#weasley imagine

[prismolovesfanfiction]

So "jail" is on the Weasley Family clock but who do yall think got jailed to make that happen

My bet is Bill

[ginevrapng]

┆彡 ♡ tits or ass?

the preferences of harry potter characters (this is 100% canon) (this is just a little silly, a little goofy if you will but still canon)

harry- thighs, legs, basically anything from the waist down

ron- ass (you can't change my mind)

hermione- ass

neville- stomachs/tummies, he just thinks they're cute

ginny- thighs

fred- tits

george- swears it's personality but really it's thighs (THICK THIGHS)

luna- tits

draco- ass and he says it like everyone who disagrees is wrong

cedric- personality... (ass)

lee- thighs

seamus- he can't decide, it changes every time someone hot walks past him

cho- tits

[someonexsomeone]

Fragile

Title: Fragile

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: The Triwizard Tournament is a stupid idea...until it brings George something he didn't know he was looking for.

Authors Note: Day 6!!! Wel...okay I know this didn't go up last week. I had to take a week off because, in true fanfic author fashion, my landlord sold the house I was living in and we needed to find living asap lest we go homeless. But!! We did it!! I haven't slept and I'm so stressed I cried when we got approved for a new house, so I wrote this as a reward for myself! I hope you guys like it! I plan to get the one for this week out tomorrow so next Thursday will be back on schedule!

Dumbledore had made many confusing choices throughout the years George went to school with him as the headmaster. Allowing teachers to pick on students was the first to come to mind, followed quickly by random last-minute points to change the winners of the house cup (Fred told him several times to let it go since they won, but there was something that always nagged George about it), but this year’s TwiWizard Tournament was, he had to admit, quickly climbing the list. His brothers never mentioned anything about it, and neither had their parents, so why suddenly bring back a death tournament when everything around them was already a reminder of the death awaiting them outside the castle walls?

“A way to bond us all together!” Dumbledore happily explained, a twinkle in his eye that George knew only from the same look Fred got when he thought he was doing something brilliant, and since Fred was typically a coin toss on whether was would be true or not, George wiggled his nose in distrust. “I want everyone to remember this is a friendly competition, no matter how serious it may get, so intermingling is highly recommended. Now, how about we give a warm welcome to the two new schools joining us this year!”

It was as full of bravado as George expected, each school expecting to out-perform the other with shows of magic and flips and who knows what else, with Hogwarts left to do nothing but a jovial karaoke of their school's anthem. And, who was George to deny the crowd the twin’s spectacular singing voices? The giggles from the people around them were expected, but some coming from the other two schools was a welcome surprise. George couldn’t help giving it that much more of a performance, just to please his adoring audience, eyeing some of the lovely students in pale blue as they huddled closer to hide their laughter from a disapproving headmistress. 

Then came the announcement of how to apply to the tournament. Fred only needed to spare his twin a glance before they nodded, each imagining the large treasure at the top of the podium. After years of selling products, snatching things here and there from Snape and Sprout and pretty much salvaging anything from anyone, there was a lump sum hiding at the bottom of Fred’s trunk, hidden cleverly in a bag disguised as a dirty pair of underwear, that would help improve their operation tenfold, but this? This would do more than they would ever imagine. How many products would they be able to make? How many ingredients they could buy to refine plans they only dared to dream of? Dare say, even turn their production into something so much more than a traveling trunk of wonder? George hadn’t hoped to dream so boldly so quickly, but this would be worth so much more than they could make for the rest of their time in school! This brain was whirling with the plans they already made, and how quickly they could be made real. And then…heartbreak.

“It’s for your safety!” he heard Fudge say, though it was nearly incomprehensible over the shouting throughout the Grand Hall, the twins louder than anyone else. Outrage! They were near enough to the age restriction, and who was some new old wizard to come in and make these decisions for them? Thus, the scheming began.

Even though he believed Dumbledore to be a bigger ditz than not, he did know his magic was stronger and more refined than the average wizard. Alright, the above-average wizard. But this was worth so much more than a little scolding, and he had seen the hint of a smile on the headmaster's face whenever the twins were on the verge of getting in trouble for their pranks. He had a soft spot for troublemakers, Fred decided early on, and it allowed them to be bolder than they would have under a more watchful eye. Jokes on him, George concluded many years later, that his more lenient attitude made him and Fred nearly overly confident in their abilities, especially their abilities to get away with things that a normal person couldn’t even think of. 

A mountain of ingredients was needed for an age-altering potion, even one as temporary as they were planning on making. Illegal? Maybe. But there were no laws against age-altering potions so long as they didn’t get in trouble while under its influence or force someone against their will to drink it. A short 5 minutes, and only a few months of aging? They had made pranks much more elaborate, and they had spent more than their fair share of time over a bubbling cauldron. All they needed was to get the ingredients and everything was as good as set, right?

Wrong.

The first few ingredients were the easiest. George, ever the good student, volunteered to help Professor Sprout water the plants the first years were studying. She was so frazzled, bless her, that she didn’t notice George take clippings from a select bunch of herbs on the opposite side of the greenhouse from where he was supposed to be. Fred was able to sneak a little here and there from their shared potions classroom, and they had just enough money saved up for an innocuous visit to the potion shop down in Hogsmeade. They had more than enough flasks and bottles saved up over the years to dry the needed things appropriately, and the house elves were more than happy to allow them use of a burner to bring everything to a rolling boil. Everything was set for the brewing, needing to happen on a waxing moon to ensure they wouldn’t age too much too quickly, but there was still one, tiny, pesky problem left…

“How in the bloody hell are we going to find a Lightsparrow’s Talon!” Fred was beyond frustrated, pacing the room in front of his brother. The two had commandeered their dorm room, their roommates besides Lee Jordan knowing well enough now that being around the twins while they planned would inevitably cause them to get caught in the crossfire, with papers strewn all around the room. Theories, replacements, and possible combinations filled each page, all with nearly illegible scribbles confirming their uselessness. “I should have just snuck into Snape’s cupboard during detention when I had the chance!”

“And risk trouble not even McGonnogal could talk you out of? You know he’s only locked down even more since someone else started stealing from him.” Fred huffed, finally plopping down on his bed. “Besides, we don’t even know if he has any. None of the upper-level classes are brewing potions with them, and the Matron doesn’t have any potions that require them.”

“So, what? We just give up?” George rolled his eyes. After years of failed experiments, Fred’s grouchy attitude was more than easy to ignore.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. I just think we need to get a little more creative.”

“But we’ve tried everything! That stupid library never has anything we actually need.” George just chuckled, walking over to his brother to give him a playful pat on the shoulder.

“Why don’t I go take another look before we give up all hope?” Fred huffed again, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders like a child. “I haven’t reached the end of the Herbology section yet, and we have enough Swindlebrine powder for another go before the final product.” Fred looked at his twin once, before huffing again. A quick flop, and he was more or less laying across his bed.

“...fine. But, after dinner, we formulate a plan to take a look around Snape’s cupboard just in case.”

“Deal.” They shared a smile, George patting Fred’s leg this time, before ducking out the door. The easiest way to deal with Fred, before food was served, was either to distract him with a problem or let him rest. Sleeping, George found, was always the easier option.

Since the new students infiltrated the school, every time of day was absolutely bustling with activity. Between the end of classes and dinner, most students preferred to hang out with friends, meaning the hallways were empty besides the random groups that walked to and fro their destinations, and teachers were either tucked away in their offices to grade work or in their private studies doing their personal projects. It was the time of day that Fred and George found it easiest to scout out prank spots, and sometimes got as lucky as setting up the bulk of it to finish after curfew. Now though? George had to spin his body in every direction to avoid the constant stream of people. His height allowed him an advantage of seeing over most heads, but it also meant people were able to get extremely close and bump into him without any warning. After years of getting away with pranking people in plain sight with the help of a crowd, he was more alert than ever.

Just up ahead, a group of Hogwarts students were loudly arguing with a group from Durmstrang. About what, George didn’t even want to know, but it was making it incredibly difficult to get past. With a huff, one that would impress even Fred, he slipped into a nearby hallway, not nearly as bad as the main corridor, but he didn’t waste much time before making a few more turns. The good part of sneaking out past curfew was the ability to explore every part of the castle without getting distracted. He and Fred nearly had the layout memorized, but the secret passages granted them much easier access. The way he was walking would take him the long way to the Library, but it was filled with empty hallways courtesy of the tens of abandoned classrooms. The further he walked, the fewer people he could see and hear around him, until he came to a pocket with absolutely no one. On either side, the roar of students was ongoing, but the reprieve did George a moment to breathe. 

