#Weasley twins

[bythemoondust]

[emeritusemeritus]

Granger's sister dating the Weasley twins! Imagine the golden trio's reaction—simply a dream!

Hi Anon! It's so funny that you sent this message because this exact scenario came into my head the other day at work and I couldn't resist writing this little drabble! 🖤

I’m sorry it’s quite specific but it was just the scenario that popped into my head. Hermione’s sister (Reader) is an actual badass and I love it.

TW for smoking and flirting/banter.

Bad habits

{Imagine the golden trio are visiting London whilst staying with Hermione's parents at the start of summer (Molly and Arthur are visiting Charlie). They visit her older Muggle sister at work in muggle London and against Ron's better judgement, Fred and George come along for the visit as their 'chaperones'.}

The trio are well acquainted with Hermione's sister (y/n) who is everyone's older sister figure, merciless teasing of Ron included. She works in a retail stockroom, just living a regular muggle life.

Their first meeting:

"Y/n!" Ron calls out into the vast stockroom, searching for her amongst the metal racking and efficiently stacked cardboard boxes, a vague rustling their only clue that she was in here.

"Y/n!" He calls louder, more insistent this time to get her attention.

"Have some patience Ronald!" She calls back, already sounding exasperated.

"I like her already," Fred says with a smirk upon hearing her tone with his youngest brother, delighting in the way that Ron's cheeks turned a rather fetching shade of pink.

"Yeah something tells me you will," Harry murmurs with a half-smirk, not sparing a glance at the twins who looked intrigued by his comment. Footsteps are heard moving towards them but the person is still not in view.

“Eh?” George asks looking towards Harry, who’s actively avoiding the twins eyes, his subtle smirk tugging at the side of his lips.

“What do you mean?” Fred asks, before turning to George. “What does he mean?”

“Y/n!” Ron calls out again when the footsteps stop, though not as loud as before.

“Untwist your knickers Ronald, I'm here.”

She laughs as everyone jumps from surprise as she intentionally appears just behind them, having weaved through the racking.

“Oh,” she says as her eyes land upon the two much taller and older guests, instantly looking slightly startled before covering it quickly. “Sorry, I didn't realise there were others.”

Her smile is breathtaking, literally winding Fred as it lands upon him. There’s no way this was Hermione’s sister, her teeth showing absolutely no correlation to Hermione’s and her hair was tame if not perfect, atleast in Fred’s eyes.

“It's, I’m, it's okay.” Fred stammers, hardly able to get the words out. The entire party look towards Fred with quizzical glances that he of all people had been rendered speechless, choking on his own words. Ron in particular stares at him with a look of astonishment, his mouth almost hanging open at Fred’s slight blush. George shifts in place and purposefully and fluidly stands on Ron’s foot to silently threaten him to stop staring.

“We're Ron's older brothers,” George says, carefully choosing the right words, his mind having to run at twice the speed just to get any words out whilst her attention was on him.

“Brothers, really? Wow,” she says with a brief look of bewilderment herself and a slight sarcastic undertone. “I'm *, Hermione's sister.”

“Yeah they figured,” Ron snarks.

“You're really his brothers? Wow genetics are wild,” she says with a disbelieving shake of her head as she looks between an annoyed Ron and the gorgeous identical twins in front of her, noting the differences between the three. The two older boys blush slightly from her praise whilst laughing, Fred’s cheeky smirk appearing on his face once again.

“Y/n!” Hermione curses her name, clearly embarrassed by her shameless flirting, which she simply shrugs at.

She gets back to work whilst they chat, sorting and unpacking some of the boxes around the front, the trio telling them about their day in muggle London.

“Can you stop for a minute?” Hermione says with a tone of exasperation, crossing her arms over her chest whilst she watches her sister zooming about.

“Sorry but some of us weren't born with powers and actually have to work for a living,” she says sarcastically, jumping down from the stool she’d been using.

“Powers? Like a superhero?” Fred asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief and his smirk stretching across his face at her choice of words.

“You tell me,” she replies smoothly.

Hermione simply rolls her eyes this time, trying to ignore their shameless flirting.

As she walks past George, she sends him a playful wink that nearly brings him to his knees, the blush on his cheeks renewed to an obvious rouge.

She stops by the desk where her bag lays, stopping and reaching for a cigarette that she pulls out from a near empty carton.

“You're still smoking? Honestly y/n,” Hermione chastises, her arms still folded as she shoots a judgemental look at her older sister, completely interrupting Ron mid-sentence.

“What are you gonna do? Magic it out of my hand?” She snarks, placing the unlit cigarette to her lips until it’s hanging just out the side of her mount, looking entirely too cool in the moment as she shoots one last wink to the twins who are focused on her every move and steps out of the door.

“I think I’m in love,” Fred says in a daze, his eyes still focused on the door that she’d left through.

“Oh honestly,” Hermione told her eyes.

“I think she’s my perfect woman,” George says, sounding equally as enchanted.

Harry simply laughs, having anticipated this situation happening, though it’s better than he could have ever imagined seeing the twins look so utterly flustered.

Them finding out:

“Mum we’re here! Wait y/n, what are you doing here?” Ron says with sheer surprise at seeing Hermione’s sister sitting at the kitchen table in his childhood home.

“Your mum’s adopted me,” she says in complete deadpan, “she’s just nipped out to get the ginger hair dye.”

“Hilarious,” Ron grumbles with a dramatic roll of his eyes, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips which tells her that he was far from offended.

“Y/n!” Hermione says with a bright smile as she spots her sister, her arms opening instinctively.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Harry says, stepping in through the Dutch style door last, his eyebrows shooting up and disappearing underneath his shaggy fringe as he spots her.

“If you’re going to be a collective, you really need to start planning who’s saying what, it’s mindless asking the same question three times,” she smirks, slowly pulling away from her sister.

“Yeah” Fred says, appearing around the corner.

“Like us,” George adds with a smile.

“See,” y/n says, her hand gesturing to the pair moving towards them. “Much more efficient.”

“Efficient is my middle name,” Fred smirks, moving to stand beside her, flanked by George on the other side.

“Alright, Gideon,” she smirks, laughing as he slips his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side.

“Wait,” Ron says, looking between them comically.

“You’re together, you two?” Hermione adds, her eyes fixed on Fred’s arm around her sister’s shoulder.

“No!” She replies quickly, sounding horrified. She then reaches for George who slips his arms around her waist until she’s nestled between them both, eliciting a shocked gasp from Hermione.

“Us three,” her sister corrects with a smile and a slight crook of her eyebrow, watching the way her sister’s face pales slightly. Harry, beside a very shocked Ron and Hermione shows no sign of surprise, smirking so hard his glasses are touching his cheeks.

“You wanted me to stop smoking,” she says with a shrug, “got to keep some bad habits.”

[nyxthedeity]

hii, could we get george weasley fic where the twins plays a cruel prank on her (by accident or on purpose) and she ignores the both of them and he has to grovel after her type

"ᴏʜ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴ!"

Synopsis: We all know The Weasley twins are funny, a good prank even make Professor McGonagall's lips twitch. But when a certain Slytherin got the honor of their attention for the new prank, things hadn't gone well. And now, someone's at somebody's feet.

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin!fem!reader

Even the most peaceful day in Hogwarts can turn to a chaotic one just because of two certain red heads. The quietest halls can be filled with laughter as the twins exit a room full of glitter and a very angry student.

Their pranks varies from harmless and trully humourous, to absolutely gut wrenching anger simmering in your whole being. Usually, it's the latter.

One not-so-normal morning since two red heads is at the empty classroom instead of Transfiguration class and whispering to themselves and planning something mischievous. Their trying to make another product for their future jokeshop, and since they're running out of targets as all Gryffindors are done by now, it's time for Slytherins.

Draco was the first target of course, already turned his owl to a rat one time, he was absolutely terrified when a rat was crawling in their table to deliver his letter. Demanded to his father that he get a new owl.

Now, it's time for Y/n Monte. A peaceful Slytherin, kind even on some days, but usually sassy. Definitely a Slytherin.

George was the one who introduced her to Fred, he met her during one of their quidditch training. Y/n was practicing her spells with a fellow Slytherin when she almost got hit with a bludger, before George managed to bat it away and gave her a "You alright there, darl'?" And a wink.

Ever since, George took that lack of response, but not a hostile look anyway, to ask her for homework, even make a small talks every once and a while.

So when she appeared to be laughing at one of George and Fred's latest prank, George saw her and immediately deemed her the next target.

A simple flick of George's hand on Fred's shoulder with a pointed look, "Look, Fred..." Muttered from his lips, target locked.

So now, they got to thinking, what makes Y/n Monte the most pissed? Maybe her clothes? Maybe making her green? Or maybe humiliating her in Potion's class?

But the Yule Ball is coming up...

That's a bloody yes.

Y/n has got a boy asked her out, Jacob Holloway, a very built Ravenclaw who had been "eyeing" her out as he said. And for Y/n, it's not everyday she get asked out, hell, she doesn't even expect anyone to ask! So she said yes.

When the Yule Ball came, it was mostly fine. Only that Y/n was absolutely ravishing wearing that silver metalic dress with white roses adorning her collarbones. Totally not enough to make anyone's heart skip a beat.

Y/n and Jacob was having fun, absolutely killing it on the dance floor and having the best conversation. Which actually makes the best opportunity for the twin's prank.

When the couple took a moment for themselves to get a drink and talk to each other about probably something that will make them more interesting to each other. George's wand got out and a few flicks of his wrist, a small vial from Fred flew itself slowly to Y/n's drink and dropped a few.

Once Y/n sipped her drink unknowingly, the twins stood not so far away to listen.

"So, tell me more about your childhood." Jacob started, but before Y/n can answer and say probably how she cried over a snail because she found out they're an invasive species, she muttered something completely out of turn.

"If I die first, I'll haunt you— not a scary hunt but a peek over your shoulder hunt."

Okay. What in Merlin's beard was that?

"I-I mean—" She stuttered after that. She's kind of panicking now because Jacob's face is mixed with confusion and something absolutely weirded out. And that's not a good sign.

Another one came out of her mouth, "Your elbows look kissable."

What. The. Bloody. Hell.

"My... elbows?" Jacob is trying to smile but is absolutely weirdes out because what in the hell does one say that someone's elbows are kissable?

"I don't know what I'm saying— I'm so sorry!" Y/n started actually sweat and panic. What is happening to her? Why is she saying these things? It's making her screw up from her date! Ugh!

And from the not so far away table is the two little shitheads trying not to laugh but failed miserably.

Oh Y/n saw them alright.

Her icy glare that was absolutely not playing is on them and they quickly joined the crowd and avoid her for the next of the night.

She turned back to Jacob who was awkwardly sipping his drink and didn't look her way. She can't say anything else in fear of absolutely saying something more horrid and weird. She just... Left. Jacob didn't bat an eye.

In the heat of her anger, she found the twins laughing their asses off from Neville's dancing, grabbed both their collars and got them to the side.

"What did you do?!" She exclaimed, face contorting in anger. She just lost the only guy who had eyes on her, her only hope that she won't die alone and he's gone off thinking she's some weird bimbo.

"Gave ya love lifes a bit twist, he's boring you know." George had the gall to say as Fred snickers. "Oh you doorknob! You humiliated me!" She pushed George by the chest, did not move him.

"Relax, darl', he's a wanker anyway." George insist, her smirk getting a bit serious now.

"I know you don't understand how much it hurt for the only guy to ask you out be gone thinking you're a weirdo!" The twins, despite their unruly nature still get themselves some spotlight from the ladies, so of course they didn't know how it feels.

Y/n left then, leaving George with a face that says I thought itbwas funny. Fred shrugged it off, he was used to people acting like that after a prank. Should be the same for George... It's awfully weird that it's not.

So the next day, unbeknownst to Fred, George got his own little mission:

Say sorry to Y/n.

Which, he doesn't know how because one: they usually don't, and two: she's not just anyone.

Surprisingly.

It's weird that he no longer can bother her during Ancient Rune class, can't even catch a glimpse of her in the halls. It felt empty. Or maybe it's guilt? Oh, yeah, he forgot, he's not supposed to feel guilt.

So now it feels wrong to be pinning a girl who doesn't want to get pinned because of a very not funny prank.

George used his connections to get Y/n's whereabouts and found her in a secluded area in the courtyard.

Walking slowly, he took a breath. Here goes everything.

