “It is not your fault, Ginevra. The blood of Eve runs through you.”

He sighed, helplessly shaking his head in defeat as he beheld the pitiful sight of Ginevra sobbing.

“Look,” intuiting she was too preoccupied to respond, he added. “Sister Margaret told me you’ve been here the longest out of all the children. Orphaned. Is that true?”

Ginevra sniffed, and in the midst of trying to calm her breathing, managed to nod.

“God will not forsake you, Ginevra,” Father Thomas delicately placed his fingers against the lattice, as if trying to reach her. “You’re strong. Brave. Stronger than this,” he whispered.

Ginevra swallowed hard and nodded once more. Finally finding the strength to look Father in his eyes, the crisscrossed shadow of the lattice now branded Ginevra’s pale features. Her freckled cheeks were stained with fresh tears. The bags underneath her eyes foretold many sleepless nights. But, as she stared at him straight on, Sister Ginevra looked just about ready to face anything head-on.

Father’s features softened at Ginevra who had now managed to put on a smile. “God will not forsake you,” he repeated, his eyes giving off a zealous shimmer that was quite infectious. “Next time you’re overwhelmed by it, breathe deeply, hold your bible, like so,” he pointed to her worn-out book and demonstrated holding tight to his chest. “And your prayers will be answered,” he smiled, his eyes full of conviction.

This time, Ginevra couldn’t help but let a smile break out on her lips. She welcomed and rejoiced the serenity that embraced her once more.

Content with her peace, Father Thomas smiled. “Lord has freed you from your sins,” he did not need to speak out loud, knowing you had memorised them anyway. “You may go in peace.”

“Thanks be to God. And,” Ginevra turned her still tearful eyes to the Father. “Thank you, Father.” She clutched the Bible to her chest, the golden print of her name and the address of Vauxhall Road gleaming in the sun.

She stepped out of the confessional.

Liberated. Carefree, once again. Like how she’s always been.

—-----------

“I just don’t think she’ll get away with it,” Angelina was rolling her eyes.

“No, I promise, I’ve seen it,” Lavender ignored her friend’s knowing smirk and continued in a hushed whisper. “Sister Narcissa says confiscation. But I’ve seen her steal Astoria’s lipstick!”

“Why on earth would she have a use for that?” Ginevra’s voice was quiet yet assertive, suppressing laughter in front of a stern Sister Andromeda that they happened to walk by. With a side glance, she followed the old woman until they were out of earshot. “Isn’t she, what, 70 or so?”

“More like 80,” Angelina squinted as they stepped foot into the courtyard. The sun was bright today: a sign of the coming spring in the cool breezes that gently passed by.

“Ugh,” Lavender, as always comically exaggerated in her gestures, placed her fists on her hips, clearly offended. “So? What, we just become boring and miserable when we turn old?”

Ginevra scoffed. “Boring and miserable? Honestly, Lav, when was the last time anything remotely interesting happened at the Monastery of Our Lady Magdalene?” watching Angelina nod in affirmation out of the corner of her eyes, she challenged Lavendar.

“Wellll,” Lav cast a meaningful glance towards Ginevra’s left. Ginevra followed her gaze to find Father Thomas in the corner of the courtyard, chatting with the gardener, most likely discussing the flowers to plant in the coming month.

With a strong jawline and perfectly combed hair, the new Father Thomas was the target of many wistful sighs and dreamy gazes in the all-girls convent. The clerical collar wrapped around his pale throat, and the all-black attire emphasised his tall and lean figure.

He was young to be a priest, his quick wits and intelligent eyes signalling to her that he must have skipped a few grades. His smooth complexion still held remnants of his boyish youth. His cheeks bloomed ecstatically when discussing Jesus. When he stood on the altar, his grey eyes shimmered passionately, changing colours in the kaleidoscopic lights of the rose window.

Ginevra had wondered several times before how many women wept at the news that he was becoming the messenger of Christ. But all the while, Ginevra had to say Father Thomas was born to be a priest. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when the Father’s keen eyes flickered over to her.

“Yeah, he is quite fit, isn’t he?” Angelina’s playful voice seemed distant to her all of a sudden. Everything seemed to slow down as Father Thomas’ eyes appeared to follow her, even through the trees and sisters that passed between them.

Ginevra hummed absentmindedly as he finally blinked away, returning his full attention to the gardener.

“I suppose that man would drive anyone to depravity,” Lav murmured, and Ginevra finally tore her eyes away.

“Come on then, we’re gonna be late,” Ginevra sighed, picking up her speed and deciding to pull the sleeves of her two friends. “Sister Margaret isn’t going to take ogling at Father Thomas as an excuse.”

The very vocal complaints did not stop all the way to the classroom as Angelina and Lav staggered behind her, making it just in time for the afternoon Bible study. Ginevra bit her lips under the stern gaze of Sister Margaret, taking her seat in the usual spot between the two.

The bible study was, as always, mundane. Sister Margaret was not one of those gifted with public speaking, as her lecture droned on, her eyes piercing the Bible in front of her. ‘Lively Molly’ they sometimes called her, which did not fail to confuse the newcomers every time. Naturally, the class fell into the routine trance, including Ginevra, whose eyes drifted longingly to the view outside.

“The name of the Lord is a safe tower–,” Sister Margaret’s voice went in and out of focus.

Ginevra winced at the sudden tinnitus. But, soon came to realise that it was actually a phone ringing. She blinked away the drowsiness, awoken by the ringing that was effectively now functioning as an alarm clock. In the midst of the confusion, she found the phone, tucked away in the corner of the wall by the entrance. All these years she’d lived here, when she thought she had every detail memorised, she was surprised to find a phone there.

Sister Margaret sighed, visibly irritated by the intrusion, and shuffled towards it. The eyes of every girl in the room followed the occurrence that has never happened before – at least, not in her experience.

Sister did not hesitate to show her annoyance when she picked up the phone. The hmms and huhs pursued.

Her eyes flickered over to Ginevra, causing her to sit up. Sister Margaret raised a finger, and gestured for her to come over.

In a screech that seemed obnoxiously loud, Ginevra slowly pulled back her wooden seat and stood up. Her fists clutched her skirt as she manoeuvred her way to the Sister.

“For you,” was all Sister Margaret said as she passed the phone.