If this was your school, George thought bitterly, you wouldn’t be treating everything so disrespectfully. Honestly! Who even told them that wandering around the school was a good idea?

“I’ve already told you no, Dennel.” George stopped still. Just around the corner, he could hear the shuffle of feet, almost like they were walking in circles. Vaguely, he thought he recognized the voice, but no face came to mind immediately.

“My Darling, don’t you know that saying no now will do nothing to help you later?” That voice he did know. George groaned internally. The other bad part of all the new students was the absolute influx of activity in the classroom, namely from a group of Beauxbatons boys that thought it was so fun to flaunt their power and wealth and knowledge, even if they were wrong more often than not. It was almost like having the worst combination of Hermione and Draco, multiplied by 5. The leader of their stupid clique? Luc Dennel, a prat in every meaning of the word. “My Mother has already sent the robes. Do you want to break her heart?”

“That’s why I’m giving it back. You have no right to speak for me or dictate what I wear.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” George leaned around the corner, peaking out just far enough to witness the conversation. With a start, he recognized you immediately. Although you only shared a few classes, George remembered you were skilled in the subjects you did share, and even went as far as helping those around you in spite of their magical school. At one point, you had even helped with some of his wand movement. His hand tingled in reminder.

“Get your hands off of me.” Dennel had you cornered in the hallway, positioning you so your back was to the wall with little room for escape. In your white-knuckled hand was a bag, no doubt the robes his Mother supposedly sent you, but above that, Dannel had his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly there was no debate on whether it hurt or not.

“Just submit to me already.” Dennel’s words were honey, but his tone sent a shiver down George’s spine. Not from fear, no, but from disgust. “It will happen sooner than you think. Why not just do it now?”

You were shaking. George could see even from his vantage point that your legs were on the brink of giving out, the grip on the bag the only thing keeping you from collapsing. A troubling burn whirled in his chest, the unmistakable feeling of needing to help someone bubbling to the surface. He could hardly remember the last time he felt this, though vaguely the image of Ginny shivering against him when people were accusing her all throughout her First Year of being strange for being so protective of her journal. His hand gripped his wand fiercely. He could hardly watch the way Dennel’s hand raised to touch your face.

“Surely the product in your hair didn’t make you deaf, eh, Dennel?” George rounded the corner then. Both you and Dennel jumped, whipping your heads to look at the unknown spectator to your conversation. George watched your shoulders deflate, from relief or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. George didn’t even flinch at the glare Dennel sent him. “Don’t you know it’s not very polite to corner unsuspecting people in a corridor?”

“This is none of your business, Weasley.”

“Oh? Apologies, I wasn’t aware you owned the hallway.”

“No, but I do own them. So, butt out.” In a single moment, before George could even wave his wand, your fist collided with Dennel’s face, sending you both flying with the grip he still had on your arm. George rushed over, pulling you from the floor and away before Dennel could recover. Your glare was fierce, but George could feel your shaking now as your body was pressed against his.

“No one owns me,” you growled out, laughing the bag at the body on the floor. Dennel recoiled as George flinched. Sympathy pains in this case, he hated to admit, always existed man to man, no matter who they were. “Not even you.”

George hurriedly pulled you along the corridor, away from his original target of the Library, to a hidden corridor. He winced once as the magical door closed behind him, hoping that after escaping that disaster you wouldn’t mind being alone in another low-lit corridor with a man just for a few moments in order to get you to safety.

“I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to be in this enclosed space. Just through here, though, will take you to the courtyard. We’ll be out quick, promise.” He tried to gently guide you, mindful of the painful bruise he could see already forming around your wrist, but you only managed one step before your legs gave out. George joined you on the floor quickly. “Woah! Hey, are you okay?”

He hardly knew what to do when you burst into tears, your entire body quaking with your silent sobs. His arms hovered awkwardly, too afraid to touch you but too worried to give you space. All it took was a gentle pat on your back before you turned, throwing yourself into his arms, seeking any comfort you could.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” George could barely make out the whispers between your chattering teeth.

“Oh, no, you have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured quietly. He took another moment, before wrapping his arms entirely around you, squeezing as tightly as he could to his chest. His back was aching with the effort to keep you both upright, but he tried to focus instead on quietly murmuring affirming words to you, watching as the candlelight flickered across the dirt walls in order to keep his breath deep and calming. Who knew that having a little sister that was terrified of everything would make him an expert in handling people? 

The two of you sat there until your breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, your body almost completely still, and then some. George continued his work, moving from reassurances to mindless chatter, just filling the quiet room with something other than your stuttering gasps of air, not letting you go for a moment. He worried you fell asleep for a second, before you gingerly sat up, rubbing your red eyes to get rid of any cloudy vision.

“I don’t normally do that, I promise.” George let out a startled laugh at your admittance, breaking the gentle atmosphere. You gave him a weak smile.

“I always knew Dennel was an ass.” This time you laughed, offering your hand to help George off the floor. Without needing the words, you looked each other over, whipping a smudge of dirt and a fleck of dust to ensure you both were clean. Well, clean as you could be after proactively cuddling on the floor. Your cheeks flared when you came to the realization of what you must look like to an outsider. You met George’s eyes again when he reached over and gently pat your hair down.

“Thank you.” George just gave you a smile.

“It was no problem at all.”

“Even if it means Dennel is going to be an insufferable ass to you now?”

“He already was.” That made you laugh again. George realized he really liked making you laugh. “What’s his problem, anyway?” At this, your smile fell. George felt like kicking himself. There was an awkward beat of silence. “You don’t have to-”

“He wants my hand in marriage,” you said at the same time. That made George gape. “Well, he wants my family’s business in order to save his, so marriage is what he’s set on now.”

“But…but he’s a Seventh Year! And you’re a Fifth Year! That can’t be allowed.” You rolled your eyes.

“Weasley. Surely you know of the old pureblood traditions. Fifth Year is hardly too young to arrange a marriage.” George just continued to gape at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to marry him.”

“Good!” Even George winced at how loud that came out. “I mean, good. He’s a prick.”

“A massive one.” Your smile was back. “So, is there anything I can offer my knight in shining armor for the rescue?”

“Rescue?” George huffed, taken aback. “You hardly needed the help with an arm like that.”

“Yes, I will admit, the punch was all my doing.” George laughed. “But most people would just drop me off somewhere near people and hope I was okay. You’re a special breed, Weasely, to sit with someone on the floor of a dirty corridor while they went through hysterics.” You cut him off before he could rebuke. “So, anything I can help the King of Pranksters with? I am in your debt.”

“That is a dangerous thing to say to me, lovey.” George’s mischievous smirk sent a chill down your spine. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to raincheck that favor. Unless, of course, you could get me a Lightsparrow’s Talon,” George laughed.

Despite the obvious sarcasm in his voice, you still responded, “Would a liquid form work?” That stopped his humor immediately.

“What?”

“Would a liquid form work? It’s the only type I have on me.” You rummaged through your pocket, producing a small bottle of…something that glimmered lightly against the candlelight. George wondered if he was going to have a jaw ache from the way it kept falling open.

“Where did you get that?!” Even as you held it out to him, he was frozen solid.

“It’s not in its purest form, but you wouldn’t need it to be anyway if you’re making a potion. If you mix in some snail secretion it should become tacky again without compromising the effects.” When he still didn’t take it from you, you waved it gently. “Well? Will it work?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What? Oh, I brought it from home.” George gave you a funny look. “Liquid Lightsparrow Talon? Don’t you use it here as a cure for muscle and mental fatigue?”

“Lightsparrow Talon is extremely hard to get here!” It was your turn to look confused.

“The Talon is, yes. But if you gain their trust you can start a farm where they drop nearly all the time. The liquid form is a portion of the Talon ground down and liquified to make over a hundred doses per talon.”

“Is this common knowledge? How do you even know this?”