Soft crunch of the leaves was heard as he slowly tales steps, Y/n was drawing in her notebook. "Hey..." George whispered out. Merlin, what happened to his voice?

Her head looked at him and immediately got her face in a scowl. "Leave me alone." Her voice sounded so firm that it's actually scary.

"Oh come on! Hear me out—" George was cut off when she stood up, ready to leave. He didn't even have the will to grab her arm to stop her.

The next opportunity was during their Transfiguration class. He slid up beside her and made sure to move his lips like a ventriloquist. "Hey, come on hear my apolo—"

"No."

"Oh come on!"

He said that a bit too loudly that heads turned and Professor McGonagall looked at him. "Something to say Mr. Weasley?" The elder woman said with a brow so high it can reach the sky.

He shrunk after that and didn't caught up with her after class.

The next day? He can't take it anymore. Those two days felt like 2 months of trying to catch her and just say "sorry".

So now, it was late in the night. An oblivious Slytherin first year for bribed by him to say Professor Snape called for her.

So a Y/n in pajamas came out of the dungeons with George waiting, leaning at the wall, acting cool like he wasn't about to say sorry for the first time ever.

When she got a glimpse of him, she's sure Professor Snape didn't called for her. Professor Snape doesn't look like a tall, red head, Weasley twin named George.

She couldn't help but sigh when he slowly walks up to her.

"Please hear me out."

"No."

"Oh come on!" He's practically begging now, begging for this torture to just be ended.

"You humiliated me in front of Jacob." Tell him something he doesn't know and feels shitty about. "I am now known as a weirdo who sees elbows kissable to his friends." Her arms crossed.

"I know..." George sighed. "I'm really sorry, alright? I thought it was funny—"

"It isn't." She inserted.

"—and he looked like a wimp anyway that won't even treat you okay—"

Y/n paused at what he's saying,

"—and I know someone else would treat you even if you act weird and say weird stuff because you're you—"

"George."

"—and honestly, you're absolutely interesting and—"

"George!"

That he got to stop. Then realized what he said because of that stupid grin in her face.

"Really? I'm really interesting?" She just had to tease. Have you seen this George before? Neither has she.

"That's not me."

"I'm very convinced that that whole rant just came from you."

Did it? George got to thinking... He got the same circumstance when she pranked a girl before, she got pissed off, he didn't say anything though. Shrugged it even.

Why is he here? Why is he here in front if her absolutely loving that grin because just imagine that same face looking at him after trying to scold her after a prank— wait what?

"Well shit." He mumbled under her breath. He just fell in love in the midst of pinning this girl.

She laughed, very amused at the fact that he looks very gobsmacked.

"Does this mean you accept my apology?" George asks hopefully.

She just shrugged, a very sly smirk on her face. "Maybe. You better work for it." She patted his shoulder as a good luck, maybe?

"Oh, come on!"

YAYYY, someone requested a this beautiful George fic, it's absolutely refreshing to write other than school works and all that stuff. It feels robotic not gonna lie so this is a good touch of humanity in me.

Request some more, babes! Love these types of request.

Feel free to explore my list and do not be afraid to ask anyone outside of the said list, darlings!

Your dearest author,

NyxTheDeity.

[kayrish]

"BRO'S THE TYPE TO-"

a/n: thanks for of the support!! ig im turning this into a series so if u have any character requests or fic ideas; send smth in my inbox xoxo

-Bro’s the type to be the reason why you’re late to class. He loses of time whenever you two were making out in the broom closet.

-Bro’s the type to give amazing back massages. Stressed out? His fingers work wonders on your aching skin.

-Bro’s the type to slide his hand up your skirt when he’s sitting beside you.

-Bro’s the type to sneak you samples from his jokes shop in exchange for your affection.

-Bro’s the type to show you off whenever he gets the chance. Sometimes he would subconsciously talk about you to his family and friends.

-Bro’s the type to be the golden retriever in the relationship. He doesn’t care if you’re the black cat; the total opposite from him, or if you match his freak—Fred would like you the same.

-Bro’s the type to love having you over. His family loves you and he knows it. He’ll find any reason to have you glued beside him.

-Bro’s the type to tease the fuck out of you when you wear his clothes. He think it’s the cutest thing ever seeing you in his clearly oversized clothing.

-Bro’s the type to tell you about his holidays in the Muggle world. If you’re lucky, he’ll even bring something back for you.

-Bro’s the type to be unexpectedly talented when it comes to playing the guitar.

-Bro’s the type to mask his feelings with jokes. During a serious situation, where he’s clearly stressed, he’ll try to distract himself and the people around him by making terrible jokes to lighten the mood

-Bro’s the type to fail a bunch of classes but excel in one specific class. The special class changes every year, but even if he does well, he’ll still pretend he’s doing bad so you can assist him.

[artytaeh]

FUCK'EM IF THEY CAN'T TAKE A JOKE! 🗯️

FRED WEASLEY 𓏲 HEADCANONS ’ random version ! 🎃

HYPER AWARE THAT HIS FAMILY IS POOR since he was very young; fred always wanted to soothe his mother's worries, while disagreeing with percy that their father should work in something he doesn't like to earn more money. fred argues that people should work in what they want, or else, you're just surviving instead of living.

because of his family's monetary issues, fred wondered what he could do to help. for one, he wasn't an academic genius like percy, nor did he like to study even for his favorite subjects; it was only during his last years at hogwarts that fred discovered that he could use his hobbies to earn money—and so, the first weasley products were born.

☆ LOVES APPLE AND PUMPKIN PIE. very on the sweet side of snacks, while george prefers savory and salty stuff. fred loves those spicy gummies, even though his spice tolerance is low in comparison to other boys.

actually loves baking dates. fred knows one recipe by heart: chocolate chip cookies. with brown sugar and melted butter until it's a little brown-ish, dark chocolate chips so it's not super sugary and nauseating.

☆ A GENTLEMAN IN A LOT OF WAYS, like opening the doors for other girls and even other boys. will dramatically open the door with a bow while saying: for you, my lady, to earn a few giggles here and there. it's a first instinct to reach for the door while listening to you; won't make a joke out of it if it meant interrupting what you were saying.

☆ UNINTENTIONALLY HAS THE HABIT OF INTERRUPTING PEOPLE TO SPEAK. it's super hard for fred to not impulsively talk; words, responses and jokes come at the tip of his tongue, battling to be verbalized for the group. it was george and other friends, like angelina, who pointed that out. since then, fred has been more mindful, even though it's a hard habit to break. within the weasleys, the sibling he interrupts the most is ron. makes an extra effort to not interrupt his parents at all.

☆ THE SIBLING THAT FRED LIKES TO PRANK the most is percy, due to their clashing ideals and behaviors, and ron, because he's the little brother he gets to bother. fred, at most, only does softer pranks on ginny, and even then, he bothers his baby sister the least. very supportive of ginny having sweethearts throughout her years at hogwarts—but gave a heads-up to older gryffindor students to not have bold ideas about ginny. that's his baby sister. and fred has a whole list of ideas to have his warning cemented.

☆ LOVES WEARING WARM TONES. autumn is his favorite season, even though summer means vacations and being at home, which he misses sometimes. halloween is his favorite holiday, while george's is christmas by a few crumbs of preference. does a checklist of every. single. halloween tradition. indulges george with his christmas' one.

☆ HIS FAVORITE MAGICAL BEAST are the nifflers, which is ironic because fred has a little nemesis with cats. although felines are elegant and beautiful, fred found out that cats mostly dislike his excessive energy—which only worsened when he interacted more with hermione's cat, crookshanks, during the summer that bridged his sixth and seventh year at hogwarts. the irony comes with fred arguing that cats are picky creatures, that take a lot of work—but then, loves nifflers. which are little thieves that act cute. yeah, fred would have loved a little guy like that.

☆ HIS FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD might be the gryffindor common room. fred loves cozy nights near the fireplace, having sneaked some marshmallows and treats alike from honeydukes to do s'mores there, fuzzy socks warmed by the fire and hushed chatter to not wake up the youngest gryffindors.

☆ while george is more serious about quidditch, FRED STRICTLY DOES IT FOR FUN. and because he wanted to impress his parents a little bit. unfortunately, molly uses the 'if you dedicated the time you put in quidditch on your studies instead, i wouldn't live in worry!' which sometimes, makes fred sad. that sort of helplessness that comes from feeling that he can never satisfy his mother, no matter what he does.

on the other hand, quidditch got him and his father closer; arthur is passionate about the sport, truly enjoying watching the games—now, asking for extra tickets to his department whenever possible—with his twin sons. arthur has a blast with them; while molly is quicker to reprimand, sometimes arthur has to hold back from laughing. and fred beams whenever he conquers arthur's amusement.

☆ DURING QUIDDITCH SEASONS, the twins receive letters from their dad the most. arthur writes twice a week; once to wish them luck and to motivate them to practice hard so gryffindor will be champion again. the second time is to ask how the game was, full paragraphs that arthur loves to read once he comes back from work. the way fred and george write, truly resembles commentators from radio channels, amusing arthur with remarks about how they hit the bludgers straight to the opposite team. whenever they lose, arthur expresses sadness but encourages them to motivate the team too; there's a lot to learn from mistakes!

☆ LOVES COLORFUL AND FUN CLOTHES. probably wouldn't use them during his academic years, but at the joke shop? oh yeah, he's bringing the most atrocious color combinations, fun ties, cool blazers and anything that screams: hey! i'm a genius of fun and laughter! besides, life is too short to be serious at all times, even with clothes.

☆ AS A CHILD, FRED'S CHILDHOOD DREAM was to work for santa claus. he really wanted to be one of the elves, probably working on the department of mischievous kids — and fake gifts to punish them — because the weasley twins had a whole brainstorm of how things probably work in his office at north pole. the thing is, fred and george grew exceptionally tall; the moment they became the tallest in their kindergarten / first year class, fred almost cried because he thought that height was a requirement to work as santa claus' elves. molly had to choose between breaking the news that santa claus doesn't exist or create a whole new department for tall people on the north pole.

☆ his dream of vacation would be TRAVELING EUROPE BY TRAIN. sure, he got a whole list of long, boring hours inside the hogwarts express; but there's something about it that is compelling to fred. taking a walk around, sleeping a bit, maybe bringing some board games to get the hours through. fred would totally ask his significant other, who's probably more artsy than him, to make a photo album all beautifully decorated to safekeep all the photos taken through those vacation days.

☆ UNLESS IT'S A MIDNIGHT CONVERSATION with an especially vulnerable fred weasley, the deepest he can go is assigning random objects to people. if you're sitting next to him in class, oh boy, he'll shamelessly point at someone on the other side of the classroom with his quill, and ask you something nonsensical like: hey, if jordan over there was a vegetable, what would he be? because he's giving sweet potato vibes. it seems really stupid at first, but that's only until you realize that every. single. assigned thing. makes a lot of sense for said person. fred is always spot on.

can i call you tonight · television / so far so good · remember the time · don't dream it's over · the way you make me feel · sex, drugs, etc · head over heels.

angst version. fred as a boyfriend headcanons. fred as your baby-daddy. fred as a character. smut version. c.ai bots masterlist.

[romanczukowsky]

In the Quiet, You Found Me

Pairing: George Weasley x Ravenclaw!reader

Summary: Rule #1: Don’t trust boys with magical maps. Rule #2: Definitely don’t fall for one.

You broke both.

Warnings: Slow Burn / Mutual Pining / Fluff and Tension / Soft Angst / Romance / Part I.

I never cared much for Gryffindor noise. All that loud laughter in the Great Hall, the endless games in corridors, the shouting during Quidditch practice. It filled the air like static — always buzzing, always bright, always far too much.

I liked the quieter corners of the castle. Places where my thoughts didn’t have to compete with someone else’s punchline.

They didn’t notice me, not really. And I liked it that way.

Until him.

George Weasley laughed like the world was made for it — reckless and full and unbothered by who was watching. That laugh came before him, echoing through corridors like some kind of warning bell.

Today, it spilled down the staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom — sharp, bright, and unmistakably his.

I glanced up from my book, only to see him stumble forward, shoved by his brother and Lee Jordan, grinning like he’d already won a game no one else was playing. One strap of his bag hanging loose over his shoulder.

He caught his balance, straightened — and then saw me.

That grin didn’t fade. If anything, it shifted. Focused.

Right on me.

I looked back down, flipping the page I hadn’t finished reading. I expected him to move on. Expected the moment to pass.

But it didn’t.