Taken aback by the unconventionality of it all, she took the phone, failing to come up with anyone who had the business of calling her. With one last sideway glance at her classmates, then at Sister Margaret, she turned to the corner for any privacy available to her in this very public room.

There was constant static and cracking that caught her by surprise. Despite the dreadful silence of the room, she closed her right ear, attempting to catch anything organic. Then, amidst the chaos, as if buried in the depths of static sand, a voice. Ginevra’s brows knitted, pushing the receiver further against her ear.

The calm, velvety, dulcet voice reached out to her through the cracks.

“Father Thomas?” Ginevra asked, her voice involuntarily getting louder against the static. “Father Thomas, is that you?”

Ginevra turned her head to Sister Margaret, who was continuing to watch the exchange in silence. Her usually stern frown was replaced with a sympathising look.

“Father Thomas,” Ginevra turned to the corner again at his voice that was becoming audible, enough for her to decipher that, at this point, Father Thomas was repeating the same message in an attempt to reach her.

“Father Thomas, the connection seems to be–,”

Ginevra’s voice trailed off, however.

Amidst the constant, callous crackling, Father Thomas’ voice resurfaced from the sand to voice the words, “There will be blood.”

She doubted her ears as she clung to the receiver. “Father?” her voice was shaky, submerged by the loud static.

He did not respond. In the distorted, monotonous voice that almost did not sound human, the voice repeated. As if the message has been recorded to be delivered right to her ear.

The same four words. Over and over.

Before she knew it, Ginevra had slammed the receiver on the wall.

Her breath fogged up the glass, temporarily obscuring her behind the white veil. When the veil receded, she did not recognise the reflection that she saw in the mirror. Her sharp nose. Her jutting cheekbones. Her freckles splattered. Technically speaking, they were the same shape, size, placed in their correct locations as they’ve always been.

But, in the mirror, the individual pieces had become distorted. Her left eye larger. Her nose cracked into two. off-centre to the right. Her lips off-centre to the right. Mutilated and Misplaced.

She did not know the girl that stood in front of her. This poor girl forced to the cliff of her childhood. Her sombre eyes caught sight of herself. Her hair frazzled and wild like they’ve not been combed for years. The fear, tremor etched into those steely blues at the metamorphosis she was beholding in the cracked reflection.

Strong. Brave.

The girl raised her head. Proud.

The girl in the mirror raised a hand. In her right, a shard of a broken mirror. In her left, she clutched a fistful of her hair.

Like a river, the red cascaded down her sides.

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, a world without end.”

Ginevra gasped for air and tore her eyes open.

She wasn’t sure if she’d just fallen asleep and woken.

The space held a hyperrealistic detail to it, but she had no recollection of how she got here.

Like she’s always existed here in this spot.

Her careful eyes surveyed around her: an empty corridor. It was the annexe, the extra bedrooms haphazardly added as the number of sisters grew. Ginevra now stood in one of the many that faced the sister’s bedrooms, each corridor diverging and meandering like a maze. It was dusty, as always. And abnormally cold, like someone had left the window open.

Ginevra took a hesitant step forward, knowing the comfort of her own room awaited at the end of the corridor on her left. At the end of the current hallway, a window. From the looks of it, the dead of the night. In the deafening silence, the familiar hallway had never looked so foreign. Obsolete. Desolate.

Ginevra dragged her bare feet, her toes cold against the wood, to turn left.

The door on her left closed with a quiet thud.

Ginevra gasped. She breathed deeply, trying to compose herself. In the dim moonlight, she just about made out the metallic glint of 4 on its door. Lav’s room.

Ginevra stepped towards the same door that she leapt away from a mere second ago.

“Lav?” she whispered, knocking quietly yet somewhat urgently on the door. “Lav, are you awake?”

There was no response.

Ginevra swallowed hard. “Lav, it’s me,” she raised her voice.

The hallway was as silent as ever. Not a single whisper, cough, or rustling of the bed cover.

Ginevra looked at the sturdy door, intent on shutting her out.

“Lav…” Ginevra refused to acknowledge the feebleness in her voice, “Lav, was that–, was that you?”

The door remained lifeless and still. The silence was deafening, save for the huffs of her shallow breathing.

Ginevra felt a chill run down her spine, and with one last apprehensive look at the door, began walking to her room once more.

She had not taken more than a few steps when there was a click of a door knob. She turned her head, to find the door ajar once again. Ginevra watched nervously, her fingers subconsciously reaching for the rosary. She watched, waiting for Lavendar to poker out from behind the door, laughing and smiling at her.

But, in its ominous silence, nothing came.

Ginevra was now clutching the rosary tight in her fist as she turned around. Eager to reach the warmth of her room, her feet quickened. She clutched her black-leathered Bible against her chest. She dashed to her door, a sliver of warm light spilling from underneath it. How quickly her carefree youth abandoned her to fumble in the dark, searching for the dulled metallic glint of the doorknob. Ginevra ran a hand through her frazzled dark willowed hair that was obstructing her view, and reached out to the doorknob.

It slipped out of her palm.

Ginevra gasped, immediately withdrawing her hands. She stared at the dark smear on its dull metal. Her brows knitted, wondering where on earth it came from.

Ginevra squinted in the dark at her hands.

It was dark, viscous, and smelled of iron.

She felt her heart drop.

She had no recollection of how it got there. But, the string of the droplet that rapidly made its way to the floor, was unquestionably blood.

She screamed, rubbing away the thick coat of blood on the nearest cloth she could find: her white nightrobe.

“God will not forsake me. God will not forsake me,” she was now frantically whispering the same words the Father spoke to her. But, however many times she dragged her hands across the cloth, her hands seemed to be getting coated with more blood.

She was sobbing now. The strong scent of iron struck her nostril as she wiped away the tears with her fingers. She wanted to get back to her room now, more than ever. To fall asleep like everyone else and pretend everything was the same as always.

She shut her eyes, willing them to all go away. But, God was unforgiving to a girl who’d lost control.

When her eyes opened, she was still alone in the dark, the waist of her white robe now drenched in blood.

She slumped down to the floor but immediately jumped back, however, at the warm liquid she felt on her fingertips. She pushed herself up against the wall, watching in horror, as the black liquid continued to pool on the wooden floor. In the dim moonlight, she made out the blood that was coming from underneath the door, silently creeping towards her.