“The method is new, yes, but it’s been published hundreds of times over the years. The research team is based in France.” George smacked his hand against his forehead. Of course you would stop at E in the Herbology section, he thought miserably. If I had just continued for another row I would have answers for Fred by name. Your laugh pulled him from his thoughts.

“You’re pretty funny, you know that.” In a quick motion, you leaned over, tucking the bottle into his front pocket. His face flared red. “Let me know if you need anything else. The exit was this way, right…” Your voice trailed off as you made your way down the dirt path. 

George felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“Thank you, Dumbledore…”

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l What is Laufeyfest? l Laufeyfest masterlist

[lovie-bugzz]

train ride ┊fred weasley

pairing - bsf!fred x f!reader (first person pov)

summary - The train compartment had gotten a bit crowded on the way to Hogwarts, so your best friend Fred offered for you to sit in his lap. However, throughout the ride you just couldn't seem to get comfortable...

contains - smut, dom!Fred, swearing, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), teasing, hair pulling, rough sex, cum swallowing

word count - 4834

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

The twins and I were laughing about something stupid that George had said as the train left the station. I lightly hit the boy in the arm, "Shut up!" I say between laughter.

After we had calmed down, Fred spoke up, "Let's go meet up with Lee and the girls." He said, referring to Alicia and Angelina. The six of us had been a tight knit group since first year, and it now being our sixth year, it was safe to say that we were all extremely close.

George and I agreed, and so the three of us began our trek down the aisles of the train, looking into each of the compartments. Once we found them, we squeezed into the small room, greeting one another.

As the three of us sat down, it began to be a tad bit cramped, with Lee and Alicia taking up the whole of one side, Fred and I had to squeeze in beside Angelina and George.

I pushed past how uncomfortable I was as Lee started a conversation, asking, "Do any of you have a clue as to what's happening at Hogwarts this year?"

"No! Mum's been going ballistic and nobody will tell us what's going on." George told them, Fred nodding along, "Yeah, it's like all the adults are keeping this giant secret."

The topic continued for about twenty minutes, everyone butting in with their own theories as the what was happening. I couldn't really pay attention as I was severely uncomfortable, being pressed in between Fred's shoulder and the window, my arms were pretty much completely constricted.

Fred glanced over at me, with a crease in his brow, noticing how squashed and uncomfortable I was, he leant down slightly to speak to me, "You alright, love?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine, it's just a bit cramped in here." I told him, brushing it off. The boy chuckled lightly, shaking his head, before suddenly he pulled me up by my waist, and placed me in his lap.

I was a bit surprised at first, my eyes going wide for a split second until I let out a small sigh of relief at now finally being able to move my arms. I turned back slightly with a light chuckle and gave him a thankful nod, to which he returned with a cheeky smile.

For a while, everything was fine, I was comfortable and laughing along with the lively conversations in the compartment. But that stopped when I started to squirm a bit, causing Fred to still, letting out a quiet groan, which I didn't quite catch.

I stopped after a moment, finding a comfortable stop on his lap, making the boy let out an inaudible sigh of relief. His attention was brought back to the conversation for a mere minute before I started moving my hips again, finding my spot atop him to be growing more and more uncomfortable the longer I sat here.

One movement I made in particular had my ass digging right into his now hardening bulge. He harshly grabbed my hips, halting my movements which made me jump a bit at the sudden contact.

The boy leaned forward towards my ear, whispering lightly so the others wouldn't hear, "love, if you don't stop that, we're going to have an issue..." He said, his voice had a sudden rasp to it. The unfamiliar tone sent a shiver down my spine, my eyes widening as I realized what I had been doing, and a deep red blush settled on my cheeks.

I was glad the others weren't paying attention to us, they were too encapsulated by their own conversations.

It was an innocent mistake, I was only trying to get comfortable, forgetting that I was literally sitting on top of Fred's dick and squirming around. I turned back slightly, to look at him, as I whispered back, "Do you want me to move?" I asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

He rose a brow at me, a smirk on his face, "You moving is the problem, love." He joked, making me roll my eyes at him, the blush on my cheeks deepening further. He spoke again, this time with a more serious note, "I just need you to stop fidgeting so much, okay?"

He moved one of his hands from my waist to my thigh, his hand casually resting on my inner thigh, his touch causing my skin to tingle. I turned back around, "Fine..." I spoke, innocently looking out the window, making sure I didn't move anymore.

I watched the trees and landscape fly past us, but I couldn't keep the thoughts out of my head. Of what would happen if I did move again. It was definitely tempting, I bit my lip as dirty thoughts made their way into my head. But I shook them away just as quickly as they came. What was I doing? Fred is my best friend, I can't be thinking about him like this.

But on the other hand, it was tempting. So, after about another minute or two of contemplation in my head, I decided to test the waters.

Pretending like I had forgotten our prior conversation, I just slightly moved my hips against his. The boy let out a cough, as if clearing his throat, but I knew better. I stifled my smirk, before moving again, this time the tiniest bit harder. He sucked in a breath, glaring at the back of my head.

He knew exactly what I was doing, but he couldn't do anything, no matter how badly he wanted to, not with his brother and friends in the same compartment. So, he subtlety pinched my waist, as a warning, which sort of backfired on him as it only made me squirm more, my ass hitting exactly the right spot to rile him up.

I could feel it, the effect I had on him, how could I not? It was digging into my ass. The boy grit his teeth, leaning up a bit to whisper to me, "You're playing a dangerous game, love..." He spoke lowly, but I only shrugged, feigning innocence, my hips moving hard against him, making him groan as I turned to give him a smug smile, "I don't know what you're on about." I say simply, turning back around and making sure my movements stayed completely still.

Fred chuckled lowly, throwing his head back against the seat, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He was clearly frustrated that I stopped, and I couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

About five minutes had gone by, I was so busy basking in glory that I almost missed how Fred gripped my hips and stood us up.

"We're going to go find the trolley. Do any of you want anything?" Fred spoke, asking the others. I was confused by this, but didn't make any move to protest as I was too focused on how hard the boy behind me was grabbing my hips.

Everyone shared a glance before Lee spoke, "No, we're good."

Fred nodded before moving us forward and pushing us out of the compartment and letting the door slide closed behind us. He loosened his tight grip on my hips, but kept them resting there as he pushed me forward to walk down the corridor.

I had no doubt in my mind that he was keeping me so close in front of him to hide his boner. I let a smug smile wash over my face at the situation, but it was quickly washed off my face as my arm was suddenly being tugged into the bathroom. I gasped as Fred pulled us into the small room, slamming the door shut, locking it and then proceeding to push me flush against it.

I stared up at him with wide eyes as he towered over me, the dark look in his eyes making me squirm against the door. He rested his arms on either side of me, effectively trapping me in place between him and the door. He leaned in close, his nose almost touching mine, his eyes roaming hungrily over my face.

"You didn't think you were actually gonna get away with that did you?" The boy asked. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Playing with fire like that, teasing me in the train compartment with our friends around."

I couldn't answer, my words failing on me as my mouth opened and closed like a blubbering fish.

Fred smirked at my reaction to his intense gaze. He pressed his body more firmly against mine, leaving me no escape. His hands moved from the door to my hips, keeping me in place, his grip tight enough to leave slight indents on my skin from his long fingers. He rose a taunting brow at me, "Cat got your tongue, love? You were quite the little minx a few minutes ago. What happened?"

I was in such a state of shock, not knowing what to say, my cheeks were burning. As soon as he had pulled me into the bathroom all of my confidence went down the drain. The way he was looking down at me hungrily, his lust filled eyes staring into my soul, it made my knees weak.

Fred chuckled low in his throat, noticing the effect he was having on me. His smirk turned into a sly grin, his eyes drinking in the sight of my flushed cheeks and the way my body was practically trembling against his.

"Not so cocky now, are you? Just a few minutes ago you were teasing me to no end, knowing exactly what it would do to me. But now..." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above my ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper. "Now you're trembling beneath my touch, and it's driving me mad."

His hot breath fanning over my ear made me let out a shaky breath, I turned my head slightly to look at him. "Fred..." I breathed out, my eyes flickering down to his lips as I bit down on my own. The air in this small bathroom was thick, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Fred's eyes darkened as he watched my gaze linger on his lips. His gaze zeroed in on my biting down on my own lip, a sight so tempting that it took all his self-control to not attack my mouth in that very moment. He chuckled softly, the sound rough and filled with desire.