A pair of shoes stopped near mine. A beat of silence, and then —

“Didn’t mean to laugh so loud. But I swear Lee tells the worst jokes at the worst times.” His voice was warm — like butterbeer in winter. Too easy. Too familiar.

I looked up slowly.

George Weasley. Closer than expected. Taller than he looked from across the Great Hall. Still grinning.

I didn’t smile. “You weren’t exactly whispering.”

“Guilty,” he said, unbothered. “But you looked so composed, I figured I owed you a personal apology.” He tilted his head. “And maybe a name?”

I blinked. “You don’t know it?”

He blinked back. “I’d like to.”

I didn’t wait for his reaction. I just adjusted the strap of my bag and walked past him, heels of my boots tapping lightly against the stone floor. I felt his eyes follow me as I moved — not with judgment, but with something else. Something curious.

The corridor was already thinning as students headed into classrooms. I turned the corner without looking back.

But if I had, I might’ve seen him do it.

George Weasley, still standing where I left him, ran a hand through his hair with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked over his shoulder toward Fred and Lee, who were leaning against the wall a few feet away, half-smirking, half-waiting. George didn’t say a word — just shot them a look and raised his eyebrows. A silent, knowing exchange passed between the three of them.

Then he rolled his shoulders, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strolled off toward his next class like he hadn’t just decided something.

It started with little things.

Like him turning up in the library — looking wildly out of place and very aware of it.

He wasn’t holding a book. Of course not. He wandered past the shelves like he was on some kind of hunt, fingers brushing titles he’d never read.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said finally, stopping just short of my table. “But I figured if I kept walking past the quiet corners, I’d get lucky.”

I didn’t look up. Just turned the page I was already halfway through.

“I can be quiet,” he offered, as if it were a skill he rarely used but was willing to try.

I raised an eyebrow, still not meeting his eyes. “Doubt it.”

He stayed for almost an hour, saying nothing else. Sometimes I caught him glancing my way — but I never looked back.

He’d lean against the Potions classroom door like he’d simply forgotten he had somewhere to be — but only ever when I walked past.

When I was leaving the owlery, the parchment finally tied to the owl’s leg, when I almost bumped into him.

“Sending another letter to the family?” he asked, his voice easy, like we’d been having conversations for years.

I gave a small nod, not looking away. “You know how it is.”

He nodded, then glanced toward the rafters. “Careful with that one,” he added. “Bit of a diva. Tried to take my finger off last week.”

I looked up. Same owl as always. “She only pecks people who deserve it.”

That earned a small smile from him — quick, crooked, amused. “Ouch.”

He moved toward the perch, reaching for one of the calmer owls. “Maybe we’ll walk back together.”

I shifted my bag on my shoulder. “No need. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

He didn’t push. Just leaned back slightly against the stone. “George,” he said, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said it to me — though it was.

I slowed at the steps. Looked back.

“Y/n,” I said simply.

A small silence settled between us — not awkward, just... waiting.

“Till next time, Y/n.”

I didn’t answer, but I didn’t rush either. We exchanged a look — steady, light, unspoken — before I turned and walked out into the courtyard.

And even with my back to him, I knew he watched me leave.

The next day sunlight streamed through the glass roof of the greenhouse, casting warm patches of light on the green leaves. Professor Sprout stood by the table, holding small pots and bags of seeds.

“Today, a practical task,” she announced with a slight smile. “Each of you will plant a herb of your choice. You can work in pairs, but only after everyone has their seeds.”

Eyes slowly scanned the room, looking for partners.

When the word “pairs” was said, George Weasley didn’t hesitate.

His gaze quickly landed on me before he walked over without a word and sat down beside me at the wooden table.

Fred and Lee, standing nearby, exchanged knowing smiles that looked like a silent bet. But George either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Looks like we’re partners,” he said lightly, not breaking eye contact with my face.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

We worked in silence, planting seeds into the soil, watering gently, and holding the young shoots steady.

When we finished, I took off my gloves, and his eyes were drawn to the scar running along my wrist.

George furrowed his brow slightly, looking at it with interest and something close to concern.

“It’s nothing?” he asked softly.

I glanced down at the mark, then met his gaze with quiet steadiness. “It’s just a reminder,” I said. “Some risks leave scars. Doesn’t mean they weren’t worth taking.”

George nodded slowly, his expression quietly kind — like he understood without needing words.

After Herbology, I found myself wandering toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. I needed to gather some herbs—something simple, something familiar. The cool shade calmed the usual noise swirling in my mind.

As I knelt down to pick a handful of nettles, a shadow fell across the clearing. I looked up.

George.

Again.

I sighed, half annoyed, half amused. How was it that no matter where I went, I seemed to bump into him?

“Seriously,” I said, brushing dirt off my hands, “how do you keep finding me? It’s like you’re following me.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a folded parchment, worn at the edges but clearly important to him.

I blinked, curious despite myself.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” he said, his voice lower now, almost conspiratorial.

I studied him for a moment.

“Fine,” I said after a pause. “My lips are sealed.”

He smiled — not the loud, reckless grin I’d seen before, but something quieter, more genuine.

For the first time, it felt like maybe there was more to this loud, careless boy than I’d thought.

We’d been sitting on a fallen log for a while, the forest around us calm and still. George carefully unfolded the parchment and spread it between us.

He pointed to one. “That’s Fred, over by the Quidditch pitch. Probably trying to prank someone.”

I squinted, trying to follow the dots. “And that one?” I asked, nodding toward a cluster near the library.

“Lee and Angelina. Probably debating whether to study or sneak out for some mischief.”

I smirked. “You’d think they’d get along better.”

George chuckled softly. “You don’t know half of it.”

He paused, tracing a dot with his finger. “And that’s Thomas.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Thomas with… what’s her name… Lila? They’re like… together, right? Or whatever.”

George laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they’re definitely ‘together.’ Seen them sneaking off behind the greenhouses more times than I can count.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, typical. Probably making out or something.”

George smirked. “Right? Total scandal.”

I nudged him lightly.

It was meant to be quick — barely a tap, just something to match his teasing. But something in his grin shifted, softening.

He didn’t lean in right away. Not obviously. But suddenly, I was more aware of the space between us — or the lack of it. Of how his arm brushed against mine. Of the warmth coming off his coat.

I glanced at him, and his eyes were already on me. Still playful, but quieter now. Focused. Too close.

I cleared my throat and shifted, pushing myself up from the log, brushing soil from the back of my robes. “I should probably head back.”

George didn’t move to stop me. But he tilted his head, considering me.

“We could... I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his neck, like the words weren’t quite his usual brand of smooth. “Maybe gather a few things? For Professor Sprout. You said you like plants, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You want to go foraging with me.”

“Think of it as a noble Gryffindor offering protection to a reckless Ravenclaw in the deep, dangerous forest.”

I snorted. “Oh, please. You're just bored.”

“Painfully,” he said, grinning. “But also curious.”

I looked at him for a moment — at the boy with mischief in his smile and warmth tucked somewhere underneath it — and then, before I could second-guess myself, I said:

“There’s a patch of wolfsbane deeper in. If you can keep up.”

His grin widened. “Lead the way, Professor.”

And just like that, we disappeared into the trees — not side by side, but not far apart either.

At first, I thought it was nothing — just small things. Until I caught myself thinking about him, even in the quiet, even when he wasn’t there.

Maybe it was the third time he showed up in the library and sat across from me without saying a word — just dropped a book onto the table, the title something obscure about magical flora, and said, “Thought of you.”

Maybe it was how he didn’t expect anything in return. How he never asked why I liked what I liked. He just… learned. Paid attention in his own ridiculous way.

One day it was a pressed sprig of silverleaf between parchment. The next, a folded note tucked inside Advanced Herbology for Healers, underlining a passage about root memory and saying, Sounds like you.

Sometimes he’d ask questions. Sometimes not.

But he always found me.

And the strangest part?

I didn’t mind.

I liked it — the way he found me without fanfare. The way his attention softened over time, like he realized I wasn’t some puzzle to solve or a dare to win.

It wasn’t loud anymore. It wasn’t static.

It was… steady. Real.

And it made the silence feel a little less lonely.

A few days later, I found him outside the library, sitting on the edge of the stone railing, legs swinging slightly like he had all the time in the world.

He looked up as I approached — eyes lighting up the way they sometimes did now, like I was something worth noticing.

“I thought you’d be in the greenhouse,” he said, half-smiling.

“I was,” I replied simply, and held out a small wrapped bundle.

He blinked. “What’s this?”

“Dried frostnettle,” I said. “You complained last week that your hands kept freezing during early Quidditch practice.”

He looked down at the cloth, unwrapping it slowly. Inside were a few thin, silvery sprigs, neatly tied with thread. The scent was cool and sharp — clean.

George didn’t say anything right away.

When he looked back up, something in his expression had shifted. Just slightly. Like he wasn’t sure whether to grin or take it seriously — and ended up somewhere in between.

“This actually works?” he asked, quieter than usual.

“It’s not a joke,” I said, deadpan. “But it stings a bit when you crush the leaves. So don’t whine.”

That made him laugh — really laugh. But not in the way he used to.

It was warmer. Quieter. For me.

He stood, still holding the bundle carefully like it was something rare.

“Thanks,” he said, a little softer. “Really.”

I just shrugged. “You find me. I figured I’d return the favor.”

And for a second, he didn’t move — just looked at me with that same not-quite-smile, as if trying to figure out how the hell we got here.

His gaze dropped, just for a heartbeat, to my mouth.

He took a small step closer — not quite touching, but close enough that I could feel the shift in the air between us.

And then—

The library door creaked open behind us. He blinked, stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right,” he said, like he’d just remembered the real world existed.

There was a pause — just long enough for the silence to stretch between us. Then, without looking up, I felt his eyes on me again.

“I—uh,” he started, hesitating, “you look nice, you know. Not like anyone else here.”

I glanced up, caught his gaze — sincere, a little shy. It wasn’t a compliment thrown carelessly; it was something quiet, real.

I smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’ve got Potions next with the Hufflepuffs. Can’t be late.”

He gave a small, knowing smile, his eyes flickering briefly to the pocket of his robes — where I knew he kept something important. “Alright then. You better get going. But… don’t worry — if I don’t see you, I know where to find you.”

“See you around, George.”

He gave me one last easy smile before turning toward the door.

As the library door clicked shut behind him, I felt something shift — like maybe he was watching out for me in his own way.

I found myself waiting for him, though I hadn’t expected to. At first, I thought he was just another noisy Immature boy, but now… I wanted him to look for me. To find me. It was a strange feeling, like being a delicious target waiting to be caught.

I wandered the halls between classes, near the greenhouses, across the grounds. But he was nowhere to be found.

The next day, somewhere in a busy corridor, I caught a glimpse of him — weaving through the crowd with that easy grin. He saw me too, gave a quick nod, and drifted away with his class.

For the first time, I felt like I was chasing his attention. That thought surprised me.

I’d had a long day — one of those where everything feels just a little too loud, too crowded, too… much. So I went up to the Astronomy Tower with Mira after dinner, both of us wrapped in our house cloaks, quietly watching the stars blink into being.

The view up there was breathtaking — vast sky, clear air, the lake below dark and still. We didn’t talk much. We never needed to.

After a while, Mira stretched and stood. “You staying?” she asked, pulling her sleeves down.

I nodded, not looking away from the sky. “Just a little longer.”

She left with a soft goodnight, and the silence settled back in — comforting, familiar. I lost track of time, tracing constellations with my eyes, letting my thoughts stretch with the stars.

Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes passed. Then I heard footsteps behind me.

Not rushed. Not sneaky. Just… casual.

“Thought I might find you here,” came his voice — George’s, light as ever, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

I didn’t turn right away. “You stalking me now?”

He chuckled and stepped beside me, hands in his pockets, looking up. “You’re hard to lose, you know. Bit of a trail.”

I glanced sideways at him. “You and that map again?”

He only smiled, which I guess was answer enough.

We stood like that for a moment, side by side, looking out over the lake. Something moved in the water — just under the surface, a ripple and then a flash of something dark and massive. He leaned forward slightly to follow its path.

Then I noticed his eyes on me again. Or not on me — on my hand.

He didn’t ask right away. Just looked. Then: “That thing on your wrist… does it still hurt?”

I flexed my fingers, the scar catching the faint moonlight. “Sometimes,” I said. “But not really.”

“Is there… anything you can do for it?” He sounded genuinely curious. Not worried. Just interested.