“Leave me alone,” She knew nobody was there to listen to her measly plea for help, yet Ginevra still whimpered, tasting the salt and blood in her mouth. She flailed her arm, in a futile attempt to shoe the liquid away.

The cross rattled. Ginevra’s eyes stopped at the rosary, now giving an obsidian, wet glint drenched in blood, still clutched in her hand. Swiftly, her eyes searched for the worn-out book. Ginevra reached for the Bible, just a few centimetres away from the lapping blood, still on the floor from the time she was wiping her hands.

Ginevra flipped the pages of the black-leathered book frantically. There was a loud bang, causing her to jump. She whipped her head towards the sound to find the wind that had pushed the window open. It was abnormally strong for indoors, causing the pages to flip and her blood-crusted hair to fly in all directions, obstructing her view. She squinted, and flipping to the desired page once more, began reading out loud. “I’ve commanded you to be brave and strong–”

The air flipped the book out of her hands. There was that phone ringing again in the distance, getting closer and louder. She clambered for the book once again and continued, now shouting over the ringing, “Don’t be alarmed or terrified, because the Lord your God is with you wherever you go–”

Her voice trailed off helplessly as the words of God began to disappear. She watched in shock at the sections of writing that began to dissolve into paper, as if the ink was dissipating in water.

“No,” her voice now devoid of hope at salvation, she muttered. “No, no, no, no, no…”

She flipped through the pages hysterically, searching for any remaining words. Index. A page number. Anything.

Her fingers dragged over the blank pages, leaving bloodied fingerprints.

Ginevra knitted her brows, as, through her fingerprints, the black ink floated to the surface. It was handwritten in elegant, elongated curves.

“You’ve lost control,” The line surfaced, its reproving words condemning her.

She stared at what was either a miracle or her hallucination. A single tear made its way down her cheek, onto the page. "I've tried, Father. " Ginevra was pleading before she knew it. "I promise, I tried," she sobbed into the crook of her elbow. Her hands folded over the pages, her body bent forward, begging for forgiveness.

“Control yourself or be controlled by the devil.”

“It didn’t work,” she banged a condemning fist against the blank page. “You said it’ll work!”

Ginevra raised her teary eyes just in time to see the words "It is not your fault," dissolve into the page.

Ginevra sniffed her nose. In the roaring wind, its pages fluttered violently. There was a glimmer of hope. The end of a tunnel. That despite it all, God may have had the heart to forgive her. The sound did not reach her ears as Ginevra's teary eyes watched the book expectantly for its next line.

“The blood of Eve runs through you.”

Something had snapped within her.

All those moments she’d tried, worked exceedingly hard.

The prayers in the freezing cold chapel. Rules and punishments for every minuscule act.

How to dress. How to speak. How to think.

It was never enough. No matter how hard she tried, it was never going to be enough. Her prayers were never going to be answered.

She gritted her teeth. The knuckles turned white as she gripped the book. In a fit of blinding rage, she grasped the shard of the broken mirror. The deafening sound was her own scream. Tears and blood ran down her cheeks.

The last thing she saw was the reflection of her wild blue eyes, her raging red hair, and her bared teeth as she plunged the shard into the Bible.

A/N: Thank you for reading! This was originally posted as part of the Quidditch League Competition on fanfiction.net

I chose to write from Ginny’s perspective as an unreliable narrator to emphasise her descent into madness. I tried to leave everything ambiguous as possible, sort of like absurd realism. Is this the devil’s work? Or is this simply the somatisation of the psychological distress from repressing her emotions, sexuality, etc.? Is Father Thomas the devil incarnate or is he simply the figurehead of repression that Ginny subconsciously tied to her experiences? (The visual connection of the bible to Tom Riddle’s diary, which Father Thomas promised Ginevra would work.) From what point on is it Ginny’s hallucination? And so on.

I also tried to add some allegorical meaning. Like her room, that is described as a space of safety and warmth, was her desire to return to the ‘womb’ so to speak, where she is allowed to remain a child. Her friends are still in their respective rooms. Lav may have considered letting her back into a bedroom, but ultimately, Ginevra’s never allowed back in.

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 2 months ago

Text

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

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

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

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

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

part one | masterlist

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

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

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

Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach turned inside out.

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

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

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

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

“And why not?” You huffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.

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

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

Every one of your cells had missed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you—”

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

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

“Over my dead body, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could get used to a little chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie nodded. “I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly started drooling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charlie!”

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

You loved them already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could this really be your life?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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clesired · 21 days ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a george weasley x reader where she’s harry’s sister? set in the goblet of fire?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! fun fact: no one loves harder than a weasley!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, comfort ( reader big sister-ing harry ), gryffindor potter fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.7k words!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You watch as your little brother storms through the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione hot on his heels.

You want to move—but you’re torn between chasing after Harry and his angel of a best friend, or turning around and hexing his dimwitted doorknob of another.

Ever since Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire, it’s like the whole school has turned on him. And no one worse than his very own best mate, Ron Weasley.

And of course when Ron is upset, everyone else has to be too.

He’d started a row with Harry in the middle of breakfast, and when he’d lost it on Hermione for stepping in and defending your brother—Harry had reached his limit and walked away. No doubt because he’d been seconds away from socking Ron a good one.

And you’re honestly not too far behind him, but your big sister instincts ultimately win out and you rush out of the hall in hopes of catching up to the younger Gryffindors before they’re out of sight.

Your head swivels from left to right as soon as you burst through the doors, but to no success. And with the amount of hidden passageways and corridors in this castle—you’re shite out of luck.

So caught up in looking for any clues as to which way they may have gone, you completely miss the arrival of another person.

“C’mon, sweetheart—there’s no use looking for them now.” George’s voice rings out gently as he steps in front of you. His large hand falls to your shoulder and squeezes, a familiar feeling that calms you.

You lean into his touch—seeking his comfort, but shake your head in denial. “I have to try, Georgie. He’s my brother.”

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart. Hermione’s got him.” He murmurs against your hairline as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand rubbing up and down your arm soothingly.

“You hardly even touched your plate before mini Potter was storming off. Come back and eat. Give him some time to cool off, yeah?” He coaxes gently and you let out a soft sigh.

“If I go back in there now, I’m afraid you’ll be walking out with one less brother.” You murmur quietly as you look up at him, earning a soft chuckle from your boyfriend.