"Say my name again." He commanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, as he moved his face closer to mine, his breath mingling with mine in the cramped space between us. He smirked, loving the effect he was having on me. He thrived off of it.

I did as he said, breathing out his name once more, "Fred..." I was getting desperate, I needed him to do something.

Fred's eyes darkened with desire as he heard me say his name again, the tone of my voice making his self-control waver even more. He smiled slightly, enjoying the power he held over me in this moment. He knew I wanted him to do something, but he wasn't going to give in that easily. He loved having me at his mercy, the look of want in my eyes making him feel powerful, and making him want me even more.

"You want something, love?" He asked, his voice low and seductive, as he took a piece of my hair and delicately placed it behind my ear.

I nodded, "Mhm." I hummed out, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. My desire for him was clouding my head.

Fred smirked down at me, the look in my eyes fueling his arrogance and ego. He slowly moved a hand from my waist to my chin, his fingers gently gripping it and tilting it up slightly, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him.

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you want, and maybe I'll give it to you." He teased.

"I want..." I trail off, my voice failing on me. I cleared my throat, looking up at him, "I want you to kiss me."

Fred was consumed by desire and need, the moment I uttered those words he couldn't hold back anymore. He practically lunged at me, capturing my lips in a rough and needy kiss, full of pent-up passion and desperation. My arms went to circle around his neck, but before I could, he quickly took hold of my wrists, pinning them above me with one hand, holding them firmly against the door.

I let out a gasp at the action, which he took full advantage of by plunging his tongue into my mouth, exploring every inch of it, tasting me, claiming me as his own. His free hand wandered down my body, tracing every curve and contour, making me moan around his tongue.

Fred swallowed my moan, the sound only adding to his hunger and desire. He was intoxicated by me, my gasps and sighs fueling his need to have all of me. He continued to explore my body with his hand, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He broke the kiss, panting slightly, only to attack my neck with his lips and tongue, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive flesh, determined to leave his mark on me.

"Oh, fuck..." I whined as I felt him bite down on my neck, turning my head slightly to give him better access. My arms squirming in his tight hold.

Fred continued his assault on my neck, he released a low growl, his hold on my wrists tightening as he felt me squirm beneath him, clearly enjoying my reaction to his touch. He nipped and sucked, leaving behind a trail of red marks on my neck.

I shivered as he blew cold air over the tender skin, before speaking into my neck, "You're so sensitive."

I couldn't respond, too caught up in the pleasure, but my eyes suddenly widened as I felt his fingers start playing with the waistband of my pants, running against the skin of my lower stomach. I bit my lip in anticipation, and I could feel Fred smirking against my neck when he noticed.

His fingers continued to toy with the waistband of my pants, occasionally slipping beneath it, teasing the sensitive flesh of my stomach, but not going any further than my panty line. I squirmed in his hold, getting impatient.

He broke away from my neck for a moment to look down at me, and the look in his eyes was pure desire and hunger. "You're so pretty like this, love." He whispered, his voice rough with need.

I continued to squirm in his hold, the way he was still holding my arms against the door was maddening. "Please, Fred... Touch me, please." I whined, desperately.

Fred only chuckled evilly, "Why should I, love? You been teasing me all day, testing my patience." He taunted, his fingers continued to toy with the waistband of my pants, occasionally dipping below the fabric, only to slide back out again, teasing me.

"I'm sorry... I won't tease you anymore, just please. I need it." I pleaded, pushing my hips closer to him. The way his fingers were brushing just above where I needed him was making me even more desperate with desire.

His hand moved from my waistband to my hip, gripping it tightly and forcing me back onto the door. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine, his words a hot whisper against my mouth. "You're a needy little thing, aren't you? Begging for me like this."

I let out a whimper, nodding at his words as my head rolled against the door. "What do you want, love? Tell me what you need. I want to hear you say it." He said, his voice low and sultry.

"Your fingers. I need them inside of me." I answered, making him chuckle from my blunt response.

"Is that so, hm?" He murmured, his hand trailing away from my hip and moving between my legs to rub me through my pants. I whined at the sensation, finally getting some friction. "You want my fingers, do you? You want me to make you feel good, make you cum?"

I couldn't help but moan from his words, that combined with how he was touching me sent heat over my body. I nodded again, "Yes, please."

"That's a good girl, using your words and asking nicely. I like that." He teased, his fingers moving up to unbutton my pants, pulling them slowly, exposing more of my skin. He began trailing his fingers over the top of my panties, his touch was light and teasing.

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing my ear, as he whispered, "Are you wet for me, love?"

I shivered, nodding my head, "So wet, just for you, Fred." I told him, my arms squirming in his hold once more, I wanted to touch him so badly.

He chuckled darkly at my unsuccessful attempts to break free of his grip, he only tightened his hold on my wrists. He could feel how much I wanted to touch him, but he wasn't done making me a needy mess just yet.

"Is that so?" He whispered, his voice thick with desire, as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of my panties, gently touching my bare skin, feeling just how aroused I was.

My breathing stuttered as his fingers trailed over my wetness, spreading it over my throbbing clit, causing me to moan loudly. Fred smirked in satisfaction at the sound of my moans, he loved how I was reacting to his touch, how he was reducing me to a moaning mess with just his fingers.

"Shhh, love. You're being too loud. You don't want anyone to hear us, do you? I don't think you want everyone to know just how needy you are for me, how desperate you are for my touch." He whispered, continuing to tease me, his fingers rubbing and circling over my bundle of nerves.

I nodded, biting my lip to stop myself from being too loud, but that went down the drain as I felt him slip two fingers inside of me. I practically screamed at the force with which they entered me. "Fuck!"

Fred chuckled as my reaction to his fingers entering me, it was louder than he initially thought, he quickly dropped his hold from my wrists and moved his hand to cover my mouth, effectively muffling my scream into a mewl.

"Shhh, love. You really can't keep quiet, can you?" He teased, his voice thick as he continued pumping his fingers inside me at a fast pace.

I moaned against his hand, my own hands that were finally free gripping onto his wrist that was moving inside of me. My eyes rolling back in my head as I felt him add a third finger, stretching me out.

"Oh, fuck, love. You're fucking swallowing my fingers." Fred groaned out, curling his fingers inside me, hitting that perfect spot that had that familiar coil in my stomach forming.

I was so close, and I knew he could tell by the way I was clenching around his digits. My breathing was coming out ragged, I was panting against his hand as he continued to hit my g-spot over and over again. My orgasm was right there, I was tipping over the edge until suddenly, Fred took his fingers out of me.

I let out a squeal in protest against his hand, but Fred only chuckled at me, as he dropped his hand from my mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Why... Why did you stop?" I panted out, watching as he placed his three fingers that were dripping in my slick in his mouth, sucking me off of them.

He hummed around his fingers, pulling them out of his mouth with a pop, I stared at him in shock as he responded, "Oh, now, love. You didn't think I was going to let you finish just like that, did you? Not after how naughty you've been all day." He teased, a smirk on his lips.

I let out a huff, throwing my head back against the door, frustrated from being denied my release. But my ears perked up as I heard him undoing his belt, making me look back at him.

"Patience, love." He said, undoing his belt and quickly unzipping his pants. "Good things come to those who wait, remember?" He taunted me, slowly letting his pants fall to the ground, and stepping out of them, leaving him in his boxers.

I stared down at the obvious tent, the one that I had created, I bit my lip watching as he paced towards me, pulling me toward him and kissing me hard.

The kiss was more rough and needy than our previous one, we were breathing heavily into it, devouring each other. My hands trailed into his hair, as his trailed down and squeezed my ass, and I moaned as I felt his hard on press against my lower stomach.

In one swift movement he broke the kiss, turning me around and bending me over the sink. He ran his hands over my back, before harshly pulling my underwear down my legs. His hands ran possessively over my hips.

I looked over my shoulder at him, watching as he pushed his boxers down, freeing his length, my eyes widened at the size. "Shit..." I muttered out.

Fred smirked at my reaction, "See something you like, love?" He teased, making my eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

"You're... So big." I spoke, almost cringing at myself, but I couldn't help it. Fred chuckled at my bluntness, he loved how I was so honest and open with my words, not like most girls he'd been with.