I shrugged. “I’m working on a few things. Potions, mostly. Some of them a bit… experimental.”

That got a look out of him. “Experimental?”

I smirked. “Trying to come up with something no one’s thought of yet.”

He whistled under his breath, impressed. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“There was this plant,” I said, quietly. “Rare. I thought I could take a small piece. But it didn’t agree.”

His brows rose. “It fought back?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I lost.”

And for some reason, that made him grin. “Still sounds worth it.”

I didn’t say anything back. Just let the silence settle again — the good kind.

He didn’t say anything for a while after that.

Then I felt it — not a sudden movement, not some dramatic lean-in. Just… a shift. A pause. He turned slightly toward me. I could feel his eyes on mine.

When I finally looked, he was already close. His gaze flicked — lips, then eyes again — and I knew what he was about to do before he moved.

But I turned my head. Just slightly. Looked past him, toward the lake again, like I’d seen something move. Maybe I had.

He stopped.

Didn’t step back right away — just let out a small breath, not quite a sigh. And then he smiled, soft and understanding.

“Right,” he murmured. “Bad timing. Story of my life.”

I didn’t answer. Just let the quiet stretch.

Next day — Herbology class had ended early. The greenhouse buzz died down, and the castle grounds felt open, warm, and unusually free.

“Hey,” he said after class, catching up with me as I wiped soil off my sleeves. “We’ve got the afternoon off. Want to walk?”

I blinked at him. “A walk?”

“Don’t make it weird,” he grinned. “Just a walk. Maybe by the edge of the Forest. No man-eating plants. Promise.”

I hesitated — for no real reason — then nodded. “Alright.”

The path was quiet. Golden leaves stirred beneath our feet, and the sunlight came through in dappled patches. It was the kind of day that almost didn’t feel real.

He waited until we were out of sight from the castle to speak again.

“I made you something,” he said, suddenly a little awkward.

I frowned. “You made something?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he muttered, pulling a small bundle from his pocket. “Not every Weasley invention explodes.”

I laughed, and he handed it over — a small, simple charm on a worn bit of cord. A smooth stone center, etched with tiny, almost invisible runes.

“It’s not fancy,” he said. “But it’s charmed. Subtle warding. Nothing dramatic. Just enough so the… less friendly plants keep their distance,” he said with a crooked smile. “Figured it might help. You know. After that thing that tried to eat your hand.”

I turned it in my fingers, something soft pulling in my chest.

“For me?”

He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his ears had gone a little pink. “You said you were working on dangerous plants. I figured you could use a little backup.”

I looked up at him — and he was already watching me. Not intense. Just steady.

“Thanks,” I said. “Really.”

“Try not to cut your hand off again,” he said, his voice light — but softer than usual. “I’m kind of really fond of that one.”

His fingers wrapped gently around mine — not playfully, not like a joke. Just… steady. Warm.

He traced the edge of the scar with his thumb, eyes never leaving mine.

Like it mattered. Like I mattered.

I didn’t pull away. Maybe I should’ve — maybe I would’ve, any other day — but instead, I leaned in, just slightly. Just enough that the space between us shrank, just enough to let it be clear.

And then—

“Oi! There you are!”

Fred’s voice cracked through the stillness, far too loud, far too Fred. He clapped George on the back hard enough to jostle both of us. George’s hand slipped from mine.

Fred laughed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We’ve got that thing, remember?”

Only then did he glance at me, as if realizing I was even there.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh. Hey.”

I gave him a nod — neutral, cool. My chest felt suddenly, stupidly cold.

George cleared his throat. “I’ll catch up. Just give me a sec.”

Fred gave a dramatic sigh, but wandered off, whistling something off-key.

George turned back to me, a faint apology in his expression. “Sorry about that. My brother…”

I waved it off. “It’s fine. He’s… very Fred.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah.”

He hesitated like he didn’t want to leave, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay to go. I saved him the decision.

“You know where to find me,” I said, the old line slipping out before I could stop it.

He nodded, took a step back — but I caught his sleeve.

He looked at me again — curious, surprised.

And then I said it. Just like that.

“Maybe… maybe next time you don’t use the map.” I cleared my throat. “Maybe just… meet me. On purpose. Like a real person.”

He blinked — once, then again. And then, slowly, that not-quite-smile curved again. But this time, it was a little closer to the real thing.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Just tell me where.”

I didn’t know then how much that answer would change everything.

This story is just getting started — part two is already in the works.

[vivianette]

Sex Ban ft. Gryffindor boys + Draco

Fake Texts

🍓Characters: Weasley twins, Ron, Harry, Draco.

🍓Genre: crack/suggestive

[jupitereleven]

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

[toorumlk]

the kiddos!

[mssorceressupreme]

Wanna Be Yours | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: helping a younger student resulted in you and the first-year walking into a prank not meant for you, and as you do so, you catch Fred's attention. the next day he tries to apologise with another prank and it backfires, but this only resulted in him falling even harder for you, he just knew wanted to be yours.

Warnings/tags: hufflepuff!reader (well it suits anyone really :D), love at first sight, he fell first and HARD, fred needs you so bad, pranks gone wrong, teasing, fluffy and cute, fred's a simp a/n: inspired by "Wanna be Yours by Arctic Monkeys"

———

The courtyard was alive with the soft hum of spring—branches swaying in the breeze, birds chirping from the castle walls, and a few students milling about on the cobblestones. Fred crouched behind a large stone pillar, his mischievous grin matching the one plastered across his twin’s face.

Huddled in a corner, the four of them—Fred, George, Lee and Oliver, were planning a revenge prank on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy for their obnoxious antics during the Quidditch match earlier.

“Are you sure about this?” Oliver Wood asked, trying to sound stern but failing as he bit back a chuckle.

Malfoy had spent most of the game taunting Harry, and Flint’s borderline dirty play had cost Gryffindor two near-goals. That didn’t sit well with Fred and George, so what better way to get back at them than with a prank.

“Hundred percent.” Fred said, smirking as he held up a pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. “Alright, we rig this near the tree. As soon as they walk by, poof! Total chaos. Then, George, you release the Dungbombs—”

“Already got ‘em primed,” George said, patting his pocket with a devilish grin.

“Don't forget the slime and feathers!” Lee added, holding up a jar of fluorescent green goop in one hand, and a bag of feathers in the other.

Oliver, who had reluctantly joined but couldn’t resist some payback, frowned. “Let’s make sure they’re the only ones who get caught in this mess though, yeah?”

“Relax Wood,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a foolproof plan. Nothing can go wrong.”

“Trust us,” George said, “We’ve calculated everything.”

“Right,” Lee affirmed, “It's simple charm, a bit of instant darkness powder, and—bam! Feathers, slime, and a nice little puff of stink powder for good measure.”

George cackled, clapping his twin on the back. “Beautiful. They’ll be too busy cleaning slime and plucking feathers off their robes to bother us for weeks.”

“That's what they deserve for acting like twits during the match.” Lee chimed in. "S'pose they do deserve it." Oliver chuckled, his reluctance turning into enthusiasm.

The trap was simple but effective: a hidden tripwire enchanted to release darkness powder, then a rain of slime and feathers from above, followed by the dungbombs. All they had to do now was wait for their targets. "Now, they're supposed to walk pass here any moment..." Fred told the others, as the four of them watched eagerly.

Fred’s eyes glinted as he nodded toward the enchanted tripwire stretched across the cobblestones, ready to unleash chaos on Flint and Malfoy the moment they stepped on it.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't.

From behind a stone archway, you appeared with a small Ravenclaw first-year in tow.

It wasn’t Malfoy or Flint who walked into the courtyard first.

It was you.

You were laughing softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you guided a nervous-looking first-year Ravenclaw girl who clutched her books tightly to their chest. The poor kid had taken a wrong turn, and you volunteered to show her the way to the library.

In your arms, you helped carry some of her load, making it easier for the first-year.

“Don’t worry,” you were saying, your voice kind and steady. “The library isn’t far. Just through the next hall and up the staircase."

Fred’s eyes locked onto you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. He didn’t hear anything else. It was like the world had narrowed to just you—the way your hair caught the sunlight, the easy grace in your step, and the way your smile seemed to light up the entire courtyard.

How had he not noticed you before?

“Is Fred broken?” George whispered to Lee.

“Looks like it. Never seen him go this quiet before,” Lee replied, smirking.

Oliver elbowed Fred, snapping him out of his trance. “Mate, you’re staring.”

“Shut up,” Fred muttered, his eyes never leaving you.

"Who is she?..." He continued, holding true to Oliver's statement.

“Who?” Lee asked, following his gaze. He snorted when he saw you. “Her? Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Fred.”

Fred didn’t respond. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you but he was quickly snapped out of his trance as you approached the tree.

Oh shit. "Not the tree, don't walk past the tree..." He muttered to himself, hoping you would somehow magically hear him.

It was no use. Disaster struck.

You were met with instant darkness, coughing slightly as the powder released a thick fog around you and the first year.

Before you could grasp the full situation, a torrent of green slime and feathers rained down from above, coating you and the first-year from head to toe. The Dungbombs exploded seconds later, filling the courtyard with an awful stench.

The first-year yelped, clutching her books as the slime dripped down her robes. You froze for a moment, stunned, before shaking your head with a soft laugh.

Fred winced, guilt twisting in his chest.

“Oops,” George muttered, though he didn’t sound all that sorry.

Lee burst out laughing, "Merlin, did we just traumatise a first year?!"

“Poor kid,” Oliver said, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter.

Fred, however, barely heard them. He was too busy watching you. Instead of panicking or getting angry, you crouched down immediately, brushing feathers off the first-year’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said gently, your voice soothing. “It’s just a bit of slime and feathers. Another tip, beware of silly pranks, it's all part and parcel of the Hogwarts culture." You comfort the kid, trying to lighten the situation by laughing softly, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

The first-year nodded, her lower lip trembling, and you smiled, guiding her toward a nearby fountain.

Fred couldn’t stop staring. He didn't know who you were, but he did know this, he wanted to be yours.

You were covered in slime and feathers, an absolute mess, yet you still looked radiant.

There was something about the way you put the first-year first, your patience and kindness shining through, that made his heart thud in the best way.

You helped her cleaned as much as you could off her robes, murmuring reassurances the entire time before chanting, "Scourgify!", instantly her robes were as good as new.

Only after she was cleaned up did you finally turn your attention to yourself. With the help of the cleaning spell, the feathers were out of your hair and the slime off your sleeves in no time.

“Merlin! Fred, you’ve got it bad,” Lee said, smirking.

“Oh, leave him,” George teased. “He’s clearly in love.” Fred’s ears turned pink, but he didn’t care. For once, he was speechless.

“How come I’ve never noticed her before?” The red head murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He was certain he would’ve remembered someone like you. “Maybe because you’re too busy pranking people,” Oliver said dryly. "Who is she?" Fred asked, ignoring Oliver's remark. "Seen her around a couple of times, especially in the library, she's in Ron's year." Oliver hummed, watching as you conversed with the first-year.

“That explains it,” George quipped. “She’s too smart to bother with Fred’s idiocy.”

Fred scowled, but his gaze remained fixed on you. There was something magnetic about the way you carried yourself, and he felt like everyone had disappeared, you were the only one in sight, to him.

He knew he had to make this right. He needed an excuse to approach you. Right! An apology. And of course, he had to impress you.

The Ravenclaw girl finally gave a small laugh as you finished off explaining the pranking culture at Hogwarts. “Thank you, I-..I think I know my way to the library from here now.” she said softly before hurrying off. ___

The next day, Fred had a plan. A proper one.

Breakfast in the Great Hall hummed with the usual morning chaos: the clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional bursts of laughter from each houses' table.

Fred stood at the entrance, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of enchanted flowers—slime-free this time—that were charmed to sing a cheerful apology tune when presented.

He wiped his palm against his robes for what felt like the hundredth time. “This is foolproof,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“You say that every time,” George pointed out, his tone dripping with amusement. He nudged Lee, who was barely containing his laughter. “What do you reckon? Will he get through two words before tripping over himself?”

“Five Galleons says he’ll combust,” Lee said, grinning.

“Will you two shut it?” Fred snapped, though the tips of his ears turned red. “This is serious.”

“Serious,” George repeated, mocking Fred’s tone. “You’re holding a singing bouquet, mate. Nothing about this screams ‘serious.’”

“Just watch,” Fred said, his voice low but determined.

That’s when you walked in, and Fred’s stomach flipped.