“That’s okay, still got four of ‘em left.” He jokes quietly, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ginny’s beat you to it, darling.”

That makes you smile, and you pull away from him to peer at the doors—as if trying to see through them.

“She throw a Bat-Bogey yet?” You ask curiously, the smile on your face a testament to how upset you are with Ron right now.

Normally, you’re like two peas in a pod—mainly because Ron knows if he’s on your good side, George won’t prank him.

You know that’s the real reason he talks to you, but you don’t really care.

Ron can be particularly nasty if he’s on bad terms with a person—proven by this morning’s lovely show, and you’d rather not deal with that sort of nuisance; so you entertain him.

But all of that is out the window now. Ron has gone too far this time—accusing Harry of deliberately putting his name in the Goblet of Fire and cheating. As if he needs another threat to his life after all that he’s already been through. Ridiculous.

“Not yet, but her hand was looking pretty twitchy before I ran out.” George’s voice is laced in amusement now, as he comes up behind you and gently steers you toward the Great Hall.

You smile softly. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

George chuckles. “Comes with the job of being your boyfriend, sweetheart. One promise of Weasley-on-Weasley violence, check.”

“Well now that makes me feel bad.” You frown softly as you walk through the doors.

“Don’t. He had it coming.” He squeezes you gently before smirking. “And plus—Fred and I have been waiting for an excuse to prank ickle Ronniekins without making you mad.”

As the Gryffindor table comes back into view and you find that Ginny has in fact casted an absolute wicked Bat-Bogey Hex while you were gone, you smile.

George’s words ring in your ear as a thought occurs and you turn to look at him—momentarily ignoring the chaos the flying bats are causing among the students and staff.

“You know what? Consider him out of my protection. You and Fred can prank him as much as you want from now on.” You declare.

This will be your get back at Ron for being a little shite to Harry. Only you are allowed to be mean to your little brother and get away with it.

George positively beams down at you as he places a fat kiss against your forehead and then looks over to his twin.

“Hear that, Freddie!? My witch gave us the go ahead on ickle Ronniekins!” He shouts, and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Fred pump his fists in triumph.

As you settle down at the table beside George and watch the Professors struggle to help Ron fight off the bats, you scan the table until you find Colin Creevey.

“Colin!” You call out, gaining his attention. “Do me a favour and take a picture of this, yeah? I’m sure Harry’s gonna love it.”

The amused smile on your little brother’s face when he looks at the picture later that day in the common room proves you correct.

“Figured since you couldn’t be there to see it in all its glory, I could get you the next best thing.” You shrug casually, before smirking.

“Oh, and the twins are working on a few ideas to make Ron’s life a bit more…entertaining for the next few weeks.” You say lightly.

Harry looks up to where Fred and George are sitting at a table, quietly discussing as they both pour over a parchment.

After a moment, he turns to smile at you, all traces of anger due to Ron’s awful behaviour absent from his expression—at least for the time being, until Ron inevitably opens his mouth again.

“You’re a great big sister, you know that?” Harry says quietly, and you chuckle.

“Obviously. We Potters never do anything by halves.” You smirk.

“Except for boyfriends!” George suddenly calls out as he looks up from the table and winks at you. “Get it, sweetheart? Because you’re dating a twin?”

You shake your head in fond amusement as you look at your boyfriend. “I got it, Georgie.” You smile, holding back a laugh.

He blows you an air kiss and you catch it before blowing one back in return. He smirks, before you both refocus on your respective brothers.

Harry is already looking at you by the time your head turns, and his smile is smaller now—but also softer.

“George is good for you. I’m glad you have him.” He says quietly, and you feel your heart warm.

By the time your little brother had entered Hogwarts, you and George had already been dating—and with all the crazy shenanigans that’s been going on ever since Harry’s first year…you two never really had a conversation about how he felt about it.

You know he never had a problem with your relationship—he would’ve said something if he had; but to actually hear him verbally approve you and George fills you with a particular joy you only ever feel when it involves your boyfriend.

“I’m glad I have him too.” You murmur softly as you glance back at the aforementioned wizard.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, you know.” You add on as you look back at your brother.

“No one hates harder than one too, apparently.” He grumbles, and just like that—his face is darkening all over again as he thinks of Ron.

You sigh softly and wrap your arm around his shoulder, smiling when he lets you. The Dursleys did their number on the both of you, but it was worse for Harry—with physical touch being one of the things he sometimes gets a little finicky about.

Both you and Hermione have been working overtime throughout the years to get him used to it, and you’re proud to say that the progress is there.

Harry’s first instinct is to usually shy away from touch when he’s angry, but rather than pull away this time—he leans into your warmth.

“Ron is…Ron, and I have no doubt that Hermione can and probably already has given you a more in depth explanation on why he’s being a prat—so I won’t even bother trying.” You smile gently, before continuing.

“But what I will tell you is that sometimes friends fight. And it’s messy and it sucks, but it also strengthens the bond between you.” You pat him consolingly.

“I’m not saying you two are gonna make up tomorrow—even I know Ron’s too much of a git for that. But you will eventually.”

“How can you know that, though?” Harry asks quietly.

You shrug gently. “Call it big sister instinct, or the fact that you two have been through more things together in the past three years than most people go through in a lifetime. Whatever it is, you two are going to be just fine.”

Harry relaxes at that, and as the twins join you on the couch—George pulling you into his lap, and Hermione comes bursting through the common room rambling about what she read in the library about the Triwizard Tournament rules—you look back at your brother.

He’s watching the twins—who are now rattling off ideas to Hermione about how to get him out of the tournament, and you can tell that he’s touched by their efforts.

You lean into Harry to give him one last word of big sister advice. “Ron’s poor behaviour is more than upsetting, but he’ll come around eventually. In the meantime—you’ve got a pretty solid group of friends right here.”

You gesture to Hermione and the twins, and hold up the picture of Ginny casting a Bat-Bogey at Ron.

It’s not lost on either of you that three of the four people you pointed out are Weasleys, and Harry smirks.