"Don't worry, love. I'll make you feel good." He reassured me as his hands stroked my thighs, moving up and down my skin in a soothing motion.

I bit my lip, nodding my head, the way he could be so rough with me one second, and the next be so comforting was making my head dizzy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He murmured as his hands slowly moved higher up my thighs, nearing my bare core. I shivered at his words, his touch making me more needy.

He bent down slightly, placing a kiss on my hip before he went back up, spreading my legs a bit more and started lining himself up with my entrance, running his dick through my wet folds, making me whine.

"You ready?" He asked, to which I nodded, but that seemed to not be good enough because Fred gripped my hip tightly, "No. I need a yes." He growled, as I let out a shaky breath.

"Yes..." I responded, making him smirk.

"Good girl." He praised, before slamming into me, instantly bottoming out, making me scream out his name, "Fuck, Fred!"

My hands gripped tightly onto the edges of the sink, the boy behind me panted heavily as he began to relentlessly pound into me, "Oh, fuck. So fucking tight, love." He spoke, his words adding to the amount of pleasure I was in.

The sound of our skin slapping together, our heavy breathing and moans filled the small bathroom, if anyone walked passed the door they would have no doubt about what was going on in here. "Feel good, love?" Fred questioned, but I could only moan in response.

Fred growled at this, his hand roughly latched onto my hair, pulling me flush against his chest, speaking lowly in my ear, "Huh? I asked you a question."

"Yes! Yes, feels so- Fuck- So good!" I stuttered out, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. The way he pulled on my hair was intoxicating, it was painful, but the pleasure it gave me completely overpowered it.

His free hand trailed up the front of my shirt, pushing it up over my bra, before pushing that up as well. He squeezed my boob in his hand, lightly pinching my nipple, making me whimper.

"Yeah? You like how I fuck you, don't you? You're taking me so well." He praised, his hips stuttering a bit, so he took his hand away from my boob, pulling out for a moment to grab my thigh and rest it atop the edge of the sink.

After he readjusted me, he pushed my back down again, still keeping his strong grip in my hair, before thrusting back into me. "Yes!" I moaned out, the new angle allowing him to hit my g-spot, and his balls to slap my clit repeatedly.

I knew if he kept up this pace I wasn't gonna last much longer, plus I was still a bit sensitive from him denying me my orgasm before. "Fuck, this pussy is all mine." He groaned, his voice hoarse.

"Yes! Oh, fuck it's yours! All yours!" I said in between moans. I was a mess, beginning to clench tightly around him as I felt myself nearing release.

Fred moaned as he felt me squeezing him, "You close, love? Gonna cum?" He taunted, picking up his pace, which I wasn't sure was even possible.

"Yes! So close." I said, my voice cracking.

"Cum then, cum all over my cock." Fred commanded. It didn't take long after his words for my release to wash over me, my eyes rolled back as I let out a guttural moan, my legs shaking as he continued to pound into me, letting me ride out my high.

I felt Fred twitch inside of me before he spoke, "Shit, shit..." He moaned, swiftly pulling out of me, "On your knees." He demanded, his voice low and authoritative. I instantly complied, moving off the sink and getting on my knees in front of him, "Open your mouth for me, love." He said, prompting me to listen, I opened wide, staring up at him as he jerked off above me.

He groaned at the sight of me below him, throwing his head back, as he hovered his tip over my tongue, "You look so good down there." He said, before letting out a guttural moan, and releasing in my mouth.

I moaned as his cum shot out onto my tongue, the salty taste making me hum in pleasure. "Fuck..." He trailed off, his hand slowing on himself as he milked himself dry.

I closed my mouth, swallowing his seed, making him stare down at me darkly, before harshly pulling me up to my feet. "Such a good girl for me." He praised once more, holding my cheek in his hand before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips.

As he pulled away, he gave me a loving look, "Was that okay, love? I didn't go to hard did I?" He asked, making my heart melt. "No, that was... Perfect." I told him, it still baffled me how he could be so rough and dominant and then switch to being so caring and comforting.

He chuckled, "Good." He said, moving away from me to pull his boxers back up and put his pants on. As he did I adjusted my bra and pulled my shirt down, before bending down as well to put my own pants on, but I stopped short when I felt the sudden pain in my legs, making me wobble a bit.

"Woah." Fred spoke, going forward and grabbing my waist to steady me, "You alright?"

"Yeah... My legs just hurt a bit." I told him. Fred smirked at that, making me shoot him a glare, and lightly slap him on the chest. "Shut up."

He rose his hands in mock surrender, "I didn't say anything." I just shook my head at him, trying to bend down again, but he stopped me, "Let me help you."

I watched him as he bent down, slowly pulling up my underwear, then my pants, even buttoning them for me. I gave him a smile as he stood back up, and pecked my lips. "Thanks."

"For what? The sex, or helping you put your clothes back on?" He joked, making me roll my eyes. "Fred." I warned him, making him chuckle. "Okay, okay. I'll stop." He said, as he buckled his belt, while I adjusted my hair, trying to make it look like Fred's hands weren't just gripping and tugging on it a few minutes ago.

"Do you think they'll know?" I asked, making him look at me. He glanced down at my neck, specifically the hickeys that littered every inch of my skin. He stifled his smirk, "Considering the amount of hickeys I left on you... No, they'll have no clue." He said, sarcastically.

I groaned before we both looked at each other, and instantly broke out into laughter. This was definitely not how I thought this day would go when I woke up this morning, but I couldn't complain.

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

masterlist

[nottsangel]

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

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

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

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

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

ੈ♡˳

[mywhisperingwords]

a touch that never hurts | fred g. weasley

summary: you seem to have fallen for your best friend, which you could handle if only he didn’t constantly touch you word count: 3.2k masterlist

It was official: you were stupid.

Only a complete idiot would fall for their best mate and here you’ve gone and done it. Because there was no other explanation for this feeling in your stomach as you looked across the Great Hall and watched Fred Weasley tell some stupid joke to his friends and wishing nothing more than to be the one he told the joke to.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here; just earlier today, Snape had given him detention.

While working on the assigned potion, he decided to mix things up to make you laugh after your bad day.

Before class started Snape decided to ruin the day and give everyone’s essays back. You flunked. Hard. After a big explosion and an awful lecture from Snape, any of Fred’s afternoon plans were ruined. For you.

You stood there, frozen in shock, trying to figure out how to go on with your life from here.

But how could you? This realization felt like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—right after becoming friends with Fred Weasley himself.

You must’ve stood frozen in place for too long because he caught your eye and was now waving you over with his typical charming smile while the people around him were continuing their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil inside you. You briefly considered turning around and running away, but you decided against it. That would make this situation even more awkward than it already was.

Taking a deep breath and mustering a wobbly smile, you made your way over to the Gryffindor table. You exchanged greetings with your friends and headed toward a seat, hoping to get as far away from Fred as you could. But, of course, Fred had other plans. With a grin, he shoved Lee aside and proudly declared the seat next to him as free.

Bloody hell, he was making it hard for you. It’s as if he knew and wanted to torture you now that you had finally realized your true feelings. Feelings that didn’t actually exist; denial was your new best friend.

With no other choice, other than making this one hell of an uncomfortable situation for everyone, you reluctantly sat down next to him, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible.

But to no avail. As soon as you sat down Fred swung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Thank Merlin you’re here. Could you be a darling and tell our idiotic friends that Snape does in fact secretly love me and that is the only reason he so often chooses to see me after class?”

‘Darling’ and ‘secretly loves me’, seemed to be the only thing your brain registered, not to mention that arm still wrapped around you. Has he always been this physically affectionate with you? It was hard to remember because Fred was looking at you expectantly as if he were waiting for something and…

Finally, your brain catches up, “Oh, that my dear Fred, is what we call detention. And wouldn't you know it, you're supposed to be there... like right now!" You playfully glanced at your imaginary wristwatch.

You could practically see the second he realized you were right. In a hurry, he jumped up from his seat and snatched the last food from his plate. But there was something important he seemed to have forgotten.

With a grin, you asked him, "Aren't you forgetting something?" Confusion washed over his face as he turned back to the table, searching for what he had missed, not finding anything. After a brief moment, he leaned down and surprised you with a kiss on your cheek. Speechless and mouth agape, you watched as the rest of the table erupted in snickers.