You were laughing as you entered, your head tilted toward one of your friends. That laugh—light, carefree, and far too distracting—was etched into Fred’s memory, playing on a loop since the previous day.

The sunlight streaming through the tall windows hit you at just the right angle, illuminating your smile. You were radiant.

Fred’s heart thumped in his chest as he stepped forward, the bouquet held out like a peace offering. “Hey!” he called, catching your attention.

You turned to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Yes?” you said, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a curious smile. What did he want from you?

Fred grinned, his confidence teetering on the edge of unraveling. “Listen, about yesterday—”

But before he could finish, the bouquet let out a sudden pop. A puff of pink smoke erupted, followed by an earsplittingly off-key version of “I’m Sorry About The Slime” that echoed through the Great Hall.

Fred barely had time to react before the bouquet detonated in a second burst, showering him in glitter and knocking him flat on his back.

The Hall erupted into laughter.

Fred groaned, staring at the enchanted ceiling, which now looked even farther away than usual. He could hear George’s loud, obnoxious cackling somewhere to his left.

“Five Galleons,” Lee said smugly.

Fred grimaced, but before he could even begin to think about recovering, a familiar voice broke through the laughter.

“Guess I’m not the only casualty this time.”

Fred turned his head, blinking in disbelief. You had flopped down beside him, lying flat on your back on the floor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Glitter sparkled in your hair, and your grin was wide and unapologetic.

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, his voice caught somewhere between bewilderment and awe.

“Making sure you’re not the only one who looks ridiculous,” you replied, shrugging as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s only fair.”

Fred let out a breathless laugh, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. “You’re mental.” But he loved it.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

From across the Hall, George shouted, “Right on, Romeooo!!” His voice was exaggerated and dramatic, and Fred could practically feel the heat rising in his face.

“Oi shut it, George!” Fred yelled, though his tone lacked bite.

You laughed again, and Fred swore his heart might actually burst. “You’ve got quite the fan club,” you said, gesturing toward the group of students, particularly, Fred's 'boys', who were now openly watching the scene unfold and chortling.

“They’re a bunch of idiots,” Fred muttered, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “You know,” you said thoughtfully, “for someone who’s usually so good at pranks, this was a spectacular disaster.”

Fred groaned, running a hand through his now glitter-covered hair. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” you added, your voice softening, “I appreciate the effort and the apology.”

Fred looked at you, his heart stuttering. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “And between you and me, I think you pull off the glitter look better than anyone else here.”

Fred laughed, the sound loud and genuine, and for a moment, the rest of the hall faded away. “I reckon you pull it off better than I do.”

“Why thank you, it's actually my dream to be covered in glitter. Shining as bright as a quidditch trophy is the goal." You joked, but Fred smiled warmly.

You do shine bright, he thought.

As you stood up, you reached out a hand to help him up. Fred took it without hesitation, warmth spreading through him at the simple gesture.

“Come on, glitter boy,” you said, your tone teasing but fond. “Let’s get you sitting somewhere before you injure yourself again.”

Fred let you lead him to a bench at the side of the hall, his hand still tingling from where yours had been.

As you both sat down, he turned to face you, his usual confidence returning in a slow, steady wave, “I’m Fred, by the way."

You laughed, tucking a strand of glitter-dusted hair behind your ear. “I know. You and George are kind of hard to miss.”

Fred’s grin widened, his chest fluttering at the sound of your laugh. “Yeah? Well, you’re kind of hard to forget...uh?" As if on cue, you told him your name. "Y/N." You smiled. "Y/N..." He repeated back, how fitting, a pretty name for a pretty girl.

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, you studied Fred's features. He did the same, glancing at your lips occasionally.

You'd always seen him from afar, to you he was just a prankster, a jokester, busy with his schemes, you'd never thought you'd actually come face to face with him.

But now that you did, you saw him in a different light, almost.

“If this is how you usually apologise,” you said, your voice light again, “I’m scared to see what happens when you’re not sorry.”

Fred chuckled, shaking his head. “Stick around, and I’ll show you.”

You leaned back slightly, your smile lingering. “I just might.”

And in that moment, Fred knew—he didn’t just want to impress you. He wanted you, all of you, your wit, your laughter, your sparkling eyes.

He just wanted to be yours.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Truth, Dare, or Punishment ~ Fred Weasley

summary: you bitches asked for dom!Fred and you shall receive. a game of truth or dare in the common room goes south when Mclaggen dares you to kiss him

warnings: possessive dom!Fred, smut, cursing

---------------------------------------------------------

The night had been going splendid so far. Everyone was way too excited after the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrong to go to sleep, and the older Gryffindors decided to get shitfaced as the perfect solution to their restlessness. After all, there was no quidditch this year to justify throwing common room parties, so you guys had to get creative. The new year brought new witches and wizards to corrupt, and so the twins finally let their baby brother Ron and his year join the fun. It been going well, granted Hermione was drunk off her ass, but Harry had been watching over her well enough. You were also past the point of drunk, and you assumed by their faces that the rest of the group were on their way there. At this point in the night, those who were still awake were circled up playing a filthy game of truth or dare. Angelina had gone to do seven minutes in heaven with George, Neville had eaten a puking pastille, and Ron had madeout with Lavender Brown in a disturbing manner. It was time to spin the bottle again to see who would ask the next question. Hermione giggle and leaned into the circle to spin the bottle. Everyone look around with nervous smiles as it spun around and around, before landing on Cormac McLaggen. You cringed. This was possibly the worst person it could've stopped on. Your body had a visceral reaction when your name left his lips.

"Y/N," he smiled drukenly, "Truth or dare?" You rolled your eyes. Oh, great.

"Truth," you said, grabbing your drink and taking a swig. You were going to need it.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?"

You choked on your drink as the rest of the group murmured at the question, Hermione's jaw dropping before a stream of shocked laughs escaped her. You felt Fred tense up beside you. Your mind raced with the memories of this summer at the Burrow.

"Just like that, Y/N. You're doing so good," Fred praised as he thrusted into you, kissing the crook of your neck while he fucked you. He'd been teaching you how kiss, as a friend of course. He had to help out his dear friend Y/N when she confessed how embarrassed she was that she had never kissed anyone. Never done anything with anyone. From there it had escalated. First, you wanted to know learn to give a blowjob, but soon enough Fred thought it'd be best if you knew what these things felt like too. After a while, you both realized you were terribly obsessed with each other, and one night you decided to let him be the one to take your virginity. He was big, and you were nervous, but he was so sweet about it. Even at the beginning when you thought it wouldn't be able to fit, he was reassuring and gentle with you. But that was at the start, and by now he was fully fucking you on your back, your pussy starting the soften around his cock as pleasure began to ripple through your body. You both came together in a heap of sweat and kisses.

"Y/N," McLaggen sung, waiting for your response.

"I'm not answering that," you coughed, still choking on your drink. The group has set up measure to tell if someone was lying, so you couldn't fake still being a virgin. You supposed the question wasn't that out of pocket, but you couldn't answer it. Nobody knew about you and Fred besides George, and you both wanted to keep it that way. Especially from your families.

"Well then, you know the rules," McLaggen tsked teasingly, "you forfeit to dare."

"What? No, I-"

"Those are the rules Y/N," Hermione cringed, unable to stop herself. McLaggen smirked.

"I dare you to kiss me."

You felt nauseous. McLaggen was disgusting, and the last person you'd ever want to kiss. Unfortunately, you'd brought this onto yourself. You should've known he would dare someone to kiss himself. What a weirdo. The circle groaned and laughed in disgust as McLaggen puckered his lips. You cringed and shifted your weight to lean across the circle. Just as you were about to shuffle over to him, Fred grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You looked back at him and saw anything but a smile on his usually cheerful face. He spun the bottle and landed it on himself in a hasty motion, still holding onto your wrist tightly.

"McLaggen, I dare you to stop wearing your fucking Ballycastle Bats tighty whities to every single quidditch practice," Fred sneered before yanking you up with him and pulling you towards his dorm. You heard the group go crazy with laughter behind you and hoped it would cover for the fact that Fred just pulled you away from the party. Hopefully George could cover for you two, he should be done with seven minutes by now. Fred dragged you up the stairs without so much as a look in your direction. Once you reach his dorm, he threw open the door. What was happening?

"Fred-" he smashed his lips into yours and shut the door with your body. You gasped as your back hit to wooden surface, Fred pulling your skirt up while his hand gripped your thigh. He used your lifted leg as leverage to grind down into your hips as he pressed you against the door. Your pussy pulsed when you felt him against you, his hands gripping in all the right places. Wait a minute. When did he start kissing you again?

"Fred," you said quickly, pulling away from his mouth. He tried to kiss you again. "Fred, we just left the party. You just dragged me up here when I was supposed to kiss-"

"Don't even say his name," Fred growled, his breathing heavy and hot as he kept his face inches from yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered out, unable to speak properly. You'd never seen Fred mad before.

"I'm sorry I dragged you," he softened, ducking his head down to kiss your neck, "but I wasn't going to let somebody else kiss you." With that, he began to attack your neck. His left hand came up to grip the back of your head as his tongue and teeth lapped at your sweet spot. You let out whimpered moans as he worked, his fingers gripping you just right. Rougher than usual.

"Freddie," you moaned, grinding yourself onto his leg. You needed more. This man had hooked, and you'd never been so addicted in your life. He picked you up under your legs and carried you to the bed before placing you down on your back. He stood over you, leaving you panting on the bed as he took off his shirt and undid his belt. His eyes were locked on yours. You wanted to look away but you couldn't, his gaze wouldn't let you. When he finished, he rushed towards you again, kissing you deeply as his hand flipped your skirt up. His tongued rammed itself into your mouth, stifling your moans when his fingers grazed over your clit. You blushed as his fingers masterfully moved your panties aside and dipped into your core. Fred laughed into the kiss as he felt you.

"Already so wet for me," he breathed huskily, "are you ready to take me?" His words had you aching. You nodded up at him bashfully. You wanted him so badly. You had turned into such a slut for his cock. "Good girl." He sat up and flipped you over, pulling your panties down as he took off his own pants. He didn't bother to take off your skirt as he pulled you back onto him. You let out a guttural moan as you felt his length stretching you out.

"Fuck, Freddie," you whined as he gripped your hips and began to thrust into you. He was going to leave bruises for tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"You're taking it so good, Y/N" Fred groaned, smacking your ass, "you like getting fucked by me? Huh?" He picked up his pace, pounding into you hard. Your moans were bouncing with the rhythm of his thrusts as he waited for your reply.

"Y-yes, Freddie. I love when you fuck me," you whined, feeling you pussy begin to clench around him. His dick twitched at the feeling and groaned. In one motion, he pulled out and spun you onto your back, pulling your shirt up over your tits and pinning your wrists above your head.

"God, you look so fucking pretty. Can't see your beautiful face while I'm behind you," Fred grunted as he thrust back into you. You moaned and threw you head back. You writhed underneath Fred, his hand constraining your wrists. You desperately needed to grasps something. You were reaching the edge.

"Freddie," you cried, unable to say anything except his name. Your eyes clenched shut as you felt your stomach knot up one final time.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." You could feel his eyes on you as you released yourself around his throbbing cock. As the waves of pleasure began to slow, Fred grunted and became sloppy. He released your hands and buried his face into your neck as he came, pushing himself as deep as he could inside of you. He laid there for a moment before pushing himself off you and pulling you onto his chest. You couldn't help but giggle a little as he kissed your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"You are so jealous," you teased, looking up to see Fred. He laughed with a sleepy half smiled.

"I'm not jealous," he retorted, pinching your cheek. "I'm just protecting whats mine."

[lumosflairr]

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

masterlist

summary: In the quiet aftermath of the war, Fred Weasley realizes how close he came to not only losing his own life, but losing the love of his life—and that he never wants to feel that fear again. As the two of you rebuild the joke shop together, Fred begins to imagine a future full of laughter, chaos, and children that look just like her. With George’s help and a trembling heart, Fred plans the perfect proposal, ready to give everything he has to the person he never wants to live without.

warnings: angsty but happy ending i promise. mentions of blood, death etc. Tonks, Lupin, and Colin’s death mentioned [sorry] Fred is alive, obviously. cussing.

word count: 7.4k

taglist: @aouoo @plumbum4 @D3ad-Daisyz @moramaybe @iluvhrj @losers-want-to-win @billieeilishkisser @divineani @lilians17

Fred Weasley had never been good at silence.