“No one loves harder than a Weasley, indeed.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! its actually criminal that i dont have my own george, smh. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

#clesired #clesiredwrites #clesiredoneshots #clesiredgeorgeweasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter golden era #harry potter golden era fanfiction #harry potter golden era fic #george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader

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wordsarelife · 11 months ago

Text

—gorgeous

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: being in love with your best friend might be a bad idea, but drowning your sorrows in alcohol might be your worst one yet

warnings: underage drinking, partying, no usage of y/n, a few suggestive remarks

notes: this is my official entry for the hogmarch challenge of @thatdammchickennugget using prompt 2: “are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?”

the night was rushing fast away in front of your eyes, easy chatter, at the start of the party, quickly turning into drunken singing and shouting along to the music that was drowning out everything else.

the dim blue light that was shining through the ravenclaw common room did it‘s best to worsen the drunken state many of your classmates were in.

mattheo was sitting on a couch, wearing his usual cool demeanour and being surrounded by his friends. they were known for getting a bit drunk, but never making an embarrassment out of themselves through loud singing or obnoxious dancing.

and normally you were known for sitting right next to them and doing the same.

even though it was dark, you could see mattheo's head turn and his eyes searching the crowd for you. you had excused yourself to get something to drink. that had been over ten minutes ago and you were really debating to just go to bed.

the night had turned out differently than you had expected and you weren't really in the mood to act like it hadn't.

"someone is looking for you" a voice behind you said and you turned around startled.

"harry" you said relieved when you recognized the boy.

it wasn't like the two of you were friends, after all you were coming from vastly different groups, but since a project in astronomy you had become acquaintances, sometimes sharing a few nice words at parties.

"why are you standing here all alone? why aren't you with your friends?"

"why aren't you?" you shot back, making harry quirk an eyebrow.

"well played" he complimented and smiled "i was trying to get away from dean and ginny making out"

"ouch" it wasn't really a well known fact that harry fancied ginny, but you had noticed it right away a few parties ago and he had been able to read you well enough to know that you had known.

"it's alright" he shrugged "i just don't want to sit next to it"

"who would?" you asked sarcastically as you eyes fell on the couple, hungrily making out on the couch, successfully pushing seamus off.

it seemed that a few people felt way too comfortable in the ravenclaw common room.

"oi, it's no fun with these two" seamus complained, sympathetically hitting harry's shoulder on the way to the table with the drinks.

"back to you" harry grinned, seemingly uncomfortable with talking about his secret crush on ginny weasley more than necessary "why are you avoiding riddle? i thought you two were the best of friends"

"i'm not avoiding him" you said defensively, taking a big gulp from the vodka in your cup to prevent yourself from saying any more.

harry took a moment to study your facial expression, before he sighed in a tone that almost made you tear up "oh"

"no" you shook your head "no 'oh', stop looking at me like that, potter"

harry laughed dryly "too late" he shrugged "so, being the best of friends is your actual problem, huh?"

you didn't answer his question, but took another sip from the cup. immediately regretting it.

harry cringed "if you continue drinking at that rate you won't be able to speak a coherent sentence in a few minutes"

"maybe i don't want to speak coherent sentences anymore"

"so we're already at the point of drowning our sorrows in alcohol?" he raised his cup and took a sip "no, you're right, it doesn't look like you're unluckily in love with riddle at all"

you sighed "okay, fine, you're obviously smarter than you look" you rolled your eyes.

"well, ouch" harry said offended, but you could see a hint of mischief in his eyes. "am i allowed to join your little club of self-pity?"

"sure" you nodded "the more the merrier i guess"

"there's no better way to spend a party than drown yourself in self-pity with the girl you're kind of on good terms with"

"yeah, totally" you grinned "but i think if we continue talking at that rate we will be able to call each other friends in an hour"

"deal" harry laughed, before he grabbed the bottle of vodka on the table behind you, filling both your own and his cup back up. he put the bottle back and held his cup in your direction "to unrequited love" he said dramatically.

you grimaced, but raised your cup to clink against his. "to unrequited love" you toasted "and unexpected friendships" you added.

"yeah that too" he smiled before you both took a big sip from your cups.

"vodka is fucking disgusting" you complained and harry nodded, making a face that would allow the assumption that he had been thinking the same thing.

"at least it does the trick"

you and harry spend the next hour recklessly sipping vodka, while you were telling each other ridiculous stories. the vodka had a quicker effect than either of you had thought, making the both of you dance and refer to each other as friends sooner than you had predicted.

just as 'dancing queen' began to play and you were twirling on the dancefloor, did you notice the empty spot on the couch occupied by your friends. there was only one of them missing. before it could really register in your brain who exactly was missing, a voice rang out next to you.

"make room, potter" you and harry both turned around, looking surprised at the arrival of mattheo riddle.

"matty" you laughed after the few seconds it had taken you to recognize your best friend.

mattheo's arm darted to the side, catching you before you could fall to the ground. you had made the attempt to hug him, missing his body by a few feet. you had been closer to hugging cormac mclaggen who was standing off to the side.

"there you are" mattheo noted, gently taking your cup out of your hand, sniffing the contents and grimacing at the strong sent of vodka, mixed with a bit of orange juice.

"do you want some?" you slurred, grinning up at the boy, who's arm was still holding you steady.

"how many of these has she had?" mattheo asked harry, thinking he would be a little less wasted than you.

"like thirty-four thousand?" harry answered before him and you broke into simultaneous laughter.

"had to have been a lot" mattheo muttered, noticing the way you were laughing with the chosen one, gripping his arm, like you were old friends.

he let go of you, taking harry's cup as well, emptying the both into the bucket under the table with the drinks. he came back right in time to witness you saying goodbye to harry with a dramatic hug, kissing both his cheeks and lastly his forehead.

"yeah, that's enough" mattheo said, dragging your body back against his when he noticed you going in to plant more kisses on harry's face. he looked bad enough, the red lipstick you were wearing leaving marks all over his face.

harry smiled before he waved at you and turned around, stumbling through the crowd of students probably in search of his redheaded best friend.

mattheo rolled his eyes. "you're absolutely wasted, darling"

you turned around to look at him and unconsciously bring a bit of space between the both of you "is it that obvious?" you asked.

mattheo watched with a smirk, how you tried to balance yourself out, to just be able to stand. your arm ended up stabilizing your own hip and you almost fell full on to the side, when you moved your leg.

"not really" mattheo grinned "come on, baby" he softly gripped your waist on either side, guiding you in the direction of your friends. you closed your eyes, leaning your head against his shoulder, letting him walk you through the room willingly.