"You git!" you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks burn. "I meant your wand!"

Instead of being flustered like you, Fred found the whole situation hilarious. He joined in laughter with his friends and sent you a playful wink. With a glint in his eye, he swiftly retrieved his wand and innocently exclaimed, "Oops!" before making a speedy exit from the Great Hall.

Still trying to process what just happened, you turned to your friends, hoping they could provide the distraction and peace of mind you desperately needed.

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, George decided to torture you. With a grin, he leaned in and asked if you've figured it out yet. Your whole body tensed up, and you found yourself desperately wishing for an escape.

In your horrified state, you managed to stammer out a weak, "W-What?" The anticipation of his response hung heavy in the air, and you braced yourself for the worst.

George burst into laughter, which echoed through the Great Hall, making everything feel ten times worse. You couldn’t help but feel exposed, as if your deepest secrets were on display for everyone to see.

Through his laughter, George managed to squeeze out, "Bloody hell. Looks like someone forgot the essay for McGonagall that's due tomorrow."

You breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that he had no idea. How could he? You yourself just figured it out. And you’d do anything to keep it that way. You won’t tell a soul about any of it and just pretend that things were normal.

✧

How naive could you be? How in your right mind could you ever think that keeping this from Fred was a possibility?

He knew you better than you knew yourself.

No matter how hard you tried to keep things like always it just wouldn’t go your way. First everything was completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary. You two would banter and share jokes. But as soon as he touched you in any way you panicked and run away from him.

You hadn’t realized how often he reached for you. It apparently had become like second nature for him.

At first you noticed the small touches, like accidentally bumping shoulders while walking together or him gently tapping your arm to get your attention.

But it was the larger gestures that pushed you to your breaking point, stirring up your traitorous heart even more. Like when he reached out and grabbed your hand in the bustling crowd of students during a visit to Hogsmead.

But the absolute worst was when he would slide in next to you, casually drape his arm around your shoulder and pull you close, all while effortlessly engaging in conversation with someone else. And what made it even more unbearable was that no one seemed to bat an eye. It was as if this physical closeness was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, that no one remembered to inform you about.

But as much as you tried to subtly keep your distance you could tell that Fred knew something was wrong. He saw it in the way you would purposefully choose to sit the furthest away from him even when the seat next to him was unoccupied.

You saw the confusion in his eyes when you started to avoid going to Hogsmead with the excuse of finishing your school work. He knew that this was never something that stopped you from spending time with him or your friends.

Since that first year you met Fred on the train, he’d been a constant presence in your life. You stumbled upon Fred and George pulling a prank on their older brother Percy. Instead of telling on them, you decided to join in on the mischief. As a result, Percy ended up with boils all over his face. From that moment on, you and Fred became inseparable. So, when you suddenly started pulling away without any explanation, it felt like the most awful thing you could do to him.

And you could tell that it was hurting Fred too. He wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve; in fact, quite the opposite. But after all the years you've known him, you were priding yourself on understanding him better than most people in his life. He would never outright admit it, but your actions were causing him pain.

He would extend his hand, reach out, but as soon as he noticed that you turned away from him, he would pull back. In that fleeting moment, you could see the hurt and confusion reflected in his eyes, mirroring the hurt you were experiencing.

He even attempted to talk about it once. Normally, he would rely on laughter to uplift your spirits rather than delve into the realm of emotions. So when he approached you before your class, specifically to ask if you were okay, it created an awkward conversation for the both of you. All you could do was promise him, that if anything was wrong, you’d tell him.

What a lie.

His genuine concern shattered your heart. But it wasn't just him who could sense that something was off. You noticed how your friends would exchange worried glances every time you came up with a new excuse to avoid spending time with Fred.

Being around him became an unbearable risk, fearing that he might somehow discover your true feelings for him. It wasn’t just a simple crush; your feelings ran deeper, more intense.

Every time you witnessed his infectious laughter or his ability to light up the entire room with his jokes, a swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, consuming you from within. The guilt of keeping such a significant secret from him and the rest of your friends gnawed at you. But the thought of confessing your feelings and potentially jeopardizing everything held you back.

It has gotten to the point where you chose to spend your free time in the library. You knew that he would never step foot inside of it. So this place became your sanctuary.

But you should’ve known better. Fred Weasley may not be an overly emotional person but he was stubborn to no end.

One night after dinner, that ended with you leaving the table as soon as possible and an excuse, truthful this time, to do your unfinished homework you returned to the only place that felt safe from Fred.

There were only a few students left in the library. You grabbed your Charms Book and settled into a quiet corner, hoping to review your homework for Professor Flitwick.

But your silence was soon disturbed by the one person you wanted to avoid. Which was not entirely true.

The situation hurt, but you couldn’t help wanting to see him — even if only from afar.

Fred appeared to be searching for you because the moment your eyes met, he marched over to where you were sitting.

"Back to doing homework, huh?" he asked, glancing at your table.

"Actually, yes," you replied honestly.

“Oi, sod off. I know you mostly just sit here doing nothing — Lee saw you, you know?” he said.

“I don’t know what Lee thinks he saw but that’s not the truth. This is a library. I study,” you argued.

“Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I have no idea what I could’ve done. You’ve been blowing me off left and right. You’re being pretty obvious and I think it’s time we had this discussion.”

You stared at him, eyes wide open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you, everything is fine.”

“Come off it! We’ve been friends for years and I know when something’s off. You’ve been avoiding me and you have been for weeks. I’m done pretending like I don’t know that. And things aren’t fine since you won’t tell me what it is. What’s this really about?” his voice was low, but you could feel his anger seeping through.

But you couldn’t tell him; too much was at stake. You’d lose your best friend. Even the thought alone was too much to bear.

“Fred, please. I just… I can’t explain it to you,” you pleaded.

“Why the hell not? I’m your friend!” You appreciated his concern, but his persistence was becoming overwhelming. “If everything truly was fine you wouldn’t be hiding here all the time! What’s going on?” he demanded, clearly just wanting answers, answers you couldn’t give him.

“I really can’t tell you. Please, I’m begging you, let it go.” Keeping this from him was killing you. You felt awful holding this secret from him. Deep inside you entertained the notion that he felt the same, but doubts held you back. It was pain-filled hiding something so important from a person that meant so much to you. You wished that he felt the same way, but fear gripped you tight.

Fred's anger was palpable, evident from the fury etched on his face. Madam Pince was shooting both of you disapproving glances. You secretly hoped that she would kick you out, giving you an excuse to escape this conversation.

“No, I’m not giving up. I deserve answers and I’m not leaving until I get them, understood?” He defiantly took a seat right in front of you.

You remained silent, refusing to speak another word. The more he pushed, the harder it became to keep this from him.

“I’ve got all night. Nowhere else to be,” he stated, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. Still refusing to speak, you turned your attention back to your essay, hoping he would eventually relent.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. His voice now calm and his expression blank. No trace of anger or irritation. It almost seemed like he had come to accept the situation.

“Maybe this is for the best. You clearly don’t want to talk to me, so I’ll guess I won’t bother you anymore,” he said in a monotone voice, before he abruptly stood up and started to walk away, not looking back once.

Hot panic was surging through your veins and in an instant you jumped up, to go after him. Realizing that you were about to lose him either way, you took a chance.

“I like you!” The words echoed through the quiet library, their volume seemingly too loud for the stillness around you. He paused in his tracks, but didn't turn around. Unable to see his reaction, you continued, thinking maybe it was better this way, shielded from the potential disgust his face might reveal.

"I like you, and I'm really sorry, okay? I just need some time to sort things out and get over these feelings. I promise, but right now, I can't be around you. Not right now. That's why I've been avoiding you. Please, please don't hate me," with every word, your desperation spilled out, raw and unfiltered, while your eyes began to burn.

As Fred slowly turned around, his expression was unreadable, and it felt like everything was falling apart. Immediate regret was filling you up. Maybe, if you would’ve stayed silent and kept on ignoring what was going on inside of you, there would have been a chance to mend the friendship later on. But now, it felt like it might be too late.

“You like me?” he asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.

“Please, don’t make me say it again,” you pleaded, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

His expression slowly transformed into a wide smile, "You're not kidding. You actually like me?"