He didn’t trust it.

It reminded him too much of the moments after explosions—the unnatural stillness before someone screamed. The breathless pause before someone didn’t get back up. Silence, these days, felt like the most dangerous sound in the world.

And now, it was everywhere.

The war was over. Voldemort was dead. The castle still stood, though just barely, its once-proud towers now shadowed with ash and grief. There were no more battles to fight, no missions to plan, no Death Eaters to chase down in the night. People were celebrating. Rebuilding. Laughing again.

But Fred Weasley couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still falling. That something had slipped loose in him and hadn’t quite come back into place.

He wasn’t supposed to be alive.

He knew that.

There were moments—whole seconds in that final battle—he still didn’t remember. Only flashes. Screams. The way the ground cracked under the force of a spell. The red-hot pain in his side. And then… nothing. Blackness. Cold. A weightless, terrible silence.

Then he’d woken up. In the rubble. On a stretcher. George hovering above him with a face pale as death. And behind him, you—your eyes red, cheeks streaked with ash and tears, your hands clenched so tightly in his that your knuckles were white.

You were the first thing he saw.

And that was when it hit him.

It wasn’t the curse that scared him. Not the blast, or the blood, or the darkness.

It was you—the thought of not seeing you again. Not kissing you one more time. Not pulling you into one last stupid prank. Not telling you that loving you had been the best bloody thing he’d ever done one last time.

He’d nearly lost that chance.

You’d been dating for over a year before the war officially reached Hogwarts’ doorstep. Everyone knew, of course. You and Fred were inseparable: fire meeting fire, laughter meeting warmth. There were rumors that you two had snogged in every secret hallway from Gryffindor Tower to the kitchens. And they weren’t wrong. But it was more than that. It was more than the jokes, the shoulder bumps, the slow kisses during late-night missions for the Order.

It was real. Real enough that it hurt.

You’d nearly lost him, and he’d almost left you behind without saying what he should have said a thousand times before.

That he loved you.

That he wanted everything with you. Every damn day. The easy ones, the hard ones, the quiet mornings and the loud nights. The dumb arguments over socks on the floor and the sweet reconciliations in the dark. He wanted all of it.

And he didn’t want to waste a second more pretending he could be casual about it.

It was two weeks after the battle when Fred finally stood in what remained of his childhood bedroom at the Burrow and let the weight settle over him.

George had gone downstairs. Molly and Arthur were in the garden. You were off with Hermione, helping sort through recovery efforts at the Ministry. And Fred stood there alone, fingers tracing the faint scar at his temple, breathing like the air was too heavy to hold.

He hadn’t cried during the funerals. Not for Tonks. Not for Lupin. Not even for Colin, who used to sneak into the shop and ask Fred and George if he could buy extra Firewhiz Bangs for his “photography experiments.”

But he cried now. Alone. Quietly.

Because even though he lived—he lived, Merlin, he lived—something inside him had changed. The war hadn’t taken him, but it had taken the illusion that he had all the time in the world.

Time was a lie.

And if he wanted a life with you, he wasn’t waiting anymore.

The first time Fred stepped back into Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes after the war, he almost couldn’t breathe.

It was dust-choked and dark, the front window cracked straight through the middle like a lightning bolt. Someone had looted half the shelves. A Fanged Flyer display dangled half-charred from the ceiling, slowly spinning like a noose.

George stood beside him, silent for once. His hand rested on the doorframe, fingers curling around it like if he let go, the whole place might collapse.

Fred took a deep breath and stepped inside. And the second his foot touched the floor—creak, groan, soft puff of ash—it was like something unlocked in his chest.

“This is it,” he whispered.

George glanced over. “Still ours?”

Fred nodded once. “Always.”

And then the work began.

You showed up two days later, wearing an oversized jumper with the sleeves rolled to your elbows and a wand tucked behind your ear like a quill. You’d kissed him softly, silently, and handed him a coffee with a sleepy smile before saying, “Alright, Weasley. Where do you want me?”

Fred had stared at you for a full ten seconds before he said, “Everywhere.”

You laughed, blushed, hit him with a rolled-up newspaper charm.

But then you went to work.

You and Fred cleared rubble with side-by-side incantations, rebuilt shattered display shelves with practiced teamwork, and argued—lightly, always fondly—over color palettes and product placements.

Fred wanted explosive orange walls again. You wanted them a bit softer. You compromised by charming the paint to shimmer depending on the time of day: morning sun yellow by day, warm red-orange by dusk.

He made jokes while you restocked shelves, standing behind you and whispering sweet nothings like, “Merlin, you in those work robes is my Roman Empire,” which earned him a jab of your wand in his ribs (and a very not-subtle smirk).

He caught himself watching you constantly—especially when you thought no one was looking. When you were humming to yourself while labeling new prank potions. When your nose scrunched as you sorted Fizzing Fairy Dust jars. When you bent over to charm the floorboards to stop creaking and he had to physically look away or risk forgetting how to speak.

But it wasn’t just that he was in love with you.

It was that you made something ugly feel sacred again.

Fred had built this shop out of ambition. You were helping him rebuild it out of love.

One night, the two of you stayed late—past dinner, past moonrise. The shelves were mostly full, the lights newly enchanted, the register ticking happily with each completed test run.

You were sitting on the floor cross-legged, sorting joke sweets into new display bins. Fred dropped beside you with a dramatic groan.

“My back is broken. I am 20 going on 87.”

You smirked. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to carry six crates of Sneezing Sparkle Puffs at once.”

“I had something to prove.”

“To who?”

“To… the ghost of Zonko.”

You laughed, head falling against his shoulder.

Fred looked down at you then, the warm glow of the enchanted lanterns catching in your eyes, and something inside him ached.

Not with pain.

With certainty.

He wanted to do this every day. Come home smelling like fireworks and sugar. Fall asleep beside you with glitter in his hair. Build something that wasn’t just magic and profit—but family, too.

“Y’know,” he said slowly, fingers brushing against your knee, “if this is what real life is… I think I’m all in.”

You turned your head and looked at him. “Yeah?”

Fred nodded. “I want this. With you. All of it.”

You leaned in and kissed him—soft, sweet, lasting. You didn’t need to say anything.

Because he knew you wanted it too.

And before he knew it, business started picking up quicker than anyone expected.

Word spread fast that the twins were back. Hogwarts students trickled in first, followed by younger kids tugging their parents through the front door, wide-eyed at the revamped shelves and sparkling floating displays. Laughter started to replace the silence that had once haunted the shop’s corners.

And Fred noticed something new.

It was you.

He’d always loved watching you. Since Hogwarts, really. You had this kind of magic in you that had nothing to do with wands. It was in the way you smiled, the way you lit up a room just by existing in it. But lately, there was a softness to you that twisted something deep inside his chest.

You were adorable with children.

He wasn’t just saying that as your completely lovesick boyfriend, either (although, yes, he was absolutely that). It was just… true.

You’d kneel beside the younger ones, crouched low in your jumper and charmed boots, explaining how to safely unwrap a Puking Pastille or how many Nosebleed Nougats you were technically allowed to bring to school before a professor confiscated them. You laughed with them. You held their hands. You fixed a little boy’s glasses when he broke them while trying to catch a flying firecracker.

One afternoon, Fred caught you sitting cross-legged behind the counter with a tiny girl no older than five. She was clutching a color-changing pygmy puff and telling you, in painstaking detail, how she planned to name it “Princess Puff-and-Stuff” and bring it to every family dinner from now until forever.

You didn’t rush her. You listened to every single word, nodding solemnly and offering her a glitter-stamped adoption certificate for the puff that you “just happened to have” behind the register.

Fred stood a few feet back, watching, unmoving. Something swelled in his chest—warm and fierce and terrifyingly clear.

He wanted that. With you. Not someday. Now.

He could see it.

He could see you with a baby in your arms—maybe wrapped in a ridiculous dragon-patterned blanket from Charlie or covered in George’s failed embroidery attempts. A toddler with Weasley curls tugging at your pant leg, babbling about wanting to test Skiving Snackboxes. A daughter with your eyes and your stubborn streak, trying to prank her uncle Percy and totally getting away with it.

Fred wanted kids. He really wanted kids.

Three or four, he figured. Enough to fill a room with laughter and chaos and love. Enough to make the silence stay gone forever.

And more than anything, he wanted to raise them with you.

The kind of home he dreamed of didn’t have golden chandeliers or fine linens. It had messy kitchens and breakfast in bed on birthdays. It had you humming as you read bedtime stories. Him teaching your kids how to charm fake spiders into dancing across the ceiling. It had holidays at the Burrow, matching jumpers from Molly, and big family dinners with noise and warmth and burnt stuffing because he got distracted trying to kiss you.

He wanted it all.

Later that night, as he lay in bed beside you—your body tucked against his, your breathing soft and even—he whispered into the dark:

“I want a family with you, love.”

You didn’t stir. You were already fast asleep.

But Fred smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. He didn’t need to rush. He’d ask the right way. He’d do it properly.

And until then, he’d hold onto this moment and every one after it.

Fred wasn’t subtle. Not even a little.

He tried to be, of course. He told himself to wait, to think, to plan, but the minute the idea of marrying you planted itself in his brain, it rooted fast and hard. And by the third day of watching you calmly talk a ten-year-old out of sticking a Tongue-Ton Toffee in his ear, he was seconds away from proposing with a candy ring.

Which is when George cornered him in the backroom, arms crossed, one brow raised.

“You’ve been staring at her like she hung the moon, mate. You gonna tell me what’s going on or should I just start guessing?”

Fred blinked. “I—wasn’t staring.”

“You were,” George said, smirking. “With the kind of eyes people write poetry about. Very tragic. Very soppy. Bit nauseating, to be honest.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “I’m in love with her.”

George scoffed. “Well, yeah, obviously. Everyone knows that. You basically announce it every time she walks in the room.”

Fred’s grin faded slightly. “No, George. I mean… I’m really in love with her. I want to marry her.”

There was a beat of silence.

George’s expression shifted—softened. His arms uncrossed, and he leaned back against the wall.

“Oh,” he said, more gently now. “You serious?”

Fred nodded, slower this time. “I’ve been thinking about it every day since the war ended. And I—I just keep thinking about how I could’ve lost her. How close it came. And how if I hadn’t made it out—Merlin, Georgie, if I hadn’t made it, I never would’ve gotten to marry her. Or have kids. Or wake up next to her every morning. And I know we’re young and completely mental, but I’m not too young to know I love her.”

George said nothing for a long moment.

Then, quietly, “You know she loves you back just as much, right?”

Fred swallowed. “Yeah. I do.”

George clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then you bloody well marry her.”

Fred laughed, voice catching in his throat. “You sure you’re alright with it? We’re just barely getting the shop back up—”

“Mate,” George interrupted, “we built this place so we could live the life we wanted. And you’ve known what you wanted since fifth year. I’ll be fine.”

Fred let out a breath. “Thanks.”

George gave a lopsided smile. “So… do I get to come with you to pick out the ring? Or is this one of those sappy solo missions?”

Fred grinned. “You’re coming. Obviously. Who else is gonna stop me from buying a ring shaped like a rubber duck?”

George snorted. “You would, too.”

They went the next weekend.

It was cold—December winds slipping through their jackets, cheeks pink and fingers numbing. Diagon Alley was festive and bustling, wreaths hung from every shop door and enchanted snowflakes floating down lazily through the sky.

Fred and George ducked into the quiet warmth of a tiny wizarding jeweler’s tucked between Flourish and Blotts and a cauldron repair shop. It smelled like cedarwood and magic. Velvet-lined cases glowed under soft light, and the jeweler—a tall man with silver-streaked hair—nodded at them with knowing eyes.

“You’ve got a look,” he said to Fred. “One I’ve seen before.”

Fred tilted his head. “Do I?”

“Yep.” The man tapped his own chest. “Right here. That’s where it lives, you know. The moment you know she’s the one.”

Fred smiled. “Guess it does.”

He picked a ring after nearly an hour—a delicate band of gold, warm and timeless, with a subtle vine design curled around the edges. In the center sat a softly glowing moonstone, enchanted to shimmer faintly whenever you smiled.

George approved with a single firm nod. “She’s gonna lose her mind.”

Fred turned the box over in his hand, heart full, eyes bright.

“Hope so.”

Fred didn’t sleep much the night after he bought the ring.