"have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?"

"i am?" he asked laughing.

"so gorgeous that it hurts"

"you're flattering me" he smiled, nudging your arm. "but maybe you should concentrate more on walking in the right direction"

he was right. it was taking you way too long to cross the room, thanks to your inability to still walk in a straight line, even with his help.

"hey" mattheo greeted, making the eyes of his friends turn on him. "i'm bringing her to bed"

"already?" enzo asked skeptically, checking his watch "it's only two a.m."

"hey guys!" you greeted when your eyes snapped open. you bend forward, plastering a kiss onto enzo’s cheek. "how the party you doing? good? good!" you smiled, nodding as your eyes fell closed, as you leaned back onto mattheo again.

"what?" theo laughed at your slurred words that had not made the slightest bit of sense.

"yeah, i get it now" enzo nodded understandingly, trying to rub your lipstick off his cheek.

"she's only been gone for an hour" blaise said unbelievingly "how did she get that drunk?"

"she's had approximately like more than a thousand vodka-o's according to potter" mattheo chuckled.

"potter?" draco repeated disgustingly "what has she been doing with potter?"

"harry and i are best friends" you gushed, giving draco an angry look. he rolled his eyes in annoyance, but without questioning your answer.

"let's not get ahead of ourselves, love" mattheo argued, a bit of jealousy in his voice.

"you don't have to be jealous" you softly touched his cheek "you know i love you more than anyone, honey"

blaise let out a loud whistling noise "seems likes she's your girl after all, riddle"

"oh shut up" mattheo said at the same time as you said "of course"

"better bring her to bed now" theo advised and you could feel mattheo nod next to you.

"i'll be back in a few minutes" mattheo promised, as he softly turned you around to be able to walk you in the direction of the door.

"no he won't" you slurred, turning your head in the direction your friends, gripping mattheo's neck and winking at them.

enzo hollored and theo laughed, while blaise repeated the whisteling.

"cheers to that" even draco was amused about you, as he raised his cup in your direction.

"i'll be back" mattheo assured again, pushing you forward.

"no you won't" theo shook his head, smirking as he watched his friend roll his eyes and gently guide you through the crowd.

"how about a shot of tequila?" you suggested to mattheo, perfectly awake again. there was no hint of the tiredness that had consumed your body only a few minutes ago.

maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the sound of a familiar voice indicating the beginning of the song 'whatta man' by salt-n-pepa, which was now booming through the boxes.

"no, no more alcohol" mattheo shook his head, suddenly being the kind of responsible he had never seen himself to become.

"oh my god!" you gushed when you finally reconized the song "that's my favorite song! let us dance, matty!"

he was distracted by two hufflepuff boys almost running into him, when you saw the perfect opportunity to escape his hold. stupidly enough, that was the only thing you could see, as you had promptly gotten lost in the crowd of people.

mattheo was at your side only a second after, making you realize that you had in fact just turned around, without moving more than a feet away from him.

"if you don't come with me on your own accord, i'll have to carry you" mattheo warned.

you giggled, clasping your hands around his biceps "let us dance" you pleaded, completely ignoring what he had said.

mattheo furrowed his eyebrows, still waiting for you to reply to what he had said, but you were busy watching a few ravenclaws and hufflepuffs downing shots. "or we could down some shots" you mumbled.

mattheo took that as answer enough, clasping one of his hands around your forearm and the other around your leg, as he bend down to throw you over his shoulder.

"matty" you protested, as he began to walk you out of the common room. you gave up arguing and continued to sing along to the chorus of 'whatta man' as mattheo walked you both through the crowd of people.

as soon as the door to the ravenclaw common room fell close behind the two of you, you slumped down on mattheo's shoulder, the tiredness hitting you immediately.

"do you want to walk on your own now, baby?" mattheo asked, but he could feel you shake your head. "can you use you words?" he was growing a bit concerned at your sudden mood shift, trying to make sure that you were still somewhat alright.

"no" you pouted "i don't want to use my words"

"you just did"

"i never let a man tell me what to do" you slurred and mattheo had to chuckle.

"clearly" he muttered under his breath.

he walked through the halls of the castle quickly, making sure that you wouldn't be discovered by one of the teachers. you would probably kill him if one of them saw you like this. you never really got that drunk often, so it was on mattheo to make sure that no one found out about it now.

he should've searched for you immediately after you hadn't come back. he shouldn't have waited an hour. but he was scared of annoying you. you were always together and he had taken your absence as a sign for you needing some space.

if he could, he would follow you around all the time, preferably holding your hand while doing so. maybe in another universe you would want him to do that.

"when are we there?" you asked, your hand wandering across his shoulder, before it finally found it's place in his hair, gripping it tightly.

"any second now" mattheo was trying to make sure not to shake your body too much, as he quickly walked down the steps to the dungeon. he wouldn't want you to throw up. "do you feel sick, sweetheart?"

"no" you muttered "i just want to sleep"

"i know, i know" mattheo patted the back of your leg "we're almost at the door"

he hadn't lied. it only took a few more seconds, before he whispered the password and the door to the slytherin common room opened, revealing the familiar green lighting as he walked you both inside. he crossed the room, climbing the stairs to your dorm.

he took his time to set you down on your bed, making sure that no quick movement could make you feel uncomfortable. he unfolded your blanket, spreading it across your body.

he was ready to leave the room, before you called him back.

"matty" you cried and he perked up, walking back to the bed. you threw the blanket to the side dramatically, revealing your trousers and shirt. "i can't sleep like this"

"oh" mattheo said dumbfounded "do you want me to take them off?" he asked slowly, gripping the waistband of your trousers.

"are you speaking parsletongue or am i really that drunk?" you giggled at the joke with your eyes still closed.

"you're really that drunk" mattheo answered, rolling his eyes at your unseriousness "and it's not funny"

"it's a bit funny" you opened your eyes and giggled at his facial expression "why are you so serious, matty?"

"i should've kept an eye on you" he answered "you don't like to be drunk"

"i can make my own decisions" you argued, crossing your arms.

"obviously" mattheo nodded "should i take them off?" he repeated his question from earlier, but the tone of his voice made you sober up immediately, well at least a bit.

"are you really angry at me right now?" you asked surprised.