Confused and feeling a sense of panic, you asked, "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

Fred's grin widened, making him look like a complete idiot, "I can't control it. You've just made me the happiest person in the world. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping to hear those words?"

Silence filled the air. Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

“I like you too, I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he confessed with a soft grin, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, that's why you were always touching me?" you asked, trying to make sense of it all.

He let out a loud laugh, quickly quieted by a stern look from Madam Pince. He sent her an apologetic smile before refocusing on you and speaking in a hushed tone.

"And here I thought I was being smooth about it. I've been trying to let you know for a while now, actually."

“Bloody hell. You mean you felt the same all this time? Why on earth didn't you say anything?" You were in disbelief, feeling like you were in a dream. Maybe you had dozed off while reading about The History and Evolution of Enchantments and Charms Throughout the Ages.

"Well, why didn't you?" he asked.

"You've got me there," you said with a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground. After a moment of silence, you glanced up and saw him smiling softly at you.

"So... what's the plan now?" you asked, seeking some clarity.

"You like me, I like you. It's pretty clear, isn't it?" he responded.

You squinted your eyes at him, still not fully convinced.

"Now I can touch you as much as I want, and you can't escape anymore," he said with a mischievous grin, taking a step closer until he stood right in front of you.

"Oh, Merlin. You're a git," you exclaimed, unable to hold back a laugh. "Why on earth do I like you again?"

“Because I’m just that irresistible, obviously,” he laughed, joining in with you.

You placed your hand on his chest and playfully gave him a nudge. But before you could pull away, he surprised you by grabbing your hand. As you looked down at his hand enveloping yours, he posed a question. "So, about you admitting you like me... do you wanna back that up with a kiss?"

"Mhm, I'll have to think about that," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you deserve it, to be honest."

He grinned cheekily and retorted, "Oh, I definitely deserve it. What have I ever done to not deserve it?"

“Let’s try and remember. Just last week you-”

As you were about to list all the things he had done, he surprised you again by silencing your words with a passionate kiss. In that moment, your thoughts faded into insignificance, consumed by the intensity of the kiss. His hand gently caressed your cheek, deepening the connection between you. Your emotions were running wild, and it felt as if your body was ablaze.

After a moment or an hour, he pulled back, and you took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. Opening your eyes, you gazed up at him.

"Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?" he asked, his playful tone laced with a hint of mischief.

“I can’t remember,” you murmured, connecting your lips with his once more.

You’d been wrong all along—falling for your best friend might have been the best idea of all.

[incorrectharrypotterblog]

Hermione: why are threesomes only for sex

Hermione: why can’t I join in on a couples argument if I want to

[tsukimirecs]

GRYFFINDOR BOYS

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

FRED WEASLEY

mad woman

cupid crystals

a special friend

recovering a life

deep breath

strawberry letters

date after date

SIRIUS BLACK

complimentary quills

just a natural fact

brighten your days

black dog neighbour

padfoot

HARRY POTTER

harry potter and the long-lost beach episode

harry potter and the late-night company

potter love

gifts

green-eyed idiot

romancing professor potter

CHARLIE WEASLEY

creative writing class

favourites

taming the dragon tamer

lucky charm

let's pretend

GEORGE WEASLEY

heart-to-heart chase

beating a weasley

well-meaning deceit

see you again

it's definitely you

coming home

[sundrop-writes]

The Way You Miss Me

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.

Use my body against me - and all of our history.

I hate the way you miss me. 

Summary:

Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.

And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.

So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.

Word Count: 18,500

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).

For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.

A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.

...

Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated. 

It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world. 

These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you. 

You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple. 

Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures. 

You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together. 

But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone. 

Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.) 

You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks. 

So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all. 

And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited. 

You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again. 

By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it. 

You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk. 

From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way. 

Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley. 

You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’. 

You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go. 

This left you with only one glaring problem. 

You had a crippling fear of heights. 

It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it. 

The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely. 

When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were. 

Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved. 

But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.  

Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again. 

When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear. 

You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was. 

But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds. 

You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension. 

“You alright?” Fred asked you simply. 

“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it. 

You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up. 

So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet. 

This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. 

Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy. 

And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.  

“Y/N,” 

He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling. 

“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,” 

Of course. Just as you had predicted. 

“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-” 

You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly: 

“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-” 

“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.” 

Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever. 

“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?” 

You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body. 

Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side. 

“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.” 

Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward. 

“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.” 

“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him. 

You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. 

And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.) 

Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed. 

This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said: 

“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.” 

This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore. 

Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you. 

But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up. 

He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes. 

The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you. 

It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together. 

So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping. 

You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face. 

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him. 

Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you. 

What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up? 

What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious? 

“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second. 

“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-” 

“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true. 

He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you. 

“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply. 

Your insides became heavy. 

You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned. 

It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it. 

It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it. 

So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread? 

“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next. 

You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face. 

“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly. 

“Why not?” You argued gently. 

You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George. 

He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him. 

Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind? 

“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed. 

He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way. 

“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words. 

You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say. 

“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?” 

Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him. 

“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-” 

“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again. 

‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’ 

“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.” 

He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left. 

But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him. 

“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears. 

You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry. 

You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye. 

For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate. 

So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started. 

“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.” 

With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug. 

You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now. 

You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley. 

You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again. 

It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis. 

The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys. 

You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart. 

But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak. 

It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. 

According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort. 

You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now. 

“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him. 

“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone. 

You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you. 

Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing. 

“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?” 

“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?” 

His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you. 

You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold. 

“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-” 

“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?” 

Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play. 

“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you. 

“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.” 

It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry. 

Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of. 

The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup. 

Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him. 

Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight. 

But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off. 

It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair. 

It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking: 

“Good?” 

To which you replied: 

“m fine.” 

The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off. 

When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes. 

Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life. 

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!” 

“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-” 

“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-” 

“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead. 

Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one. 

They were targeting Fred. 

That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred. 

“Y/N-?” 

“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!” 

You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what. 

You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud. 

You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect. 

You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did. 

You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life. 

Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death. 

He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes. 

It was only you. 

He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.  

He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse. 

He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight. 

You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you. 

As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you. 

“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!” 

“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.” 

Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet. 

His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer. 

He had to pull you up. 

“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-” 

He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely. 

Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you. 

Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care. 

The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground. 

Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state. 

Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs. 

You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.” 

Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred. 

But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air. 

You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear. 

“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.” 

Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him. 

“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise. 

He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt. 

You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat. 

Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head. 

“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly. 

Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch. 

It was a horror show. 

The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch. 

“Georgie?” 

There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart. 

But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified. 

“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly. 

At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief. 

“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked. 

“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line. 

You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed. 

“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively. 

Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death. 

Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply. 

“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?” 

Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh. 

“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.” 

You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane. 

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly. 

“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist. 

When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here. 

“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.” 

It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves. 

“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off. 

“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.” 

… 

You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process). 

Mad-Eye had been killed. 

You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed. 

You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer. 

When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet. 

Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside. 

Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors. 

“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs. 

He couldn’t possibly be talking about…? 

No. 

No, he wasn’t. 

You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion. 

You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there. 

But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him. 

The sight you saw made your heart ache. 

Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off. 

His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night. 

“Freddie?” 

You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long. 

“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness. 

It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before. 

You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed). 

You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world. 

He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears. 

“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him. 

You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could. 

“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.” 

Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought. 

It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now. 

“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.” 

A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you. 

“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.” 

“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?” 

Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-? 

“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…” 

He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out. 

“I can’t lose you.” 

The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear. 

You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself. 

“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.” 

He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself. 

His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you. 

“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done. 

You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before. 

“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.” 

He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively. 

You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling. 

“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.” 

So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up? 

Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you? 

A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining. 

“I let you go once before.” 

He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up. 

“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.” 

“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew. 

“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours. 

You had missed him so damn much. 

Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out. 

When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare. 

He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.) 

Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival. 

He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him. 

He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them. 

“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once. 

All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length. 

And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-

He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away. 

“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.” 

You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate. 

Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging. 

“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock. 

All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.) 

You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long. 

“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips. 

You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger. 

“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent. 

“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled. 

As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried. 

During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way. 

Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair. 

Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something. 

You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger. 

Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him. 