He lay awake staring at the ceiling of his flat above the shop, the little velvet box tucked safely in the drawer of his bedside table like it was made of glass. Every few hours he’d sit up, open the drawer, look at it again, then close it with trembling fingers and a breathless laugh.

Merlin, he was going to propose to you.

He, Fred Gideon Weasley, who once told you that commitment was scarier than a Hungarian Horntail and that he’d rather kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt than talk about feelings, was about to drop to one knee and ask you to spend forever with him.

And he couldn’t wait.

But he also wanted it to be perfect. You deserved perfect.

So Fred, with George’s help and Molly’s subtle poking into his business, began to plan.

He decided on Christmas. Not on Christmas day, but right before—when everyone was warm and together and the lights at the Burrow were glowing like something out of a fairy tale. You had already planned to visit your family just before the holidays and come back in time for the Weasley Christmas traditions, so Fred offered to come with you—“for moral support,” he joked, but truthfully, he just didn’t want to let you out of his sight.

What he didn’t tell you was that he had a plan. A quiet conversation he needed to have.

Your parents were thrilled to have you both. The house smelled like pine and cinnamon, and your mum insisted Fred eat three servings of everything on the table. He did so gladly, cracking jokes and making everyone laugh, his hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the table the entire time.

After dessert—spiced apple pie and pumpkin buttercream biscuits—your dad slipped outside to light the enchanted lanterns in the garden. Fred cleared his throat softly and excused himself.

You smiled at him, none the wiser.

He stepped outside and spotted your father bent over a shrub, wand raised as small golden orbs floated up into the trees. Fred took a slow breath and approached him.

“Mr. Y/L/N?”

Your dad straightened, brushing his hands off on his jumper. “Fred! Full yet?”

Fred gave a breathless laugh. “Stuffed, actually. Your wife’s a saint.”

“She is,” your father agreed. “Everything alright?”

Fred nodded, but there was a tremble in his hand as he reached into his coat pocket.

“I, uh—I wanted to ask you something. Privately.”

Your dad studied him with kind, knowing eyes, and gestured toward the garden bench near the tree line. Fred followed him over, nerves alive in his throat.

“I know we’re young,” he started, voice low and firm. “And I know things haven’t exactly been steady since the war. But I love your daughter. I’ve loved her since she laughed at one of my worst jokes in fifth year, and I’ve loved her through every single thing that’s happened since. And after everything we’ve been through—after how close I came to not making it—I realized something: I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to waste a single second of the life I get to live if I’m not spending it with her.”

He pulled out the velvet box and opened it, revealing the delicate gold ring with the softly glowing moonstone.

“I want to marry her. I want a life with her. A family. All of it. Three or four little Weasleys running around, chaos in the kitchen, loud birthdays, messy holidays at the Burrow. I want everything with her. And I’d like to ask for your blessing.”

Your father didn’t answer at first. The soft golden light from the lanterns flickered across his face, making the moment feel sacred—almost still.

Then he looked at Fred with a warmth that made Fred’s throat ache.

“Fred, if there’s anyone I’d trust with her heart, it’s you. I’ve seen the way you love her. The way you look at her like she’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. I’d be honored to call you my son-in-law.”

Fred blinked fast, his smile breaking through like sunlight. “Thank you, sir.”

Your father stood and pulled him into a hug, clapping a hand on his back. “Now go inside before she comes looking and figures you’re up to something.”

Fred laughed, heart pounding. “Yes, sir.”

The Burrow glowed with warmth and magic.

The snow outside glittered on the garden gnomes and chicken coop, and the whole house smelled like sugar, spice, and Molly’s famous roasted ham. Fairy lights floated lazily along the ceiling beams, wrapping the mismatched furniture in golden light.

You had returned from your family visit just that morning, greeted with flying hugs, Ginny’s shrieking delight, and Molly trying to fatten you up in under twenty minutes.

Fred had barely let you go since.

He kissed the top of your head every time he passed you. Touched your waist like he was grounding himself. Watched you with an awe-struck smile like you might disappear if he blinked.

You didn’t notice how his hands were shaking.

You didn’t notice how George kept nudging him and whispering, “You sure about this? Now? You’re gonna cry and make me look bad.”

You didn’t notice how Arthur had his camera already ready, standing in the corner near the fireplace with misty eyes like he knew what was about to happen.

But Fred noticed. Fred noticed everything.

Because this was the moment.

The one he’d been building toward since the second the world stopped falling apart. Since he survived. Since he looked around at what was left, and saw you—blood on your cheek, tears in your eyes—and realized that if he had lost you, nothing else would have mattered.

Dinner was over, the pudding plates pushed aside, laughter echoing through the crooked house. Someone put on Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas album, and the radio crooned softly under the glow of the tree.

Fred stood up. Tapped his spoon against his butterbeer glass. And the room fell silent.

“Er—sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “Don’t mean to interrupt the musical stylings of Celestina, but I… I’ve got something to say.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “Fred?”

He cleared his throat, eyes locked on you. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket.

And then he got down on one knee.

There was a sharp gasp—Ginny.

You froze.

“Y/N,” Fred started, voice low and trembling. “I don’t even know how to begin this, but I’m gonna try.”

You covered your mouth with your hands.

“I used to think we had all the time in the world,” he said, looking up at you like you were everything. “I used to joke about the future like it was just some vague idea we’d stumble into eventually. But then the war happened. And everything changed. And I realized that time isn’t promised. Nothing is.”

His voice broke for just a second. George looked away, jaw tight.

“That night at Hogwarts, I remember holding onto you like if I let go, the world would stop turning. And when it was over, when I looked around and saw the faces we didn’t get to keep… I knew. I knew I’d never take another day with you for granted again.”

You were crying now, tears streaming silently down your face.

Fred reached for your hand, thumb brushing across your knuckles.

“I know we’re only twenty. I know we’re still figuring things out. But loving you has been the one thing I’ve never had to figure out. It’s always just been there. Easy. Loud. Annoyingly all-consuming,” he added with a teary laugh, making everyone chuckle through the emotion.

You let out a shaky breath, smile wobbly.

“And I know I’m young and stupid and prone to setting off fireworks in the kitchen, but I’m not stupid enough to let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

He opened the ring box with a soft click. The gold band shimmered in the firelight, the pale moonstone glowing like something ethereal.

“I want forever with you,” he whispered. “I want a home and chaos and three—maybe four if we’re not careful—little Weasleys running wild. I want birthdays where you make fun of me for getting older and anniversaries where we forget the date but never forget how we feel. I want a thousand quiet mornings with you in my arms. I want every laugh, every fight, every bit of it. With you.”

You were sobbing now, nodding furiously.

“So, Y/N Y/L/N,” he said, eyes shining like he might cry too, “Will you marry me?”

There wasn’t a second of hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, Fred, of course I will.”

The room exploded into cheers as Fred slipped the ring onto your finger and stood, catching you in his arms like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. You kissed him like nothing else in the world mattered—because nothing else did.

The Burrow blurred in color and sound behind you, full of warmth and love and family.

And Fred held you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

The sky above the Burrow was painted in deep lavender, the last hints of daylight fading into dusk. Strings of warm, golden lights hung overhead, wrapped through tall wooden beams and trees that circled the clearing. Candles flickered in floating glass orbs, suspended by invisible spells, and enchanted blooms swayed gently in the air — a garden of flowers that never wilted, crafted by magic and love.

Long tables, draped in soft ivory linen, circled the open space, adorned with lush, overflowing arrangements of cream roses, wild greenery, and hints of deep plum and gold — just like the ones Fred had watched you admire in the window of a Muggle flower shop months ago. The chairs were vintage, mismatched in the most charming way, with enchanted votives glowing softly at every place setting. It was warm, soft, intimate — like the inside of a memory.

And in the center of it all stood Fred, wearing a dark emerald suit with a soft grin tugging at his lips, fingers twitching nervously at his sides.

His eyes found you the second you appeared, arm in arm with your dad, stepping out into the candlelit garden. The crowd — Weasleys, friends, classmates, Order members, Hogwarts professors — fell silent as you came into view.

You looked like something out of a dream. The gown was simple, delicate, and touched with magic — embroidery that shimmered faintly like stars. Your hair was swept back with golden pins that Molly had insisted on placing herself, and your eyes sparkled as they locked with Fred’s.

And Fred held you like he never wanted to let go.

Because he didn’t.

The ceremony was quiet. Intimate. Everyone sat close, family wrapped in one another’s arms. Molly held Arthur’s hand, her face already blotchy from crying before the ceremony had even begun. George sat beside her, eyes misty but filled with joy.

When it came time for the vows, Fred was the first to speak.

He cleared his throat, eyes fixed only on you, and suddenly it was just the two of you in that candlelit world.

“I used to think love was supposed to be chaotic. Fast. Loud. Like fireworks. And with you—it is, in the best way. But then the war happened. And I nearly lost everything. Nearly lost you.”

He paused, breath shaky.

“That night… when it all ended—I held you like I was afraid to let go. Because I was. I realized then that I never, ever wanted to feel what it’d be like to live in a world without you in it. You were the calm in the storm. The reason I kept laughing when everything felt like it was falling apart.”

“You rebuilt the world with me. Brick by brick. Joke by joke. You helped me believe in magic again—not the wand-waving kind, the real kind. The kind that exists when you look at someone and know they’re it for you.”

“I want the rest of my life with you. The late-night shop fixes. The toddlers with messy red hair and your smile. The quiet mornings and the loud holidays. All of it. I want all of it with you.Three kids—four, if you let me name one after a candy bar. I’m serious.”

The crowd laughed softly. Fred smiled, but his voice cracked at the end.

“I know we’re young. And dumb. But I’m not dumb enough to let you slip away without promising you everything I have to give. So today, I vow to love you in the big ways, and the small ones. To carry you through storms and celebrate you in sunlight. To kiss you every morning. To make you laugh even when you’re mad at me. To be your home—because you’ve always been mine.”

By the time Fred finished, George had to wipe his face with the corner of his sleeve. Even Percy was misty-eyed. Ron pretended to cough but sniffled behind his hand.

And then it was your turn.

“Fred Weasley, you are the most infuriating, brilliant, warm, loyal person I’ve ever met.”

“You make life brighter. Wilder. Better. You’ve taught me how to laugh when I want to cry, how to dream even when everything feels uncertain.”

“When the world was crumbling, you held me. You made me feel safe. And now… now you’re giving me a future I never thought I could have. One full of love, and magic, and too many kids running around a joke shop we built from the ashes.”

Your voice wavered, but your smile stayed steady.

“I vow to stand by you. To challenge you. To love you fiercely. I vow to dance with you in the kitchen, to prank our kids together, to grow old with you in a house full of laughter.”

“You are my best friend. My partner. My home. And I promise I will love you every single day—for the rest of this life, and whatever comes next.”

As soon as they pronounced you husband and wife, Fred didn’t wait.

He kissed you like he’d waited his whole life for that moment.

And maybe he had.

The reception was just as you imagined it—chaotic, magical, warm. The food was divine (thanks to Molly), and the drinks flowed as much as the laughter did. Arthur danced with you, twirling you around until you were both breathless. George gave a toast that made everyone laugh and cry. The twins had snuck in some enchanted fireworks that spelled your names across the sky in bursts of gold.

Later, as the guests filtered out and the lights dimmed, you and Fred sat at your sweetheart table, your shoes kicked off, hands tangled beneath the tablecloth.

Fred leaned in and whispered, “So… three kids, yeah?”

You laughed. “Four. But only if I name one.”

He beamed like you’d just promised him the moon.

And maybe, in some way, you had.

Because this was it.

The beginning of forever.

[emeritusemeritus]

Three in a bed…room.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader {Established Relationship} Bestfriend!George.

Warnings: Sexual references, implied sex, sharing a bed and a bedroom. George is a long suffering third wheel. George is DONE. Immaculate banter.

Word count: 398

Little Drabble inspired by this prompt I wrote a while ago.

"Don't you two start fucking, I could do without the trauma," George says as he settles down into bed, hitting his pillow slightly as he snuggles down under the covers.

It's your first night at the Burrow during the summer holidays and despite spending the day outside in the heat, a chill had set in once the sun had disappeared past the tree line. It was late now, well into the early hours of the morning and the three of you were only now crawling into bed, though you still didn't feel the pull of sleep.

You're already snuggled in the bed opposite George's, leaning on Fred's bare chest as he holds you tightly to him, stroking your back absently through your borrowed T-shirt.

"I mean it, no shagging whilst I'm in the room," George repeats, fixing you both with a harsh glare.