"i had to leave the party to bring you to bed"

"that's not the reason you're angry" you said, knowing him well enough to see through his lie.

"okay, fine" he sat down on the bed and you sat up, drawing your knees to your chest and hugging them with your arms. "maybe i'm a bit angry that you would rather spend your evening getting drunk with potter than speaking to me"

"matty"

"no, it's fine" he shook his head "i shouldn't be angry about how you choose to spend your time. goodnight" he stood up from the bed, walking to the door quickly, so voice rang out before he was able to twist the doorknob.

"can you please just stay?" you asked and he turned around in surprise.

"what?"

"maybe i chose to spend time with harry, but i'm choosing to spend the night with you. isn't that more important?"

"that's not how it works"

"okay, fine" you said, tired of arguing "do you want to know the truth? spending time with you is super hard while i'm madly in love with you" even though you were a bit more sober than before, he could still recognize the drunkness in your voice, especially because you were never that bold.

"madly in love with me, huh?" mattheo repeated surprised, his signature smirk immediately replacing the frown on his face.

“it’s embarrassing, i know” you buried your face in your hands, hiding your rosy cheeks from his eyes. he softly took your hands in his, freeing your face of them.

"don't hide from me" he smiled "and it’s not embarrassing, because the truth is, that i'm madly in love with you too"

you smiled up at him. “can you kiss me then?” he smiled at your question, but shook his head.

“no more kisses tonight” he muttered, softly stroking your hair “we can do that tomorrow, as often as you want to, when you’re sober again”

“okay” you nodded.

he gently helped you to exchange your trousers for pyjama bottoms, before he took of his shirt and climbed into bed next to you. you cuddled close to his chest, your hair tickling him whenever you moved.

"blaise was right" you said finally "i'm your girl after all"

"you always were" mattheo whispered back, softly kissing your forehead, before the both of you fell asleep, holding onto each other.

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allthesmutl0vers · 4 months ago

Text

Dating Fred and George Weasley Headcanons

MDNI, 18+, NSFW

Masterlist Requests/Asks: OPEN (please read) Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader x George Weasley Request: Not a request just wanted to write to fight writer's block. TW: Sexual Situations, Kinks, Some Fluff, Pseudo-Twincest A/N: I feel like I ate with this, tbh. Been working on it for two mf days. 😮‍💨💞 I hope you enjoy! Comment here if you want to be added to the tag list for any/all HP content.

Please feel free to let me know how you feel about this. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. ✨💞

How you got together:

You had been friends with them forever, but you never expected them to have the same feelings towards you as you did for them. None of you were willing to admit it until it was called out by Ginny and her loud ass mouth when she told you guys to 'just fucking kiss already, for Merlin's sake.'

They had just finished a match against Slytherin and won, of course, so their adrenaline was already flooding. You had opened your mouth to fire back at Ginny with some sarcastic ass comment when Fred grabbed your face and smashed his lips to yours, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

When Fred finally pulled back, your head was in a daze, and before you could suck in a breath, George grabbed you by your waist, dipped you, and kissed you with the same passionate intensity.

After that, everything else was history, and the only thought any of you could form was, 'Why didn't we do this sooner?'

Fred

Song that best describes your relationship with Fred:

Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship (Iykyk)

Nicknames he has for you:

Darling: His go-to nickname, he uses it all of the time.

Love: Uses this one when he is being extra lovey, or giving you presents.

Sweetheart: (this one is for when you're in trouble and he wants you to know it)

Kinks:

Biting: Fred loves to bite you while he's fucking you. Leaving trails of bite marks all over your neck and going down your collarbones and, especially, between your thighs when he's eating you out. Though he never breaks the skin, he does bite hard enough to bruise. Fred's biggest turn-on is the sounds that leave your lips when he bites down hard and then licks and kisses the same spot, melting pain with pleasure until you can't tell the difference.

Bit of an exhibitionist: Nothing revs Fred up more than the risk of getting caught, especially if it's George walking in when he has you bent over, face down, ass up. He knows you're with George, too, but it's not necessarily about who catches you two in the act. It's about simply being caught.

"Looks like we've been caught, darling," he taunts with a dark chuckle and pulls your head back by your hair to make you look at George while he pile drives into you from behind. "Show Georgie how good I make you feel. Come on, let him hear how I make you scream."

Begging: Hearing you beg, 'Just fuck me already,' almost makes him break and do it. His response? Shoving his cock down your throat, all the while taunting you with little phrases like, 'What was that, darling? Didn't quite catch that,' or 'But you look so good, down on your knees begging for me.' He will definitely give you what you want, but only after tears are running down your cheeks as your need becomes almost too much to bear. Almost. He's not a complete sadist, after all.

Honorable Mentions:

Hair Pulling I mean, need I say more?

Teasing at the MOST inappropriate times, family dinner? Ha, his fingers are right at the apex of your thighs, silently challenging you to keep your facial expressions schooled.

Breeding Kink: You think he doesn't fantasize about filling you up so fucking full with cum, that it's only thanks to your birth control you haven't gotten pregnant yet? That's fucking adorable.

Favorite Positions:

Face down, ass up: What's not to love? It's the perfect position for Fred to slam into you at the brutal pace that leaves you cock-drunk. Perfect for him to either hold your hips still or slam you back onto his cock to match his pace, all the while leaving perfect little fingertip bruises on your hips. Even better is when he pulls you back, flush to his chest, a large hand holding just under your chin, supporting your weight while he leaves a trail of bite marks down your neck and shoulders while you whimper and plead for mercy, not that you actually want it, he just loves to hear you beg.

Against a wall: Being the exhibitionist he is, Fred will fuck you any and everywhere. An empty classroom, a broom closet, the locker room after an intense quidditch match, win or lose, he doesn't care. So long as he gets you. But there is just something about holding you up with your legs wrapped around him, back pinned to the wall (or a locker), that makes Fred fucking feral. The way he can watch your pupils blow with arousal, your lips part and quiver as your orgasm crashes into you like a fucking freight train, the way you tug on his hair as if you're trying to keep some semblance of grounding as you feel your soul leave your body. Fuck, he's sure he's never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

Spit roasting: When you're on all fours on the bed (or anywhere, really), and he pounds into you while you suck off George. Fucking you so hard it forces you to take more of George down your throat. What are brothers for? He's not sexually attracted to George, but there's nothing like watching you take his other half while he slams into you. Both of them work in a delicious and synchronized rhythm, filling you up so full that you might just burst, will burst. Body trembling while George offers you sweet praise and Fred reaches around your body, rubbing tight and fast circles over your clit; all the while, they drag you further and further down to hell or up to heaven. Is there even a difference anymore?