“Fuck, darling, shite-” 

You quickly became drunk on the feeling. 

Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles. 

The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft. 

“Goddammit, please, please, oh-” 

You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely. 

You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue. 

“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-” 

Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell. 

It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks. 

He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first. 

He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling. 

Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh. 

“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?” 

You moaned loudly at this. 

You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak. 

“I need you, pretty girl.” 

He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time). 

“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-” 

He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet. 

“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own. 

He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers. 

“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone. 

“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims. 

“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point. 

“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver. 

You hated that he was right. 

You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself. 

“Go on, good girl.” 

You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well. 

“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra. 

“Oh darling, if only that were true.” 

He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this. 

Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long. 

“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-” 

“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee. 

His words caused you to choke on another moan. 

You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return. 

You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel. 

“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes. 

Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it. 

He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes. 

“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with. 

“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.” 

He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights. 

“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-” 

Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year. 

“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-” 

“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,” 

You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you. 

Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer. 

Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back. 

He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest. 

The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you. 

“Freddie,” 

You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell. 

“Good?” He asked, smirking at you. 

“Yes, but what about-?” 

You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him. 

The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it. 

He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes. 

In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world. 

As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.  

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,” 

You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too. 

But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was: 

“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!” 

“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-” 

Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words. 

Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.) 

“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-” 

“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.” 

He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue. 

You were close. 

Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours. 

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?” 

His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response. 

“Good girl. Come on,” 

He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long. 

“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-” 

His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again. 

“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat. 

As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt. 

“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips. 

“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-” 

He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt. 

“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-” 

He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. 

“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him. 

It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe. 

When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you. 

“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.” 

“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer. 

It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted. 

When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back. 

You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“My things are in Ginny’s room…” 

You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her. 

Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there. 

Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely. 

He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job. 

“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes. 

“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing. 

“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.” 

You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate. 

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,” 

You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted. 

“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,” 

Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you. 

“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink. 

You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness. 

You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier. 

He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you. 

Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed. 

When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking. 

It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind. 

“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream. 

“Goodnight, Freddie.” 

… 

You wondered if all of it had been a dream. 

Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred. 

You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir. 

“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again. 

Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning. 

“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells. 

“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck. 

Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled. 

“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed. 

You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness. 

“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up. 

When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.) 

Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves. 

“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper. 

Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before. 

“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?” 

You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great. 

“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-” 

An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good. 

“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-” 

“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there. 

“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught. 

You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in. 

“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.” 

“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” 

“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored. 

You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill. 

“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him. 

“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?” 

“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned. 

Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen. 

“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.

...

A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!

[daddiesdrarryy]

Harry: Why does Malfoy have to be the best at everything? You know, just for once, I’d love to top him

Ron: That you can

Hermione: He meant in class, Ron

Ron: Oh, then that you can’t, buddy

[jupitereleven]

my “twins weasley phase” wasn’t just a phase.

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[radical-ghostface]

HOGWARTS LEGACY

TWT PORN LINKS

~~ TW: This contains real pornography. These links will take you to real videos posted by real people. My intention is never to make anyone uncomfortable so if this is something you are not comfortable with I urge you to please click away. ~~

Lazy morning sex with Seb

Seb fingering you in the RoR

Overstimming with Omi

Helping Seb celebrate after winning a quidditch match

Messy tit jobs with Garreth in prof Sharp's classroom

Facesitting with Omi

Alone time with Omi in the Undercroft

Teasing Garreth

Seb fucking you after a stressful day of classes

Make up sex with Seb

Garreth likes it when you take control

Seb can't keep his hands off you after seeing you in his sweater

Ominis knows how to use his hands

Garreth loves how you taste

Merciless Seb

Ruining sub Garreths orgasam

Making out with Omi in his dorm

[mallowsweetmiri]

Can’t sleep for shit so here’s a little bestfriend!Fred with no boundaries. Enjoy!

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

You tossed and turned in your bed, huffing as your blankets got caught in your legs. You’d been like this for the past hour. You just couldn’t seem to go to sleep and nothing was helping. It was late and you were starting to get annoyed because you had to be up early the next morning for a study session in the library. You huffed again as you sat up in the bed, throwing your legs over the side and moving towards the door. Lumos you whispered, opening the door as quietly as you could and creeping down the stairs. Your feet took you the Fred’s door on autopilot, as if your body knew what would help you fall asleep. You tapped gently on the door, wishing you could somehow wake up only Fred. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a spell that you knew to achieve this, so you settled for quietly knocking until you heard a shuffling from behind the door.

“Y/N?” George opened the door groggily, rubbing his eyes at the light of your wand. You quickly put it down.

“I’m sorry, George,” you whispered, “I couldn’t sleep. Can I come in?” You offered a small small, knowing he couldn’t be too mad at you.

“Course,” he rasped, moving aside to let you in. He gently shut the door behind you before collapsing back into his bed. This wasn’t the first time you’d shown up at their door in the middle of the night, and George tended to be the lighter sleeper. You walked over to Fred’s bed, squinting your eyes in the dim moonlight to see where his body was. He was on his back with the blankets crumpled by his feet, his bare torso exposed in the nighttime. You smiled. It was the perfect mat to sleep on. You crawled over his body and settled yourself on his chest, nuzzling you face into the crevice of his neck before pulling his blankets over yourself. He grumbled and stirred under you, his hand automatically settling on the small of your back. His other hand came up to rub his face.

“Y/N?” He grumbled in a similar fashion to George. You chuckled at this.

“Sorry, couldn’t sleep,” you repeated, cuddling closer to your best friend. He chuckled lightly in response, using both his arms now to embrace you, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“Hmm,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to massage your scalp, “I can help with that.” He grabbed under your knee to bring your leg over his body, rubbing circles into you thigh. His hand felt so good against your body, and the warmth of his bare skin immediately comforted you. You moaned lightly into his neck, your body completely relaxed by his touch. His hand came up to rub the crease of your hip as he gave your head a kiss.

“Now go to sleep, darling. I’ll make sure you’re awake for breakfast.” And with that you fell asleep to the sounds of his breathing, and the feeling of his fingers running across your skin.

[lordprettyflackotara]

fill the void || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+

It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.

Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.

But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.

It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.

Yuck.

“Am I interrupting?”

You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?

“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.

You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.

“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.

Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.

“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.

Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.

“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.

So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.

You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.

“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.

The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.

“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.

His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.

“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.

“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.

“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.

“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.

He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.

“Hey y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”

“Shut up Weasley.”

[nottsangel]

HP — AU DRABBLES MASTERLIST

a collection of all the AU drabbles you can find on my blog. reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated!

for more thoughts, click ‘more’ behind an AU or character’s name...

…still want more?! check out my DRABBLES MASTERLIST

*drabbles are organised from newest to oldest

au moodboards . all my hp content.

— NEW GIRL AU theo, mattheo and enzo ( more. )

they give you a small towel after showering

shared spaces (FULL FIC)

the boys being annoying when you bring a guy home

asking them if they ever think about you during…

getting no sleep ‘cause the boys keep bringing girls over

— BSF!THEO ( more. )

bsf!theo finding out no guys ever made you cum

sweet relief (FULL FIC)

people thinking you and bsf!theo are more than friends

bsf!theo admitting his feelings

— LOVE ISLAND AU slytherin boys ( more. )

theo fingering you while everyone’s sleeping

— TOXIC!THEO ( more. )

toxic ex!theo convincing you that he’s your bf when you’re drunk

knifeplay with toxic!theo

toxic!theo blackmailing you when you want to break up

toxic!theo and choking

corruption kink with toxic!theo

toxic ex-boyfriend!theo getting jealous

— STALKER!THEO ( more. )

stalker!theo secretly watching you masturbate

stalker!theo using your clothes to jerk off

stalker!theo

— DEALER!THEO ( more. )

dealer!theo’s favourite customer

dealer!theo fucking you with his gun

joining dealer!theo on a workday

— BROTHER’S BSF!THEO ( more. )

brother’s bsf!theo bullying you into cockwarming him

brother’s bsf!theo catching you sneak out of the house

— FWB!THEO ( more. )

fwb!theo falling for you

— ACADEMIC RIVAL!THEO ( more. )

academic rival!theo going down on you

— PERV!RON ( more. )

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