"Best to sleep downstairs then," Fred smirks. You chuckle against his skin, trying to conceal your laughter against his smooth skin chest. His arms squeeze you tighter momentarily, the heart radiating from his body filling you with warmth.

"You know what," George huffs, throwing back the covers with a sigh and climbing out of bed. "I'm going to sleep right here just incase."

He grabs the wooden bed frame with his hands, bending at the knees as he lifts the bed. He shuffles it the rest of the way over the uneven floorboards until it rests only a few inches beside where you lay in Fred's bed, having shifted his entire bed right next to you.

"How's this?" He asks cockily with a sarcastic grin as he climbs back into bed, pulling the covers up to his shoulders.

"Depends on how good of a view you want," you retort with a shrug.

Fred burst out laughing underneath you, his whole body practically shaking you. George immediately stands, reaching for his pillows and marches out of the room with little more than a huff.

You and Fred only laugh more as the door bangs shut, leaving you both alone as planned. His hands immediately begin wandering down to your bum as his face presses kisses to your head, urging you to lift your face up to his. He rolls you over in his arms and you can barely contain your giggles as he pulls the covers over both of you, getting his way once again.

[agreeewrites]

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

feat. Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

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

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

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

part one | masterlist

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

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

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

Fred and George pulled an identical grimace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach turned inside out.

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

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

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

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

“And why not?” You huffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks warmed, your stomach falling through the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, you were moving, the couch falling away.

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

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

Every one of your cells had missed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you—”

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

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

“Over my dead body, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could get used to a little chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie nodded. “I suppose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin, his bicep was the size of your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly started drooling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charlie!”

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

You loved them already.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could this really be your life?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[h0peinthebox]

RED AND BLUE LOOK GREAT TOGETHER 💕🙌

Red and Blue - G.W

As the Yule Ball approaches you’re left with so many things to think about— what dress do you wear? How should you do your hair? and why does George Weasley keep showing up at your table in the library?

george x fem!reader, reader is in ravenclaw, yule ball au, about 1k words, i dont totally like this, but cleaning out the drafts

You spend a lot of your free time in the library. It's not that you don't like people! You do! Just in small, manageable doses. But books don't interrupt, they don't expect you to be louder or bolder or funnier than you are. They’re steady. Reliable.

Which is more than you can say for the boy who's been showing up lately.

At first, you think it's coincidence. George Weasley, of all people, appearing just a few tables away, pretending to read ‘Advanced Transfiguration’ with a quill that hasn’t moved in ten minutes. He’s quieter than you thought he could be. No tricks, no whispering jokes to Fred, no fireworks accidentally going off in his bag.

He doesn’t talk to you. Just watches you sometimes, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like you’re a puzzle he’s been trying to complete for months.

At first it feels wrong. Uncomfortable, intrusive, but he never speaks, never judges, never frowns. Slowly, you start to realize you don’t mind it all that much.

More and more of your library time gets terrorized. The Yule Ball is coming up, and Susan insists on needing ‘time to prepare’ even when it’s weeks away.

Which is how you find yourself sitting on the floor of some abandoned classroom, surrounded by fabric samples and half-mended jewelry. Susan is trying on a velvet green dress and pirouetting in front of the mirror while you pick at the hem of your midnight-blue gown. It's simple, elegant, not screaming for attention. You like it.

“She’s gonna wear red,” Susan says, talking about someone in your year you barely know. “Scarlet with gold embroidery. Like she's auditioning for Gryffindor.”

You hum, not really listening.

Susan flops down beside you. “You should try red sometime. It would totally mess with people.”

You laugh. “Red and blue don’t really go together.”

“Oh, come on,” she says. “Contrast is bold. Unexpected.”

“Exactly.” You fold the edge of your dress into your lap. “Neither of those things are really my style.”

You don’t see George lingering outside the entrance, half-holding a note he’d written, ready to slide it under the library desk where you always sit. You don’t see the way he freezes when he hears you say it.

You just keep sewing.

Two days pass, and George doesn’t show up at the library.

You’re not looking for him, of course. But you notice the empty table. The missing glances. The way the quiet doesn’t feel the same anymore.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. You aren’t close. He never even said more than five words to you. Still, something about the stillness feels less comfortable without him in it.

You push the thought aside. Focus on the ball. On Susan’s plans. On remembering how to breathe when you think about walking in alone.

Too soon, you’re standing just outside the Great Hall, dress smooth beneath your fingers, breath clouding faintly in the enchanted winter air. The music inside is low and lovely, drifting through the open archway. You’d planned to walk in by yourself. It’s not a big deal.

You can handle alone.

But just as you take a step, someone clears their throat behind you.

You turn, and there he is.

George Weasley, for once not grinning, not joking. Just standing there in dark dress robes, looking unexpectedly nervous. His hair is wind-tossed like he ran his fingers through it too many times, and he’s holding a single dark blue ribbon between his fingers. You blink, noticing the navy tie at his collar. Not quite Ravenclaw blue, but close.

He looks like he’s been trying to say something for days.

“You look…” he starts, then trails off. Rubs the back of his neck. “Wow.”

You smile, shy but honest. “Thanks. You look… surprisingly put together.”

He lets out a breath, laughing. “Did my best.”

You glance past him toward the hall. “You here for the ball?”

“Yeah,” he says. Then adds, too quickly, “But, uh, mostly I came to see if you maybe wanted to walk in with me.”

Your heart trips over itself.

You aren’t used to being asked. You aren't used to being seen, not like this. George Weasley is supposed to be chaos and color and noise. You’re quiet. Focused. Predictable.

But when he’s standing this close, heart in his eyes and hands uncertain, it suddenly doesn’t feel like opposites. It feels like balance.

You nod. “I’d like that.”

You slip your arm through his, and he exhales like he wasn’t sure what you’d say. You step through the archway together, where snowflakes drift gently in the enchanted air, and the candles above flicker gold.

Just before you reach the floor, he leans a little closer, voice soft enough for only you to hear.

“I guess red and blue go together after all.”

Your smile spreads slowly across your face, warm and real.

“Looks like they do.”

[yasministration]

wrong twin - fred weasley

not a random boy au summary: for a long, gruelling minute, angelina is under the impression that her best friend has a crush on her boyfriend. but no, that's the wrong twin. wc: 1.3k+

At first, Angelina thinks you have a crush on her boyfriend.

It starts one day over the summer before your last year at hogwarts. You’re spending the day at hers, and after exhausting hours spent at the pool, committed to the summer tan you wanted oh so badly, you’ve both approached the hour of lazying around after a long, tiring shower. You'd taken to the carpeted floor of Angelina's bedroom, slumping down on a soft pillow, hair still damp, now laying in your pyjamas. Angelina is replying to a letter from George while you flick through a quidditch magazine.

“Hey, want to be in this photo?” Angelina asks, pulling out her polaroid camera from a drawer by her bed. “To George?” Angelina nods and you shrug yes, straightening up and turning to face the camera that she turns to face the pair of you. You smile casually in the photo intended for your friend, turning back to the magazine as Angelina rewatches the photo playback. She smiles softly “We look cute in that.”

“Then keep it. The man doesn’t deserve it.”

Angelina laughs. Nothing is suspicious to her at this point — obviously. But a few days later, you see another letter addressed to Angelina from Fred and George, and the instant she pulls out her camera, you’re fluffing up your hair and turning your shoulder to the camera cutely as you lean in closer to Angelina, perfectly smiling for the camera. Your best friend doesn’t comment on your sudden change in behaviour, but she furrows her brows as she watches the moving image appear on the sheet of plastic after you've taken the photo.

You take a peek over her shoulder, asking “Wait, do I look good?” and that’s when Angelina feels her heart drop. She turns the photo towards you, and you nod in approval. Angelina shoots you a blank stare before turning her gaze back to the image, noting the way you press yourself against her in the image, hands gently placed on Angelina’s arm, looking into the camera with an angelic gleam in your eyes, smile on full display.

Angelina swears to herself that if she finds out you’re doing all that for her boyfriend, she’s going to pounce on you. But for now, she gives you the benefit of the doubt, because after all, you’ve been her best friend for six years, and she might as well just be imagining things. So Angelina clears her throat and attaches the image to the letter before folding it into an envelope and sending it off.

“They’re inviting us to the Burrow tomorrow for a lake day.” You jerk forward at Angelina’s statement, grimacing as you echo “Tomorrow!? Ugh, that means I need to shave tonight.” Angelina glances down at your exposed legs, shrugging at the short hairs decorating your skin. “You know Fred and George don’t care about that stuff.”

She sees you becoming flustered, averting your eyes from hers as you chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah, but — I don’t know.”

Three months ago, you wouldn’t have cared if the hairs on your legs were fully grown before wearing shorts around the twins. Angelina bites her tongue, nostrils flaring as she thinks of a method to find out if you actually like her boyfriend or not, otherwise she’ll drive herself crazy.

“Yeah, I get it. I mean, I want to impress George even though he doesn’t mind my body hair. Even down - you know where.”

You laugh loudly, digging your face into one of Angelina’s pillows as you yell “Angie! Gross!”

“Oh please, you’ve never complained about the details of my sex life before!”

“Yes I have! Doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep hearing them though. Keep them coming. Please.”

Obviously, you and Angelina agree to meet up before going over to the Burrow, despite her conflicting feelings. But at least it means that when you floo over there, she gets to witness your exact reaction to seeing her boyfriend, and she can decide on whether to jump you or not. While she gives George a long hug, Angelina misses the excited smile you shoot Fred, who’s still halfway across the living room. She pulls away from George, watching as you loosely hug him, keeping your hands respectfully on his shoulders. There’s a lot of space between your bodies, and your casual ‘hey’ confuses Angelina, especially when one of your hands pats his shoulder in an almost brotherly manner.

Was she imagining things this whole time?

But then she sees the way your make eye contact with Fred, and notices the way your eyes light up as he comes closer to you, arms extended for a hug. You press yourself onto your tippy toes as you drape your arms over Fred’s shoulders, face digging into the crook of his neck. Fred’s arms are tight around your waist, his hands placed on your back, bodies pressed snugly against each other. You sway a little in the hug, and when you pull away, a smile still lingers on your lips.

Angelina internally scolds herself, arms hanging loosely by her sides, because how did she not notice?

Angelina can’t help the wide smile from making its way onto her face — both in joy that you don’t have a crush on her boyfriend and in utter disbelief. It’s so obvious. She clears her throat in a poor attempt to recompose herself as Fred gives her a quick side hug, but you’ve seen the look on her face. You know she knows.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” She whispers to you on the way out of the house, and you shrug, cheeks tight with the smile that’s on your face. God, you missed Fred so much. “I’ve been dropping hints to you for a month now.” And, she can’t exactly argue with you, because when she looks at things retrospectively, even your small actions from the past two days make sense. Like the way you didn’t care about how you looked in an image just to George but posed like a model in one she sent to the twins — to Fred.

Angelina speeds her pace up, skipping to her boyfriend joyously and coincidentally, Fred slows his down so he can walk with you towards the lake. “It’s good to see you.” Fred says with a smile, looking down at you.

“Yeah, you too. Two weeks of summer without your pretty face around was a mistake.” Fred laughs, bumping his shoulder with yours.

You drop your bag on the floor alongside where Angelina and George have laid their things out, sliding your feet out of your flip flops. “We can put the blanket out,” Angelina starts, raising a hand up to her eyes to protect them from the sun. “You guys go test the water or something.”

“Uh, what if I want to go test the water?” You ask, but Angelina rolls her eyes, tossing the big beach mat at you, and you manage to catch it despite your eyes being glued to a now shirtless Fred Weasley. You huff in mock annoyance but begin helping her out anyway, sitting down on the mat in triumph as you strip off your top. Angelina moves to stand in front of you, hands on her hips, eyes squinted at you in battle with the sun.

“You know, for a second there, I thought you had a crush on George.”

You snort out a graceless laugh, leaning back on your elbows as you loosely shrug your shoulders. “That explains why you were being a bitch.”

Angelina laughs, joining you on the mat. She observes George, biting the inside of her cheek as she internally scolds herself again. Why on earth would you have a crush on her boyfriend? “Yeah I was, wasn’t I? Whatever. You do know I’m going to try setting you guys up now, right?”

“Uh, don't insult me like that. I don’t need help with men. Give me two days and he'll be on his knees for me.”

“Sorry, remind me how long you've liked him for?”

Angelina’s question earns her a side eye.

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