Random Head Canons:

Fred is more possessive, not so much that you're not allowed to have friends of the opposite sex. He knows full well he can trust you to tell him if someone makes you uncomfortable. He knows damn well you're not going to be fucking around with anyone else, given how fucking incredible he and George make you feel. Possessive in the aspect that he will brutally, if not mercilessly, prank anyone who so much as looks at you in any way that isn't platonic.

When you chastise him for these methods, he stops because you are bloody terrifying when you're truly angry. He switches to pulling you onto his lap or brushing your hair over your shoulder in front of them to reveal the litter of bite marks he made or the hickies that George made all over your neck, all with the cockiest fucking smirk on his face.

Fred's Ideal Date: While he loves being buried deep inside of you, he loves treating you to an adventure. His favorite? Walking into the forbidden forest, finding the perfect place to swim (he found the best swimming hole with a ledge to jump off of.) In the warmer months, he'll pack a lunch and take you here, loving the adrenaline rush of jumping and diving off of the small cliff ledge. Swimming behind the waterfall and exploring the caves inside with you. In the colder months, he will challenge you to a snowball fight in the courtyard, George is allowed, too, of course, but one of them will always be on your side against the other. Otherwise it's not really fair, is it?

George

Song that best describes your relationship with George:

Ride - SoMo

Nicknames he has for you:

Baby/Baby girl: Uses this as a placement for your name.

Little One: Uses this when he's teasing you; typically whispers it in your ear when his hands are around your waist. Or when he is watching Fred fuck you before he steps in and joins.

Mine/Ours: Uses this one the most in the bedroom when either he or both of them are fucking you.

Kinks:

Hickies: While Fred loves biting, George is a little more gentle. Note that I said a little. He'll fuck you like a whore in church, but he prefers to drag out the pleasure by sucking the soft skin right behind your ear all the way down your body down to your clit, right to his favorite part on your body, which brings me to my next point-

Eating you out: Holy. Fucking. Shit. If this was an Olympic sport, George would take the gold every single fucking time. Sure, Fred knows how to send you over the edge, but George takes his time. Licking and sucking your clit with slow, purposeful movements, drawing out sounds from your throat that sound inhuman. The way his fingers curl just fucking right inside of you, thrusting against that spongy spot inside of you, scissoring them to spread your walls and thrust his tongue in and out. Seriously, this man would live between your thighs if he could. Sending you over the edge again and again with just his devilish fucking tongue and fingers, he gets off on that shit, literally. This man has cum simply from eating you out before.

Edging: Remember how I said George is 'a little more gentle'? This is what I meant by that. George's favorite hobby when he's buried deep inside of you is bringing you right up to the edge, then pulling out, leaving you feeling empty as your walls clamp around nothing. You whine, and you whimper, and suddenly, he thrusts into you with a snap of his hips. Only to do it all over again.

"You want me to fill you up, baby? Is that what you want?" He teases as he only pushes his tip inside. You try to rock against him, to take him in deeper to satisfy the craving inside of you. "Hmm, I'm not sure you deserve it," he taunts as his thumb lands on your clit. Just as you open your mouth to beg, his hand grips your throat, and he slams into you so hard you see stars, his cock buried so deep that you swear you can feel him in your guts as he finally lets you cum with an Earth-shattering cry around him.

Honorable Mentions:

Choking: Because you know what would make you even more beautiful? A hand necklace. His, to be specific.

Bit of a voyeur: He loves watching you get pounded hard and fast when he typically fucks you hard and slow. The way your face contorts slightly differently when Fred is fucking you amuses him like no other.

Breeding Kink to the fucking MAX: He wants your pussy flooded with cum, if some spills out? No big deal, he'll fuck it right back into you. And after you finish school? Yeah, that shit is going into the fucking trash. (But you have no arguments, tbh.)

Favorite Positions:

Riding him: Guiding your hips, thrusting up into you as your hands rest on his chest to hold yourself up. Sure, George is dominant. But that doesn't love to see the look on your face above him as you come apart, over and over again, until you're a sweaty, shaky mess. George doesn't mind reverse- cowgirl, but he'd much rather see your face as his hand wraps around your throat just hard enough to make you dizzy as he tosses you over the edge, following right behind you.

Missionary (hear me out): Who says missionary is boring? Not you. Sure, nothing beats a bed, but George prefers you laid out across his desk. Or with your legs thrown over his shoulders, ass hanging over the bed as he stands and pounds into you. His thrusts are slow and firm, sliding into the hilt and then grinding against your core, making damned sure to draw out every last moan your body can produce.

Between him and Fred: George is not biased when it comes to fucking you in your ass or your pussy, if he's honest. So long as you're on your knees on the bed, while he's in either hole while Fred is in the other, both slamming into you with an animalistic ferocity. Filling you up so full with their cum that it'll be dripping out of you for days.

Random Head Canons:

George LOVES it when people stare/flirt with you. It drives Fred up the fucking wall when George doesn't try to brutally prank or show off just how much you're theirs. But it gets George off when guys try to flirt with you only to have a drink thrown at them, or you simply laugh at them before pointing out him and Fred. While Fred's anger is palpable, George just winks at you with a shit-eating grin on his face. Maybe it's the voyeur in him, but he loves watching you interact with people, male or female, because he knows you're not going anywhere except right back to him and Fred.

George's Ideal Date: George loves to fly with you on his broom, you in front of him as he grips the broom between your thighs. His favorite time to do it is at night, flying up so high you swear you can almost touch the stars as you soar over the clouds. You know this is what you two are doing when he bundles you up in one or maybe two of his sweaters. Because Merlin forbid you get cold. If it's too cold to fly or it's snowing, he loves to take a walk to Hogsmeade and share a butterbeer. So long as he's spending time with you, he couldn't be happier.

I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it. Please don't forget to reblog and comment! ✨✨🤞🏻😇

#weasley twins #weasley twins smut #george weasley smut #fred weasley smut #weasley twins x reader

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